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ameliasunshine · 4 years

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Bang Bang | Amelia + Nate

Amelia’s mind was set in a deep fog, no thoughts or ideas registering aside from shaky whispers of the mantra “everything is okay,” leaving her mouth over and over. Even then, the words weren’t serving any purpose, they certainly weren’t calming her, and they weren’t at all true - nothing was okay and everything was falling apart. Amelia had feigned confidence in Nate to save face with Charlie, but deep down, she couldn’t fight the gut-wrenching feeling that he had been lying to her for a long time. The longer she sat there, staring at the grain of the wooden table, the stronger that events over the past year had begun to make sense to her through this new lens - the irritability, frequently disappearing for several minutes at a time during parties or dates, cancelling plans, the violence. A soft, yet frightened sigh left her lips at the thought. She felt trapped. She couldn’t confront him about it, or even mention Charlie coming round and scaring the absolute shit out of her - it would all lead back to Owen, and by now Amelia knew what Nate was capable of.

She stared at the same spot on the table for several minutes more, until the sound of her phone suddenly jerked her out of the fog. Amelia looked down to see a message from Nate, asking to do something together later that night. She could picture it now, the same scenario that had already played out nearly every time over the past nine months - he would make plans for them to do something together, only for Amelia to get completely ready before he decides he’s not in the mood anymore and would rather stay in and just have sex. In a sudden moment of clarity, she pushed herself up from the table and walked upstairs to her room to change into clothes for a run. Consciously making the decision to ignore Nate’s text - which in itself was a form of confrontation in his eyes - Amelia instead turned on her music and left the house in an immediate sprint the opposite direction of Nate’s.

Amelia allowed herself to zone out of everything other than her breathing and the music as she pushed herself to run faster and faster. She tried to ignore the buzzing of several texts followed by a handful of phone calls from Nate that followed minutes later, but finally after the tenth buzz and a sudden surge of exhaustion that finally hit her, Amelia stopped abruptly and collapsed to the ground; shaded by the isolation offered in the surrounding trees and brush as she sobbed. The phone vibrated once more and she threw it onto the ground away from her, dropping her head against her knees as the tears continued to fall. She wanted to curl into a ball on the dirt trail and escape everything around her, but she remained in the same position, crying until she felt like she had nothing left in her. Wiping profusely at her cheeks and eyes, Amelia stood once more, dusted herself off and picked up her phone before walking back to her house.

Her emptiness didn’t last long as she turned onto her street and saw the outline of Nate standing by the door with his phone to his ear. She let out a fearful breath as she approached him, not even attempting to fake a smile as he looked up at her angrily and quickly ended his call with her Mum. “Where the fuck have you been, Amelia? I’ve tried texting and calling you for the past hour, I called your Mum to see if you were with her. Why didn’t you answer any of my calls? You know that’s more important than a run.” Amelia didn’t speak and instead moved to unlock the door, letting out a yelp as Nate grabbed her arm and roughly turned her towards him. “What the fuck is wrong with you today? You know how much I hate being ignored.”

She finally looked up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, knowing she couldn’t act like everything was normal. This wasn’t normal. “I was on a run to clear my mind,” she snapped, pulling her arm away and opening the door. She couldn’t see Nate’s face as she stepped inside, but could sense his anger as the door slammed behind her. “Why are you getting so defensive with me? So what, you’re feeling a little anxious today. Boo-fucking-hoo, that doesn’t give you the right to ignore me then act like a bitch when I’m just worried about you.” The words left Nate’s mouth in a spat and Amelia immediately turned around, tears hot in her eyes as she shook her head adamantly. “No. No, Nate. You don’t get to speak to me like that and act like I’m being awful when you’re the one that’s been lying to me.” She saw the confusion then subtle recognition across his face and continued. “I know about the cocaine, Nate. You know how much I hate drugs, how bad that is for you. God, how could you hide something like that from me?” She was fully crying again, shaking her head as she stepped back from him. “I’ve always trusted you, I’ve let you treat me like shit and all along you’ve lied to me.” Amelia felt a tight grip on her shoulders and opened her eyes to see Nate shaking his head with a pitied look in his eyes. “I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about Mila. You’re being delusional, it’s just your anxiety talking, I would never betray you.”

For a second, Amelia could feel herself softening, her mind betraying her and getting lulled back into the manipulations Nate had been using to control her for half of their relationship. In that moment, she wanted Nate to continue to speak calmly to her, to bring her into his arms and comfort her, to give her a reason to believe that Charlie really had been wrong about him all along. To blame it all away on anxiety and stress. She couldn’t though, and distantly she found herself comparing Nate to Owen in that moment, how everyone always called Owen evil - at least his cruelty was open and honest, you knew what you were getting. With Nate, it was much more insidious - covert and friendly. A loving touch turned bruising in a second. She looked into Nate’s eyes and could see that he was finding enjoyment in winning this battle, coaxing her back into placation. She loved him, but she knew she couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t until Amelia felt Nate pulling her into him that she pulled away fully, breaking eye contact with him. “No. I’m not crazy, and it’s not my anxiety. Charlie told me that-” She froze, panic rising through her instantly. Before, he hadn’t known where she got her information from, so he wouldn’t be as angry - it was easier for him to deny when there was no proof. Now, she didn’t know how he would react knowing that she’d spoken to Charlie, and presumably Owen.

Amelia thought she had seen Nate angry before - when she was running behind on her way to his, when she forgot to reply to a text, when she was late getting out to the car in the mornings before school. This was entirely different. Nate was rigid now, staring daggers into Amelia. “Charlie? You’ve been sneaking around behind my back and speaking to Charlie Hopper? What - I suppose you’re best friends with Summers now too, yeah? Maybe doing a nice little interview for the paper.” The words were cold, calculated. Amelia was terrified. She glanced at the clock just past Nate’s shoulder, noting that her parents wouldn’t be home for another hour and Nate knew it. “God, you’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re accusing me of lying to you, when you’re the one going around behind my back becoming best friends with scum like Owen Summers and Charlie Hopper. Is that why you cared so much about the Banks kid’s murder trial? Why you were asking me questions about it? You wanted to make sure precious Owen was proven innocent? That’s pathetic.” She felt her face flush as she shook her head. “No- no it isn’t like that-” Amelia was cut off by a loud smack and a burning sensation blossoming across the right side of her face. She stumbled backwards into the wall, leaning against it for support as she cradled her cheek.

Amelia’s eyes were watering and she looked up to see Nate moving towards her, his face seemingly softened. She cowered, backing into the corner as he approached. “Mila… Mils. I- I don’t know what came over me.” The same words he always spoke, as if it changed this time or any of the other times he’d hit her. It had never been somewhere so visible though. Her face. Amelia let out a sob as he reached a gentle hand toward her cheek. She turned her face away from him and slid to the floor of the entryway, curling into a ball and crying. Amelia heard the creak in the floorboards as Nate sat beside her, moving to wrap his arms around her. She flinched as his hand smoothed down her hair. He rested his head on her shoulder, whispering apologies into her ear as she continued to cry, but made no efforts to move. How could she?She was utterly trapped - he would kill her before he let her out of this relationship, and she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend that everything was okay.

#this took a bit of a different turn but damn im v proud of it #self para #nate #bang bang #tw: domestic abuse #tw: emotional manipulation #tw: toxic relationship

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wackygoofball · 5 years

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Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Elementary AU

Just FYI, I am sending ahead that I absolutely, with all of my heart adore Elementary and Jonny Lee Miller’s and Lucy Liu’s portrayals of their characters, which is why this moodboard should please be regarded as an homage to the show above all else, even if I take the romantic high road here despite the fact that the show seems to follow the trajectory of the platonic love (which is so pure and so well written I still cry) up until this point of time, though as a shipper... one can still hope, right?

I will also send ahead that I had to do some tweaking to create the Watson/Sherlock dynamic since Jaime’s character is different from a Sherlock Holmes in many ways, so I employed a little workaround I hope suffices.

To give a bit of a teaser, here the plot bunnies I have thus far:

Brienne of Tarth knows what she is getting into whenever she takes on a new client. After all, she chose to become a sober companion to deal with the unexpected and help those who can’t help themselves in times of crisis. What she doesn’t know is how she stumbled over this most curious case. First she gets an ominous phone call from an assistant to Mr. Blackwater to request her services for his friend who just came out of rehab and now needs some looking after, then she finds out the same man would not meet up with him.

All Brienne knows about her client is that his name is Jaime Lannister, a former consultant for the King’s Landing Police Department, and that yes, this is the same man known as the Kingslayer in the Seven Kingdoms after he killed Aerys Targaryen, but was found to have acted in self-defense even though evidence begged to differ a lot, or so she heard on television. From the medical files she was provided by the facility, Brienne knows that he lost his hand and as a result got addicted to pain killers, which resulted in his drug abuse that landed him in the rehab in the first place.

Their first meeting couldn’t be any more unfortunate as it doesn’t take long for the truth to unfold that Jaime Lannister does not want and won’t tolerate a sober companion, or “mannish drug nanny” as he puts it, to watch every of his steps.

“I have no intention to be using again, so Bronn can just fuck off and leave me alone. He actually has a lot of experience with that ever since he got his villa.”

Brienne won’t budge, however, she never does, and makes it clear to her new client that she won’t be going anywhere until she knows for sure that he is settled in and doesn’t run the risk of relapsing anymore during this very critical transition period from rehab center to normal life again.

She is used to clients who display hostility towards her, show mistrust, but Jaime Lannister puts a new level to it, because no matter what, Brienne not once encountered an client who would play fanfares late at night, arguing it vital to his recently picked up again consultant duties, dumping trash on her bed for a “long overdue experiment concerning decomposition of evidence” or introducing her to police staff as his “personal valet.” Though Brienne will have to admit, despite his sheer intolerable behavior, Jaime Lannister is even better than the rumors about him would let one assume: through deduction alone, he sees right through a crime scene, gets down to the bottom of it and finds the culprit. It is such a stark contrast to the childish man trying to drive her out of the house. On the job, he is exceeding any expectations, is sharp, focused, and cuts through lies and stories with the precision of a scalpel.

Jaime, for his part, would rather have this sober companion gone for good, but Miss Tarth appears stubborn enough to stick around against better judgment, or perhaps Bronn pays her better than he would have calculated. His interest in her witnesses a slight peak while working a case, since his “personal valet” happens to have some medical insights bringing him forward in finding the murder suspect that would have taken him quite a while longer.

Not that he would admit that to her, of course. After all, Jaime shouldn’t be surprised by her knowledge of the field. He did his research and knows for a fact that she is a former army doctor turned drug nanny. Nevertheless, she happens to have deductive skills of her own, he discovers, and while unrefined in some aspects, she has a certain clarity in her mind that most others lack.

However, in the end, that shouldn’t matter. Jaime has other things to do, and she is just the constant reminder of his failure, which is why Jaime undertakes the efforts necessary to drive her out of the house. At last, his research reveals that one thing that may drive her over the edge – how she ended up as a sober companion in the first place. In the course of a heated argument, Jaime snaps and confronts Brienne about it that she only ever took on the job because she failed to keep Renly Baratheon safe when she worked as his personal secretary and he ended up getting shot in the streets outside a restaurant where they met with Catelyn Stark for business dealings.

When Jaime considers himself the winner at last, he is taken aback by Brienne’s reaction, however:

“It appears your only method of dealing with your own emotions is by projecting them on others.”

“So you deny you have any problems? Please. I just proved that wrong.”

“I know I have them, and that means I am three steps ahead of you. Because you can’t look into the mirror because you are ashamed of what may be looking back at you. And quite frankly, I find that… craven.”

After that, neither one knows how to talk to the other for a while. Brienne genuinely considers quitting the job, but before she makes that decision, Jaime brings himself to an apology, which is, she knows, an absolutely rare exception.

“I overstepped a line to drive you away. I am not used to have other people deduce things about me. I tend to think that no one ever really got me other than my brother, perhaps, but that’s another story. Because yes, I wanted you gone so that I don’t have to face the fact that this is the reason why you are here. I want to do my job and forget about those past months. I wished they never happened.”

“They don’t go away, though.”

“I know. But there is just going forward from here, for me at least… but… it was wrong of me to take that out on you. Which is why I am generous enough to offer you my services as part of what I tend to refer to as a truce: I am willing to dedicate some of my free time to Renly’s murder case.”

“Hell no.”

“… I actually thought you would be flattered by that. You are aware that I am the best consultant currently residing in King’s Landing, arguably in all of Westeros I daresay?”

“That is my responsibility and my responsibility alone.”

“… You want to find the person responsible yourself.”

“Your deduction skills are, as per usual, very much on point.”

“… Well, if that is the case, I can only offer you my resources, should you decide to dig into his case again, or otherwise be of assistance. I still propose a truce as part of our agreement of sober companion and client because, frankly, I gave it some thought and I suppose you are the least trouble. Imagine some dimwit stepping on evidence at crime scenes. You at least know how to stay put.”

“… I suppose that is a compliment.”

“You may take it as such. So do we have a truce?”

“You need trust to have a truce.”

“I trust you.”

And on that trust, they start to build for the next weeks. Brienne finds herself more and more drawn to Jaime’s work whereas Jaime can no longer deny Brienne’s apparent talent for detective work outside the medical sphere. She is perceptive and thanks to her military training knows more about fighting than most ever will.

He finds her… promising, in a way. Just like someone once found him promising, only to destroy it all, but maybe, just maybe, he can make things right this time, who knows?

While Brienne enjoys the work more and more, she knows that her days with Jaime Lannister are limited, which means she must not get attached to either the man or his profession. When Brienne communicates that to him, Jaime starts distancing himself from her. Brienne already fears for a relapse and is close to calling Mr. Blackwater to request an extension, but before she can make the call, Jaime breaks his silence with a sudden offer: to become his apprentice and become a consultant like him.

“If you decide to take the offer, of that I assure you, I will train you to the best of my abilities. Make you cry, very likely. But once the training is completed, you should know all there is to know about solving crime the way I harnessed that skillset.”

“I am a sober companion.”

“And before that you were a personal assistant to Renly. And before that an army doctor. You see, a woman once told me that I was craven for running away from my problems, and I think it is time I give these wise words over to the next generation sitting before me. I think you are running away from an opportunity, just because you are afraid of making that step. You want to be out there. I saw you at the crime scenes. I saw the satisfaction on your eyes when we got the bad guys.”

“And I don’t deny it. But I am helping people, too, as a sober companion. I am preventing people from relapse, I am preventing them from committing crime.”

“And that is admirable, without a doubt. And you are good at your job. You kept me from the drugs and I thought that was virtually impossible. Nevertheless, I think this is an opportunity for you and…”

“And?”

“And me as well. Because I have to admit that… that my work has been better ever since you started to come along. I don’t know why, I just know that this is the case. That I am better with you.”

Brienne remains unsure about the offer for a while, but eventually agrees to the training regiment, no matter how much spiteful glee Jaime takes in basically tormenting her.

Jaime, for his part, rediscovers how much joy it gives him to do this job, and discovers something new as well, starting to understand how Tyrion loved training him to become a consultant back in the “good old days,” not just to make the other suffer, but to see them grow, deduce, put the pieces together. When he watches Brienne, when he sees her succeed, Jaime finds himself succeeding. And when Brienne is proud and happy, he finds himself smiling along.

As things progress, their truce soon grows to a deeply felt friendship since both lacked someone to rely on with those very private insecurities and inner demons for a very long time.

Brienne admits to how she ended up as Renly’s assistant, namely because she was hopelessly in love with the man, as Jaime had rightly deduced on the day they had their first fallout, and that she chose to join him to be around him.

“After I came back from my military service… I don’t know, I had so many people die, slip through my fingers, people we were sworn to protect, good people, good soldiers and far too many civilians. And then I heard that Renly was running for presidency after Robert’s death and I just… I just wanted to be sure that he was alright. I have seen the results of political upheavals in times of crisis during my service as an army doctor. I know that political enemies tear each other to shreds and that this will always lead to bloodshed on all sides. No one really questioned me and my decision because… you know, trauma. Everyone just assumed I wanted something boring, something conventional after all that I saw and went through. And perhaps I did, I don’t know. I just wanted to keep close to Renly, that much I knew. But then… Renly was killed and I only ever held him as he died.”

“And you couldn’t identify the guy.”

“It was a shadow. And it had Stannis’s name all over it.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

“You see, it’s always risky to deduce from the conclusion to the fact. It should be the other way around.”

“Those are the facts. Renly ran as an independent party to split potential votes between him and Stannis because he didn’t want Stannis to ever make it past the primaries. He had a motive to want to have him removed. Many of Renly’s voters went ahead and joined Stannis after his death. He has a woman in his ranks who will carry out almost any kind of task you give to her. It was Stannis. I know it, I just need a way to prove it.”

“Melisandre of Asshai. I read some interesting things about her.”

“She is a murderer. And one of these days, I will be able to prove it that she and Stannis did this.”

“You just need the remaining evidence.”

“Even more so since he runs for president. I will rather leave the country than live under him as my commander in chief.”

“And you would just abandon me? How rude. Even more so as a former sober companion.”

Jaime, for his part, also finds the courage to let Brienne in on his secrets, even the ones he kept so well for all those years, such as the true nature of Aerys’s assassination and Tyrion’s disappearance, and how it broke him that his brother went behind his back to kill their father and Tyrion’s ex-lover Shae before disappearing to Essos as it was planned to buy Jaime time to prove his innocence of Joffrey’s murder.

“What pissed me off foremost, though, was that he didn’t trust me. That was always the thing we relied on, that was stone one. That was our truce. He trusted me and that I trusted him. Blindly. Or so I thought. Because my smart, smart little brother didn’t trust me to clear his name. He didn’t trust me as his brother, as his friend, as the consultant he helped frame when he picked me up after the Aerys affair to offer me a new perspective. He believed he was the only one who could clear his name, and when Tyrion saw no chance anymore, he quitted, on himself, on me, on our work. And I will never forgive him for that. Well, that and murdering two people for the simplest and most basic motive there is: revenge.”

As things progress, it isn’t until long that they run into a hacker group called No One run by a man named Jaqen H’ghar. They “help” them on a number of occasions to gather evidence they could not otherwise acquire, in exchange for oftentimes publicly humiliating Jaime, such as carrying around a sign to encourage people to “Slay the Kingslayer with a Golden Slap,” a task many people happily agree to, apparently. The members remain ominous, only ever appearing in chats wearing masks. A young group member, a teenage girl, catches their attention as Brienne pieces together that this is in fact Arya Stark. Due to Brienne’s personal involvement with her family, she feels ever the more urged to help the girl and keep her from potentially committing worse crimes to carry out her revenge against the people she deems responsible for the deaths of most of her family.

However, Jaime’s and Brienne’s attention soon turns to politics as the elections come into the hot phase, only to be shocked to the core when a newcomer emerges from Essos to enter the race rather late: Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons as she is called, wants to become president of the Seven Kingdoms alongside her rivals Stannis Baratheon and Cersei Lannister.

Things take a sudden turn with the re-emergence of someone Jaime thought he would never see again in a life time, and a nemesis who may no longer be just after the infamous consultant Tyrion Lannister but now the new detective team solving cases in King’s Landing.

And if history taught them one thing by now, then it is that this person will do anything to get what he or she wants. And from the sounds of it, that is one thing and one thing only:

Power.

A game of cat-and-mouse begins, putting everyone involved in danger as a country is bound to decide on who will come into power next…

Additonal Image Sources: Elementary ( 2012-), http://gwendoline-christie.com/.

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #got moodboard #got aesthetic #moodboard #aesthetic #wacky tries gimp #fanfic #in smol #fanfiction #i just love elementary so much that i could not resist

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sherlockxreader · 7 years

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A Fear of Losing Love (SherlockxFem!Reader)

Title: A Fear of Losing Love

Author: Nyla (@i-had-a-halo-once)

Pairings: SherlockxFem!Reader, mentions of SherlockxMolly and SherlockxIrene

Request: Hey love, my name is Nyla as well, but anyways i was wondering if you could do a scene where sherlock tells her he loves her based off the song “Suicide by James Arthur” much love xx — anonymous

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, a song mentioning suicide, and a little cursing

A/N: So I really got into this request, and it became pretty long XD So, I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry for the delay in posting it! Enjoy! -Nyla

Words: 5,295

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Sherlock Holmes hated waiting. It was boring, and took up time he could use for doing something else that was useful. He hated the dullness of sitting in his chair, fingertips steepled and hovering close to his mouth, his expression at first glance calm. A second glance would reveal his eyes to be hard — cold and unforgiving for the person he was waiting on.

John had left hours ago after extracting a promise from a tight-lipped Sherlock that the detective would let him know when she finally came home, if she did at all that night.

She. Y/N.

A young woman whose name always followed Sherlock’s when his was uttered in conversation. Y/N. A young woman who was equal in nearly every way to the genius detective now waiting on her, anger radiating off of him that would be instantly discernible to anyone who really knew him.

The clock ticked one a.m. Sherlock didn’t move, but his eyes grew fractionally colder with each hour that most called ungodly ticking by.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

Her voice followed the shutting of the flat’s front door, and her footsteps were muffled on the carpet. She unwound her scarf and tossed it haphazardly over her chair, the one that used to be John’s before he moved in with Mary.

“Did you have fun?” Sherlock’s tone was sharp, and hinted at mocking.

She chose to ignore him, knowing he wouldn’t listen to her like this. It was a mark of her status in his eyes, and her confidence and familiarity with the abrasive detective, that she was unintimidated by his tone and felt comfortable with blatantly ignoring him.

Her coat was already coming off and being hung on the coat hanger she brought with her when she moved in with him.

“You know some people would call it cheating,” Sherlock spoke again, and his tone was sharper with annoyance at her refusal to be provoked by him.

“We’re not exactly the definition of a couple,” you replied evenly with a tone that implied you didn’t care about his opinion, but your vivid (E/C) eyes glinted with annoyance.

There was nothing he could say to that, and he knew it. You were absolutely correct, and he hated that. You had practically waltzed into Sherlock’s life one day, looking for a flat mate, and had beaten the detective at his own game of deduction. Of course, that caught his attention, which rarely happened. And one day he found you at a crime scene Lestrade had called him to. Sensing his unasked demand of what you were doing there, you had smirked at him and simply said, “I was bored.” From then on, he had viewed you with a more than casual interest, and you two had wordlessly agreed to become a team.

Eventually, a relationship grew between you two. And while the public thought it was a match made in heaven with their typical eagerness to have a celebrity couple to adore, you two were anything but perfect. In the public spotlight, you presented a unified front. In private, you fought constantly.

You were ruthless when it came to criminals, and now Sherlock realized you could be just as heartless with dating. If he could even call this relationship dating. You weren’t an official couple in your own words, and you saw that as an excuse to do whatever the hell you wanted.

Even meeting up with other men.

(One, two, ready Here we go)

It ain’t the gun It’s the man behind the trigger Gets blood on his fingers And runs It ain’t the lie It’s the way that the truth is denied

Sherlock regarded you coldly over his fingertips. “Clearly.” His response was clipped, and finally elicited a heated reaction he had wanted from you.

“And what exactly does that mean?” You shot back, turning to glare at him. “It wasn’t anything meaningful, either, just so you know. A couple of drinks. One kiss. That’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Sherlock snapped back, anger heating his tone. “It went further than that, and you know it, Y/N. Of everything you could have said, I thought you knew better than to lie to me.”

“So what? It’s not like you don’t keep secrets either,” you retorted. “One minute you’re telling me we’re not a couple, the next you’re jealous of something that didn’t go further than a couple of kisses in a dark alleyway.”

“Oh, so it was only a couple of kisses. That makes it so much better, Y/N.” His tone was carried heavy sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes with a huff.

“Get over it, Sherlock. You’re being a brat about this, and you know it.” You turned on your heel, fuming, and reached for your coat. You had no intentions of staying here if Sherlock was going to be so bloody annoying and childish. Besides, it had never bothered him before, so you saw no reason for it to now.

“Going out again, then?” Came his angry retort. “Going to find someone you can sleep the night away with? Should I expect you back for tea in the morning, or will you be too busy with a stranger?”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!” Your tone was rising, and you whirled to face him. He had come to a standing position, and was glaring at you. You returned the glare with equal passion. “I refuse to be around you when you’re so blinded with your hate of me! I suppose you have a list, then? Of all my sins? Of everything I’ve done to offend you? Go on, then, read it! Tell me exactly why I make you so angry constantly.”

Sherlock went to answer, then stopped, gauging your expression. He knew you better than anyone, of course. He knew almost everything about you, from the tiny movements that denoted your amusement to the slight twitch of your hand that indicted tears. And yes, there it was, a twitch in your left hand.

In that instance, he realized he had gone too far. Yes, you had been rude and hurtful, but his comments had been uncalled for.

So instead of making yet another one, he simply stood and stared at you, uncharacteristically silent. With a shake of your head, you turned and left for the second time that night, slamming the door behind you.

He made no move to follow you.

But if there is one thing that I’m guilty of It’s loving and giving when you take too much If somebody asked how we died Please look them straight in the eye

Sherlock remained frozen in his spot after you stormed out in a whirl of hurt and anger, resisting the urge to go after you. You had no right to go treating him like that, after all that you had put him through.

Evening after evening, you walked out early on only to return in the early morning hours when the city found a brief respite from the business of diurnal normality. Each of those mornings he heard you come in, your footstep light despite your exhaustion, and each of those mornings he heard you slip into your bedroom quietly. Each morning found him lying awake, listening for the sound of your return, different emotions playing across his face as he once again listened to you find your way into your bed and collapsed, tired from your night out and hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before you were supposed to rise and start a new day.

Sometimes, once he knew you were asleep, he rose from his own bed and quietly opened your door to look in at your sleeping form, knowing he needed to confront you but not wanting to disturb the tense relationship you two had shared, hyper aware that it could easily shatter should anything upset it.

Tonight, he was too tired and angry with your late night outings to care about what such a confrontation would mean for the future of your relationship. He had planned his words carefully, knowing you would fight with him. Ultimately, however, he had believed you would see his side and apologize.

He hadn’t counted on the extent of your own anger towards him.

And he wasn’t sure what had caused it.

This, he thought with a cold disappointment, was exactly why he had always avoided any sort of serious romantic relationship. Love. Love was a poison. It often did the exact opposite of what one expected it to, or seemingly on a whim forced one of its victims to do something completely out of character.

Say, for example, let someone endure the suffering caused by the one they were supposed to love and who was supposed to love them back.

Because despite it all, all the fights and the raised voices and the silent but cold looks you exchanged with him on a more common daily basis than either of you would have liked, Sherlock was wise enough to admit the truth.

He loved you.

Call it suicide Don’t fabricate Just tell them babe It was suicide Don’t sugarcoat it Just let them know

He wasn’t sure when he had realized it, but one day, during a crime scene preliminary survey where you were checking out a blood splatter across the brick wall nearby, he had looked up and his eyes had landed you, your expression a mask of concentration. And he had realized, with breathtaking clarity, his feelings for you.

Never, never, had Sherlock Holmes imagined the day where he could lay eyes on someone and feel something other than grudging acceptance of their presence. Well, except for John, but he had trouble sometimes there, too. But you…

How had he not realized it before? He, Sherlock Holmes, who was in control of his emotions and his mind, had been deceived into falling in love. Maybe it was the glint of excitement in your eyes that appeared whenever a new case was brought to your attention. Maybe it was the way you fearlessly ran into danger to pursue the truth no matter the cost. Maybe it was the way you stood up to him, unafraid of anything he could say or do to you in retaliation. Maybe it was the way you stood up to everyone who snapped at him to defend him with a crushing sentence.

No, he had never admitted his feelings for you, because he had been so sure it would pass. Eventually, this feeling would pass and everything would go back to normal. His mind wouldn’t become instantly obsessed with you every time you walked in a room, and his heart wouldn’t seem to skip beats when you looked or talked to him. He needed everything to go back to normal. He needed to rid himself of this dangerous emotion that seemed to hold unimaginable sway over him, a man of rationale and science.

His hand clenched and he threw his glass at the wall, not bothered by the crack of shattering glass against wallpaper that did nothing to soften the blow.

It ain’t the knife It’s the way that you use it How you abuse it in fights It ain’t about the life You feel you were given As long as you’re living it right

You waited until the door of the flat was slammed close and you were exiting the front door downstairs to hesitate. Your head turned almost of its own accord to allow you to see the window of your flat. Your gaze caught the dark figure standing in full view staring down at you with an unreadable expression, and you hesitated just another second before you shook your head, turning at the same time, an almost overwhelming urge to escape Sherlock’s judgment tugging you away from the flat and your confusing life within its walls.

You kept yourself together, afraid for anyone to see the tumultuous emotions raging within you and recognize your face. Sherlock’s words had cut you deeper than you had let on, and you cursed yourself quietly as the cold night air hit your face in a chilling wind.

You knew he was right, of course, no matter what the typical definition of a couple looked like. Even atypical couples usually tended to avoid meeting up with other people with the intention of what was basically cheating.

You hadn’t meant to cheat— No, you knew better and so did Sherlock, which made all excuses useless in your defense. You were brilliant, and you weren’t shy about that fact, so he knew that you had known exactly what you were doing when you allowed another man to kiss you and hold your hand in a public street. If you hadn’t wanted it, it wouldn’t have happened and that was a simple fact. And Sherlock knew it just as well as you did, which made it cheating. There was no other word for it.

Yes, you had chosen it, but you didn’t simply chose to go out and cheat for no reason. You did everything for a reason, and you were positive Sherlock was aware there was a reason behind your actions. You were angry and bitter, and you had wanted to teach him a lesson. Which had clearly backfired, but you weren’t surprised. You hadn’t been expecting it to really work anyway.

Still, some foolish part of your mind had been holding out for him to realize that you were angry with him.

A muffled ringtone sent your thoughts scattering away, and you glanced at the ID after pulling the phone out of your pocket. Why? Why the hell had he called you now?

“What?” You snapped by way of greeting as soon as you answered.

“Come back.” Sherlock stated, his tone still sharp but less frosty.

“Knock off, Sherlock. You’re angry, and all my return will do is invite more arguing. We both know that. So you either called me to argue with me further, or say something else. Which one is it?”

“Will you just talk this out with me without getting irrational about my intentions, Y/N?” He retorted.

“Look, Sherlock. When we met, we both agreed a professional relationship was the best we could manage, and then we both went and made a stupid mistake. So why don’t we just admit we were right the first time and part with the resemblance of friendship?” You spat. Hatred of him, of everything you had gone through with him, poisoned your tone.

“Y/N—”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

If there is one thing that I’m guilty of It’s loving and giving when you take too much If somebody asked how we died Oh, you look them straight in the eye

Sherlock hated many things. Idiots, Anderson, people who insulted or hurt you or John, his brother in general, and boredom. And on this occasion, he hated himself above all else, but more than anything, he hated losing you. And he knew that now. He couldn’t stand losing the only person who truly understood what it was like to be him, what it was like to be so bright and yet so insecure. And he knew he was going to get you back no matter what it took. Whatever happened between you two, he would fight for you and win because he was Sherlock Holmes and he didn’t lose.

Only he had no idea how to get you back.

So he called the only person he could.

He paced the flat anxiously, silently pleading for his other best friend to pick up despite the hour. The clock ticked the hour of one a.m. away while he waited and waited and waited.

And finally, there was an answer.

“Sherlock?” Came John’s sleepy, albeit worried, voice.

“John, I need your help.” Sherlock responded instantly, his voice upset. That in itself was enough to cause worry — Sherlock never let his emotions take over, and this tone was uncontrolled, unlike the times when the detective would call about a case, excited but controlled.

“What is it? Did something happen to Y/N?” Sherlock could hear the sounds of John sitting up and flipping on a light, and the resultant sleepy murmurs of Mary.

“I lost her, John, and I don’t know how to get her back,” Sherlock said, but his tone was pleading. Desperate. Completely uncharacteristic.

“You lost her?”

“Yes, John, understand! I lost Y/N. She broke up with me, and I need her back. I don’t know how to do that. How do I get her back, John?”

There was a pause, which found Sherlock pacing more furiously and close to another outburst, before he replied. “Fight for her, Sherlock. Where is she now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Find her. Go after her. That’s what she wants, to know that you really do care about her.”

“She should know that already!”

“Sherlock,” John’s voice became a little stricter, “how is she supposed to know when you place everything before her? You cancel dates to work on cases. You brush her off when she comes to you. And, more recently, you constantly criticize her. And she’s tired of it. She’s probably going to find someone who doesn’t take her for granted.”

Sherlock was silent, the surprise of discovering how you truly felt from John of all people taking any response he could have given away from him. Did you really feel this way? Did he really take you for granted? He knew he could act like that towards others around him, but you… He had really thought he had acted differently towards you. And you never tended to show your emotions openly, but he had been able to read you easily. At least, he had thought so.

But then, maybe you had hidden your true feelings away too well and he had always been to busy to realize you were never really around anymore, that your heart had found a different place to be and it wasn’t with him anymore.

John was right. He needed to go after you, and explain why he needed you to come back.

There was only one way to do that, he realized as he swung his coat on and finally opened the door to chase down the woman he loved and had lost.

Call it suicide Don’t fabricate Just tell them babe It was suicide Don’t sugarcoat it Just let them know

Your hands were shoved deep into your pockets as you trudged along, reluctance dogging your every step while doubt and uncertainty plagued your mind, your anger cooling off in the frozen night air drifting invisibly around you. With each warm breath of air you released, a small area of cold air in front of you was lit up in small, misty clouds painted white by the street lamps guarding you nearby. Should you have stayed? Should you have heeded Sherlock’s words and returned to talk it out? You knew Sherlock was trying to be reasonable, and you had brushed him off with nothing more than a thinly-veiled breakup and hostility.

Still, you didn’t want to talk. Your anger with his treatment of you had gone beyond the talking point months ago. How did he not get that? Then again, Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant scientist and crime detective, wasn’t quite so smart when it came to his own relationships, and yours and his in particular.

You knew the best thing for you was to escape him and the unhealthy relationship that had developed, yet a small part of your heart was holding out for his arrival to announce something you had been waiting for ever since you had started dating him.

Unlike him, you knew you were in love with him. It had become obvious to you soon after you met him, but you had never told him, patiently waiting for him to ask you out. And then he did, but in all the months of your romantic relationship, three simple words you had longed to hear had never passed his lips and now it looked like they never would.

Your hand was already rising to brush the tears away when you first became aware of them, and you forced yourself to straighten up. You didn’t need Sherlock Holmes; it would hurt like hell, but you would walk away once and for all.

At least, that was the plan.

Except plans, even ones by world-famous geniuses, tended to upend themselves and never quite work out the way they were wanted to.

Some tiny part of you knew that.

You’ve been killing me softly And finally the pain is too much And I’m all out of whisky To soak up the damage you’ve done

Sherlock tracked your phone, correctly guessing you would still have it on you even after his call. You were too smart to go throwing phones away simply so he wouldn’t have your number right now. You could always quite easily get a new one, and he had doubt that if he let you go forever, you would do exactly that.

So he followed the directions coming from his phone to get to yours and to you. His step was hurried and full of anxiety, and it was clear to anyone watching. Absently, people wondered what the detective was worked up about as he brushed past them without even a cursory glance at their anonymous faces before returning to the pressing matters of their own busy lives.

He saw your phone was moving steadily, but slowly, away from him just a couple of streets away. His urgency increased, prompting his pace to do the same, and Sherlock shoved his phone into his pocket roughly, his mind flooded with the possibilities of words he could string together to convince you why this should have just been a minor argument and nothing to leave over. Hadn’t you once said angry arguments were just excuses that people to get worked up over for no reason? And he agreed. Reasonable discussion of differing opinions was one thing; actual arguments filled with emotional defenses and rising voices were another.

Oh, God, he hoped John was right and he could win you back. Sherlock had always prided himself on his independence from everyone else and the ability to detach himself from his emotions, but you were a different matter. No matter how he put it, Sherlock was faced with the truth.

He needed you.

And he knew you needed him just as much.

So he continued on, and finally turned a corner to step onto the street you were on. His eyes found your form almost immediately, moving away from another figure following you. As he drew closer, his eyes narrowing, your voice drifted back to him quite clearly.

“Stop following me, for God’s sake!” You snapped at the man, for Sherlock could now quite easily see it was a man now, dogging you.

“C’mon, darlin’, one kiss wouldn’t hurt,” the man slurred his words heavily and that alone was enough to make Sherlock’s opinion go from annoyance at his existence to downright hatred. His hand slipped inside his coat and he continued walking towards you as his fingers grasped the cold handle of the gun he had taken to carrying.

The sound of you slapping the man and your following curses, a string of language that would have made a Royal Navy sailor blush, followed the drunk’s imploring. The drunk fired back with his own curses, and a quest to grab your arm and drag you into a dark alleyway.

“She said no,” Sherlock’s voice rang out after he decided to make himself known. You and the man both turned instantly, and while his eyes widened at the sight of the handheld firearm pointing at him, disbelief and anger flickered across your features. Your mouth tightened into a thin line as your eyes met Sherlock’s as he continued. “So I suggest you leave before you pay for your actions.”

The man looked ready to pee himself with fear as he stumbled away, but you simply muttered a curse and turned away, angry with Sherlock for rescuing you and angry with yourself for providing a situation where he could. You didn’t need him, you were perfectly fine on your own.

“Y/N—” Sherlock started, his simultaneous action being to step forward and almost reaching for you with his free hand. Your automatic step back was enough to make him draw back, something flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t!” You snapped at him. “Please, just leave me alone. Just…” Your tone was exhausted more than anything at this point, and it hurt Sherlock to know he was the cause.

If there’s anything I’m guilty of It’s loving you too much If anybody asks how we died

“You don’t get to make a decision for the both of us, Y/N,” he stated, a little sharpness finding its way into his voice again. “Not when they affect both of us. You’re wrong. I was wrong. Can we both admit that and move on?” He pleaded a little.

“What exactly were we wrong about, Sherlock? You’re going to have to be specific, because it seems like we’ve both been wrong a lot lately.” You didn’t bother trying to hide the tears glittering in your eyes now. He would have been able to tell your emotional state even if you had looked completely calm. As it was, you looked like you were barely holding yourself together and felt like falling apart.

“We were wrong about each other,” he answered quietly, and that sentence stopped your lips as they were forming another angry response. Your eyes widened slightly, and he let that statement hang in the air above you two as your gazes locked. He continued just as softly a minute later. “We were wrong about each other, Y/N. I thought I didn’t need you. You thought I didn’t care about you after all. We both acted in ways we shouldn’t have.”

“I…” Your voice trailed off, swallowed by the pressing night air surrounding you two as you remained locked in your own little world where no one but Y/N L/N and Sherlock Holmes existed. Your tone wavered with the weight of your confusion and hesitancy.

“You know I’m right, Y/N. And you’re right — as far as your actions are concerned, tonight seemed to be no different. You followed your normal routine, and yes, I know all about it.” He smiled slightly after forestalling your question. You had been so sure he was oblivious to your nightly routine. Maybe he hadn’t been so occupied after all. “What I didn’t know is why you did it. I would lay awake at night, listening to your footsteps, and I would wonder, Y/N. I wondered why you of all people went out to find someone else to talk to, to be close to, to hang out with, instead of me. I doubted myself. Was I not good enough? Were you not sure you wanted to continue our relationship? Was I simply awful at all romantic relationships like I had always believed I was?” He shook his head at himself, but his gaze remained on yours, holding you in place, forcing you to listen to him.

“Sherlock…” You began again, but once again your voice was taken by both Sherlock holding up a gloved hand and the wind snatching away your words and any defense you might have thrown up.

“Y/N, please. Let me finish.” He took a staggering deep breath, seemingly steadying himself for what was coming next. “Most of all, I wondered why it bothered me. Never before had any such occurrence bothered me if it was completely separate from a case. What did romance, what did a serious relationship, mean to me? Nothing. Not if it couldn’t think for itself and help me solve a case. You know what happened with Molly. With Irene. With Janine.” He allowed a faint, bitter smile to twist his lips.

You did know what had happened to the women who had previously dated Sherlock. The one with Molly hadn’t ended pretty. She had left, crying and accusing Sherlock of being less than human in his priorities — when she had forced him to choose between her and a case involving another woman, he had picked the case, effectively ending their relationship. And Irene’s past with Sherlock was a complicated matter that one didn’t lightly approach with the intent of delving into. It had also ended with his priorities being mere cases over human beings interested in being around him. As for Janine... That relationship hadn’t even been real.

“So why, exactly, did your comings and goings and nights out with other men bother me so much I would lay awake, half hoping you wouldn’t dare walk through the front door again and half afraid that you wouldn’t, that something had happened. After spending so much time with you, somehow, I had begun to place you above mere cases. I began letting you have value in my life independent from crimes and mysteries. And then… Then I realized.”

He paused, and you felt your breath catching in your throat because of anticipated excitement chasing it, and your heart fluttering lightly like a million butterflies hovering together in one spot. Was he going to say it? Would he… He was so damn close, and your heart ached to hear the words fall from his lips.

Hell, if he said it, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop your own words.

[Chorus x2:] Call it suicide Don’t fabricate Just tell them babe It was suicide Don’t sugarcoat it Just let them know

“Maybe it was the first day I saw you and I was too blind to my own emotions. Maybe it was after that that I realized what I hadn’t dared to think about. I don’t know when the hell I realized it, Y/N, and I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before. All I know is that I’ve realized it tonight,” he breathed, his body seeming to move of its own accord closer to you. You remained rooted to your spot, helpless as the man you loved drew closer and closer to you in a memorizing way.

“Realized what?” You whispered, the words barely audible with the strength and weakness of the hope they contained.

“That I love you, Y/N L/N. I love you so much it hurts, Y/N, and I can’t lose you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and you are the one thing that I cannot be without anymore. I love you. I love you, so don’t you dare leave me. Please.” His voice was quiet, almost pleading and desperate, but his eyes shone strangely, almost watery, in the light of the streetlight a few meters away.

“Goddamnit, Sherlock Holmes, I love you too.” Your hand reached up before you realized it, brushing Sherlock’s cheek.

“We’re going to find a way through this, I promise. You’re everything, Y/N, and I will protect you. Just stay with me. Please.” His hands found yours, holding yours firmly in a grip that conveyed everything he couldn’t find the words to explain to you. You gave him a faint smile of your own.

“I would be a bloody fool to walk away from the man I love more than anything, Sherlock. Remember that. I love you, too, and that will never change.”

He laughed softly, and the next thing you knew was his warm lips against yours in a kiss that promised everything to you, and you returned it quite eagerly.

Oh baby Just let them know Just…

#sherlock x reader #nyla writes #request #sherlockxreader #i-had-a-halo-once

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