Sherlock Imagines [ Book 1 ]

Skinny Love

Type: Songfic (skinny love by birdy), each line kinda is like a time skip

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: drug usage, sad, major character death

C'mon Skinny love just last the year

He was gone.

He never thought he'd live to see the day John Watson died.

The memory of his body falling into Sherlock's arms never left him, he'd taken a bullet for Sherlock.

He was dead because of him.

He laid in his bed, curled up in a tight ball. Entangled with his thoughts, unable to free himself. He felt the bed sink in slightly next to him, you placed a hand on his side gently. "Sherlock." She said softly. He didn't turn, he didn't look.

She stood, walking over to where she was in front of him, the doctor's death had affected her, but no where near as badly as Sherlock. She laid down, gently taking his hands in her hands. "Please talk to me." She said softly.

He just buried his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her. She gently stroked his curled, unaware of her own tears that threatened to spill.

Not only had she lost a dear friend, but her lover as well.

Pour a little salt we were never here

He stared down at his wrist, one hand holding onto the sink tightly.

He just needed to stop hurting, just for a little while.

He skinned the needle with his skin, just for a little while.

The bathroom doorknob twisted, locked from the inside. There was a rustling sound as she began to pick the lock from what he heard, normally he would of hid the needle, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

The door soon opened, revealing her. She looked flustered, her (hair color) locks desperately tried to keep back into a bun but failing, her hair flying in every direction.

she just looked at him for moment, he didn't move. She slowly stepped forward and took it from his hands gingerly, tossing it in the bin for the time being. She looked back at him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him towards her. "Please don't. I miss him too." She whispered, he held her close, an empty embrace for he found a numb sort of feeling spread over him.

Staring at a sink of blood and crushed veneer

A week after his death, Sherlock yelled at her for the first time in a fight. He was usually calm and collected when she was frustrated, he'd be forced to sleep on the couch then slowly sneak back in the bedroom, wrapping his arms around her. She was the one who yelled, not him.

He was sitting on the couch, his dressing grown strung over his paling form. His knees brought up to his chest, staring at John's chair.

She held a cup of tea, walking towards the couch and sitting beside him. She placed the cup down on the table in front of him.

He made no move to accept it.

"Please drink or eat something. Sherlock you can't continue on like this." She pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know it hurts but it'll get better."