Sherlock x Reader

What a beautiful wedding.

Of course you knew that. But oh, how much you wished you could pretend that everything was okay. How much you longed for the days when you weren't caught up in this psychotic, lustful, relationship. Because you couldn't even call it love. And though she might sense it, you could never tell Mary how much you were scared of what would happen if Sherlock got bored with you. Fortunately, you were snapped out of your twisted reverie by your companion clearing her throat.

"Look, I think we're both a bit drained after this little talk. We can continue this back at your flat, if you need to talk some more but for now, we need to find you something to wear. You know, for the wedding that you so readily accepted an invitation to? There is a distinct theme, and I'm not having you turn up in some awful boring dress or worse, in jeans."

You both had a laugh at this because, knowing you, you would have probably forgotten about the wedding until the last minute and thrown on any old attire. How good it felt, to laugh so easily, without having more unpleasant things to think about.

And so you got back home late, after a "short trip" to the shops turned into hours of walking between this shop and that one, seeing something you hadn't seen the first time round and then dismissing it in favour of another look into that other shop. In an attempt to update your wardrobe, you'd made the stupid decision to wear heels and the hours spent on your feet all day had taken their toll. But hey, that's what the weekend was for, right? You chuckled a little and thanked your lucky stars that you weren't on call this weekend, that you could spent the Sunday relaxing and spending as little time as possible walking. You'd just sat down and were about to feel that blissful relief in taking your heels off when you heard someone walking down the stairs. Well, not someone. Sherlock.

Since that... incident after the talk with Mary and John, his visits had become very frequent; but anything but regular. He could ignore you for a week and leave only the ghost of his last kiss or go to the other extreme, and pull you back into his arms after not seeing you for mere hours. You didn't know what he was doing, what trick he was trying to play. It was working, whatever it was. Each encounter only left you pining for him, and it seemed that he only viewed you as the outlet for the lust he felt, that he was so disgusted at himself for having in the first place.

And when you heard the front door open and close, there was no other emotion you could feel but dejection. You were his puppet. That was it, wasn't it? This must be his payback for the time you'd been working with Moriarty, when you'd had the power to play with his feelings. So now he was just returning the favour.

God.

What was wrong with the both of you?

How had your life changed so drastically that this behaviour seemed justified?

You had to stop it, stop him. You couldn't keep this up. What was going to happen to you if you let him go on like this?

Ha. You knew the answer to that. The darkness was always welcoming, always just out of sight.

You stood up, heels still on, and walked to the bathroom. The mirror showed what it always did - just the same reflection that seemed to get wearier day after day. The eye makeup had started to smudge, which only made the dark circles under your eyes more obvious. Everything seemed so easy and carefree during the impromptu shopping trip with Mary, and the fitting room mirrors only showed a reflection of some distant, happy person. If only you could channel her happiness now. You looked like you hadn't slept for a week.