Sherlock Imagines

SH - Good Tears

Word count: 844

"Leave."

You felt your heart drop. You took a deep, shaky breath. "What?" you croaked.

C'mon, (Y/N) don't let your emotions get to you now. Sherlock is rude all of the time to everyone. He probably doesn't mean anything by it. Maybe he couldn't concentrate so he wanted you to go to a different room. Maybe even your soft singing was distracting him. But he usually likes your singing; he said before that it calms him.

"Oh, sorry Sherlock. I'll stop si-"

"No, leave. I don't want you here. You're a nuisance," he interrupted.

You were silent. Okay, maybe Sherlock was just in a really bad mood. Maybe he was just stumped on a case. He hates to be stumped. You've out up with his moodiness before, you wouldn't let it get to you now. You quietly stood up from the couch and decided to just lock yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes just to be by yourself for a few moments. But, as you opened the door, Sherlock spoke again.

"Leave the building, you idiot. Don't come back," he snapped, startling you.

Quickly, you grabbed your coat and rushed down the stairs and out the building, hailing a cab. Tears were streaming down your face as you ducked into a cab. You were gross-sobbing in front of a stranger. I'm pathetic, you told yourself. "Nearest hotel," you told the driver, wiping your face dry.

No matter how many times your sleeve rubbed over your eyes, tears kept flowing down your cheeks. Your sleeve rubbed your eyes so much that the skin was red and tender. Were you just annoying today? Or did Sherlock never like you at all? But he's hugged you and kissed you; he's even told you he loves you. Was he pretending the whole time?

You stepped into the hotel, which was only a few minutes away. But you didn't have any money left; you paid the driver with some change you found in your coat pocket. You walked back to 221 Baker Street and walked up the stairs. You slowly twisted the doorknob and opened the door. Sherlock was right in the living room.

"Funny, I thought I told you not to return," he said, stonefaced. Tears dripped as you turned to walk into Sherlock's room. "I'm just getting my things. I'll be gone in a few minutes," you spoke very quietly, as to not let your voice crack. Of course, your voice cracked anyway. You felt a hand grip your shoulder and turn you around. Sherlock looked down at you. "Pathetic," he spat.

"(Y/N), are you crying? Come on then, wake up?" Your eyes shot open, landing on John. You took in your surroundings. 221b Baker Street. You'd fallen asleep on the coach. You pulled your legs towards your chest when you sat up, still drowsy and confused. John sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders and wiping your tears. You then realized it was all just a twisted dream. "Sorry, John. Just a bad dream." You rubbed your eyes.

"Sherlock's back," John announced, slowly standing up. "I know you were waiting for him to get back."

You got on your feet and walked to the door of the room you shared with Sherlock, slowly opening the door and closing it behind you. You quietly crept to the bed, vaguely making out Sherlock's silhouette in the dark room. You hesitated before climbing in, waking Sherlock in the process. "Sorry," you whimpered, still partly thinking you were in the dream in your groggy state.

The tone of your voice stirred Sherlock fully awake. You could hardly see his eyes dart to yours before he turned on a lamp. It only took him two seconds to deduce you. "What was your dream about?" he asked, pulling you to him. You let out a breath in relief that your boyfriend didn't hate you and enjoyed being held close to him. "You kicked me out. Hated me."

Sherlock almost jumped, but spoke calmly. "I do not hate you. And I certainly don't want you to leave."

"You wouldn't notice if I left," you joked halfheartedly. He pulled away from you so he could look into your eyes. "Maybe not for a few minutes if I'm in my kind palace. But believe me, (Y/N) I would notice. I'd worry. I'd miss you."

You looked away, blushing slightly. Sherlock brushed his fingers through your hair to make you look back at him. "I need you a lot more than you need me," he admitted.

You cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Sherlock Holmes? I need you am awful lot," you smiled.

"I know. I need you more." He kissed your forehead, pulling your body back to his. "You make me feel things, (Y/N). Some of the things aren't good. You distract me and I get jealous and lonely when you're gone. But you make me happy, calm. I love you."

Oh, you were on the verge of tears again. But, good tears.