I run through the streets, ignoring the questioning stares. My vision is blurry from the tears that threaten to fall. Someone steps out in front of me, I try to stop myself but run right into their back. They turn around and yell, "What is wrong with you?"
I recognize the man in front of me, and now the tears are streaming down my face. This is more solid proof that the universe hates me.
The man's eyes scan me up and down in surprise. "(Y/n)?"
"I'm not in the mood, Mycroft."
I try to walk around him, but he stops me, "Why are you crying? Where's Sherlock?"
"It's none of your business. I want to be left alone," I snap.
He stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed as he seems to fight with his thoughts. He finally lets out a sigh, "Do you even know where you are? Or were you just running carelessly?"
I look around me, not recognizing a single building around me. Mycroft scoffs, "Of course you weren't paying attention. You must've been running for a while to end up over here."
"I'm really not in the mood for an argument."
"Can you at least tell me what you're running from? Has Sherlock finally managed to break your cold heart?"
I wipe my face, but the tears don't stop. "Sherlock didn't do anything. I was confronted by someone from my past, and I ran."
He nods, "Sherlock must be very worried about you."
"Can you point me in the direction of his apartment?" I ask.
"I'll walk you there. It's far too late for you to be walking by yourself."
I look at him in shock, "That is uncharacteristically nice of you. Thank you."
We walk together, a slightly awkward silence surrounding us. The more we walk, the more familiar things get. I really must've run far, which is surprising because I rarely run.
"I've learned that sometimes it is best to confront your past instead of running away."
I look over at Mycroft, "I normally do, but this situation is a tough one."
We reach Sherlock's apartment building, and Mycroft holds the door open for me. The two of us walk to the apartment, and Mycroft knocks on the door. John is the one that opens the door, a stressed look on his face.
"I found this in the street, thought Sherlock might want to have it back," says Mycroft.
John looks at me, relief spreading across his features. He pulls me into the apartment, "Sherlock has been worried sick over you."
"Where is he?" Mycroft asks.
"He took off to find (Y/n)."
Mycroft sighs, "I'll find him and send him home."
"Thank you, Mycroft."
Mycroft gives me a smile, "Try not to run away again."
He nods to John and closes the door behind him. I walk over to the couch and sit down, John brings me a cup of tea.
"You look tired."
"I ran a lot. More than I have in the last two years."
He sits next to me, "You look mentally tired. Like the last bit of joy has been sucked out of you."
"I'll be better tomorrow," I answer.
"You should've seen Sherlock. He looked like a madman, running in here to ask if I'd seen you. He took off shortly after and told me to stay here in case you returned."
My arms wrap around myself, trying to find a sense of comfort. "I didn't mean to worry or upset anyone."
"Everyone knows that. Emotions are strong. They make us do reckless things. It's just part of being human."
The front door is flung open, it crashes into the wall, and a loud bang echoes through the room. John looks at me with a smile, "See? Reckless things. Now I have a new hole in the wall to fix."
Sherlock falls to his knees in front of me, his hands immediately grabbing my face. "I thought you were gone forever."
"I'm sorry."
He pulls me into a kiss, and when he pulls away, I notice his eyes are watery. A stray tear falls down his face, and I quickly wipe it away. His thumb rubs my cheek, "I didn't think you were athletic."
I laugh, "I didn't think I was either."
His hands rest on my knees. "Enola, Tewkesbury, and Timothée should be here soon."
"Timothée?" I ask.
Sherlock nods, "I found him at a store and asked him to help look for you."
"You must've been pretty desperate to ask for his help," I say, smiling.
"He's rather interesting, not as horrible as I thought he was."
I roll my eyes, "You only thought he was horrible because you thought he liked me."
"(Y/n)!"
Tewkesbury jumps onto the couch next to me, pulling me into a tight hug. I hug him back, but he's pulled away by Enola.
"Don't ever run away like that again!" Enola yells, hugging me.
"Yes, mother."
I look behind her to see Timothée smiling at me, "Glad to see you're safe."
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him. The hug only lasts for a few seconds, as I'm still scared that Sherlock might kill him.
We all sit down, everyone's eyes on me. Enola is the first to speak, "Why did you run away? I thought you and Sadie were friends?"
I flinch at her name. "We were friends."
Tewkesbury nods to himself, like he's agreeing to his own thoughts. He looks up at me, "Didn't end well?"
"Not at all. I'm just surprised that she found me."
"She said her and her husband came to London for a business trip, and she found your name on our ad in the newspaper."
I roll my eyes, "Of course she did."
I'm sure she looked through every paper she could to find me.
"You should at least meet with her. Maybe you two can rekindle your friendship."
"No," Sherlock says.
Everyone looks at him in confusion, except for Tewkesbury, who is looking at me.
"(Y/n) should rest now. You can all visit tomorrow," Sherlock adds.
We all bid each other farewell, and Sherlock closes the door behind them, letting out a sigh. John waves, "Goodnight, you two. Try to get some sleep."
After Sherlock and I are both changed into our sleepwear, we meet in the bedroom. He gets in bed first and lays on his side to face me, "She still cares about you."
"Good for her."
I lay down next to him, and he grabs my hand, staring at our intertwined fingers. "Do you still love her?"
"I don't think I ever did. We were young, we didn't know what love was."
"But you know what love is now?"
I smile, "Yes, thanks to you."