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Whipped	By : This_is_The_Phantom_Lady Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3753 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This contains major triggers for people with issues with self-harm. I do not own or profit on any official BBC Sherlock characters or any other part of BBC Sherlock.

Chapter List
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Swiftly and skilfully she began wrapping my arm in a fresh bandage; as if she had done little else her entire life.

I managed to have a quick peek at the damage left from that potato peeler. The wound was slowly healing I suppose, but it still looked ghastly…

I couldn’t hold back the frown. That was going to leave a scar that could never fade, not even if I lived long enough.
It would always be one that people would see and quickly look away from… scared to hurt my feelings; but I’d still see their reaction, and it would; or they would ask and I wouldn’t know what answer to give.
Just like it happened with the deep scars that already adorned my skin and had for so many years… tokens from my mess of a life, a map of my lost battles.

My eyes scanned my poor arm; a whole collection of scars and cuts in their later stages of healing… that stage that itched like you wouldn’t believe; and it wasn’t easy to resist the urge to scratch them until they bled again... inviting to a never ending cycle of self-destruction.

I could hear my mother’s voice so clear in my head; so clear in fact that for a second I worried she was there and my body tensed.
Zebra, she said. I looked like a stupid zebra with all those stripes.
She had said it with disgust… not a second of worry or concern for her only daughter’s mental state… only disgust at what her horrible child had gone and done now, and how it would reflect back on herself if anyone she knew should notice…

Oh the horror, should anyone know that I was not the perfectly well trained daughter they all praised her for raising all on her own.

Just like she had worried more about her relationship to the mother of that man who hurt me beyond repair when I was just thirteen years old… I could never forget the words she said when I finally confessed to her; years later… asking me who knew, and threatening me not to tell another soul.

Not to mention the fact that she assumed I had done something to deserve that… and it became a knackering, persistent doubt in my own mind.

Then suddenly my train of thought jumped… what was she telling people about my disappearance? The note I left on her kitchen table might as well have been a suicide note. She couldn’t be telling them that? Her perfect daughter, that she raised so well all on her own; offing herself.
She probably told them I had moved abroad for work? I doubt anyone would buy that I had moved for love, let alone my real reason for leaving…

“Mira?” Miss A.’s concerned voice brought me back to the present. She carefully brushed her thumb over my cheek.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” she tilted her head, and wiped my cheek again… wiping away tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.
“Your arm is healing well, sweetie” she held my hand; so gently.
So gentle it almost hurt.

She tried to reassure me… tried to comfort me…

“You’re so far away” she sighed, caressing the palm of my hand.

She was right. I was one thousand kilometres away.

“Sorry” my voice creaked. I sounded as small as I felt.

“No, it’s me who’s sorry” she made an effort to look into my eyes “Mira, sweetie, I should have known you weren’t ready for that. I pushed you too far. It’s my fault”. Her blood red lip trembled as she spoke.

“I-I didn’t say ‘Pink’” I reminded her; something in me wanting to comfort her as well.

She leaned in and kissed the top of my hand. Her lips felt so very soft and warm.

“I broke my responsibility. I knew better” she kept holding on to my hand. “Can you forgive me?”

It was an absurd situation.
She had spanked and whipped me… and now this she asked me to forgive her.

I nodded.

“Oh” she suddenly had an epiphany and straightened her back and gently put my hand back down. “How is your cheek feeling? I brought a deep cleansing mud mask. I thought you might enjoy that” she moved some of the things on the tray, showing me a glass jar and a soft sponge.

She helped me to sit up on the bed against the pillows and quickly braided my hair to get it out of my face, then she grabbed the warm and damp sponge and carefully washed my face. With a smile she padded it an extra time on my nose.

“You’ve got such a cute little nose; did you know that?” she chuckled.

And I automatically frowned. That nose… it was always the last resort when the bullies in school ran out of subjects and absurd rumours.
It was too small, too short, too upturned. Then there was the drama teacher who cast me as a mouse; because I had the face for it.

I think I was one of the only women who had googled the price of a rhinoplasty enlargement rather than reduction or correction.

Suddenly she ran her finger down the short length of it and I knew she had noticed it… the hairline scar from my own hand… My eyes closed and I sighed as if it was still sore.

“Miss A.” I stopped her. Taking a deep breath. “Can I come with a request?” my voice was still weak, but I chose my words carefully.

She washed my nose one last time and put down the sponge. Finishing stage one of the facial. She unscrewed the lid of the glass jar holding the clay before she answered me with a nod.

“Of course, sweetie. What is it?” she put on gloves as she spoke. I watched her; feeling a jolt of electricity from within; remembering when she last used gloves.

“Would you mind using the cane on me? I need to know what it feels like” I could physically feel my pupils dilate.

She sighed and put two of her fingers into the product.

“Not tonight, Mira. You need to rest” she moved closer to me and started to apply the cold mask to my face.

“But…” I protested; realizing that it was an actual need more than curiosity

She put a clean finger on my lips to silence me.

“I’ll make sure you can sleep. Maybe tomorrow”
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