{021}

Domestic

That's how it felt, domestic. Hannah would never admit it, but this feeling of 'domestic bliss' was strong. It was as though she was doing this with her husband and not her... detective, friend? Sherlock spent a lot of time in the basement, she would go down every so often and bring him a drink and snacks, he would thank her, give her a small smile and she would return upstairs. The living room paint was left to dry and she checked on the library. All of the books had been taken out and packed for protection.

The old bookshelves were taken down, the new ones fashioned slightly more modern, the books will be sitting in the wall. The old fireplace, being remodeled with marble instead of brick. She had the thought of maybe getting a replica of Sherlock's sofa put in here, somewhere where he can sit for hours and think like he does. She knew Sherlock must have her phone. She thought of John and knew that she had to call him. It was nearing three when she decided to finally call him.

"Sherlock." She opened the basement door and looked at the steps that were no longer there, they lay in pieces on the ground, the framework for the new ones just being put up by the man she was looking for. "I never knew you were so... handy." He smirked. "I have to call John." He paused in what he was doing, reaching into his pocket an tossing the phone up to her. She pressed a button to light the screen.

"Be a good actress, cry a bit." She frowned at his plain mechanical tone. She nodded and walked away, stepping out the front door and sitting on the steps. She selected John's number and pressed call, staring at the phone before putting it to her ear. John picked up after four rings.

"Hannah?" His voice was low, seemed as though he was drained. She let out a shaky breath, feeling pain grow in her heart.

"Yeah." She lent forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She heard John's slow breathing on the other end of the phone. "Are you alright?"

"I went to see her again." Hannah listened. "For the first time in a year and a half I had to." She could hear the despair in his voice. "Sherlock..." His voice trailed off.

"I know." She rubbed her eyes. Her voice cracked. "I know."

"He told me..." John paused, taking a deep breath. "He told me that Moriarty wasn't real... he said that the whole bit, the big cases where he would swoop in and save the day... were all planned by him." She rubbed her temple, staring out at the wide empty space in front of her.

"Did you believe him?"

"No." John moved. "He's not... he would never."

"When is the service?" She waited a moment for John to respond. The service would be held in nine days. Mycroft had assured John that everything will be taken care of and the only part he would have to do is show up. No doubt that the crowd will not be very large. Hannah and John chatted for a bit longer before ending the phone call. Hannah traced her bottom lip with her finger, staring off into space. The sound of construction was tuned out as she began feeling a strong amount of regret. A certain weight fell on her chest knowing that she had omitted the truth of Sherlock still being alive, building what she was sure to be a place for him to shut her out most hours of the day. Hannah stood and entered the house.

She walked up the stairs and into her bedroom stripping off her clothing, leaving a trail to her bathroom. She started the faucet and let the bath fill. She tied her hair up in a messy bun and sunk into the heat, resting her head on the lip of the tub. She stared at the phone, which she left sitting on the sink. She closed her eyes attempting to soothe an ache that had begun to grow in the front of her skull.

"When is the service?" Her eyes snapped open and she sunk further into the water, peering over the edge of the tub to look at Sherlock who was standing in the doorway.

"Next Saturday, get out." He stepped further into the room out of no conscious volition of his own. He felt a pulling in his chest for him to step closer. He could imagine how her smooth skin looked without all of the sickness it used to hold. Only glimpses of it had caused a tightening in his trousers. The closeness of her skin, lips breathing softly against his chest last night had caused the same hardness, fear of waking her had determined him to not act. Her hand that had rested too low on his torso, nearly brushing against his throbbing arousal.

"I will be going with you." He stated. He felt his skin temperature rise, the tops of her breasts revealed to him from beneath the water. Hannah felt half embarrassment, half excitement about the position he had put them in. If he walked any closer there was no point in trying to cover up, all would be exposed. A part of her wished for him to, another part wanted him to leave the room. She grew uncomfortable under his intense stare.

"You shouldn't go with me." She said. "You might be seen." She shifted her position, unknowingly giving the man a few feet away the perfect view of one of her breasts. The pale round flesh with a light pink aureola made his throat constrict slightly. He removed his gaze from her and shifted his eyes to the ground.

"I'm going and that is final." Turning on his heel he left the room, quickly hurrying to his project. Hannah watched him go, eyes growing in size at the bulge that appeared in the front of his jeans. She sunk down into the water, submersing herself.

Surely it was her mind playing tricks on her. Perhaps it was just the cut of the jean, some bulge out, but not like that and usually only when sitting. He seemed uncomfortable and maybe that was the reason why. She felt her heartbeat rise, feeling the gentle throb of arousal. She couldn't quite wrap her head around what she just saw.

Later on she refused to mention it. As much as her mouth begged her to make even the slightest comment that would hint at what she had seen, she refused. Partly because of her embarrassment and partly because she didn't know what to do. Sure she had seen an erection before, but only one man's and that man was now dead just as the one building a lab in her basement should be.

The pair settled into bed that night, an obvious tension in the air. Sherlock, after finishing his shower, paused at the sight of Hannah reading a book in bed. He thought back to all of those television programs where the husband and wife would read in bed before kissing each other goodnight and turning off the lamps. For a moment he imagined doing so, clearing the small gap between them to kiss her pouting lips before turning off his bedside lamp. He then banished the thought.

Hannah's eyes shifted to the mop of wet curls that climbed into her bed, she closed her book. "Get much done with the lab today?" Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Floors are down, including stairs, walls painted. I left the basement door open and put a few fans down there to air it out." Hannah nodded. She slipped further under the sheets. The gap between their two bodies provided a space between the sheets and the bed where if either got the urge, their bodies would touch. Hannah ignored this urge. Sherlock stared at her for a moment. "Why did you not say that Moriarty abused you?" Hannah's body grew tense.

"I didn't think it was going to do much to add rapist to the list of murders." Hannah turned out her light, facing her back to Sherlock.

"He used the name Richard Brook as an alias... One of many." Hannah mumbled 'hmmph' in response. "He said something to me on the roof of St. Barts." He paused. "I have yet to deduce it's reality." His fingers brushed her shoulder before pressing it down, she followed the motion until she was laying on her back, Sherlock's frame slightly hovering over her own.

"What is it?" He seemed to be calculating something in his mind before quickly leaning down, stopping when his lips were only centimeters from her own. She could feel her breath stop, her heartbeat seemed deafening. She watched as Sherlock's eyes began to close and repeated the action with her own. She could smell the soap on his skin. She felt his lips ghost across hers and felt her heart skip. The satisfaction of the beautiful pressure of his lips against hers was soon met with her returned heartbeat. She could feel an intense burning in her chest as he moved his mouth slowly with hers, seemingly testing, experimenting with different pressures and timid tongue. Hannah softly gripped his damp curls and his hand found a place of rest on her ribs just below her right breast. The brush of his groin against her leg made him shiver and he abruptly pulled away.

The sight of Hannah, lying underneath him with slightly swollen lips and a heaving chest made Sherlock panic. He made a noise, a hmmph noise that seemed as though he got what he needed before stepping from the bed and leaving the room. The sense of heartbreak that was in Hannah's chest when he did so seemed unfathomable. Little did she know, Sherlock Holmes was feeling something he had never felt before, but realized he had always felt for the small brunette of whom he abandoned.

"I found your heart Sherlock," Moriarty grinned. "The people who actually care about Sherlock Holmes are in themselves a rare breed, but the one who stands above the rest?" He was circling the taller man like a vulture surveying it's prey. "Sweet Hannah." He grinned. Sherlock stayed impassive, but felt something he was so unsure of grip him. It was masked by anger. "It's quite sad how you will never know what she looks like writhing underneath you." Jim Moriarty was trying to push buttons. "You'll never know how sweet her pussy tastes, how tight she is... how she becomes even tighter when she cums." Sherlock's knuckles turned white. "I've fucked her, watched as her body unfolded beneath me." Jim picked at his fingernail, "In the beginning, she always cries, always tells me no." Sherlock's jaw clenched. "Just get angry with me already, I'm talking about the woman you love." Jim laughed and prodded Sherlock.

"I do not love Miss Winters." Jim scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning to the street.

"It's a real shame that you wont live long enough to figure it out yourself."