Patrick Stump Imagines

75 - Missing

*this is the last time I am writing a YBC Patrick fic*

And

*this is kinda Sherlock-themed*

-----

"Come in, come in dear!" The land lady said as she rushed you inside the flat. It might look old, but it's cleaner than yours. "Sherlock!" She shouted.

"Entertain my client for a while, Mrs. Hudson!" A voice can be heard upstairs.

"Do you want some tea?" Mrs. Hudson offered.

"I'm even fine with water." You said, flashing a smile at her.

"Oh dear, no one declines to my tea!" She said, sashaying to the kitchen. You sat down on the chair you found.

Mrs. Hudson was telling you something, but you did not pay attention as you conceal the wound you incurred last night.

As footsteps were heard from the staircases, you immediately pulled up your sleeve, facing a short man. (I'm sorry!!)

"You must be Y/N Stump." He says and you nodded as a response. "I am John Watson." He shook your shaking hand and it looked like he instantly regretted it.

"Sorry." You murmured.

"Shall I bring you upstairs?" He murmured. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Yes dear?" The land lady pops her head from the kitchen.

"Kindly bring us tea upstairs." John said, guiding you to their spot in the flat.

"Sherlock?" John called, pursing his lips as he stilled a chair right in front of you.

As you sat down, a man, probably above six in height, comes out of the kitchen, holding a jar with a decapitated head in it.

"Sherlock, will you keep it for a second? We have a client!" John scolded.

"Oh, don't worry..." Sherlock, on the other hand, undoes the jar's lock and takes a piece of paper with a print of a man's head and laughs.

But you did not find it funny.

"Right. One second." He said, retreating into the kitchen. John shot you an apologetic look and you just flashed a smile to make sure you're just fine.

"Was he reading my mind?" You murmured.

John opens his mouth but shuts it as Sherlock suddenly butted-in.

"I can see it the way you look--the way your eyes sparkled with extreme disgust, how you gulped and how your hands shook. And the moment I pulled the print away, I watched how you relieved."

I guess he'll help. You thought.

-----

"I sent you a message because my husband has been going in and out of our house during the night and I have no idea where he goes." You started, watching Sherlock pace back and forth in the room.

"He isn't missing?" John says, making notes in his notepad.

"He comes back every night...there are times that--"

"Boring...boring...boring." Sherlock said, stopping on his tracks.

"But I am not finished," you said in protest. Meanwhile, you foung John giving Sherlock a what-the-bloody-hell look.

"You may go." Sherlock said, opening the door for you.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Stump, but you really have to go." John whispered and it is obvious that he cannot do anything about it.

Pursing your lips, you said thanks and did the same to Sherlock. Before you could even head downstairs, somebody grabbed you by your arm.

"Wait a second," Sherlock said, pulling you back inside.

You raised a brow at him, wondering why he would send you out then pull you back.

"John, fetch me a cloth and water." He said.

And the moment he said cloth and water, you wanted to break free from his grasp because no one could see it or he'll haunt you again.

Sherlock was watching you while the nights he was inflicted those flooded your mind. Tears well up on your eyes as Sherlock took his hands off you.

"What did you do?" John said, nudging on the consulting detective and shoving you on the couch.

"She cringed when I mentioned 'cloth' and 'water'." Sherlock muttered. "She must be probably in shock."

"I guess you would want to see it, Sherlock." John said softly, his gaze never leaving the bruises forming around the base of your throat, as well as the dark circles around your eyes.

Sherlock noticed something peeking from your pockets. He found a residue of a cosmetic on the hem of the pocket. He found a packet of a concealer you used to hide the scars on your wrist.

Aside from the stain on your pockets, he found the same on the end of your coat.

"Calm her down, John." Sherlock orders, starting to deduce. "Client started to talk about her husband who vanishes at night...meanwhile, when I asked for a cloth and water, she cringed...meaning she was hiding something with cosmetic concealers--a mark around the base of her throat, probably caused by choking...dark bags underneath her eyes which were the effect of hoping that her husband would come back and the one on her wrist, which I assume a mark she did on her own. The stain on her coat was probably made when Mrs. Hudson was busy in the kitchen and at the same time, it is when I told John to fetch her downstairs."

"She passed out. In shock." John murmured, possibly in the same state as you were.

"That's really helping, eh?"

-----

The moment you regained consciousness, they asked you to state your sentiments once again. Aside from that, Sherlock has offered you a gruesome drink and made you feel a little stronger somehow.

"He comes back every night...there are times that I'll see tears from his blue eyes; there are times that I couldn't explain."

"Like what?"

"His eyes would lit yellowish and he'll attack me, telling me to stop."

"What does he want you to stop?" John asked.

"I don't know. Patrick just screams stop." You murmured.

Sherlock sat down, resting his fingers underneath his chin. "This is quite a story, hmm?" He chuckled. "How long?"

"A year after they shot music videos." You stuttered. "Patrick never fights his friends, but afterwards, they're always on fights."

You took out your phone and looked at Patrick's picture and sighing deeply, hoping this would end really soon.

-----

Returning to your flat, it chilled you to the bones when you found Patrick sitting on the floor, resting his face on his hands.

"Patrick?" You murmured, sitting right next to him.

"It doesn't stop, Y/N." He sobs and it broke your heart seeing him breaking into pieces.

"Tell me what were you referring to. I might get help." You said softly.

"I can't." Patrick cries. "No...No."

He grabs his hair and let out an agonizing scream before sinking into the floor once again.

Your phone was in your hands, ready to call the two.

"Did you miss me?" Patrick's voice changed, as well as the color of his eyes. He lunged himself on you, hovering, as he grabbed your hands and swatched the phone away.

Tears pricked your eyes begging him to give back the 'Patrick' you loved and cherished.

As your agonized screams resonated in the room, fortunately, your phone was hit on a cord and made a call to Pete and was haunted by the words he heard from the person he used to call his best friend.

(guys my phone is that sensitive)