BBC: Sherlock x Reader

Time and Then Some |Part Seven|

Notes: Ah yes, Ren, you can breathe now! But, keep in mind, you did ask for this. As I conclude this miniseries, I breathe a sigh of relief, it has been a wild ride yall. It's like 2k words and I'm in no way apologising?

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The embers of the once cackling fire settled to a warm glow, and Sherlock stared at them with furrowed brows. Something wasn't right. He had this uncomfortable wrenching feeling in his stomach that sprouted a bad taste in his mouth. It was enough to make him stop playing his violin, and with an uneasy sigh, he puts his beloved instrument back in it's case.

He wondered at what could possibly be happening for him to be experiencing this long forgotten feeling of dread. He paced around his living room for a moment, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wondered, if maybe something was wrong with Y/n, she was the only other person that would elicit that kind of feeling from him.

Sherlock stopped pacing, hearing footsteps coming up the stairs of his flat and a very frantic heartbeat. He turns to face the entrance when three rapid knocks reached his ears. He already knew it was Y/n, he had already caught her scent, but the rapid pace of her heart had him worried as he walked to open the door.

Sherlock took in her apprence with a worried gaze, she stood on the other side, breathing harshly, looking like she just ran a mile, white knuckled hand gripping the strap of her handbag tightly. She had thrown her jacket and scarf on...she was clearly in a rush to get here.

Wordlessly, Sherlock allowed her to brush past him and into his flat. He closes the door and watched as she paced back and forth between the fireplace and the leather couch. She lifted her hand and pulled her scarf off, wincing slightly as the material brushed her skin.

It was then Sherlock noticed the unmistakable bruises on her neck. "What happened?" he asks calmly, mindful of her state. She jumps slightly and turns to face him, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

"Who are you?" she asks softly, and if it wasn't for his enhanced hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

Sherlock eyebrows furrows in confusion as he watches her. He was unsure where this was going, but he was damn well sure he wasn't going to like it. She puts her hand into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out a crumpled picture and turns it to him.

Sherlock tries to keep his expression as even as possible as he stared at the picture. A memory from a long time ago flashed in his mind, that picture was taken a few days after one of his big cases. Just a few months before the accident, before Molly, before he left.

John took that picture. He wasn't in a very good mood at the time, if he thought about it, he can't even remember what he was angry at. Maybe it was the fact that John kept on demanding he want to take a picture.

"Where did you get that?" Sherlock asks at length, watching her carefully. She takes a breath, staring at him, tears running down her now flushed cheeks.

"That doesn't answer my question." She says, her voice shaking now, "Who the hell are you?"

Sherlock noticed how her hand trembled, how she was having a hard time coming to terms with whatever happened to her. "Are you William Holmes or not?" she asks, her voice raising an octave.

Sherlock takes a breath, "Would I lie to you?" he asks, looking directly into her frightened eyes.

She drops her hand to her side, shrugging, she blinks, allowing more tears to make their way down her face. "I don't know." she smiles sadly, "I honestly don't know."

Sherlock sighs, "I am who I said, I didn't lie to you," he says, watching her.

"But you didn't tell the full truth either, did you?"