Haunted Holmes ➳ Sherlock x Reader

True Statement

After our emotional conversation, my new life begins.

We're supposed to pretend nothing has happened.

I personally don't think that will work out very well...

He said he wanted me to stay here, and start over with no romantic connection. Like flatmates...

Except we have a child, which Mary and John are caring for at the moment.

"Y/N, are you hungry?" Sherlock asks from the kitchen, obstructing my thoughts.

"No." I reply, standing up and pondering what to do or say to make our situation less awkward.

That's when I see it.

A violin.

It's made with rich wood, polished and glazed. The bridge of the instrument has an elegant design carved in the center where it holds up the strings.

I run my fingers through the thin strings, as they let out a soft sound to the contact of my fingertips.

Next I see the bow, and I pick it up. The hair on the bow of a violin is authentic horsehair -- I've heard.

All the pieces of the bow are pristine, as if untouched. The frog of the bow especially grabs my attention, for his initials are carved in very small font.

I find myself entranced with this instrument, as if it's been distant from me for a long time. A nostalgic emotion.

"What are you doing?" He walks in the room, and I quickly put the instrument down on the sofa.

"Nothing." I say quickly.

He squints at my uneasiness.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" He looks at me strangely.

"I'm fine." I croak out. My throat has been stinging -- burning since yesterday.

"You sound sick." He walks over and is about to feel my temperature, but stops:

"May I...?" He asks quietly.

I nod, and he presses the back of his hand to my forehead.

His hands are cold. It feels nice against my hot skin.

"You're burning up." He says, lacing his fingers around my wrist for a pulse.

"Am I?" I ask.

"I'll go get some ice, lov--" He stops talking before he calls me love, as he walks in the kitchen and gets the ice.

We both pretend that never happened.

"Here." He sits next to me on the sofa and pats a bag of ice on areas of my face.

We are in an uncomfortable position, because he's trying to avoid touching me at all, other than my face with the bag of ice. He promised he wouldn't touch me, but I didn't think he'd actually go this far.

I wince at the cold contacting my hot face. It burns, and soothes afterwards, but I don't like this uncomfortable position, so I lean on him a little, resting my chin over his shoulder:

"The back of my neck, please...it burns there..." I tell him.

He places a hand on my back to keep me in place, before moving strands that stuck onto the sweat on my neck away, in attempt to clear an area to pat the ice on my skin.

"Let me know if you feel uncomfortable." He tells me quietly, before patting the bag of ice gently on the back of my neck.

I nod in reply,

As he continues to pat the bag of ice for three minutes now, I find it soothing, until he pats some sort of cut on the back of my neck that I was oblivious to.

I accidentally let out a sqeal, and he stops:

"I'm sorry. You seem to have a cut on the back of your neck..."

I quickly get up and go to the mirror to check out the cut.

It's pretty big -- red, and starting to sting.

It's funny, I don't remember how I got this...

"Do you have some rubbing alcohol?" I ask.

"I believe so..." He checks some cupboards in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He walks back over with a cloth and the alcohol, sitting on the sofa.

"The cut is deep. It's gonna hurt." He tells me, as I sit next to him.

This feels very familiar...have we done this before?

Has he healed a cut of mine before?

"Let's make it quick..." I lean over his shoulder again, this time wrapping my arms around his neck -- much like a hug.

He wets the cloth with the rubbing alcohol, before patting in on my cut.

"Shit!" I curse, embracing his poor neck tighter.

The next time the cloth makes contact with my large cut, the rubbing alcohol is squeezed out and drips on it.

"Sherlock...that's enough..." I gasp.

"It needs more, Y/N...it'll be okay, I promise." He lifts me onto his lap, and pulls me in for a tighter embrace, keeping an arm locked around my waist, before continuing.

Initially, something as small as this wouldn't bother me, but as I am in my current state of three different types of illnesses, it's quite difficult. A throat problem, burning body temperature, and an enormous cut on the back of my neck.

I'm not very pleasant this evening.

My hot tears begin to drip on his shoulder, so I hide my face in his chest as he moves his hand up from my waist and rubs my back soothingly.

"Done." He states, setting the cloth down and wrapping both his arms around me.

"It still stings..." I tell him.

"It will go away soon..." He whispers, kissing my forehead.

I nod and stay with him for a few more minutes in the embrace. It was too comfortable for me to feel violated.

He is too comfortable for me to feel violated.

His soothing words, masculine scent, soft heart, satiny curls, rumbling accent...I'm beginning to miss him. Miss being with him.

It's strange how an hour ago my mind was completely set on not being with him...now I'm in love again.

He always manages to win my heart somehow...

"Y/N?" He asks.

"Yes?"

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Pretend not to love you. I'm not okay, as much as I hate to admit it. You're hurting me, Y/N. Hurting my head...my heart."

"Sherlock we talked about this--"

"I know you love me back, Y/N."

"What kind of statement is that?" I pull away from our embrace, and glare at him.

"A true statement." He stares at me with his bright blue eyes as he talks, before leaning in and placing his lips on my own.