Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 22~Revealing the Truth

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

Sherlock pulls me into a hug. I am too emotional to react. Though it is shocking. I grab the back of his purple shirt. Tears stream from my face. Everything seems to get to me at this moment. The fear, the sympathy, the sadness, and the loss.

"It's okay." I hear Sherlock whisper to me though there is no sympathy in his voice.

"No. It's not. He's going to kill everyone again." I whimper into his shirt. "He's going to kill you and John." I look up at his face. I feel like sobbing again, but know that I probably shouldn't.

"No he won't." Sherlock says looking down at me. "I won't let him." His hair falls into his face and he pulls me into another hug. We stay like this for this for what seems like forever. Time has stopped. Nothing matters.

"Willow, tell me what happened to your family." Sherlock demands after a few hours. I inhale sharply and cling to him.

"Do I have to?" I whisper painfully.

"Yes. It's now or never."

I crawl from Sherlock and head toward a wall. I slump down, regretting the fact I left the place where I was comfortable.

"I was six. We decided to have a family reunion at my parents mansion. Everyone happened to make it. My mother asked me and my little brother, Alistair to grab some firewood from out in the woods. Then it happened," I pause holding my breath. "I see a bright light and Alistair and I are  flown back by the blast." I started choking up. "Everyone died. The explosion killed them all. I couldn't save Alistair. He was too close. No one knows about it except for me." I pull my knees up and bury my face into it. "It's all my fault." I whimper frustrated at myself. "I killed them. I killed Alistair."

"It was never your fault." I hear Sherlock in between my muffled cries. I crawl back over to Sherlock and hug him. I fall asleep in his lap. His arms cradling me in a way I never could imagine him doing.

Who knew, Sherlock could be nice sometimes.

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I wake up. I'm not in my room or on the couch. It's a different bed. Quite comforting. I slowly open my eyes. I flinch at the sight.

I'm in Sherlock's bed.

I sit up quickly looking around frantically. Thankfully I'm alone. I hop off of the bed and open the door. The creaking of door is deadly. The smell of ground coffee fills my nose. I approach the kitchen looking around for the coffee. I turn to look somewhere else, but accidently bump into John.

"Oof- sorry Willow.. Willow? You look terrible." John has a concerned look on his face.

"John I'm fine." I cover my face with a smile. I'm really not. I'm not fine. I feel dead inside. "Where's the coffee? I think I could use some." John points to the french press across the room. All I can think about is that coffee and him, Moriarty's everywhere. Why can't he leave everyone alone for a little bit?

I walk to the french press without really thinking about it. I pour the liquid into a random mug on the counter. I grab my refreshment and seat myself in the living room. Sherlock seems to be working on a case. I grab a book and lay on the couch. I seem to be flying through books like nobody's business. I love books now more than I ever have. My eyelids start to slowly weigh down. I fall asleep with the book on my face. I am soon woken up by the sound pounding foot steps. It scares me and I fall off the couch. Not caring about my state of pain, I quickly stand up and look around. Men wearing nice black suites file towards me.

They pile multiple bags in my arms. I don't even have time to say anything. They're gone. John is standing in the doorway of the living room. He has a very confused look on his face. He looks at me for an answer, I shrug in response. I gently set the bags down and open them. Clothes.

There are clothes in the bag. Dresses, jeans, t shirts, blouses, pants, skirts, jackets. Everything

"Mycroft." I whisper.

"What." Sherlock and John say at the same time their voices staccato. I smirk at the bags.

"Mycroft." I say a little louder looking up at the disgusted boys. "He kept his word. Good." I shrug again picking up the bags and leaving to my own room.

"What?" John asks still confused. I wave his question off.

"I'll explain later." I say walking into my room. I shut the door behind me and thrash through the clothes. I find some brands I am not familiar but I like them. Some brands are from different places. Scottish brands, American brands, African brands, even Asian brands. I avoid some of the Scottish brands only because it reminds me of the bartender at the ball.

I throw on a pair of new clothes feeling good about myself. A hand clasps over my mouth. It's so sudden I don't even think to scream. I'm being pulled with some force towards the back window. I bite the hand over my mouth. Blood fills my mouth, but the hand doesn't budge. I try squirming my way from the strong arms. I can't I'm way too weak. The mysterious kidnapper and I fall through the window. I tense ready for the fall. Nothing comes and I blackout.

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