#sherlockxreader insert

[simplysherlockfanfic]

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

[sherlockxreader]

Man and Machine

Title: Man and Machine - Part 1: Tony’s Invitation

Summary: Your new life in Baker Street has been challenging, exhausting, exciting and satisfying. It has been little over a year since you have moved away from your brother Tony and after becoming part of the duo that is John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You hadn’t expected their worlds to collide so quickly however, with Christmas fast approaching, you find yourself caught up in the whirlwind that will be the Avengers Christmas, featuring two British best friends, one obnoxious boyfriend and one protective older brother. Merry Christmas?

Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 2220 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x reader, Tony Stark x sister!reader, John Watson x platonic!reader Warnings: Nada

Request: Hey it’s me again Haha so I was hoping if I could request that reader is Tony Stark’s Daughter (or maybe sister would work better for you?) and she manages to drag her boyfriend coughSherlockcough to America during a holiday to meet him(?) that was my idea and I know it’s a really weird and specific niche of fic but if you guys are comfortable with it ik you’re the best ones to pull it off - anonymous

A/N: Hey anon, thanks for this request! I love it heaps! I’ve decided to write this with the reader as Tony’s sister just cause of the ages and stuff. I’ve also added in a few more Avengers cause they’re always fun. The Accords exist but all the drama that had happened and the split has been resolved, so everyone’s together in the new compound. Also this is after Sherlock’s fall but he and John made up and are still working cases together. Season 4 didn’t happen in this universe. I’ve also decided to write this in multiple parts as well just cause I feel like I’m doing some major info dumping here that I don’t want to try and put it all together into one. Hope it’s what you were expecting!

———————————————————

Being Tony Stark’s younger, introverted sister was both a blessing and a curse when living in New York City, especially after he gained countless enemies over the near decade of being Iron Man. After the Battle of New York and the events of The Mandarin, you had decided to move to London, away from any business your brother was involved with, into a quieter, more stable lifestyle.

It was more peaceful in England and though there were some people who recognised you as Y/N Stark, they were more polite about your personal space and kept their distance better than those in NYC. Life was quaint, as Tony had described it when you showed him pictures of the small apartment you were going to be renting in Baker Street from a nice old lady. Mrs. Hudson if you remembered correctly. You commuted from 221C to the law firm you worked at via the tube daily, preferring that over any eccentric cars Tony would have bought you. You met up with Mrs. Hudson frequently, finding solace in the woman when your cases were getting to your head; she always knew how to help in the drug-related cases somehow.

The most exciting part about your move however were your neighbours, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You didn’t meet them until your third day in London, as your hours required you to leave early and work late. You had always heard the occasional violin upstairs, sometimes loud arguing between the two men at the early hours of the morning. Their theatrics amused you even if they didn’t know you knew of their various exploits and adventures through Mrs. Hudson’s stories and John’s blog, kindly provided by Mrs. Hudson herself. When you finally met the men on one of your afternoon’s off with Mrs. Hudson, your amusement towards them grew tenfold.

John was grumbling to Sherlock about running off by himself again from the front of the building to the dining table in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen, ignorant of your presence at the end of the table. You chuckled quietly over your tea as he walked in ahead of Sherlock, looking at the ground and flopping into the chair at the other end of the table, his head in his hand and his elbow in the table. Sherlock came in next arguing against whatever John had just said, stopping abruptly when he saw you sipping tea at Mrs. Hudson’s table. John looked up at the sudden silence and blushed a little at having not noticed you in the room.

From there, your life became far more interesting. John became a close friend, one of your best. He was always one to listen to your problems at work, letting you whinge on his shoulder as he read a book or watched crap telly.

Sherlock on the other hand became one of the most important people in your life. At first, he was his abrasive and obnoxious self yet he had always left the light on for you when you came back to the building especially late and you began to notice that he’d play soft music at these times, helping you sleep before the next monstrosity of a day. After a couple of weeks, you’d find little post-it notes on some of your work, suggesting at evidence you should use and even pointing out parts that would change the game immensely. You knew who it was immediately.

John managed to get Sherlock to face his feelings for you when he saw him drape a blanket over your exhausted figure which had collapsed on the couch of 221B, a smile that could only be of adoration on his face. It took some time, but eventually, he worked up the courage to open up his heart to you and from there, your life was perfect. Until the first Christmas away from Tony approached.

—————————————————————-

You were sitting cross-legged on the ground of 221B, your back against the couch and mounds of paper strewn across the floor in front of you, different coloured highlighter and post-it notes dotting the white in a code that only you and Sherlock could really understand. You were alone at the moment, John having gone to work and Sherlock having gone out to examine something with Molly. You had the day off from work, only to have to catch up on a heap at home. You attention remained fixated on the papers in front of you as you heard someone’s footsteps on the staircase outside, the door creak and the person shake out their coat from the rain outside.

“Hello Y/N. How’s the case coming?” Sherlock spoke as he stripped on his way to his bedroom, coming back out a moment later in his pyjamas and blue dressing gown. “Y/N?”

“Hm? Oh it’s dismal, as always.” You chucked the pen you held onto the words with frustration, lying your head back onto the couch cushions as you scrubbed the tiredness from your eyes. “This one’s hopeless. God dammit.” You kept your eyes shut, letting them rest as Sherlock flopped onto the part behind you. He began to stroke your hair out of habit as he let his other hand drape across his own eyes.

“It’ll work out. You always make it do.” You hummed in appreciation as he continued.

“Only with your help. I can’t remember how many times you’ve helped me.”

“True.” You smiled and brought your hand up to playfully swat at his chest. You heard him gasp at your antic and felt him shift as he brought his fist to his chest. “Rude.”

“Rude yourself.” You sighed and opened your eyes, lifting your head to continue with your work only to have it brought back to it’s resting place by Sherlock’s hand on your forehead. “Sherlock. I really need to get this done, I don’t have time.”

“I’ll help later. You need to rest anyway.”

“You shouldn’t be helping at all. These are confidential documents. In fact, everything I do is confidential. I should’ve stopped you right away.” Your bickering was pointless as you settled your head back and let Sherlock fiddle with your hair.

“Mycroft can sort anything out if we’re caught. Don’t worry.”

“How horrid.” You both laughed, the domesticity of the room making you sleepy. You dozed until John came in a couple of hours later, letters in his hand, one nearly double the size of the rest.

“I see you two are cozy. I brought your mail up as well Y/N. It’s mostly junk except this one.” He handed you the giant, off-white letter, the outside rimmed with a thick gold border, a thinner one next to it in hot-rod red, before he made his way into the kitchen to make tea. You knew who it was from immediately and your sleepy body sprung upright immediately as you worked on opening the letter. Sherlock, who had managed to catch some sleep with you, was jolted by your movements, making him grumble and turn to the back of the couch.

“It’s from Tony!” You heard John chuckle to himself as he emerged from the kitchen while the jug boiled.

“I kinda guessed that. I thought he usually called?”

“He does but you know Tony. Always going that extra mile for the wow factor.” You smiled as you lifted the flap of the quality envelope, your address written in Tony’s messy handwriting, a contrast against the pristine paper. Inside was a thin black screen branded with the Stark name. When you lifted the rectangle, it flickered and came to life, scanning your fingerprints where they were at the edges, projecting the Stark image above the tablet when it was flat, as it was in your hands.

“That’s a bit much isn’t it?” John had made his tea while you were pulling out the device. His face was a mixture of confusion and awe towards the advanced piece of technology. “And he sent that through the post? Would’ve thought it would break.”

“It’s probably stronger than that mug you’ve got there.” You smirked at John as he scowled and sat in his chair, preferring to read the paper. The scanning completed and, after confirming that you were you, the face of your brother appeared in the holographic image.

“Y/N?” Holo-Tony called through the screen. He was in his engineer clothes of a singlet and grease stains, as you had dubbed them, and he was leaning in with his head tilted showing the left side more. You could see his workshop and suits behind him.

“Tony! How’ve you been?” You stood from your place when you realised this was a phone call of sorts, moving to Sherlock’s room to have some privacy.

“Splendid. Never been better. How’s the Traveling Utility for Removed Dumbasses working?” He had leaned back to fiddle with something out of screen though you could still clearly see the smirk on his face as your face dropped, unimpressed.

“Seriously, TURD? It’s like you’re still five.”

“Well I had to find some new way to insult you. You should be grateful I made that thing just for you.” He was looking smugly at you through the screen as the smile that had disappeared flickered back onto your face.

“You dork.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah yeah. Anyways what’s up? That can’t be the only reason you made this thing?” You sat on Sherlock’s bed and rested the tablet at one end so you could lay down on your stomach, nothing behind you except a blank wall.

“Course not. You know what the date is?” He had gone back to looking down at something and you could see his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration.

“Um, the twenty-fifth?”

“Of?”

“November?”

“Exactly! And where are you?”

“England. Tony what has this got to do with anything?” He dropped his hands loudly on the desk and looked into the screen with a gobsmacked face.

“Christmas! The Big Stark Christmas and now the Big Avengers Christmas! We are planning the best Christmas ever and that can’t begin until you’re here so pack your bags sis, you are coming home!” He spun in a circle on his chair as holographic fireworks surrounded him on screen in the vibrant colours of Christmas. You giggled at his theatrics and shook your head.

“Tony, I can’t. I have so much work here and-”

“Nope.” He waggled his finger at you and picked up what he was working on, one of his thrusters, “It’s already been sorted. I got you the whole month off and am sending a jet over tomorrow so you can come here and celebrate. Meet the newbies. Maybe meet someone.” He wiggled his eyes suggestively and you blushed, hiding your face in your arms.

“Uhh, well, about that-”

“I’m just joking Y/N.” He began tightening a screw in his thruster, not registering the direction you were heading with. “Anyways what I’m saying is that you have no choice really. You’re coming here for Christmas whether you like it or not. So?” His eyes flicked to the screen and you saw how hopeful they looked. You sighed and smirked at your brother.

“Well after all the trouble you’ve been through, of course I’ll be there. Tomorrow the jet was coming you said?” His eyes crinkled at the sides and his mouth widened in a brilliant smile.

“Yes it is! I’ve got stuff to do but I will see you soon!” He leaned in to hang up but you waved your hands at the screen and spat out syllables in objection.

“Wait! Wait, stop!”

“What?” Tony looked confused at you and slightly worried as you fiddled with your sleeve and said you were going to bring some friends if they agreed. “Is that all?” He relaxed against his chair and smiled softly. “Course they can come, the more the merrier! I’ll need a name to do a background check so, who are they?”

“Uh, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.” You thought you saw recognition flicker across his features however, it disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with his previous relaxed face as he asked FRIDAY to remind him to run a background check on the two.

“No worries Y/N. I’ll see you soon yeah?”

Your tense face and body loosened and you smiled into the screen, saying you’ll text if they agree to come. “I can’t wait. Bye T.” He smiled back then the screen went dark, leaving you reeling as you realised that you were about to introduce your boyfriend and new best friend to some of the most powerful people in the world as well as your brother.

On the other side of the world, Tony sat in his workshop, a dark screen in front of him and his mind racing. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t worry about that background check and bring up everything I have on those two people.” A moment later, a mass of virtual newspaper clippings and information appeared in front of Tony. John’s service in Afghanistan, Sherlock’s rehabilitation, their work on a multitude of cases, John’s blog, Sherlock’s fall. Anything and everything that was related to the two men was at Tony’s fingertips and a steely expression was on his face. “She just had to meet a Holmes, didn’t she?”

[cfordwrites]

Angsty Drabble

Theme/s: Angst. Character Death. Unbeta'd

It was in his eyes. Yes, it was surely in his eyes. No one could ever know what goes on in Sherlock's head but everything he feels is almost always transparent in his eyes. The way they looked unbelievably vacant when he first saw her. The way they seemed like bright blue orbs when he was texting her on his phone. The way they dilated to almost black when she kissed him hungrily. And the way that they mimicked the calm blue of the ocean when he watched her sleep peacefully beside him. His eyes, they spoke volumes. And it proved to be a good thing because soon came the time when he barely talked, rarely slept, and seldom ate. It has been months since she had gone missing and the investigation took a huge toll on him. He looked like a walking corpse but his eyes, they were the fartherst from death than they have ever been. They held a wicked sense of purpose. But then in came a parcel, beautifully wrapped in crimson red. She was home. At least a part of her was. Sherlock always said that he knew her inside and out.

Apparently, he didn't. "The test was match for Y/N, Sherlock." John tried his best, but he couldn't hold back the tears that escaped his eyes. "It's her heart." His words were labored as he kept his composure. The silence that followed the revelation was completely unexpected. John expected him to storm down the lab and violently force them to redo all the tests but instead he laughs incredulously. And John started to doubt the other's sanity. "Of course it is..." whispered Sherlock, willing his tears away to no avail. "He never lies." He produced a dedication card, handing it to John:

"I happen to know it's the one thing she promised you. Do I have your attention now?" Jim Moriarty x

[sherlock-one-shots]

Pushed Aside (Sherlock X Reader)

(Gif is not mine. Originally posted by this user)

This was requested by anonymous: I just rewatched the Irene Adler episode and I need something where Reader confronts Sherlock about being pushed to the side during the ordeal. (Bonus points if an unintended pregnancy can be worked into it)

Alright, ladies and gents, here we go! Warning: A bit of swearing (only one or two curse words, I think, nothing absolutely horrible).

You sighed after his phone. Except the sighs were much different. The one that came from his phone came from the scum of the earth and was one of pleasure. Yours was one of pure annoyance. Seventeen texts from Irene Adler this morning alone. Seventeen times that phone went off. Seven times you restarted your story. Ten times he didn’t ask you to continue. Just checked his phone. He never replied. He told you so himself and you believed it, you never saw him type a word. But he checked it and that was enough to make your blood boil. It ruined your morning, it ruined your night the night before, it ruined your mood, and was in the process of ruining your relationship and sanity. You had met Irene Adler in her home, as she flaunted around, naked, wearing nothing but a full face of makeup and heels that would have broken your feet in two seconds flat. You had to admit, if you looked like her you might walked about naked as well, but you didn’t (at least you didn’t think so). But it was worse when she shoved her nakedness right in Sherlock’s face, ignoring the fact that you, his wife, was sitting right there, watching it all. John sensed your annoyance but Sherlock, however, did not. He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his hands in the prayer position underneath his chin and closing his eyes. Thinking about the woman, you thought bitterly. No doubt about it. XXXXXXX The phone hadn’t made a sound in almost three hours (a new record!). Now was your chance. Nervously, you sat in John’s chair, across from Sherlock. John was out getting the shopping, and Sherlock had been in a great mood all evening, so it was the perfect moment. It was as if all of the stars aligned. “Hey.” You said, getting his attention. He stared at you, brow raised. He could tell you were nervous and he didn’t know exactly why. “Hello.” He responded. “Can we talk?” “We’re talking right now.” You cocked your head, trying not to smile. “You know what I mean, Holmes.” “Yes, I know what you mean.” he nodded. You waited for him to say something, giving the ‘okay’ for you to continue. He did so with a nod. “Oh, well...” You didn’t know how to word it, you hadn’t really planned how you were going to tell him.  “Well, I know we never really…..talked about….” you shrugged, still trying to find the words. Just as you found them and quickly formulated a speech in your head, the phone moaned and his attention shifted. “Hold that thought.” he said, quickly getting up and walking to the other side of the room to retrieve his mobile. You didn’t hold that thought, though. You let the thought die and decided that you would tell him some other time when he was free from all distractions. You would just plan a doctor’s visit alone, go alone, and wonder if he’ll notice, or look up from the moaning phone as you walk in and out of 221B, ever-growing. You rose from the chair, going back to your shared bedroom, trying to stop yourself from slamming the door loudly enough that he might notice. XXXXXXX “You alright?” John asked, sitting beside you on the couch, a drink in hand. “Fine, why?” “Well, you just...” he shrugged. “You’ve seemed upset the past few days. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” “I’m fine.” You answered shortly. John didn’t buy it, though. “Is it about Irene?” You didn’t answer which was all the answer he needed. “Look, I understand that it’s annoying, but this is all going to blow over soon. This case will end and he’ll find another one that catches his attention.” “Are you sure about that?” You wondered. “He does really seem to like her. Pushing me to the side just to check her texts, paying a lot of attention to her. He has to, knowing her measurements and all.” You argued. “I’m sure he knows everyone’s, hers were just...relevant in the moment.” He said slowly. You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Are you worried? That he might come to like her more than you?” “She did make quite the impression.” You answered. “And she’s much more interesting than I am.” “(Y/N), Listen to me, if Sherlock Holmes falls in love with another woman then Hell would have frozen over. It doesn’t take a genius to see how in love he is with you.” “I wish I could see it now.” XXXXXXX “Good morning.” Sherlock greeted you as you entered the kitchen the next day, still in pyjamas, hair a mess. “Morning.” You said quickly, hoping you wouldn’t get interrupted again. You weren’t on Sherlock’s levels of observation by no means, but you picked up a few things. You could tell that Sherlock hadn’t slept much last night and his phone was in his back pocket as opposed to his jacket pocket-easier to get to. “Did you sleep well?” “Fine.” You nodded. You could feel his eyes following you as you made you breakfast. “Are you alright?” He asked a bit hesitantly. He could tell you were upset. “Peachy.” “Liar.” “I’m fine.” You snapped. Honestly, you didn’t want to talk to him at all. You two maintained eye contact. Sherlock was confused while you were furious. The phone hadn’t even gone off yet. Hormones, you guessed. But your anger was justified. The phone moaned, as if on cue, and you took a deep breath. “Liar.” He repeated. This time he didn’t even reach for his phone. You had his attention now, and you didn’t even want it. You huffed, turning back to your breakfast. “(Y/N), what’s the matter.” “What makes you think anything is wrong?” You asked, ready to debunk any reasons he might suggest, only to get him off of your back. “You’re being very short-” “I’m tired.” “-you’re being incredibly passive-aggressive,” “When am I not?” “-and you have been trying to tell me something the past few days but you never finish. You’re nervous about something-something’s wrong and I would like to know what it is.” “Well maybe if you paid attention to anyone but Irene Adler for the past few days you would be able to figure it out, genius.” You answered. “That’s what this is about? Irene Adler? A case?” “A woman.” You corrected him. “A woman who gets your attention every time she moans through your phone.” “Oh, you know as well as I do that I didn’t set that as the text alert noise!” “Well you haven’t changed it!” You yelled. He stayed silent, not having an answer. You were right. You took the opportunity to keep going. “Since the moment Irene Adler walked in naked, flaunting her assets, you haven’t been able to pay attention to anything, or anyone else. I have been trying to tell you something. Something incredibly important, but every time, she texts you, and you just get up and leave. You look at the text and I’m left hanging. I don’t care that you look at them, if it’s really for the case, like you say, but I’ve been pushed aside this whole time. You’ve only cared about Irene Adler and whatever interesting things she’s been telling you. Those texts have got to be pretty damn good if you drop everything to read them.” Silence, once again. “If you like her more than you like me, I don’t blame you.” You told him honestly. “I think she’s downright horrible, but she’s interesting, better looking-” “Beauty is a social construc-” He didn’t get to finish. “-and all around a better fit for you. Just tell me and I can find somewhere for us to go.” “’Us’?” Sherlock asked. “Yes, ‘us’?” “Who is ‘us’? Would you take John with you?” He asked. “No.” “Then who?” You only stared at him, watching his face go from pure, complete confusion, to revelation. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past few days.” “You’re pregnant?” “That’s what Irene Adler was more important than.” “Pregnant?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t believe it. You had no idea how he would react-if he would be happy and excited, like you were, or upset, since it wasn’t really planned. The two of you never really talked about kids at length, but both of you agreed that, with Sherlock’s line of work, it might not be such a great idea. “Yes.” You stared at each other, waiting for the other one to move or speak. “Do you really, really think” Sherlock began slowly. “that I would choose Irene Adler over you?” “Yes.” He looked hurt. Beyond hurt. “Never.” He shook his head, taking small steps towards you. “Never in a million years.” “Then why is she so interesting to you?” You wondered. It just didn’t make sense to you. “Because she’s a case. She got the best of me, getting the photos back, and Mycroft told me not to get involved. I can’t help it, I have to take the case if it’s something Mycroft forbids.” he attempted to make you laugh. You weren’t as angry anymore, just confused, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the childish mentality your husband had regarding his brother. “It’s an interesting case, I have to admit that. There’s much more to this case than meets the eyes, much more than I can see. But that’s all it is, (Y/N). That’s all she is. A case. “And I’m sorry.” He apologized. “For not listening to you, I mean. I should have. I have no excuses for that.” You didn’t know what to say. You just pressed your lips together and nodded. “Are you alright?” He asked again. You only nodded. “I mean, with the baby. Everything’s fine? Nothing’s wrong?” “Everything's alright.” You nodded again. “Just a bit of morning sickness, but nothing too serious. I haven’t been to the doctor yet.” “When do you go?” “Monday.” You had made the appointment that previous evening, while Sherlock was out. “I’ll clear my schedule for Monday, then.” He grinned. “And you’re fine?” I asked. “What with?” “With the baby, I mean. I thought we agreed not to have kids. Not yet, anyway.” You were worried about his response and he thought about it for a few, agonizing seconds. “It’s not something that we planned, (Y/N), and it’s a shock, one that’ll really hit me in a few minutes, I  believe, but we’ll be fine.” He walked closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll be loved, one of the most protected babies in Britain, and they’ll have the best mother in the world.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s true. You have a kind and gentle heart, they’ll adore you almost as much as we’ll adore them. I guarantee it.” “And you know it all?” You asked. “Of course I do. I’m Sherlock Holmes.” he joked. You swatted his chest. “You’re an arrogant git.” You responded, gently pushing him away. “Now, let me make my breakfast. I’m starving.” The phone moaned, but Sherlock didn’t leave your side, helping you prepare your morning meal and eating with you, both of you conversing without distraction. I hope this is what you wanted. And I got the pregnancy in there! Thank you so much for this request, I had so much fun writing it! Requests are OPEN!

[deanshitsrainbows]

GUYS MAKE SURE YOU FOLLOW MY SHERLOCK BLOG. @i-sher-am-locked555

[wpfeed-johnlock]

The Blind Baker [Reader Insert] (SherlockxReader)

Read this fic on Wattpad: https://ift.tt/2I7s3bQ

SherlockxReader cont. (Book 2) (Y/N) (L/N)'s adventure continues as she solves crime against her old friend John Watson and new associate, Sherlock Holmes. Tbh I found this episode kinda boring in the irl BBC series but it's not like I can leave it out so HERE WE GO. Sequel to A Study In Pink SherlockxReader

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The Blind Baker [Reader Insert] (SherlockxReader)

Read this fic on Wattpad:https://ift.tt/2I7s3bQ

[simplysherlockfanfic]

The study of a haunted mind

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

(Connection)Reader x Sherlock

Word Count: 4327

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, “mark them in your notations.”

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

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

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

“Have I presented my gratitude recently?”

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

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

“We learned that long ago.”

“The best of us had to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sussex? Mycroft spoke of a different matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Victoria glared at him, “husband.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lamberley?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I squeezed tighter. “Tomorrow then.” 

PART TWO

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Thirty Three

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.

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: 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

@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, @haeminhee

[simplysherlockfanfic]

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

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: 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 

@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, @haeminhee

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Thirty One

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.

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: 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.”

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, @haeminhee

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Thirty

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.

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: 4343

Your name: submit What is this?

John sat on the couch in his living room bouncing Rosie on his leg. He looked over at Mary with a smile as she brushed her fingers over his hand, she stopped on his wedding ring and he glanced down at it.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

But the voice was wrong, it didn’t belong to Mary. Rosie evaporated like smoke then the room melted away until there was just Mary, standing beside him with that smile. It’s time to wake up.

John pushed off a soft surface and his back hit something solid. The back of a chair. He glanced around feeling the usual deep ache in his chest as he gathered his bearings. His gaze settled on y/n sitting up in her hospital bed, “what?”

Her hand brushed over his hand then her middle finger smoothed over his ring, “I wasn’t really all here before… and when…” her gaze flicked up to his, “I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat making doubly sure he wouldn’t sound at all worried about the dry rasp that wasn’t quite yet her voice. “What would you have anything to be sorry about?” He dropped his gaze and forced a laugh, “I’m used to taking care of him by now. I forced him to get some sleep. He was even harder than you were.” His smile faltered when he looked back up, the tear slipping down her cheek and the pain on her face that had nothing to do with her own injuries.

“I’m sorry I… I missed…” She paused and licked her dry lips with a wince, “I wasn’t here… for you. I’m… ”

John gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he lifted the water cup from the table and brought it to her lips tipping just enough for the straw to fall toward her. She sipped and grimaced. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Take it easy.” He glanced at the marks hinting at the damage that used to mar her neck and another hot lash of anger blazed in his chest. She took a few more sips, every one looking easier than the last even though a few more tears coursed down her cheeks. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be here… not then. I…” He could almost feel his fist slamming into Sherlock’s face and he looked away clenching his jaw. “I never want you to see me like that.” He cleared his throat again, “and definitely not Will.”

She squeezed his hand and he looked up at her, the tears in her eyes still building and falling. “I know who you are, John. We all get a little… lost sometimes.”

“So lost you beat the living hell out of your best friend?” John clenched his jaw and backed away, “I’m sorry. I…” His words trailed off and he tried to swallow away the thickness in his throat. He glanced up and saw the confusion bloom into some kind of comprehension. She was very protective of her boys and he used to be one of them but he had a feeling after she found out what happened before he saved Sherlock she might not feel the same.

He dropped his head and let go of her hand already knowing he should leave but as he leaned back, she grabbed his wrist and held him in place. He forced his gaze to meet hers because he deserved every nasty word and awful look she had to give.

Her eyes were glassy as she stared at him but he couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t see her wrath. He didn’t see the daggers she could so rightly wield with her eyes or the angry set of her jaw that was reserved only for those who truly pushed her too far. What he found instead blew him away.

“You are and always will be my best friend. No matter how much of an ass you turn into, you will still be mine. You need to… cut yourself some slack, you were… grieving, you lost another important person, the most important, I don’t like that it was him but… John, I admired you before I even met you because you are a good man. Nothing you could have done would ever change who you are to me.” A sharp pain burst in his chest. He shook his head working his mouth and looked away before dropping his head again, this time resting his forehead on her hand holding his. Her other hand brushed through his hair as the pain in his chest expanded. “Breathe.”

Her shaky voice was the last shove and he followed her instruction knowing that the simple act of breathing while keeping him alive unleashed the tight grip he held on the mess inside. She didn’t say a word as he retched the emotions he kept so tightly in check just as she had done after Sherlock’s death.

He allowed the memories of her to flow freely, the woman he had missed so much and yet tried so hard not to think of, the friend he yearned to see so many times over the long separation, and the parent he strived and failed to be like.

He tried clearing his throat and pulling himself back together realizing far too late this was no place to fall apart when she was the one healing in a hospital bed. Finally, he started to get his shit together and lifted his head.

She handed him the tissue box. “I’ve wondered ever since those voices started in my head if that’s where the guardian angel thing came from. When people we… respected and trusted take up places in our mind because we don’t trust ourselves sometimes. We think they could’ve done it better.”

“Sherlock told you about…”

She nodded, “I still hear my parents to this day. Sometimes guiding me, soothing me, and it always helps.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath that caused some pain to register on her face. “Although sometimes it makes me miss them more.”

“Do you need anything?”

She released and opened her eyes, “she’s beautiful.”

“What?”

“Rosie. Mycroft sent a picture.” She tilted her head, “how is… everything?”

Her voice was gravelly again and he reached for her water cup, not remembering placing it back on the bedside table, then handed it to her. She took it from his hand with a quirked brow. He cleared his throat and pulled together the doctor that should’ve been here in place of the broken man. “Until you get better, things aren’t where they should be. I couldn’t stop thinking of you and Will. You owe me some babysitting hours.” She chuckled then grimaced again. “Sorry,” he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles that only had a fading mottled yellow left. “You gave us a scare. You’re supposed to be the level-headed one of the bunch.”

She gave a weak smile and he could see the meds starting to drag her back under. Her physical therapy earlier had taken a lot out of her and even though she had made a lot of progress, it would take time before she could walk on her own and a lot more time before she didn’t get exhausted quickly even without the medication. “I missed you and I’ve had enough near losses and actu…” he cleared his throat, “enough for a lifetime. So you dig out of this, you hear me? You have a very active Goddaughter to meet. You rest until fully healed and then no more of this heroic bullshit. Doctor’s orders.”

“Scouts honor.” John leveled her with a look as he took the cup and placed it back on the table. She squeezed his hand. “I missed you too, not the ordering around part,” she smirked but it faded too quickly. “Sorry I missed… so much.”

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to catch up.” He held her hand until her eyes fell closed and the tension in her fingers slowly released. “I missed you more than you can imagine,” he whispered as a memory stirred, dredging up more that he tried to keep locked down.

He danced around her nursery singing the first song that came to him until her murmurs and whimpers finally tapered off. The words flowed through him with Y/n’s voice in his head, both soothing and yet heavy at the same time. Rosie slackened, all the fight drained and she became dead weight in his arms.

“I’m going to put you down, sweet girl, and you will stay asleep this time. Daddy needs his rest too.” He whispered as he bent over the crib and gently laid her down. He stood still and silent watching her for a moment expecting her to start screaming any second but she remained a quiet, motionless angel.

With a few steps back, his legs hit the bed and he dropped onto his mattress. Mary scooted up behind him and pressed against his back, her chin came to rest on his shoulder as she slipped her arms around his middle. “I know how much you miss her, how much you wish she could be here. I do too.”

He brushed his fingers down her arm. “I jump back and forth… one moment wishing she could see Rosie and worry if she’d still be in danger here and then worrying that she is in danger wherever she is.”

“I don’t believe she is. I think she’s clever enough and from what Mycroft told you it sounds like she has some fantastic backup if I do say so myself.” She kissed his neck, “it won’t be forever. She’ll come home and everything will be even better. We won’t have to worry about Sherlock, I won’t have to worry about you, and Rosie will finally meet her Godmother. Will and Rosie will play together. Can you imagine?” Her voice took on a wistful tone, “he probably looks so big now.”

John stood and turned around. Mary looked up at him still smiling but confusion drew her brows together. “What a beautiful, blushing mummy.” He leaned down as she giggled and kissed her before following her up to the pillows. He curled around her and kissed her cheek, "I love you."

~~

It was getting slightly easier to wake with each day that passed. It was better on the days you didn’t jerk awake from a nightmare but you always knew where you were for the most part now.

Soft hospital bed and a scratching noise, pen to paper. A nurse was probably checking your monitors but then it wasn’t the same as writing on your charts, it wasn’t against a clipboard. You opened your eyes and Mycroft was sitting in the chair beside the bed, jotting something down in his little black book.

You leaned over but just before you could touch the book, he snapped it shut and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket. He met your gaze as he clicked the pen closed, “afternoon.”

“It’s not healthy.”

He grinned as he crossed his leg over the other and folded his hands over his knee. “You’re looking much better now that they’ve taken the bandages off your head.”

You didn’t have to try to read him and get frustrated over crossed wires or lost information. You had been waiting for a moment alone with Mycroft since the memory came back three days ago. “Don’t start with me. I know what’s in that book.”

His gaze fell to his hands as he tucked his elbows in and his head tilted down just enough before he caught himself. You could read the moment he realized he was broadcasting his guilt and discomfort then readjusted and relaxed. He worked his mouth a second before meeting your gaze. “Keeping one’s notes close is an essential…”

“Notes or tally?”

He rolled his eyes. “Must we do…”

“Are you going to start keeping a tally for me now? Notes to bring me back from the brink? Writing down all the triggers for the times you failed me?” You looked up at him and his face slackened for a moment before the mask took over again. “You are not responsible…”

He cut in with a low growl, “I am involved.”

“I thought getting involved was never a good idea?”

“Family is different. There’s no choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice. What is it about caring that scares you so…”

He scoffed, “scared is not…”

“Cuts you… rebuffs you… repels you. Choose your word but it still remains the same. Is it the responsibility that takes too much brain power away from what you deem important or is it just that uncontrollable pain when they get hurt and you feel the weight of their decisions on your shoulders?” You watched him closely but knew you probably wouldn’t catch it even if he did show anything.

He stared at you working his mouth before replying, “I’m not responsible.”

You grabbed his hand, ignoring the pain that shot up from your wrist, then felt the jolt through his arm as he instinctively pulled back. His gaze dropped to your hand and you almost chuckled at the look of horror that flashed across his face but he didn’t pull away. “That would be really great if you believed a word of it.” His eyes widened. “You still can’t lie to me, Mycroft.” You let go of his hand and he cleared his throat while smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. “I made my own decision to draw him out, maybe not exactly the way it happened, but I needed it to end before anyone else got hurt and he could do any more damage to Sherlock. You are not responsible for this. We both misread, our assessments were... slightly off. You did everything you could to keep me safe and I would have sacrificed myself for him and Will just like you would have done for us. Don’t try to act like you didn’t think about it but let’s face it, I was a more enticing target.”

He frowned, “I would’ve been able…”

“You weren’t going to talk me out of it. No matter what you said.”

“We could’ve had eyes on you…”

“It wouldn’t have worked. But I want to know why he hated Sherlock so much. What happened that started all this?”

His gaze shifted to the bed as he pressed his hands together then brought his fingers to his chin. His gaze was unfocused, much like Sherlock’s when he was sifting around in his mind palace but this was so much different because of the haunted look that passed over his face. He glanced at you, “do you remember any of...”

“I don’t know, just run it down for me.”

There was a fraction of a grimace then his focus went to a far off distance. “I was six when was Eurus and Sherrinford were born then Sherlock came a year later. We knew Eurus was different very early on but I was the only one who saw how different Sherrinford was. Sherlock was going on three when I caught Sherrinford standing outside of a closet door where Sherlock was locked inside crying. The look on Sherrinford’s face, it was the first time I had seen anything like it. I don’t know if it was just the fact that Sherlock was the most vulnerable but he always preferred him. Maybe I was too old to fall for his tricks or maybe I just understood what he was but I tried to protect Sherlock as much as I could because our mother never believed me, even when Sherlock was old enough to explain. She loved her children so much she couldn’t see what Sherrinford was. Maybe it was because of Eurus’ brilliance that she gave Sherrinford more leeway thinking we were bullying him. I don’t know.”

His fingers laced together. “It wasn’t until Eurus refused to talk to Sherrinford and he seemed terrified to be around her that she began to take us seriously. That was when I started to watch Eurus too. She was always different but not like Sherrinford. I knew what kind of behavior he exhibited so for him to be afraid of her, well.” He sighed, “Eurus began exhibiting her different behavior and when Victor went missing…” he flinched and corrected, “Victor was the boy who Sherlock thought…” He glanced away and brought his hands down to his lap, “it was always easier to go along with Sherlock’s new memory because even for me the truth was too much. My first thought was Sherrinford when the boy went missing but Eurus, I finally saw why Sherrinford was so terrified of her and yet the look on his face as Eurus pushed Sherlock to insanity with her little song…”  Mycroft’s hands clenched into tight fists and he dropped his head taking a deep breath before meeting your gaze again.

You could count the moments on one hand that you had seen beyond the carefully constructed mask Mycroft wore but this was nothing like before. He was that thirteen-year-old boy, stuck between failing to protect his baby brother and wanting to punish the others by any means. “I promised to be there for him but you’ve seen how well I’ve done.”

You leaned forward and touched the back of his hand. He flinched but you turned his fist over resting the back of his hand against your left palm then opened his fist until his hand was flat. A thin scar ran diagonally across his palm and you traced it lightly with your finger. “He told me about this. He said Moriarty told him but… he said Sherrinford scarred you for life and you still couldn’t spare Sherlock from the trauma because Sherlock cared so much about you, it didn’t matter if he couldn’t cut his little brother, you were enough. I think he meant to scare me but he encouraged me. I knew you would never stop, no matter how much Sherlock may hate it, you would never stop fighting for him.”

You let go, giving him the chance to close his hand and pull away but he didn’t. You met his gaze and he was still open and vulnerable. “I know you keep that tally of the number of times you failed your brother amongst other notes in that little black book but they weren’t the moments where you failed him, Mycroft,” you flattened your palm over his, “those were the times that you proved he was never alone.” His wide eyes met your soft gaze. “Thank you.”

He watched you, unflinching and you knew he was speechless but he would never admit it. A knock at the door broke the moment and Mycroft pulled his hand from yours clearing his throat as he rose from his seat. “Don’t worry about the office. It’s all taken care of.” He nodded briskly and turned to the newcomers. “Sherlock. William.”

Sherlock glanced between the two of you as Will rolled his eyes then giggled, “it’s Will, Uncle Myk.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched his brother. “Mycroft.”

“Try to keep her from overdoing it.” Mycroft strolled to the door passing his brother. He turned in the doorway and looked back at you, “remember that’s classified information. I’ll see you soon to sign off on a few things.”

Will had climbed onto the bottom of the bed and turned towards Mycroft. You grinned as you followed your son’s gaze, “thank you, Uncle Myk.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not rising to the bait.” But you caught the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. He started to pull the door closed until Will called out.

“Uncle Myk, wait!”

Mycroft paused and stepped a foot back into the room, “yes?”

His eyes sparkled, “guess what daddy let me do?”

You glanced at Sherlock who suddenly appeared interested in the light fixtures and Mycroft replied, “what did my little brother let you do?”

“Shoot the gun at the wall!”

Your head snapped toward Sherlock, “you what?”

Mycroft laughed, “did you hit the smile?”

“Almost!”

Mycroft grinned at Sherlock, “good luck with that, brother mine.” He closed the door and his laughter faded as he walked down the hall.

Sherlock cleared his throat, “proper gun education is the first rule of gun safety. He was fully supervised. John was even there. Downstairs.”

Will carefully crawled up the mattress, “and I planted my feet but didn’t lock my knees and I never touch the gun without Daddy there. It’s really heavy and will break my face if he didn’t hold it with me.”

You looked at Sherlock failing miserably to hide his smile, “really? That’s all, could just break his face?”

“He knows how dangerous they are in terms of being shot but most don’t realize it could break multiple bones in the face on recoil alone. Besides, we finished the wallpaper and John put the smile up but it still looked so… wrong.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the door, “what was that with Mycroft?”

You studied Sherlock as he finally grabbed the empty seat and pulled it closer to the bed. “Just coming to an understanding, that’s all.”

“You and Mycroft?”

“It’s boring.”

Sherlock smiled, “I’m sure it is.” His hand brushed over the back of yours and you turned it over.

“Can we watch tv?”

“Sure, love. The remote’s right here.” You handed Will the remote from the table and waited for him to find a station that interested him before returning back to Sherlock. “Could you see if Molly would visit? I don’t have her number in the phone Vic gave me and I’d like to ask a favor about those boys if I could.” He dropped his gaze and his brow furrowed. “Sherlock?” You watched him as his gaze rose to meet yours, “what is it?”

“I didn’t tell you what happened at the prison.” He glanced away. “She made me do something unforgivable to Molly or let her die.” You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, “different types of love. I know what Molly feels for me is not what I feel for her.”

“I could talk to her if you don’t feel…”

“If you heard her voice.” The way he choked it out, you knew the circumstances had to have been bad.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise.” His gaze met yours and you could feel his pain even more. Shelly’s expressionless face with that almost conscious red dot in between her eyes flashed across your mind and you shoved it away, having to focus on Sherlock to force it further back. “She is very important and she knows that but… her position isn’t an easy one. Just be honest with her.”

“You know something that I don’t?”

“Well, that’s not new territory.”

“A secret?” He noticed you weren’t going to cave or maybe just your internal struggle. He brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact.

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson walked in carrying a vase of flowers. “I brought something to cheer this room up. If they’re not letting you leave, at least we can warm it up a bit.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “it’s easier for her…”

“John is a perfectly good doctor, she could go to his house. It’s ridiculous, really.” She placed the flowers in the corner then came to your side fiddling with the blanket. “They treating you right?”

“You and I both know Mycroft probably threatened something.” You could see that she wanted to hug you but just like the other times she came, she was afraid to hurt you.

“Oh love, look what you’ve done now.”

Mrs. Hudson walked over and fiddled with the blanket and you took her hand, “I know how hard it must’ve been to watch him put himself through that. Sherlock told me you watched a message from Mary with him. I saw him after he got out of the hospital and I was worried but I had no idea what he had put himself through. You put up with a lot for your boys.”

She patted your hand, “we do what we have to do for our boys, dear.”

“Thank you. Martha. You’re the greatest agent I’ve ever met or a guardian angel. Or maybe just one badass nana.”

She lifted her chin, “no clue what you’re speaking of.”  She smirked, “must be the drugs.”

“You can hug me, you know. I won’t break.”

She chuckled, “oh right. You’re as delusional as they are.” Then she leaned down and kissed your cheek. “London was a bit cloudy without you.”

“I missed you too”

You leaned forward gazing into her eyes, “I won’t break.” She shared a secret smile before giving you a gentle hug while you squeezed a little harder. “He just wants to make sure that everything heals properly, that’s all. And stairs are a bitch. How are you?” Mrs. Hudson started giggling then full-out laughing. You glanced at Sherlock finding a similar confusion,  “what?”

“Oh, no, dear.” She covered her mouth unable to stop, “it’s just… look at the state of you… and you’re asking about me.”

You smiled, “ha ha. Good then?”

She ruffled Will’s hair and smiled. “I’m lovely. I’ve been able to see the babies play together and everyone... almost home. It’s almost back the way it should be.” Sherlock smirked. “Now, I hope you don’t have any plans for supper because I ordered something special and John is going to pick it up.”

Just like that, Mrs. Hudson could make everything feel like it was normal, like it was true; that everything was on track to the way it should be. But what she probably knew and just didn’t say was this was all you needed. Your family happy and together. None of the pain could rob you of that.

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 , @haeminhee

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Nine

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.

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: 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

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Eight

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.

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

@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

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Seven

*Found on google* 

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

Sherlock x reader

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

Word Count: 4565

Your name: submit What is this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was a different circumstance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sherrinford?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The animal torture started young then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay with me!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n. Look at me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter

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

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Six

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.

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: 3243

**Possible spoilers for Series Four: The Final Problem**

Your name: submit What is this?

Moran was good. Even in the urban area, he had military training that helped him disappear and stay hidden. And with Moriarty’s network funds, who knew what kind of money he had for resources. After two weeks of work, it didn’t seem possible to track him with any reliability. You were beginning to think you were lucky spotting him that day with Vic or maybe he was just being more careful. You didn’t have time to let him slip away over and over. You needed to bring the game to him before someone else died. Even with your head down tracking Moran, you had caught the news of the bomb on Baker Street. The remains of 221B weren’t as bad as it could be but it was enough to make its point. Will and Rosie were off with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes on a last minute vacation and it was the only thing that allowed you to breathe. With the kids out of reach, that left only the adults to get this over with and it wasn’t getting done as fast as you hoped. You closed your eyes and rubbed them gently. The hours of staring through binoculars and watching different buildings was definitely getting to you. This was never your type of work but it had to be now. Mycroft was doing his part while everyone else thought he was in critical condition at an unspecified hospital, Sherlock and John were probably recovered enough by now to be back at it, and Vic was working her angle on Moran’s business. But Moran had become just as much of a ghost as the three men you hoped to hell knew what they were doing.   You couldn’t get Eurus’s flash of recognition at the sight of you out of your head. It didn’t look like she mentioned it to Moran but she could have messaged him once she got in the car she sped off in. Did he actually see you and send his men after you or did she? Either way, they came after you. They had more than enough chances to kill you but that wasn’t the plan like the tranquilizer Eurus shot into John’s chest when she could have killed him. There was a much bigger game than to simply kill you in the streets, they needed you alive to be handed over to Moran or Eurus. You snapped your eyes open and stared at the house you’d been watching for the better part of the day and wondered if maybe you were going about this all wrong. You didn’t have to find him, you could let him find you. Break into one of his houses, they would certainly have surveillance, and present an undeniable option. Plan b was always a reliable backup. You turned on your mobile and called Vic. A couple of beeps notified you of messages as you waited for her to answer. You were just about to pull the phone away to look when her harried voice broke through. “Y/n?” “What is it?” “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday!” “I told you I was tracking…” “Mycroft, John, and Sherlock are gone and I can give you one bet where they’ve headed.” You shoved the key into the ignition. “Do you think Mycroft was right, that she wouldn’t hurt either of them?” “How the hell could anyone say for sure? The girl was locked up when she was a child! It’s been decades since he’s really talked to her and he let fucking Moriarty in to have a chat. Listen, that backup plan we talked about the other night, after some actual sleep I have a few concerns…” “Do you think Moran is working with her?” “That’s the problem, I think they are and if this has so much to do with her brothers, if Moriarty set this up, I’m a little worried about why she’s working with Moran.” “What if he’s the best chance we’ve got?”   “Radio silence on their end and it’s impossible to get a line to Sherrinford without Mycroft. So, this whole plan has a few holes. How much sleep have you gotten? You should come in and once we hear from Mycroft…”

“And what if we don’t?” “And what if she’s waiting for you to be presented to her. Did you ever think of that? Come on, you need some real rest. Now that she’s gone all nostalgic with her brothers, what if she hooked up with someone that reminded her of her twin? Don’t you remember what Mycroft said about Sherrinford?” “We don’t have a choice. Mycroft was confident he could shut that prison down and take control from whatever idiots let this happen.” “He was confident that she couldn’t get out either.” “Vic…” There was a noise outside of the car and you glanced around. “What if we’re playing into their plan? You need some rest and we can…” There it was, that tingling at the back of your neck. Maybe Vic was right, someone already had eyes on you. “Vic. Remember the rest of the plan.” “What… Leave now!” “I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this point.” Vic let out a quiet string of curses and then a crack in the window beside you was almost simultaneous with the hot burst of pain in your neck. You hissed and grabbed at the throbbing sting. It was buried pretty deep but you felt the tip and pulled until finally, the small projectile came loose. You tried to keep hold of it but it slipped from your grip before you could look at it. You stared at your hand and the shiny red paint that covered your fingers. It was so warm and smooth. A deep breath vibrated through your ear and you could see Vic, her back straightening in her chair in Mycroft’s sitting room with the fire slowly undulating beside her. The heavy feeling settling throughout your body should’ve brought panic but Vic’s voice was warm honey being pulled like taffy. “We’re coming.” “Make sure… Sherlock haswhaheneeds.” “Fuck! Y/n…” The steering wheel in front of you bloated and the car seat seemed to envelop you in warm leather. Her voice swirled around you and seeped into your skin. “We’re coming. Do you hear me?”   There was a twinge of sadness but you couldn’t trust your own senses because of the drug that was icing your veins and pulling you into an artificial twilight. Maybe you were right and Moran would give you answers or maybe just like your worry over Mycroft’s assessment of Eurus, your own profile of Moran was lacking data. Your eyelids were finally too heavy to fight and slammed closed. Who the hell did you think you were trying to play the spy? That was Mary and Vic, you were nothing but a tired mother, a haunted lover, and a scared… ~~ It was so hard to dig up and out of the nightmarish images holding you down but when you finally surfaced from the dream, the frigid hands against your skin didn’t completely disappear. That thick cold had settled so deep every part of your body seemed saturated, your skin, muscles, bones, and it even sluggishly flowed through your veins. You were groggy, off balance, and heavy. Lifting your eyelids took time and almost more focus than you could muster but then the pervading black dissipated and you stared forward until your vision partially cleared in the low light. A dirty gray wall or ceiling, after a few seconds you confirmed you were laying down on a flat, hard surface. Gray ceiling. Your first thought was an old morgue but you couldn’t say for sure if the cold was coming from outside your body. The stiffness in your wrists and ankles changed as you tried to ground yourself by taking stock of everything you could identify. It wasn’t a stiffness in the joints but a pressure on them, a wide band. Straps. You were strapped to a smooth, possibly steel, table. Ankles, wrists, and across the pelvis. A screeching door opened to your left and a man stepped into the room. You blinked to clear the white dots filling your vision from the sudden brightness but it only made it worse. You closed your eyes and listened. Boots, one set, heavy but rubber soled, stepped into the room. “Ever the clever girl.” A surprisingly smooth, deep voice, his speech pattern was eloquent, educated. You knew it had to be Moran but you didn’t expect the twinge of familiarity. “You’re quite the patient little bee, aren’t you?” It was a little easier to open your eyes this time and Moran stood at the head of the table staring down at you. His upside down face was unsettling but then nothing about this was meant to be a comfort. “I saw you on a few cameras over the past few weeks and might I say, bravo. At least, on some of your stakeouts, but your lack of experience really stood out on a few.” He grinned before lifting a wide leather strap into your view then hooked one side of it to the table almost underneath your neck. The cool leather lay against your throat as he attached the other end on the other side of your neck and with a few more clicks, it pulled to a snug fit. The pressure was uncomfortable but the message was clear; he was in control and things were not going to get better. “Patience and persistence. Have you read my book? No? I once crawled into a drain pipe after a tiger I’d been tracking for days. He was wounded because a few of my shots just happened to miss vital organs but the ending wasn’t what I envisioned. I’ve learned a lot since that day and you,” he sighed as he brushed his fingers over your cheek, “I’ve been so patient.” He walked around the table tightening the straps as he filled the room with the sound of his voice and the clicks of the ratchet straps. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take this slow.” Wrist, pelvis, ankle. “Since he’ll be out of the office for a day or two.” Ankle, pelvis, wrist. “Maybe a few depending on how many games my sister has lined up. She gets wrapped up in all her… stupid mind games but you and I will just have to get to know each other to pass the time. How does that sound?” You had a smart comeback about his fake sister but held yourself back. Anger wouldn’t help you here, you needed to keep calm and get in his head. You needed more data to find out what he wanted to hear and what would give you more of a chance to get out alive. You tried to answer but your mouth wouldn’t move. That frigid realization had been pressing against you since you woke but maybe the drugs still in your system had numbed you to it until now or your brain was steering away to keep you calm. Nothing was responding because you were stuck in your mind and your body had been detached by a paralytic. Panic rose like bile in your esophagus. There was no reason for you to be strapped down and definitely not this tight except… He was at the head of the table again and looking down with a smile that only made the growing profile in your head more horrifying. Hands on sadist. “Oh, good. I love the silent types. During this part of our relationship, it’s probably best if I do all the talking, that way you don’t ruin anything. Let’s begin, shall we?“ He leaned down into your face, his minty breath hot and yet blending with the cold surrounding you, “oh, and the safe word is redbeard.” He laughed at his own joke, “we are going to have so much fun.” The tear slipped down the side of your face and landed in your ear. You closed your eyes and dashed into the space in your mind that Sherlock had helped you enlarge and fortify. You found the door to 221B, pulled it open, and walked over to his chair before sinking down into its soft cool leather. You curled up and like a blanket thrown over your shoulders, the soothing sounds of his violin began to play. You could see the smile flitting across his face as he glanced at you and the melody changed. His fingers and his soul began to paint you a picture with a  sweeping melody.  You took shelter in that familiar warmth you always found when you came home. ~~ Vic tapped her fingernails nervously on Mycroft’s desk as she dialed Mycroft’s mobile yet again. She knew a clean-up crew had been sent to Sherrinford but no one was answering their damn phones. She had a sudden thought and dug inside his desk drawers until she found the small book he kept with important numbers. Sometimes being old-fashioned did come in handy. Flipping to the L section, she found Greg Lestrade and dialed the number. The second he answered, she yelled over him, “Greg, where’s Sherlock?” “Who is this?” “A friend of Y/n’s. Is he with you?” “We’ve got everything covered…” “Sherlock! Now!” “Okay. Okay.” She listened to the background noise then heard Greg talking to someone else. There was some rustling then another voice. “Who is this?” “Sherlock, you don’t know me but I’ve been with Y/n.” “Vic?” She sighed, him trusting her a little would make this easier. “Yes. I’m sending something to Greg’s phone that you need to see but you’re not going to like it.” She pulled the phone away and forwarded the pictures she had received by text in the last two days. The first picture was mostly in shadow, a small amount of dim light fell over a woman’s shoulder and back, her shirt torn and dirty, and the profile of her face was a silhouette but the second one couldn’t be mistaken for an art project. It sent a clear message. Y/n was tied to a chair but staring defiantly above the camera despite the bruising and blood that covered more than half of her that was visible. The text below it in a darker red, Come play. “What is this?” “There’s a number but he will only answer for you. I tried it twice but only heard… her.” “He?” “Sebastian Moran. You need to get on that helicopter now or I’ll have one sent to you.” She paused and glanced down at the wallet on the desk. “When did you last speak with her?” “Two days ago. I was on the phone when… something happened but by the time I got to her position, she was gone with no trace evidence. I received the first text almost exactly twenty-four hours later and the second one this afternoon.” “Greg? Is there another helicopter?” His voice was urgent and fuller than it had been when he first took the phone. “We can take Scotland Yard’s into London.” “What’s going on?” “That’ll have to do.” By the tones of the other voices, she had a good guess that all three men had seen the photographs. “Vic?” “He will only talk to you. Once you get to London, your wallet and your temporary mobile will be waiting for you on Lestrade’s desk.” “How did you..?” “I work with Mycroft.” “Right.” “Once you get to Lestrade’s desk, make the call and follow his instructions exactly. Make sure the others understand the stakes. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and keep the wallet on you, don’t put it in your coat.” Vic hung up and grabbed her laptop, Sherlock’s wallet, and the mobile phone then left the office behind. Vic’s focus slipped as a beat of fear shivered down her spine but she shrugged it off as she slipped her hand in the back of her waistband then curled around her favorite, most reliable Glock. She wasn’t going to lose another friend, not this one. She had been through enough with Y/n that she could easily say this woman deserved so much better and yet she never complained and she never gave up. Some people were dealt a shitty hand and they crumbled, but others found a way to thrive pushing themselves to places they wouldn’t have gone otherwise and turn out so much better for it, at least in Vic’s opinion. Those were qualities that Vic tended to respect especially from someone who didn’t have the training and didn’t sign up for such a dangerous position. Vic had always been a fighter and she had sensed a kindred spirit in y/n after the few conversations they had. She respected her long before she got the chance to be around her, to have conversations that were both enlightening and infuriating, to truly see how this woman strengthened under pressure and pushed the bounds so her child would not only be safe but still enjoy his childhood. Vic considered her a friend, the closest one she’d had in years, and she wasn’t going to lose another one, especially one that made her feel like she could be herself, at least the self she always thought deep down she was. She didn’t deserve another loss like that and Y/n sure as hell didn’t deserve to go out by the hands of a sick coward like Moran. Strong, brave little Will didn’t deserve to lose his mother, Sherlock and John didn’t deserve to lose another important woman, and Mycroft, as much as the man could drive her through a wall, even he didn’t deserve to lose someone that he cared about no matter how much he pretended not to. No. This was one world that Moran would not destroy. She slipped into the mode that fit like a glove as she reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed out the stairwell door. She was the twenty-nine-year-old working woman with a package to deliver. Her mother always said she was an amazing actress but film, television, theater, and tiny statues given out among fancy garments that probably itched like hell was just not her thing. This was where she thrived, where she found herself in sync with everything around her and used it to complete her role. She tightened the strap of the bag she had grabbed from the locker with the delivery company logo emblazoned on the front and headed for the front door. The next phase of the plan began when Sherlock picked up his items and made the call but she wasn’t as confident as she had been that late night she and y/n thought up this plan. There wasn’t as much control as she liked but that often happened in cases like these. Too much going on created chaos and the only way to grab ahold of that thread of control again was to set the plan back on track. Once these pieces were dropped off, it was all in Sherlock’s hands and Y/n had always been confident in him. She heard Y/n’s tired voice in her head as she moved out of the building heading for Scotland Yard, get this in his hands and I promise it will lead you to me. “Hang tight, Y/n. We’re coming.”

Next Chapter 

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

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Twenty Five

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.

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: 4196

**Spoilers for Series Four: The Dying Detective and The Final Problem**

Your name: submit What is this?

Greg Lestrade was walking toward the body that had been reported twenty minutes earlier at dawn. Molly had gotten to the scene almost at the same time and walked by his side with her crime scene bag in hand. She had been rambling about a television show until she tapered off when they saw a pair of legs sticking out amid the pile of garbage bags.

They continued to the body in relative silence both preparing themselves for what they could find while officers moved around them finishing taping off and securing the perimeter. The upper half of the body was covered by a garbage bag and Molly quickly snapped a few pictures then Greg lifted the bag and carefully set it aside. The face was obscured by her hair. Another few shutter clicks.

“It’s just not possible. She would never be so reckless.” Molly took her time surveying the area before kneeling down and gently pulled the hair away then recoiled slightly. She glanced up at Greg who stared at the damage with a look she didn’t like. “You’ve got to be joking. She would never, not with Will.”

He pulled his gaze from the body and looked Molly in the eye. “Will is at Baker Street. I took him there myself just yesterday.” He looked back at the battered face then down to the three bullet holes in the torso. “Will said bad men were chasing them and she threw him in a cab, sent him to me.”

Molly clamped her mouth shut as she looked back to the woman’s face that was no longer identifiable on sight. “No. If it was her, they wouldn’t have had…” she shook her head and stood up straight, “no. I don’t believe it.”

“Hey, you need to get back!”

Both Molly and Greg whipped around at the officer’s tone. Greg cursed under his breath at the sight of the cameras moving in from across the street toward the mouth of the alley then shouted, “who let them up the block?”

“We just got here how did they get the tip off so quickly?” Molly tried blocking the view with her own body.

Greg turned to the few officers nearby and barked, “get something up to block this area off.”

“Like what?”

“A tarp! Sheets! Your jackets! I don’t bloody care, just do it!”

Molly grabbed the white sheet from her bag and draped it over the body until they could actually secure the scene. “Now, I really don’t believe it. This is just some dressed up part of someone’s sick game.”

Greg nodded then shoved his hand through his hair, “but we don’t say anything to them until we’re positive. Absolutely positive.”

Molly looked down, pivoting slightly away from Greg as she tucked her hands in her pockets. “I know. I know what that would do.”

Greg watched her, his concern evident in his brow as he gave her a sad smile, “still?”

She cleared her throat as she squatted by her bag, “how about we get this area secure so I can do my job?”

“Right.” Greg turned and strode toward the officers still rummaging for a proper blind. He said a quick prayer that he hadn’t lied to Will yesterday and hoped Molly was right. All of this wouldn’t be needed for the real thing. Hopefully.

~~

John jabbed his key into the lock and brushed his hand over Rosie’s head with a few soothing sounds as he rushed through the door and up the stairs. At the top of the staircase, the door to the flat was open and he walked in to find Sherlock at his laptop typing away. He heard Mrs. Hudson talking with Will in the kitchen. John stared at Sherlock but his friend didn’t acknowledge him. “Have you heard from Lestrade?”

“No, and I don’t expect to for a few hours.” He continued typing and scrolling.

“So, you heard.” John walked over to the desk and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. He was scrolling through search hits and typing another set of keywords before scrolling again without a response. He nodded, “okay, how did last night go?”

“It’s not that difficult to put a child to bed.”

Rosie whined and John unhooked the baby carrier. “Right.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled Rosie out, “what are you doing?”

“Research. What are you doing?”

“I can’t tell if you’re pissy because you didn’t get a lot of sleep or if that’s just me.”

“Did you just call me pissy?” Sherlock finally looked away from the computer then smiled at Rosie. John opened his mouth then closed it and shook his head. Rosie was babbling and reaching toward Sherlock when Will yelled from the kitchen.

“Uncle John!” Will jumped down from the table and bolted toward him. John handed Rosie to Sherlock who picked her up as he stood.

John turned and squatted just in time to catch Will. “How did you sleep?”

“With daddy.” Will gave him a tight squeeze.

John glanced up at Sherlock. “So, good then?”

Will pulled back and looked up at Rosie. “Baby Rose.”

Sherlock and John glanced at each other then Sherlock squatted down and turned Rosie around with her back against his chest.

Will turned and reached out with wide eyes, “hiya, baby rose.” He closed his hand over her small one and she looked at him, suddenly quiet. “I’m Will.” Rosie squealed and kicked her feet. Will giggled as he held his hand out for her to hit.

“You know Rosie from a picture?” Sherlock said watching them with a smile.

Will nodded without taking his attention off Rosie. “Mama had her picture up on the wall with Uncle John and Mary.” His eyes widened and his gaze shot up to Sherlock. “Mama’s puzzle!” He spun around and clapped his hands on John’s cheeks, “I have her puzzle!”

John winced and Sherlock asked, “what puzzle?”

He ran over to the couch where his book bag still sat from yesterday. He grabbed his bag and carried it over to the middle of the floor as he opened the front zipper pocket then overturned the bag showering the floor with papers.

Mrs. Hudson walked over and Sherlock handed Rosie to her as he squatted down near Will, his eyes scanning the papers as Will began to flip some over and move them around. Newspaper clippings, pictures, post-its, and scraps of paper. He spotted an article on a poisoned unidentified boy and another on a sniper victim. He knelt down and picked up a post-it with The Woman scrawled on it. He looked to Will who worked diligently moving papers around the rug until an order started to appear.

A piece of yellow legal pad paper with Sherlock written in her careful script was placed at the top and directly below it, a small circle of six post-its that Will was putting the pictures carefully above each corresponding name. Us, John and Mary, Nana, Grands, Greg, Molly. With a small space just to the right of the circle, Will placed a picture of Mycroft with a rare smile over the post-it with his name.

“She’s been working on the cases.” John pointed to the articles on the sniper victims and the notes scrawled in the margins- S&J’s cases.

“It’s a game. A thinking game.” Will said, plucking the post-it from Sherlock’s hand and placing it by Mycroft’s post-it. He found another post-it and placed it under Mycroft’s. Shooter from Bart’s? MORE INFO.

At the very bottom of his puzzle, under the newspaper articles, Will arranged two final post-its. Moriarty and His Watson- Shooter? was printed with her perfected handwriting she mostly used when she was in clinic mode and then under His Watson in a harsher scrawl with all capital letters, MORAN.

Will pointed to the small circle underneath Sherlock’s post-it. “The inner circle. People you trust that he knows.” He pointed to Mycroft and The Woman, “people you repect.” Then he waved his small finger over the news stories, “this is the setup but mama didn’t tell me more. I tried solve it but mama said some riddles can’t solve cuz not met to.”

“You said that he knows, who’s he?” Sherlock watched Will and he pointed to the post-it at the bottom. His Watson.

Sherlock glanced up at John whose brow was drawn together as his gaze flicked back and forth between the papers and Will until he caught Sherlock’s glance. Their gazes met briefly in a silent communication that they’d had before when it came to Y/n. She had once again surprised them but this time there was more fear for what she might be wading into at that very moment.

Will picked up the picture with Rosie and carried it over to her, “look Rose. It’s you as a wee baby!”

Rosie kicked and squealed in delight. Mrs. Hudson frowned at Sherlock and John who were still scrutinizing the papers on the floor. “Alright boys, clean that up so Will and Rosie can play. That’s no place for that sort of thing.”

The two men glanced at the kids then began carefully picking up each piece of her puzzle keeping it in the relative order that Will had created.

~~

The lock on the back door of Mycroft’s house was hideously easy to pick and the passcode for his alarm even more embarrassing. You found his kitchen and had a hard time finding something edible. There was nothing in the fridge except some take out leftovers and your stomach growled even though the smell that emanated from his fridge should’ve turned you off.

A quick search of the cabinets and you finally found an old box of crackers. You sat on the counter chomping the stale offering and thought out your next move. You wondered if Vic got your message and if she understood it at all.

Noise near the front of the house drew you from the kitchen and the front door opened, the alarm beeping its warning and then silenced with the correct code. You remained hidden in the back hall until you heard her voice.

“I told you she wouldn’t go back to Baker Street. She wouldn’t put him in danger. She’s not at the safehouse so the only other bet is the office.”

Mycroft stepped into the hall and looked toward the back of the house. You stepped out, “you’re security is appalling.”

Vic stepped into the hall with a grin, “a coded message? Really?”

You shrugged as you walked toward them, “I had two men on me with some nice tech. He shot at me and there was no sound, none, except for the whiz of the bullet by my ear.”

Mycroft’s brow rose and Vic’s scrunched together as she exclaimed, “but it’s… it’s just not…”

“Almost not,” Mycroft added as he moved into what you could only assume was his sitting room with two high back chairs in front of a fireplace and a small table with a decanter of amber liquid and four nicely polished glasses. “It’s possible, just for an extremely high price. Ever try pressing a gun with a silencer to a pillow before shooting? It muffles it even further and with enough environmental noise, that type of sound could blend in quite easily on a busy city street.”

You watched Mycroft pour three glasses. “Will did make it safely to Greg then?”

He glanced at you with a nod, “he’s safe at Baker Street. I received a few phone calls asking about you of which I had no idea.” He handed a glass to Vic who gladly accepted but you shook your head.

“I’d prefer something edible, you know besides these stale crackers I managed to find in your poor excuse of a kitchen.”

Mycroft pulled out his mobile and quickly dialed then looked at Vic, “would you like to bring her up to speed?” Vic watched him leave the room with narrowed eyes.

“Did you hear from Taylor?”

Vic glanced at you then shook her head, “he didn’t make it.” She cleared her throat and pointed to the chairs, “let’s sit.” You shot her a glance but followed her over to the unlit fireplace and took a seat. “So, Sebastian’s dear sister… you know how I said I didn’t recall him having a sister?” You nodded and she glanced toward the hall where Mycroft disappeared. “Well, prior to five years ago, he didn’t.”

“How..?” You leaned forward dropping your head in your hands feeling the lack of sleep and all the running hit you hard. You were more drained than you had been in a long time. “Another spy?”

“Ah, no.”

You peeked up at her from behind your hands. “What?”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m exhausted. Can we…”

“No need for the language. This is my part of the story.” You sat up at Mycroft’s voice and watched him walk over to the table where his glass still sat. He picked it up and swirled the liquid while he looked at the window.

“Well?”

He glanced at you and sighed, “she’s my sister.”

You blinked then looked at Vic before turning back to Mycroft. “I’m sorry I didn’t think I had any alcohol but…”

“My sister Eurus who was supposed to be locked up in a secure facility has made her way to London.”

“What the fuck?”

Mycroft’s brow shot up, “all families have secrets.”

“You’re messing with me,” you cackled. It sounded wrong even to your ears.

He watched you as his face slowly shut back down into his business facade. “No, I most certainly am not.”

You fell back into the chair and stared at the dark fireplace. “I don’t…”

“No one knew,” Vic murmured. She was so quiet you wondered if she had moved away but with a glance, she hadn’t.

“Mycroft?” You turned in the chair and looked up at him, “why do you have a secret sister?”

Mycroft didn’t move his attention from the window this time, “because a long time ago, our family was… shaken by a tragedy and we did our best to fix it. It was hard for my mother to talk about after they supposedly died and Uncle Rudy convinced her it was better for everyone if we moved on.”

You looked at Vic and she shrugged. “Come the fuck on! Whatever happened…” You stood from the chair and turned to Mycroft, “how do you just erase someone from existence? I’ve been to that house…”

He studied you as he spoke in an even tone. “To anyone searching, Will doesn’t exist. Not on paper, at least. Are there any pictures floating around of him or just a few you have carefully given to those you trust?”

You looked away knowing he was right. You took Will away for a little over a year, sure the neighbors probably wondered in the beginning but who would really know except the ones who knew what had happened. If you had lost Will would you want reminders all over the place? People asking constantly what happened? You looked back at Mycroft. “But your mother and father… she was their daughter.”

He frowned and looked at the window, “she has a photo album in her room but besides that, we lost almost everything in the fire Eurus set. We moved, they were taken away, and we continued on.”

Vic’s voice was calm but insistent. “We need to know what we’re dealing with and we need all the information we can get. If your sister is working with Moran…”

“I’m sure she is and it’s all my fault.”

You walked over to him and touched his arm. His head snapped in your direction with a look of contempt that didn’t quite sell because of his eyes. There was a touch of fear you had never seen before but you didn’t take your hand away, “you need to tell us what she’s capable of so we can figure something out. I can’t sit on my ass just waiting for her to make a move.”

His brow scrunched, “you’re not going to like it.”

“Sherlock has a secret sister that he doesn’t even know about and she possibly wants us all dead. Yeah, I’m sure I’m not going to like it.”

“You keep saying they,” Vic piqued your interest with her low tone that had an unmistakable edge. She was staring at the floor with her muscles tensed almost poised on the edge of the chair ready to pounce. She was onto something, you could almost feel it in the air and vibrating in the back of your skull.

“Yes. Eurus was the intelligent half of a pair. She had a fraternal twin that not only lacked her intellect but a lot of things.”

You looked at Mycroft, your eyes widening. “It’s never twins.”

“What?”

You shook your head, “nothing. Well, I’m guessing there’s a long story coming. When is the food going to be here?”

“Minutes, hopefully.”

Thirty minutes later, you were slumped over in a high back chair with the food you had hastily eaten turning in your stomach. “So, she…” You squeezed the bridge of your nose, “locked away a boy and…” you flinched as a deep sense of dread curled in your chest.

Vic was leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees as she stared at the empty glass in her hands reflecting the fire now crackling in front of them. “But why does Sherlock think it was a dog?”

You could feel Mycroft’s eyes on you. “Ask the child psychologist.”

You turned to Mycroft sitting poised as ever in a chair he carried in from another room, his suit jacket draped nicely over the back. You were expecting a smile but there was nothing there. His face was blank as he stared at the dark window.

You answered for Vic, “a traumatic experience can be repressed, completely blocked out, to help you to cope but changing one or two aspects to something more bearable is a common coping strategy too. If the stressor exceeds a person’s ability of coping, the brain can rewire to help ensure survival. After a long period of time, especially for a young child, those painful memories could be forgotten completely but to repress a whole individual, I mean it wasn’t an area of study but I think I maybe came across a handful of cases and they all dealt with abuse.” Your eyes widened as your gaze jumped back to Mycroft. His grip on his glass was too tight and you caught the flare of anger and contempt on his face.

“So, why hook up with Moran?” Vic changed the subject, you didn’t argue but your mind was stuck on the abuse factor and the look on Mycroft’s face.

“Moriarty’s number one sniper? Why not?” Mycroft fired back.

“But you said this meeting was five years ago, why wait til now?”

“Does it really matter?” Mycroft snapped.

You glanced between the two and replied with a calm tone, “because there had to be a reason she waited so long.”

“She was incandescent but I’m sure it took her a lot longer than a few days to get a hold of and reprogram enough of the right people. I had given explicit orders…” He gritted his teeth.

“Yes, well, it’s a facility with people. I’m sure there were a few who felt bad for the poor crazy girl who wasn’t allowed any human contact.” You tried to keep the judgment out of your voice but you could see by his reaction that you failed.

“I was doing the best that I could. You never saw what she could do.” A haunted look passed over his face before he once again shut it down. “Sherlock is good, I am… Well, she was just far more than you can imagine.” He grimaced, “Sherrinford despised us all but he loathed her for it.”

Vic piped up this time, “I thought Sherrinford was the place…”

He looked up with a pale facade of a smile, “one of those rare true coincidences, I’m afraid.”

“He wasn’t the only one.” Vic bit out.

Mycroft didn’t flinch. “He actually did die in the fire that moved Eurus to her new home.”

Vic looked horrified, “Jesus! That’s just…”

“Cruel.” You whispered. It was the only word that fit but it felt… harsh. You were all getting too exhausted to keep a calm head with this kind of topic.

Mycroft brushed invisible crumbs from his pants, “Uncle Rudy was never…” he shrugged half-heartedly and looked more tired with each word. “I continued what he started because it was the only option available.”

You wished you could have another set of ears, another person who could think clearly about this. You still couldn’t be sure that Moran and Eurus were completely in this together. “What about Mary? She and I could track Moran while you…” You looked at Mycroft and froze. “What?”

His face slackened and then he rolled his eyes. “Well…” He glanced at Vic and you turned your gaze on her.

“What?” You saw the flash of worry across her face you had seen so recently. “Vic?” Her eyes finally came up to yours but what you saw sucked the air from the room. “What?” Your gaze shot to Mycroft, “are you…” You pressed your hand to your mouth and dropped your gaze to the floor. The pain in your chest finally forced you to drag in a breath. “How?”

Vic squeezed your leg, “I’m so sorry. I heard while we were on the plane and I didn’t know how to tell you. She was shot…” You found her gaze and the unshed tears lingering there, “saving Sherlock. That’s why he went to the therapist or at least, why I thought…”  

You dropped your head as your own tears blurred your vision. It was like a cannonball had been launched at your chest and tore a huge chunk of your middle out. The pain was immense and then suddenly, you were numb. “John?” You choked out.

“Had a bit of a breakdown as you can imagine but things have improved recently. I’ve been told.” Mycroft spoke matter of factly and you turned toward him but couldn’t see his face. His head was down, his hands folded together in his lap. His head lifted, “is there anything else you would like to know?”

You jumped up from the chair, your chest heaving, “no! But I would like to see some goddamn human decency!”  

“All people die…”

“SHUT UP!” You shouted then bit down, “just for once, could you pretend that you understand. She was my…” You were about to say friend but you couldn’t even get the word out. You squeezed your eyes shut hearing the words you had said to her that last Christmas before you and Will disappeared. Most moments with her were tense after that, even though you didn’t give her as much of a silent treatment but you never even got the chance… to give her anything more. You strode from the room not trusting your own voice.

You wound up back in his small kitchen and dropped into a chair then laid your head on the table with nothing but thoughts of your best friend. The man who had helped you through hell and so much more.

You missed the birth of his child, you missed the first year of her life, and you had been absent when his wife died and he was left to mourn alone. They were both left to mourn without someone they truly trusted. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were probably there for them, John would allow them to help with Rosie but he wouldn’t reach out for help for himself and neither would Sherlock. Yet Sherlock went to a therapist. You thought back on the bruises and tenderness, was it really only a few nights ago? How tired he had gotten so quickly even though he had tried to keep it hidden. He was still battling back from something and you wondered if maybe it was more than just drugs.

You felt cold, drained, and numb but you didn’t have the time for a breakdown. You shut it down, quickly slamming the brewing misery into the furthest compartment in your mind and sealing the cabinet shut tight, locking it for good measure. You cleared your throat and felt a searing pain in your leg. Your nails were digging into your thigh and you shook out your aching hand while rubbing your thigh with the other. You didn’t have time for this now. They didn’t have time for this. You needed to find Moran, needed Mycroft and Vic to figure out what the hell Eurus was up to, and you needed some sleep so you could pull yourself together.

Tomorrow was only the beginning and if you needed to push Mycroft to get home to your son then you would push him past his own limits to end this. There was no other option, you spent long enough running and hiding.

Next Chapter 

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