Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 21~ Scars

-----Willow POV-------

The pain bursts through my body. What is he doing?!

"Sherlock! Just bandage the bloody wound!" I scream at him. He frowns and grabs a large handful of gauze. 

He then gently grabs my head and begins slowly wrapping the bandages around my neck. It is soon done. He suddenly pulls me into a hug. My pain is slowing down so my breathing does as well. I grip Sherlock's shirt, unaware of what I am doing, I fall asleep there. In his arms.

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I flit my eyes open. I'm back in my bed, the sun shines into the old window. I sit up forcefully causing me to cough.  I realize I'm still in my dress. I hop off of the bed and slowly and painfully walk to my dresser. The old brown hardwood floor dusty. My feet sweeping up the dust. I open the drawer and pull out my biggest shirt. I pull it over my head and then pull on a pair of shorts. I walk out of the room and into the kitchen. The scent of tea fills my nose and my mouth begins to water.

I try speaking for John, but nothing comes out. Only air, no voice, no whisper. I pop my head into the living room. Sherlock is lying on the couch. Mind palace. I look around for John, he must not be here. I decide I'll make my own tea.

I shuffle back into the kitchen and start to boil some water. I look into the many cupboards for the tea, I find it and continue with my process.  I look around for my phone, I see it under some papers. I grab it and text Mycroft. 

You said you would buy me new clothes.

Mycroft responds quite quickly.

And I intend to keep my word.  

I smirk, it's about time I was given new clothes. I hear the teapot whistle, I turn off the stove and pour the boiling water into a mug. I set the stringed packet into the steam. I sip the tea and rued my decision painfully. The stinging hot water travels down my throat leaving me to cough terribly.  

"Shut up." I hear Sherlock say sternly. I understand that you need silence, but that's a little far.  I try holding my cough the best I can. I shakily walk back into my room. I set down my tea on the nightstand and sit on my bed. I hold my hands to my fragile neck. The white bandages soft and loose.

I fall onto the bed helplessly. This makes me feel depressed, but it was fun. This was the best case yet. 

I lay for an hour, just thinking. About how lucky I am. How John gave me this room. How I met them. If I didn't meet Sherlock or John, I would probably be dead. Though there's nothing wrong with that. 

"Willow. Willow. Willow!" The voice fades into my mind. I sit up my body stiff, I see John at the door trying to get my attention. 

"Yes, John." I yawn. Finally finding my voice.

"How's your neck?" He sighs at me.

"Fabulous." I respond laying back down. "How was the-" I don't have to finish.

"Terrifying."

"How so?"

"It took forever." He groans.

"I could imagine." I chuckle.

"I'm going to take a quick look at your neck." He walks toward me and I sit up. He gently takes off the bandages. 

"How bad is it?" I ask hoping it will be fine.

"It's going to leave a scar, but thankfully I don't see any sign of bacterial infection." John says as he examines my neck. I sigh in relief. " You're lucky you have me and Sherlock to be your friends." John chuckles as he re wraps the wound. I frown at the word. Friends. John sees that I'm frowning. He rolls his eyes, "Yes Willow, you are my friend as well as Sherlock's." I flit my eyes at him and then back at the floor. I stand up and leaving John in my room. I walk into the living room and sit down without thinking. 

Sherlock is on his laptop, well actually John's. His eyes focusing on one thing. I ignore him and grab the book next to me. 

'A Shred of Evidence'

About a missing child. I flip through the pages, it looks like it's very well written. I turn to the beginning and start to read. 

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I am about halfway through the book when Sherlock finally speaks. 

"Come look at this." He gestures me to come.  I look at the computer screen in front of me.  There is a document, but not a normal document. I recognized names and quotes. I froze at the name in front of me. 

JIM MORIARTY

I didn't speak, I didn't need to. Sherlock knew what I was thinking. I truly wanted to kill that man. He knows me, in a creepy way. I never told him about my family. I never told anyone. No one. The government doesn't even know. How in the world did he ever get my personal information? I walked away from Sherlock and the laptop. I tossed myself onto the couch. Shoving my face into a pillow. I groaned. I don't want to hear that man's name ever again. He just hurts everyone. Everyone. He's everywhere.

'Fireworks.'

I sat up holding my hands to my head.  What did he mean by "I remember when I saw my first fireworks." Then right before that he had mentioned my family. It can't be. 

"Willow?" I hear Sherlock ask me concerned. I shake my head tears threatening my eyes. 

"He did it. He had to have." I whimper to no one in general.

"Who?" Sherlock frowns sitting up straighter.

"Mor-" I take in a sharp breath. "Moriarty." I admit. Sherlock walks over to me he pulls my hands away from my face. 

"What did he do?"

"He. Killed... He killed. My family." I say in between breaths. Tears can't be held back now. Though why am I crying. Crying for someone who I lost almost 30 years ago. But I can't help it. My sweet mother and father. My best friend. My sister and two brothers. My cousins from all over the world. Everyone. He hurt everyone I love.

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