Hello and Happy New Year and for those who saw it happy new episodes of Sherlock!

This is Sherlock's POV once again and there's some angst (so you've been warned). I had wanted to get this up earlier but I had a lot of tech difficulties uploading this. I have quite a few job opportunities coming up as well as my birthday on the 7th so I will be busy now, however, I will update as soon as I can.

Thanks as always for support. As always, I love to hear from you guys. Come now, don't be shy…wait.

Alex Viking: Valid assumptions, but I have a specific plan in mind, don't worry. In a way, you almost predicted this chapter. I don't plan on writing an "shpeal", I assure you. Points for keeping those opening lines in mind though. They will come back, I promise.

Guest: I'm so glad that you're enjoying it. Thank you for the complement.

As always, I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks

Chapter 10: Love You Any Less

BRING THE MONEY IN 4 WEEKS TIME OR DIE AGAIN. THERE'S NO COMING BACK THIS TIME. I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT.

A threat, written in red sharpie over a picture of my 'corpse', placed in my father's study, intended for me. Why?

BRING THE MONEY IN 4 WEEKS TIME…

Why not name a price? Why give me a time limit but not a price? The messenger knew that I was from 'old money' which could probably be the reason as to why they didn't place a figure; 'old money' means lots, so why narrow the price range.

THERE'S NO COMING BACK THIS TIME. I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT.

So, not afraid to kill or perhaps just a big talker. People tend to back out of their threats once they come face to face with them.

…THE MONEY

Who knows of the fortune: Locals and family.

…4 WEEKS TIME

That short amount of time means that they want the money delivered near by. The messenger could very well live here. Who lives here: locals, obviously, and my mother…who has access to the upstairs rooms.

"Sherlock?"

The worried sound of my wife's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I shake my head and turn my head to look at her. We are in the middle of the road, still quite a few feet from my mother's door, but she has stopped walking. She looks…upset? What for? I've done nothing wrong; I haven't even said anything since we've left the crime scene. Is that it? She's upset that I haven't been talking? Odd, that's never bothered her before.

"Why have you stopped?" I ask, trying not to be short with her, "We have to get a move on. It will be dusk soon and we have to…"

"You were doing it again." She states rather matter of factly, staring at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. Her normally bright emerald eyes aren't sparkling like they usually do. It makes my heart ache a bit; I won't lie. I hate seeing her upset, I always have. Especially since most of the time I'm the very cause of it.

"Doing? Doing what?" I ask, furrowing my brow, honestly confused by her damp mood, "Thinking? Darling, we have known each other for nearly four years now. Surely you must be use to me slipping into my thoughts and not talking for long periods of time."

"That's not what I'm talking about," she replies, sheepishly, "I meant…No, forget it. Sorry."

"Say it, love." I coax, "If something is upsetting you, please let me know."

"No, no, we need to focus on the case." She says, finally looking up into my eyes with forced happiness, "Let's go. As you say, time is of the essence."

I smirk slightly and gently set my free hand on her soft cheek: "Elfie Marie, please," I coax, "You know that I'll stop whatever I'm doing for you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

I lean down slightly to place a kiss on her lips, but to my surprise Elfie pulls away. Lost for words, I can only just look at her in confusion. After what feels like ages of silence, Elfie turns her head back to me, gazes into my eyes again then takes a deep breath: "You-You were scratching the crook of your elbow, like you do when you get those headaches and when you…you wake up from those nightmares." She says, "I know what that means when you do that but…but I won't say it."

I let out a heavy sigh and run my hand through my hair; "Go on and say it, Elfie," I say, looking down at our still intertwined fingers, "It's no use hiding what you're really thinking."

"…Okay," she quietly says, gulping down her nerves, "You…you scratch your elbow like that when your craving your drugs. Don't lie to me; I know that's what it means. I'm not a doctor, but I've been watching over you long enough through this withdrawal that I can figure that much out."

Anger flashes through me for a quick moment, but it quickly replaced with sadness. I let go of her hand and take a few steps back, rubbing my hands up and down my face. How could she say that about me? She: my wife, the mother of my child, the one person who I could go to no matter the situation, the one person who had promised to never leave my side. She still thinks I'm addicted…and she's right. I am still addicted.

"Sherlock, I don't want to upset you," she goes on, "and I know that we should be focusing on solving this case. But, love, if your having cravings you can tell me. I'm not the only one who has taken notice; your mother asked me if you were ill. You're pale and thin, Sherlock. Anyone can see that you're unwell."

"For God's sake," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief, "This is John, isn't it?"

"John?" Elfie asks, "No, this has nothing to do with-"

"Is that what you two talked about on the phone this morning before we left?" I ask, "My little problem? What did he say to you?"

"He…Actually, he wanted me to ask you about what the two of you argued about." She admits, folding her arms across her chest tightly, "and then to tell him what you'd say. He also said that if you started acting strange that I could call him."

"Acting strange? Oh, that's rich!" I chuckle in disbelief, honestly a tad insulted by my so-called best friend's lack of trust in me, "John thinks I'm going to get high. You wanted to know about my medicine and he proceeded to tell you how I'm addicted to it, that it's my new muse or something idiotic like that."

"Is it?"

"Why do you think I gave you the bottle? Don't you see that I can't trust myself with it? I'm trying to make progress and deal with this problem."

"Is that what you two talked about last night?" Elfie asks, glaring me in the eyes, "Your addiction to your medication or was it something else?"

I roll my eyes and turn my back on her, quickly heading up the path to the front door. I can't tell her what I've done. She can't know that I shot up or that I've brought my needle with me on this trip. No, John didn't take my entire stash; I had some vials of liquid cocaine stored in the false bottom of my wardrobe. I stashed them there awhile back. I realize how idiotic that was to bring them along with the needle. To be honest, I don't even know why I did it.

"Sherlock, wait." Elfie says, taking hold of my arm, "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Honestly, Elfie Marie, I am surprised with your lack of faith in me." I snap, spinning back on my heel and glaring down at her, "Aren't you the one who always says I can get through this, hmm? And yet you're still suspicious. You still think I will relapse. You think that my medicine is a gateway to a bigger problem. Is that what the scratching means to you? Am I craving another, bigger fix? If you worry so much about me relapsing then you should just put me away in a rehab facility for all eternity."

"I would never send you away. How the hell can you even think that?"

"But why not send me away? Trust me, you and Hamish will be better off for it!" At that statement, I see my wife's eyes flare up with anger. I've never seen her like this before. Well done, Holmes, you've truly hurt her now.

"You-How could-You know what, I can't even believe you right now. How the hell could you say that?" She sneers, shaking her head in disbelief, "I'm not going to have this conversation with you!"

"No, no, no. You brought it up, let's talk about it!" I reply; the rational part of my mind is screaming at me to stop but my anger is getting the best of me, "Let's have a bit of dialogue concerning my drug addiction! You seemed so keen to discuss it!"

"I want to discuss it because its important, Sherlock! I know you don't care about your health, but I do!"

"It's stupid for you to worry yourself over something so pointless, Elfie!"

"Pointless? Oh my God, you're unbelievable!"

"I'm unbelievable? You're the one who is paranoid!"
"Im not paranoid, I'm being rational!"

"You're acting like I'm keeping something from you! For God's sake, can't we just get back to the case at hand? In case you've forgotten, there is a threat against my life that I would like very much to put a stop too!"

"Oh, now you want to change the subject? Jesus Christ just spit it out, Sherlock!" she hisses, pointing an accusing finger at me, "What aren't you telling me? And don't you dare tell me that it's nothing because I'm done with your lies."

"I told you before, I'm figuring this out on my own!" I snap back, throwing my hands up into the air.

"Oh, yeah? And how's that working out for you, the whole doing it yourself recovery plan?"

"Don't mock me, Elfie!"

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock!"

"I'm not lying to you! I'm trying to tell you that you're right!"

Elfie takes a few steps back and just stares at me, a dark mixture of hurt and confusion welling up in her eyes. It's inevitable now; Elfie deserves to know what I've done. I run my hands through my curls and try to calm my spinning mind. God, an escape would be perfect right now. Strom into the house, up the stairs, down the hall, lock the door; take out my needle and…No! No, that's what got me into this predicament in the first place. I just have to tell her.

Taking a heavy breath, I step forward so that I can take her hands into my own. Reluctantly, she gives them to me and I gently run my fingers over her knuckles; "I…I'm an addict, this you know." I say, not daring to make eye contact with her, "I am not proud of that as well as any human should be. It is a sickness that neither you nor John nor any one else in this world can cure me of; I have to fix this myself and…and I'm not doing a very good job it, I know."

"What do you mean?" she asks, obviously holding back how upset she really is.

"This problem of mine, it's one I've had to face ever since I was a teen." I go on, "I got over it before and…and I can do it again. However, I'm not doing as well as I should." I then take the risk and raise my eyes to lock with hers. Instantly, a sharp pain stings the center of my heart. My perfect, darling wife is hurt and all because of my idiotic ways. I have to tell her. I don't want to, but she has to know that I've lied to her. She needs to know about what I've done.

"When?" Elfie suddenly asks, her voice strong and determined.

I furrow my brow in confusion and step back a bit: "When?" I echo, making sure I heard her correctly.

"Yes, when," she repeats, her face completely emotionless, "When did you shoot up?"

A hard lump develops in my throat and I think I'm going to be sick. My heart aches and I have to let go of her hands. My eyes begin to sting and for a moment I think that I may actually start to cry. She knew; my perfect, darling girl knew that I had let her down. How? How could she have possibly have figured it out? Where had I slipped up in my hiding or did John actually tell her?

"I figured it out," she says, answering my unspoken questions, "You disappearing into the bedroom before we left this morning, the awkward staring at our bedside table last night and, of course, John telling me that if you were 'acting strange' I should call him. I too was thinking while we were walking just now, thinking just like how you taught me too; putting the puzzle together, I guess you could say. I thought I was just being paranoid when I came to the conclusion that you shot up again, but your reaction right now just confirmed it."

I can't formulate words. She has absolutely no emotion on her face right now and I can't read anything off of her. Her eyes seem to be piercing into me with their harsh gaze and I can't help but gulp down my nerves. Giving in, I just lower my head in shame and turn my back on her again. I don't walk away; that'll only make things worse.

"Hard, isn't it?" Elfie goes on, "Being on the one who's been deduced rather than being the one deducing."

"I'm…sorry." I whisper, closing my eyes

"I know you are," she replies coldly, "but I really don't know what you expect me to do with that bit of information."

"Yell. Scream. Take our son away from me. The list could go on," I say

"Let's start with you answering my question." She states, "When did you shoot up, Sherlock?"

"Monday evening, when the nightmares had begun again. After you had fallen back asleep, I went to the restroom and-"

"I don't care about details. Do you have anything on you?"

"Yes, in my bag."

"How much?"
"Not a lot. A needle, syringe and three small, vials of cocaine."

She's quiet and the pain in my chest only just worsens. What have I done? For the first time in my life, I had something wonderful. I had a wife who loved me for who I am and we had a beautiful, bright baby boy. My life was on track and nothing was in my way. Nothing except myself: my personal demons and me.

"You should leave me," I finally mutter, not able to take the silence anymore, "let me fall to my own devices and take Hamish with you. That boy can't be around me I know that. You have every right in the world to just take your things and go."

"Yeah, your right. I do." She says.

To my surprise, Elfie intertwines her hand with mine. I looked down in shock at our hands and then back at her. Her emerald eyes gaze into my own and suddenly that pain in my chest melts away. She's still angry, of course, but that dark, emotionless expression is gone. "I could leave, but I won't." she goes on, "I promised you that I'd never leave and I'm not a person to break something like that. Sherlock Holmes, you have broken my heart; I won't pretend that you haven't. I'm not going to give up on you, though. I love you too much to let you go like that."

"And I love you too much to let you stay," I reply, "Please, Elfie, I've made a mistake and there's nothing for it. You need to take our son and go."

"Just, stop." She whispers, closing her eyes, "Stop saying that. I'm not going anywhere and neither is Hamish. What kind of wife would that make me?"

"A smart one," I mutter under my breath but she hears me. We just look at one another, not daring to speak because we really have nothing more to say.

Elfie then takes me by surprise again by wrapping her arms around my neck and embraces me tightly. I hold her back, wrapping her up in my arms as if to never let her go. Very gently, she places a kiss on my cheek then nuzzles her head onto my shoulder.

"Sherlock Holmes," she whispers, gently tangling one of her hands in my hair, "you impossible man. I love you."

"Please forgive me." I beg, tears silently escaping my eyes, "I know that I keep letting you down and you should go, but please know that I love you more than anything my darling."

"I know you do, Sherlock, I know," She coos, rubbing her hands up and down my back, "but this has to stop. You know that and so do I. We can't go on like this."

"I know."

"Then let me in. No more 'I can figure this out by myself' thing, alright?"
"Alright."

"Promise me then. Promise me that you'll, for the first time in your life, let someone help you."

I close my eyes tight and just tighten my hold on her. I feel like a child, but I don't care. With my wife holding me close, here in front of my mother's country home, I feel completely safe and warm. I need her comfort more than anything else right now, not even the case. I need her near me to tell me everything is going to be okay even though we both know it's not.

I simply need her, just like always.

I'm not as strong as I thought I was and I've truly failed, but for some reason Elfie is staying beside me. She is giving me another chance despite the fact that I don't deserve it. She knows what I've done and yet she's staying beside me. She is a complete and utter mystery to me and I can't even being to describe why she has such an affect on me. For her, I break all of my rules. For her, my entire way of life has changed. That's what love is, isn't it; making changes for the one person that matters above all else?

"Come on," Elfie whispers as we finally pull apart, "put on a strong face. I won't tell your mother or John what just happened, okay? We are just going to go in there and be back on the case, alright?"

"Yes," I reply, nodding in agreement, "But…do-do tell John. He should know that I, er, you rather found out about…what I've done."

"Alright, I'll call him." She says, "Let's get back on the case, though, alright? What you need right now is to focus on your work." I nod again and just look at her with pleading eyes. Elfie just gives me a small smile and sets a hand on my cheek: "My brilliant genius," she coos, "whatever am I to do with you?"

She gently hooks her hand behind my neck and kisses me on the lips. I kiss her in return, but it does nothing for the knot aching in my stomach. We part and silently head toward the house; my hands are stuffed in my pockets. I'm ashamed of myself, as well as I should be. I'm most certainly not the man I should be nor am I acting that way. I need to get my life back together, something I've truly failed in doing since re-entering the world of the living. Perhaps this case will help; I always did feel at home in the universe of a case.

We reach the front door and I open it, letting Elfie go inside first so that she can head upstairs to change. She doesn't look at me as she passes by. I can feel a chill run up my spine. God, what have I done?

"That was quick." Mother says as she comes into the front room from the kitchen to the left, "Hamish is upstairs having a little sleep and I was just finishing making something to eat. I would have made more but I assumed you would be at the house all night."

"Yes, well, I saw everything I needed." I quickly reply, rubbing my eyes on my coat sleeve as I close the door, "We'll be out again soon, though."

"Everything okay, little one?" she asks, coming to my side and setting a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine." I lie, facing her, "Just, um-I'm not feeling well."

"I told Elfie you were looking pale." She says, "What is it, love, you know that you can tell me."

"It's, um," I pause for a moment and look at my mother's worried face, her eyes full of concern. "I'll be alright," I go on, "nothing to fret over."
"Well, you know best." She sighs, patting my arm then heading back to the kitchen, "Where is your wife, by the way?"

"Upstairs changing," I reply, following her, "We're heading into town. By the way is that local pub still up and running? You know, the one where they serve that dark ale?"

"Hmm, I believe so." She says, returning to whatever she was doing over the stove, "Planning on interviewing the locals, then?"
"That's the plan," I say, propping myself up to sit on the counter. My mother gives me a disapproving look, but then just shakes her head and sighs.

"So, what did you find at the house?" she asks, "Develop any leads?"

"Perhaps," I say, "curious thing though, asking for money without naming a price. Our messenger must either not care about how much or just wants me to know that they assume I have money."

"Yes, I guess that is odd." She replies rather nonchalantly. I furrow my brow slightly and cock my head to the left. It's interesting that she didn't pick up on that detail as well. She is rather calm about the whole thing, now. Before she was a nervous wreck. What's changed her mind?

"Also, interesting place to threaten my life," I go on, "Who would assume I'd go to Father's study and see the note?"
"I thought so as well," she agrees, looking at me, "You haven't been to the house since your childhood; why would this person leave you a message there?"

"Yes. Then there's the matter of how they got up there, what with only two people having access to the upstairs. Which reminds me, Mother: where is your key?"

"My key, dear?"

"Yes, I don't have one anymore. Tossed it out when I left there. I had to break the study doors open this afternoon as well as climb up the old trellis to even get into the house. May I have your key?"
"Yes, of course. Follow me." My mother then heads out of the kitchen with me following close behind. She walks over to the small desk that is set up by the door and opens the top drawer. "Here we are then," she says, taking out a small brass key then handing it to me.

"Thank you," I reply, taking the key, "now, Mother, just out of curiosity…"

"No," she says with a smile, folding her arms across her chest.

"No?" I ask

"No, I didn't write the note or leave that mess." She goes on,

I open my mouth to come up with some reply but I can't seem to think of the right words. I must be getting slow if my own mother can read my deductions before me. Then again, she is the one who taught me and the master tends to be better then the student.

"…Okay, go on then." I manage to say, "Tell me how you worked that out."

"I worked it out the same way you worked it out that I might be a suspect," she says, "You're thinking that it must be someone in town who knows about the Holmes fortune as well as gain access to the house and the upstairs rooms. I am the only one in the area with a key and who knows how to get in and out of that house without being noticed. I could easily get into your Father's study when no one was about, trashed up the place to make it look like a vandals handy work and then come to you to trick you into believing the house had been ransacked."

"Valid assumption, wouldn't you say?" I point out, quiet impressed with that fact that she is spot on.

"Yes, but your are forgetting about the money part of the note." She goes on, "Why would I be demanding money from the Holmes fortune, let alone from you specifically; the son I hadn't spoken to since his teens?"
"Divorce can be a harmful thing to a pocket book."

"A divorce that took place over 20 years ago, yes, but I have my own family fortune. You know that I didn't marry your father for the money, Sherlock."

"To be honest, Mother, I don't know why you even married him at all." I realize how harsh my statement may have sounded just now and I look at my shoes in shame. "Apologies, that was…a tad out of line."

She lets out a bright laugh and places a soft kiss on my cheek.

"I have faith in you, little one," she says, "you'll solve this."

"Is that why you're not a nervous anymore?" I ask, "Your faith in me?"
"Of course." My mother chuckles and places her hands on my arms, "You are a brilliant man, Sherlock, and to be honest I'm not the least bit insulted by being a suspect. It makes sense, really, however I will tell you right now that it wasn't me."

"Most of the people I accuse of crimes say that, but only a handful are telling the truth." I reply, "I believe you, Mother."

"But you won't eliminate me completely." She states, "Even though I just told you it wasn't me."

"What kind of detective would I be if I just took your word for it?" I reply back with a smirk.

Just then, I hear the sound of Elfie's footsteps coming down the stairs. I turn my attention to her and my heart seems to skip a beat. She is wearing this simple black, halter dress and she's tied her hair back into a high bun, keeping it out of her eyes. Outward beauty doesn't usually take me back, but this woman is mesmerizing; she always has been to me. Not taking my eyes off of her, I walk over to the bottom of the stairs and hold a hand out to her. She looks at my hand in confusion, but takes it anyway.

"You look amazing," I whisper, intertwining my fingers with hers.

"I don't like wearing dresses," she replies, "You owe me."

"Of course I do," I say. We look at one another, the argument from earlier still causing tension between us, and just exchange a soft smile. "Right, well, we're off again." I say, turning back to my mother, "Don't wait up."

"Sherlock, your are an adult. I wasn't planning on waiting up for you." My mother replies, opening the door for us.

"If Hamish is fussing before bed, please feel free to call me." Elfie says over her shoulder as we head out, "Just because Sherlock's on a case, it won't be a problem."

"Oh, I can manage, dear." My mother replies, "All you need to do is take care of Sherlock, Elfie."

"She knows that, Mother." I reply without turning back around, "She's been doing that since the day I met her." I hear her chuckle and close the door as Elfie and I head down the path again, this time heading to the left toward the more populated part of town.

"I searched your bag," Elfie says after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Hmm, did you find them?" I ask, looking straight ahead.

"Yes."

"And you disposed of them?"

"I'm not going to tell you what I did with them."

"…Fair enough."

It is silent again.

"I still love you, you know." She soon says, "You broke my heart and I'm hurt, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

"That's a comforting thought," I reply, "I've said it before but I couldn't stand the thought of you hating me."

"I can't hate you, Sherlock Sure, I can be angry and furious and completely distraught over you, but hate? No, that's never going to happen."

We look at one another and my heartache seems to die down just a little. She hasn't forgiven me, nor should she, but I don't see any anger in her eyes. Cautiously, I lean forward and place a kiss on cheek. She doesn't pull away; she just turns her head a small bit so that my lips land on the corner of her mouth. Our eyes lock again for a brief moment then we both look ahead once more as we continue to walk, hands tightly intertwined.