Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 70- Forced Seduction

Millie's POV

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"Millie, we need to talk."

I ignore John completely, and continue trying to reach the book currently situated on the highest shelf.

"You can't keep up this silence forever."

Almost there.

"Millie."

My fingers brush the spine, and it teeters precariously, before toppling down to the ground with a resounding thud and cloud of dust. I cough- and then regret it. It hurts. John said that the bruising on my throat would go down eventually, but there might be some internal swelling. I decided to abstain from speaking, to prevent unnecessary discomfort.

That, and I don't know what to say anymore.

John picks up the book before I can get to it.

"Right. You're not getting this back until you sit down, with Sherlock and I, and talk this through."

I scowl at him, and try to snatch the book out of his grasp, but he just steps away neatly and shakes his head-

"Now."

I sigh, and let my hands fall to my sides. 

John senses my defeat, and smiles, wanly-

"Let's get this over with."

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Emily's POV

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I pause outside 221B for the third time this week, my hand hovering above the polished wood, ready to knock.

But I don't.

I drop my hand, and sigh, turning around and walking back down the steps, feeling awful. It's been a week since my unexpected outburst. And I still haven't apologised. I can't bring myself to do it. Partially because I've always found apologising unnecessarily difficult, but mainly because I don't want to see Sherlock, Millie and John look at me like I know they will- full of caution, anger and apprehension. I've screwed up, big time. And I don't think I can ever make up for it. Also, I'm still kicking myself for admitting to Moran that the whole 'madly-in-love-with-a-sociopath'  was simply an act.

All the confliction, all that meticulous planning- for nothing.

The weather is matching my mood; I'm halfway down the street when it starts to rain. Not just drizzle- no, that would be far too convenient- it starts to pour. I don't bother running for shelter. I just continue walking, letting the rain wash over me in a unceasing sheet. I feel my curls unravel with the weight of the water, and my pony-tail disintegrates; my hair falls across my face in damp strands, and I let it, shaking it out into a mass of dark ringlets.

By the time I reach my apartment, my hands are red and numb with cold, and whatever make-up I put on in the morning is now streaking my cheeks with black.

I must look pretty scary right now. Scary is good.

The first roll of thunder sounds in the background, and it's so dark it could easily by night. I open the door, discarding the sodden jacket on the floor with a wet thud, and sit down heavily, folding my arms and thinking about all the mistakes I've made.

There's another wave of thunder, louder this time. The apartment is momentarily illuminated as the first lightning strikes.

"Hi, Emily."