The Big Book Of Cumber-Character Imagines

Sherlock

----Story 1 part 3----

*three weeks later*

Your P.O.V:

You slowly walked out of the public restroom of the hospital, the straightjacket folded neatly in your arms. You had just changed into some blue skinny jeans, and Y/F/C sweater. You slowly approached the lobby, and your face seemed to light up as you saw Sherlock and John waiting for you. John gave you a small smile, and Sherlock stiffened. You also saw Mycroft talking to the receptionist. You tossed the straightjacket onto the desk, and walked over to them. "Y/N, great to see you feeling better," John said, hugging you. It had been three weeks since they had visited you. After you found out that Sherlock was alive, you seemed to improve mentally. You acted more cheerful, and started friendly conversations with the guards. But they still kept you in the straightjacket, which kinda sucked. After about two weeks of this, Mycroft finally convinced them to let you go.

A cool breeze brushed your hair across your face, which felt very relaxing. You all walked down the steps in front of the hospital. "Well, now that's over with!" Mycroft announced. "I have some work to do, pleasure seeing all of you," he added, walking in another without looking back. Sherlock just glared at him, but also seemed relieved that he was gone. Now it was just John, Sherlock, and you. "I'll hail a cab," john said, as he waved a cab down. Now that john was up in front of you, it was now just you and Sherlock. You kept your gaze down at your feet. You didn't know what he was thinking. You couldn't tell of he was pissed at you for going insane over him. He'd probably never want to even be your friend knowing you were like that.....no. You couldn't think like that. A cab pulled up to the sidewalk as we got in, and I shut the door. "Where to?" The driver said. "Baker Street," sherlock replied, leaning back against the seat. "Um, can I go home too?" You asked, confused. "Sorry, but I think you have some explaining to do," sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. You felt your cheeks flush red in anger. "You too," you muttered, and turned to look out the window.

Sherlocks P.O.V:

I rested my head against the headrest, trying to relax. My mind was definetly an absolute mess right at the moment. It has been ever since that hospital visit. "Where to?" Our driver asked. "Baker Street," I replied without a moment of hesitation. As expected, I saw a confused look on Y/N's face. "Um, can I go home too?" She asked. I thought about it for a moment. Should she go home now, and have some time to settle down? But I needed answers to many questions I had, and I wasn't very patient. "Sorry, but I think you have some explaining to do," I sighed, closing my eyes. Oops. That came out a little more harsher than I intended it to. "You too," she muttered. I felt john stiffen besides me. I knew she had questions. I knew she was most likely still pissed at me for making her go through something like that. But for some reason, I felt.....bad. And sorry. I definetly felt sorry for some reason. But why?! Why do I feel this way about her?! Am I having sentiment?! That can't be! I'm a high- functioning sociopath! I opened my eyes, and realized we were almost home. Y/N was gazing out the window, and john was just sitting there. 'I need to distract myself from this...sentiment,' I thought to myself. But that huge pit of guilt ached throughout my chest. "Umm, Y/N," I finally said. She turned to look at me. "Why did you do that to your hair? It doesn't exactly suit you, I don't approve of it," I finished. She just glared at me. "Well, I don't need you to approve of it," she snapped. Finally, the cab pulled in front of 221B Baker St.

Your P.O.V:

"Y/N, you're back!" Ms. Hudson gasped, hugging you. "Nice to see you too," you sighed as you hugged her back. "Oh deary, I heard what happened! Its good to know that you are feeling better. Here, I'll get you all some tea," she said as we entered Sherlock's flat. Sherlock propped himself down into his favorite chair, and motioned for you to sit in the one across from him. "Sit," he said as you did so. You really weren't in the mood for arguing. John sat on the couch, and leaned forwards. Sherlock folded his hands in a prayer position, and leaned his chin against them. "So, you managed to end up in a mental hospital. Am I correct?" He asked, it was such a rhetorical question. You just nodded. "Did you really miss me that much?" He sighed, closing his eyes. You looked at your shoes. "Well, Sherlock, you are an amazing friend to me, and it well. I hurt so much to see you die, I mean, I definetly mourned-""All I want is a direct answer for now, please," he said, cutting you off. Your breath got caught in the back of your throat. "Y-yes," you finally said. He inhaled sharply. "Now, Y/N, I know you want to here some answers as well," he began. Then, he told you the whole story. How as part of his little game to make Sherlock look bad, he threatened to kill the three people closest to him: john, ms. Hudson, and you. That was, unless Sherlock suicided. Sherlock knew what he was up too, and formed a plan that included faking his death to everyone but a couple of people, including your close friend, Molly. "Look, Y/N, I am truly sorry for what I have put you through," he finished. You just nodded. He sighed. "Look, thank you for explaining all this, but I really need to go, its getting late," you said as you stood up to leave. The two of them were silent. Just as you were about leave, Sherlock spoke. "Y/N, Mycroft mentioned something about self harm. I'm hoping that is not true, " he said, looking at you. You gulped. Why was he asking this? He should already know. He does know just about everything, after all. You didn't want to talk about it. You went silent, and were suddenly so interested in the door. "Y/N..." Sherlock said, his voice tinted with concern. You still remained silent. "Y/N, roll up your sleeves..." He said, more concerned than ever. You shook your head. "No," you said, your voice cracking as you hurried out the door, and down the stairs. "Y/N, come back!" You heard his voice call from above, but you had already hurried into the dimly lit street.