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8 – Mad


Helena didn't notice the man coming through the front door, didn't notice when he sat beside her on the couch, didn't notice when he ran his fingers through her hair. She was sound asleep, and the man didn't want to wake her up just yet. He caressed the side of her face, and she leaned into the touch, then rolled over and gave her back to him.

The man shook his head and went to make some coffee. When it was ready, he went back into the living room and gently woke her up.

"Jim?" she asked, still half asleep.

"Hi, love," he smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Helena didn't answer. She leapt up and hugged him tight. Jim was a little taken aback by that gesture, they'd never hugged like that before. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed and let her hold him.

"Are you okay, sugar?" he asked.

"I will be. How are you?" she replied, concerned. She stared at his face, bruised and cut up, and couldn't help but shiver. He looked so tired.

"I'm good, no worries."

"But I-"

"You did what you had to," he said. "I'm proud of you."

"You shouldn't be."

"Why not? Everything goes according to plan, my love. That was just a bump in the road, but we made the most of it!" he smiled his creepy smile, and handed her a cup of coffee.

"I love you so much it physically hurts me, Jim," she sighed.

"I know."

Helena drank her coffee, without uttering another word. She looked up at the man sitting next to her, and wondered if he even loved her at all. Love wasn't supposed to make people this miserable, was it? But maybe it was just their kind of love, sick and twisted and passionate. Or maybe not?

"You look tired, Jim," she said.

"I didn't sleep. I had work to do," he dryly answered.

"Of course," she sighed. "Sherlock was here yesterday," she casually said.

"Was he? What did he want?"

"He was worried about me," she chuckled mockingly. "I kissed him," she smirked, waiting on Jim's outburst of jealousy.

"You did what?"

"But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? The big plan..."

"I never said—" he started yelling, but then stopped. "You're mine, Helena, understand?" he hissed, grabbing her arm firmly. The look in his eyes was of pure madness, and Helena almost got scared.

"Of course I am," she whispered. Jim pulled her close to him, making her spill the coffee, and kissed her. Helena gave in to him, and let the cup fall from her hands and to the floor.


Eventually, Jim left, like he always did. He muttered some nonsense about having work to do and left her alone once again.

Helena watched him leave and gave the saddest of smiles. If he just stopped hunting Sherlock down, maybe they could be happy. But that was never going to happen, he was never going to stop.

She was 20 when they met, almost ten years had passed. He found her in a bar in the suburbs, lap dancing to pay for law school. That night, everyone in the bar died. Moran had his fun, but Jim stopped him from killing Helena too. She got into his car that night, and never left his side ever since. He made her into who she was today, and she was thankful. She didn't really care about the money and the power, as long as she had him.

The days passed, and Jim never even sent a text. She casually dropped by Baker Street every other day, to see how things were going. Sherlock always looked embarrassed when she was in the room, she could have sworn she even saw him blush a couple of times.

"Okay, what's happening?" asked John, noticing the looks Helena and Sherlock were exchanging.

"What do you mean?" remarked Sherlock. Taking his eyes of Helena to look at John proved to be a challenge.

"Between you two. What's going on?" he said. Hadn't Helena known better, she'd say he sounded almost… jealous.

"Nothing's going on," Sherlock spat out, turning his stare back to the woman. "Right?"

"Right. It's nothing, John, really," she assured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever," the doctor sighed, and left to room to get tea ready.

"Is it nothing, Sherlock?" Helena asked, smiling widely. "You do seem a little… flustered."

"Flus—no," the detective stuttered. "It's nothing."

"Good," she smiled again. Sherlock nodded, and didn't say another word.

John came back in the room and placed the tray on the coffee table, and they drank tea in silence. When they were done, Helena politely said goodbye and left the house with a smile on her face. Someone better give me a bloody Oscar, she thought.