Here it is. The beginning of the sequel. I hope you all enjoy it.
x
"Sherlock Holmes!" The tall man who was currently bent over a microscope froze in his movements. He ran through the past day in his head. What did he do? She was angry and what did he do to provoke this? Then it hit him. The small brunette female stood at the bottom of the steps with a container outstretched in her hands. "How many times do I have to tell you to refrain from putting human body parts in the upstairs freezer?" Her face was slighly pale and Sherlock quickly grabbed the container and placed it in the freezer that it was supposed to be put in.
"I was using the oven." Hannah grimaced.
"We can get you an oven for down here..." She peered into a small petri dish by his side. "What are you doing?" Sherlock grinned.
"I found a trace." He sat back in front of his microscope. "A trace from a foot print at the last area. I believe this is where the base is." Hannah ran her hand across his back, rubbing slow circles.
"And once you find the main base?" Sherlock looked up at her from his position on the stool.
"Then I will have found where Moriarty ran his business from. I can take it down from the inside, find every last inch of it." Hannah bit her bottom lip. Sherlock was proud of his discovery.
In the past year Sherlock had left for periods never exceeding two weeks and each time she made him promise to come home. Each time he left she worried. Sherlock knew this and it was why he made an effort to call her at least once a day, sometimes twice. He saw the apprehension on Hannah's face and cupped her cheek in his palm. The pad of his thumb brushed her bottom lip. "It will only be a few days this time. Just to check it out." Hannah sighed and nodded.
She knew he had to do this. It was the only way he could finally be back on Baker Street. "Are you hungry?" She ran her fingers through his curls, tugging at a few knots. Sherlock shook his head. Hannah's fingers tugged his head back and she pressed her lips to his softly. "I'm going to make some chicken if you get hungry later." Sherlock mumbled a noise of approval and kissed her again. Hannah let her fingers drift down his back before she left the room.
Sherlock watched her go. The swivel of her hips caused a stirring in his trousers. The relationship between them had been slow. With Sherlock being gone most days of the year and Hannah's trauma they haven't gotten past heavy kissing in bed. Even then, its when Sherlock comes to bed on time. There were few occasions when they both wanted to go further but Hannah would freeze. He could feel her start to panic. Her heart would race and her whole body would start to shake. She wouldn't be able to meet his eyes. At that point Sherlock would reel himself back, calm her down and assure her that it was alright. He couldn't help but feel anger towards Moriarty. He often wished he could go back and pull the trigger himself.
Sherlock looked down at the petri dish under the microscope and sighed, rubbing his hands on his jeans. He stood from the table and went to join Hannah in the kitchen. Hannah was plating her food, her perfectly rounded hips swaying to music that was softly playing. He found himself drawn to her, letting his arms slip around her waist he buried his face in her hair. She placed the pot back on the stove and grasped his forearms, leaning back into his body.
"Are you alright?" She asked. She felt him nod. "Did you want some?" She felt him nod again. She turned her head and looked back at him, his eyes were closed. She turned to fully face him and brushed an errant curl out of his face, letting her fingers entwine in his hair. She let her forehead rest against his. The L word had not come up in conversation. Sherlock didn't simply say 'I love you'. She could feel the depth of his emotions toward her, but nothing had ever been established. If they told each other that they loved one another, then this would be a time where Hannah would say it. Instead she said, "When do you have to leave?"
She didn't want him to go. She never wanted him to go. If she could she would keep him locked up here where she knew he was safe instead of waiting for his phone calls. She knew that he had to go. If he were to ever want to return to London again, this was essential. She knew her wanting him to stay was somewhat selfish, but there was a small nagging fear that he wouldn't return. One day Sherlock Holmes wouldn't come home. No phone call, no text. Nothing. The fear was often crippiling.
"Tomorrow morning." Hannah frowned. Sherlock's arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands dropped to his neck, thumbs brushing his cheek bones.
"That's soon." Sherlock opened his eyes looking down at the watery brown eyes just below him and frowned. He didn't reply, opting to kiss her instead.
Hannah would never get tired of Sherlock kissing her. He applied a perfect amount of pressure, she found when they first started kissing, Sherlock experimented with pressure, tongue movement, hand placement and more to find out what she liked best. He was kissing her now, lips pressing against hers and releasing, moving up and then down to capture her bottom lip. His hands massaged her scalp and this was the time he knew she would let out a breathy moan between kisses. He could read her body as easily as a case report and each kiss was more intense and beautiful than the last.
...
The last twenty mintues before bed seemed to become a coreographed event between the pair. Hannah would brush her hair and tie it up while Sherlock changed. Then Hannah changed and Sherlock checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. The pair would brush their teeth and climb into bed, each on their respective piece of literature, if not a tv program that Sherlock vocally despised but still watched because Hannah knew he secretly liked it. And finally they would turn off the lights and look at each other in the darkness. Hannah's right hand resting on the side of his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip in lazy motions while Sherlock's hand settled on her waist making soothing rubbing motions in time with hers.
Hannah felt the pressing urge to beg him not to go. Even if it were to be a few days, she could sense the danger in the mission. If this were to be his base then things might get violent if Sherlock is caught. He might get hurt. A frown had worked its way onto her face. Her fingers followed the pathway of ritual, memorizing his face.
"I will be back before Sunday." Hannah retracted her hand and curled against Sherlock's side. His arm wrapped more tightly around her. "You could always go and see John... a short visit. He would be happy to see you." Hannah nodded against his chest. His hand left her waist and tilted her chin up. She pressed her lips softly against his. In return Sherlock shifted them so she was laying on her back and he was hovering over her. His hand brushed her loose hair out of her face before capturing her lips again. His fingers played with the bottom of her shirt.
She wished her body would push further through this. She wants him. She wants to feel him entirely, but it always came to a point where her mind would push him away. She felt anger towards herself for not being able to give him what he wants. He wants her. She couldn't help but feel such shame with herself. A large amount of shame and insecurity.
She could feel herself react to his touch, the dampness between her thighs was a clear indication of the effect he had on her. She could clearly feel the effect she had on him. She could even feel it now pressing against her thigh. Her hands grasped his waist and brought him to settle between her legs. She moaned into his kiss. His one hand beside her head, keeping him from laying on her, the other on her stomach, rubbing her skin.
Her skin was soft, so much softer than his own and that is what made him groan the most. The feeling of the heat of her body beneath his, lips and tongue against his own that made him feel such want. This desire was something he had repressed for so long that getting into it made him feel as though his body was on fire. He knew he had to end it before she became frightened. He pulled away, looking down on the girl beneath him. Her lips were swollen, chest heaving.
Her fingers met his scalp, massaging it, making him moan. "I have to get up early." He whispered. Her hands stopped their movements, falling to his shoulders.
"I know." His lips met hers once more and he rolled off of her, adjusting himself in his pajama bottoms. She rolled to her side and looked at him as he let out a deep breath. Her hand cupped his cheek, turning his head towards her. "Please wake me up before you go." His hand wrapped around her wrist and he kissed her once more.
"I will."
...
"Where is she?" A loud voice broke across the silence that was in the room. Sebastian Moran was glaring at the small group of men that stood before him. "Did you check the estate?" One of the men, the youngest, looked to his comrades and then back to Sebastian.
"We did, but no one was there." Sebastian tightened his grip on the gun held in his right hand.
"Did you wait?" His jaw was clenched. "Did you wait and see if it was inhabited?" The young man looked to the floor, he knew he messed up. The sound of the hammer being pulled back on the gun was followed by a shot and the young man fell to the floor. The other two men tensed in fear. "She left London and that is the only place she would go." Sebastian stood from his chair and walked to stand in front of them. "You find her and you bring her to me. Understood?" The two men nodded and left the room.
Sebastian sat back down at the desk once belonging to Jim Moriarty. He flipped open a leather book and stared down at the pictures in front of him. The pair of kids they used to be. Hannah's bright and smiling face looked back at him from the page.