"HALF A HEART"
Combined fic for requests by: Anonymous:: Moriarty tortures Y/N for five months and then Sherlock rescues her. But she is stoic because of the trauma and doesn’t speak for a year. One day when Sherlock leaves her side she holds his hand and whispers his name.
A/N: I’ve never written so much angst, EVER. So beware, the angst(This fic is in third person perspective).
Also, maybe send in your thoughts about this fic? Pretty please?
“Why have you brought me here?”, (Y/N) shouted, her eyes burning with anger.
“Oh, it got boring,” James Moriarty said, throwing a peanut at (Y/N)’s face.
(Y/N) closed her eyes as the peanut hit her face, her jaw clenching. She couldn’t do anything, her hands were tied behind her back, to the chair.
“What are you going to do?” she questioned through gritted teeth.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Moriarty sang, bringing his face close to Y/N’s.
“But if you’re so eager to die, I’ll tell you,” he whispered, almost touching (Y/N)’s face with his. (Y/N) tried to back away, her jaw clenched.
Moriarty suddenly moved away, turning his back to (Y/N), his hands inside his suit pocket.
“I’m going to make your boring little boy friend suffer,” he declared, turning to smile at her.
Y/N’s eyes widened with fear.
“You won’t-” she whispered.
“Oh, darling, I’m not going to hurt him-” he paused, his dead eyes dancing with excitement.
“I’m going to hurt you,” he said simply, as she watched him with contmept.
“It’ll burn him, (Y/N),” he roared, as Y/N processed what he’d said in horror.
“Oh (Y/N), don’t worry, honey, I won’t kill you. I don’t like to get my hands dirty, you see,” he muttered, scrunching his nose.
He swiftly moved over to (Y/N) again, his face inches from hers.
“I’ll just leave you broken enough to break Sherlock,” he whispered in her ear, his mouth curling into a devilish smile.
“You, you bastard!” (Y/N) whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red.
“Enjoy your stay!” Moriarty cried, as two buff men untied (Y/N).
They then, dragged her away, as Moriarty looked on with pleasure. She kicked at the guards, screaming and wailing; but her cries were lost in the darkness of the cold chamber she was thrown in.
Y/N looked slowly, her head was throbbing with pain.
A single camera mounted upon a tripod stand stood in front of her; capturing ever moment she spent in captivity.
She lay slumped on the floor, blood trailing from the innumerable gashes on her body.
And then she heard footsteps again, as her eyes widened with horror. Her heart beat faster as she tried to back away into a dark corner.
The men came anyway, small grins plastered on to their faces and she screamed- screamed for Sherlock- her scream resonating through the frigid chamber. She wailed in agony, her fists clenched; nails digging into her palms, cutting them.
(Y/N) snapped out of her thoughts, her throat dry with fear.
The nightmares and daydreams, they would never stop.
She would close her eyes and be reminded of the horrors that had ruined everything. She rarely slept because of this; only stared into empty space, her dead eyes displaying no emotion.
Sherlock looked at her from across the room.
Bone-chilling screams, that called out his name, rang in his ears everytime he looked at her.
She hadn’t spoken a word since Sherlock had found her in an abandoned factory.
He’d found her shivering on the cold floor, knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She had been tortured mentally and physically. Scars marked her body and Sherlock felt his heart rip into half.
Every week for five months, Moriarty had sent Sherlock footage of her being tortured and everytime Sherlock felt his heart twist with pain. He never showed what it did to him- having someone he loved being taken away from him and tormented as he looked on helplessly. Only John knew how Sherlock felt. John was horrified- he’d gone berserk even, when he’d found out what Moriarty was doing.
The two had spent endless nights trying to drown the horror and screams with alcohol and cigarettes.
Sherlock had run to her in the factory, barely able to contain himself. His eyes brimmed with tears as he cried her name. He’d hugged her, but she only flinched at his touch and that broke what was left of him.
He’d buried his face into his hands and cried, cried for her. Her state was so because he had loved her. He had never been the perfect boyfriend, never showed that he cared but he had loved her with all his heart and now she barely recognised him. She was beaten and burnt and traumatised because Sherlock thought a little love wouldn’t harm.
He looked onto her now, her dead eyes staring ahead of her, hauntingly. It hurt him to see her that way but he was helpless. He’d forced her to eat but her eyes were sunk into their sockets, he cheeks pale and sharp and her figure- reduced to a skeleton.
The (Y/N) Sherlock knew was long gone. (Y/N) had taught Sherlock that loving someone was alright and now… she didn’t even know what happiness was. Nothing hurt him more than realising he was responsible for her state.
He tried talking to her; John, Mrs.Hudson, everyone who cared tried talking to her but she never opened her mouth. Her stoic behaviour had broken everyone, prayer after prayer was said in her name.
He moved closer and sat in front of her.
“(Y/N), say something,” he commanded, trying to sound stoic but his voice cracked. “It’s been a year, (Y/N),” he begged, tears threatening to spill again.
He gulped hard and looked into her dead eyes. His stomach twisted into a knot.
“(Y/N), please understand. You need to scream or cry.. or shout to get out of the trauma. SAY SOMETHING, (Y/N), DAMN IT!” he roared, his eyes narrowed to prevent the tears from falling.
She didn’t flinch. Sherlock punched the wall in frustration, his jaw clenched, throat dry from trying to hold in the tears.
“Say something,” he begged in a soft voice. He stared at her face, hoping she’d answer.
Defeated, he stood up to leave. Suddenly, a hand grasped his arm.
He looked down to see (Y/N), her nails digging into his hand but he didn’t care.
He sat down and cupped her face.
Her eyes still looked distant, but a single tear rolled down her sunken cheek.
Her glazed eyes reflected Sherlock’s face- his curls more chaotic than usual, his eyes sunken and red, his lips parting, to say a thousand things but nothing at all at once.
“Sherlock,” she whispered hoarsely. She spoke softly, almost as if she’d said nothing.
Her voice filled Sherlock’s heart again and he broke into a smile.
“(Y/N),” he whispered, looking into her eyes.
She said nothing, but let Sherlock hold her, as she sobbed. Her whole body rattled with grief and it half-killed Sherlock.
Sherlock made a vow, then and there, as he held her, looking into her eyes that didn’t seem as dead as before.
He swore that’d he’d protect her, no matter what; find Moriarty and end him- even if it was the last thing he did.