Emilia
I was laying in my own bed, tangled up in the sheets, when I heard the commotion of John dragging in a drugged Sherlock. I closed my eyes, my tears drying on my cheeks as I listened to them in the hallway, trying to make it to Sherlock's room.
"No, no, Sherlock. Leave Emilia be. She's really not in the mood to talk to you right now."
"Why not?"
"Because A, you're drugged and talking nonsense, B, she's had enough things to overwhelm her today, and C, you broke her heart, Sherlock. She loves you and you hurt her."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know, Sherlock, but you did. You did in the cab after the palace, and you did again when you knew where to look."
"There was a gun to her head."
"And I'm thankful that you saved her life Sherlock, but she doesn't want to see you right now."
"I need to tell her something."
"Tell her what?"
"She is wrong. I do have feelings."
"Sherlock, you're drugged and not making any sense. Get into bed. You won't remember any of this is the morning."
The creak of a body slumping into bed could be heard, and more muffled mumbling, before John said goodnight and closed Sherlock's door. I knew he would come to my room, and heard his footsteps approaching. Listening to their conversation in the hall only made me feel worse. Sherlock needed help, and I couldn't bring myself to get up and help him. I was so angry, and so hurt, and so lonely and embarrassed. Sure, he said he had feelings, but he was so drugged out beyond his mind he has no idea what he was saying. It was all nonsense. None of it was true or real. He didn't love me and he never would.
There was a soft knock on the door and I didn't answer, but it opened slowly anyway. "Em?" John asked quietly. "Do you want to talk?"
"Not really." I muttered. "I'll be looking for a new job and a flat soon. I can't stay here." I mumbled softly, having thought about it the whole trip back to Baker Street.
"Emilia, come on." He frowned and sat at the edge of the bed.
I shook my head and sat up to look at him. "I can't, John. He knows I love him, and he treats me terribly sometimes, whereas other times he's incredibly kind... It's like he can't decide if he wants to be nice to me or not. I don't understand it. And after just meeting Irene Adler, he looked at her, John. He really looked at her, in places he should not have been looking."
John sighed. "Look, all I know is, he's happier when you are around and you are happier when he is around and having you here with us feels right. This feels like how family always should feel. Where would you even go?" He questioned.
"Anywhere I can." I sighed. "Everything he said in the hall, I heard. And I know it's all bullsh*te because he's drugged and doesn't know what he's saying. I'm going job searching tomorrow, and I'll move back to our parent's house until I can afford my own house someplace close so I can still see you. Either way, tomorrow, I'm gone."
"What?" His frown deepened, enhancing the crinkles on his face. "Em, you can't- you can't go back there." He argued. "They're abusive and-"
"John, I'm an adult and I can think for myself." I said seriously. "I am leaving tomorrow whether you like it or not. Now, please, just let me go to bed." I muttered and laid back down, covering myself completely with the duvet.
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