The Exception // SHERLOCK x READER //

Chapter 4

!!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!

      - VERBAL AB*SE

     - MANIPULATION

     - *!!! WARNING START

     - !!!* WARNING END

1st Person POV

After the whole ordeal with Sherlock, my intrusive thoughts got the better of me. I thought I was a good person; someone any normal person could easily get along with and talk to. But, I guess I was wrong, and he was right.

*!!!

'You're too soft,' he said. 'No one would love you, no one. You're a runt; you're pathetic and undeserving of anyone else's love and attention, don't you see that?' He would slap my face, shove me back to the ground when I got up saying, 'Don't think people are as honest as me. I'm the best thing you'll ever have in life, you do understand that, right?' Then he'd grab my face, pinch both sides of my jaw just so my bleary eyes could meet his blood shot ones.

He'd kiss my busted lip, cause it to reopen, but insist it would take away the pain.

'Because you're my little nobody,' he'd say, 'and I love you, and I always will.'

!!!*

I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself down. I could feel my heart beat race, my pulse begin to speed up, and my mind to be flooded with unbearable memories.

'Breath in and out,' I reminded myself. But, before I knew it, tears trickled down my cheeks, one after the other. The muscles that made up my face contorted into a frown, curled up on the ground surrounded by the mess I made in attempt to organize the apartment, an attempt of getting my life together.

After having enough of my self-wallowing, I got up wiped the tears off my face, and got ready for bed. It was a long day tomorrow and I didn't want to mess up what I had going on. The boxes were already organized enough to take down to the café next door in the morning.

* * * 

3rd Person POV

Sunlight cut through the window curtains and into 221B, waking up a sleepy Sherlock. He grunted and shielded his eyes from the sun, but it was hopeless. He felt his head throb in pain, making him get up to fetch some pain killers near the bathroom sink.

Lazily, Sherlock then decided it was time to get his act together and quit his moping. 'Emotions, sentiment – they never get anyone far,' he told himself. 'Those pesky feelings only slow me down and I can't be bothered.'

With that in mind, he shaved, washed his face, and dressed himself for the day despite feeling sick to his stomach. Then, once finished, he turned his attention to the apartment.

It was quiet and lonely, he had to admit. But, maybe he liked it that way. So, he slumped back onto the couch and checked the time on the wall clock. It was an hour past noon, leaving not too much of the day left to do too much. Still, Sherlock remained motionless on the couch, bored out of his mind and still recovering from the lingering feeling of guilt.

Thunk, Thunk, thunk.

He heard a noise coming from outside the apartment. Being the curious (and nosey) man he was, Sherlock opened the door and peeked into the hall. The noise became louder and clearer; it was (Y/n) carrying boxes down the steep stairs, nearly toppling over while doing so, as well.

Her (h/c) hair fell loosely from her messy bun held in a banana clip; her eyes sparkled in the poking sunlight through the windows; and her clothes that fit so comfortably on her form, flattering her figure. She gently picked up a cardboard box nearly half of her size and stumbled, causing Sherlock to almost rush over to help. Of course, he didn't.

Instead, he watched (Y/n) catch her balance, push open the door and leave the building. The quiet stillness that occupied the air returned. It was peaceful, but it felt unsettling at the same time. Without restraint, Sherlock gave into his curiosity and took a look outside the building after wondering where (Y/n) had gone off to. There he saw her carry the box into the café next door, struggling to push the door but eventually letting herself in.

'Oh, so you're the one that bought that café,' he thought. 'Should have taken you for a baker.'

It was only then that Sherlock's interest was piqued. He felt the need to gather information of his mysterious neighbor. Sherlock quickly turned around, grabbed the nearest box lying about, and headed out the door and into the café.

It was about time he figured out just who was living across from his apartment in 221C.