As Sebastia pulled on her boots, she felt something in the toe. With a smile, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and stuck it in her pocket.
Sherlock had started taking cases again, and two or three times he had left her a name and an address and let her do what she did best. Because of course Sherlock Holmes was a well-behaved crime solver. That last thought made her laugh out loud. Secretly threatening people was her job now, and she was glad she had something productive to do.
"John, I'm going to get groceries," she called.
"Mmmpphhhrrm," he called back from the bedroom, likely with his face buried in a pillow.
As she made her way down the sidewalk, she unfolded the note. As she read it, she flipped it over, trying to find a name. There was only an address.
She went anyways, of course. Sherlock Holmes had tried to kill her the first time they spoke, though it hadn't quite been the first time they'd met, and she trusted him completely.
The address belonged to an empty office building. There were still a few desks left, and she came across a single chair lying on its side. All the rooms were nearly the same, with the exception of one room. There was a suitcase in the corner and an air mattress on the floor poking out from behind the desk.
She knew in an instant who it was. The room was empty, but it smelled like him. It smelled like Jim.
She turned around, closed the door, and marched angrily out of the building, not stopping until she reached a slightly sleep-mused Sherlock drinking his morning coffee. "Why?" she asked simply.
"I thought you might appreciate it. There was also the chance that you'd hate it entirely, but I thought I'd risk it. Was he there?"
"No. Probably out. But Holmes, I already saw him. I didn't need you to do that for me."
"You did?"
She smiled softly. "You're surprised I came back too."
"A bit."
She sighed heavily and sat down beside him, leaning against him just a bit. "Sherlock, I love him."
"John?" She could feel his eyes on her. He was steady. He didn't melt into her like John did. He was like a tree in the park. There was something rooted about him.
"Yes."
"And Moriarty?"
"Honestly? I don't know yet. I don't know what he wants. I don't know if he needs me. We were a team. When I lost Jim, I found John. Who does Jim have now?" She finally looked up at him and found his eyes as steady as the rest of him.
"He doesn't deserve someone," he replied flatly. There was no venom. He stated it as a simple fact.
"Neither did I."
He was silent for a moment, then he looked hesitant. He reached out slowly, laying a hand across her knee with a light pat, an attempt at comfort. He then dissolved into deep, rumbling chuckles. "I'm sorry."
"You tried, at least."
"We're a mess."
"Aren't we just?"
"Maybe Moriarty just needs a good dose of John."
Sebastia looked thoughtful, and when Sherlock saw that look he leaned away and began shaking his head.
"No. No. We are not all living together like some bloody comedy on crap telly," Sherlock said, his laughter starting up again.
She sighed. "Yes, I know. But still, he may need me."
"I'm sure he does."
"But I still need John."
"Don't we all."
"You know, I should probably actually go get groceries," Sebastia said. "I told John I would."
"Actually, he went out to get groceries because every time you say you're getting groceries you come back with bloody knuckles and every time you say you're going to the pub you come back drunk with groceries."
Sebastia groaned. "Fine. I'm making a cake, then."
Someone else reached for the same apple John did. He pulled his hand back and began to mumble an apology when his eyes finally reached the man's face. He took a step back and let out a gasp, almost dropping his basket.
"You," he hissed.
"Oh, hello, Johnny Boy," Jim replied nonchalantly.
"What are you doing? What are you plotting? You might as well just tell me; Sherlock's got it halfway figured out already," John snipped.
Jim laughed. "If he had it figured out, why would I need to tell you? Besides, I'm not planning anything."
"No one puts their face on every screen in the city if they're not planning something. Besides, there's arsenic in your cart, you snake."
Jim glanced down. "So there is. Don't you worry about that. It's irrelevant." He turned to leave, but John spoke before he could take a step.
"Leave her alone."
Jim turned around slowly, and his gaze had gone from nonchalant to sinister. "She's not yours."
"She's not yours either."
Jim glared at him for a moment longer, then turned and marched away. John stood beside the apples fuming silently. He was seriously contemplating killing Jim Moriarty.
