Lost Girl 🔍 (Sherlock x Reader) [EDITING]

Chapter 53: Faith...?

It's time. I hated her, so much because for a second... I shipped it. I thought: Oh look, I guess Sherlock could actually get a girlfriend nOO KYLO WAIT JOHNLOCK JOHNLOCK JOHNLOCK.

Not my best work but the next part I wrote down on some paper (I know I say this a lot I just think that my writing sucks)

WARNING: BRIEF MENTION OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE

AnYWAY... I hope you enjoy the part

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Sherlock's POV

Strange. Strange woman in my house. Strange markings on the floor. Strange how (Y/N) just sits there without interrupting as this strange woman talks to me about... strangeness.

"I can't remember who my father wanted to kill..." The woman continued, hands clenching on the top of her cane. "...and I don't know if he ever did it." She forgot? Highly unlikely, what's another alternative?

"Well, you've changed. You no longer top up your tan and your roots are showing." I deduced, sighing as I looked at my phone, sitting in John's chair opposite to (Y/N) who sat nonchalantly sipping tea on my chair. "Letting yourself go?" Now you're just being bitter, the voice in my head said, strangely it sounded like the woman sitting across from me. (Y/N).

"Do you ever look in the mirror and want to see someone else?" The woman asked me closely, examining me up and down. That's what I thought I saw at least. 

"No." I dismissed her, shooting her an intense glare. "Do you own an American car?"

"I'm sorry?"

"He means left-hand drive, not American." (Y/N) chimes in, stretching herself on the chair, making my mouth drop and my eyes widen. Who knew someone like this could be so beautiful? You did, idiot. 

"No. Why-why do you ask?" Why did I ask her that?

"Not sure, actually. Probably just noticed something." 

And so we went on, back and forth, making my deductions and forgetting if they had any crucial meaning to me, deciding they didn't afterwards. (Y/N) had to help me a few times, most of the time I forgot how to say certain words; she wasn't upset with me amazingly, she was trying to stay... positive. Soon I drove Faith out and she was walking away, walking down the stairs... away.

"Go." (Y/N) said, almost bitterly, but gave me a tight lipped smile to reassure me. "Handbag." Quickly, I nodded towards her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek and started stumbling down the stairs to chase after the woman. 

"Stop! Wait!" I called, half running and half stumbling down the stairs in my drunken stupor. "Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it, do you hear me?" I point at her, making her look at me as if I was insane, which was quite possible at the moment. "Off it."

"Sorry?" She asks, leaning on her cane and limping back towards me. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You said you came here in a taxi, yet there is no taxi waiting in the street outside. That's what I checked when I went to the window. And you've got all the way to the door and not made any move to phone for one, and look at you. You didn't even bring a coat – in this rain? Now, well, that might mean nothing, except for the angle of the scars on your left forearm; you know, under that sleeve that you keep pulling down." Faith pulls her left sleeve down; oh... I didn't want to be right.

"Y-you never saw them." (Y/N) rushed to my mind; when I was... dead; she had the same scars on her right arm. Oh, I really wish I wasn't right. I chided by inner voice and tried to shut it up, but the other voice made (Y/N) a promise, that it'll be there for her. That person is covered in layers and layers of heroin and morphine unfortunately.