You're in Sherlock (Sherlock × Reader)

A Scandal in Belgravia: Chapter 6

Emotions. You felt emotions. Well, you'd known this before, but you believed you were just processing it all. You were slowly accepting that it was happening to you. Along with the PTSD and everything that came with it. Even if you were accepting it, that didn't mean you wanted to learn more about it or try to be normal. Honestly, the more you thought about it the more depressed you seemed to feel. You didn't feel like doing anything except sit in your flat all alone.

This was all you could think about the next couple weeks leading up to Christmas. Which were completely uneventful. You hadn't made up with Sherlock, and he had made no attempts to make up with you. You returned to your normal life, going to work, chatting blankly with Molly, and returning home to your empty flat. You'd visited your doctor multiple times for your bullet wound, which was healing nicely. You only ever got slight painful flashes in the area that the doctor said was normal. Since the pain wasn't severe, you had just gotten more meds to take for it.

Another fun thing that had never gone away was your nightmares. They all came in stages. They haunted you each and every night, you despised sleep. You'd been avoiding it a lot lately.

Like now, you had just gone to bed after a long day at work. You tried to stay up watching telly, but it had bored you and you'd drifted off despite your protest, on the couch. You hadn't slept in days, so your body finally forced you to. A cold feeling sunk over you in your sleep and you heard familiar dark laughter.

"Times up!" A voice yelled. There was a loud shot and then you were falling, screaming. There was blood everywhere. You couldn't stop screaming. And the pain, it was unbearable. Ripping up and down your body, infecting you. You spasmed on the blood soaked floor, unable to take the pain. You were flailing your arms, only coating them with more thick layers of blood. "Shh." A voice whispered, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. You opened your eyes to Moriarty. He smiled down at you, petting your blood soaked hair. "It'll all be okay, Y/n. You're part of my plan, don't you see? I wasn't trying to kill you. I have more in store for you." He laughed, deep and dark. His eyes glittering down at you, blood reflecting in his iris'. They almost looked as red as the blood still pooling out around you. Moriarty dipped a finger into your wound and you screamed, squirming harder, trying to escape him.

His eyes gleamed in pleasure as he pressed his hand deeper into your wound, your eyes opened wide, screaming and crying with all the energy you had. You could feel every movement of his fingers inside your wound. He removed his blood soaked hand and smiled at you, licking one of his fingers coated in your blood. He moaned, rolling back his head in delight. You cried, unable to leave, stuck in your spot on the ground.

"I look forward to working with you again." He hissed into your ear, laughing as he pulled away.

"NO, NO! STOP! DON'T YOU TOUCH ME." You screamed bloody murder, crying as you tried to escape Moriarty's grasp. You fell to the floor hard, landing on your hands and knees. You scrambled away, trying to get away from him, slipping in something warm and wet. He was going to kill you. You huddled in a corner, crying as there was no escape. Nowhere to run.

"Y/n!" You heard a voice yell, shaking your shoulders. You closed your eyes tight, shaking your head in protest.

"Get away from me! Don't kill me. Please." You sobbed, pushing the harsh hands away, kicking and fighting their grip.

"Y/N! It's Sherlock, no one is going to hurt you anymore." His voice forcefully said as he straddled you to combat your aggressive fighting. You looked up at him, eyes wide and full of tears. You gazed around your apartment that was now a literal bloody mess. Blood soaked your carpet and was smeared around the walls and all over your clothes and in your hair.

"Sherlock, he was here." You cried softly, relaxing under Sherlock's weight. His eyes studied you intently, before focusing on your reopened wound. They widened a bit in surprise before his hands clasped over it, controlling the bleeding.