Save Me Sherlock (Sherlock x Depressed Reader)

Chapter 11: Panic and Pain

"Y/n, what is this," Sherlock asked with the flower still in his hand.

"Put it down. Put it down right now," you demanded.

Sherlock carefully set the flower back into the box and closed the lid on it. You wiped the tears off of your cheeks slowly and tried to control your breathing, but with little success.

"Y/n, I need you to tell me what is happening right now," Sherlock said again.

You weren't listening. All that was happening in your head was panic. You were getting fragmented memories. Little snippets of a life you didn't previously remember living. You saw a hand holding a rose just like the one in the box and it too had blood dripping down the petals. You saw the rose in someone's breast pocket of their suit as their body lay on the ground. And then you saw yourself, kneeling over the body, your reflection grinning devilishly in the mirror.

"Y/n," Sherlock called out.

You saw a little girl sitting in a large leather chair behind a desk and a vase full of roses in front of her. An older man came up to her and picked one of the roses out. You could see them talking but you couldn't quite hear the words. The man handed the rose to the girl and you saw her cry out when one of the thorns cut her finger.

"Y/n!" Sherlock yelled.

You saw a small apartment where people dressed in black were crying and comforting each other. They open the door and find a vase with a single red rose in it. The vase isn't filled with water though. It's filled with blood.

"Y/N!!!" Sherlock screamed.

It was a sign. It was always a sign. It was the worst kind of sign.

It was a warning.

"I need to leave," you mumbled before jolting up on your feet and frantically running to the closet to pull out the boxes.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he followed you, clearly confused.

"I have to go far far far away from here and as soon as possible," you said as you made your way to your room with two boxes in tow.

"Y/n, I need you to tell me what's happening. What does that rose mean. It obviously means something or you wouldn't have reacted that way," he said, grabbing hold of your arm to stop you.

"Don't touch me!" you exclaimed as you ripped your arm out of his grip.

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Sherlock sneered before continuing, "You can't go anywhere."

"I am not being ridiculous. I know what that rose means. I have to leave. And you can't tell me what to do!" you replied before continuing to the bedroom and setting the boxes on your bed.

"What does it mean y/n. Sooner or later I'm going to find out. You know that," Sherlock reasoned with you.

You huffed and turned around. You knew he was right. It would be better to just tell him now so he could obsess about it by himself and you could pack.

"It's a warning. For me," you began, sitting down on your bed.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, paying close attention to everything you were saying.

"I don't exactly know why I know what it means. It seems like my life is a lot more complicated than I remember because I have these........these memories. Well, they're more like parts of-"

"Cut to the point," Sherlock interrupted.

"The rose is sent to people as a sign. It's sent to people to warn them that something, or more like someone, is coming for them. It can be sent to the one victims or their families. Or both. It depends. But I know that everybody who has received one.......hasn't survived," you finished.

Sherlock looked you up and down. His eyebrows creased in confusion and his lips twisted into a frown.

"Why couldn't I read it on you......" he asked himself.

"I didn't even know myself. I'm still not sure where these memories are coming from. I mean I don't even.....I didn't......" you trailed off because you didn't know how to continue that sentence.

"You have a lot more to you than meets the eyes y/n. And I..... I mean we.....are going to figure it out," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock I can't. I don't want to. I know my past. I have memories of my past and of my life. I don't want to mess with that. I know my life. I just need to run away and escape whatever this is," you insisted.

"Y/n, if what you said is true then running away isn't going to do you any good. You need to get to the bottom of this," Sherlock said.

You sighed. He was right once again. But then again, Sherlock usually was.

".......you're right," you mumbled.

"Obviously," he replied in typical Sherlock fashion.

"We have to figure this out," you said.

"Exactly. Now I was thinking-"

"But," you cut him off, "it's going to be on my terms. It's my life we're messing with here. My head. My thoughts. My life. So we're doing it my way."

You looked at yourself in the mirror and something became increasingly clear.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.