Abusive - Request
Requested by @thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch: Hi. I was wondering if you’d do a Sherlock x reader are married. They are out on a date when the readers abusive ex boyfriend turns up while Sherlocks popped to the gents.
Summary: In an attempt to escape from reporters, Sherlock and (Y/N) end uo at a very dark restaurant. He excuses himself and leaves her alone for a few minutes without knowing that her abusive ex-boyfriend was a waiter there.
Pairing: Sherlock x reader.
Warnings: Abusive ex-boyfriend, is there really anything else to say?
Word count: 1,789
A/N: Don’t know if the ex is too much of an insane man… I have been reading “It” and, however’s read it knows why, that is the reason I wrote him like this. Also, as someone who’s seen abuse from up close, I beg of you guys, if you’re in an abusive relationship or know someone who is DO NOT stay quiet, you’ve got to talk and get help. Please. This is just fiction, there won’t be a Sherlock Holmes to rescue us, or even so an easy way to escape on your own. So please, do get informed and get help. I repeat, this is fiction.
The little restaurant was full. Every single table had been taken by either a couple or a family, and they were all chatting like they hadn’t seen each other in ages. The waiters were walking quickly to deliver the orders to the correct table, and the cooks were struggling to get every plate on time. The musicians were full of different songs – some songs were completely unknown to them – and the person in charge of the entrance was trying with all her might to calm every one down.
“It’s unbelievable how many people want to come into this place.” Sherlock observed. Of course, he had noticed everything.
“I know.” He interrupted his wife, “Half of them are reporters, the other half are fans.”
“You’re such a celebrity.” She joked. Sherlock smirked proudly, a few crinkles framing his blue eyes.
“You know what to order?” He asked.
“No… The menu is quite limited.” The mischievous smile that formed on his lips made it clear that he didn’t want to stay at that crowded place. “Where?”
“There’s another one, down the block, closer from home.” He whispered, leaning closer to give a stronger sense of privacy. “We can sneak through the back door, fool those paparazzi.”
“The things I do for you.” She sighed and then both of them followed Sherlock’s mind plan.
The back of the restaurant was dark and it smelled like fish, but it had a direct access to the opposite street, which was free of people. Sherlock and (Y/N) ran all the way to the other restaurant Sherlock had in mind. Hiding in the shadows, letting out breathy giggles and, most importantly, enjoying each other’s company.
Said restaurant was empty, and the dim lights worked perfectly as a cover up. No one could see the other’s faces unless they were at the same table or a waiter used to such lack of light.
The food of course wasn’t as good as the one from the last restaurant. It had a rather artificial flavour instead of the homely one Sherlock adored, but even so just being able to spend a night off with her was enough.
Two whole hours went by and they were about to leave. Sherlock popped to the gents while (Y/N) waited at the table, munching at a mint they had given them along with their change after paying the check.
She had felt like someone stared at her ever since she and Sherlock entered the restaurant. But she was so used to being followed either by reporters, Mycroft’s spies or Moriarty’s spies it could really be anyone. And she wasn’t doing anything bad, so she wasn’t worried to be caught on camera.
He had stared at her for those two hours. That slut. Giggling like an idiot, playing with her hair, caressing his palm… Of course she was doing it, he was a famous detective – a genius even – who led him to the next question: How come he hadn’t noticed yet what kind of whore she truly was?
He then left her alone. Alone in that dark place, vulnerable. The anger he had felt, locked inside him for ages, was now rising from the flames of his own inner Hell. His knuckles hurt, ached to feel her soft skin break over them, wanting to get splattered with her blood once more.
The mere thought of her pretty face covered in bruises excited him, making tingles appear all over his body in anticipation. The place was dark, he only needed to drag her a bit further away from her table, and so she wouldn’t know what hit her – literally.
He walked slowly towards her; like a predator haunting its prey before attacking. Observing her every move, her naïve expression, her… Her red lips. Those lips that made him lose control, in the exact tone that got his fury to unleash. She loved that colour that shade, it truly reflected her inner self: A whore.
He slid at the opposite side of the table, with his dark eyes glued to her who was distracted getting something from her bag.
“Have you seen my…?” She lifted her gaze, and the pure sight of the man who still gave her nightmares made her freeze. She was frightened to death.
Her blood started running faster, her lungs were lacking of enough air to contain her anxiety. Her heart skipped beats and then recovered them in a few seconds, which caused an inconsistent beating. Her hands, armpits and forehead started sweating, and her knees tingled, begging her to run. The ghosts of the past impacts invaded her mind, and all she could feel was the many bruises that were now long gone but used to belong on her face and arms. Her lower ribs and legs burned, remembering all those kicks and mislead punches they had received. Her lips went dry, and not even the lipstick could get them to hold them from breaking. She wanted to scream, but there was a knot on her throat avoiding a single sound to come out of her. Her flawless skin turned so pale anyone would’ve swore she was a ghost and her eyes hurt. She hadn’t blinked, she couldn’t, scared that he would use those seconds of blindness to harm her.
“You remember me.” He said as a wicked smile grew on his face. That smile, that cursed omen that warned her about the upcoming violence. It was there, right in front of her, directed to her once again.
“Please go away.” She begged in a whisper so low he could barely hear it.
He tisked his tongue and leaned closer. “I can’t leave, slut.” He whispered back, although his voice was audible, “I work here.”
(Y/N) tried to get up from the table, but he just slammed his fist once over the wooden surface and her instincts made her sit back. She hadn’t forgotten his rules.
“Who’s that man?” He asked, and (Y/N) knew who he was referring to.
“Don’t you watch the telly?” She inquired, trying to be brave like that time she escaped. He hissed back, showing all of his teeth.
“Sherlock Holmes, of course I know. What I mean is who is that man to you?” (Y/N) froze, hiding both of her hands under the table. Wanting to keep the diamond ring out of his sight.
“Her husband.” A third voice stated from behind him. Sherlock stepped closer, making the dim light shine over his face. “Who are you?”
He got up and tried to stand up in an authoritarian pose. Of course, Sherlock was taller, but even so he had the face of a maniac and that was pretty intimidating.
“Let me guess,” Sherlock smiled triumphant, “that poor bastard that… Yeah, of course.” The detective didn’t want to say it out loud, knowing exactly how she felt about it. “Think you can get her back to the cave of horrors?” A cruel chuckle left his plump lips, “C’mon, we both know you prefer to be the one beating rather than being the one beaten. So don’t make me bring you back to those summer days when mommy would hit you with a hot metal bar.”
“You think you’re smart?” He fumed. Of course mommy had hit him with a hot metal bar as a child, right on the palms of his hands – he still had the scars – but how could Sherlock know? Not even (Y/N) knew it.
“Smarter than you, yes.” Sherlock replied, “Isn’t that why daddy would punch you. For the low grades and the lack of brains… You think that reflecting that on (Y/N) or really any other woman will help you deal with your anxiety?” Sherlock shook his head, “Nothing will help unless you stop chugging on so much coffee… Although, I can’t really blame you because I wouldn’t want to have the nightmares you have.”
“Don’t make me hit you.” The lunatic warned and Sherlock couldn’t express his thoughts with anything other than a sarcastic laughter.
“You? Hit me?” He huffed, “I’ve dealt with Egyptian murderers and killed each and every single one of them with just one sword… My life’s been threatened more than once and I’ve defended myself. I fought the Golem and so many other criminals that are far better than you. Do you honestly think you scare me?” His voice had gotten lower and faster with each word. He had also leaned closer to the man threatening (Y/N) so that they were at eye level. “Don’t play with me, boy, unless you want to get burned.”
The man pushed him back. Trying to remember how the kids at school would beat him up before he learned how to defend himself – or rather mimic them and use said moves against them – and dodging Sherlock’s attempts to hit him. Although, of course, Sherlock was just distracting him.
It only took four punches. One under the ribs, another one at the back of the neck, the other at the back under his lungs, and the last one directed to the throat. Sherlock punched him in said order so fast nobody actually saw it, however, in just five seconds (Y/N)’s ex was on the floor, finding his will to breathe.
“I can’t believe you dated this pig.” Sherlock complained, “Thank God you changed your mind and ended up with me… Everything all right?”
(Y/N) nodded. “Please, Sher… Let’s just leave.”
“Just one moment.” Sherlock kneeled down to the floor to meet face to face again with the man. “You better disappear, because if I see you again I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”
“Sher.” (Y/N) begged, completely oblivious to what his boyfriend was whispering into her ex’s ear.
Sherlock stood back up and took his time to put on his coat and scarf before leaving. Of course, he made sure to step on the man’s stomach on his way out. Nobody touched his girl, less to say, nobody threatened her without Sherlock doing something about it. Everybody knew it, and those who ignored it… Bad things would happen. It was just his way of taking care of the one person that made him feel a lot more than friendship, the one to truly make him feel human rather than an uncomprehended genius. And God knows, Sherlock wouldn’t be able to live without her.
“The things I do for you.” Sherlock repeated her words as they walked out. (Y/N), who was still a nervous wreck, replied with a shy smile and a peck on his cheek. And so they walked through the cold streets of London, back to their tiny flat at 221B Baker Street, where no one would bother them - except for John, maybe.