Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.
This is a slightly late birthday gift for Mattsloved1, which I wrote in the minibus, travelling back from John O'Groats, yesterday - I wasn't driving at the time! I hope she likes it!
The Other Woman
by
thedragonaunt
Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, in 221B, gazing down the lens of his microscope at some interesting trace evidence that he had reconstructed, to be similar to that which had been found at the scene of a rather messy murder. It wasn't an urgent case - 40 years old, as it happened - but things were a bit slow at the Black Museum so he had had to resort to the Internet for an unsolved crime to keep him occupied. He had a good idea where this one was going and was just wondering why it had gone unsolved for so long when his phone made a noise he hadn't heard in a great while. It grabbed his attention and he opened the text immediately.
'I'm in town. Let's have dinner.'
He sat and stared at the words, as memories of the last time he had seen this person flooded his brain. That wild, savage night of unbridled lust in Karachi had been the culmination of a brief but intense association with someone he had thought never to see or hear from ever again. She was dead to him and, to all intents and purposes, to the world.
His life had altered beyond all recognition since then. He was in a relationship, now. He had responsibilities. He was no longer a free agent. Yet those memories were awakening passions he had thought long put to rest. Even the grinding sense of guilt that pierced his core could not over-ride the fiercely burning sensation of arousal that the sound of that text alert had stimulated in him. The man who had exerted such tight control over his libido for so many years found he could no longer command its obedience. This woman had power over him.
He sat and wrestled with his conscience for the longest time, picturing the look of hurt and betrayal in Molly's eyes, the looks of confusion and concern on the faces of his beloved children.
But this woman had power over him, power he could not resist.
He picked up his phone, with a groan of anguish and replied,
'When? Where?'
The reply was instantaneous.
'Here. Now.'
ooOoo
This story was inspired by the song 'Picking Up the Pieces' by Paloma Faith.