Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 68- Brutality

Millie's POV

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It's agony. 

I can't watch them, as they bend over the counter, totally consumed in what can only be described as raw lust. John says something, but I don't hear him. Emily pulls away, looking at me strangely- she doesn't appear defiant, or embarrassed, but there's something else, as she searches my face with grey eyes. I can't pinpoint the emotion she is portraying. I don't recognise it. But the look she gives me is fleeting, and then she's smiling at Sherlock, inviting him wordlessly to follow her to another room. 

 I'm furious at myself for letting this affect me so strongly. This should not hurt like it does. My actions and feelings are not justified. I was never in any kind of relationship with Sherlock, and never intended to be.  

But it still hurts.

Everything I thought I knew about Sherlock has been undermined. 

I'd always believed that he viewed physical relationships as a waste of time, energy and intellect. They didn't concern him, and the only reason we trialed such events was for the sake of experimentation. 

But I was very, very wrong.

And that does not sit comfortably with me at all.

Emily, however, is a different matter altogether. I do not understand Sherlock's intentions or actions. And that confusion is preventing me from blaming him for the potent pain I'm experiencing. But Emily- she knew. She was aware of how I viewed my relationship with Sherlock; although I didn't see it as romantic, it was the closest I'd ever got to something of that nature. She knew. 

And I hate her for it.

They've gone into the bedroom, now. My bedroom. And I can hear them talking. But I don't listen to the words, because my adrenaline levels are beginning to spike. In the next few minutes, Emily is going to notice that something is wrong.

There's the slam of a door, and Sherlock half staggers, half walks, out of the room- it looks like he's been pushed out. He regains his balance, and pauses on the landing. I take in his ruffled hair and unbuttoned shirt, the pink undertone in his cheeks, and my stomach twists unpleasantly. I look away, studying the opposite wallpaper, counting the patterns.

Sherlock walks past me, scanning the room briefly before locking on to the wastepaper bin. He glares at John, then starts  retrieving the discarded newspaper articles, his scowl deepening as he sees the disarray his careful order has been exposed to. He gathers them up, then pointedly sits away from John and I, and begins sorting through them again. 

John takes in Sherlock's stubborn silence, and my pale discomfort, and stands up-

"Sherlock, we need to talk."

"No we don't."

"You've gone too far."

We both look up at the anger in his voice.

"It's one thing playing around with people's emotions- you were, and you know it. Acting like that around Millie, then dropping her, just because someone else caught your attention. That was bad enough. But what you just did then- that was cruel, Sherlock. That was something Moriarty would do."

Sherlock doesn't look up from the article, he just studies the words intently, seemingly unperturbed by John's accusations.

This pushes John over the edge. He storms over to Sherlock, slams his fist into the table, more angry than I have ever seen him before-