Okay so once again I cannot begin to tell you all how much it means to me that there are more and more people showing interest in this story. This chapter was a bit difficult to write (ugh writers block) but not to worry because Chapter 5 is already well into the works. Please continue to follow and review.
I do not own BBC's Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's canon.
Chapter 4: This is What He Does To You
We remain in each other's arms until the cab comes to a stop at 221B, Baker Street. Sherlock slowly lifts his head from my shoulder and looks at me with the coldest eyes I've ever seen. I try to speak, but can't think of the right words to say. There is nothing I can do or say when's he's like this. It's similar to when Sherlock is deep in his mind palace, cocooned in his thoughts and shut out of the world around him. That, surprisingly, is normal behavior for him. This, however, is much more worrisome. This is a whole other of level of isolation he puts himself in.
It's because of him.
It's because of Moriarty.
Finally letting go of me, Sherlock pays the driver and we slowly exit out into the cold, London air. The sky is darker than it was and storm clouds have begun to tumble in. Ironic that it has begun to rain; it underlines the overall mood right now. As we walk up to the door, neither of us dares to speak. What is there to say, really? Slowly, Sherlock opens the front door and steps aside to let me in; his face is stone and emotionless.
"Sherlock," I try, setting a hand on his cheek.
"Don't. Please." He sighs, brushing my hand aside, "Just…go inside."
Admitting my defeat, I enter the building. Sherlock follows, closing the door behind him with a slam. I jump at the sound, but dare not look at him. 'He's not upset with you,' I tell myself, 'He's like this because of Moriarty.'
Moriarty.
I have never had an encounter with the consulting criminal, nor do I ever wish to. I only know about him from what Sherlock has told me and, in truth, it makes me sick. I can't begin to fathom how or why someone would do the things he does, but then again why does any criminal do what they do?
Moriarty is a man who finds joy in making people's lives a living hell. A creep, to say the least: an insect that won't seem to go away, no matter how many times you swat at it. He is Sherlock's nemesis, yet at the same time, he's his equal. I think that's what frightens Sherlock the most about Moriarty. He knows how his mind works and it's exactly like his own. Part of me worries that Sherlock will one day underestimate Moriarty's intelligence and then… God, I don't even want to think about what would happen.
After what feels like ages, we reach the sitting room of his flat. I toss my satchel down onto the couch and take a seat, hoping my boyfriend would join me. Unfortunately, after hanging up his coat and scarf, Sherlock just passes me by and goes to his desk by the window. Pulling my legs in close and resting my chin on my knees, I watch intently as he flips open his laptop and begins to hurriedly type; his focused eyes dart back and forth across the screen at lightning speed. It won't be long before I lose him completely to his work.
"Sherlock?" I ask, my nerves building up inside me.
He doesn't respond.
I clear my throat and try again to engage him in conversation: "Sherlock, what are you doing?"
"Working." He says in monotone, not even lifting his head from the screen, "Feel free to make yourself at home, Fee. There's some take away menus in the kitchen if you're hungry, don't bother ordering me anything, I won't be eating tonight."
"I've lost my appetite," I reply
"Then by all means, make yourself comfortable unless you enjoy just sitting there, staring at me like a deer in headlights." He shoots back with an icy sting to his voice.
I sigh heavily and bite my lower lip. He does this when he's in this mood; he begins to mindlessly ramble and insult whoever is in the room as a way to avoid confrontation. It's childish, but then again, Sherlock can be quite the child. I take a deep breath and try again:
"Sherlock, we-"
"Please, Elfie, don't try and make conversation, I do not wish to have mindless chatter this evening. Then again, conversation has never been your strong suit; you're much more skilled at bookwork and note taking. Speaking of which, pass me your notebook. I need to look over what I said about the samples."
"Sherlock-"
"You can use the shower if you'd like. I noticed in the cab that your hair is a bit oily. Bad thing to hide it under that dusty cap of yours, it will only make it worse. I'm sure John wouldn't mind you using his shampoo; he does use women's shampoo mind you, God only knows why…Well, God and me, but that's not important right now. What is important is the fact that you continue to just sit there, attempting to break the ice, when you can obviously see that I am extremely busy."
"Sher-"
"You've pulled your legs in close to your chest, signifying that you feel insecure and nervous. Why would that be? Ah, perhaps it is because you are at a loss for words. Yes that must be it! You keep biting your lower lip because you're struggling to find the right thing to say at the moment. Allow me to help with that last predicament: Don't talk. I need to work and to complete my work I need silence. I thought you would've learned that about me already, but then again your mind works like everyone else's: slow and so boring. Honestly, I wonder how people like you get along in the world without truly seeing what is going on around you."
"Enough, Sherlock!" I finally snap, shooting up from the couch, "Just stop it! Stop avoiding the issue here and talk to me! Tell me what is going on with Moriarty!" Surprised, he lifts his head from the computer screen and looks over at me. The tension is thick as our eyes lock in a deep gaze; Sherlock has never heard me raise my voice like that and to be honest, I've felt the need to. But this needs to be dealt with; if Moriarty has made a threat or some kind of challenge toward Sherlock, then I want to know about it. I need to know about it.
"Please, Sherlock," I go on, trying to keep calm, "Don't…don't dodge this. Don't shut me out. You need to include me. I've seen what this man does to your mental state and quite frankly, Sherlock, it worries me."
"Don't worry yourself with such petty things." He states, his voice cold and unfeeling, "My mentality is something few people understand as is my involvement with James Moriarty."
"Then help me understand it." I coax, going to his side, "What did he text you today that's making you act like this?"
Sherlock takes a deep breath and runs his long fingers through his mop of curls; "Leave it alone." He mutters
"You said that you needed to discuss this with me," I remind him, "so why are you avoiding it now?"
"I said leave it alone."
"Moriarty is none of your concern and you have no right to inquire about my affairs with him." He barks, twisting his curls in his hands.
"Like hell I don't." I snap back, "I have every right to know about your so called affairs with him. It's called being concerned for your welfare."
"I don't want to involve you in this." He says between his teeth.
"Well it's a little late for that." I retort, folding my arms across my chest, "You lost that right when you asked me to be your girlfriend."
Suddenly, Sherlock slams his hands on the desk and rises from his chair "Don't, Elfie!" He hisses, glaring at me with those piercing eyes, "Don't use that against me!" I can hear the anger building in his voice and, in truth it scares me. We've never had a full-blown argument before and, trust me, the last person I'd want to get an argument with is Sherlock Holmes.
"I'm not using anything against you, Sherlock." I cautiously say, backing up slightly.
"Yes you are. You are using my feelings toward you as a way to get me to talk." He declares, hovering over me, "Do not mistake my love for you for my breaking point."
"I would never do that," I say, "Why would say such a thing?" Sherlock grits his teeth and quickly turns away from me. "Sherlock Holmes, stop being so stubborn and talk to me." I try and coax him to say more but he is silent. Suddenly, it clicks in my brain: "Is that what Moriarty texted you? That I was your breaking point?"
Sherlock doesn't look at me but motions to his phone on the desk with a jolt of his head. Slowly, I pick it up and unlock the screen. A string of messages from an unidentified number is the first thing that pops up. Realizing that these must be from Moriarty, I read through them carefully:
'Evening, deary, I miss you. How are things? Busy? Hope you're not bored without me-JM'
'Shall we continue our little game? I won't take no for an answer-JM'
'I've got it all planned out too. Just wait til you see it-JM'
'Not replying won't make me go away-JM'
'Fine. Be that way. Now it'll be a surprise -JM'
'What did you have in mind? Any new tricks-SH'
'Too late, honey. Don't want to spoil the surprise-JM'
'RE: What did you have in mind? Any new tricks-SH'
'You'll be hearing from me soon, don't you worry –JM'
'Btw, congrats on your one year anniversary coming up. Elfie right? Hope she likes playing games as much as you do-JM'
I look up from the phone and stare at Sherlock, unsure of what to feel or say. How did Moriarty know about me? Only just last week, Sherlock had introduced me as his girlfriend to Lestrade and the rest of the Yard. How could Moriarty have known? I read on:
'Keep her out of this- SH'
'So she is real! Good to know. Poor John must be jealous- JM'
'She is not part of this-SH'
'Too late-JM'
'Don't test me-SH'
'See! I knew that you had a heart-JM'
'Hearts are easy to break, Sherlock, just keep that in mind-JM'
'TTYL, Sherly-JM'
'I'll be waiting for your move-SH'
My heart begins to pound as I plop down on the corner of the desk. So many emotions are flying through my head right now, but above all is fear. I am afraid of what Moriarty meant by "surprise" and "game" but even more so that Sherlock replied to him. He knows what Moriarty is capable of, so why does he encourage it? How could he?
"Happy now?" Sherlock says, snatching the phone out of my hands.
My eyes start to water and my hands shake. "Why…why did you reply?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from cracking, "You could have just left it alone."
"He doesn't leave anything alone." Sherlock hisses, gazing out the window, "Why should I?"
"Because you're better than him." I say, going to his side, "You don't have to prove that by engaging in his little mind games."
"If I don't, he'll think he's won." Sherlock snaps, glaring at me, "I can't let him think that he's beaten me."
"He hasn't beaten you at anything."
"You don't see it do you?" Sherlock snaps, tightly griping me by the shoulders, "Moriarty thinks he's finally gotten to me by revealing that he knows about you and I. He thinks I'm weaker now that I have you in my life. He thinks that he can break me. Well, I would like to see him try." Sherlock's voice suddenly becomes dark and sinister, almost unrecognizable. His eyes even seem a shade darker like something supernatural has come over him; I hardly even recognize him.
"Don't you see, now, that this is why I've never been in love?" he sneers, "It is a petty distraction that can turn even the strongest of people into complete imbeciles! Well, I am not going to allow that to happen to me! I am not weak! I can take anything Moriarty throws at me and I have no concern for the consequences, even if that means bringing myself to harm! I will do what I must to stop Moriarty and I'll be damned if you or anyone else is going to get in my way!"
"Your talking nonsense!" I cry out, "Stop this! Please, you're scaring me!"
"Good! Maybe then, you'll begin to understand what I'm trying to do!" he barks back, "Maybe now, you'll see that I'm trying to protect you!"
"This is not protecting me, Sherlock Holmes! This is breaking my heart!" I shout, letting my emotions run rabid, "You're letting Moriarty get the best of you and…God, I can't be with you when you're like this! You are not invincible, Sherlock, and one of these days it is going to be more than just this stupid game. One of these days, I'm going to lose you to that…that monster. I can't do that, Sherlock! I won't!"
I push him away with all my might and storm toward the door. I need to break away from him. This is not the man I love.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock shouts at me.
"Home!" I snap back, tossing my satchel over my shoulder, "or at least somewhere where I don't have to hear the name Jim Moriarty."
"Elfie!"
"Don't, Sherlock!"
"Please don't leave me."
I freeze in the arch of the doorway. My heart skips a beat and the lump in my throat tightens. Those words: It's an exact echo of when he called me that night from Dartmoor: So desperate, so scared and so human.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn back around to face him. He looks like a lost child; so hurt and so in need of someone to comfort them. A look of confusion and shame has fallen across his face and his eyes have returned to their normal shade of comforting, bluish-green. "F-Forgive me, Elfie." He says, trying his best to keep his voice strong and clear, "I'm not myself this evening. I wasn't thinking properly just now an-and my mind…Please, Fee, don't-don't leave me. I-I can't be alone right now."
Yes, there he is.
There is my Sherlock.
"God, you bastard." I breathe out, dropping my bag to the ground. I go to him and toss my arms around him in a tight embrace. Allowing my tears to flow freely from my eyes, I bury my face in his chest and sob uncontrollably. Sherlock nuzzles his head atop my own and starts to rock me back and forth gently.
"Shh, it's alright. It's over now," he coos, rubbing his hands up and down my back, "I'm sorry. This is my fault."
"No." I sniffle, rising my head to look at him, "It's his. It's Moriarty." Ashamed, Sherlock closes his eyes and allows one tear to escape.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Carefully, I cup his face in my hands and gently brush away the tears with my thumbs: "I've never seen you cry before." I say, stroking his left cheek.
"I've never had a reason to cry in front of you before." He replies with a shaky sigh. Slowly, Sherlock opens his eyes and cups my face in his hands; his gaze loving and determined: "I won't let him get to you." He goes on, trying his best to keep his voice strong, "He's gotten John once before because I had misjudged him and I almost lost…this time, Moriarty won't come near you. But I need you to trust my judgment. This may go down a road that you may not wish to travel, but… I'm going to need you by my side. Will you…will you give me that? Will you give me your trust?"
"I trust you with my life." I reply, cautiously, "But you have to promise me something."
"Anything." He says, looking at me with pleading eyes.
"Don't leave me." I beg, nuzzling my forehead against his, "Whatever Moriarty has planed, no matter what happens, Sherlock, please, don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere." He whispers, "I promise."
"I'm going to hold you to that."
"I don't doubt that you will."
We lock eyes and suddenly, there is a new tension between us: something inevitable and strong, incredibly strong. Gently, Sherlock wraps an arm around my waist and holds the back of neck firmly with his free hand. My hands gently rub up and down against the purple silk of his too-tight button up as I close my eyes and lose myself in this moment.
My heart is nearly pounding out of my chest.
My nerves are completely shot.
"Sherlock." I sigh, "I…"
"Shh, don't speak." He whispers, his lips inches away from my own, "Oh, my darling, darling, girl."
Before I can even blink, Sherlock and I are locked in the most passionate kiss we have ever exchanged. Everything is a blur, but I feel so safe and in love in his arms.
Right now, the world has stopped moving.
Right now, there is nothing else: no case, no Moriarty, no game.
Just as we are about to escalate our romance, Sherlock takes hold of my hands and parts away for a moment; "You need to wash your hair." He says running is long, pale fingers through my greasy, black, locks.
I let out a sigh of disappointment but smile: "You really need to get better at your timing when you say things like that."
Sherlock furrows his brow in confusion but then realizes his mistake. For the smartest man in the world, he can be so naïve at times. "Oh, bit not good?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever." I tease, placing a peck on his blushing cheek, "Does your offer still stand? Can I use the shower?"
"Of course."
We quickly kiss again and then I head toward the bathroom. Suddenly, Sherlock comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "Sherlock," I chuckle, as he kisses my neck, "make up your mind."
"You didn't answer my request." He says matter of factly.
Confused, I turn around to face him properly; "What request?"
"Do you forgive me?" he whispers. I smile and kiss him passionately on the lips, rubbing my hands up and down his boney hips.
"Does that answer your question, detective?" I whisper before playfully pecking at his earlobe.
"I...uh…I…" he stammers like a schoolboy. Good Lord, is he actually speechless?
With a chuckle, I kiss his cheek again and turn back down the hall toward the bathroom. I can start to feel the day's trials and tribulations weighing down on me so a warm shower will feel fantastic. Just as I open the bathroom door, Sherlock calls out to me:
"I take it that that was a yes?"
"Yes, Sherlock." I reply.
"Oh, good."
"Okay."
I step into the bathroom and reach over for the light switch.
"Fee?" Sherlock calls out from the living room.
"Yes?" I shout back, turning on the water.
"Thank you for staying."
A smile grows across my face as I remove my clothes and step into the shower.
"I love you too, Sherlock," I call back.
