#sherlockreaderinsert

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Chap Twenty Two

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

Sherlock x reader

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

Word Count: 3964

Your name: submit What is this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“Hello?” His voice lowered, “y/n?”

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

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

“We’re safe but I’m not alright.”

“Y/n.”

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

“Are not your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.”

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

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

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

“I just did.”

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

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

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

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

“We’ll try.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Which part? Y/n, what is it?”

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

“What just happened?”

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

“Y/n, tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah. Damn, this has… gotten big.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter 

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