Sherlock Imagines [ Book 1 ]

Behind These Hazel Eyes (part 2)

*trigger warning*

It was stupid.

Completely and utterly stupid.

How could one man screw you up so badly?

Sherlock Fuckin Holmes would not get out of your mind.

You tried and tried to forget him, but it just wasn't happening. You wanted to believe you still loved him, that he was your everything. Part of you wanted to believe you didn't need him, he was the scum of the earth. So many feelings swirled inside of you, making you want to scream at the top of your lungs. But of course, you had to keep all your emotions locked on the inside as they desperately clawed to the surface, often escaping through tears. You crossed your arms and sunk down into the couch, unable to focus on Death Note, which was currently playing on the TV. It'd been three days since your encounter with Sherlock, and you hadn't spoken to anyone since then. Greg walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, you looked over at him. He was obviously tired from tying up the ends to his investigation. The moonlight filtered in through the blinds into the dark apartment, Greg flipped on the light and looked over at you. "Sorry." He murmured, you patted the seat next to you and walked over, shrugging off his jacket and tossing his tie aside and sat, laying down with his head in your lap.

"Thank you." You said softly, looking down at him. He'd been patient and kind while you sorted out your emotions. He looked slightly taken aback by your speaking, "It's what big brothers are for." He shrugged. You smiled softly and looked down at him before turning your attention back to the screen.

***

You stared at the phone in your hands, Sherlock's contact pulled up, your finger hovered over the block button. You couldn't bring yourself to it, you were like a puppet on strings, and he was in control. You would probably appear at his beckon call, as much as you hated to admit it. You threw the phone on your bed, entangling your fingers in your hair. Why was this so hard?

You found yourself drowning in the waves of emotion. Who could you talk to? Mary was busy with the baby, John would side with Sherlock, not because he disliked you, but because he was closer to Sherlock. If you told Greg anything else he'd probably go after Sherlock, gun in hand. When would you not have to fake a smile? Every one wanted you happy, you couldn't pass off your burdens. You just wanted to be ok again. You pulled back your fist, soon finding it colliding with your wall.

You bit back a scream as Crimson streamed from in between your knuckles, you let out a variety of curses, walking towards the bathroom and cupping your wounded hand. You ran warm water over it, washing away the blood. Soon it stopped bleeding, nothing more but split skin. You leaned back against the bathroom wall and sunk down, letting your legs lay flat on the ground. You allowed tears to roll down your cheeks, tears soon turned to uncontrolled sobs.

Why did it have to hurt so fuckin much?

*severe trigger warning. If you are triggered or made severely uncomfortable by self harm, just skip along until you see my next bolder message, love y'all, stay safe*

You turned and fumbled through the box, reaching for one of your shaving razors. You snapped the handle off before jabbing it into your leg, careful to avoid other scars. You pressed until it stung where you could not stand it, allowing Crimson to bead along the slashes before running freely. You allowed the sharp stinging to relieve the emotional pain rushing through you, you laid your head back as tears continued to fall.

When would it all end?

*end of self harm bit*

***

You allowed the blood to wash away in the shower, the warm water beating down on your shoulders somewhat relaxing. You felt yourself collapsing inwardly, you didn't want to bug anyone with your feelings. Sherlock Holmes confused you, broke you, and drove you fucking crazy. You tried to let your mind wander anywhere else, but alas you failed.

All you could see were those perfect blue green eyes and dangerously sharp cheekbones. You hit the shower wall angrily, when would you be able to get Sherlock William Scott Holmes out of your mind?

You soon finished cleaning yourself, before grabbing your towel and stepping out. Drying yourself, careful to avoid new found bruises and checked your phone to find several missed calls from John. You wrapped your hair as you hit the button.

"Siri call John." You searched through your drawers, grabbing a pair of yoga pants and a Pan!c at the Disco t shirt

The phone dialing rang throughout the small bathroom, a very panicked army Doctor answered.

"(Your Name)?" John asked, fear and panic laced within his voice.

You turned around towards the phone, "John?"

"You have to get over to 221b, now." You could hear the tremble in his voice. You raced towards the phone, turning off speaker and raising it to your ear. "John what's wrong?"

"Sherlock's locked himself in his room and won't come out. He's got the bloody door jammed. You and I both know what's happening in there and you're the only one who can stop it like you did last time."

Without hesitation you dropped your hair down, grabbing a ponytail holder and car keys, throwing on a sweatshirt as you twisted up your hair and raced out the door.

"Hold on Sherlock, hold on." You muttered under your breath.

a/n

Hooray to writing this in three hours after it was requested.

I was gonna finish it but then I was like nah, I'll let them have a cliff hanger.

I'm thinking for my last three Oneshots before my 50th, I'd do a special three parted love triangle oneshot. And the best part is, you get to vote for which guy you choose! How does that sound to y'all let me know!

Please don't be afraid to comment, reading y'alls comments make my day.

Also if you haven't yet check out my new Phanfic heartbeat ;)

Love y'all

Bye bye for now