Save Me Sherlock (Sherlock x Depressed Reader)

Chapter 6: The Interview

For once, you woke up from sleep very peacefully. There was no bad dream startling you and there was no voices telling you to do anything bad. It was probably the first time in a long time that it had happened, and it would probably also be the last time for a long time. You didn't take it for granted. You slept for as long as you could and when you did wake up, you spent a few minutes laying down in a relaxed position on the couch.

You looked around the apartment and it was pitch black, only a little light coming in from the window where the moon was shining in the sky. You rubbed your eyes and got up, making your way to the kitchen. While you enjoyed the nap, you knew that you had screwed your chances of sleeping anymore, so you decided to make some tea and look more for jobs. You put a pot on and stared boiling some water and then turned the computer on.

You were not having much luck still, so the sound of the kettle boiling was a welcome distraction. You finished making your tea and sighed, beginning to think about the day. You hoped the little boy was doing well. He would most likely be put into foster care or go to an orphanage. He would have scars, physically must also mentally and emotionally, from the event for the rest of his life. It saddened you that something like this could happen to someone so young and innocent, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

I was drawn out of my head again, but this time by the sound of the violin. I hadn't even recognized that it wasn't there until it had started again. This song was slow and beautiful, creating images of far away places and magical dreams, but it soon began to turn more agonizing. It sounded so full of pain and I found myself at the door of my flat. I opened it and made my way quietly up the stairs, stopping at Sherlock and John's door to their flat. I didn't know why I was there, but I couldn't force myself to leave. The music was just so captivating.

You put your hand on the door, not intending to open it, as the music got slower. It still sounded agonizing but the pain you were feeling was of a different kind now. This one was more like........acceptance. Accepting something horrible or unexpected that you wish you could change.

Suddenly, the music stopped. It took you a second to recognize it, but when you did, you began to head downstairs and go to your flat. It was the sound of the door opening behind you. Slowly, you turned around and saw Sherlock standing there impatiently with his violin and bow in his hand. He was holding the door open and was standing to the side, implying that he was waiting for you to go inside.

"I-"

"Just come inside," Sherlock said, cutting off your excuse before you could say it.

You tried to speak again but the look on his face suggested that you should just do as he says. You sighed, calming down your nerves at being caught and at having to socialize, before going inside. You heard the door close behind you and then Sherlock passed you, walking back into the living room. He sat the violin down into his case and replaced everything before shutting it.

"Why were you outside my door?" Sherlock asked, standing up now and staring at you intently from the other side of the room.

You fidgeted under the gaze.

"A-aren't you supposed to know those kinds of things already? Genius detective and-and everything?" you replied.

Sherlock only huffed out a small laugh and a small grin that was barely readable on his features.

"Tea?" he asked.

"I actually just had some...." you mumbled.

"Good, because I don't really feel like making any," he replied.

"They why did you ask?" you questioned him, walking closer to him.

"To see what you would say. Of course I already knew you had tea. Genius detective and everything," he repeated as a joke.

My lips tipped up a little at his words. I pulled at the hem of my shirt, suddenly self conscious about my sleepwear. I was in a long sleeved white t-shirt and black shorts that had at least 3 stains on them and none of them from food.

Sherlock sat down on the couch and motioned for you to do the same. You did and made sure to sit so your legs were pulled up against your chest. It hid most of the stains.

"Ms. Hudson hasn't fixed the heating in the flat then?" Sherlock asked, hands steepled under his chin as he stared out the window.

"Pardon?" you asked, confused.

"You're in long sleeves in the middle of summer," he commented, turning his gaze to my arms for a moment before resuming his staring at nothing.

"No, I just like sleeping in warm clothes. It helps me sleep better," you said, surprised at you're ability to lie so easily.

He hummed before turning to face me fully. He had his hands in his lap now, his legs in a cross cross. His brightly colored eyes burned holes into mine and I was beginning to regret coming up to his flat door.

"You never answered my question," he said, deep voice vibrating through me.

"I-I did," you retorted.

"No, you avoided it. I want to know from your own mouth why you're here. I want to know I'm right," he continued.

You began to get more nervous, but you couldn't just up and leave. You let your gaze drift away from his eyes and to the violin packed away in its case.

"I came up to your door because when you were playing the violin......." you trailed off, looking for the right words.

Sherlock sat there and waited for you to finish. He was still staring at you intently and you watched him in your peripheral view. He never moved.

"It sounded like you had a story to tell. Like you were finally telling one. Your story. And it reminded me of my own," you finished, looking back at him again.

Sherlock had relatively the same expression on his face but with a few small changes. His gaze was softer, not pitiful, but softer. His brows creased in confusion even though you didn't quite know yet that's what it meant. But the most memorable change was that of his eyes. Once harsh and dangerous looking, they were now calmer and.....sadder. As if he was stuck in his head and reliving some part of himself that he hadn't realized still needed attention.

"I think it's time I g-go back to my flat," you mumbled before hurriedly jumping off the couch and practically running back down to your flat.

The look on Sherlock's face was nothing like any you had ever seen on his face before. Not in any of the pictures you saw and not like any you had seen over the past few days. And it certainly didn't fit with his personality, or a least the personality that Sherlock displayed and wanted everybody believe. You knew a mask when you saw one. When one has a mask of their own, it gets easier to see the signs.

Sherlock Holmes definitely has a mask on, an a strong one at that. But you were determined to get it off.