This is my first Sherlock fanfic and is probably awful but hey, it will go up regardless!
Forever Running
He stood there, in the snow, trying to work out why he had come here after all that had happened. He was staring at the black stone in front of him and he felt something break within him. They had played this game for long enough, and in the end he had won but not in the way he had planned or intended. In the end the game had ended with a loss of life.
He thought back to the first time he had met her. She had been the first person he had been unable to read and tell the life story of in two second flat, mainly because she had been expecting that to happen and had made…plans. That's when the game had started; the game that he wished had never started at all.
He remembered the moment he had thought the game had finished, he had thought it was over because he had broken her, found her weakness; her sentiment had become her weakness. Little did he know that she was strong and wasn't going to lose the game that easily. He had saved after she had nearly ended the game, he didn't quite know why, maybe it was the fact she intrigued him and gave him a challenge.
He had thought that was the last he would ever see of her, but she turned up again after the event at St Bart's. Trust her to not believe the news stories and to track him down just to prove a point. She had found him and made him promise not to trick her again, he didn't know why. When he had returned to normal life, well as normal as he could be, he thought again that that would be the last time he would see her, that the game was over. How wrong he was.
She had turned up in the middle of the night, her made-up streaked by tears. To start with he was sceptical, she was The Woman she did not cry, or fall apart, but here she was collapsed on his bedroom floor. He didn't know what to do, should he comfort her, or leave her be? He had left her be and she had woken up in morning her normal, guarded self, and he would never know what had broken her so much that she had fallen apart so spectacularly and he would never know why she had come to him, but he did gain a better understanding later.
When she had left he didn't make the mistake of thinking that it would be the last time he would see her. He was right, she turned up two months later, and asked for a place to stay, at this point he was getting annoyed at her frequent and short stays, even when she was meant to be dead. He had shouted at her, finally snapping and she hadn't reacted in the way he had expected. He had expected her to fight back, but instead she went silent, and sat down. She was silent for the next day. Then out of the blue, she had spoken. She said sorry. That was all, and that sent him into a further rage. When he was in his rage she did something else that infuriated him. She kissed him, and that was her almost winning the game. He rejected her of course, and she fled from 221b quite quickly after that, and he made the assumption that he had won the game because she hadn't tried to use the situation to her advantage. He wasn't happy though, he had so many thought flooding his brain he didn't know where to start. She didn't come back for a long time.
When she did, she knew exactly what to say. She used his own words, that love is a dangerous advantage, and told him that he loved her, that she had made him fall in love with her and that that had been the game all along, to see if she could make the Virgin fall in love with her. He scoffed at the suggestion and instead said that he had made her, The Woman, fall in love with him. To his surprise she didn't deny the fact, and instead said that he had been wrong when he had said that love was a dangerous disadvantage. She then promptly left, leaving him with more questions than answers, and the biggest problem being; he was unsure of his own emotions.
They continued the game for a time before they had both cracked. In the midst of an argument she had kissed him again and he didn't reject her, this time. By the morning she had gone, she had run away. He had mentally cursed himself for falling in to the trap, for that had been her intention all along. He was now very unsure of his emotions; all he knew was that he was angry at her for leaving him.
He didn't see her for nearly a year after the night they spent together, in fact it was exactly a year since, and he didn't know if this had been a coincidence or a plan. They met on the roof of a building, both being able to predict each other's movements. They had talked and in the end the problem had not been resolved but instead worsened. He had listen to her say that she loved him but that she could never be in love with him, because it was impossible to be in love with him. She was just going to love him; just she wouldn't let herself be in love with him, because as he had put it, love was a dangerous disadvantage.
She went, she fled, and she ran. He had won the game, she had admitted that she loved him and that love was a dangerous disadvantage, but he was now the one questioning his feelings. Had The Woman done the impossible, made Sherlock Holmes fall in love with her? It had taken him years to work it out but in the end he had sent her phone a text. It read; 'You were right, woman; that time you came back, you spoke the truth.' He didn't need to specify as she would know exactly what he was talking about; she was The Woman, after all.
She didn't come back, this time. He thought that she would, that she would come and gloat that she had done the impossible, but he now understood, this was never about power, and it was about falling in love.
He saw her just one more time. She spoke just the once. "I can't do this anymore. You win. I can't keep running." Her words rang in his memory. Running, that's what they did, run away from each other. Forever running. He read about her death a few weeks later. She had succumbed to a rare cancer, he now knew what her words had meant, if she hadn't have given up she might have still been with him, if she hadn't had been so tired from running she might have made it. But that was the irony of it; they loved each other but could never have each other. These where the rules of the game they had played, a game neither of them knew about.
He dragged out the last ounces of courage form his depths and reached into his coat pocket. He removed an un-opened white envelope and opened it. He removed the contents and started reading.
Dear Mr Holmes,
I know when I am dying. I am dying right now. If you are reading this then I am dead, I am sorry. I didn't have the strength to fight it, to face another day; hopefully you will now understand my last words to you.
As you know, I loved you, but now I have committed the last thing I wanted to do, I have fallen in love with you. I told you once that I couldn't be in love with you because it was a disadvantage, a dangerous one too, but I was wrong; it is only thus if the person you fall love turns out to be Mr Holmes.
I know you love me too, but won't admit it. Open up your heart just the once, Mr Holmes, I hold the key to your heart now and I want you to open it and admit it. I may be dying but I am still The Woman, if I die before you admit it I will just be the woman who fell in love with the man who cannot love. I know you can, so do. You will hurt, Mr Holmes, it is natural after the death of a loved one, but please don't hurt too much on my account. One more thing, Mr Homes; I love you.
IA