Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Sherlock Imagine

"But...breakfast?"

"You'll take it in here, I've got science on the table."

"I thought we said no science before breakfast."
"That was before you moved out."

He set her in John's chair, presumably because it was more comfortable.

"Why did you take me out of the hospital?"
"They were understaffed and busy. I couldn't stay there the entire time to ensure you got the proper care, and so the only option was to bring you here."

"Why didn't you just put me in my room?"
"You're asking an awful lot of questions. The bed wasn't made."

He took this as enough talking, and moved over to the window. She thought he might pick up his violin, but he just stood there, staring out at the streets. There was something wrong with him, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was, especially since she was the one that got shot.

A few minutes later, John came in with eggs, toast, bacon and tea--all on a tray and delivered to her like she was either rich or in a hospital.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do all this though."
"All this? It's just breakfast."
"Yeah, but it's really nice. Thank you."

He moved over to Sherlock's empty chair, tea in hand.

"How're you feeling? You've got pain medication, if you'd like."
"Oxycontin?"
"Yeah."
"No thank you. I prefer being able to feel  my face. This is good."

"Alright, that's fine. I'm glad."

The silence from then on hung thickly, unnaturally. Y/n detected something off between John and Sherlock, and something off between Sherlock and herself.

"Alright," she spoke as she wiped her mouth, "I'll bite. What's got you two so quiet? Sherlock hasn't gone off about boredom or a case, and you're not fussing over anything. Did something happen while I was asleep?"

John glanced back at his friend for a moment, before turning back to the girl who had become like a sister to him.

"I think it's just a lot, you getting hurt. You're kind of the baby of the 'family'."
"Everyone gets hurt, John. More importantly, the best people get back up. I'll be fine."
"We know that." Sherlock cut in, tersely. "Of course you will. You absolutely must."

"Are we aware who shot me? That's something we could--"
"Doesn't matter who, it matters where the order came from. And we know Moriarty sent someone after you, and we know he didn't want you dead. He just wanted to remind us that we're all human, and that the things we do are dangerous. He wanted to remind me that we're all human here."

"Are you frazzled, Sherlock? It's not like we haven't been shot at before."

"We've been shot at, and we've been targeted, but you've never been targeted."
"You knew it was going to happen eventually. I just have to be more careful."
"It doesn't matter what you do, you'll probably end up dead the next time you step near a window."

"Sherlock!" John snapped. "Enough, this isn't the time."

"The time for what? Are you putting me into witness protection, or something like that? Stop overreacting."

"There was a brief period, Y/n," Sherlock seethed, "a bleak moment, when I sincerely believed that you might die."

"I was shot in the stomach."
"And you nearly died of shock on the scene. It was also very likely that you were going to go into sepsis, and I'm honestly not sure how you didn't."

"Well I didn't, and that's all that matters."

"No. You're missing the point. I go parading through this world well aware of my mortality and my enemies. Sometimes I forget that I've got you two trailing behind me."

"Oh, so you don't want petty casualties on your conscience, is that it?"

"That isn't what he means." John provided. "He's just upset, and he's blaming himself."
"I'm putting the blame where it belongs, anyways. And I don't want you actively working cases with me anymore."

"What?! I'm human, and so I can't work with you anymore? That's it?"
"Yes. You're painfully human, and you're alive. I won't be the reason you end up dead."
"But Sherlock--"
"No. Nothing more. Go live your life, and stop trying to live vicariously through mine."

He stormed out, and the sound of a door slamming was heard.

"He's just upset." John attempted. "He's not kicking you to the curb."

"He's not, you're right. He already has."

~~~~

"And next month, when it's all just scar tissue, I'm putting up new wallpaper." Y/n chirped as she walked into her apartment.

"Why? What you've got already is fine."

"I don't like it." She sniffed, turning to the two men who were standing in her doorway. "What are you just standing there for? Come in."

Sherlock cleared his throat, turned on his heel, and walked away without saying a word. John's gaze slowly met hers, and his expression was that of a guilty man.

"Going to work a case, are you? Just dropping me off beforehand?"
"Y/n, don't be like this. He just wants what's best for you."
"Because that's a decision he should really be making."
"Now you can get your job back a the paper, and you won't have to live off of royalty checks."
"I can't wait." She drawled, hand already on the door. "Good luck, Watson."

"I...thank you. Feel better."
"Mm-hm."

"I can try to change his mind?"
"You can't. He's already given up on me."
"None of this is your fault."

"And it wasn't my fault when I broke my wrist on a case and he didn't talk to me for a month, either. This is how he is. He sees damage, and he recoils. This time his mind decided that it was safer to just forget me entirely."

"He'll never forget you, and stop acting like this is goodbye!"

"But it is, isn't it?"
"He cares about you."
"And that frightens him. Goodbye, John."

"It's not--" She closed the door on him, softly. He sighed as small, fractured sobs started bubbling up behind the slab of wood that separated them, and slowly walked out to join Sherlock. He wanted to say again that it wasn't the end, but he knew deep down that it was.