BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock x Reader | Unmotivated

Description : You are Sherlock's flat mate, after a day out, you come home and tragedy strikes.
Word Count : 3265
Warnings : Swearing, mentioned eating disorder, mentioned 'suicide' attempt.
⚠️IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THE WARNINGS PLEASE CLICK AWAY.⚠️
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I wake up, and immediately wish that I hadn't. Not in the way that I don't want to live anymore, but in the way where I feel like the day is useless. "Unmotivated." As I would say to my worried friends and family.
I sit up on the couch. 'Must've fallen asleep.' I think to myself. My head is pounding and I feel like a rock that's just been thrown off a cliff.
Flat 221b Baker Street is where I live. Shared with my friend Sherlock Holmes after his friend, John Watson, moved out to live with his wife, Mary.
I drag myself to the bathroom, in an attempt to make myself look at least half-way presentable to the public. I need to go out and get some groceries from the shops today, but I have no energy to go at all.
I undress and turn on the shower, about to get in, but I am stopped by my reflection.
My collarbones bulged out of my chest. My wrists were small and weak and my rib cage was present. I don't see myself as a girl with an eating disorder, but as a girl with zero determination.
Sherlock tries to get me to eat more, but I'm too busy in my mind to do it. We both have unique minds. His was full and always moving. Mine was uncluttered and still. I walk around in my mind aimlessly, trying to find any speck of ambition or will, but I only find what my teachers told me was "Important." And "Useful in everyday life."
My eyes move from my body to my face. My (h/l) (h/c) hair is lifeless and dull. My cheeks are sunken in and my eyes look tired. I look like a walking corpse.
Stepping into the shower, I hear footsteps and some quiet talking. Probably Sherlock waking up to get some tea.
I do what I regularly do in the shower. Wash my hair, body, and face, then get out. Wrap a warm towel around my fragile figure, and pull a brush through my hair.
It's quiet, I realize, maybe Sherlock left to do some shopping. God I hope so, I won't have to leave if he has.
Opening the door, I walk down the hall to see if he had left, but instead seeing a bed headed Sherlock, sitting on the couch, eyes closed and hands in a prayer-like position near his lips.
"Morning to you too." I say to him. He doesn't respond. He's probably somewhere deep in his Mind Palace.
I turn and walk to my room to change. But decide to grab a cup of tea first.
I walk into the kitchen, still in my towel, and start to make some tea, when I hear a tired voice right behind me.
"Morning."
I jump and turn to see Sherlock, inches away from me.
"The concept of personal space is not hard to wrap your head around Sherl." I say, slightly annoyed, realizing I probably look like an ogre at the moment.
"You've had a bad morning?" He says.
"Unmotivated."
"As usual." He mumbles.
He takes a few steps back, and leans against the counter. I grab my cup and start towards my room, but he speaks again.
"Are you interested in coming to the shops with me? I'll be leaving in about an hour."
I sigh internally, but agree.
"Sure." I push out, trying to sound at least a fraction excited.

I reach my room and set down my cup, and begin to rummage through my drawers to find something to put on. After a while I settle with a long sleeved (f/c) shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.
I dry my hair and style it, then do my makeup.
I stick with something simple. A little concealer to hide my dead-likeness, mascara, some (colour) lipstick and then fill in my brows.
Feeling a tad more confident, I stand up, grab my bag and walk out of my room to the living area.
I sit down in Sherlock's chair to annoy him. I find him funny when he's frustrated with me, because I know it will never last long. I pick up my (favourite book) and continue where I last left off.
"Is this not the 4th time you've read that book, y/n?"
I look up and there stands a handsome looking Sherlock. Dressed in his purple shirt that I adore on him, and his curls placed perfectly atop his head.
"It's a good book." I respond, standing up.
"Are you ready?" I ask, smiling.
"Yes." He answers, sticking out his arm to me. I raise my brows in confusion at first, but comply and link my arm with his, shoving my book in my bag.
We leave out the door, and begin walking. The shop wasn't far away, and it was beautiful outside so we decided to walk.
I began looking at my surroundings. Everyone was walking to their destinations. They all had places to be and people to care for. Every one I am looking at has a story of their own that I don't know about. It frustrates me a little, not knowing where my destination is for my life, but I push the thought away, and decide to focus on something more important.
Sherlock.
He walked swiftly. The slight wind catching his shirt, the collar trotting with his long steps. I curl my fingers around his arm, which I was still linked to, and focused on it. He was a skinny man, but still had muscle to him. I could feel his bones but it wasn't like mine. Mine where protruding out, where as his were just there. Covered in a bit of muscle.
I looked away from him and returned my attention to the people passing by. They gave me looks. They questioned me with their furrowed brows. I could basically hear their thoughts.
'She needs to eat.'
'Damn, she's way to skinny.'
'She looks like she's dying.'
'Is she okay?'
I winced at the thoughts and held onto Sherlock's arm tightly and looked away from them. My uncluttered mind now bursting open. The filing cabinets having the papers fly out of them and pound against my skull. I shut my eyes for a moment, in an attempt to restore order to them, but it fails. My steps become lazy and uncoordinated.
I feel Sherlock suddenly move left, and I open my eyes, and see we are walking into a Café.
I obey and follow him in, guessing he was hungry. But he orders a (favourite soup) and a (favourite tea), and now I know that it was for me.
"Sherlock, I'm not hungry." I say. He turns and crouches down a little so his lips are in line with my ear.
"You are, and I can practically feel your mind racing. Your heart beat keeps quickening and faltering. You need to eat or you are going to pass out." He whispers to me quickly.
Instead of arguing I just nod. I'll do it for him.
We sat down near the window, he knows I love window spots. Whenever we eat out I always sit by a window, or near the closest one.
The waitress brought me my soup a few minutes later. I began to eat it, and noticed Sherlock watching me. Pink rises to my cheeks and I laugh to myself quietly.
Around five minutes later, I pushed the soup away from me, in a way to show I'm full.
"No." Sherlock says. To strangers it would've sounded forceful, but I knew him, and that was an 'I care' voice.
"You've barely touched it, y/n. You should eat a little more."
I sighed and frowned. I don't like eating a lot at once. It makes me feel ill.
"I... I can't, Sherlock."
He slouched a tad, then got up and went to the counter.
He came back a few moments later, with another spoon in his hand.
"I'll help you then." He says, taking a spoonful to his mouth.
I smiled wide. He is the only human I know who understands me. He knows telling me to eat won't work.
I take another spoonful.
"Thank you." I mutter, quiet enough that I think he doesn't hear me, but he smirks a bit, but it's gone almost before it even started.
We finish and stand, thanking the waitress who takes our dishes. We leave and continue walking, and I notice he doesn't offer his arm this time, but I wrap myself around it anyway.