I had returned to the flat hours later, Sherlock long asleep, probably high. I didn't really care.
I threw myself unceremoniously into bed, and wept, my entire body trembling as the tears drained from my eyes and into the pillow I held against my chest.
"Bloody bastard." I cursed his name, I hated his name, I was so angry at him for getting my hopes up for something good, for me to actually feel something.
"(Y/N)...?" I hadn't heard the door open. Sherlock stood there, looking like a kicked puppy.
"What do you want?" I snarled, my body clenching at the sudden pulse of hatred, and I knew very well that he could see it.
I didn't-"
"When I said shut up earlier, Sherlock, I meant it. We're not lovers, we're not friends, we're not even flatmates. This room is my section of the house now, and if you so much as set foot in here-" I stood, storming over to him and jabbing a finger harshly into his chest "you'll never see me again. I'm only staying here because I need protection, not because I want to be stuck with a lying rat." I grabbed the door handle and swung the wooden frame shut, finally drawing a breath. My heart throbbed as I pictured his fallen face outside the door, staring longingly at the handle, knowing he has no right to come in here. I shook my head and spun on my heels, going to my window to get some air. I wiped the tears from my face, brushed my disheveled hair, and cleaned myself up, not for him, but for myself, I knew I had to come before him. I dug through my books until I found one of my Harry Potter copies, then nestled in my bed, with only the lamp to shed light on the dim room.
After a while I felt myself getting thirsty. Slowly I lifted myself from my bed and opened the door. To my surprise, a distraught Sherlock tumbled in after.
"Bloody hell!" I snapped, trying to hide the shock that went through me.
"I'm sorry, I stayed outside your door." Sherlock scrambled to his feet, his tall, lean body hovering over me.
"Go back to your room, Sherlock, I don't want to speak to you." I snarled, stepping past him.
"(Y/N), just hear me out." He pursued me into the kitchen, his eyes wide with fear and desperation.
"What, Sherlock? What could you possibly say?" I demanded, swinging around to face him, my eyes burning with unfathomable fury.
"I don't understand emotions."
"That's a sorry excuse for kissing me, and then-"
"(Y/N). I've never felt this before, I don't understand it and I'm afraid of it." His voice softened, I could see the shame and guilt in his eyes.
"That's not an excuse, Sherlock." I couldn't help but empathize. "If you want me to trust you again, you'll have to work for it." I said firmly, before brushing past him and into the bathroom.
SORRY GUYS I'VE BEEN INCREDIBLY BUSY LATELY