#sherlockreader

[simplysherlockfanfic]

The study of a haunted mind

A Spin-off of Connection - inspired by a few requests for a one shot or spin off continuing the Connection Universe and the TAB period sparked by @jiuweihututku

(Connection)Reader x Sherlock

Word Count: 4327

The lofty round chamber was illuminated by well placed lamps around the table situated in the center to create a cavernous setting. The men seated around the rather ornate table unobservable in such dramatic lighting preferred the secluded atmosphere for the discussion of topics that would not pass through the heavy doors. The artificial cavern was perfect for the equally artificial men who occupied the chamber.

Mycroft Holmes brought the meeting to an end and I needed no instruction to stay seated and keep my eyes low. I preferred my place tucked in between the door and heavy drapery that blocked any natural light. Being the only female in the room was not lost on me nor the men who spanned a multitude of positions in various government entities. The group of seven men held different beliefs of where a woman of any standing had a right to be, never the less one whose native country was not the same as their own.

I had no illusions to the temperaments of the men in my company as some would refuse to acknowledge me as company. Mr. Holmes was the only reason I held such a station. He was a man who answered to none and none would speak against his appointments. Even after all my years in his employ, I did not know precisely his position, only that he was of such grave import none would oppose his view save for the very highest and I've only witnessed it once. I was sworn to secrecy and not due to the nature of the discussion but, I believe, because of who came out on top.

The men filed out of the room in silence. I closed my book and placed my items in the crook of my arm as I rose taking hold of my cane.

Mycroft strolled toward me, “what of your findings?”

“Two found your second point a hard pill to swallow.”

He nodded, “mark them in your notations.”

“As always.” I often wondered if he saw the same ticks I observed that betrayed the men who thought so highly of their ability to show the world only what they desired to let them see and he merely used me for confirmation of his own theories. I wouldn’t mind in the least because I often relied on him to confirm my own skills at times.

I wasn't ashamed to admit I had to battle back from a harsh mental climate after an unfortunate incident that forced me to hold a cane at all times outside of my own home. My body wasn't the only thing battered and bruised and I relied on my family and friends to fight back to where I am today.

Mycroft walked by my side to the door, he preferred the slow pace that my injury presented me but also felt it rude to walk ahead of someone he considered his equal. I did not share his opinion of myself for he had accomplished far greater things but I acquiesced to his compliment when he shared it. 

“Have I presented my gratitude recently?”

I shook my head, “this position is gratitude enough.”

He smiled as he stopped at the door, “ah, yes when one can stomach the ignorant.”

“We learned that long ago.”

“The best of us had to.”

Mycroft Holmes, man of refined inclinations and unmatched mind, had in recent years softened around the edges in a different way. From the very day my son William came into this world, he began to decrease in size. He was still a tall, large man but different choices had made him, in the words of my good friend Dr. Watson, no longer a man challenging death.

I stepped into the hall and another tall figure moved toward us. Just over six feet, not as excessively lean these days yet still his presence filled the space. His sharp eyes met mine and his purposeful steps slowed to a stop in front of me. I stared up into warm, intelligent eyes that spoke more than I ever thought possible.

Mycroft closed the door, “why, Sherlock, how unexpected.” His smile revealed otherwise.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock inclined his head, “I had some business in the building and heard you were concluding a meeting.” His piercing gaze turned back to me and he tipped his hat belying nothing save for the glitter of his eyes, “Miss Doyle.”

“Holmes.” I nodded with a hint of a grin.

Mycroft folded his hands over his stomach, “yes, well. That will be all for today, y/n. I'd like the meeting’s pages on my desk by nine.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Don’t forget Mr. Melas will be meeting you at the club at seven.”

He eyed me, no doubt perturbed by my persistent formal use of his name, but decided against commenting upon it. “Thank you.”

“May I accompany you out, Miss Doyle?” Sherlock proffered his arm and the elder Holmes’s eyeroll was hardly hidden.

“I’d be delighted.” I took his arm giving the elder Holmes a final nod before turning with Sherlock.

“Good-bye, Mycroft.” Sherlock tossed over his shoulder in a way that only those brothers could, with challenge and love.

“As to you.”

We walked in silence through the building exchanging minute touches around corners and in empty halls. His elbow cheating back to brush his fingers against my wrist, palm, and in between my fingers. Muscle mastery that could entice a rousing masterpiece on his violin and a soothing or inspiring composition in me. I could always tell how his day was going by the way his fingers alighted my skin. He was mixing his piece, half soothing and half enticing. Today was a good day but he wanted to ease the ache in my hip.

His fingers swept over the plain silver band on my ring finger just before he pulled his arm forward and we stepped out the front door where a cab awaited me. He opened the door, plucked up my cane, and held my hand to help me inside. I sat and he placed the cane neatly at my side. “Where may I ask should I send you?”

“I have a meeting with the Society before I venture home.”

He nodded and gave the address to the driver before closing the door. I leaned forward, “a good afternoon to you, sir.”

He smiled with just a hint of delight in his eyes, “a good afternoon indeed.” He stepped back and the cab bounded off.

I closed my eyes and let his composition accompany me through the muddy streets of London.

~~

Baker Street was still bustling even though the air had turned brisk. I had long since grown accustomed to London’s gray sky but I had no doubt more clouds would roll in within hours. Sherlock would scoff at my prediction but the quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away every time.

I strolled down the sidewalk with one gloved hand tucked in my pocket trying not to lean too heavily upon my cane. Despite the weather, the people hustling and strolling about were in good spirits. They may complain year round but they loved their city, gray skies and all. I smiled, tucked my head against the wind, and returned to mulling over our most recent research into the human mind.

My study pursuing a way to ease, if not erase, dark memories that haunt or, in other cases not so lucky as mine, debilitate those who survive such terrors had been slowly gaining traction. While my research into a mind that felt compelled to inflict such pain had been flourishing and my fellows were already contemplating offering their opinion on suitable titles. Due to the rise in sensationalist stories of Jack the Ripper, I was disinclined to give any more public notoriety to despicable behavior.

I turned my mind from the distant past and recalled the thoughts that had been trying to lure me from my analysis throughout the afternoon. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the way his nimble fingers caressed my palm amidst the quiet halls. I will forever be amazed by his ability to take my breath with a single touch.

“Mama!” The shout drew me back to Baker Street. William’s dark curls bounced over his bright face as he rushed toward me filling me with a completely different warmth.

I knelt down and opened my arms just before he carefully latched onto me, “hello, my love.” I wrapped him in a tight embrace. “How was your day?” I glanced up and smiled at the little sandy haired girl rushing toward me.

“Auntie y/n!” Rosamund pressed into my side wrapping us in a hug all her own.

“Hello my little dove!” I chuckled and looked up at Mary walking over with a smile lighting her face. My heart jolted and I shut my eyes.

“They’re very excitable today,” Victoria’s voice was bright and when I again looked up, her red hair replaced the blonde I thought I saw. Her face, now whispering concern, was nothing like the ghost of the woman in my mind.

I smiled with a slight shake of my head, “the chill.” I stood as the children released me chattering over each other about their trip to the park. “What great timing. I was going to send a telegraph.”

We turned and guided the children back toward the flat. “Come along William, Rosamund.” I leaned into her side while the children skipped ahead of us. “So, you heard?”

With a curt nod, she glanced my way, “Molly sent a telegraph about an incident in Sussex.”

“Sussex? Mycroft spoke of a different matter.”

Victoria’s eyes lit in excitement, “how delightful.”

The door to two hundred and twenty one B opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared shaking her head but all signs of discontent were dispelled by the children who immediately swarmed her. Victoria and I stepped inside and removed our coats and gloves.

“You read the new story then?” Victoria said with chagrin.

“Who needs silly stories when I am in the presence of the lovely ladies and gentleman of the house?”

“My dear Martha, this will always be your house. You are not a servant.” She smiled. I had to admit I over indulged in our innocent teasing on most days.

Her gaze was pulled by the sprites at her legs vying for her attention and Victoria elbowed me. We parted as a black cloaked woman complete with black veil rushed down the stairs, in between us, and out the front door without a word. Victoria and I glanced at one another before making our way upstairs.

The patter of the children’s feet followed along with Mrs. Hudson who no doubt would herd them into the kitchen.

I stepped into the sitting room where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were seated in their chairs by the fireplace in which a small fire crackled. I leaned my cane against the wall by the door not usually needing it for short distances, due in no small part to Mycroft’s swift thinking and action after the incident more than three years ago.

Sherlock’s gaze trailed over me, his ever watchful eye not missing a thing. I saw on his alert face what answers he had gained in his quick yet efficient observation and knew some piece I would miss gave him some knowledge of half my thoughts today. I winked before turning to the other presence.

Lestrade gave a tip of his head in greeting before his gaze was drawn to William rushing over to Sherlock. “Papa!”

Sherlock lifted our son onto his lap and leaned in, “my dear boy, what adventures did you find?”

“I hear John’s sister is doing quite well in the Queen’s service,” Lestrade said.

I grew confused at his words for all present were in good standing of our situation. But then it alerted me to an outside source from which I was still unaware. “I do what I can.”

Victoria chortled, “yes, who dared to think…”

“Victoria that would be quite enough.” John’s curt remark bordered on offensive.

I turned toward him with a look of disapproval, “now, dear brother.”

“Husband.” Victoria’s admonishment was so that one had to know her thoroughly to hear the dangerous undertone.

Sherlock grinned, “I believe Watson was simply trying to steer back to the matter at hand with our guest.”

William had crossed his leg over the other just like his father trying his best to match the posture down to the crook of his arm holding an invisible pipe to his mouth. Sherlock pulled a small pipe from his pocket and held it out for him. He grabbed it, fumbling it slightly in his excitement and shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and blew. A few bubbles shot out and William turned such a look of contempt on his father but the sheer delight visible in Sherlock counteracted even the most stubborn of our son’s attributes.

I chuckled softly at my boys as I stepped further into the sitting room and Lestrade moved aside. A man, quite unkempt with messy straw-like hair and dirty overcoat, was seated in a chair on the right side of the room placed directly in front of the couch. “My dear sir, how terribly unkind of me and in my own home. Have you not treated the man to a drink?” I saw the signs of anxiety on his taut face, in his stiff shoulders, and uneven breathing that Sherlock had no doubt already deduced.

Sherlock Holmes may not be an expert in Psychology but he trained himself to catch even the slightest twitch of the eye from a lying man. He knew enough about the emotive ticks to judge the state of the man in front of us.

“That would be grand…” His wild eyes darted from Sherlock and William to me, “did you say your home?”

I walked over and offered my hand, “why yes, y/n Doyle. Pleasure to meet you.”

His gaze flicked to Sherlock and then to John. If I hadn't known better I might think he was about to take flight. “I thought your sister’s name was Harriet?”

Well,” John shook his head, a delay as the struggle continued in his mind, the only thing that came to me was trust in the man before us, “Mrs. Doyle is… adopted… and well, she…”

“She is a woman out of her time.” Sherlock spoke matter of factly and caused a blush to stain my cheeks, his gaze on me with pride and so much more.

I watched John, his conclusion finally eased his features. I laid my hand on our guest's shoulder hoping to assuage some of his nerves. “A relationship like the one John and I share is much like family but without blood relation in this society is, shall we say, frowned upon. It is much easier to tell those less minded that we are in fact blood related. It avoids scandal.”

“Anymore scandal,” Sherlock quipped pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at me.

“By Jove, Holmes! How anyone could see you choosing a bride of such ordinary tendencies is just beyond…” John chuckled with another shake of his head.

“Or choosing a bride at all from those stories in The Strand,” Lestrade said with a grin at John.

“You're married and a child? But she doesn't bear your name!” The man cried, leaning forward as his stress increased.

I patted his shoulder, “a matter of security I can assure you.” I walked over to the decanter and poured him a drink.

John laughed, “poppycock. You'd no less take that name than…”

Victoria glared at him, “husband.”

I walked over to our guest, “the Holmes name has a notoriety that I would prefer to avoid. Sherlock is a man that takes no offense to my position. He delights in it.” I handed him the glass but his gaze was riveted on John and his hand so shaky, the liquid sloshed about.

“But your stories, you say it’s cocaine or ambition.”

“I believe the line you're thinking is the man alternates between his drug of choice and ambition. She would be that drug,” Victoria quipped with an amused smile. “And sometimes ambition.”

“Is it still only a seven percent solution?” John tossed at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned, they were enjoying this far too much for decency. “Ah, I do believe I’ve far exceeded that dosage for quite some time now. Some days, at least, but then I tend to be quite fanciful these days.” He met my gaze and I smiled before turning away.

“Gentlemen, I do believe we may only be furthering his distress. That cold drink would do your mind and a good amount of deep breathing would help clear some of that anxiety.” I squatted in front of him, “now, if you would permit it, I would like to help you with that anxiety.” He nodded, still watching me warily. “With me, deep breath in.”

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade continued discussing whatever this man had brought them as I directed him into a calmer state. After a few minutes, he opened his clear, soft gray eyes and gazed into mine.

“May I ask what your speciality is?” His voice was smoother and deeper without the stress tightening his vocal cords.

“Psychology. It's the study of the mind.”

His laugh was like a crack of a whip in the room and everyone turned toward him, “but that's simply a fake…”

I smiled as I stood, “I am a member of the Society of Psychical Research and I'll have you know this area of study is exploding especially in America. I just calmed you with techniques I have perfected through my own research, sir. Feel your heart and listen to your breathing, your brain is no longer running in circles. You are now comfortable for the first time since the incident. Are you not?”

His eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock, “is this some kind of sorcery?”

“My wife is of high intellect and sorcery is of no use in this household. You’ll find no parlor tricks here.”

“She is published, both medical journals and novel!” John said tightly, eying the man he had only moments ago allowed a clearance like no other outside our circle.

“Dr. Watson trusts you highly for certain things to be spoken so easily in your presence. I hope you measure up to the worth of that trust.”

He stared at me but the thunder coming from the stairs drew our attention to the door just before it flung open. A large man in an unleashed rage heaved at the doorway, his wild gaze jumping around the room and growing all the more incensed. “Which of you is Holmes?”

I walked toward him and held up my hands. “Good sir, won’t you take a breath and know that no harm will come to you here.”

His bloodshot eyes burned in my direction, “a woman who doesn't know her place!”

I was sure by now my husband would know more about this man than I ever cared to but I could only see the tension in every muscle that spoke of panic and wild rage, a dangerous animal. “And you will lower your voice in my home.” I inwardly flinched at such a careless mistake but dared not show the slightest bit of weakness.

A flash of confusion shadowed his rage but only for a moment before it flared back, “your home!” His gaze darted toward the fire place where John and Sherlock were still seated. “The busy body has a woman with no control!”

His huge hand reached out for me and I snatched his wrist from the air, twisted it swiftly down and around his back as I shoved the mountain of a man off balance and into the door frame. “And you would do well to keep your hands where they belong. Men who foolishly think they can overpower women simply because they are bigger only prove how very uneducated they are.” Malice seeped through my every word and my pulse was pounding in my ears. I had focus on my breathing simply to hold back from injuring him any further.

“The conversation is most entertaining but I believe my wife has just shown you to the door, sir.”

The controlled lilt that hinted of danger in Sherlock’s voice tempered my heated blood. I released the man and backed away. A slight fright at the amount of rage that still pulsed through me. My gaze darted around the room and I was thankful that William was no longer present.

“When I have my say…” He rubbed his wrist and turned but stepped backward into the doorway. He glanced at me with a vicious look before returning his gaze to Sherlock.

Sherlock stood from his chair, his face tight and his nostrils flared but it was Victoria who stepped toward the man, “I believe you have done enough for one day. What would Scotland Yard have to say?”

Lestrade turned toward the man and he huffed, muscles rippling in aggravation as he ignored Lestrade and stabbed a finger toward Sherlock, “do not meddle in the affairs of Dr. Grimesby Roylott!” Then he spun awkwardly and lumbered down the stairs.

I turned to Sherlock and raised my brow in question when John’s old friend seated behind me exclaimed, “good Lord! You…” I turned and met his astonished look with confusion, “you… madam are extraordinary.” There was a lingering fear in his stiffened muscles and I could only conclude that John’s trust wouldn’t be the only thing holding this man to our loyalty.

“A woman can surprise you if only you let them.” Sherlock gave a sharp tug on the bottom of his vest, “if you would excuse me for a moment. I need to speak with my wife.” Sherlock walked toward the kitchen and paused with his hand held out toward me.

Victoria slipped something into my hand as I passed her. I stepped into Sherlock’s side and he took hold of my arm, the soft caress of his fingers on my palm soothing as we walked into the kitchen then around the children and Mrs. Hudson.

I quickly read the telegraph Victoria had handed me as Sherlock guided me into the hall for a touch of privacy, but the words handwritten there didn't make sense, meet me at his boathole in cemetery. I.A.

I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head at the sudden burst of pain. When I again looked at the paper, it was a simple telegram from Molly. He stopped us and turned to face me as I inquired, “do you know the meaning of the bull at our door?”

“His step daughter made her leave before your entrance.”

“The woman… dressed in black?” A tingle of fear itched the back of my neck. What I had just done could very well be reflected back on her.

He nodded, his fingers brushed over my cheek then he kissed me with a quiet reverence. “You taught him a lesson that I should...”

I pressed my finger to his lips, “it's not that bad. Just the weather. Promise me that woman won’t be alone with that man. If my actions...”

His hand brushed my hip where the ache always flared up in cold weather. “Watson and I must catch the next train to take his step daughter’s case. I believe he’s going to have her killed much like her sister.”

I nodded, “Victoria received a telegram asking for our assistance in a matter in Sussex.”

“Lamberley?”

“Yes.”

“This lady in need of assistance is Peruvian?” He asked with a smile.

I looked upon him in amusement and he kissed me again. “I received a letter of the same matter. I shall send word that an associate of highest caliber will be arriving.”

I turned toward the kitchen, “Mrs. Hudson, could I ask you to watch the children for us until tomorrow?”

“Of course! Oh, how lovely, are you finally going on holiday?”

“Oh no, we have two…” my gaze froze upon the scrap of paper tacked to the wall just behind Mrs. Hudson, “different cases.”

She shook her head with a chortle, “of course.”

The odd stick figures in different positions called to me, something whispering that I should know. “The dancing men,” the words spilled from me but still brought no understanding except for the flash of a woman’s face, dark hair, red lipstick, and clever eyes. You understand.

Sherlock caressed my neck, “still waiting on more data for that. One case at a time.”

I turned back to him, his lopsided grin and a pinch in his brow. “Right.”

“Associates.” His palm pressed against my cheek, “then I shall see you again tomorrow.”

I held his hand on my face with the most peculiar feeling of living this moment before yet the emotions were different, more afraid. “Does your case have an increased element of danger?”

“None higher than others.” He searched my face, my eyes.

I nodded, “until tomorrow then.” He lifted a brow, “just simple instinct, I suppose the bull may have increased my own anxiety for the girl. A cornered animal is a dangerous one.”

He pressed his lips to mine, a slow and sensual kiss that only heightened my sense of being here, saying such a stressed, intense goodbye before. “I will see you no later than tomorrow night. I guarantee this will be wrapped up by morning light.”

John’s story of the events of Reichenbach swarmed my mind and I held onto him tighter. I hugged him tucking my head into his chest, breathing him in. Losing this man was not a possibility.

He bent down just enough to press his lips to my ear, “I’m invincible, you know that.”

I squeezed tighter. “Tomorrow then.” 

PART TWO

[yanyandf]

From left to right, top to bottom (hover title for links)

Chromatography (?)

The Modern Novel (?)

Collier’s Encyclopeia

Bringing Down the House

1997 Science & the Future Encyclopedia Britannica

Planning Law (?)

The Boer War by Thomas Pakenham

The Silver Jubilee Book

The Passing

Arkady Shevchenko Breaking with Moscow

[johnlockfics]

Would you know of any Sherlock x reader smut or John x reader smut? Thanks!

This is a really interesting request! It’s not a part of fanfiction I’ve really gotten into before, but there seems to be quite a bit out there! Out of curiosity, does anyone happen to know if this was a big trend a while back? I ask because most of the results I found weren’t on ao3 or LJ, which seem to be the most popular today. Also, many of the writers tagged their writing as “lemon”, which is very rarely used now. Anyway, there seemed to be way more Sherlock x reader than John x reader, but I did my best.

Sherlock x reader:

A Matter of Perspective (technically Johnlock, but reads very much like Sherlock x reader as it’s in second person). 

Request

Reader Inserts

Tis the Season

Lunaescence (This is a list that contains quite a few Sherlock x reader fics. I figured I’d just link it here, as there are more here than the few that I was putting in this list). 

John x reader:

Frustrated (a note on this. I actually found quite a few John x reader smut fics on deviantart, but without an account that marks you as 18+, you can’t access them. That’s why I only put this one on the list. If you do happen to have an account that meets the criteria, there are quite a few John x reader fics there. Or feel free to message me, and I can find them for you.

I hope these are what you were looking for! If not, go ahead and message me. Enjoy!

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Seven

*Found on google* 

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four.  Five. Six. Seven. Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty One.   Twenty Two.   Twenty Three.   Twenty Four.   Twenty Five.   Twenty Six.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: an American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 4565

Your name: submit What is this?

Sherlock stirred, feeling consciousness coming back as flashes of images sped through his mind. Reaching Lestrade’s office, tucking his wallet into his pocket and calling the number on the phone just below the picture that made his blood run cold. The voice on the phone giving him an address and he was sure he made it there but he couldn’t remember much more.

He was in a chair, his arms and legs strapped down with some kind of rope, thick and well made. He opened his eyes and felt the pain at the back of his head. With a quick cursory glance, he was in a small room and a tall, dark-haired man was leaning against the wall watching him. “Moran. Moved onto bigger game?”

Moran strolled over and leaned down in front of his face wrapping his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders. He grinned then punched him hard in the stomach. Moran pulled back before Sherlock convulsively bent forward then Moran pressed his forehead to the side of Sherlock's head, “was that the best you had? You’re slipping.”

Sherlock looked him in the eye, “I've never been known for polite conversation.”

Moran laughed and clapped him on the back, “yes. You and Jim had that in common.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “if finding her is part of the game, it’ll be difficult to play tied up like this. Or did he forget to teach you?”

Moran’s fist collided with his cheek. “You were the game, you always were the game.”

Sherlock worked his jaw checking for any possible fractures then Moran walked out of the small room. Sherlock counted every step he took trying to map the floor plan but then the steps started back along with a heavy scraping of wood against wood. He dragged a chair in and turned it around before tipping it over. Y/n fell forward and with her hands tied to the arms of the chair, she had nothing to break her fall. Sherlock forced himself not to look away as the sick crunching of her landing reverberated in his skull.

Moran bent down and grabbed the back of the chair. “Oops.” He pulled it up and Sherlock clenched his teeth as he saw her bloodied face and the rust and crimson stains on the once white cloth in her mouth. He could see her trying to deal with the pain without breaking as he studied her features, automatically cataloging the wounds and assessing the extent of the damage but his own past experiences dealing with such pain kept bombarding him. He shook it all off and focused on Moran instead.

Moran knelt in front of her with a glance at Sherlock, “it's a real shame. You did have such a beautiful face, the kind that doesn't stand out until you really look close. But then that was your whole life, wasn't it? Stay in the shadows, stick to higher ground. It's a great survival strategy but then your path ultimately led to Sherlock. Was it the serial killer thing?”

He stood up and turned to Sherlock, “she’s not much of a talker until you really warm her up. Did you know about her uni days? It's quite fascinating, really.” He walked around her chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were still downcast but Sherlock noticed the bulging jaw muscles when he touched her. Her jaw wasn't broken. “She did a study on serial killers at university, was it just at Oxford or did the obsession start back in America? Was it Jack the Ripper? I know he really seems so fancy. Did you know she wasn't supposed to stay? She was only scheduled for two semesters abroad in good ol’ London but then she stayed in this cesspool for whatever stupid reason people stay here.” He leaned down and pressed his cheek against hers watching Sherlock. “Is that what attracted you to Sherlock? That gene that ties so many of us together.” His smile broadened, Sherlock got the distinct feeling that he was missing the joke.

Her gaze finally came up and met Sherlock’s, the fire there was unmistakable. Moran pushed his bottom lip out as his gaze returned to her, “don’t worry. I’m sure he never told you he was always attracted to the ones with a subtle beauty, it was the intelligence that intrigued him and then captured him completely. And foreigners. He liked the different ones the best.” Moran turned his head to face Sherlock with that Cheshire grin again.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he studied Moran’s bone structure.

Y/n pulled her head away from Moran and he turned back to her and leaned closer, “aw love, you didn’t think you were the…” She snapped her head into his face and he pulled back cursing as he covered his nose.

Sherlock’s smile faltered when she wouldn't meet his gaze, she just kept staring at Moran but the hit caused its own damage to her too. Her head wasn’t as still as it used to be as if she was having a hard time keeping it up. Moran pulled his hands away from his nose revealing the flowing blood.

“Was that really called for? I guess I did tie you up first and didn’t give you a chance to answer. How rude of me when we’ve moved passed that.” He untied the strip of cloth that she immediately spit out. The corners of her mouth were caked in blood and the amount of staining on the cloth told an unsavory story. “Was it the serial killer thing? It was, wasn't it?” He picked up the cloth and used it to mop up his own blood. “He always exudes this air that he doesn't care but we know differently, don't we?”

She laughed but it was too scratchy and airy, showing signs of vocal chord damage. Sherlock examined her throat and saw the bruising in between and around the dried blood. “How did Moriarty ever trust you to carry out anything?” Her voice was strained and barely the sound he knew.

Moran stepped back, “that’s cute, Doctor.” She smirked and he leaned down, “did he ever call you doctor in bed? A guy like Sherlock must have some interesting quirks. Or was it just one experiment that led to little Will? To be honest, I didn't think he’d know what to do.”

“How original.” She sneered, “did you really think that would make us uncomfortable? You’re even more out of your depth than I thought but then you are just a soldier.”

He backhanded her across the face and she laughed again. “I always carry out my mission.” He chuckled, “this is much more fun. You’re a mouthy one, I like it. Perhaps I’ll have to change the formula next time to give more chances for conversation.”

Her gaze darted away obviously shaken by his words but then she countered, changing the subject. “What about John outside of Bart’s?”

“That was a different circumstance.”

“Because it wasn't about Moriarty but your fake sister. Love is such a funny thing, wouldn't you agree, Sherlock?” She glanced at Sherlock before focusing back on Moran, “Moriarty is dead so, is dear Elizabeth Moran running things now?”

“You think you know so much when you know nothing.” He grabbed a handful of hair at the top of her head and yanked her head back forcing her to look up at him. “He’s here for you! For love!”

“You didn't do your homework. Why are you still playing the game?”

Sherlock was internally yelling for her to stop when Moran leaned down until his face was right above hers and Sherlock felt his blood boil. “Jim was my friend.”

“James Moriarty didn't have the ability to make attachments. You were his employee.”

His other hand clapped over her throat and squeezed. “That’s rich coming from you, the woman who fell in love with the famous crime-solving psychopath.” The veins in his forearm began to bulge as his grip tightened with each word. “Do you tell yourself that every time you slip into his bed?”

“She can't answer if you crush her windpipe,” Sherlock spoke in a controlled, even tone but his voice had lowered to a deeper register.

Moran released her throat and hair then spun around. “Funny. I thought you couldn't make attachments.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I'm a high functioning…” His gaze fell on her as she dragged in a few tortured breaths. “I have a few sociopathic tendencies. She’s right you didn’t do your research.”

Her head lifted enough for her gaze to meet his. “Because he's just... a lackey blindly following orders.” She turned her focus to Moran. “What would... your sister think?” Her voice was barely there and Sherlock’s heart began to knock against his chest. He had no idea what she was trying to do but her pallor only accentuated the bluish tint in her lips. She dragged in a deep rattling breath, “finishing a lunatic’s work... for what? Money? She must be so…” she faltered and her brow furrowed, “she loved him. She loved Moriarty?” Her eyes moved as she read his face, “and you hated her for it. Is that who you saw every time you hurt me?”

Moran pulled a gun from the back of his waistband. “That's a lovely speech. Except you’ve got one very big detail wrong.”

“It's not about money.” Sherlock spat with a strong need to draw the gun away from her, “that would be way too dull for a military man. You needed the action. You needed a reason to use the skills you'd spent an entire life honing. Civilian life didn't suit you and what else was a decorated sniper supposed to do? Get a job with another government controlled organization? No, you weren't going to be forced out by another overpaid idiot who climbed the ladder by brown-nosing the right people and found your methods to be out of their realm of decency. Or did they just kick you out to rid themselves of further questions and embarrassment?”

He cocked the gun and pressed the muzzle against Sherlock’s forehead. “You know he fawned over your brilliance. He was so obsessed with you after that first contact, it should be embarrassing to see you poke around in the dark looking for the pattern, for the clues that should be there. This was after all Moriarty’s game so there must be some meaning in every little thing! But here you are with nothing but some facts you were able to dredge up about me that I laid out for you to find. I spun you in circles and watched you dance and spiral down until I was sure you would figure it out, that it would start to feel familiar. I think Mycroft had a thought or two but here you are right where I want you. Spouting out things like they're truth, just like the old days. Although I must admit, shooting Magnussen, that one impressed me. I thought for sure Mycroft would’ve done it but you stepped up for yourself. Or was it for her?”

Sherlock watched him, not giving an inch, “the old days?”

“He's here because I needed him to be, you short-sighted prick.” Moran pivoted and aimed the gun at her knee. She laughed but it was more like eerie spurts of air, “you can't... even carry out your mission... because you can’t burn his heart out.”

Moran’s angry gaze flicked over to Sherlock who stared at her, his face blank. Moran looked down at her, his smile curling into a sneer, “you’re all I need. Sherlock never hid his favorite things very well. Of course, he’s gotten better at it, but for someone who knows him, well, it wasn’t that hard.”

Her brow scrunched for a split second before her eyes widened and she murmured something that sounded like brush strokes. Then she shook her head and grit her teeth. “All you did... was give me exactly what I needed. His face the last I see and I’ll die knowing he beat you.” She smiled with crimson covered teeth, “Moriarty would be turning in his grave if he wasn't burning in hell.”

Moran grinned as he lowered the gun and glanced at Sherlock before swiping a hand across her mouth wiping the blood away. “Why do you still think he had anything to do with you being here? Oh Moriarty had plans, so many plans and I let him play but he knew that I would fulfill his promise to Sherlock. One of us would anyway. But for me, it was always about Mycroft and Sherlock. Eurus was always so fixated on Sherlock.” She stared into his eyes but gave nothing away. 

He turned to Sherlock appraising him, “she doesn’t even have a clue but I can see it on your face, you’re starting to wonder. Is it possible? Could he really be? It’s amazing what a great surgeon can do, erase hereditary features and ugly reminders. Not that you could remember with your funny memories but Mycroft certainly would’ve figured it out. It’s easy enough to change eye color these days.” He pressed his middle finger just under his eye, pulling the skin down before sticking his pointer finger on his eye and pinching it with his thumb, easily removing the brown contact lens revealing the cold blue. “Allow a boy who was thrown away to grow into a very accomplished man.”

“Sherrinford?”

His eyes danced, “there’s a name I haven’t heard in years. Sebastian just has such a better ring to it. Oh, baby brother, it’s so good to see that look on your face again. Did you honestly think that Moriarty just happened to stumble upon you and learn everything there was to know about the Holmes brothers? I mean John’s blog wasn’t that great and you always liked to give the real detectives the credit before he came along. No, no,” He leaned down and clenched his teeth, “brother mine. I knew you would love him. You were getting so bored and I thought it was time you met a new friend. Of course, Mycroft with the surprise move of letting him meet Eurus just made his year. Who’d of thought I get to see my twinsie again?”

Sherlock spat, “thrown away? Uncle Rudy placed you somewhere so you wouldn’t kill again but... you weren’t clever enough back then for that kind of setup, were you?”

“Oh please, still crying over Redbeard?” His grin twisted into a scowl. “Are you still whining over your poor doggy?”

Sherlock bit down on his first remark, needing to gather more data about the man in front of him before he revealed his own hand. “You were always sick. It just took them too long to see through your perfect facade. I always had to give you that, you were an excellent actor.”

“Yes, Mycroft and Sherlock were always so jealous of their brother they told so many nasty lies and Mummy didn’t believe them.” Sherrinford turned back to her and squatted down in front of her chair, leaning into her. “Did he tell you about Redbeard, his best friend forever?”

“The animal torture started young then?”

He cackled as he stood up, “she really is adorable. I can see what you and Mycroft like about her. And she gave me such an adorable little nephew. It’s a shame Eurus was too sentimental to use her because she has an amazing tolerance for pain. But Eurus just couldn’t bare to cut you that deeply. She never did have the balls after you fell apart last time.”

Y/n glanced furtively at Sherlock before looking up, “you are nothing. Blood doesn’t make you family.”

He pulled out his phone and pressed a number with a smirk, “wrong again, love.”

She flashed a weak smile, “you have nothing.”

“Peters. Send a picture of your target.” His smirk faltered as his gaze flicked down to hers.

“Funny thing about love and hate. You know better... never let your heart rule your head.” Sherrinford stormed from the room and she dropped her head taking deep breaths that rattled with a sickening sound. “I don't have... I can't…” She heaved her head up and met his gaze. “Do you have your wallet on you?”

There was a loud crash in the other room and he glanced at the closed door.

“Sherlock.” Her eyelids started drooping, “tell me...you still… the picture...”

His brow furrowed and then he remembered the picture of her and Will at the lake and nodded, “yes.” He remembered rubbing his finger over her face before placing it back in the wallet and getting out of the cab.

“On you?” He felt the wallet in his pocket and nodded. She let out a sigh of relief. “Remember… I taught… different forms… love?” Her head started to lower again. “I never… tol you. Pla… Philia. Best kind. You gave me... Thank.”

“Stay with me!”

She lifted her head with difficulty and smiled but it was too faint, the muscles barely moving to lift her lips. “thank… protecting’im. No win. He madesure… any move… innercircle. Will neeyou.”

Sherlock pulled against his binds, “this is not over. You don’t…”

“Teach him... teacyou. Love him, for me?”

“What are you… No. NO.” He strained against the chair as her head lowered to her shoulder. ”Control the pain!”

She moved her head side to side but the movement was too slow and her head was sinking forward again, “You needed… I thought maybe… I'm sosorry.”

“Y/n. Look at me!”

Sherrinford stormed back in the room, “HOW?!”

“Never take... eyesoffQueen... ruthless.” She lifted her head again still trying to look more together than she was but she couldn’t hide how bad it was anymore.

Her eyes rolled back and her head fell but Sherrinford slapped her hard across the face before her chin could hit her chest. Sherlock shoved his arms forward and backward trying to get the rope to fray as Sherrinford yelled, “no! You don't get to go yet.” She sucked in a breath but her eyes didn't open and her head fell forward again. Sherlock continued to struggle, ignoring the bite of the rough rope.

Sherrinford’s face twitched, the muscles around his mouth quivering as he leaned into her. “You think you're so clever. Moriarty was clever and look where that got him! He wanted Sherlock to survive and feel all that pain after Eurus dug up the past and shoved him into his darkest secret but then he finds out you put yourself out there and I put a bullet through your heart. Jim told me you would do anything to protect Sherlock but that changed slightly after my nephew came along, didn't it? Going with the logic of Jim’s plan, I should put a bullet through your son’s heart and then yours but I'm not so sentimental and Sherlock Holmes has lived long enough! But William Sean Holmes, he’s a different story. What a poor way to grow up knowing that your mother and father chose a killer over you.”

She barely moved but she forced out a weak, slurred curse. “Fucyou.”

“I will find John and I will put a bullet in his head too. Little Will can grow up just like I did making my own way through the world seeing first hand how people treat the neglected, the toss outs. Then I will come along and show him how things can be just like Lord Moran did for me. First, he’ll learn how you were tortured and then he’ll learn that you could've kept running but instead you got in the game. You just couldn't help yourself. And little Will may even come to thank me one day for making your death slow. What are the chances that he turns to violence after a childhood like that, Doctor?”

Sherrinford was becoming unhinged, his movements rough and jerky as he continued to lean into her. Sherlock scoffed, “he’ll make his own choices based on what he knows and not entirely on what he’s been through.”

Sherrinford turned to his brother, “coming from the man who lived his own life in isolation because he didn't fit in or was it really the childhood trauma that did it?”

“I’m the shadow... you needed... focus on.”

Sherlock watched her, his stomach clenching as he realized what she was saying. Sherrinford turned back and leaned toward her, “what are you mumbling?”

Sherlock spotted the red dot on Sherrinford’s back, “I really wish I could've thrown you out a window or two but this will have to do.” Sherrinford chuckled as he stood to his full height and turned. Sherlock leaned closer eyeing the red dot trailing up from Sherrinford's chest, “I just wanted to see your face when she shoots you.”  

His eyes widened as he stumbled to the side looking down at his chest. Sherlock flinched uncontrollably at the loud crack behind him. The window shattered and when Sherlock opened his eyes, blood poured from between Sherrinford’s fingers wrapped around his own neck. Sherrinford fell to his knees in front of him. Sherlock growled, “game over.”

Sherlock looked back to y/n and found her gaze but what he saw knocked the air from his lungs. 

“Don’t let’im win. Find it, Sher... Let’im love you.” Her eyes fell closed. “I'm so…”

His mouth fell open unable to speak a word or move a muscle. He was stuck knowing what was coming but unable to function. Her chin sunk to her chest and he yelled, “y/n! Control!”

It felt like endless moments of silence as he stared at her willing the rope he pulled against to finally break. Chaos broke out but all Sherlock saw was her unmoving form. He heard his own voice screaming for help and three agents rushed into the room, two swarmed her while the third moved straight for him. The agent bent over to cut the binds on his legs and Sherlock saw the braided red hair he recognized from the alleyway when Y/n left from his fire escape. “Vic?” She looked up with a smile before glancing over at y/n and starting on the rope on his arms. “Where's the ambulance? Medics?”

“They are medics too. The ambulance is only two minutes out.”

She finally cut through the rope and he rushed over to Y/n, pressing his fingers to her carotid artery. The agent kneeling in front of her cutting her binds tried to tell him to back up but Vic silenced him. Sherlock found a thready pulse. “Y/n, don’t let go. Please keep fighting. Control the pain. Remember the room you told me about? Find it, find me. Please.”

“Sher...” It was an airy wisp instead of her voice and a thread inside him pulled tight and thrummed. It lit up his skin as if every nerve ending was screaming.

He grasped her hand and squeezed, “I’m here. Stay with me. Please.” He heard Will’s tired voice in his head, I stay?

Her eyelids lifted just a slit. “I never…” She took a rattling breath and he noticed the look between the two agents working on her.

“Do you know if she was stabbed?” The agent on the right had been searching her body but hadn’t removed any clothing except to rip her sleeve off to establish pressure.

Sherlock didn’t look away from her face but shook his head. “No, I didn’t see it but that doesn’t mean…” He leaned in closer to her, “Y/n, you need to…”

The corner of her mouth still encrusted with dried blood lifted as he leaned in. She inhaled before squeezing his hand but it was too weak. “Never tol’you… favorcolor… water… blue. Youreyes… youlook… at Will.” Her words slurred together and every word thrust into his chest like a spike as he filled in the blanks in his head. My favorite color, water blue like your eyes when you look at Will.

“We’re losing her.” The agent on the left called out and gave Sherlock a look as he nudged him aside.

How could they be losing her she was just… He glanced down and realized her hand no longer held his, he was only squeezing hers harder. He let the agent push him out of the way as they laid her out flat on the floor and began CPR.

Sherlock looked to Vic and her mouth tightened into a thin line before she whispered, “she’s in the best hands until…”

Three sets of rubber soled shoes pounded through the halls and a stretcher rolled into the room.

“I got her!” The agent stopped pressing on her chest and the newcomers moved quickly. One of the medics that ran in with the stretcher placed an oxygen mask over her face and then as one unit they lifted her onto the stretcher. 

Sherlock found himself floating behind them as the agents updated the medics. They rushed her out all the while working around each other with amazing precision like it was just a dance and Sherlock was a simple spectator.

“Jesus Christ!” One of them hissed and Sherlock studied their faces. Each one pressed in concentration until a wince or cringe would break it.

“How did he keep her awake this long?” One agent whispered to the other.

“Morphine. Had to be. Managed the pain level when he needed to… fuck that’s…”

The medic by Y/n’s head barked, “tell Martin trauma level 1- Adult en route, immediate surgery. Agents, I need you focused.” He glanced at Sherlock as the two agents helping mumbled apologies.

Outside, flashing lights from the emergency vehicles bathed the alleyway in flashing blue and white as more men in black suits moved efficiently in and around the building. They steered clear of the stretcher and the two walking behind it. Vic held his arm with a fierce grip and pulled him to the ambulance beside the one Y/n was carried toward.

“You won’t help in there. We’ll be right behind her. I promise you I wouldn’t leave her in anyone else’s hands.” Sherlock watched as they lifted her into the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors.  “Our ambulance can’t leave until we’re inside and I can look you over so you don’t pass out. Lestrade told me what happened to you, too many bumps to the head in twenty-four hours...”

Vic’s voice faded as Sherlock watched Y/n’s ambulance drive away and that thread inside twisted then dulled as if he could feel her presence leaving his side. Vic pulled him into the ambulance and he didn’t fight her. She pushed him onto a chair and slipped something over his arm then shined a light in his eyes but he barely noticed. That tight thread inside finally snapped something important and the numbness that started in his fingers had moved up his arms. Maybe it was the thread itself, but what was the thread and why couldn’t he understand it?

A loose thread in the world that needed to be pulled. The thought whispered across his mind as the ambulance sped out of the alley bumping over a curb. No, some threads shouldn’t be pulled especially when he didn’t know where they connected.

Next Chapter

@missmotherhen , @run-your-cleverboy ,  @samanthasmileys , @panic-at-space-camp , @trash-trashaf , @whaledenwtf , @http-steve-rogers , @dead-lee-15 , @changingtimes , @hcndredwolves ,  @whatthehellisacastiel , @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked , @foureyedsiopao , @gurlwitafro , @redeyed-winchester , @unprofessional-inhumanbeing , @thatmoodindigo

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Chap Twenty Two

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four.  Five. Six. Seven. Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty One.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: an American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 3964

Your name: submit What is this?

It was dark on your small front porch, barely a sliver of moon visible through the swift clouds charging for the east. You sat on the top step with a blanket draped over your legs, a coffee mug half full of brandy within reach beside you, and a flickering candle on the other side. The picture of your parents sitting on top of the London newspaper in your lap felt heavy but you still weren’t quite ready to face it yet.

Will was sound asleep in his bed where you left him after holding him longer than usual because of that very newspaper but it wasn’t really the newspaper that called for your toughest armor. The article about another unidentified boy unread yet haunting you since you saw it earlier and shoved it in your bag where it stayed until twenty minutes ago when you pulled yourself from Will’s bed and gathered the things you had with you now. With a glance at your watch, you amended that thought, twenty-one minutes.

You listened for a moment leaning back toward the front door you had open just enough but the house was quiet just like the neighborhood that seemed uncommonly silent. You glanced at the candle and pushed it a little farther away to make sure you didn’t end up catching on fire because, at this point, it would be the way things seemed to be going.

Your gaze dropped to the picture of your parents that you grabbed on your way out the door because you wanted them with you. In the picture, your parents had their arms around you smiling brightly into the camera. It was your high school graduation and your future was bright. Just a small town girl with determination and big dreams. You wondered what your parents would think of the decisions you made that lead you here.

You lifted the mug to your lips and took a few sips savoring the heat that flared as the alcohol burned its way down. Wrapping both hands around the mug, you closed your eyes and pictured your mother.

It wasn’t always easy for them either, especially during the trial. You could remember your mom sitting across from you at the small checkered table in the kitchen with your hands wrapped around the cup of hot chocolate. The steam rising and your mother smiling, trying to make everything seem okay even though stress and worry still pulled at her brow. She never wanted you to see it and even though you didn’t understand it at the time, you knew there was something off. Your father had been the most weighed down and you knew now that he felt responsible for the burden on your family. He always hugged you a little tighter and a little longer during those days. You remembered the paralyzing fear you didn’t understand when you would hear them whispering in their room and your father crying. You would never be able to rid yourself of those memories even though they had fogged slightly over the years.

Your mother had been the strongest person you ever knew but those months during the investigation and trial, she was a superhero. You longed to talk to her again and ask her how she did it. You had tried to learn so much from them and yet when they were taken so brutally, there was still so much you had left to ask.

You placed the picture on the porch next to you and smiled as you brushed your fingers down the glass. “I wish I was more like you every day, mama.”

After a few more sips from the mug, you steeled yourself and read the article. Even with the warmth from the slight buzz, every word was like a knife thrust into your chest. Who were these boys? There were no missing person reports that matched them, you had scoured the databases out of guilt needing to see the poor mothers hoping for their child’s safe return. There was probably nothing you could do for them but you couldn’t stop. It hadn’t helped knowing no one was looking for them, it hurt a little more.

The tears started quietly, slipping down your face as the newsprint blurred. You took a few more sips from your mug but even the artificial warmth from the brandy couldn’t dampen the emotions eating you alive. It had been too long since you’d seen the faces that gave you that extra strength and you were tired of telling Will you didn’t know when he could see his family again. You were beaten down by the fact that one man was keeping you away from the family you had found. If it wasn’t for Vic, you would be completely alone.

By the time you downed the rest of the mug, your lungs were already burning because you were trying so hard to keep your sobs silent. You held your breath but nothing could stop it. You pictured Will’s face, the look he gave you the last time he asked to see Daddy and now he expected only to see a picture. You could see the hope dying in his eyes each time he asked and the thought that he’d never see his family again gutted you more than anything.

You pulled the blanket over your face and bunched it up against your mouth as you let go. You purged all the grief, stress, pain, anger, and fear that had built up like a heaviness on your shoulders, on your chest, infusing into your bones until your body could no longer bear it. You tucked your chest down toward your knees further muffling the wails of a tired mother, a haunted lover, and a scared friend. The pain was physical, your entire body ached as the thoughts ran rampant and you cursed yourself for going into hiding.

What if it had all been for nothing? What if it was part of Moriarty’s plan or maybe his plan would play out anyway and all the time spent away from Sherlock and John would have been a waste. Then your mother’s voice, like salve on a searing wound, filled your head overriding the decreasing noise spilling from your mouth, you’d be surprised by the power of a positive attitude, honey. You searched for the memory and saw her sitting across the table from you holding your hand, the worry still visible on her face but her smile had warmed you so much more than the sweet hot chocolate she always gave. Her strength seeping into you little by little as she kept going and kept fighting to keep you in the home they had built.

The sobs finally trailed off. Your head throbbed but everything slowly went back to normal except for the random stuttering breaths and the lingering exhaustion. You looked up waiting for a break in the clouds for a glimpse of that small slice of moon. Even the sight of that light didn’t ease the loneliness and emptiness that gnawed at you more and more as the days went on. Your mother had always been so strong and you were always trying to be more like her, to have her ability to keep going no matter how hard the road got. But it was so much harder to do on your own. What you would give just to hear his voice again.

The thought was like a bolt of lightning, you jumped off the step and ran inside. You opened your laptop and fired it up with shaking hands. You pulled up the website Charlie had given you and signed in then navigated to a page you had looked at but hadn’t tried before. There were instructions, a manual to make an untraceable call with any mobile phone. The text messages had worked so far at least from what Mycroft could see. You weren’t completely sure they were even receiving all of them but it was worth a shot. You needed it.

You rushed around the small house searching for your phone then found it on the floor in Will’s room. You sat back down at the kitchen table and dialed the number from the page then listened as it rang. There was a click and you entered the code which was answered by three beeps and then a dial tone. You dialed the number you knew by heart and held your breath as it began to ring. You counted each one, light headed and chest aching until it finally clicked.

“Hello?”

A quiet cry of joy and relief squeaked out and you covered your mouth. He sounded like he had been sleeping and you could picture him sitting up on the couch in his house coat, his hair messy and his eyes just beginning to focus. You took a stuttering breath in as your eyes swelled with tears once again.

“Hello?” His voice lowered, “y/n?”

You were trying to breathe normally but your body wasn’t complying; another exhale, another whimper. “Sherlock.”

“Tell me you’re alright.” His relief was so clear in his voice. You hung on his every word with your eyes closed pretending he was in the room with you.

“We’re safe but I’m not alright.”

“Y/n.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. These boys… those boys…”

“Are not your fault.”

“We’ve been in hiding for over a year and he asks for you and John and…” You sucked in a stuttering breath, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called, I just needed to hear your voice.”

“We will solve this.” He sounded so sure even though his voice shook at the end.

“I know. I’m sorry I called you like this. You don’t need this on top of ev…”

“Don’t. Please don’t. You… you are the strongest woman I have ever known and I… I needed your voice so much more than you know. I know things are… difficult but you are a fighter and a survivor who taught me how to keep going.” He cleared his throat, “someone of rather high intelligence told me once that even the strongest among us break, it’s unavoidable because we’re not single ships. Most of us weren’t wired to sail alone.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you pressed the phone tighter against your face and wished so much that it was his hand. You let out a watery laugh, “I’m a woman, not a ship.”

“I’ve said that once or twice myself.” You chuckled with another stuttering breath and tried to clear your throat. His voice lowered again, “please don’t ever apologize for calling me, for needing me because there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t… wish I could see your face, or dance with you around the sitting room, or hold you for only a moment. You invade my thinking more times than I’ll admit.” He paused then sighed, “you tend to point out things I don’t like to admit to myself.”

The way this man could fill you with such warmth without even a touch, a man that people so often thought couldn’t experience genuine emotion, baffled you. You smiled, “I’m glad I’m still keeping you on your toes.” You closed your eyes picturing your most recent daydream, “sometimes I think about having you all to myself, just us in the flat with a bunch of puzzles and games. Sometimes I’d give you a run for your money but with some of the puzzles, I’d just watch you work. The way your brow furrows and jumps, your fingers tapping out a mysterious rhythm against the arm of your chair or your fingertips pressed together leaning against your lips, and your eyes gazing off into some great distance that only your mind can see. But the truly remarkable thing is your eyes when they take on the most brilliant shade of whatever color is dominant that day and I can stare as long as I want with no one to interrupt me.” You took in a stuttering breath and only heard silence from the other end, “I guess what I’m trying to say is I miss you.”

He exhaled and you pictured his face with that pinch in his brow. “You… even after everything… you still have this way of talking about me like I’ve never heard before. All I have is the picture you sent in my wallet and conversations in my head.”

You wiped your nose and cleared your throat. You could feel the conversation taking a heavier turn than you meant and tried to steer it away. “I’m probably going to have to get rid of this mobile now. Just in case. Did Mycroft tell you why..?”

“Yes. I wasn’t happy but I understood. He says he doesn’t even know where you are.”

“We couldn’t take the chance that there was someone in the office…”

“I know.”

You sighed, “I was just this small town girl, you know? I was supposed to have this boring life in America. Now, I’m in this wee town by the water undercover of all things.”

There was a pause and you knew he caught your hint. “Would you change it all if you could?”

You shook your head, “no. Not if it meant I never met you.”

“It would be a lot easier if you didn’t.”

You swiped at your nose. “Easy is boring.”

“That’s my girl.”

You could hear the smile in his voice and the warmth inside your chest expanded sending waves of goosebumps down your arms, but it didn’t last long until your thoughts turned again. “He turned four last week. You wouldn’t believe how big he is.”

“I won’t let another Christmas go without seeing him.”

You sucked in your cheek and bit down trying not to let the tears overwhelm you again. “You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.”

You smiled despite the fear creeping up your back. “Stubborn as always.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I should go.” His voice was like a drug but you didn’t like taking more of a chance than you already were.

“We’ll end this.” He sounded so confident.

“We’ll try.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

You laughed, “I hope so.” You walked to the doorway and looked at your case wall in the living room. You took your first full deep breath in what felt like days. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“That superstition didn’t last.” His soft laughter sent another wave of goosebumps down your arms. The line was quiet for a moment then his voice came back, low and tender. “I have loved you for longer than I even understood.”

“That I can believe.” You walked over to the wall, stepped up on the couch, and touched his face as your head swam with memories. “You’ve matured a lot in the last couple of years, Mr. Holmes.”

“A genius is constantly learning besides some things just weren’t meant to remain fixed. Without change, how can one grow or truly learn new perspectives? Isn’t that what you would say?” Your brow furrowed and you stepped back off the couch looking at the news clippings.

“Say that again.” Your gaze jumped from story to story and then stopped on the two post-its at the bottom- Moriarty and his Watson.

“Which part? Y/n, what is it?”

“I’ll see you soon.” Your heart was racing as things began to click in your mind.

“What just happened?”

“I was reminded of your genius. Keep an eye on your phone.”

“Y/n, tell me.”

“Soon.” You hung up and pulled the battery out of the phone. Your gaze still flitting to the different pieces of the puzzle but you had been staring at it all wrong. If Jim Moriarty had a plan in place to ruin Sherlock then it wouldn’t be like his other games. That phrase that Sherlock used to say in his sleep slipped from your lips, “the virus in the data”.

The need to find patterns in the game to lead to a solution but that was the virus, there would be no end to this game. No connections, no solutions, no answers, no closed case. That had to be it. He would flip the script and it could be as simple as simply doing nothing.

Maybe it was just your need to go back but there was nothing left to do here and something was coming. Something so big that it would ruin him. What if all of this was just to drive Sherlock mad because he could never solve it? But just some unsolvable problems wouldn’t be enough. You took another step back taking in the bigger picture as information spun in your mind’s eye then froze on the picture of Sherlock with the burn hole over his chest.

Jesus. Your own words played over in your head, but I know him, beating him only makes him more intrigued by you which usually ends in some kind of tragedy in your life. It had been staring you in the face since the beginning. He threatened John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson when he made Sherlock jump and then the picture of the three of you at the wedding along with the burned heart one. The threat he made to Sherlock, the one you both had nightmares about, he was going to burn Sherlock’s heart out and he would do just that with or without you. He wouldn’t need to touch you if he could give Sherlock just a taste of what it would be like then Sherlock might just push you away on his own and burn every bridge he had made. Just like you knew Moriarty did to you all those years ago. Hell, he might’ve gotten the idea by watching you, maybe he did know you were there but he didn’t want to target you until later when the bigger plan came into play. Give Sherlock time to grow closer not just to you either. Your gaze went to the circle you had created under Sherlock’s name. The deeper the connection, the sharper the impact, and the greater the payout.

Sherlock had been growing out of some of his tendencies but if Moriarty could pull this off, even if they survived this, it wouldn’t be the same. Sherlock wouldn’t be the same. He could retreat back into himself, throw up all those roadblocks again and push everyone away with the finest, most human reason; survival for himself and those around him.

It was as if Moriarty was coming back from the dead and punishing Sherlock to the point where attachments would mean nothing but… death. He cared too much and Moriarty laughed at it, he despised it because to him it was a weakness. Jesus Christ. Moriarty was trying to make Sherlock just like him.

He wanted to break Sherlock down into nothing more than James Moriarty could ever be. He had always been suicidal because he felt life was so much harder than death and he wanted Sherlock to feel every second of that.

You stared at the wall and most of it rang true but something was off. Moriarty always loved the final show, feeding off the devastation that made him feel invincible, but this was… too complicated. Punish. Why did that word feel right but sound so wrong?  You could hear your father’s voice in your head, brush strokes are an artist’s voice, my MonaLe, every stroke is a breath of life. To the observant eye, you don’t need a signature.

The strokes were off. Was it just because it wasn’t really Moriarty but his henchman? Did Moriarty make some compromises with his compatriot as a means to an end or is his henchmen just sloppy or making up moves of his own? Or maybe you were just trying to see a pattern where there was none. Maybe that was Moriarty’s final stroke, his final bow, infecting Sherlock’s mind to continue to search for a pattern that wasn’t there, for his pattern all the while waiting for the deathblow. What if all of this was someone else?

You shook your head trying to clear the noise. The only thing that truly mattered was Sherlock and you were too far away, you needed to get back to track down the shooter, that had to be his Watson. But if your whole Watson theory was bullshit, your attempt at trying to find Moriarty’s work in the mess, the shooter was still a real person hitting people tied to Sherlock. If he wasn’t Moriarty’s ally, he was being controlled by one or inspired by Moriarty’s legacy.

Mycroft had to know more by now and you could easily work from there. It was time to go back to London. It was time to take Will home but you needed to send a message to Sherlock right away. You needed to remind him of the truth, the one truth you knew above all else.

A creak in the hall made you spin around and a bright light blinded you. You flinched away and heard her curse.

“What the feck?! First, your phone goes dark and then I find a mess on the front porch and the door open, do you want me to shoot you?! Feck!” Even though she was obviously stressed, Vic’s Irish accent was still spot on.

You tried to blink away the bright spots as you pointed to the wall, “we need to go back. I can’t finish this here.”

“Woah. Damn, this has… gotten big.”

She walked past you to the wall and you felt your way to the kitchen. “It’s been static for a while which is why most of it has stayed behind the shelf but I’m pretty sure I know what to do next. Damnit!” You stepped into a chair and almost toppled over before stabilizing yourself against the table. “But I can’t do it from here.” You grabbed the laptop and walked back into the living room. “Moriarty or someone is playing an open-ended game and I need more information. We can track him, I know we can but not from here. We need to go home.” You sat in your chair and Vic was still staring at the wall.

“God damn, how does that man do it? Do you think Mycroft already had it figured out and was just waiting for you? It’s fucked up.”

You navigated quickly to the text page of the underground website. “You curse a lot when you’re frazzled.”

She turned on a dime. “I’m not frazzled.”

You looked up at her. “Okay, when your adrenaline is freely flowing, is that better?” She raised her brow and you chuckled, feeling a little giddy yourself. “I need to pack, can you be ready by morning? We’ll get the first flight out?” You typed in Sherlock’s number.

“I can be ready in less than an hour.”

“Show off.” You glanced up as you clicked on the white message box.

“Are you getting a flight?” She walked toward you.

“Just after I send a message.” You took a deep breath as you typed the words that you hoped might get through to him should anything happen before you can get back to him. The fear of death is survival, but the fear of life is deadly. You read it through and then hit send.

“Wow, is that some famous therapy quote or something?”

You shut your laptop and looked up at her with a grin, “no. But it probably should be.” You stood up and headed toward your room.

“You’re just going to leave me hanging? What’s it from?”

“I made it up after being around the Holmes brothers too long.”

Next Chapter 

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