15

                                    

                                          
-Sherlock's POV- 
                          
"Ah Y/N! It's good to see you out of the flat up there. Where are you off to?"
                          
"Uhm, just going to the shop to get some icecream."
                          
"Mind if I join? I need to get something from there anyway."
                          
"Yeah okay." We proceed to leave the house and walk down the , considerably warm, road. 
                          
I look down at her as she just keeps looking straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with me. We haven't spoken since last night. She showed me how mentally exhausted she is and she hates it, not forgiving herself for letting me see how damaged she really is. 
                          
"So, I called Mycroft last night and we both agree that it would be best for you to move into the guest bedroom. Don't worry, both mine and Johns bedroom have a lock on the door so I'm assuming that one does too," I say, breaking the news. Although, she doesn't seem too bothered.
                          
"I don't need your help."
                          
"We both know that that's not the case. We can solve this if we-"
                          
"No, Sherlock," she stops walking and just looks at me. "This isn't just one of your murders that you can fix. They have all the facts in the evidence of the crime scene. This is my head, a place where even I don't know what's happening or predict what's going to happen next. I don't need help from you or Mycroft or John or anyone. I can do this on my own."
                          
"But the things is, you don't have to. Yes, you may be able to do this on your own but I do know that it'll be so much easier with the support of people around you, people who care. I'm not going to set rules for you when you move in or anything, it's just so you're closer. Please, let us help you," I explain to her in a rush, hoping she'll just let me in. 
                          
"Okay." She just agreed. That's one thing I couldn't predict. 
                          
"Magnificent! Fantastic! I'm so happy you're doing this, truly I am. This is going to be so g-"
                          
"Over doing it," she interrupts me. 
                          
"Yes, okay. Finished now."

                          
-Y/N's POV-
                          
It's the next day after I was told I'm moving into Sherlock's flat and all of my stuff has already been moved down. So here I am, laying in bed watching BoJack. I have the weird motivation to do something today and I love it. Maybe the drugs and other stuff were holding me back. My mind feels clear. I could go to college. I get the feeling it's going to be a good day so, yeah. We're doing that. 
                          
"Y/N? Where are you going?"
                          
"College. It's Monday."
                          
"Oh okay, great!" John replies, shocked I'm going. "I'll make sure to tell Sherlock you've gone." He gives me a warm smile, I return one as I leave. 
                          
This is very strange. I haven't felt like this in a while and I've forgotten how rewarding it feels. I feel a buzz from my phone and see what the notification is. 
                          
"I'm glad you're going in today. Just text me if you need me - SH"
                          
It confuses me why he puts SH after every message he sends. I know he doesn't expect anyone to save his number but I'm his sister, of course I have it saved. 
                          
I make my way into the building, still not having one bad thought on my way in. I head to my class and see the teacher. Please don't say anything remotely sarcastic, it will immediately put my mood back down to -10. 
To my luck she just looks at me with hatred glowing on her eyes and looks back down at her laptop.  
I go and get a canvas from the supply cupboard and start to paint. No guidelines, no tracing, just me and what my mind comes up with. 
After about an hour and 45 minutes I look at what I've painted and I'm actually proud of myself for once. It's of a forest in the middle of spring, a small stone bridge going over a rapid stream with mushrooms and all kinds of wildlife overgrowing around the place. 
                          
"Wow," a voice says from behind me. I turn around to see my old friend from primary school looking at it in admiration. 
                          
"Uh thanks," I smile slightly and go to turn around. 
                          
"I'm Sage," she says whilst smiling back at me. 
                          
"Uh, yeah, I know. Hi."
                          
"Wait, how do you know? Are you a stalker or something?"
                          
"Um, no, it's Y/N, from primary school."
                          
"OMG NO WAY. You literally look like so much more different. How do you stay so skinny? Do you just like not eat or something?"
                          
"Um, no I eat."
                          
"Oh, well that's something we have in common. Sometimes I eat so much one day and then the next I'll eat like nothing. It keeps me skinny, you should try it!" 
                          
She literally called me skinny 30 seconds ago, what is happening? 
                          
"Yeah, thanks," I roll my eyes and turn around again. 
                          
"Have you got problems or something? You're hands are like sooo shaky. Are you one of those messed up drug addicts?"
                          
"No?" I could at least try and pretend that I'm normal again, even though this has made my mood go back down to a -3, not -10 though so that's good. 
                          
"Oh thank god. My dad always says to stay away from those kinds of people cause' they're dangerous and all that, don't you agree?"
                          
"Yeah."
                          
"They're so weird. Like, get a life. It's not that hard to just get a job and not spend all your money on shit that is LITERALLY killing you slowly. It's like those depressed people, just do something you like and hang out with your friends. Like it's not so h-"
                          
I just get up and leave, taking my painting with me. Well, not talking to her again. She's such a bitch. She's always been a "daddy's girl" and I cant stand it. I swear she's my 13th reason now.