His green eyes darted from mine to hers, indecisive. He needed to make a choice, me or her. He looked at me and grabbed my wrist. I followed him into darkness, yearning for light.


4. The Letter

        I know this is probably not the best time, but I needed to tell you something. Remember how I have been running? Well, I decided to come back. I wanted to come back to you, my love. I remembered that time by the lake. Intelligence is Sexy you would tell me. I found your intelligence, for lack of a better word, sexy. I want to come back to you, to your embrace. Meet me at the street where you live. 5:00 pm on Tuesday the 14.

                                                                                        The Woman



        "Who is The Woman?" I asked myself aloud. I walked out of my room and handed the open letter to its recipient, Sherlock. I Walked up to him and slapped him across his face. Blood started to leak out of his skin, for I hit him hard enough to break skin. "This is for you," I said rudely,"Who is The Woman? And why did she write you?" I started to shout. I stormed out of the flat and sat on the stairs. Mycroft came walking by.

        "I told you he would hurt you," he said as my eyes started welling with tears. I started scratching my wrist, blood started to bubble out of my veins. I heard the door slam and Sherlock started yelling. I heard his violin being violently played. The kettle in the kitchen started to screech as John brought me a cup of tea.

        "He's just different is all," John whisprered to me as he handed me the warm cup. I knew he would hurt me when he just grabbed me and ran. I knew that he would make me regret following him when he stared into my deep, brown eyes. I knew he was hiding something from the start.

        I walked back up the steps and looked at Sherlock as I entered the room." Listen, I am so sorry for acting the way I-"

        "No, you are not. The way your hands are placed behind your back gives me the advantage of knowing that you are hiding something. The look on your face gives everything away. You secretly are still angry about not knowing the truth," he cut me off. I looked at him with drooping eyes. "Clean up and get ready for dinner." John walked over and put an arm around my shoulders. He guided me to my room.

        "I'm sorry that he had to hurt you. He says that relationships are no fun without hate," John told me. I guess he was right.

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