BBC Sherlock imagines

Assault

Warning: mention of sexual assault.
(Also I apologise for the bad title but I couldn't think of anything.)Xx
You are a Sargent at Scotland Yard and tonight you had to work late after a kidnapping of a young girl. Unfortunately the case had been fairly simple and you all managed to wrap it up without the need of Sherlock Holmes' expertise. You made your way out onto the cold, dark streets of London, and began to head to the flat you shared with Sherlock, your boyfriend. You were tired and knew the streets of London well, it came with your job, and decided you'd get home quicker if you turned down an upcoming alley. Despite your intelligence, your common sense wasn't very strong and it didn't occur to you what you could be getting yourself into.
You turned the corner and walked straight into someone. You stood back and looked to see a tall, rather large, greasy looking man. He was about to shout when he got a good look at you and decided against it. Instead he grabbed your arm and forced you against the brick wall. It hurt and you let out a cry of pain, which only resulted in him getting angrier and shoving his big, rough hand in front of your mouth. You quickly realised his intentions when he forced himself upon you and began roughly kissing your jawline. Instinctively you brought your knee hard up where it hurt and bit his hand at the same time. He fell on the floor from the unexpected attack and you gave him one last jab in the side with your heel to keep him down long enough for you to run. And that you did. You ran and ran and ran- even when your legs began to ache and you lungs burned, you kept going. After what felt like an eternity, you finally reached Baker Street and you unlocked the door to 221b and fled up the steps as fast as you could manage and stumbled into your flat. Sherlock was sat on his chair asleep but the sound of you closing the door woke him up. "(Y/N) you're home" he mumbled rubbing his eyes. He then took one glance at you and his smile changed to a look of sheer panic. "Oh my god what's happened? Are you ok? Come here, come here." He leaped up and you made you way to him. You looked up at him, not saying a word. He nodded, understanding exactly what your silence and facial expression meant and then held out his arms. You collapsed into them and he held you tightly. The warmth and gentleness of his touch contrasted massively to what you had just experienced and the moment replayed in your head. This was enough to tip you over the edge and you burst into tears. Sherlock tightened his grip on you as you sobbed and gently lead you to the sofa, not letting go. You sat down and embraced for ages and when you had calmed down enough to talk, you told him everything that had happened. Sherlock leapt up, went and grabbed loads of blankets and pillows and made you both a cup of tea and then stayed up with you all night and in the morning called your work and explained what had happened and that you wouldn't be going in for at least a week. He also requested they sent Lestrade over (both of you trusted him) and he did and took your statement, promising to catch the guy who did it. Sherlock babied you all day- not that you were complaining, it was exactly what you needed. He was good like that, you never had to ask for anything- he just knew.