The Pilfered Vixen

Whipped

M'kay I know. You all want to get your rocks out and throw them at me. I know. Admittedly, these past months have been an utter NUTHOUSE! I DID get into my university though UBC! UBC! Then was my grad dinner dance, that was okay I guess. Then was exams, which were terrible as you would expect, then was ACTUAL graduation, which was nice, I got a couple of awards. Then I WAS DONE HIGHSCHOOL FOREVER AAHAHAHAHAH! FREEDOM! Then I had to register for my courses at UBC, which are incredibly interesting. Feel free to ask. But yeah, I've been incredibly busy and I am SUPER sorry for not getting this up sooner.

You guys know I love you right? B/c I do.

I own nothing but Moira and that's about it.

Begin!

"Stop fussing, man. Go, go away."

My hands slapped at John's as I sat on the side of the hospital bed. It had been a month since I had been admitted to this God forsaken place, and I was itching to leave. John on the other hand was less enthusiastic about my discharge.

"Maybe you should stay another week," he had said, "I don't think those doctors did enough tests."

"John," I started firmly, "I am leaving this damn hospital, and nothing short of the apocalypse could stop me."

He huffed at that and left me alone in the room, grumbling to himself before shutting the door behind him. With a sigh, I fell back on the bed, staring up at the stark white ceiling, my mind wandering to a more disappointing topic.

One month in hospital meant one month since Jim had expressed his interest in me. And since then, I haven't seen hide nor hair of the asshole, neither Sebastian for that matter. I felt like tearing my hair out! Why did men have to be so infuriating!?

"Uggghh!" I groaned and half rolled half flopped onto the floor, pushing myself up towards my clothes. I had to get out of this sickly hospital gown.

After changing into the...questionable clothes Sherlock had brought me, (I mean does the guy know how I dress? Not in a pantsuit, I can tell you that,) I left my room and did not look back. Waiting for me in the hallway stood John and the aforementioned Sherlock, discussing something which was probably murder.

Well guess what folks; I've had enough of murder for a while! I should have known that that was what my life would turn into, ever since that fateful day in the café when I became the stand-in Watson.

I should have run then, ladies and gentlemen, I should have run fast and far because since then, my life has become a mess. With a heavy, depressive sigh, I hobbled past the two boys and down the hall, leaving them to watch, perplexed behind me. I just wanted to leave.

"Oi, Moira wait up!" my brother's voice rang out behind me. "You okay?"

He caught up and threw an arm over my shoulder, looking at me with that worried older brother face he makes. I shrugged lightly, because in actuality, no I wasn't okay. I had just witnessed the murder of a man, a terrible, horrible, wretched man, but a man all the same.

And then an equally terrible, horrible, and wretched man had told me he loved me, and I had said it back to him. My mind was going a thousand miles per hour. What was I thinking!? What if it all happened all over again? I had already been abused at the hands of one man and he had called it love, I was never going to let that happen again.

And neither, I think, would John.

"Eh, hospital blues I guess."

"Well I'm sure being back in your own apartment will cure you of that." John stated, confident in his diagnosis.