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[Y/N DOESN’T FORGIVE SHERLOCK!! read the first part for this to make sense. this alternative ending continues off from when Y/N storms into the flat after Moriarty releases them and they run into Sherlock]
You slam the door closed as you take a deep breath. A feeling of weight lifting itself off your shoulders, you had been meaning to confront him but never had. It felt good to let yourself be known to your father, to let it be known how shitty he was.
Sherlock didn’t come after you as you listened through the door. He got into a cab and drove off for the case. At least you wouldn’t have to speak to him. With steady feet, you crept up the stairs. You were careful to not make any creaks, perhaps it was a habit of returning late at night when you lived with your mother. The thought of her put a sour expression on your face. There were two chances of decent parents for you but both times, they had failed to be proven as good parents.
“Hey,” You said as you see John rocking in his chair. “I’m back and I’m okay. Sherlock told me you were worried.”
“My God, y/n I was worried sick.” The doctor stood up from the chair and walked over to you. He examined you to confirm you were alright. When he stood back, his eyes narrowed. “Where on earth have you been.”
You open your mouth to say a single word, ‘Moriarty,’ but instead, nothing comes out and you shut your mouth. It didn’t feel right to say his name John has that expecting look on his face but you hardly feel enough energy to explain. Gripping the collar of your shirt, the book in your hands lifts up to John's hands. He grabs it, a confused expression on his face. Although you love John like a father figure, you know there’s nothing left for you at Baker-street. A cold sensation travels through the room.
This entire time you’ve been fighting for something that could never exist; your father's love. You were tired of waiting to no avail.
“Sherlock will catch you up,” You manage to choke out, “I uh- Goodbye John.”
John raises an eyebrow in suspicion, tilting his head. You simply shrug, spinning on your heels and retreating to your room. You can’t stay here any longer, you’ve made up your mind. Without another word, you collapse into the bed. Despite sleeping all day in captivity, you felt exhausted. Perhaps it was a mental toll, you had a lot to think about. Like what to do next. After a moment, you stood up, walking over to your desk. There were notes of deductions scattered across your desk. Your most recent attempt to impress and catch your father’s attention.
Reaching for a note, you gaze over it. Tracing over the messy letters of it with a fingertip. The yellow sticky notes are pinned to a bulletin board with other attempts of catching your father’s validation. You were done with the attempts as you grabbed the notes, swiping two years' worth of attempts into a pile. Solved cases, deductions, and results of experiments all written down and ready to burn. From now on, you would work on the only relevant validation, validation from yourself. After a few moments of staring at the pile, you heard the click of John leaving the flat.
Giving no more than one last glance, you grabbed the pile in your hands and step out of your room. The sound of paper crumpling echoed through the flat. Not wasting another thought on your father, you tossed into the lot fireplace, it wasn’t enough to burn down the place but you could smell smoke.
You watched it catch fire, all those years of trying for nothing. The blaze grew angry as it devoured your last two years of work, eating away at it. Heat swarmed your face as you took a breath of it, glad to lose that weight on your shoulders. After several moments, even after the paper had burnt to black, you watched silently at the dying embers, barely realizing the time that had passed. Alone, you sobbed not even attempting to muffle choked cries. You allowed yourself a moment to let the crashing relief and distress fall over you.
Slowly you stood up, noticing the dark shadows of night. Heading back to your room, you grabbed your bag, filling it with your most precious items, leaving behind little evidence that would give away where you would be leaving. By the time you finished, you stood at the open window. Your gaze lingered on an image of you and your father. You took a long-needed breath before you grabbed it. A framed photo of you and Sherlock. It was taken two years ago a little after the two of you had met. You were grinning but Sherlock looked rather bored. Giving no more than one last glance, you dropped it in the trash. The sound of glass cracking bounced through the room. Not wasting another thought on your father, you left.
By the time Sherlock returned home, you were gone. John was shouting at him as the detective frantically looked around. The first thing he noticed was the smoke, the smell of burning paper. He grabbed the charred pieces, dropping them in shock at what they were. A feeling sunk in his stomach as he stood up, barging into your room. Your room was perfectly in place beside the fact it was missing everything you loved. That’s when it clicked for the detective, he grabbed the shattered frame.
“John, I really fucked up.”
“Bloody hell, Sherlock. You’re a detective, go find them!”
“Fourth minutes ago they left, leaving through the window.” Although he stopped suddenly, he hardly knew a thing about you, he didn’t know where you would even run off to. He mumbled to himself, trying to recover every memory of you. “I know where they are! We have to hurry.”
Seven minutes later he was standing outside the school you went to. There was no sign of you at first as he walked around the school. He began to believe he had got it wrong until found you sitting in the field.
“Y/N,” You snap your head over “I apologize for being a bad father,” Sherlock started hesitantly. You turn your face farther from him, not resounding. “I haven’t paid much attention to you, I’ve been forgetful. I know I forgot your teacher conference. I don’t really understand this whole father thing but I want to try.”
“You’re kidding,” You snap, sitting up. Glaring at him. “You have had more than two years to try and you never attempted to. I get you don’t want to be a father and I get that you’re often busy. But don’t bullshit me with that, if you wanted to, you would’ve at least tried to be a father.
“And if it takes a goddamn criminal mastermind to kidnap me with the original intention of murdering me for you start trying, I don’t want it. You’ve had your chance, I have constantly reached out for your quality time and validation and never received any in the past years. I’ve tried everything to be enough, to be loved by you and have a father figure. You’ve been completely unfair to me and I’ve had enough of this neglect. Don’t bother anymore.”
You turned to return to sleeping once more but Sherlock swung you around as your face landed on his chest, arms wrapping around you. The first embrace you’ve experienced with him. The fabric of his coat pressed into your face as you choked up with emotions. Suddenly you shoved him away.
“No, you’re not my father, you are simply someone who ignores my existence and is related to me.” You stood up, walking back. “Bye, Sherlock, it’s too late to change now.”
“Y/N- please.”
“I was always a burden I’m your eyes anyways. Have a good life, Sherlock.”
He watched helplessly as you stepped into a vehicle, Moriarty waved through the window although his usual smug look has vanished, instead of written with disapproval and disappointment. The car started and disappeared into London’s streets.