Guest: thank you for reviewing, I'm really glad that you're liking her and Sherlock - because while she is very attached to Thomas, her and Sherlock are actually a thing without either of them realizing it. And I'm gonna have to stop when I get to season 3 because basically I haven't seen it besides the wedding - which I'm quite sad about, I wish it was on dvd already - or rather that my library had it. As for whether she knows about Sherlock's suicide I'll just say this - when it comes to Sherlock she has a hand everything, and she knows everything, so hint hint :)
Alice looked up from the tea she was making at the sound of her door slamming, Thomas shaking his head when she looked to him and realizing it was Sherlock before he and John had reached the landing and both stood glaring at her – one infuriated and one as cold as ice with only a faint tremor in his jaw.
"You knew didn't you?" John demanded, seething when she turned back to pouring the boiling water unconcerned.
Sherlock looked at her back closely, seeing the muscles in her shoulders were relaxed, her spine was not so straight, her clothes comfortably casual, her hair hanging down her back; this was not an Alice plagued by worry and anger, she should be horribly tense and scowling, her clothes fitted and dark and her hair tied in case she needed to leave abruptly, she should be armed. "John," he said trying to get his attention before he continued.
"When were you planning on telling us he was released?"
And there it was, the tightening of the muscles in her back, the straightening of her spine, her hand clenching the kettle in her fist; it was what Sherlock had realized moments too late. "How long have you known?" she asked calmly, though Sherlock had been watching her closely for a year and so he knew from her body she was anything but calm, though he would never have guessed her actions.
Without warning she turned launching the kettle at Thomas' head, who knew her more than anyone and knew she'd be beyond rage and leapt to the side the moment she moved. John and Sherlock watched as she lunged at him, her arms and legs moving too fast for John to see, and yet Thomas blocked her well enough for he had been the one to train her. Though the blow to his nose took him by surprise, and without missing a beat he wound his hand in her hair and pulled before shoving her into the wall.
It was hardly a moment, the ringing in her head doing nothing to numb the blinding rage before she turned to him once more; her body tense, her eyes taking note of every weak spot she knew he had. But Thomas truly did know her better than anyone, and Sherlock and John watched shocked as he moved not giving her a chance to even offer an assault before he had her back to his chest and his arm around her neck with a hand under her chin. "Go ahead," he said through clenched teeth, not giving into the bite of her nails on his arm, "break your neck." He held her tight as she struggled, hearing from her growl her neck was straining as she continued to try to fight him; though she finally stilled after several moments, feeling a twinge in her neck as it was pulled at an angle – one violent jerk of her body, whether to escape his grasp or to knock him over and her neck would break. It left her with nothing to do but give in, knowing she'd never stood a chance anyway; but it'd given her a sick pleasure to hear the crack of his nose beneath her fist knowing he'd lied to her.
When she finally ceased fighting he shoved her away from him, not giving her the chance to turn and hit him again. She stood glowering up at him before she grabbed her coat and left, slamming the door hard enough the frame rattled behind her.
"Where is she going?" John asked softly, realizing she hadn't known, and realizing even more that what had just happened was entirely his fault.
"To yell at Mycroft," Sherlock said having known she'd go to his brother before she left.
Thomas wiped the blood from his nose and turned to them. "Next time it's something as important as Moriarty, ask me first," he told them furious, having realized too late what they planned to accuse her of.
John stepped forward and waved Thomas' hands away from his face. "This'll hurt," he said blandly before straightening the man's broken nose, hearing his grunt as the bone moved. The moment he was done John stepped back, not trusting Thomas not to lash out at him. "Why didn't you tell her?" he asked, thinking she might have taken it better if it had come from him.
Thomas shook his head, reaching under the counter for a bottle of liquor. "It wouldn't matter who told her, how gently or firmly she was told, she'd be livid no matter the circumstance," he said softly before scorching his throat with the drink. "If that's all you wanted feel free to leave."
Sherlock and John looked at each other before nodding knowing Thomas was furious, the could see it in his trembling fists he wanted to turn on them and beat them senseless. "When she returns would you tell her I would like to speak to her?" Sherlock asked forcing politeness.
Thomas laughed bitterly shaking his head. "You won't be seeing her for a while, not until this blows over," he told them. "It'd be best for everyone if you didn't need her around so much."
John grabbed Sherlock's arm when he moved toward Thomas. "Sherlock," he said before he could say anything. With a show of great restraint Sherlock took a steadying breath before turning on his heel and charging out of the flat, leaving John standing awkwardly to fix his mess. "H- he only does that when, when,"
"Someone else is right," Thomas finished for him before taking another drink.
John nodded without anything else to say to the furious man, his eyes dark and burning as he kept himself from lashing out – knowing Alice would never forgive him if she hurt either John or Sherlock. And so John left knowing there was little else to do, knowing he had been the cause of Alice finding out; having realized he should have seen how relaxed she'd been and known she had no idea Moriarty was out.
Thomas proved right in their not seeing her, they were constantly hounded by the press now that the connection between them and Moriarty was in the papers – his court date set to be soon adding to the buzz. There was no free moment for her to sneak over, no climbing through a window unseen when there were people constantly watching their flat. And Mycroft had forbidden it, saying this would be a good time for her to take some time away from them because she had gotten too close – he'd been livid when she'd forced herself into his home, nearly screaming at him for his stupidity. Though it wasn't until she spitefully asked how much information he'd given Moriarty about Sherlock that Mycroft had finally had enough; in all sense of the word, she was grounded.
And she completely loathed it. She would have been happier to have snuck in their flat and then stayed with them without leaving, at least then she was near enough to protect them if anything should happen; but now stuck in her flat with several teams of reporters lining the walkways she could never get over their unseen – and now was a most crucial time for her not be seen, she was closely tied with Sherlock and Sherlock was now publically tied to Moriarty; if her superior did any digging he would find the ties between her and Moriarty and she would be killed. And so she stayed cooped up in her flat with the telly constantly on showing her their flat, her computer on tracking them; they could not even go to the bathroom without her knowing it, and she still sat anxiously waiting for Moriarty to make a move. Even in a heavily guarded prison she still worried over his next move; she was no longer relaxed, no more at peace without being constantly on guard for an attack – this was only one of the reasons Thomas hadn't told her. She'd finally relaxed again, no longer constantly looking over her shoulders, he'd finally coaxed her out of arming herself at all times, she was even smiling again; but they all knew she would never go back to that now, not if Moriarty were alive and she didn't know where he was and what he planned. And she certainly couldn't go near him, she'd either kill him against orders or be seduced once more into working for him.
It wasn't even a half a week and already John missed her, she'd been coming over for dinner every night before Moriarty had been arrested – Thomas had been completely right, they were so used to her being there, and Sherlock could barely sit still for half a second before he would pace or try an experiment or to simply throw things around in frustration. Though John noticed an abrupt change in Sherlock's behavior one morning, the loosening of his muscles, the calm of his demeanor.
"Did something happen?" John asked off handedly, meeting Sherlock's wondering eyes though he did no more than shrug and brush it off. John had an idea of what had changed, actually he knew what had happened but it irritated him that Sherlock had said nothing to him. And so later that night John retired early to bed waiting for Sherlock to as well, hearing Sherlock stand at the bottom step listening if he was awake before going to his room and closing the door. With a growl of a sigh John threw off his covers before creeping down the stairs, seeing Sherlock was hoping to keep this a secret and John not willing to let it be. And so he tip toed through the living room, looking up at a camera wondering if she were watching him, and as quietly as he could walked to Sherlock's door – hearing his quiet voice mumbling something before he threw away all pretense and marched into the room throwing the door open and looking at Sherlock with hard eyes. "I knew it," he exclaimed at seeing Sherlock laying with his phone under his ear. "You're talking to Alice aren't you?" he demanded already knowing the answer.
Sherlock looked at the phone in his hand before looking back to John, knowing he wasn't happy to have been left out. "No," he lied knowing no one would fall for it, and already she laughed lightly in his ear.
John gave him a look before sitting in the bed beside him, having come to care for Alice enough he didn't care what it looked like – two men sitting in a bed together in the middle of the night. "Dr Watson," Alice greeted when Sherlock put her on speaker, the phone sitting between them.
"Hello Alice, how are you?" he asked, punching Sherlock in the arm when he scoffed at how simple a question it was.
She nearly smiled as she sat on the couch watching them on the telly, her Bluetooth in her ear and a cigarette in hand. "I'm well enough," she answered. In truth she was tired, she rarely slept now as she kept a vigilant watch on their flat – any of the reporters that never went away could be working for Moriarty, they all could and so she couldn't sleep with so many unknown people near.
"Is Thomas there?" John asked knowing he wouldn't be happy to be kept up by her talking to them, knowing she probably still wasn't happy with him for lying about Moriarty.
She looked down at where Thomas lay with his head in her lap, her fingers drawing patterns along his back. "He's sleeping," she answered, "but he goes out for a quick assignment tomorrow."
They could tell from the sound of her voice that she wasn't as angry as before, her voice was not hard, her teeth not clenched – it was soft and gentle as it always seemed to be when she spoke of him. "So you've forgiven him then," Sherlock stated having known she wouldn't stay mad at him long, it wasn't in her nature when it came to the man.
She didn't answer immediately, she didn't really know if she had or if she just understood why he hadn't told her – he'd explained very clearly hours earlier he wasn't apologizing for doing what was best for her whether or not she agreed. That had been the first time in many days when she'd softened toward him, and that look in her eye was all he needed to pull her to him; they'd spent the remainder of the day in the bed, on the table, against a wall, on the couch. If they both weren't naked it would look as though they'd been at each other's throats; a hole in the wall where he'd put his fist through, a chunk of the table broken off in one of their fists, furniture thrown out of the way their guns and knives pulled from their bodies scattered on the floor, bruises from his hands painting her skin, scratches down his back and arms from her nails – it wasn't forgiveness, from either of them, but it was love.
"Alice?" John asked when she was silent for several minutes, obviously lost in thought. "What happened when you were with Moriarty and Thomas found out?" he asked because he knew so much about her and Thomas lay in that explanation – he knew Thomas had tortured the information out of her, he knew Thomas had been trying to protect her because she would be killed if it were ever discovered, and she trusted Thomas more than anyone.
She was quiet for several moments, the only evidence she hadn't hung up was the sound of Thomas' deep breaths as he slept; she sat still tracing the scar of a bullet wound on his shoulder. "I tried to kill him," she said softly, so quiet they almost missed it.
They looked at each other shocked at that admission having never thought for once she'd ever truly turn on him; but it explained so much, why she wanted Moriarty dead why she was so reserved why she constantly had a cig in hand why Thomas always tensed at Moriarty's name.
She looked up from Thomas' back to see them trying to think of something to say, not even Sherlock could think of anything – at least nothing that wouldn't anger her, and even he knew not to push it, especially since this was the only way to talk to her. "It hadn't been a true effort, I suppose," she said though she wasn't offering herself defense, she knew what she'd done, the inhealable fracture she'd caused between them that they only danced around.
"What do you mean?" John asked, Sherlock had sat back and was now staring deep in thought obviously not going to say anything.
She was quiet again remembering that day, of how Thomas had come to their hostel speaking as though nothing were wrong – but she'd seen the way his hand didn't leave his side staying close enough to his gun should he need it; he'd incapacitate her but she knew he wouldn't kill her. At least she knew it now, then she had been so half crazed and beyond sense that the moment he moved she shot him; and even then it was in the shoulder, nothing he would die from because she'd always cared for him too greatly. And the moment he stumbled back she'd dropped the gun unable to believe what she'd done, at how far she had fallen. "I would be dead if she'd wanted it," Thomas answered, having never actually been asleep.
John cleared his throat surprised by Thomas' voice, more surprised than Alice had been – she'd barely paused before continuing running her hand through his hair, dropping the cigarette butt in the mug with the others. "Get on skype tomorrow before dinner," she told them before hanging up and tossing the Bluetooth on the table. Her hand trailed down his back at the feel of his mouth on her thigh, his teeth nipping her skin. The first day of Moriarty's trial started the day after next, a trial both Mycroft and Thomas had forbidden her from going to – it was too much of a risk having her there, furthering her connection to Moriarty – but it was a trial Sherlock and John would both be attending, Sherlock to give his testimony and John to watch. Both of them would be there which meant she would be there to scope the courthouse for any danger after she figured out a way to get Thomas to agree without Mycroft knowing.
But for the moment in time with Thomas warm against her she allowed a moment of reprieve, as though even then she knew somehow this would be the end.
I am very sorry for how long this update took, I got a little caught up in my hobbit stories and completely neglected this one; so please forgive me for that. Also, I am quickly coming to a point where I will have nothing else to write, because the only episode I watched in full of the third season was the second episode, and then the last half of the first and none of the third. So I really don't know what's going on and I have no way of watching it, so when I reach the end of this episode I'm kind of going to have to stop until I can watch it; and then I'll be stuck until season four. So I'm also sorry about that as well. Thank you very much for reading, and for those of you who review - it really makes my day.