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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

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The study of a haunted mind: two

Read Part One here

A TAB period Spin-off of Connection

(Connection)Reader x Sherlock

Word Count: 4481

Upon our departure, the fog had filled the streets but there was still no sign of the storms I had been waiting for. The only rumble came from the train and then our carriage. The fog had thickened the further we headed away from London, the cold seeped inside me causing the ache to grow substantially more inconvenient.

I was bothered by the cold, the fog, and the feeling that something was coming. An itch that maybe it wasn’t a storm but something worse. I stared out the window at the passing countryside or the shadows of it along the long winding lane of clay and tried to force the pain from my mind.

Victoria tapped my hand and produced a small vial from a hidden pocket in her trousers. “Sherlock gave me this. I think he was right. Again.”

I glanced at the vial before meeting her gaze, “just what is that?” I recalled their whispered conversation before the men took their leave, Sherlock sharing some of his thoughts from what he had gained from the letter he received. The look of her patient but concealed annoyance with him always amused me.

“One of his concoctions. He said it has the same quality of pain relief from Laudanum or Morphine but it wouldn’t have the side effects that would slow you down, only dull the pain. I suspect he diluted whatever it is enough that you will still be clear headed. You can drink it.”

I lifted the small vial from her fingers. “Must I drink it all?”

She shrugged craning her neck to look out the small window, “I suppose you could take however much you’d like. Maybe test a bit and see how you feel, but quickly. We’re drawing near. I can see a farmhouse.”

I looked out her window and studied the large ancient structure with a long new addition that stretched out to the right giving it an L shape. The carriage jostled us and Victoria braced me against the seat before the back wheels hit the hole. I yanked the stopper from the vial and splashed about half of its contents on my tongue swallowing quickly.

Victoria’s brow hiked up but she only smirked and looked back toward the window.

By the time we stopped in front of the manor, my ache was gone. I stepped from the carriage without a single wince but still kept my cane in hand. No need to be pushing the bounds when I couldn’t be sure how long the relief would last.

We climbed the few stone stairs and I noticed a divot in which my cane struck. It rested in the O of a name carved in the last step, Hurlstone. A sense of familiarity swept through me.

“Hullo!” We were greeted at the door by Robert Ferguson, the man of the house. His sunken frame filled the doorway, once a great athlete, John had told me, but he was far from his prime today. “Mrs. Doyle, Mrs. Watson,” He stepped back and directed us inside, “I am so glad to see your journey was safe. Dreadful evening out there. I can not believe Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson allowed it but he was very adamant that you could help me.”

Victoria responded and I walked into a very large central room filled with such an amalgamation of the owners that called it home; from the original farmer to the latest addition to the household, the Peruvian lady we’d been asked to assist. I was drawn to the South American items that adorned the wall feeling once again something I couldn’t quite reach. I had seen similar weapons before but they had no American origin whatsoever, a few were Arabic and some Indian. Sherlock had studied them for cases years ago and yet they had strangely stuck in my mind.

Something flickered off one of the hanging utensils and the odor of decay filled the space. A horrid clicking resounded in my head and all I could see were gray walls and ceiling. A building pressure against my ankles, hips, and wrists and then more clicking. The vision hit so suddenly, my lungs ached for oxygen they no longer had.

“Oh, Daddy!” A child’s voice broke me from the trance and I sucked in a gasp as quietly as I could manage.

I shook the image from my mind and turned, breathing deeply with each item my gaze fell upon. A pale, flaxen haired boy, older than I imagined from the cry, had his arms wrapped around Ferguson’s neck as he enthusiastically greeted his father. It reminded me of William and Rosie, the way they latch onto us in greeting but this boy could be no younger than fourteen.

Ferguson introduced us to his son Jack and the boy looked at each of us with something akin to suspicion. His blue eyes sparked something within me, a memory, another feeling of a static charge and distant rumble.

“The famous detective has a partner?” A crooked grin stole over his face for the barest of moments and a gleam in his eye shook me.

I turned away, something about the boy chilled me and I walked over to the fire analyzing the stone work and the iron grate in front. I wondered if maybe Sherlock hadn’t tested the dosage he had given me and the drug was indeed playing tricks on my mind. My eye caught on sixteen hundred and seven chiseled in the middle slab about halfway up the back wall of the fireplace. A date that seemed wrong, another fact that felt out of place.

“I will call for the nurse to bring the baby and check on my wife for any change,” Ferguson remarked.

“If you could inform her that we would like to speak with her,” Victoria responded, her mind still secure in our purpose. She moved to the Peruvian woman’s collection on the wall, studying the weapons and other items, her fingers running over something like a dart or small arrowhead.

The boy hobbled over to the fireplace drawing up close to me and I took a step to the side. He kept his face turned away but it still nagged at me. The look in his eye, the cruel crook of his mouth, it was like a taunt of a past I couldn't yet touch.

He reached out toward the fire and I almost pulled him back before he flicked his wrist, throwing a handful of dust into the flames. The fire sparked and a brief puff of smoke spiraled up. The word ash came to mind and I tried to recall what Sherlock had spoken of it over the years. He would certainly be able to recall information from the look, the smell, the flame’s reaction and be able to identify it from those few clues.

“Jack, do you like your sibling?” Victoria asked but her voice was so very far away.

My head spun with Sherlock’s voice in a state I had only heard once, for God’s sake, control the pain. For William, for me. Stay, y/n, I beg of you. Stay.

The laughter echoed around the high vaulted chamber and a prickling began at the base of my skull. The temperature rose and yet the chill in my blood remained.

I closed my eyes to shake the memory that fought for control. Cold hands and hard eyes, the dark underground cavern flashed and the constant dipping echoed around me. Icy fingers wrapped around my neck, James so loved your neck.

I emerged, shaking the memory briskly, and fixed my eyes on Jack or what used to be Jack. He stood with his back, no longer curved but ramrod straight, to the fire. His childish clothes were gone, replaced with a fine suit. Dark slicked back hair in place of the fair, short cut.

He turned and I gasped, “Jay!”

That smile I couldn't place before complete with smoldering brown eyes. “Did you enjoy the game I left for you?”

“Impossible.” I stepped back glancing toward the stairs hoping no one else would approach. Someone was supposed to come, we were supposed to talk to someone, the reason we were here.

He pulled a small pistol from his suit jacket and pointed it at my chest, “this is the end, though I loathe it this way. Not really my style but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

A scream pierced the air and I was shoved to the side crashing to the ground before the blast of the pistol echoed in the chamber. I slammed into a wall then rolled to my back patting myself down searching for the hole, the blood, but then I saw her, lying not that far from me. “Mary.”

Mary was staring at me, her hand reaching for me.

“No!” I scrambled across the floor, “just hold on.” I searched her dress and found the warm stain growing on the front of her bodice.

“You’ll take… care of them… for me.”

I shook my head desperately trying to clear my vision. “No. No, you… you will. These bullets aren’t that…”

“We both know he didn’t bring bullets from this time.”

“What do you… Mary, you’re in shock.”

“You need to go, before he wakes. It won't be long now. Take care of them. Make sure they’re loved.”

“Mary!”

“Oh, Mary!” His mocking scream bounced off stone walls.

I whipped around and he stood there dominating the room in his perfectly pressed suit with that smirk I couldn't bear. “You’re dead! You’d never survive that fall. That cliff is far too steep.”

“Oh, love. We both know things are never as they seeeem.” He snaked that last word out, his smile sickening but the poison affecting his sight.

Poison. I trusted the intuition. He was blinking rapidly and his eyes roamed far too much.

Mary must have had the dart she had been studying still in her hand… No, not Mary. I turned and covered my mouth. Victoria lay sprawled on the ground, her eyes staring blankly at the far wall. I knelt down beside her and pulled her eyelids down. I thought of William and Rosamund, of Sherlock and John. Oh god, John.

I swallowed the pain, the shock, the panic, and pushed to my feet, my eyes never leaving James Moriarty. He was swaying and I only had one chance of getting past him. I bolted toward him lowering my shoulder and slammed into him with every ounce of pressure I had gained from the speed.

We tumbled to the ground with a resounding crack. He grabbed his head and I scrambled up to my feet once again ignoring my hip that throbbed with atrocious pain. I continued on with gritted teeth. I needed a weapon, something that would stop him, but I didn’t have the slightest idea of where to find one.

The first room I came upon, I dashed inside and closed the door. I turned and found rows of tables filled with pots, plants, and dirt. I was in a greenhouse. In trying to rush, I had locked myself in without a hope of a weapon. Could the poison have come from a plant? What exactly were they growing in here?

I moved along the rows of green plants with pops of different colors from leaves to petals. I found a small pair of shears and grabbed them.

“What are you going to do with those?”

I spun and grabbed my chest, “curse you! You gave me such a fright!”

Mary smiled, “did you really think I’d come here without precautions?” She opened her blouse and pulled out some sort of blood soaked padding. “Sorry, I couldn’t let them know it was all fake. Bullet proof vest with blood packets. One of our latest bits of testing but it worked like a charm. Mycroft will be delighted.”

I cleared my throat and tried regulating my breathing again. “The constable should be here by now.”

We turned at the loud crash behind us. James Moriarty’s face was pressed against the large window in the door. I didn’t recall it being there before but I had maneuvered through the various rows of plants, I could be turned around and that was simply a different entry. His eyes were fixed on us, his pupils so constricted they were mere black slits in a sea of white.

“He's gone mad,” Mary cried.

“He was always mad.”

“Well, the poison is only helping him on his way then.”

“But what of the baby and the parents?” I held the shears in front of me but knew they would stand no chance against his pistol.

“He only wants us. Well, you. It was only ever you and Sherlock. You must go.”

“But where? He's blocking the only exit.”

Mary turned and moved further into the room that proved longer than I originally judged. “This will do nicely.” She gripped the edge of a table and looked up, her eyes fixed upon a tilted panel of glass above us. “If we pull that rope free, maybe lift another table onto that one, you could climb out.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, but he is and if he gets in here, he will not stop until you are no longer breathing.” Her eyes were pinned to mine and she vibrated with determination.

“Fine.” We walked to a neighboring table and each took an end then lifted it over to the one below the open panel of glass. It took a good bit of strength, something I was very quickly running out of, but we finally placed it on top. Mary boosted me up and followed behind me.

She pulled a small pistol from her trousers and shot the bracket holding the rope against the ceiling rafter. It swung down and she grabbed it then held it out to me. “You need to make it out that window. We don’t have another choice.” I took the rope and she knelt down then got on her hands as well, “step up then move as fast as you can.”

Another shot rang out along with shattering glass. I gripped the rope and stepped on her back then ascended. My head spun with each scream of my wrist and ankles but I had to get out the window knowing our time to escape was far too quickly closing.

Sweat burned in my eyes but I finally reached the edge of the glass, the rigid frame dug into my gloved hands. I ignored it and pulled up thinking of William and Sherlock.

Control the pain!

I stood carefully, keeping my weight on the metal frame that held the panes of glass in place and worried that Moriarty would simply shoot through the glass and kill us both. Mary made quick work of the rope and rolled out the open window. She moved so easily along the roof until she reached the side. “Go on, you first.”

I leaned over and eyed the drain pipe she tilted her head toward. My heart was beating in my throat, my arms and legs screaming, but I had to get down and hope we could get the upper hand before Moriarty came round.

When I made it to the grass Mary’s voice followed me, “tell them I still love them.”

I called up to her, “Mary! Come on, let's not dawdle.” I glanced around then looked up. “What are you doing?”

As I stared at the top of the drain pipe waiting for her leg to come over the side, the air seemed to shimmer. A pale face appeared above me, dark hair and red lips, she eclipsed my vision. Don't worry. We women must stick together. Her warm lips pressed against mine.

“It may not have killed me but it did hurt quite a lot.”

I whipped around at my friend’s voice, “Victoria?” My head was spinning, my lips tingling. Something wasn't right.

“Yes?” She looked at me as if I’d gone mad.

“You…” I glanced inside the greenhouse then back up to the drain pipe feeling numb. “You were shot.” I realized I was touching my lips and needed no further convincing that I indeed had gone mad.

“Well, yes, I thought that was clear. These vests may stop the bullet from penetrating the skin but there's not much to stop the force that propels them.”

“But how..?” I stumbled and she rushed over to catch me.

“Alright, now. You must've gotten nicked. Damn poison, who the hell keeps that in their home?”

“I think…” My vision wavered and my stomach churned.

“It's okay, the constable is here. They're speaking with Jack. It's a miracle you got out, the boy was practically foaming at the mouth.”

“No, it's… it's Moriarty. He was…”

“Shh… shh, darling. It's okay.” She turned and shouted, “we need a doctor!”

“Mary…” My head, my tongue, everything was too heavy and my body ached far more than before. The fog around the house seemed to have lifted, but not the one in my head. “Get Mary.”

I awoke with sunlight in my eyes. I rolled over, my hip shrieking at the movement, and had to lay on my back to get my breath back. I could smell his aftershave and knew before I scanned the room that I was in our bed at Baker Street. But I was alone.

I got up gingerly and pulled on the housecoat Sherlock had presented to me only a year ago. I still preferred his old one but it had to be cleaned at times.

I walked into the kitchen wondering if Sherlock and John were successful in their endeavors before asking the same of mine. How much of what happened was real and how much was tainted by either the vial Sherlock had made for me or whatever had been thrown into the fire?

My body suddenly relaxed and yet turned on, an electric current that always lit up my senses whenever he was present. I never bothered to figure out whether it was my brain or body that recognized him first because it didn't matter.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair plucking at the strings of his violin with a splendid fire crackling beside him. He smiled, his eyes assessing and watching my every step toward him. He placed the violin down with care on the table next to him and proffered his hand.

I took it and he pulled me toward him, guiding me to sit on his lap. His left hand rested gently on my hip, “how are you feeling?”

“Confused. What did you put in that concoction?”

“It's a mixture of cannabis and acetylsalicylic acid.”

I fidgeted with the tie for my housecoat and his right hand brushed my cheek before touching my jaw and turning my gaze back to his. “Would you like to discuss the case?”

“Mine or yours?”

“The one that is causing you such distress.”

I stared into his keen gaze seeping concern and curiosity. I took his hand and traced the lines on his palm wondering how much Victoria told him, how much I had actually said aloud. “Mary was there. And Moriarty.” I glanced up at him but there was no judgment, nor the humor I half expected at such an impossible utterance. “One moment he was a fifteen-year-old boy but then he threw some kind of ash in the fire and changed before my eyes.”

“Ash? There are a few ashes when burned that cause hallucinogenic effects and with you already using…” he stared off ahead of us, no doubt viewing his catalog then shook his head. “Even if it was a hallucinogen, it was only a dream, my love.”

“But, I remember… the constable, even Victoria said they didn’t understand how I climbed up without help. Mary was there, she helped me lift the table, get the rope, and I climbed on her back. Without her, I wouldn't have gotten out. James… Jack would have reached me.”

“You are the one who always regales me with the power of the mind. Adrenaline you spoke of that caused a mother to lift unimaginable weight to save her child. You were saving three actually, well maybe four. I find Watson quite childish at times.”

“Moriarty shot Victoria but I saw Mary.”

“You simply saw the same... what did you call it, psychosis?” I nodded, “you saw the familiar pattern and the poison altered him just as it did Victoria. There was no pistol but his darts.”

I looked down at our hands again. “Right.”

His fingers brushed over the scar on the left side of my neck, “it's still not as bad as what my blood did to you. Maybe I shouldn't let you go off on these cases. Maybe I should lock you in here and never chance losing you again.” His fingers caressed my cheek moving slowly over to my lips, “selfish and horrible. Some say I'm very cold hearted, maybe I could do it. Bar you in my castle and never release you.”

I kissed his fingers as they lingered on my lips, “you are a man of many things but cold hearted is certainly not one of them.”

He stared at my lips then finally met my gaze, “things are never as they seem.”

“What?” I blinked with an icy hand of fear skittering down my spine.

“Are you okay?” His face swam into focus and I could see his eyes but I couldn't draw a breath, like something was sitting on my chest.

“Y/n! Open your eyes! Look at me!”

The entire room flickered becoming fuzzy and unfocused. I tried shaking my head but it didn't work or help. Sherlock’s hair once slicked back was now curly and loose, his four piece suit replaced by a black coat. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to focus on breathing.

“William!” I croaked as I opened my eyes to an empty sitting room. I was standing in front of the fireplace no longer warm but empty and cold. The room was dark with only dull gray light seeping through the end of the curtains.

“I told you things are not as they seem.” Moriarty stepped into the unnatural light and I noticed the subtle changes in the room.

“No! You're dead! You shot yourself!”

He grinned, “and just where do your ghosts lie, my love?” His laughter chilled me, “does it thrill you to know I live where your parents do? Where sweet, skilled Mary does?” Suddenly, he was in my face, his eyes dilated and insane. “I'm right where I wanted to be. With you forever. Sherlock too, the cherry on top. I've saturated every inch of your life.”

“We’ve got a pulse.”

His eyes sparkled, “they're going to take you back to a place where the ghosts don't get to save you.”

“No, but it's a place that's rid of you, you sonofabitch!” I clenched my fists at my side. Sherlock’s voice echoed, it was only a dream, my love. “And since this is my dream,” I closed my eyes and thought of the room where I took Shelly, imagined the windows then pictured the roof of St. Bart’s just outside.

When I opened my eyes, he was stumbling backward. “What is this?”

“Y/n! Breathe!” Sherlock’s voice was blaring, shaking the room I conjured from memory.

I smiled, “if you want to live on in here then you'll stay right where I want you. Where we beat you.” I turned, opened the door, and ran out as he screamed my name.

Another jolt to my chest and I choked on pure oxygen, blinking rapidly and groaning from the burning brightness.

“Dear god,” John released a sigh of relief.

“Deep breaths, that's it.”

My mind was too fuzzy, “William?” I whispered.

There was a pause and beeping at my side was like a pike axe to my skull.

“Will is fine. He and Rosie are with my parents.”

I tried to push up on my elbows but strong hands held me down, “it's best not to move right now, Mrs..?” The unfamiliar voice trailed off.

“Please don't call me madam.”

“We’re going to transport you to the hospital.”

I jerked, squeezing my eyes closed. Nightmares and pain burst in my head. Sherlock grabbed my hand, his fingers painting soothing strokes down my forearm, “just to check you over. Where does it hurt?”

I thought of the ache in my hip but it wasn't there. I was just stiff, drained, and foggy.

“The building's clear. How is she?”

“Victoria?” I peered toward the voice and she frowned. Her red hair pulled back, her black raid gear meant to discourage and intimidate rather than flatter her figure. I thought she looked amazing.

“Are you okay?”

Pain lanced through my head when I tried nodding. “Just my head. I feel heavy. Did you see her? Did you see Mary?”

Sherlock and John shared a glance. Sherlock’s voice was so soft I could barely make out what he was saying to them. “The... drug she used on me.”

“Did you ever figure out what it was?” John was agitated. I wanted with everything in me to soothe him.

“Your vial, mixture of cannabis and acetylsalicylic acid,” I mumbled but they all just stared at me.

“My vial?” Sherlock asked.

I stopped myself from nodding, “like Laudanum but no horrid side effects.”

“What?” John looked fairly panicked and I reviewed my wording searching for what would cause him worry.

Sherlock tilted his head as he eyed me, “Laudanum was a popular drug of choice, a pain reliever in the early eighteen hundreds but found to be very dangerous. Acetylsalicylic acid is…”

“I know what Aspirin is,” John snapped but it lacked any real punch.

“Nineteen hundred... and one,” I muttered but it felt wrong. I closed my eyes and Sherlock took my hand again.

“Things will clear up once the drugs are out of your system.”

The bed I was on began to move and my stomach clenched. I groaned, “I just want to go home.” Screw whoever was listening, I didn't care. “Husband, please take me home.”

There was whispering, some of it with harsh tones as I continued moving. Something thick and hot swelled in my throat, my heavy heartbeat kicked into an abnormal rhythm, and my nerves couldn’t seem to settle between the burn of fire and ice along my veins. That annoying beeping pierced my head and then his hand was on mine again, his fingers lacing us together.

“I’m here. I’m not letting you go.” The heat of his hand and the promise in his voice spread through me like a salve on a gaping wound. I supposed that’s what I was.

Mercifully, sleep pulled me under once again.

TBC

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 8 years ago

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Prompt: “I almost lost you.”

Character: John Watson

Warning: Angst

John Watson was a brother who had been terrifying and worrying you since he joined the army. When he was in the army you’d always worried for him, doctor or not, and then he came home after being injured and you worried about him mentally and how he was coping with civilian life...and then he got involved with Sherlock bloody Holmes and you were worried each day that he’d run into someone who could and would hurt him. He was the brother you weren’t sure you’d ever feel anything but worry and fear for.

In that moment you were the most terrified you’d ever been with John, the moment you’d been told he’d been strapped to a bomb you’d rushed from your house to find the police surrounding the local lido.

It wasn’t until you saw him coming out unscathed that you could feel the fear lift and the relief fill you, you ducked underneath a police officer’s arm and rushed to your brother, wrapping your arms around him. You had reached him with enough force to make him stumble back.

“I almost lost you” You couldn’t imagine losing your brother, your big brother, your best brother.

“I’m okay...”

“I know I...” You wanted to apologise for overreacting, but you knew you weren’t and John knew you weren’t either. He wrapped his arms around you tighter and held you like he used to do after a bad day of school where he was the big brother eager to make you feel better and you were the little sibling sad and down.

“It’s okay...”

#readerinsert #reader insert #prompt #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock imagines #sherlock #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #john watson #john watson imagine #john watson imagines

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clatteredclaws-blog · 7 years ago

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Chemical ReAction (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/S5iBD9GTZP "Right, off you pop," John insists, twisting his head with a little gleam. "Sherlock. Talk to her." Sherlock in question, growls lowly, ignoring the midget. He huffs a curt "No." John only smirks bolder, a manly giggle rumbling off his throat. "You're jealous~" John sing-songs, unfolding the latest newspaper littered with gossip. "Admit it." "Not in a million-" There's another knock on the door, and Sherlock gives a death glare at his friend as he stumbles over to reach the door, cheeks flushing.

#bbc #benedictcumberbatch #cumberbatch #cute #detective #fanfiction #fluff #johnwatson #love #mystery #readerinsert #sherlock #thriller #books #wattpad #amwriting

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readerstories · 8 years ago

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Tree decorating - Greg Lestrade x gender neutral!reader

Merry Christmas everybody :) If you see any typos, please tell me.

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 419

Request: Can you do a Greg Lestrade (From Sherlock) and reader? I don't really have any ideas for prompt...

“Okay, so your mom and dad are coming over which date? The 28th?” You asks while unwrapping a red and gold bauble, carefully hanging it on a branch on the Christmas tree. You are currently decorating the tree, taking up a quite a bit of the floor in your apartment.

“Yup, and your parents are coming tomorrow at four right?” Greg hands you another bauble wrapped in paper, this one turns out to be silver and white.

“Yeah, glad it’s just them and us this year, don’t think there’s room for any more here. Not that I don’t like my family or yours, but I don’t want to brush shoulders with everyone all the time.” Greg hums, picking up a box, making a face when he sees what’s in it.

“What is it?” Greg picks up the decoration after it’s string, and out comes a pink pig with wings. You laugh.

“Oh, I remember that one! My aunt got it for me when I was little, since my favourite colour was pink and that was the pinkest and funniest thing she could find.” Greg glances at you before looking back at the pig, turning it over in his hands.

“It hideous, is it really going on our tree?”

“Hey, it’s tradition. And our tree? I thought this was mine, since it’s in my apartment and all.” Greg blushes, stammering for an answer.

“Well, it’s our first Christmas together since really becoming a couple, so I thought...”

“Aww, Greg, sweetheart.” You grab his face, making him look at you. For a middle-aged man he can really be unsure of himself.

“I was only joking, come here.” You pull him for a hug, giving him a quick kiss when you release him, holding his hands.

“Of course it’s our tree. I love you, and I think this is just going to be the start of many Christmases together.” You give him a longer kiss, throwing your arms around his neck. After another few, you let go of him, determined to get back to decorating the tree.

“I love you too.”

“You might regret saying when you get to meet more of my family, but for now I believe you. That is, if you hand me that pig. Don’t think I didn’t see you trying to put it back in the box.” Greg sighs, handing it over. You hang it as close to the top as you can, making sure it’s clearly visible. You grin at Greg, he hand you another bauble.

#greg lestrade #greg lestrade fanfiction #Sherlock #written #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #greg lestrad x reader #reader #readerinsert #reader insert #words #gender neutral

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readerstories · 8 years ago

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In the woods - Fawnlock x gender neutral!reader

Continuation of this. If you see any typos, please tell me. AO3

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 1062

Request: Could you do another fawnlock au x reader? the first one was really good and i was hoping you could continue it?

Months go by, and you don’t see more of the creature. You know he hasn’t left the area, you sometimes find evidence that he’s still hanging around. There’s patterns in the soil from his feet, some fur on broken branches, but other than that it’s like your meeting was just a dream.

Honestly, you begin to think it was just some guy wanting to fuck with you, who decided to dress up in some weird costume. You know that that explanation is unlikely in so many ways, but still it seems the more reasonable one.

Otherwise you would have to believe that there were some sort of mythological creature hiding in the woods that had never been discovered before. And that’s just insane.

It’s winter when it shows up again. You’re outside chopping some wood for the fireplace when you become aware of him. He stand half hidden behind a tree, just watching you. You don’t acknowledge him, just keep on going.

You figure he might want to choose when to come closer himself. So you let him be. Twenty minutes go by, soon you’re finished chopping everything. You let your axe rest against the chopping block, starting to stack the wood in the small shed you’ve made for it.

It’s in that moment the creature start moving, slowly slipping out from behind the tree. You’re turned more away from him now, so you only see him moving in the corner of your vision. You still do nothing, just keep on going. The creature stops about teen feet from you, closer and closer to your line if sight.

You turn slowly so you’re facing each other. You note that he’s wearing the same old towel as before and nothing else, even though the landscape is covered in thick snow and the breath coming out of your mouths are frosty white. By closer look however, you notice his fur seems thicker than the last time.

He stands still, just watching you again. Slowly you raise your hand and wave. Tentatively he does the same. You make a move to take a step forward, but almost before you have moved more than an inch he bolts, disappearing between the trees. You sigh and go inside, ready to make some dinner.

The next following days something similar happens. The creature watches, comes close, and then runs away. However, he (?) gets slightly closer every time.

You’re on your way back in from taking out the trash when you hear the snow crunch behind you. There’s only thing it could be, so you turn around slowly as to not startle him. He stands close to you, waving when you turn around. This is the first time he has been close this fast and the first time he initiated a wave.

You wave back and say a quiet hello. He doesn’t say anything back, and you don’t know what else to say, so you stand there for several minutes before you come up with something.

“You want to come inside?” He tilts his head, you don’t know if he doesn’t understand or if he’s just curious. To be sure, you repeat yourself, this time pointing at him and then the door to your house. Still no answer, he just looks at you.

You decide you might as well go inside and let the door stay open as an invitation to come inside. You slip inside, glad to come into the warmth, although a lot of it is going out the door now, waiting to see what the creature will do.

You put some more wood on the fire, trying to pretend you don’t hear the snow creak under the creatures feet as he comes closer to the door. You stay close to the fire, keeping warm and giving the creature the time it needs to make sure that this isn’t a trap.

When you hear his feet hit the floor, you slowly get up and turn around, careful to not startle him. He’s standing in the doorway, looking around with interest. He takes a few, careful steps inside.

You get up, slowly making your way over to your kitchen tucked away in one of the corners. The creature watches you, seeming to have gotten over his skittishness from earlier encounters.

“You want something to drink?” Again with the head tilting. You wonder if he actually understands you. Taking his head tilt as a yes, you grab some milk from the fridge and hot chocolate powder from the cabinet. One can never go wrong with a hot drink on a day like this.

When you’re done, you take out two mugs, pouring some of the delicious drink into them. You walk over to your living room, setting the mugs down on the table. The creature looks to them while you settle down on the couch.

“Take a seat, I’m sure you’ll like it even if you never have had it.” You keep your voice low and calm, still trying not to startle him even though he seems calmer now.

He leaves his spot in front of the (still) open door, but don’t sit down on the couch with you, instead opting for the chair a bit further away. He lifts up the mug form the table, inspecting it closely. He carefully takes a small sip, you watch his face light up in delight.

You smile into your own mug, you knew no one can resist a sweet and warm treat on cold days. You both sit in silence, just slowly drinking the hot chocolate. You don’t know what to say, and since you don’t even know if he understands you, there really isn’t any point in talking.

When you get up to fill you mug again, he reaches his own towards you, at least he seems to understand how to ask for things.

You fill it up, your hands brushing when he gives you the mug and when you give it back. His hands are calloused and slightly hairy.

The warmth from the fireplace and the hot chocolate makes you drowsy, and before you know it, you have fallen asleep. When you wake, the creature is gone, the door closed again.

The only clue to him actually being there, is the small dent in the pillows in the chair and his dirty mug on the dining rom table.

#fawnlock #fawnlock x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfiction #reader insert #reader #readerinsert #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #written #1000 #gender neutral

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

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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

34 notes · View notes

simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Epilogue

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. Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight. Twenty Nine. Thirty. Thirty One. Thirty Two. Thirty Three. Thirty Four. Thirty Five.

Sherlock x reader

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: 2165

Will and Rosie were working diligently with their buckets creating what was shaping up to be a massive sand palace complete with a moat that Will was currently using to wet his sand enough to stand just right. Rosie waited while Will carefully lifted each bucket, making sure the tower wouldn't fall. You were surprised with her patience at times as they made multiple trips down to the water to fill their buckets in the gentle waves and when Will’s perfectionist side appeared.

Sherlock’s hand brushed up your thigh then his fingers pressed in between yours. You were absently rubbing the scar tissue near your hip again. You met his gaze with a warm smile.

He leaned in and kissed you, long and lingering. “Delightful.”

He had been the one encouraging you before you even left the rental cottage's bedroom in your bathing suit. He had caught you standing in front of the full-length mirror, your gaze roaming over all the scars so visible.

Once you met his gaze in the mirror, you watched him walk up behind you and rest his chin on your shoulder before his hands found your hips. His fingers brushed over the matching scar tissue on both hips and sent a wave of heat through your chest. You’d never understand how his touch could be so different on that marked skin even if you knew the science behind it.

You took a shaky breath, “it's different.”

“It's beautiful.”

“At least they don’t stand out as much now.” You gave him a weak smile, your stomach twisting at the thought of stepping outside in just this bathing suit. People had scars, it wasn't abnormal so why were you so self-conscious about it?

He kissed your neck, his lips feather light over the small scar there. “We match.” He looked up into the mirror and met your gaze. “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest of souls.”

You had a hard time placing the familiar string of words then it flickered inside your mind like an old flashlight. “The most massive characters are seared with scars.” You smirked, “I don't think Khalil Gibran was talking about literal scars.”

“His loss.”

Sherlock was in a pair of black swim trunks laid out on the beach towel beside you and propped up on his arm. He was right about one thing, you did match. The scars scattered over his pale skin from his many adventures had never given you pause or changed the way you looked at him. Well, the way he reacted when you caressed that portion of skin did change the way you looked at the scars but in a good way, in a very good way.

“What?” His voice halted your train of thought just in time. You could already feel the tightening in your lower abdomen and when you met his gaze, he had definitely noticed. His brow rose along with the corner of his mouth. “Where did you go?”

“I don't think I've ever seen you like this in public.”

“Like what?”

You glanced at his legs then lazily trailed your gaze up to face.

He grinned, “I'm a talented swimmer.”

“And so humble.” You chuckled as you looked out to check on the kids and saw the easy, strong strokes out in the water. “Looks like Fitz is out.”

“McPherson?” Sherlock lifted his hand over his eyes and looked toward the water. “It's unbelievable that a man of his talent simply works as a science professor for snotty brats.”

“Oh, he has some interesting things going on besides science. Well, I guess in a way it still has to do with science.” Sherlock looked at you and you smirked, “wait, didn't you go to the school…”

“Exactly. I went there, I know what they’re like. You're avoiding…”

You leaned toward him, “he has a very lovely lady friend.”

Sherlock pulled back and glanced toward the water, “I've never…”

“They've kept it secret but if you see the two together.” You thought about the first time you spotted them at the corner store with Vic, “well, anyone who actually observes could see a lot happening around him.”

“I see where this is going,” he settled back on his arm with a quick roll of his eyes, “just because you predicted Lestrade would ask out Molly...”

You touched his wrist, your fingers dancing along his pulse point and up the inner side of his arm. “Mmm, jealousy has always blinded you to the obvious.”

He hid the shiver pretty well but his deepened voice betrayed him, “pardon?”

“You let jealousy blind you when you saw us talking together, you never noticed the looks he gave Molly. He's been attracted to her for quite some time, he just never had a desire to act on it before she really moved on. You simply never noticed.”

He cleared his throat then his hand brushed your thigh. “When would I…”

“At your welcome back party when Lestrade and I were talking by the window.” You continued to tease him as he leaned towards you again. “He kept looking at her and some of the looks at the wedding but then you were too nervous about your speech so I guess you get a pass for that but,” he was so close now the heat from his breath brushed your lips, “there were so many missed opportunities over the years.”

Cool water splashed both of you and you rolled back with a gasp. You sat up and squinted before blocking the sun with your hand. Will stood in front of your towel with shock and remorse all over his face as he grabbed the lip of his bucket to stop its swing. Just past him, Rosie was giggling by what was left of the sand castle.

“Mama?” You smiled at him and he rushed on, “can I have a little brother? Rosie keeps knocking down my castle. A little brother wouldn't do that.”

Your brow shot up and Sherlock laughed, “I wouldn't count on that. That's what babies do.”

His nose scrunched up and he frowned, “Rosie’s not a baby.” He glanced back at the mound of sand Rosie was now dancing around and splashing through the moat. You noticed John and Vic making their way back up the beach walking a little closer together, their hands grazing each other instead of clasped but it was only a matter of time. That was something you admittedly hadn't seen. “So, I can have one?”

You met your son’s gaze, “one what?”

“A little brother.”

You glanced at Rosie as you tried to wrap your head around his request, “oh, love. I…” Rosie picked up a bucket and plopped it on her head, covering her blonde curls with the red plastic then thrust her arm in the air and continued her dance around the damaged castle. You couldn’t help but smile.

“I believe I've just been challenged.”

Your head snapped in sherlock’s direction, “I'm sorry, what?”

Will grinned and puffed out his chest, “I'd be a great big brother. I promise.”

Rosie ran up to Will and tugged on his arm, “I not the only pirate, Willie, come play!”

He turned and let out a dramatic sigh, “it’s Will, even when we’re pirates.” Then you watched the idea flicker in his head and he smiled taking her hand in his, “but maybe one-eyed Willie would work. Come on, I’ll show you how to build the biggest castle but only if you promise not to knock it down, okay? We need some place to put our treasure, don't we?”

“Okay, one-eyed Willie! Bestest captain of the neverseas!”

You smiled at the sight as Will led her to the remains of the castle. Once they were out of earshot, you turned back to Sherlock, “are you out of your mind?”

He pulled his gaze from the kids, his grin never faltering. “What? Ask John, I was great with Rosie. Once I got the hang of it.” He looked at the sand castle construction where John and Vic had just stopped, “John! Tell her I was excellent with Rosie.”

Even from the short distance, you could see John’s eyes widen and then he leaned down to Rosie like he didn't hear him while Vic laughed beside him.

Sherlock leaned toward you, “and I think it'd be interesting to see you with child.”

“Ugh, really? You had to say it like that? I am not an experiment, some Petri dish for you to analyze…” he cut you off with a kiss, a very telling kiss.

You followed him as he pulled away. His voice dropped into that low tone, “are you saying it's completely off the table?”

You studied his face, reading the little tells then gazed into his eyes. He was curious but there was also an excitement there that warmed you and almost made you laugh. “You have no idea what you're thinking.”

“Of course I do.”

“Babysitting for John is not the same thing as having the baby with you twenty-four hours a day.”

“Aren't you being just a bit dramatic?”

That snapped you out of the daze he had created. “We are not going to have another child so I can prove a point.”

“I thought it was so Will could be a big brother?” You laughed as Sherlock moved closer, “Miss I observe everything…”

He rolled on top of you and your laughter turned to shrieks. “Sherlock! You’re getting sand everywhere!”

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

Sherlock’s weight was suddenly gone and you looked up shielding your eyes with your hand. Then screamed as you were lifted off the sand and thrown over his shoulder. “Sherlock!”

He bounded down the beach toward the kids, “avast ye, maties! All hands on deck! Batten down the hatches!”

“What are you doing?” You shouted and tried to grab a hold of John or Vic as Sherlock carried you past but they stepped out of your reach waving with matching grins. “Traitors!” You pressed against his lower back and twisted trying to see where you knew he was heading. “Don't!”

He winked just before walking into the waves and dropping you both into the sea.

The kids came crashing in after you, laughing and shouting their own pirate lingo they no doubt picked up from Sherlock. You swept your wet hair off your face and looked up at him still laughing with the kids. “You’re...”

He grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “The best pirate general.”

The kids cackled and yelled, “arrrr!”

You gazed into his eyes that impossibly seemed to match the water, “Sherlock Holmes, Pirate extraordinaire.”

He leaned down, his lips lingering just in front of yours, “you’re damn straight.”

John and Vic splashed into the water and the kids jumped on them. You continued to gaze into Sherlock’s eyes wondering if he would wait for you to break but then his mouth finally met yours. It was perfect.

It was slightly odd but you could hear Mrs. Hudson in your head, just as it should be.

A study in Connection: AFTERWORD

I’ve only been asked what’s the point of life a handful of times by patients and I’ve always given what would probably be considered the psychologist’s answer but if I’m being honest, I would say Connection. It's what compelled me to write this book.

Life is full of moments, good and bad but it's your connections that make them all interesting. It's those connections that act as tethers not only to this world but to yourself, that person you are deep down. There are times when you feel like all hope is lost but that bond pulls you back from the brink and lifts you from the depths. There are times when you truly feel alive because their joy or your celebration is contagious. It all comes back to the bonds that make it all worth it, the connections that breathe life into everything and when the bad days come, and they will come, those tethers remind you who you really are.

We help each other in so many ways but maybe most importantly by seeing ourselves through their eyes, by always being there, and by proving a reason to keep going when we can’t find one on our own.

Those bonds are tenuous at first so protect them, nurture them, and in time they’ll strengthen and life becomes so much more… valuable. Or as Sherlock Holmes would say, ordinary people fill their lives with all kinds of rubbish and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. If there’s one thing you take from this book, it should be that. Don't be ordinary, filling your life with things that don't matter just because there are empty spaces. I encourage you to take the risk even if it seems a scary undertaking. Find those bonds, create connections then take care of them, enjoy them, and be extraordinary.

@missmotherhen , @run-your-cleverboy , @samanthasmileys , @panic-at-space-camp , @trash-trashaf , @whaledenwtf , @logansbitch , @dead-lee-15 , @changingtimes , @hcndredwolves , @whatthehellisacastiel , @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked , @foureyedsiopao , @gurlwitafro , @redeyed-winchester , @unprofessional-inhumanbeing , @thatmoodindigo , @supernatural508 , @auszimbo, @haeminhee

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

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Connection Thirty Five

Sherlock x reader

A small corner of the table in the sitting room had been taken over by two of your textbooks, a notebook, and a pile of notes. To Sherlock’s credit, he hadn’t complained or said a word about your small workspace beside the chaotic organization of his open casework across the rest of the table. He had kept his things out of that small section where you once again sat reading and scrawling, refining and tweaking as your thoughts raced faster than your hand.

After your third visit to Sherrinford, even though she only spoke one other time, you had a thought that had been stirring and developing into a theory. It took you a few hours to find the right materials in your storage bins in the basement then every chance you got you were going through your books, making notes for everything that could be related, even though you were leaning toward a certain disorder, you didn’t want to pigeonhole her either. Too many had already done that to Eurus and even though you promised you wouldn’t come as a therapist, you couldn’t banish the thought that something had been missed all these years.

Sherlock’s socked feet barely made a sound but you were still aware of his easy stride into the room. You scribbled a notation along with a page number then glanced up. He had picked up his violin and stepped in front of the window but his eyes were on you. “Interesting case?”

Even though he had already approved and encouraged your thought process on his sister, you still felt a hot lash of guilt and something else that had been creeping along the periphery like a shy old friend. “Do you think this would even help? It’s not like anything I find or prove will give her a chance to leave that cave. Nothing I do can absolve her.”

He looked out the window as the violin found its home on his shoulder and he gently touched his bow to the strings but didn’t make a noise. A few seconds ticked by then his chin hugged the chinrest. “I think she’s been in the dark because the people who should have helped her have failed her for far too long.” He met your gaze, “it’s about time someone treated her like more than just a lab animal in a box.” He winked then began to play turning back to the window.

It took longer than it should have to place his reference but you made peace with your mental rehabilitation process and the time that it would take. Professor Harding and Shelly had been victims of Moran grabbing at straws to get you to show your face or maybe they had been a final request from Moriarty but either way, it had been a good thing you didn’t know about their deaths. You had never even thought to check on news from the states, all of your focus had been on Sherlock and John and you couldn’t really predict what you would’ve done had you known that the last sniper victims were the last two people you had contact with in the states.

It still hurt but not as much as it used to when the nightmares starring them would jerk you awake and you’d spend the rest of the night or morning trying to erase the haunting images. While you were still at Mycroft’s house, Sherlock coaxed you from the vivid nightmare’s grip and you finally opened up. He thought it got into your subconscious through a conversation he and Mycroft had outside of your hospital room. He hadn’t wanted to tell you until you were fully recovered and you understood his reasoning because had done the same with the images plaguing you at night so he wouldn’t have something else to worry about. The nightmares didn’t go away completely but you did gain some kind of control over them and they became few and far between before you left for Christmas. You couldn’t recall having one since. At least not with the intensity they used to carry.

Maybe there was something about Eurus that reminded you of Shelly, maybe that’s why you had been so taken with seeing this developing theory to the end. Even if she could never get out of there, she deserved to understand and to be understood. Your theory had been sparked by the person in that cell in the first place because she wasn’t the woman you saw on the street and she wasn’t the woman you saw on the tapes at Sherrinford.

The loud creak on the middle step of the staircase alerted you both to a guest. Sherlock only paused for a second before continuing to play and you briefly wondered if he was expecting anyone because you were sure John was with Vic today. There was only one set of footsteps then the distinct tap of a cane or rather an umbrella.

You glanced at the doorway from the corner of your eye and tried to recall if it had been open when you shuffled out just before dawn. Mycroft finally stepped through the doorway, “hard at work this morning?”

You turned to him with a smile but it faded at the all-business stance along with the stiff look. “Good morning. Coffee?”

He placed his umbrella in front of him and rested both hands on the handle as his gaze blazed at Sherlock’s back. “I’ve been told you’ve been taking a guest on these regular trips to Sherrinford.”

You tried to intervene, “Mycroft.”

“This is serious!” Mycroft snapped and the violin screeched before the tense silence.

Sherlock turned from the window bringing his violin down to his side, “there’s no reason for that.”

“There’s no reason for sneaking around.”

Mycroft was angrier than he should be and you couldn’t pinpoint why. “She’s a human being. She…”

“She’s a murderer!”

“She’s family!” Sherlock spit back.

“Yes, and we’ve seen first-hand what that means to her.”

Both men were now glaring at each other and you were surprised they had kept the distance between them. Mycroft’s contempt was so deep it was difficult to see past it now. He was just a child when the whole situation was put into play and he was only working off the belief that was placed in him along with the pain and fear that he experienced. You didn’t know exactly what he and his mother discussed but you’d been around him enough to know that he still didn’t forgive Eurus and at this point, it was unlikely he ever would. But she didn’t need forgiveness, she needed understanding. She needed to be treated like a human being.

You thought of the little girl you heard on the tapes from their hours spent inside Sherrinford and how Eurus used the ruse of a phone line when she allowed the child out. The stirrings of a theory as you watched her force them through different experiments to study their reactions to each stimulus. How the cold, detached woman shot an outsider just because she was the most important person to the man who controlled her captivity for so long and the polar opposite you heard in that scared and lost tiny voice.

“You’ve tried Uncle Rudy’s way, how well did that play out?” You reeled yourself back hearing that old anger seeping through each word. You walked over to Mycroft and laid your hand on his arm, “I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing but plenty of doctors used that excuse for decades when there was no research, they gave out the only diagnosis they had. Have you ever stopped to wonder if your sister just became what she was told for years that she was? You were told this was the only way, you were just a teenager and uncle Rudy had no idea what he was dealing with. At the time, honestly, most psychologists probably wouldn’t have either but it’s different now.”

He inspected you, “you have a theory.”

You met his gaze and wanted to convince him, you just weren’t sure of what yet. “She’s still a child, partly, she’s that little girl. Her love for Sherlock was possessive, that love could’ve been corrupted without knowing, without understanding it became an obsession, very much like a stalker. She was a highly intelligent child who wanted to play with her brother and when she didn’t gain the possession of her object of desire, she took away what she perceived as the thing holding her back from it. Instead of dealing with that obsession, with the genius who would cut into her own skin to understand the inner workings, instead of helping her understand what that was and helping her move past it or learn a healthier or better way, she was locked up. That obsession with Sherlock never paled, she only became more set on it.”

You watched him file the information without a trace of revealing his own thought on the matter, you turned and looked through the window. “Years of forced solitude is more than cruel but worse is the problem was only allowed to grow and fester. I’m sure she saw a kindred spirit in Moriarty and reached out to him because of it. They were both obsessed with Sherlock and if he shared with her his desire for Sherlock to be him, to feel what it was like… She was given just another example of her own condition that made it more normal, made her more normal.” You looked over your shoulder and met his gaze, “she will never be released but she might be able to find peace and understanding, something that, if diagnosed and treated earlier, could’ve avoided all of this. We can never know for sure but you have to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“What do you mean she’s still… a child?”

“It’s very possible that the little sister you knew is still in there after what happened at Musgrave,” you glanced at Sherlock, “she may have fragmented, the scared little girl that couldn’t handle what she had done to her brother and the intelligent, cold hearted person you’ve been talking to for… possibly since she was sent away, maybe before. Dissociative identity, one separate from the scared little girl… with the way that Sherlock described finding her in Musgrave… and what I saw on the tapes from Sherrinford…”

“I thought you didn’t miss a thing? You’re…” He stopped short and disgust twisted his features as he looked down and away. The disgust clearly wasn’t directed at you, he was going to say you were slipping and he hated himself for it. You were at least eighty percent sure.

“You can see everything, Mycroft but you still don’t know why or how… without context, those emotions could mean too many things.”

“What?” Mycroft paled then shut down and the word Eurus used in the tapes played in your head.

You winced, “I have theories, I believe your sister may have dissociative identity disorder but that’s not enough for a diagnosis. You know my methods, you know it takes more than just a look. There are too many variables.” His jaw clenched and he looked away, “even you saw how she reacted when Sherlock turned the gun on himself in that locked room instead of shooting you. She couldn’t bare for him to be taken away from her and maybe that was the little girl grappling for control, I don’t know. Did you ever wonder if Sherrinford’s hatred for her and delight in torturing Sherlock was because he knew she loved Sherlock more than the lot of you? It’s also possible that she had fragmented even earlier and Sherrinford liked the cold hearted Eurus and tried to bring her out. Did she ever get upset when you called her Eurus or ask you to call her something else?”

His shoulders tensed and his eyes were hard when they met yours again, “and the alternative? Maybe she didn’t involve you or Will because if she wiped you off the board, he would be dead already and she wouldn’t be able to delight over his torture. You can’t underestimate her just because you always want to help the different ones especially the ones you feel have been slighted in some way.” He turned to the window, his jaw clenching and relaxing in a far too measured way.

He was right, it was something that lingered in your mind while you researched, the fact that if she truly was a psychopath instead of just one of her alters then she could play you by knowing enough of your past. The very thought had fed your doubt that had been wreaking havoc during research and at other moments. You softened your tone, “she will never be released, we won’t allow her to hurt anyone else, and she will never be able to hurt him again. Just give us a chance.”

He turned back and studied you but didn’t flash any sign of what was going on in his head.

“She spoke to her,” Sherlock added.

“What?”

“Eurus spoke to Y/n. It wasn’t much either time but I could see her thinking about what Y/n said. I’ve never seen anything on her face unless she was playing and reacting to the music.”

He turned away and looked out the window again. You glanced at Sherlock and noticed Will standing in the kitchen doorway watching Mycroft with concentration. Before you could say anything he walked across the room toward his uncle. “Will…”

Mycroft turned toward his approaching nephew then Will stopped in front of him and grasped his hand, “uncle Myk.”

Mycroft squatted down with a smile, one reserved mainly for his nephew, “you shouldn’t be bothered with this…”

Will squeezed Mycroft’s hand with both of his small ones, “every person has a story but we can’t know if we can’t listen.”

Your eyes widened and your gaze shot to Sherlock. He was already watching you, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He pointed at you and nodded.

“Love you, Uncle Myk.”

You tried swallowing the lump in your throat as you looked back at your son who was hugging his uncle. Mycroft’s wide gaze was on you. You realized what Will had seen that you hadn’t. Mycroft wasn’t just afraid of what she could do to Sherlock, but how she could hurt or affect Will, maybe somehow make him fear the rest of his family. The possible scenarios were endless and you couldn’t tell what exactly he feared but it directly connected to Will.

Mycroft’s mask was down and his vulnerability was almost blinding. “I wasn’t going to stop you. I just wanted to warn you and maybe… I should be there sometimes. I could make sure she wasn’t trying to manipulate you. She may not hurt Sherlock but she has no problem eliminating the rest of us. No more guests.” His glance to Will was clear, his fear palpable. Will did look enough like Sherlock at that age to cause worry, to give credence to Mycroft’s distress.

Sherlock scoffed but you nodded, never losing Mycroft’s gaze, “if you would like to. I won’t argue.” You glanced at Will, “we won’t let that happen. No one else will get hurt, not on our watch. Isn’t that right, uncle Myk?”

Will beamed up at him and Mycroft stood ruffling his hair. “Precisely.”

We grow, evolve, adapt, and change. If we don’t continue on after disaster, through the trials and hardships and learn from them, if we don’t adapt and change through the stages we all go through, then we stagnate and lose what keeps us going. We can lose what makes us… us.

We are all human moving through life searching for what feels right in that time and place. We’re all sifting through the mess that life can be and deep down, most of us are seeking connections; bonds that make us thrive, that make us happy, that fill the holes of what has been broken away by past hardship. Family, friends, and lovers. Some connections don’t last, some never forge, and some are cemented forever, but all serve their purpose in the greater scheme.

All of these types of bonds can be for the best or the worst and it can take time to weed out the ones that break us even more but when we’re lucky, at least one or some of those will be a bond that not only never breaks but helps to sever the poisoned ones. Those are the connections that make us stronger, bring us joy, and truly make the worst obstacles in life bearable. When you find those connections, protect them, nurture them, and above all, enjoy them because no matter how strong you are there will come a time when you need those people to get you through the day or night or even longer.

During your darkest night when the moon is nowhere to be seen, the stars will shine even brighter. Savor the bonds that give you life and light the way home because while the fear of death is survival, the fear of life is deadly.

You stared at those last two sentences biting your bottom lip and wrinkling your nose not quite sure what was bothering you.

“Still writing?” Sherlock rubbed your shoulders and looked at your laptop screen.

You leaned back and sighed as he worked out knots you hadn’t realized were building. “I can already hear what you’re going to say.” With a dramatic flair of your hands, you continued, “all life is pathetic and futile, we reach and grasp but what is left in our hands at the end?” You tilted your head back with a smirk.

He leaned down and his lips brushed against to your ear, “yes but that was before someone changed the script. I have more than John’s stories now, I have an inner circle, a legacy, and a woman who manages to confound me even when I can least explain it.” He pressed a kiss to your neck.

You stretched your head to the side, “I’ve told you it’s something much more powerful than emotion or sentiment.” He kissed again, this time sucking slightly on that one spot that stoked something deeper, waking something primal that couldn’t be ignored.

“Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to distract me or seduce me?”

“I thought they were one in the same?” You turned your head and kissed him. His hands traveled down your arms and captured your wrists as he whispered against your mouth, “what is this power you have over me?”

“I hold nothing over you but I do have something with you.” His brows rose in a comical irritation then he spun the chair, smiling at your sharp gasp and pulled you to your feet. He took your seat and tugged you forward until you climbed onto his lap. “A connection, like a live wire, that binds us together. A force that can withstand time and separation.”

He smirked, “fanciful science fiction.”

His fingers were painting invisible designs up your arms, the game was already on. The two of you had been playing it for years but more often and with a greater intent since your extended stay in the hospital or more likely due to the experiences just before that. “How do I still confound you and draw you in? You say you know the chemistry of love but do you truly understand?” You slipped your right hand along his neck until your fingers rested over his carotid artery. His eyes flashed delight along with the tug of a smirk. You brushed your left palm softly over the back of his hand and slowly advanced the feather light touch of your fingers up his arm. “Why does a simple touch cause your pulse to increase, your pupils to dilate?” You leaned in without losing eye contact, “it’s not that dark in here, Mr. Holmes. You should have that checked.” You winked, feeling the steadily rising pulse against your fingers matching your own.

“My body’s betraying me.”

“No, I just know how to speak its language.”

He watched you as his smile grew then he turned his head enough to glance at the computer screen, “what’s it called?”

“I was thinking A study in Connection. Or A breakdown of the psychology inside the adventures of Holmes and Watson.” He grimaced. “Yeah, I thought the connection one was better. And it’s all because of you. Not that you need any more flattery.”

“Mmm. I tend to inspire all sorts of blogs.”

“Not the book. Me.” His gaze flickered back and forth between your eyes then searched your face. You pressed your fingers to his lips before he could interrupt, “there’s something that you need… that I need you to know, something that needs to be said.” You glanced away as your plaguing thoughts of Mary’s final moments flitted through your mind; all the things she wanted to tell John and never got the chance.

Sherlock kissed your fingers and you swallowed the lump in your throat, gave him a soft smile, and moved your hand away from his mouth over to his shoulder. “After my parents, I never allowed any kind of meaningful relationship. I was petrified that I wouldn’t be able to endure that kind of loss again. For years, I went through the motions and gathered my achievements trying to fill the deep empty spaces left after their loss. I had nightmares that plagued me and some nights I went without sleep not because I was studying but because I was terrified to see what would be conjured that night. It wasn’t until you snuck into my life, you crept under my skin before I even realized it and when I finally did, I was terrified. It’s debilitating, that moment when you realize another person holds so much more than your heart in their hands. Like your very life force is at that person’s mercy whether they understand it or not.”

His eyes widened slightly yet remained focused on yours with a small pinch in his brow. “You stood me up on Christmas Eve.” Your words clearly affected him but didn’t ruin his good mood as his hands rubbed your back in a familiar soothing motion.

Heat flooded your cheeks, “yes, I did.” You dropped your gaze and leaned into him as that pull he always caused inside you tugged gently.

“I still got what I wanted. Took some time but persistence pays off.”

You chuckled with a roll of your eyes, “you got what you wanted? You weren’t really the dating type.”

“Yes, but I knew what you were.” His right hand brushed through your hair and you met his gaze. “It just took me some more time to catch up. My brain is extremely fast.”

“I didn’t really think about it until I was writing something up and thought about my time in the hospital. How you helped me through the nightmares. How you all helped me through the stress and recovery. How you, Sherlock Holmes, not only gave me a family but completely changed the course of my life.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between yours then his brow rose, “the fear of life…”

You nodded then slid your hand down to rest above his heart, “maybe I knew of it before I met you. I just couldn’t admit it.”

“So, you’re saying we were more alike than you first thought?”

“Well, I spent all my time helping others because I didn’t want to admit that I needed the help myself.” You raised your brow and he looked away but his smirk was answer enough. “Very much so. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Less fanciful, I guess.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and you followed him as he pulled back. He grinned, “I did tell you in those first meetings that there were no other men like me.”

“And here I was just thinking you reminded me of my father.” You burst out laughing at the look on his face until he pulled you back to his chest and his hand caressed your cheek.

He studied you, your skin tingled as your face warmed under his gaze and your lips parted. He leaned in, closing the space between you but his lips never met yours. You opened your eyes and the mischief sparkling in his threw you.

“Oh, by the way, John and Rosie are waiting downstairs with Vic and Will. We had dinner reservations, remember?”

“Shit!” The haze vanished and you reached over his shoulder, clicked save document accompanied by his groan in your ear as you slapped the laptop closed. You shifted in his lap and he groaned again grabbing your hips. You grinned, “you deserved that. I can’t believe you!” His delight flickered across his face and he gripped your hips tighter anticipating another movement, “you’re such a...”

He wrapped his arms around you and stood holding tight until you got your feet on the ground. “John’s the drama queen. Probably down there whinging about us taking so long.”

“You were stalling and taking too long.” The laughter couldn’t extinguish the tingling once again climbing up your arms and heating your skin. You were far too aware of the distance between his mouth and yours and the painfully demanding ache.

“I never consider alone time with you stalling. Well, most of the time.” He leaned down, rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. You shut your eyes and breathed him in, the mint on his breath mixing pleasantly with his aftershave and freshly pressed shirt. It was heady and his description of you being a drug completely understood in the moment. His hands expertly smoothed up your sides then slid around to your back and with just a gentle pressure, he pulled your body tight against his.

“We could be very bad for each other,” you whispered, deeply aware of how much your voice gave away.

His right hand moved up your spine while the other swooped down to your lower back slipping under your shirt. His right hand slowed as he reached the back of your neck, adding a bit of pressure to the tendon as he continued up into your hair and cradled the back of your head. You opened your eyes and met his heated gaze. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Epilogue

70 notes · View notes

simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Thirty Three

Sherlock x reader

Word Count: 4678 Lyrics from Ray LaMontagne’s, “You Are The Best Thing” in Bold.

Christmas dinner was going to be the biggest affair in years and you were exiled to the Holmes’ den, not allowed to lift another finger to help. Your bones were completely healed and healed correctly no less with no need for extra surgeries yet Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson had ganged up against you forcing you out like you were an invalid. Just because you grimaced over tweaking your ankle just a bit, that's all it was. The twinges were to be expected, it didn't mean that you had to stop everything and go lay down.

You were a goddamn adult, fully functioning now, you didn’t even need the cane except for occurrences that were becoming more and more rare. They were massaging their lower backs for christ sakes! Mrs. Hudson even smoked a friggin’ joint outside to soothe her hip but you were sidelined over a damn misstep! You sat on the couch and stared into the fire as your blood tried to match its heat.

A quiet mumble from that small lovely voice completely drowned it all out. John stepped through the doorway and Rosie’s face lit up. “Mim!”

She wiggled in John’s arms until he placed her on the floor then her small legs devoured the floor between you. John realized too late that she would jump into your lap but you had already braced for impact and caught her easily. Her arms wrapped around your middle and she snuggled into your chest. Every irritable thought, every nagging ache, everything but the small person clinging to you washed away.

Rosie had been guarded when you met her and became even more so outside of the hospital but you understood after the things she already had to deal with during the first year of her life. She regarded you cautiously every day during those first two weeks when John would bring her by Mycroft’s house to visit and even when you watched her while he was off with Sherlock. But slowly, she began to open up and it was all because of Will. Her connection with your son helped her see you as someone other than a stranger. Ultimately, it was Will and his bond with you that brought around the little girl who now hugged you every chance she got and bloomed like a flower in front of you.

That first time that she snuggled into you was one of those moments you would never forget.

John stood in the foyer of Mycroft’s house, “Rosie. Come on, time to go.”

Will rushed over and hugged him goodbye but she was lingering beside you with her head down. Every time you saw her in that shy stance, it reminded you so much of Will when he was thirteen months old and meeting someone new. You knelt down beside her and whispered, “don't worry. Will is going to miss you too. I know it.”

She turned those beautiful shining blue eyes up to you and took your breath away. “Miss you, mim.”

She launched herself at you, knocking you over but you held her tight as you rocked to your back ignoring every complaining muscle. “I’ll miss you too, little dove.”

You had no idea where the nickname came from but it fit and stuck ever since just like the one she made for you that no one seemed to know.

“Thought you might like some company.” John sat beside you with a warm smile that you returned.

“Hello, little dove.” You rubbed your nose with Rosie’s when she stretched up and her giggle was like a drug. “Could you get that present for her?” You pointed to the tree and John walked over, picked up the sky blue wrapped present on top of a small pile of purple and pink gifts. He lifted it in question and you nodded, “yup.”

He brought it over and sat down handing the present to you after you situated Rosie in your lap with her back to your stomach. You showed her the edge of the wrapping then let her tear into it, only helping when her ripping got caught by the tape. She patted her hands on the photo book, “daddy!”

You pointed to the picture on the cover of Mary and John holding Rosie. “Mummy, Daddy, and Rosie.”

Her small hand patted the picture and she mumbled, “mummy.” The sound broke your heart.

“Mummy loved you so much.” You opened the book and flipped to the first page with a few pictures of John and Mary in the beginning of their relationship and the second page covered in pictures with each of them with Will as a baby. You and John took turns pointing at pictures and telling a few stories until Rosie became tired and turned, curling up against you as she laid her head on your chest.

You kissed the top of Rosie’s head and flipped a few pages until you got to the picture of Mary with her parents. “How about I tell you a story about Mummy?” Rosie nodded her head against your chest. “When Mummy was little, she was so very loved. She was smart, tough, and stubborn. She moved through the world with her head high and breaking every boundary she could find. When she turned twenty-one, she was offered a bunch of very big jobs. Mummy loved adventure, so she chose the most fun one. Her job took a lot of hard work but after she finished their school, she finally got to go on adventures. She was very good at what she did but she found that those adventures weren’t as fun after a while. She saw things she didn't think about before she was jumping through it.”

“Something very bad happened and Mummy had a choice, to give up her family and go a different, more dangerous route for herself or stay with her family and try as best as she could to keep them safe. Mummy chose to keep her mummy and daddy safe even though she would never get to see them again. Her travels went farther and she buried herself deeper as she went along with what she was good at. But another bad moment came and she had to make a choice, only this time it was a little different, she could continue doing the same thing even though she wasn't truly happy or she could try something different.” You knew by her breathing she was probably asleep but you kept going anyway as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“She once again went on an unknown path but this time, she found something that truly made her happy and gave her a taste of home again, she found daddy. Daddy pulled her into our little family and she loved it so very much. As you get older, I’ll tell you about mummy whenever you want and sometimes maybe when you don’t because your mummy was an extraordinary woman.” You blinked away the tears and kissed Rosie’s head again. “I know you may not understand for a while but we’ll keep her memory alive for you.”

John touched your shoulder, “you…” he cleared his throat, “her parents?”

You looked at him and realized that he didn't know. “They were put into the witness protection program when her CIA cover got compromised. She couldn't take the chance of going with them or ever reaching out to them without the chance of putting them in danger so she had to say goodbye. Her last mark knew her, knew she was coming so she knew the leak was in the CIA. There was only one person she could trust and he put her parents into WITSAC. She found her own route out of the states. She had the hardest time saying goodbye to her mother, that’s why she took her name when she made her new identity.”

“Her mother?”

You nodded, “Mary.”

He looked down at the book, “so… her real name wasn’t Rosamund Mary?”

“Yes, she took Rosamund Mary as her name when she left the states. Amanda Rosamund was her birth name but she never wanted to hear Amanda after she said goodbye to her mother so she took her mother’s name instead.” You winced and had to clear the lump from your throat hearing the way you said her name in this very room. “I always thought it was deeper than that, that she felt she didn't deserve her birth name…”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know what Amanda means?” John shook his head and you looked down at the picture unable to look John in the eye, “it means lovable, worthy of love. I think she felt she didn't deserve the name anymore after putting her parents in danger and she thought she could force herself to be better if she took her mother’s name. I understood that move the most. Maybe that's really why she wanted me as Rosie’s Godmother, to tell her story.”

John wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you to him. “Don't do that. You know better.” You moved the book to the couch with one hand then cradled Rosie with both arms as you leaned your head on John’s chest.

A few stray tears fell as you whispered, “I never got to tell her how strong I thought she was. I… I called her Amanda when I was still mad about Sherlock and I never got to apologize.”

John’s voice was rough and low, “she didn’t need an apology. She knew that you still trusted her... because even though you were mad, you called her family. She knew how highly you regarded that. She told me once she felt lucky that you ever considered her family. And maybe… hearing her name only proved that you loved her.”

John held you and Rosie as your tears continued to fall. His own cries were silent but his chest jutted out with each desperate inhale. After your tears dried, you pulled away and gazed into his eyes. It wasn't the first time you had cried together and it had a hint of nostalgia to it. The last time you were in a position like this, the child in your arms was a boy and something silly had happened but this time, there was no confusion between the two of you. John brushed the hair off your face with a gentle smile. “I should get her to bed.”

John carefully took Rosie from your arms and you picked up the book, closed it on your lap, and touched the picture on the cover. Mary was smiling down at Rosie and John was staring at Mary with a soft grin and a look in his eyes that you could read without trying. “She was so terrified she would lose you. I always wondered if she would ever relax enough to just let go and enjoy it instead of trying to hold onto that perfect facade.” You traced her face with the tip of your finger and closed your eyes, once again angry for being so stubborn. Sherlock and John had forgiven her by that time, why couldn't you?

John cleared his throat, “y/n.” You looked up blinking furiously. “She did… let go. After Christmas, she didn't pretend anymore. She wasn't completely… she didn't tell me about the Amanda thing or what happened to her parents… but she was herself, relaxed, a bit tired after Rosie came, but she was Mary. My Mary. Our Mary but a little more open and if you could've seen her with Rosie…” he smiled, “you would know she was happy. She made... me happy.” Something flashed across his face but he looked down at Rosie and you couldn't read him. “She was a really great mum.” He gave you a grin then turned and walked out of the room.

You put the book down on the couch and wanted to follow him but didn't. Leave it to John to sense your internal conflict and want to soothe it. He was always looking out for you even though this was his first Christmas without her in years. Everyone had been so concerned with you recently, was anyone looking out for him?

You thought about it, searching what you'd seen but maybe didn't observe over the last few days he’d been there. Rosie was the center of attention even with Will. Sherlock was in all respects mostly normal, at least his Christmas normal. He'd been more affectionate with Rosie and you wondered if he would have been the same with Will or more afraid because it was his own son but you shook the thought off immediately.

John needed normal from Sherlock but you were different and it wasn't just the feminine aspect. You had supported each other through an unexpected loss that hit you both hard and then an unexpected life that tilted your axis. Your friendship had been tested and seared in the worst of times and the best of times. It had deepened beyond the normal friendship because you had raised a child together and there were moments of intimacy as parents without any sexual component, even though you may have confused that once.

You sank into those memories when everything had fallen apart and you were pulling things back together with John by your side. When you finally told John about the baby, he had moved back in within a week. You were three months pregnant at the time and told him it wasn't necessary but he wouldn't hear it.

“John, you don't have to be around all the time! I'm a goddamn adult!” He continued up the stairs with his two bags even though you stood with your hands on your hips in front of the flat door trying to pull off your most intimidating pose. “I will not have you torture yourself because you think I can't handle…”

He interrupted you, “I think you can handle it just fine. I am your friend, an adult, a goddamn doctor and I want my room back!”

He walked past you and continued up the next flight as you stared at him with narrowed eyes. “I will not be told what to do!”

“You will do what is best for the baby and I’ll be here when things go sideways.”

“What's that supposed to be mean?” You yelled up the stairs.

“That I’ll be here when you're frantic and in no state to run out and grab ice cream because the baby will kill you if you don't have it.”

John Watson had become your confidant, your sounding board, your shoulder to cry on, and the trusted hand to grab when the ground felt like it might collapse beneath your feet. After Will came, you had never been more grateful for him. He took turns during those endless nights with Will so you wouldn't be completely wrecked, he changed diapers, and he forced you to take much needed time for yourself. He was still that friend who held you as you broke down over Sherlock’s death but had grown into the one who never let go even when you were screaming mad at each other for impossible reasons.

“Oh yes, you're so important! You sang him a song and changed a nappy! Where's the reward for John bloody caretaker of the year Watson!” A two-month-old Will continued to cry from his travel bed in the corner of the sitting room as you and John faced off in the middle.

“I've changed a million nappies in the last twenty-four hours alone! You just slept away on the couch and I did everything except pop him on my tit!”

“Maybe you should try it! You've become such a wonderful mother maybe you've sprouted milk ducts in those whiny nipples of yours!” You strode to the flat door and opened it, “did you hear that Mrs. Hudson?! John fucking father of the year Watson has sprouted lactating nipples!” You slammed the door closed then stared at it. “If you're so done, why don't you just leave! I never asked for you to be here.” You spun around to face John and your blazing anger faltered. He was staring at you with such a ridiculous expression you couldn't even place it. “What?”

John pinched his lips together trying to fight his smile, “I have whiny lactating nipples?”

You eyes began to water as you held in your laughter. “Don't you change…” you paused and bit your lip, “what… um, what are we arguing about?”

John was the first to burst out laughing and you dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

The memory of laughter that had stretched on until you were both gasping for air and crying warmed you in a way a fire never could. Will had stopped wailing at some point during your exhaustion-fueled hilarity and stared at the two of you like he'd never seen you before. You both agreed that you shouldn't yell in front of him after that but the moment had become an inside joke, the time you solved uncontrollable crying by screaming nonsense at each other then collapsing like drunken fools. An inside joke that had gotten lost in recent years.

So much had happened during those two years, it wasn't really a surprise when one of your breakdowns over Sherlock had you in John’s arms and ended somewhat awkwardly. Will had turned three months old and as you told him a bedtime story about Sherlock you had dissolved into another mess. You were missing Sherlock and upset that he would never see his beautiful child and know how smart he was. John had heard the sob that slipped past your lips before you clamped them shut and he rushed to the sitting room. His arms were around you, pulling you and Will against him then he brushed his hand through your hair as you let go.

“Shh. It's going to be okay.”

“How… can… it ever…?” You whispered in between the hiccuping breaths.

“Because you are strong and smart and one hell of a woman that it's impossible for it not to be.”

You pulled back and gazed into his eyes. The understanding and concern shining there not only stole your breath but sent a wave of goosebumps down your arms. He brushed his hand across your cheek pushing hair off your face and tucked it behind your ear. It was an odd charge that rushed through you, one you hadn't felt in a while. “Thank you for staying, for everything. Really.”

“You know I will always be here for you.”

“I know.” The air between you felt thin and you followed his move as he leaned in. Your eyes fell closed just before his lips met yours then everything went sideways. It was more than just not having kissed someone in so long and the fact that his lips were so different from Sherlock’s, it just felt… weird. You tried to stop thinking about it but that only made it worse.

John pulled back and you dropped your gaze, the odd feelings churning in your stomach as a slight panic began to swell.

“Well, that was…”

You met John’s gaze and relief flooded you. “Weird.”

He let out a puff of air, “yes. Christ,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I thought I just mucked this whole thing up.”

A relieved bubble of laughter floated up, “so did I.”

“Who thought we’d be so awful at the part that leads to this situation?” You barked out a laugh and John sniggered while admonishing you, “shh. You'll wake him up.”

“I’m going to take him to bed.”

“Alright.”

You stood up and started across the room then paused and looked over your shoulder, “do you think that’s what Leia and Luke’s kiss felt like?”

He grinned, “nerd.”

The memories washed over you with a warmth that mixed well with the room you sat in. Despite the one awful memory you had here, it was overwhelmingly a place of good things. You opened the book to the pictures of Will with John and Mary. It wasn't long after that when John started telling you about his relatively new nurse and things began to change again as he invited a new person into the mix. As much as you worried that it would change things too much, it only got better. You had loved Mary in your own way. She was such a great fit for John and over time your relationship with her actually grew.

“Shouldn't you be getting to bed too?” You looked up at John standing in the doorway. “Do you want me to pull Sherlock from the kitchen?”

You waved him off, “no. I'm fine. I'm a goddamn adult.”

John's brow furrowed and then recognition bloomed, “well, I'm a goddamn doctor and I say you need your rest.” He walked over to the couch and you dropped the book as you stood up and wrapped your arms around him. He was thrown off but then his arms wrapped around you and squeezed.

You closed your eyes immersed in so many memories when his arms felt like the only things keeping you together. “I love you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It's going to be. You know I will always be here for you, right? No matter what happens?”

He squeezed you again and tucked his head down onto your shoulder, “yes. I know because I’m not going anywhere.”

You opened your eyes and saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with a cup of tea. You waved her off and her smile grew, “it’s so nice to see everyone together again, just as it should be.”

John released you and smirked, “oh, Mrs. Hudson, amazing as ever.”

She scrunched her face as she walked in handing you the cup of tea but eyeing John. “You're just saying that because you want to drive my car again.”

“Partially true.”

Sherlock walked in with a bottle of pain medicine in his hand and paused, glancing between the three of you, “did I interrupt something?”

“Actually Mrs. Hudson did,” John said as he walked toward him and clapped his back, “you’re just in time.”

Sherlock questioned you silently as Mrs. Hudson laughed. You shook your head with a smile, “she’s being nostalgic or just emotional.”

“Ah,” he glanced at Mrs. Hudson as he made his way to you, “you need to take your medication.”

“Thank you.”

He plucked the tea from you and handed it to Mrs. Hudson before slipping his arms around you and kissed you. “Now, your pill.” He opened the bottle and got one tablet into his palm as you rolled your eyes.

Mrs. Hudson stared at Sherlock not quite as used to his open affection since you got out of the hospital. She gave you the tea again and left the room with a wink your way grinning ear to ear.

You took the pill from Sherlock and knocked it back. After sipping half the cup, you placed it down beside your phone and opened the music player on your phone.

The beginning strings started up and you turned to Sherlock, “can you dance to anything or just the classical stuff?”

You walked over to him as his brows furrowed, “I thought I'd find you in here fuming but… you should be resting.”

You smiled feeling too good to sit. “I need a little more physical therapy, remember? Important part of the healing process.” You took hold of his hand and he slipped his arm around your back.

“You had your workout today.” But he fell easily into a perfect stance.

You moved in a slow sway pulling him a little with a smirk, “loosen up, love.”

He grinned and dipped you. You yelped then laughed. He spun you around and began to sing along. “I need you here. You clear my mind all the time.”

You let out a bark of laughter and he grinned.

“We've come a long way, baby. You know I hope and I pray that you believe me when I say this love will never fade away.”

You were smiling so much it hurt. “Wow. You really ran with that. Have you been listening to my music while I was gone?” He only grinned in response. “Not bad, for an amateur.”

He pulled you close and leaned down. “No one’s ever called me that.”

“Mm, Sherlock Holmes, I do believe I’ve broken you.”

He brought your hand up to his shoulder then his hand smoothed up your arm over your shoulder and into your hair. “Hmmm.” He leaned down and hummed against your lips as he kissed you. “And we’ve built up something... greater. I can’t tell you how many insights I’ve gained into the human psyche.”

“Your surprises just make it that much more interesting.” You kissed him and his arms tightened.

He pulled away and spun you around. “Mmm. Maybe I should get a second opinion.”

You chuckled as he swayed and the song faded, a slower melody began.

He slowed down but kept you against him. “I was thinking we should get a place out here in the country.”

You laid your head against his chest. “Mm. Maybe somewhere near the water. Will loves the water.”

“You could have a place to write with a view and I could retire from detective work.” You looked up at him with a raised brow. “I saw your pages at the hospital. I think writing your own book is a brilliant idea. You do have unique experience.”

“I was questioning your part of that sentence.”

He pulled back pretending to be offended. “I do have other interests, other important work to do. I am a graduate chemist.”

You eyed him but then shrugged, “might be nice but I don’t know about full time. It gets a little boring, to be honest.”

“Hm. How do you feel about bees?”

“Depends. I don't like their sting. Why?”

“Great strides have been made to show that bee venom can actually be very beneficial.”

“I'm not going to be your test subject.”

Sherlock examined you and you saw a familiar look, he always knew when your energy began to wane and you clung to him just a little tighter. It seemed impossible but he held you closer as he continued to sway. “There was a... time when I was terrified that I would never dance again.”

“In the deepest, darkest part of my mind, I didn't think we’d ever get to do this again either.”

He shook his head and looked away but you knew what he was saying. The quiet fears the two of you had shared hadn’t really faded yet. “There are some things so much worse than death. I had a terrible thought that it had been Moriarty’s plan all along to take everything from me and leave me to my misery. It was something I didn't even want to admit but couldn’t be rid of it either.”

“We wouldn't let that happen and I know what I did was stupid but I couldn't just sit by anymore. Not while my family was hurting.” His arms tightened around you just the slightest bit. “Do you ever... regret letting me in? Letting John in? None of this would’ve…”

His gaze flitted over your face before settling on your eyes. “Never. I could never regret… the events that gave me all this.” You touched his cheek and he closed his eyes tilting his head into your palm. “I think it’s time to get you to bed,” he whispered.

When he opened his eyes there was a gleam there whispering of his intentions. “Okay. Are you going to read me a story?”

He smirked as he scooped you up into his arms. He grabbed your phone but left John's cane by the couch. “Oh, I can do better than that but only if you take it easy.”

You laid your head on his chest, “whatever you say, love.”

Next Chapter

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Thirty Two

Sherlock x reader

Word Count: 3686

The sun was still high when you finally zipped up your suitcase and glanced around the recovery room that had been your home for the last four weeks of your eight-week stay at the hospital. Mycroft had pushed it but you had to admit the recovery process had probably been easier here with the weekly visits with Dr. Gregson and the daily physical therapy with Courtney in the same building. Now that all the fractures had completely healed and your tendons, ligaments, and muscles were on their way, you could possibly tackle the stairs with the cane without too much pain.

You turned at the rap at the door and smiled at John standing in the doorway with his old cane.

“Your ride is here. Are you excited or terrified?” He walked over with a look around the room. “It’s like no one was living here.” You eyed him as he handed you the cane then stuck his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a DVD inside a clear sleeve. “I think this is for you.” He cleared his throat as you took the disc and looked at it, “she left two for us. This arrived yesterday and… I’ve had to stop myself from watching it more than a few times.”

It was a plain white DVD with Godmother scrawled in black sharpie. You looked up at John, “She?”

“Mary.”

Your gaze dropped to the disc again and you ran your fingers over her writing. “How do you know it’s for me?”

“Because of something she said once or twice.” He pulled your laptop out of its bag and placed it on the table. He started it up then turned to go, “I’ll just wait…”

You grasped his wrist and pleaded, “please stay.”

He glanced at the laptop before meeting your gaze, “you’re sure?” You nodded then released him. He picked up the second chair and carried it over next to the one in front of the laptop.

You sat down, loaded the DVD, hit auto play, and waited not quite sure what to expect but all you could hear were those cruel words you threw at her that Christmas that felt so long ago. We all have demons, Amanda. The pained look on her face that you had evoked because you knew her deepest weakness. What kind of person lashes out with something that was given in confidence, words shared only because she felt safe enough to open up to you? If only you could take it all back.

Mary’s face filled the screen just as you were about to slap the laptop shut and you gasped. John grabbed your hand and you turned it over then entwined your fingers with his. “Please don’t leave,” you whispered and John replied with a squeeze of your hand.

“Y/n.” Her smile reached her eyes, “I’m sure this is probably a shock to you or well, maybe not, you always were so intuitive when it came to behavior.” She sighed, “there are so many things I wanted to say to you that I didn’t get the chance to but you’ve probably heard them all before so I’m going to use this to tell you what you didn’t hear.”

She looked down and your heart slammed into your ribcage. When her gaze finally came back up, she pulled you in. “I’ve missed you. I missed you so much that I was shocked, believe it or not. And when Rosie came,” she blinked and looked up as she cleared her throat, “I never wanted you around more. When John and I were discussing Godparents I don’t remember which of us said you first,” she let out a watery laugh, “it was probably him, let’s be honest, but you were the first thought in my head. You were always so good with Will and whenever I was struggling, I thought what would she do? What did she do with Will when he’d cry all night or when she thought she may not make it til morning? Of course, you probably never had that thought. You were my inspiration. You were the mother I wanted to be, like my own, if I could ever pull it off.”

She smiled again and wiped away the tears. “So, obviously if you’re seeing this, I’m gone and if I could have my wish, Rosie would have you. Mrs. Hudson, I’m sure will be the fairy godmother that gives her everything she wants, and Molly will probably be a close second, but you would be everything she needs. You are her Godmother, the one I see raising her to be the woman we know she is meant to be.” She swiped at more tears as she chuckled, “motherhood has made me cry more than anything in my life.” She looked into the camera, into you, and her smile faded, “you saw all of me and still wanted to be my friend, still saw me as family. You are everything I would like her to be. Kind, caring, fiercely loyal, protective, forgiving, and most importantly, strong and smart. I never had a friend like you in my life and I am so thankful that John brought you into it. It’s just another thing John Watson gave me that I could never repay him for. The friendship you two have, I want that for Rosie. I want the world for her and I know that you lot will give her that. You, Sherlock, John… and for the love of all that is holy, don’t let John give up on that. Don’t let him give up on love.”

Her face lit up and she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears anymore then something else crossed her features, something darker before she shook her head and refocused on the camera, “please watch over them. I’m sure I probably don’t even have to ask but,” she shrugged, “it’s my last wish and I needed you to know just how special and important you truly are. Thank you for everything.” She was quiet but still gazing into the camera with those soft eyes and her mouth slowly curving into a smile. She was coming to some sort of decision, something solidifying and yet still bittersweet. “Everything.” Another tear fell and then the screen went blue.

You continued to stare as the screen blurred and more warm tears streaked down your face. John squeezed your hand, you turned and studied his watery eyes.

“She’s right.”

You looked up trying to slow the waterfall but it didn’t help. You saw her do the same in your head and suddenly wanted to watch the video again knowing you must’ve misheard, misunderstood. “How… could I?”

“You really didn’t know how much she looked up to you?”

You dropped your gaze and shook your head. “But the things I said to her that Christmas, the cold shoulder I gave her after she shot him. I was so mad.” Amanda. Next time, I won’t be so quiet.

He sandwiched your hand between his, “she understood your anger but she could never understand how you still called her family. She told me that you said you knew she would always be family and you just needed time. It was the only thing she couldn’t understand because if she was in your place she probably would’ve written her off, fuck her best friend’s opinion. I was better with Rosie and with her as a new mother because of you. She would ask every now and then what you did with Will and that,” he pointed to the screen, “that only proves I wasn’t the only one wishing you were here.”

You stared into his eyes and still couldn’t believe it. You weren’t that great, you still had to learn through trial and error, and you had those nights where you thought you weren’t going to make it til morning. You weren’t perfect or knew what you were doing and the things you said to her… Suddenly, you wished you had the chance to tell her she was perfect, that she was everything Rosie would ever want. “But I…” you shook your head, “she was exactly what Rosie needed. I went through the same thoughts and feelings as she did. I will only ever be second for Rosie, I will never be as good as… her.”

John smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek, “and that’s exactly why she wanted you to be Rosie’s Godmother and apparently, my life coach.”

You barked out a wet laugh, “you’re such a…”

“Arsehole, I know.”

You threw your arms around him and squeezed. “Oh, John. Thank you for bringing this.”

He wrapped his arms around you and patted your back, “thanks for making me stay.” After a beat, he pulled back then grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and handed them to you. He stood clearing his throat, “we should get going though because I said I’d have you home in under an hour." He slipped your laptop back in its bag as you dried your face. "We don’t need half of Scotland Yard looking for us because we’re late.”

John lifted your suitcase and what he said sunk in. “Who planned the party?”

“Mrs. Hudson and Sher…” his eyes widened as he turned and pointed at you, “you can’t say a word. Shit! They’re going to know. You need to act surprised and don’t go over the top. Christ, she’s going to kill me.”

“Calm down. I’m sure I’m going to be a mess from those stairs anyway, they’ll all be too busy trying to help me to notice.”

“Right.” Some of the color came back to his face and he handed you the cane. “You sure you don’t need the wheelchair?”

You gripped the cane with a glance at you laptop bag, took a deep breath, and met his gaze. “Let’s do this.”

Why in the hell did you ever tell John you could do this? Christ, those stairs were made by satan himself and you had no time to gather yourself before the door opened with a chorus of welcome home.

John led you to his chair and everyone took turns saying hello and whatever else they said that you barely heard over the screaming of your lower half. You smiled and nodded but within ten minutes, Sherlock intervened. He gave you a cup of tea, a pain pill, and suggested maybe you take a breather in the bedroom. Sherlock Holmes not only threw a party for you with Mrs. Hudson but he also read you like an open book and dealt with the crowd. Even though it was made up of family and close friends, still they had no interesting case to give him.

You walked into the kitchen clutching the cane and staring at the floor in front of you. You stopped just before you bumped into someone. “I’m so sorry.” You looked up into Molly’s brown eyes. “Molly, sorry.”

She flashed a shy smile and asked, “are you okay?”

“Yes, just… a bit worn out… maybe a little achy.” Her brow rose. “Okay, more than that, much more.”

“Don’t let me keep you. I was just about to leave. Death never takes time for tea.” She winced, “sorry, that was…”

You touched her arm, “nothing to be sorry about. Thank you so much for all your help with the boys’ gravestones. It really means a lot to me.”

“No, it was my pleasure. Truly. I felt terrible…”

“I know what you mean but still, thank you for all the work you did. I know it wasn’t easy with me being stuck in the hospital. Was that check enough…”

“Oh, please don’t apologize for that.” Molly brushed her fingers through her hair tucking loose pieces behind her ear. “And yes, everything’s covered. They should be buried before Christmas.”

You looked into her eyes and smiled, “when did we get so awkward?”

She giggled softly, “maybe just the time apart and… that body Lestrade and I found…” Her gaze darted away, “I couldn’t imagine another child…”

You grasped her hand and squeezed, “seriously, thank you so much. For everything.”

She blushed and looked down with a shrug, “what are friends for.”

You stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m always here for you, Molly. No matter what. I know we were never that close but you are important. I don’t have many friends but I do count you as one.”

She was still and stiff for a second but then she hugged you. “Likewise.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed her once more. “I’m going to go hide for a little while.” You pulled back, “keep my secret?”

She brightened and nodded, “sure.” She stepped out of your way and you waved before heading to the bedroom hoping you’d make it without seeing anyone else. You hustled past the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief once you were safely behind the bedroom door.

You sat carefully on the bed then laid back with a deep breath. Those fucking stairs. You were never going to be able to climb them every day. What were you going to do? Hide up in the flat all the time? What the hell were you thinking?

A soft double rap at the door made you freeze and the thought of keeping silent crossed your mind.

“Should I come in or are we feigning sleep?” Mycroft spoke through the door like it was a completely normal occurrence.

“No.” You winced at the petulant sound in your voice and cleared your throat before responding again, “come in.”

The door opened, Mycroft slipped inside and closed it without a sound. “You’re not usually one to hide from conversation.”

“I just needed a moment.” You didn’t bother sitting up. Laying down just felt too good.

“Did you take your pain medication?”

“Yes, just not soon enough. I didn’t think those stairs would…” You looked at Mycroft, “you know what? Fuck those stairs.” You blew out a frustrated breath then stared up at the ceiling. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Mycroft walked to the window with a glance your way, “good thing I do. I made other arrangements.”

“There’s no way I’m going back to the hospital or a hotel just for an elevator.”

“I have an office on the first floor that was originally a second master bedroom. In light of your… injuries and the lack of options should those limitations extend past your time in the recovery wing, I had it re-furnished as a bedroom. William can stay in one of the other rooms if you so wish and your welcome to stay until you’re back on your feet without pain.”

You studied him then pushed up into a sitting position, “are you serious?”

He turned raising his brow, “am I known to joke?”

“I’m just… not quite sure you’re thinking clearly. You just invited a child to live in your house for an unspecified period of time.”

His open hand slipped into his pocket as he repositioned his umbrella in front of him. “William is not an ordinary child.”

“In some ways he is.”

“He’s family.”

“Mycroft, you don’t have to…”

“I’ve already had the room redecorated and it’s up to you if you would like to accept the offer.”

“I do as long as you’re completely aware what you’re doing.”

“It might be a challenge having my brother around but I think I can survive. I did live with him before.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You fell back on the bed then regretted it as the mattress hit reverberated through your bones down your legs. “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

“Refusing help or gratitude?” He grinned with a look of mischief all his own.

“Thanking people.” You closed your eyes trying to breathe through the pain so he couldn’t read you so easily. His words flowed through you and you amended, “both, actually.”

“Ah, yes. Trauma will do that. Grateful for life and all that. Of course, accepting help was not your strong suit before.”

“Shut it.” He chuckled and you snapped your eyes open. You took your time to really examine him; his stance relaxed, his hand loose around the handle of his umbrella, his mouth curled up at the edges without any tightness and the same went for his brows and the muscles around his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was completely at ease as if there was nothing to worry about but this was a man who worked with highly classified information and at any time could be juggling multiple international affairs and/or any number of operations running to protect Queen and country. Yet, he was standing in the bedroom you once shared with his brother as if he had no other place to be in the world. “Was there anything else?”

He grinned, “no. I just wanted to see how far you would take this.”

You threw your arm over your eyes, “I hate you.” But his rolling chuckle made you smile despite yourself. You had to admit it was nice to hear and the fact that you would only have to tackle those stairs once more to get out of here was an amazing thought. Maybe he did have concerns still weighing on him and you didn’t see it because the heaviest one on you was now gone because of him. The relief alone could make everything appear rosy and the fact that the throbbing in your lower half was beginning to dull was making you lean more that way except for one simple fact, Mycroft was laughing.

As the tension seeped from your muscles and the lightness spread through your body, you stopped fighting that full feeling in your chest and the warm tingling flowing out to every inch of your body. It was almost too much but in the best way possible. You didn’t bother hiding your smile as you declared, “to the best brother anyone could ask for.”

His laughter echoed around the room and you joined him.

Sherlock forced a smile as his mother glanced his way in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Hudson. He had no idea what they were talking about because he was looking over their heads at Courtney who was talking with Vic, John, and Lestrade on the other side of the room. She had noticed that the stairs had taken more out of y/n than they thought too and he wanted to pick her brain but had gotten waylaid by his mother. He turned and grit his teeth against the frustration of being polite and spotted Molly opening the door in the kitchen then stepped to the side and Mycroft walked in. They exchanged a few quiet words then Molly left and Mycroft made his way to the bedroom.

He started for the kitchen watching Mycroft slip into the bedroom wondering what his brother could possibly want to talk about with Y/n but he stopped at the kitchen door, his need to speak with Molly overrode his curiosity. He stepped into the hall and hustled down the stairs. “Molly, wait! Please, wait.”

She paused by the coats hanging from the wall, not bothering to face him. “What is it?”

“I’ve been giving you space because… well, because after… I knew that hurt you. That I hurt you and I… needed to tell you something if you would give me a minute.”

She turned as she slipped her coat on. “One minute, I have to get to work.”

He took a few tentative steps forward then stopped when she stepped back. “You are important to me and I do love you but it’s a love between friends. Different types of love are important and they all have meaning. I just, I wanted to apologize for what happened because I know it hurt…”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, tucking further into herself. “I know what happened, Sherlock. It’s fine. I’m fine. Is that it?”

“You are fine but I know you’re not fine with this. If… being around me is difficult, I understand. I can make sure that we won’t cross paths when you’re helping Rosie, you won’t have to deal with me. Not at the morgue or lab either. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

She swiped her hand across her cheek before looking up at him. “I know. I…” She shook her head, “when Greg and I found that body I didn’t think it was her because she was too smart.” She looked away, her eyes flicking up the stairs and down. “She really is a good person… great really and she is always so nice to me and anyone can see how good she is for you, but for a really small moment that morning,” she got quiet and he moved forward, “I wondered what if that was her?” Her gaze flicked up to his, holding him with the obvious torment tightening her brow. “What kind of person does that make me?” She looked away again as a tear ran down her cheek and another quickly followed.

He touched her shoulder gently and when she didn’t pull away, he squeezed. “It makes you human.”

She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks roughly, “right. Unlike the great Sherlock Holmes.”

He pulled her in and hugged her then lowered his voice, “no, Molly Hooper, just like me. Only with less flaws.” She cried quietly for a few minutes and Sherlock didn’t say a word until she pulled away. “I can keep a distance for however long…”

She met his gaze and cut him off, “it’s fine. Really. You don’t have to jump through hoops anymore. I’ll tell you if it’s…” She forced a smile, “I’ll be fine. I made it this far, right?” Then she turned, opened the door, and swept outside. “Bye.”

Sherlock watched the door close then turned and slowly made his way back up the stairs. It would probably still be a little awkward for a while but that would pass just like it always did. Y/n was right, he just needed to be honest because the ones who mattered would understand and the rest… he chuckled as her voice finished the sentence in his head, fuck ‘em.

Next Chapter

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Thirty One

Sherlock x reader

Word Count: 3720

The blinding light was gone but the cold still remained when he revived you back into the gray chamber that would soon become your tomb. You jerked at the sound of his voice. “How much pressure do you think these straps can actually put on your bones?” The metallic ratchet clicks echoed off the walls. “Have you felt any cracking yet?”

His crooked smile came closer blocking out everything else and you tried once again to move your head away. “I’m not used to being so close so you’ll have to give me a hand.”

The room began to spin and your heart slammed against your ribcage that would surely explode at any moment. His menacing eyes grew larger as something clamped down on your chest like a vise. His excitement was palpable, so much so you could smell it in the air and taste it on your lips. He wanted you to know intimately that his would be the last face you see before you die over and over again.

“Y/n. Breathe! You need to breathe!” You jerked up in bed despite the pain throbbing in your sides and gasped, sucking in all the air you could get between the sobs that wracked your body.

Sherlock was there; his bleary blue eyes, his gruff sleepy voice, his strong arms were all working to soothe you but a different voice still echoed around the room as you searched frantically for a steel table and dirty gray walls. Just like Sherrinford didn’t have to touch him, neither do I. Love.

“Deep breaths with me. Feel my chest, deep breath in, good. Let it out slow. I've got you. I'm here.” Sherlock was trying to reel you back while Moran’s voice bounced around inside your skull, that gray room still lingering around you. And it’s so much more fun with you, Jim was impressed by you after all. I'm nearly there myself. Those laughing brown eyes flashed and the screams tore through your head.

You wrenched your eyes open and focused on the dark window. The reflection of your face pressed against Sherlock’s chest. His hand slowly combing through your hair, his fingertips feather-light against your scalp, and his head was tilted down. You looked past the reflection to the dark night outside and wished with every fiber of your being that you could breathe fresh air.

The woman in the reflection finally stopped shaking or at least visibly and her cries began to subside. Sherlock’s heart beat against your ear, it was slightly elevated probably because someone woke him up again. Maybe with kicking and screaming.

“We can watch…” He began to pull away and you grasped onto him tighter. “Another movie. I've got you. I'm not letting go.”

You looked up as the knot in your chest squeezed then swelled. “Sherlock,” you croaked and your vision immediately blurred as more hot tears coursed down your cheeks.

He brushed your hair and rubbed soft circles on your back. “Right here. I'm here, love.”

He held you until the tears dried and the malicious voice in your head finally faded away. The reality that this was a new normal was a suffocating thought. Until you could block or get past the memories that still surfaced in dreams, the voice that still caused you to shake, and the amount of time it could take to move forward was like a noose around your neck slowly cutting off the air the more you thought about it.

“What do you need?” His soothing low tone pulled you from the spiraling thoughts and you sought his gaze.

“As much as I love the movies you brought, I can't watch another one, not right now.”

“Anything and I'll make it happen.” His blue eyes were bright and determined. You didn't like to admit but it caused a stab of grief and sometimes shame.

You recentered your thoughts on his question and imagined being outside, the thought of cool night air filling your lungs. “I would never make it. Not on those.” You scowled at the crutches leaning against the wall near the bottom of the bed, “they'd kill me before we were out the back door.”

“Out?”

“I need fresh air.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to your forehead, slipped off the bed, and pulled on the scrub pants he nicked supposedly from a supply closet. “I'll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

He winked then disappeared out the door.

Your head throbbed as the last tendrils of the nightmare lashed out again. The room seemed to shimmer coming in and out and a terrifying thought ambled through your mind. You were still laying on that steel table simply dreaming of Sherlock. It was merely a dream, a brief respite before he woke you again. Regrets playing out in your head for all the times you didn’t hold his hand when you had a chance or simply touch him, feel the heat of his skin or the beat of his heart. What you wouldn’t give to really look into his eyes and feel his touch one more time.

You jumped from the bed and yelped as the pain lanced through your right leg. You grasped the bar at the bottom of the bed. A bar. “Hospital bed. I’m in the hospital. Sherlock is here. Sherrinford is dead. Will… is with John and probably Vic. She promised she would watch over him. They are safe. Everyone is safe. I am safe.” You searched the room convincing yourself further that this wasn’t the dream then grabbed the crutches and hobbled to the door.

The usual discomfort only added to the throbbing in your ankle and hip from that stupid reaction. This was not the dream. You were stronger. The nightmares would fade. You had been getting stronger now that the pelvic fractures were almost completely healed but to be fully functioning without the use of a walking aid would take time to build up the muscle you lost while stuck in the bed.

Because of him, because of Sherrinford. You shook your head to rid the thought and continued your grounding as your lungs began to burn.

The doctor was positive that you'd one day walk easily without an aid thanks to the urgent care, treatment, and the physical therapy they started during your second week. You hadn't lost as much muscle mass as someone who was bedridden for weeks or longer so you were lucky especially with the medication they gave you to help the tendons and ligaments heal but goddamn if it wasn't still hard as hell to fight back to your normal.

You had admitted that maybe you'd have to create a new normal but Dr. Gregson had reminded you that the life of a psychologist and mother wasn't an agent, with determination and hard work you could easily find that normal again with some scars for good stories. Who doesn't love a good story?

He was good but the amount of pain you were in at the time, you hadn't believed him. After six weeks of healing and therapy, you were miles from that screaming pain anytime you shifted in bed. You did feel stronger and the scars only proved it, but you wouldn't necessarily call it a good story.

By the time you made it into the hallway, Sherlock was walking around a corner pushing a wheelchair. You released the breath you were holding and swayed slightly on the crutches, suddenly lightheaded. Sherlock sprinted through the hall with a wide grin and you giggled. The sound was almost as jolting as the sight in front of you.

“I'm sorry but I'm going to take it from here.” He helped you into the chair and placed the crutches back inside the room. “The back garden would be nice. Or were you thinking of going for a joyride?” Sherlock pushed you down the hall and you looked up at him.

“Did you nick this wheelchair?”

He leaned down and his lips brushed your ear. “It was just folded up in the closet with a few other things. It won’t be missed.”

You finally made it to the back door and then onto the rock garden path. He weaved through until you came upon the garden’s fountain and the few benches that circled it.

He lifted you and sat you down on a bench before taking his place at your side. You leaned on him and looked up at the moon taking in a deep breath of the cold night air with a shiver. Sherlock took a small bag off the back of the wheelchair and pulled out a blanket, threw it over his shoulders then wrapped it around you before tucking you into his side.

“You think of everything.”

“Someone needs to look out for you.”

You peered up at his face as you laid your hand over his heart, the beat steady, strong, and familiar. “I thought I did pretty damn well for a long time but it got boring. So I came home and things got a little too interesting. I guess I still need to find my balance.”

He gazed down into your eyes, “you know how crazy that was.”

“You can talk.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You could see the thoughts and arguments running across his features as he pulled back but instead of voicing any of them he simply said, “I missed this.”

You sighed and touched his cheek. He had let his facial hair grow out again and his scruff tickled your palm. His gaze found yours as you smoothed your hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down. “More than you could ever admit.” You kissed him letting every ounce of longing and fear speak for you then you let it go and just enjoyed the feel of his lips on yours.

He pulled away just enough to look at your face. His fingers brushed over your cheekbone no longer marred by the one stubborn bruise that finally disappeared two weeks ago. “I thought I had lost you that day.”

“So did I.”

“Maybe we should take a step back from the more dangerous cases. We are parents now.”

“We’ve been parents for years. Well, I have.”

“Yes, but…”

You knew what he meant, saw the fear in his eyes and understood completely. “I know. I'm sorry that I…” he pressed his fingers over your mouth.

“We both did what we thought we had to do.”

“Well, you can be assured there will be no more agent activities for me.” His hand moved to your hair and brushed through until giving just the right amount of pressure to the base of your skull and running down the tense muscles in the back of your neck, “mmmm. Just a mother, friend, therapist, and lover.”

“Don't sell yourself short.” He lifted your chin, “you are so much more than that.”

You gazed into his eyes lit by the moon and whatever was running through his head. “Like what?”

He leaned in, a breath away from your lips, “I’m not the expert, I can’t explain it but maybe, one day, I can show you.”

“Mmm. I’d like that, sooner rather than later, yeah?” The heat of his breath seeped into your skin spreading down your body like a soft breeze leaving goosebumps in its wake. You waited, staring into his blue eyes, your heart frozen in a beat and the air stuck in your lungs as his lips held you hostage mere inches away. You almost took matters into your own hands when he finally connected you in a searing kiss.

There was no pain, no nightmares, and no whispers of the voice that haunted you. There was only Sherlock and the things he could coax from you with small touches and the simple act of a kiss that healed you more than you could ever explain.

Moments like this were invigorating when you were completely honest with yourself, they were everything.

It was true that you had thought you were saying goodbye to all of this by the time Sherlock showed up. You couldn't remember everything, thankfully your brain had blocked much of your time with the man who haunts you in snippets of memories, some twisted outside of that room. The man that turned out to be Sherrinford. You didn't have all the right data when it came to Moran so of course, your assessment had been off but even through all the pain and hard work it took to get here, you still had hope as long as you had your family. As long as you had moments like this, you could find solace to keep you going.

Physical therapy was the epitome of self-torture. You were never a huge fan of working out but you enjoyed a nice jog and maybe some resistance training or kickboxing. This was a whole other fucking matter. Yay! You survived torture and were healing nicely, even gaining back a good amount of muscle, and you were improving each day but holy shit did that hurt. Despite what the doctors, nurses, and your lovely physical therapist Courtney said, you felt like you were putting yourself through more torture for the sake of getting better.

There was logic to it, even scientifically backed proof this was the only way to get back to some semblance of normal, but even though all of your fractures had healed, your hyperextended tendons and bruised ligaments and muscles still had a shit ton of coaxing left to work like they should. Eight weeks in and you were walking without the help of anything. While it was a hell of a lot easier than last week, those tendons were screaming at you to sit your ass down in a wheelchair and gain more arm strength.

John and Sherlock were both present at your session today, it would usually be one or the other and you knew Sherlock had told John about the nightmares or maybe they discussed it together. There were some vague memories of panic attacks that you didn't know who exactly calmed you down. You had a feeling they made some kind of arrangement for at least one of them to be present just in case you had an attack but you weren't Courtney’s first patient from violent trauma. Something the boys would've known had they asked but you couldn't be mad if they were feeling a touch overprotective. You understood it.

Most times they provided some much needed comic relief because even though you had warned Courtney how Sherlock could be, she didn't quite understand until he was giving you tips on how better to improve and strengthen by doing a certain movement or stretch a specific way. Vic hadn’t been joking when she mentioned he and Will getting their hands on as many books about rehabilitation as they could. Sherlock thought himself an expert now.

You only shared a few comical looks with Courtney today who fully expected his input every now and then and even gave him a little pat on the back for knowing something that she studied for years. He didn’t interrupt as much in the last two weeks and his attention shifted from you to a book, case file, or his phone and once even sitting down and sifting through his mind palace which showed how much he respected her, trusted her. Today, his eyes were on his phone most likely solving a case while continuing to listen to yours.

“You’re looking great. The pain is still more on your right side?” You nodded at Courtney’s encouragement and grimaced with the next step.

“I tweaked it a couple weeks ago with a… sort of fall from the bed. I think I've done it a few times actually.”

A sympathetic smile crossed her face and she gave your hand a quick squeeze. “The good news is you won’t have to use those crutches anymore. I think a cane would work, I can see what we have on hand.”

“I have one.” John insisted.

You smiled at him, “that’s not necessary.”

“Please. If Sherlock can fit it with a recorder to take down a serial killer, I can have it resized for you.”

Courtney gently grasped your arm, “what she meant to say was thank you, John. Now, think you can squat down by yourself?”

“Fuck, no!” John burst out laughing as she helped you down to the floor with a grin. You snapped at John, “shut it, you.” His teary eyes met yours and he clamped his mouth shut which only made him look ridiculous.

Courtney had to bite her lip but quickly fought off her laughter as you leaned forward into your stretch. She was both delightful and tough, exactly what you needed during these sessions because Sherlock and John never would’ve been able to push you through the pain like she did without any hints of desire to hit her. “It’ll keep getting easier but listen to your body. Use the medication when you need it and don't push yourself, you hear me? I know you’ll feel good and think you can do more but if you push yourself too far, believe me, you will pay for it. The pain and exhaustion will hit hard and could be sudden if you push it.”

Today’s session was your last in the hospital because you were finally being released tomorrow afternoon and Courtney would be coming to you weekly. The daily workouts were on you and obviously John and Sherlock since Courtney had been giving them instructions throughout your session. She glanced over at Sherlock before turning her attention to John, “she's a stubborn one so I trust you two will keep an eye on her?”

They both nodded, Sherlock put his phone down and looked completely present for the first time today but John was grinning. “Oh, sure. I bet she will still do it at least once, maybe twice until she learns her lesson.”

You smirked at him, “I'm not the only one with that issue, Dr. Watson.”

“And that’s why it’s a solid bet.”

Courtney shook her head then looked at Sherlock, “Sherlock?”

His gaze shot up from his phone still down by his side where he was typing out something with his thumb. “Yes?”

“You're going to make sure she doesn't push herself?”

He nodded and looked at you with a knowing smile, “if you do, I won't let you go anywhere without me pushing you in a wheelchair for a day or possibly a fortnight.”

You pursed your lips, “point taken.” Then grumbled, “who the hell even says fortnight anymore?”

Courtney chuckled, “I love a man who knows his woman.”

“His woman?” John choked out and Sherlock scoffed at the same time.

Courtney tried clamping her mouth shut but it backfired the moment she saw your raised brow. Her laughter broke through along with a giant raspberry which only furthered the hilarity of the whole thing. It was contagious, the laughter spreading even to Sherlock and that’s what made you lose it.

A warmth washed over you and it swallowed the throbbing in your ankles and the stitch of pain in your sides. You met Sherlock’s gaze, his laughter starting to fade and a brilliant smile lit his face.

“I’m going to miss these daily sessions. I’ll miss you three.” Courtney got out through her deep breaths and remaining giggles.

John was still trying to control his breathing as well, “even when you’re miserable, you still make friends.”

Courtney corrected him, “no, well, yes but actually it’s the three of you. You’re extremely fascinating to watch.”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” John cracked.

Sherlock kept your gaze not breaking that contact and the warmth swirled inside you blending nicely with the heat that pulled low in your abdomen. It was such an achingly normal thing that you almost forgot what you were there for. But then, Sherlock and John had a way of making you forget at least for a moment, sometimes more.

The most important thing Sherlock and your family gave you now was the knowledge that you could still find peace after the trauma. You could still find joy even with the nightmares, the lingering aches, and the pain from healing and fighting back to your proper health.

There was still moments like these, moments when Will made you feel like the luckiest person in the world, when Sherlock stole your breath with a single touch, when John, Vic, and Mrs. Hudson could light up the room and even Mycroft could make you feel like everything was where and how it should be.

You were lucky, just not how Dr. Gregson saw it. It was a feeling of peace that was usually the hardest to get back after trauma. You hadn't counseled that many survivors of violence like this but you'd watched enough sessions to know that was one of the hardest parts of survival. Finding hope and peace in the turmoil.

You were alive and survived something that maybe you shouldn't have but your family didn't give up on you. They never stopped fighting and you weren't about to give up after everything you’d all been through. There was still solace here and there would be more of it in the future. That knowledge, this feeling that beat back the pain and darkness, was invaluable when it came to recovery. It was everything you needed to get through the next few months to fully recover physically and however long it took mentally.

Sherlock walked over and squatted in front of you, his hands grasped yours and he helped you up to your feet. John appeared at your side with a wheelchair and you gave him a thankful smile as you sat down.

Courtney gave you a hug, “I’ll see you in a week. Remember that pain won’t last forever but you need to fight through it to be free of it.

You squeezed her, “I’ll remember. And I’ve got a whole team behind me that won’t let me forget.”

She stood, her gaze flicking to John and Sherlock before coming back to you with a smile. “A great one at that.”

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Twenty Nine

Sherlock x reader

Word Count: 4158

Your name: submit What is this?

Fingernails scratched against Sherlock’s scalp and he jerked. He lifted his head blinking as the light blurry mass took shape, white bed sheets and two long lumps under them. Legs. Her legs. He looked up and his bleary eyes took her in. Her head still wrapped in gauze but not as much as last week, it had been pulled back to her hairline three days ago revealing more healing bruises. Her body’s release of hemoglobin had already broken down to biliverdin giving the worst bruise on the left side of her temple its greenish hue.

A small smile softened her features tinted with yellowing bruises being washed away by the body’s final clearing agent bilirubin. It soothed him only slightly that she would soon be rid of the painful reminders and wouldn’t wince when she looked in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were clear and she brushed her fingers over his cheek. That familiar burst of warmth in his chest as he drew in an easy breath; she recognized him again. Two weeks since she was admitted and she was recognizing him consistently now.

“Hi,” she croaked with a fleeting wide grin.

He gently captured her hand and squeezed, “morning.”

Her eyes flicked to the window then back and forth between his before confusion colored her expression again and his heart stopped. “Sorry. I…” Her voice was still airy and she kept working her mouth like she was trying to swallow. Her hand went to the small bandages on the left side of her neck but she didn’t seem surprised when she looked at him, she actually looked guilty.

He shook his head as he grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and brought it over, holding the straw to her mouth, “no apologies. Take it slow. You don’t want to get sick.”

She took several slow sips with a lessening wince each time. His own time in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound flashed in his mind but that had been nothing compared to what she had endured.

Dr. Gregson’s words bounced around inside his skull again, she’s been through a lot and it’s going to be a rough road ahead but I’ve seen worse cases than hers turn out great. She will walk again just fine if you keep up the rehab, the sooner we start the better. I hate to say this but she was lucky, they weren’t high energy impact fractures so she’s a lot more likely to recover well. It’s going to hurt like hell but she’s got more than the best chance. Just remember that.

She gave a little nod and he put the cup back on the table. “Come closer.” He studied her and she continued, “please.” Her brow furrowed as her hand moved up to her face then froze, her eyes focused on the bandages around her wrist. Her gaze darted to his and the worry that she would panic tightened his throat but instead her gaze softened and she touched her lips. “This… yours… here.” Her eyes still held the hints of her distress but the corner of her mouth quirked up, “never forgive myself.”

Kiss. The word she couldn’t think of echoed in his head. He shoved away the doctor’s mixed encouragement yet his mind spun with all the questions he’d had over the weeks watching her while she rested quiet and relatively peaceful. Her body slowly healed and the colors that marred her skin became harsher as her body released their chemicals to clear away the mess from broken blood vessels. Some days were harder than others but he could never bring himself to ask anything that might bring back memories he didn’t want her to have when so much good was already hard to remember.

“Sherlock?” His name once again held that familiar warmth and emphasis that always came across for those that mattered most to her. He looked up into her eyes, the only feature that remained the same, urged him forward and carefully he stood, leaned over, and brushed a feather light kiss against her lips. She whined when he pulled away and he chuckled before giving just a little more pressure with the next one. She hummed her approval against his lips.

A nurse walked in speaking softly and Sherlock pulled back, moving out of the way so she could check on her patient. Y/n’s gaze stayed on him as the nurse went through her mental checklist. The nurses monitored her vitals constantly from their station just outside of the room. He had gotten used to the routine ever since she first woke up. He waited as the nurse finished, still debating with himself if he should try asking. She never lasted very long in the mornings, especially when she woke just as the sky began to lighten and after her therapy in the evenings, she was exhausted even though she fought to stay awake.

The nurse left and he met Y/n’s clear, questioning gaze. “Something on your mind.”

He could still hear the humor in her scratchy croak but glanced away as anger flushed through him for being so transparent. He tried to think of a way to ask without bringing up anything that could hurt her but it seemed impossible. He should scrap it all together but then he met her gaze again. It would only compound her confusion and her frustration at not remembering simple things. She may not remember all of her training but she could still pick up on things without trying. “You said something to me… that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. You said that I gave you philia? Do you know what you meant?”

She smiled with heavy eyes as her fingers brushed over his hand. “I don’t remember much really…” He looked down and turned his hand over so her fingers danced over his palm but his eyes drifted to the healing marks around her wrist, the ones that extended past the gauze and bandages on her right wrist which was far less damaged than her left that was in a cast. The very injuries that added to her exhaustion. She didn’t have much time before her energy would wane and he cursed himself for even asking, but then her fingers stopped. He looked up and her brilliant smile took his breath away.

“But I know that Philia is friendship, mutual goodwill, one of the most… important types of love in my… opinion.” Some words still came slow but at least they were coming back within grasp now. Some more so than others just like when she didn’t recognize him. Her voice pulled him back. “Aristotle thought a friendship formed when… someone was useful, pleasant, and most importantly, was good, clearly rational and virtuous.” She glanced toward the water cup as her voice broke up and became more gravelly. He lifted it to her lips.

“So I gave you a rational and virtuous friendship?” He smirked, he found as much online when he’d searched the word but the search results had confused him. She swallowed then let out an airy laugh with a wince and shifted slightly in the bed. “You should rest.”

She squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes, “friendship based on good…ness with care would lead to companionship and trust. But Plato… believed the best kind of friendship is between lovers.” Her fingers began slow circles on his palm, “a friendship formed with or in Eros… affection… passion, and attraction that bleeds into or blends together with a… beneficial goodness with companionship and trust,” she glanced at the water cup and he brought it back to her lips without moving the hand she was painting invisible circles and infinity symbols on. She sipped with her gaze focused on his hand that had become a canvas. “Then it feeds back into Eros, strengthens and… develops a bond changing it from a lust for possession into a better… understanding of self, lover, and the world around you.” She seemed just slightly above them as she spoke then lifted his hand and intertwined their fingers pressing their palms together. She still hadn’t gained back the full strength in her hands but she was getting better. “A never ending circle that my father believed… created soulmates. Not something that happened right away but something that was sealed over time.”

“And I…” His brows furrowed as his gaze rose to find hers, “gave you that?”

She nodded, her eyelids drooping further and her words starting to slip into that sleepy slur. “Mmhmm. Good friends into lovers, a cycle repeats and strengthens as time passes. It’s one of those rarethings… I never thought I’d have. My dad, a dreamer in his own right, believed in soulmates. He tol’me once… his greatest hope for me… was to truly understand.”

Her eyes fell closed with a sleepy smile still hanging on and Sherlock dropped his gaze to their still slightly linked hands laying on the bed, her words rolling over and over in his head. A lust for possession into a better understanding of self, lover, and the world. “I know how that feels.” His gaze shot up but her eyes were still closed and her face had smoothed into a peaceful rest. He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. “I understand.”

Something was tapping a constant beat against your head. You groaned as you stretched, leaning back in your chair. Your case files were still open on your desk, it was the first notion that something was wrong. You never kept them out overnight. The ache in your back traveled down and your legs felt heavy. “This fucking chair.”

You stood, your stiff muscles complaining and your head spun. You pressed your hands on the desk to steady yourself and glanced around, something wasn’t right. If you simply fell asleep at your desk you wouldn’t feel like this, groggy, aching, and tense, like you had been asleep for days. Your gaze froze on your water bottle. He wouldn't… he wouldn’t be so brazen. Your vision blurred as your chest tightened.

“She doesn’t need to know this right now.”

You snapped your head toward the door but no one was there. The voice was familiar, warm and soothing, but where was it coming from and why didn’t that familiarity come with a name. You moved to the door ignoring the stiff ache in your ankles and hips.

“I agree but things get out and if she…”

Another familiar voice, this one even more muffled than the first as you peeked around the doorway. The long hallway was empty and the lights were too dim almost as if the emergency lighting was.

“Enough. When she’s stronger…”

The voices were moving further but it was off. It was more like your ears were stuffed with cotton. You shook your head as you grabbed the bat beside your filing cabinets and stepped out into the hallway. It was silent, too silent. What time was it? You lifted your arm and glanced at your wrist. Your breath caught in your chest at the cast covering half your arm but when you blinked it disappeared. Just another unsettling figment of your imagination. “That sonofabitch drugged me.” Your voice echoed softly off the walls.

Had to be. It was the only explanation but you were not going down without a fight. You crept down the hall with the bat gripped in your hands and resting on your shoulder ready to swing when needed. The first corner you came to was darker than the rest of the hall. You glanced around and squinted from the bright light. It was a spotlight pointed directly at sparkling white double doors. Those fucking doors. Turning the corner, you lifted the bat from your shoulder and gripped it tightly in a ready position as you continued toward the doors you were sure would open any second.

Nothing happened. You waited in front of them with agitated nervous energy flowing through you. “Fuck it.” You ripped open the door and stepped inside. Two blood-red chairs sat on the altar with another shining spotlight producing a glare off the one empty seat but what you saw in the other couldn’t be right. Jay’s voice whispered through the air like a hiss, “believe me, this is something you shouldn’t miss.”

Professor Harding was limp, his arms hanging off the arms of the chair and his legs sticking out in broken angles with his head hanging to the side reaching for his shoulder. The perfectly round red dot in between his eyes staring directly at you. “No.” You fell back a step. “No!” You squeezed your eyes shut as your lungs screamed for air. “It’s not real,” you squeaked.

“Don’t play coy.”

You cleared your throat and gripped the weapon in your hands tighter. “It’s not real.” You felt the safety on the side of your gun and flipped it off then opened your eyes. Everything you had left drained from your body like the oxygen that rushed from your lungs. The second chair was now occupied by Shelly, her body just as doll-like as Professor Harding and the red dot stared like it had movement and choice.

Jay appeared in front of you but his face was older, his hair different, and his wardrobe greatly upgraded. James Moriarty, the man Jay would become. Those shark eyes devouring you as his lips stretched and you waited for his bite. “I said it was a little too on the nose but,“ he shrugged, “Holmes boys just love the drama and poetry. Either way, I win.”

All four windows behind him shattered outward as pain exploded from your ankles, hips, and wrists then your throat burst into flame. A scream was echoing around the room blending and clashing with the glass and some kind of siren. Suddenly, there was nothing. He was laughing but there was no sound except for the rushing blood in your ears then the tapping against your skull was back only louder and more shrill. The beat sped up and the tapping changed pitch until you realized it was you. You were the tapping, no beeping… your heart beat.

“Y/n. You’re safe, it’s me. I’m here. I’ve got you. Feel my hand, listen to my voice. I’ve got your back. I’m here.”

Vic. Shoot him! Do it now! You screamed but her stream of reassurance didn’t stop and James continued to laugh.

“Come on, deep breath, love. You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. Open your eyes for me.”

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“We need to calm her down or she’ll hurt herself.”

Another voice but it wasn’t the one you wanted. What did you want? An earthquake shook the ground and someone was falling off a roof, his coat billowing out and then John was standing in front of you and knelt down, his chest heaving from some exertion and his eyes were wild. What are you doing?

“Moriarty. He killed him.” The sob ripped its way through your throat, “Sherlock.”

“No, it’s Vic. Sherlock is coming back in a little while but I need you to wake up. Please. I don’t want them to give you another shot.”

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes. The room with the red chairs was gone but the bright light remained.

“Hit the lights.”

The room plunged into darkness until the points of light began to clear. The face in front of you slowly came into focus. Fiery red hair pulled back away from a smooth pale face with warm Hazel eyes watching you. “Hi.” She held your hand and squeezed, “it was just a dream.” But something flashed across her face, a meaning that seemed just out of your reach.

You glanced around the room as the beeping from the heart monitor slowed then became softer. A quiet constant in the background. Besides the nurse standing anxiously by the monitors, Vic was the only other person in the room and Will’s bed was gone. You met her gaze, “Will?”

“With Mrs. Hudson. Probably Mr. and Mrs. Holmes too. Things have been… stressed. Family is difficult.”

Your tried placing her worries, connecting the dots but it only made the throbbing in your head worse. “Why?”

“They’re so normal and lovely. It’s kind of funny seeing Mycroft and Sherlock with them. They’ve been by here a few times. Do you remember talking with them?” You shook your head and regretted it. Vic grimaced and squeezed your hand again, “right. Sorry.”

She lowered her head but you needed her to continue even though you didn’t completely understand why, “what’s going on?”

She lifted her head, her gaze shooting to the nurse who finished marking something on a chart and left the room. “Eurus hasn’t spoken since… they found her so we don’t know if she knew that Moran was actually Sherrinford but she probably did. What we don’t know is if she knew what he was planning at all. He had Moriarty’s feelers, one in the office like we thought although that Miss Me stunt wasn’t as much of a hack as we thought.”

“Wait, it wasn’t a hack?” It was infuriating to be completely lost one moment and then understand the next but you were trying to let it go. Right now, you were failing.

She grinned as she leaned forward, “the leak in the office.”

“Look at me, seriously?”

She frowned, “you’re no fun when your drugs are wearing out.” She leaned over and looked at your morphine drip settings.

“Stop being such a feckin wagon and get on with it.”

She let out a bark of laughter, “there she is. I was afraid your brain had rewired stuff and I’d never see you again.” She leaned her forearms on the back of her chair with a small smile that held a warmth that reminded you of so many late nights spent together. Cheeks warm from the alcohol and laughter as she taught you her favorite curse words or insults for each of the places you’d been and you shared what quirks you knew would be interesting for her. “It’s nice to see I didn’t lose you.”

Screams shot through your head and you closed your eyes. Sherlock’s shouting then his voice, pleading and agonized, calling, begging for you not to give up. You forced your eyelids up trying to distance yourself from the memory before the pain slipped in. “Nice to see you can still make the shot.”

She smirked then glanced over her shoulder, “you and Mycroft were right and you wouldn’t believe who it was. Or maybe you would, I still remember how you looked at him during that meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The council meeting that sent Sherlock on his six-month eastern European death sentence?”

It only took a moment to grab the name of the man who held an odd and intense hatred for Sherlock. “Sir Edwin?”

“Yes, that arsehole had been feeding Moran information. Sherlock and Mycroft should be taking him down right about…” she glanced at the old timex on her wrist, “now, actually.”

Your mind was still foggy, lingering and maybe phantom pain mixing with real aches and the drugs to help heal and soothe. You liked to tell yourself that once you are off the drugs it would be easier to think again but you knew it wasn’t just that, the trauma to your brain could have lasting effects. If you were lucky it would get better and only bother you every now and then, but if it didn’t it could impact your daily life. One of the downsides to knowing enough about inner workings of the brain. You had to admit you didn’t know as much about brain trauma as the doctors and nurses who encouraged you and talked about the best outcome. Suddenly, Will’s face flashed in your mind.

Your gaze met Vic’s. “How is he? Truthfully.” Vic’s brow quirked, “Will?”

She smiled, “believe it or not, he took it better than sherlock and john. He never gave up hope, still the brightest kid I’ve ever met. His only concern is helping you get better faster. He even asked Sherlock to read some of the books he got on your recovery. It’s adorable.”

Once again your son was forced to be older than his age but then he’s always been a child out of his time. He’d been through enough that was for sure… what had you been thinking? If he…

Vic squeezed your hand and you opened your eyes. “None of that. Everyone is safe and Will is going to be just fine. He’s been learning all he can while hanging around the hospital. He’s even visited other wings with some of the nurses.”

You nodded as your vision blurred. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Hey, what’s a friend for, huh? While you’ve been taking your vacation here at least I’ve had that little munchkin to entertain me. Of course, I had to give John his turn.” She grimaced but you could still see the sparkle in her eyes, “I’m not used to sharing.”

Mycroft scanned his badge, pushed open the door to the back chamber, and strode into the room with Sherlock following a step behind.

Lady Smallwood stood from her desk, her intelligent gaze taking in Sherlock before commanding, “you’re late and I don’t recall a request for a guest.”

Mycroft went straight to her while Sherlock continued further into the room toward the two men staring. Mycroft pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lady Smallwood. “Believe me, you’ll want to see this.”

Sherlock stopped barely an inch from Sir Edwin while he stood his ground, the other man backed away. Sherlock remained stoic, “can I borrow your phone?”

He glared, “I’m not going to hand over personal…”

Lady Smallwood looked up from the paper in her hands, “Sir Edwin, you will do as he asks.”

His nostrils flared as he pulled out his phone and handed it over. Sherlock smirked, “not that one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” His lips narrowed slightly and his brows drew together.

Sherlock leaned in and whispered, “oh, but the anger on your face tells me you certainly do.” Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his brother and Lady Smallwood as he pulled a phone from his own coat pocket, “I love it when they make it more dramatic.” Sherlock unlocked the phone and tapped the screen a few times, “nope. No, no, no,” then he glanced up at Sir Edwin and grinned as he tapped the screen a final time. “Do you know whose mobile this is? Aren’t you curious?”

A beat of silence then a faint buzzing and Sir Edwin jolted, his eyes widened as he glanced at Lady Smallwood and Mycroft.

“What is this?” Lady Smallwood held the papers up toward Sir Edwin, bank records with the name Sir Alfred Porlock written in bold black letters in the top left corner.

Sherlock turned to her, “the trouble with your classified information getting out was not Mrs. Norbury as presumed, at least not most of it.” Lady Smallwood glanced at Mycroft and Sherlock chuckled, “I’m afraid this phone belonged to the man claiming to be Sebastian Moran and it’s currently calling the phone that is buzzing in your associate’s pocket here.”

Sherlock turned back to sir Edwin and stepped up to him, eliminating the small space he had gained while Sherlock was speaking. He leaned down into his face, “someone I care about was tortured very nearly to death because of information you passed off.” The man tried to back away again but Sherlock grabbed his tie and yanked him forward slamming his head into Sir Edwin’s nose. “An offshore bank account with your own codename as a pseudonym? Sloppy.” Sherlock slipped his hand into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out the buzzing phone. "Oh, and thank you for not cooperating." He turned away from the man bent over with his face buried in his hands and walked over to Lady Smallwood. “I believe you will find this extremely useful.”

“Oh, please do. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Mycroft’s voice was upbeat but held contempt. Sherlock turned and Mycroft had the end of his umbrella pressed against Sir Edwin’s chest. The short man was staring with unconcealed rage at Sherlock.

“I’d be careful, Porlock. Someone under his protection was hurt by your for-profit treachery.”

Mycroft gave the umbrella a good shove into Sir Edwin’s chest, “a few, actually.”

Lady Smallwood and two men strode over to Mycroft and Sir Edwin. “We’ll take it from here, Mycroft.” She touched his arm and he looked at her, “don’t you have somewhere more important to be? I can finish this.”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who nodded. He lowered his umbrella and straightened his jacket. “I trust you’ll see to his care. We wouldn’t want a traitor to the country to die in our custody.”

She smirked, “there are worst things than death.”

“Indeed.”

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 , @supernatural508 , @auszimbo

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Connection Twenty Eight

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: 3792

Your name: submit What is this?

John arrived at the hospital with Will walking alongside him, one small hand clutching John’s while the other arm was locked around Lorcan. The second Will saw Sherlock in the hall, he released John and took off. Sherlock turned at the patter of small shoes and squatted to catch the energetic ball that slammed into him.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his son savoring the warmth that swelled in his chest. Will squeezed him shoving his face into the side of his neck, “daddy.”

It was a sigh filled with relief and… hope as if everything would be okay now but Sherlock wasn't so sure. For a moment, that warmth that filled him every time he held his son was stifled by the coldest realization he’d ever had; Will’s own mother may not be able to ever hold him like this again.

Sherlock stood and shoved the thought away as hard and fast as he could. He walked over to a small row of chairs against the wall and sat down in the middle still holding Will against him. John stopped in front of him waiting quietly. Sherlock looked up, “Rosie?”

“With Molly. How is she?”

“Still in surgery. Six hours so far.” He could see the argument on John’s face and he raised his hand to stop him, “there was no point. You were needed more with them.” He sighed as John implored him, “a doctor came out not too long ago and said she'd be moved directly into the ICU once they’re finished. They're not sure when she’ll wake up. I got the distinct feeling he wanted to say if.”

John frowned and sat in the seat beside him. “Mycroft told me on the way over, I thought it was never twins?”

Sherlock glanced at him but shook his head, “roughly one in 68 births without treatment. I'm not sure about back then.”

Will pulled back and looked up at Sherlock, “did you slay the dragon?”

“What?”

“Uncle myk said you slayed the dragon and saved mama.”

Sherlock glanced at John who shrugged and then spotted Vic strolling down the hall in casual clothes with four cardboard cups in a carrier. Out of her raid gear, she looked nothing like the focused agent that stormed the warehouse. He looked back down at Will with a slight shake of his head, “mama did the saving. She saved us both with a little help from her friends.”

Will beamed, “she's gonna wake up. Don't worry.”

He stared into his son’s eyes radiating nothing but hope and confidence. He thought of Redbeard, of Victor Trevor, and he suddenly wanted to believe there wasn’t another option. She had to wake up. “I hope so too.”

“She never let us down. Too stubborn. That's what uncle myk says. And she promised me.”

Sherlock glanced over at John, who frowned then stared at the ground. Vic stopped in front of them, “anyone want a coffee or hot chocolate?”

Will turned and shouted, “Vic! Did you see mama?”

She knelt down with a smile as she handed the carrier to John who stared at her. “Not yet, kiddo. I know she’d want to see you first.” She pulled the hot chocolate from the carrier and handed it to Will. “Best hot coco in town.”

Sherlock glanced at John with a nod toward the newcomer, “this is Vic. She’s the agent that was helping Y/n.”

John nodded and held out his hand, “thank you for taking care of them.”

Vic grinned as she shook his hand, “it was my pleasure, John. Truly.”

John watched her for a second then shook his head, “of course, you know who I am. How could I be surprised anymore?”

Lestrade walked down the hall with Mycroft at his side. John remarked under his breath about the umbrella back in Mycroft’s hand and Vic whispered, “I've seen him take a man's eye out with it. Do not underestimate the umbrella.”

John snorted then looked at her realizing she wasn't joking. Mycroft stopped in front of Will and Sherlock as Lestrade nodded to John and looked at Vic. John offered before he could ask, “this is Vic. Y/n’s friend and one of Mycroft’s agents.”

Lestrade shook her hand and introduced himself as John turned to Sherlock. He noticed the bags under his eyes and knew he maybe slept for thirty minutes on the helicopter ride back into London and probably hadn't slept since. “Sherlock.” His tired eyes moved up to John’s. “I'm going to see if I can look at her charts, maybe you and Will should try to get some sleep.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Mycroft interceded, “you don't have to. I arranged for her private room to be made up as soon as possible since she’ll be in the ICU for up to a week if not longer, so you will be sleeping there. She’ll be in the operating room for another three to four hours since the other specialist I called just arrived.”

Sherlock stared at his brother in silence and John asked, “what specialist?”

“A world renown neurosurgeon, the best at difficult cases, I pulled a few strings. And England’s top orthopedic trauma surgeon, Dr. Gregson, has been in there the whole time. She’s in the best hands.”

Sherlock met his brother’s gaze and whispered, “thank you.”

“Not on my watch.” The corner of Mycroft’s mouth lifted just slightly before his phone rang. He pulled it out, checked it, then glanced up, “excuse me.” He answered the call and walked away.

Vic pulled a coffee from the carrier and sat down next to Will and Sherlock. “Told ya uncle Myk was a big softie.” Will held up his cup and she bumped her cup with his. “I bet he won't leave until she’s out.” Both Sherlock and John looked at her and she quirked her brow, “what?”

Will hugged Lorcan to his chest and yawned, “big teddy bear. Grandma said he was a teddy bear.”

Sherlock stood up shifting Will for a better hold then took his hot chocolate, “I’ll take Will to the room and let him get some rest.”

John placed the coffee carrier on the chair beside him and stood, “good. That's good. I’ll get you if they tell us anything.” Sherlock nodded with a quick smile then walked to the nurse's station and John slumped back into the chair burying his face in his hands.

“It's not pretty but she can make it, I know she can.”

John lifted his head at the reminder that he wasn't alone. He studied the redhead next to him, her hands fidgeting with the coffee cup her gaze was focused on. “Right. Did you see her?”

She threw a quick glance his way before continuing her vigil with the rotating cup. “Yes. I was one of the first inside but it wasn't until they got her on the stretcher that I could tell… she was in worse shape than… I originally thought. I called Mycroft after I checked over Sherlock.”

He had only heard a few things from Mycroft about the agent assigned to watch Y/n but what he saw on this woman’s face was more than just concern for an assignment. But then Y/n always had that effect on people even when she didn’t notice. “Maybe I should look at her charts.”

She looked at him, “will it really help?”

John paused for a moment and silenced his comment about the pointless activity she was carrying out just for something to do with her hands. He could almost hear y/n admonish him and looked away toward the nurse’s station with a nod, “yes, because I can't deal with another loss. Not right now. I need to know that she can pull through this. I need...”

“Hope.” There was so much understanding in that single quiet syllable. John turned to her and found a sad smile. “A doctor always needs hope. I'm sorry… about your wife.”

John stood up and cleared his throat, “thank you, but it’s not just doctors that need hope.” He started to force his feet to move toward the nurse’s station.

“I’ll be here, if you need anything. She talked about you a lot and if you need a friend… I’m not leaving her side either. And just so you're not… blindsided,” she winced, “there was… a lot of damage but like Mycroft said he called in specialists. The bones will heal and the head trauma… well, the man has performed miracles.”

John glanced back and nodded before continuing on. At least her charts or scans would distract him for a while, give him something to focus on and maybe he could forget who they were actually for.

It had been a week since Y/n had been admitted and rushed into surgery. Sherlock sat by her bedside in the ICU for four days while she slept peacefully with half her body covered in bandages or casts. Four days he spent hoping the medically induced coma would, in fact, reduce the swelling and keep her brain from being injured any further.

He had been reassured by Mycroft’s specialist that her brain injury would heal nicely and he was confident that she wouldn’t have any life altering effects. Sherlock wasn’t sure he liked the neurosurgeon's cocky attitude but after looking him up, he couldn’t deny his success rate. Until two days ago when she woke up for the first time and didn’t recognize him.

The doctors and nurses continued to reassure him that it was normal and it was highly likely she would regain her memory as she continued to heal. The hospital’s physiatrist came in twice trying to explain amnesia to him but he ignored the man’s prattle and simply held onto her hand. She did begin to remember more things but they didn’t seem to include him, at least not the good memories.

Sherlock continued to walk along the hall getting the exercise the nurse pushed him into so he wouldn’t get bed sores. She had said it with a chuckle but he knew in some respect she was right. He almost bumped into John as he wandered with Y/n’s most recent murmurings clouding his mind.

“Hey,” John grinned, “I just checked her X-rays and scans from this morning and she’s doing great.” His joy faltered and he eyed Sherlock warily, “did something happen?”

Sherlock shook his head, “no. Nothing new anyway.”

John pulled him over to the chairs in a nearby waiting area. “Something’s obviously shaken you.” John sat and Sherlock looked at the seat then turned and began to pace in front of John.

“She’s beginning to remember things.”

“With Mor… Sherrinford?”

“No. She’s been talking… about things when I was… gone.”

“Oh.” Sherlock glanced at him and John dropped his gaze to the floor, “you were gone for over a year, we thought you were dead.”

Sherlock’s pace halted only a chair away from John, “what?”

John looked up but his face was guarded, “what was she saying?”

Sherlock seemed to deflate and dropped into the chair in front of him, scrubbing his face. “She squeezed my hand and thought it was you. She asked if you could get Will. She could hear him crying but she was having a bad morning and needed an extra hour of sleep.” Sherlock closed his eyes and grimaced. “She said she dreamt of me and it felt so real. That you understood.”

John nodded and leaned back in his chair, his hands folding together in his lap. He sighed and looked straight out but his eyes were unfocused. “Sometimes she would have a hard time getting out of bed after a dream, the good ones could be harder than the bad. After Will was born, it was a little easier because she had something to focus on but as he grew, she would see more and more of you in him. She never completely spaced out but sometimes it would hit her and she would need some time to compartmentalize she called it. By the time Will was six months old, she didn’t have those anymore.” He glanced at Sherlock, “it wasn’t that she didn't still miss you, it just didn't take so much out of her.”

“And you were there for her, through it all.”

John nodded and met Sherlock’s gaze, “that’s what friends do.”

“Not all friends would do that much.” Sherlock grabbed his shoulder, “I’m sorry, John. I know I said it so many times but… I didn’t truly understand.”

John patted his back, “she’ll get through this too and when she does recognize you, maybe she’ll give you that long overdue punch in the mouth.”

Sherlock’s vision began to blur and he nodded then took a shaky breath. He squeezed John’s shoulder then let him go. “She’ll get through this.”

“She’s more than strong enough and then she’ll be back at Baker Street. I’ll finally have someone to back me up again.”

Sherlock pressed his hands against his thighs looking across the way at the darkened window. “She told me something before she passed out and I’m afraid I’ll never get to ask her what she meant. If she never remembers me…”

“If she remembers me…” John shook his head, “you already said she remembers you. She’s just slowly getting back to the present and if she’s lucky, she might forget a few recent things or... days.”

Sherlock nodded then stood, clearing his throat. “Were you on the way to her room? I should go check on Will. He was sleeping in the small bed the nurses wheeled in her room for him.”

They walked quietly to her room and Sherlock opened the door. Will had climbed into her bed and was kissing her cheek.

“Careful, buddy.” John stepped into the room. “Mama has a lot of bruises.”

Sherlock watched his son as he looked at John like he was being particularly stupid. Sherlock almost laughed if it wasn't for his own worry that Will might inadvertently hurt her.

“That’s why I was kissing them. I'm helping her get better.”

John glanced at Sherlock before walking over to the bed. Sherlock closed the door and walked around the bed so he came up on the side that Will was on. Will looked at Sherlock, “you should kiss her, daddy. You really make her better.”

Sherlock’s brows shot up, “that only works for…” he glanced at John for help but he just shrugged. “For little boo boos.”

Will rolled his eyes, “I'm not stupid.”

“No one is saying that.” John piped up but Will shook his head with a smirk.

“You don't know, do you?”

“Oh god, that's just…” John gave Sherlock a disapproving look, “that early?”

Sherlock smirked, “what can I say?”

Will sat down carefully next to Y/n and John chuckled as Will gave him a very familiar look although the face was so much smaller. “Kisses release chemcals in the brain make pain go away and pomotes better… ness.” With a single curt nod, he added, “It's brain stuff, Uncle John but you got to mean it or it doesn't work. It's not hocus pocus, it's science.”

Sherlock burst into a wide grin, “really what kind of doctor are you, John?”

John was trying to bite back his smile, “you're turning on me already?”

Will giggled as John leaned over and ruffled his hair. Will grinned as he fixed it, “always new stuff to learn.” Will’s eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock, “my book! in my bag? I brought it for mama. It’s her favorites.”

Sherlock lifted Will’s bag from the floor beside the bed and pulled out an old, well-used book. “New Hampshire by Robert Frost?”

Will reached for it, “Mr. McCormick gave it to mama cuz she burroed it so much.” Sherlock handed it to him without correcting him and he flipped through the pages carefully before stopping and showing it to Sherlock. “Can you read this one? I don't always member it right.”

Sherlock took the book and turned it around as Will snuggled back in beside Y/n. He skimmed through the poem Will had stopped on then glanced at John.

Will giggled, “you have to read it out loud.”

John had already taken the chair beside the bed so Sherlock sat on the small roll away bed and began, “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening.”

He read through it almost hearing Y/n's voice in his head then Will spoke the last four lines from memory right along with him, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.”

They were quiet for a moment then Will asked him to read it again. When he finished, Will’s excited gaze met John’s reserved one, “that means he has lots more to do before he goes to sleep. People he cares about need him so he must purse... veer.” He leaned toward him and whispered, “that means keep going no matters how hard it gets. He’s very strong and brave cuz he got that far so he knows he can make it on for them.”

John nodded and had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could say anything. “You’re right. You've gotten so smart while you were traveling.”

Will beamed at them before asking Sherlock to read more. “Maybe you and Uncle John could take turns?”

Sherlock exchanged a look with John that conveyed more than what the little boy in front of them could understand but Sherlock wasn’t so sure about that. He had to wonder just how perceptive his son was and if he knew how much he had affected them. He cleared his throat and turned the page before continuing with the next poem.

Later that night, after John had gone and Will was asleep on the small bed, Sherlock couldn't sleep or move from the chair. The poems had lulled Will to sleep but not his son’s words, they remained dancing around inside his head. You should kiss her, daddy. You really make her better.

Will must've heard it from Y/n, picked it up just like he learned the poems, but it couldn't possibly have any effect when the person wasn't awake to feel or see it.

She spoke of oxytocin every now and then explaining different things that it could help with. She called it the trust hormone but that it could do so much more, that it could even help relieve pain and yes, even help the body heal.

She sat in John’s chair, her hair loose and brushed back behind her ear, a novel open but ignored in her lap as she watched him pace with an easy smile. He was aggravated by a stubborn case and she grabbed his attention with her soft spoken words. “Remember Oxytocin?”

“How the hell will a hormone help me?!” He snapped as he turned and glared at her. She didn’t flinch or lose that smile, it actually grew a few inches.

“That warm feeling you get when you gaze at someone you truly care about and the world suddenly doesn’t seem so dark. Hugging your dog or playing with your favorite pet and that headache bothering you all morning starts to fade.” He took a few steps toward her and stopped in front of the chair. “When you feel like you're being pulled apart at the seams because of stress and a hug or a simple touch from someone,” She touched his hand then curled her fingers around his wrist, “draws you back and helps you breathe again.”

He took a deep breath as he fell into her gaze mesmerized by her quiet voice, enchanted by the story she spun. “Oxytocin is much more than just the trust hormone because that connection we crave from others has a chemical reaction that brings us back down to earth when we’re lost, gives relief when we’re in pain, and reminds us that together, it’s possible to get through anything.”

“Fantasy,” he whispered.

She grinned as he leaned down, bracing himself on the arms of the chair as he stopped an inch away from her lips. “Then why has your heart slowed and you’re no longer pacing? I would even venture to guess that your line of thinking began to clear before you moved in and got distracted.”

“Fantastic.”

She smirked, “you said that out loud.”

He stood from the chair and leaned over the bed, brushing his hand gently over her cheek then down her jawline. It was only part of her head not covered by bandages and gauze. He leaned down further and whispered against her lips, “Will believes a kiss could help you heal and I’m betting on our son knowing his stuff.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers with a silent wish, please come back to me.

It wasn't much and it wasn't just about him. At least, not completely. All evening he’d been thinking about how much she had grown, the woman she had become since he came back and the woman who’d been protecting and teaching their child on her own. He wanted to get to know her again and to see what little habits she had picked up during her travels. So, maybe it was more about him.

What if she didn't remember? What if she never regained those memories? Did it really matter?

It was only a matter of seconds and he pulled away looking down at the face he loved. A face that had been broken and bruised to such an extent that he shouldn't recognize her but he did and he still saw the beauty beneath. A construct based on childhood impressions and role models... that can be influenced by more intimate knowledge. “I’ll be back in the morning, maybe check in a few times tonight. Good night, love.”

He walked over to the door, pulled it all the way open and then moved to the small bed where Will slept. He pressed the locking mechanism on the wheels and pushed the bed to the door before stopping and looking back at her.

Did it really matter if she remembered? No. He would still love her, still care for her, still pull out all the stops to help her make her way back to… whatever she wanted her normal to be. All that mattered was she was getting better, she was healing, and sometime down the road, she would be able to come home. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

Next Chapter

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