Chapter 29: To Trap a Shark

"No," I said flatly crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at Sherlock. "Absolutely not. That's not happening."

"Reilen, please think!" he snapped. "I have to do this to lay the trap! I need her and the only way to get to her is by—"

"Dating her!" I shouted. "You want to break up with me for a case!?" Sherlock sighed and ran his hands over his face.

"It would only be for a short while," he insisted. "Just a month or so. Just long enough to gain her trust and exploit it. Whenever she wasn't around we wouldn't be broken up."

"But for it to be believable we'd have to be broken up to everyone we know!" I clenched my fists to keep myself from hitting him.

"Reilen, this is important," he pleaded. "I wouldn't ask you to do something like this if it wasn't."

"You've been forming this plan since you found out who Janine was, haven't you?" I ground out. "That's why you paid so much attention to her at the wedding!"

"Yes," he admitted. "Please, Reilen, please, do this for me." That wasn't fair. I would do anything for him. And he knew it.

"All right," I sighed.


Janine had been texting Sherlock. It seemed things hadn't worked out with the comics and sci-fi geek and she was looking for someone else. Sherlock had mentioned that he and I had broken up and she'd pounced, immediately asking him out for coffee to "talk about it". He'd accepted and gone out leaving me alone in the flat. When he was gone the full weight of what I had agreed to hit me. We weren't really broken up. I had moved my things back into John's old room for when Janine inevitably started coming over but when she wasn't here I would still be sleeping with Sherlock. But it felt like we really were. I had just watched him walk out of the flat to go on a date with another woman. My heart felt like it was ripping in two.

I grabbed my mobile and dialed my mother's number. John and Mary were still off on their honeymoon. I would never dream of bothering them during that.

"Hi honey," Mum's voice chirped. "What's going on?" My throat closed up and my eyes stung with tears.

"Mum," I choked out. "Mum, he—he—"

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked in that worried yet soothing tone that only mothers can pull off. "What's wrong?"

"He left me, Mum," I sobbed. "Sherlock, he—he left me."

"Left you?" She sounded so confused. "How do you mean? Where are you?"

"I'm at the flat," I cried. "He—he said I could stay, John's old room is empty and I don't have anywhere else to go but—but—he said he didn't want to be with me anymore." I had only meant to tell her that we had broken up. I hadn't meant to make up some ridiculous story about Sherlock saying things he'd never said.

Mum sucked in a breath.

"Oh Reilen," she murmured. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so so sorry. Do you want me to come get you? Do you want to come stay with me and your dad?"

"No," I sniffled wiping at my eyes. "No. I—I just…I just needed to tell you."

"Of course, dear," she replied quietly. "If you need anything, if you want to come and stay with us—anything—you call me, all right?"

"Okay, Mum, thanks."

"I love you, sweetheart," Mum said.

"I love you too, Mummy," I whispered so I wouldn't start crying again. We hung up

and I went to the sofa and laid down, feeling empty and broken and so very very lonely.

Sherlock came home a few hours later and seeing him did make me feel better even if I hated where he had been. He wasn't too thrilled about what I had told my mother, however.

"Well I had to say something," I snapped. "I was a mess, I had to give her a reason."

"Yes, but couldn't you have made me seem a little less awful?" he demanded. "You didn't even give her a reason as to why we broke up."

"She didn't ask." And I couldn't come up with one. Just saying that we were broken up was hard enough.

"Well perhaps we should—"

"How'd it go?" I questioned, fed up with the topic of our "break up". Sherlock beamed at me.

"She's asked me out for lunch." I nodded curtly and marched down the hall, shutting myself in our bedroom. This was going to be much harder than I thought.


Mrs. Hudson found out soon after that when she noticed that Sherlock was going out without me quite often. By then I managed to keep myself from bawling when I told her that we had broken up. She had scolded Sherlock fiercely, calling him an idiot (among other things) and crying over it herself. I mentioned it to Molly but made it clear that I didn't want to talk about it and by then I really didn't. The more I discussed the "break up" the more upset I became with myself for ever agreeing to this in the first place. I had yet to tell John and Mary as they were currently getting settled in their new house and I didn't want to bother them.


I walked into the kitchen and stopped short, nearly dropping the bags of groceries in my arms. Sherlock stood in front of me with a needle sticking out of his arm.

"Back already?" he asked glancing up at me as he injected himself with whatever was in the syringe.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. He dropped the syringe to the table and sighed contentedly.

"All part of the plan," he assured me.

"What is? What was in that? What did you take!?" I had never seen Sherlock on drugs, at least I hadn't if I continued under the assumption that he hadn't been high at the wedding. He grinned and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Heroin," he replied. "Just enough to be convincing."

"Convince who!?" I ground out. "Why—I don't even—why would you…WHAT IS GOING ON!?"

"I'm trying to get someone's attention," he answered. "To do that he must believe that I'm a drug addict."

"That's insane," I hissed through clenched teeth. "You do know that, don't you? You could just pretend to be high. You can be quite convincing."

"No," he disagreed. "It has to be real. Even if it didn't need to be, it's too late now, wouldn't you say?" I sat down at the table and sighed heavily.

'This is because John is gone. He misses John and he's using this—this—whatever this is to distract himself.' I knew I should be more upset that I apparently wasn't enough for Sherlock but over the years I had come to realize that Sherlock needed John. He needed him the way that I needed Sherlock.

"Just promise me you won't overdo it," I requested. "Sherlock, I swear if you OD—" He reached over and put a hand over one of mine.

"I'm being careful," he promised.