A/N: So I know I've been gone for a while but this chapter is actually insanely long so hopefully you can see why it took so long to write! It's got angst and depressing thoughts, as well as sex and adorable-John; I guess you could say this one chapter contains pretty much all the elements of this 'second era' of the fic all wrapped up into one! Enjoy!
Laura heaved a heavy sigh as her muscles relaxed and she slumped forward onto Sherlock. She felt impossibly dense, weighted down by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and she hardly even noticed the odd rush of liquid within her followed the desperate groan that ripped from Sherlock's lips a moment later. She was in a daze, overwhelmed by a pleasure far more intense than anything she'd ever experienced before, and Laura wanted nothing more to remain suspended in this lethargic heaven forever.
But Sherlock shifted and she was forced to adjust, her hands falling from his wild halo of black curls as he turned his head to glance across the room. Laura draped her arms around his shoulders instead, then lazily followed his gaze as she drowsily wondered what could have possibly caught his interest.
The table was surprisingly clean from her morning of housekeeping, but as Laura scanned the kitchen table she caught sight of John's favorite mug on the far end of the table.
The sight of one of the few objects that John had ever attributed any sentimental value to brought a queasiness to her stomach and a shortness to her breath. The mug was stained, she noticed, and Laura felt as if she'd been punched in the gut as she realized that now, after what she'd just done, her own relationship with John was stained as well.
In fact, Laura realized with increasing disgust, her thoughts during her encounter with Sherlock had been even more shaming than her actions. She'd wanted to control Sherlock like some kind of animal, some sort of inferior being, and that perverse desire brought on more self-loathing than Laura thought it was possible to experience. In her relationship with John she'd always felt like an equal, but with Sherlock she'd felt so helpless that she'd rebelled in the form of seeking to control him in a rather terrifying manner.
The helplessness she'd felt with Sebastian had led her to self-harm and even a nearly successful suicide attempt, and now the lack of control she'd felt with Sherlock had brought out a darkness in her that was eerily similar to the very monster she'd hated and feared since the age of sixteen.
Laura had wanted passion, she'd wanted heat, and for some reason she'd looked for it in the worst place imaginable: in the alluring promises of a high-functioning sociopath. She didn't understand why she'd done what she had; she's always found Sherlock fascinating, but couldn't' remember ever actually deciding for herself that he was someone she wanted. He had simply arrived, pushed himself into her mind and then firmly planted himself there with no sign of ever leaving.
Laura had never wanted to become someone like Sebastian—someone who forcefully controlled others because they possessed no real control of their own situation. But being with Sherlock, falling under his spell and allowing herself to give into him, had made her into that person. She was now no better than the very creature she'd hated and despised for so long, the very person who'd ruined her life, and now Laura felt as if she had no choice but to hate herself as well.
Sherlock turned back to her, pressing his nose against her neck, and his fingers were soft and gentle as they carefully explored her hip. For the first time Laura found herself wondering if she'd misjudged Sherlock; perhaps sex wasn't all he'd wanted from her. It seemed as if he honestly did enjoy touching her, smelling her, being close to her.
But when she glanced over his head and caught sight of the lonely mug on the table, Laura knew it didn't matter how kind and sincere Sherlock was deep down—this was wrong and it had to stop, here and now.
Laura gripped Sherlock's arm as tightly as she could, ignoring the way her fingers still trembled as she pushed him away with as much force as she could muster.
"Stop," she told him, her voice more desperate than strong as he gaped at her in bewilderment. He looked as if he might step forward again, might drown her resolve in another embrace that would be far harder to deny, so Laura leapt down from the sink and quickly moved away from him.
"Stay away from me," she cried rather hysterically as he stood before her naked and confused. The full force of what she'd done, of what she'd been doing for weeks now, hit Laura with all the strength and chaos of a derailed train. She felt as if her lungs had shriveled up into unhelpful little raisins and she couldn't breathe, she was choking, she was going to die. Sherlock had killed her.
Tears now inexplicably flowed from her eyes as she shoved her arms into her shirtsleeves and haplessly buttoned her blouse. She was shaking with fear and guilt and self-loathing and she felt as if she might vomit at any moment and she had to get away from him.
Laura shoved her underwear into her purse as soon as she'd pulled on her skirt and pushed her feet into her shoes, and she fought to get air into her raisin-lungs as she hurried from the flat and all but tumbled down the stairs. She burst out onto the street and threw herself into the first cab she saw, not bothering to apologize to the startled man she'd stolen the taxi from. The moment after she'd blubbered her address to the cabbie, she curled up in the backseat and shamelessly sobbed into the leather cushions.
Laura clutched a mug of steaming tea in her slightly shaking hands as she sat with her legs folded in the middle of her unmade bed. Her damp hair slowly increased in fizziness around her shoulders, and her skin still felt chilled and clammy from the cruelly cold shower she'd cried through upon arriving home.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been home, how many hours had passed since that hateful scene. She also didn't have a clue exactly how many cups of tea she'd had, as she mindlessly wandered into the kitchen to refill her mug whenever her tea supply ran low.
Of course, Laura hadn't even begun her chain-drinking immediately upon arriving home. She'd had a sort of mental breakdown when she'd stumbled into her flat and had suddenly realized that she and Sherlock hadn't used protection. She hadn't been concerned about infections or diseases seeing as she doubted Sherlock a) had had enough sexual encounters to develop an STD or b) would allow his body to go without treatment for any sort of illness.
No, what had shocked and terrified Laura was the prospect of conceiving Sherlock Holmes' baby and having to deal with the impossible consequences, choices, and responsibilities that would stem from such a horrific turn of events. She'd come to the realization while standing on her own two feet, but had found herself on her back on her living room floor a moment later as the repercussions of her mistake just continued to surface and pulled her farther down with every moment that passed.
Laura had desperately told herself that she didn't need to worry, that one unprotected fuck wasn't going to make her a mother. And although Laura knew that that sort of thing happened all the time to women who'd made far fewer mistakes in life than she had, it was the one and only lie Laura had ever honestly managed to hold onto. Because she knew that if she didn't let herself believe it, if she didn't clutch onto it for dear life, then she'd quickly end up on the same dead-end road her experience with Sebastian had pulled her towards.
So Laura had picked herself up, pulled herself together, and started making tea. Because Laura Adler was not going to give up this time; she was going to endure when her life shattered around her, just as she always had, then tape herself back together and just keep on going. Damaged goods or not, she would persevere.
Around six o'clock that evening Laura finally pulled herself back into the bathroom for another, kinder shower. She used warm water this time, and gently washed her skin instead of violently scraping at it the way she had earlier that day. She carefully ran a brush through her hair as she forced herself to stare into her steamy reflection, and dabbed concealer underneath her eyes to downplay the puffy redness that still hadn't completely faded.
She arrived at the restaurant early just to avoid having to watch John smile at her as she approached the table; this way she could keep her eyes focused on the busy street beyond the window and only look up at him when he lowered himself into his seat and it became impossible for her to pretend that she hadn't noticed his approach.
Laura smiled at him when she finally did look at him, and John smiled back once he accepted the menu their waiter handed him.
"I noticed you weren't at the flat when I got home this afternoon; I thought we'd decided to walk over here together?" he said as he unrolled his utensils from his napkin, and Laura couldn't help but see an accusation hidden in his question. He didn't know, she told herself. He couldn't know. There was no way. He was just making small talk. Nothing more.
"Oh, I left half of a manuscript back at my apartment so I just went back home to finish working on it; I figured you could brave the dangerous streets of London without me by your side, but clearly I'd misjudged you," she told him, adding a playful smile to her teasing words as she reached forward to brush her fingers along the back of his knuckles. She tried her best not to feel too guilty about using Sherlock's skills of deception to dupe John. But she had to do what was necessary to keep them all from tipping over this ledge they'd somehow ended up precariously perched upon.
John's brow slightly creased and Laura felt her stomach drop.
"Alright," he said a second later, offering her a nod with a trusting smile. But Laura knew he didn't believe her, that now he was lying too in an attempt to give her a false sense of security.
But how had he known? Laura knew she couldn't have been that shabby of a liar, especially with so much at stake; the only thing that would make John doubt her was if he had solid proof of his own.
Laura held back a frustrated sigh of self-loathing as she realized that of all the excuses she could have chosen, she'd picked the one that had confirmed her dishonesty. She'd left the manuscript on the kitchen table, pens and briefcase and all, when she'd left 221B in a rush. So John knew without a doubt that she was lying about her reasons for not being at the flat …but he'd chosen not to confront her about it.
Laura didn't quite understand what could possibly be going on inside John' head, but she endeavored to keep the conversation away from the topic of her deception and behave as normally as possible to make up for her blunder.
They shared a rather uneventful meal, the two of them laughing and joking the same way they always had. And yet there was a distinct undertone of unmentioned tension, a sort of elephant in the room—and a bloody big one at that. She knew John could tell there was something off, and when their waiter left carrying their empty dessert plates he finally ceased skirting around the issue.
"Laura, is everything alright with you?" he asked, leaning forward ever so slightly as his brow creased with worry, and Laura was momentarily taken aback by his gentle, honest concern. Sherlock had never looked at her like that—no one had ever looked at her like that, no one but John.
God, how had she been so stupid? Here she was having to lie to the most wonderful man she'd ever encountered just because…Laura still didn't even know why she'd done what she had. But she did know that it was over and that John could never know. She could never reveal the truth and hurt him like that—not any more than she already had.
"Nothing's wrong," she told him with a slight frown, ensuring that her response would make him doubt his obvious certainty that she was in some sort of danger. "Everything's fine, John," she promised with a soft smile, reaching forward to slide her hand into his and slowly running her thumb over the inside of his wrist.
His tongue peaked out between his lips as he watched her thumb, and his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly in question.
"Is Sherlock home?" she asked softly, mentally patting herself on the back when she succeeded in making it clear that she was asking to see if the apartment was empty rather than because of any interest in the detective.
"I haven't seen him all day," John told her, his voice drifting off as he watched her fingers push beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve and gently trace circles along his forearm.
"We should go back to your place then," she told him, letting her nails slightly graze his skin.
Laura needed John to agree to go back to 221B. She wanted to erase the memory of what she'd done with Sherlock, to burn it away with acid if she had to. The only way she'd been able to think of was to replace her recollection of being with Sherlock with the experience of having sex with John. She knew it didn't really make all that much sense, but at this point Laura was willing to do anything to get Sherlock out of her mind once and for all and go back to those blissful days when John was all she knew and ever wanted to know.
"Ok," John said breathlessly, and when he smiled at her she wished she could smile back with a light heart instead of one weighted down with guilt.
Laura pushed John down into his maroon leather armchair the moment he'd shrugged off his jacket, and he let out a startled grunt that quickly morphed into a pleased groan when she climbed onto his lap and began attacking him with kisses. She slid her hands into his hair and pushed herself hard against him, letting out a small sigh of her own when his hands squeezed into her ass and her hips began to push forward into him.
Laura frantically un-tucked her blouse and undid the buttons with eager fingers, shucking her shirt even as John's hands came forward to work at the front-clasp of her bra. He fondled her breasts and sucked at her neck even as she endeavored to pull open his shirt, but after a few seconds without success she decided that the buttons were taking too long and she needed him now.
So Laura abandoned her efforts to undress him and instead climbed off of him. She quickly removed her underwear, tossing the fabric to the side as she released her hair from of its carefully crafted bun with her free hand. John stared at her in shock, his chest heaving and his mouth agape, and she felt a surge of want as she noted the lovely bulge in his trousers. Laura looked back up at his face, at those kind dark blue eyes, and she kept her gaze focused there and not on that dreadful kitchen as she hiked up her skirt and returned to his lap.
"Christ, Laura, what's gotten into you?" John panted as she tugged at his belt and skillfully undid his trousers. He looked quite eager to see what she'd do next, but also a bit terrified by her sudden disregard for the rambunctious but loving foreplay they'd once so enjoyed. Laura could hardly believe it, but it seemed as if even now, even as she worked so hard to put things right, these hateful changes Sherlock had brought about in her still got in the way.
She slowly dragged her tongue along her palm, loving the way John's eyes widened, before she reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock. As Laura listened to the slight hitch in his breathing, she decided to focus on bringing John back to her and returning herself to John. Even if they could never be what they once were, they could at least be together as they made their way into this brave new world.
John let out a hungry groan when she let her thumb trace over the head of his cock, his bewildered question forgotten as she kissed at his neck. She continued to stroke him until she could feel the full and hard length of him heavy in her palm, and a distinct yearning deep within herself.
John's hands were on her thighs now, pushing her skirt higher until he could easily push his fingers between her legs, and Laura sucked in a gasp when John began tracing caressing circles around her clitoris even as she stroked at his cock. She reached forward to grip onto the back of the chair with one hand and pushed her face harder into his neck, scooting forward to move even closer to him.
John was so good to her, always had been, and dear God she loved him so much, she needed him so much. She'd been so stupid, abandoning him the way she had, and now all she wanted was to have him back. And here he was, hot and slick in her palm even as she leaked all over his fingers. She had him and he had her.
John's other hand reached behind her and cupped her ass, his fingers pushing into her to lift her up until she kneeled in the perfect position to lower herself down over his cock. Laura pulled her face away from John's neck as he penetrated her, and she leaned her head back to take in a heavy gasp as she pushed him into her. She began to rock into him, biting down on her lip as she shifted until she found that perfect angle that sent the level of pleasure spiking and made her grip tighten on the back of the chair.
Laura quickened her thrusts, desperately pushing her hips forward even as John's hands on her ass pulled her into him with every thrust she gave. John's fingers dug into her flesh as he jerked her into him with more force, and she arched her spine to push her chest harder against his. John was rougher than normal as he pulled her into him, and Laura forced herself not to think of Sherlock, of the way she'd encouraged him to fuck her like the animal in her dream.
Desperate to get Sherlock out of her head, Laura pushed harder into John as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. John gripped onto the chair's arm rests, and she cried out as he began to lift his hips off the seat with every thrust. Laura leaned away from him as she bounced up and down on his lap, clutching the back of the leather chair with a slippery hand as she pulled him towards her.
"Come on, John," she encouraged in a loud, breathless voice, wanting to see just how hard he could push into her. John gave a rough grunt as his hips bucked upwards with enough strength to send the two of them tumbling to the ground, and she cried out in surprised delight as they crashed to the floor.
"Don't stop," she begged once she regained the breath that had been knocked from her lungs, and she wrapped her legs around John to hold him in place. She needed him to keep going—they couldn't give up now. If they didn't finish this, there was no telling how long Laura would have to endure the plague of thoughts of Sherlock. This was her only solution, her only hope, and it had to work.
"Harder, John," she whimpered, despite the fact that he already pounded into her with more force than he'd ever used before. He stared down at her in bewildered confusion, his face flushed and clouded with obvious desire even as his darkened eyes remained sincere.
"I don't want to hurt you," he panted in a wavering voice, and she glared up at him. She needed him to hurt her, to destroy her, to completely pulverize her—to do anything that would eclipse the memory of her time spent with Sherlock. Surely pain was more memorable than pleasure? A stab to the eyeball clearer in the mind than a kiss on the cheek?
"Dammit John," she growled, digging her heels into his ass, and he hesitated for just another moment with a fleeting look of concern before he ducked his head and let out series of deep, quick grunts as he began to furiously ram into her.
Laura's eyes clenched shut and her fingers dug into his back as her mind was flooded with a mix of throbbing pain and pleasure, and she knew it would be over soon as John let out a shout out and each of her own desperate cries was cut short by a hitch in her breath. It still felt good, so good—bloody amazing, really—to have John fuck her with so much determination, so much strength. But even as the tension within her continued to rise in that wonderfully suspenseful way that almost drowned out the pain, Laura knew it wasn't right.
She dug her nails into John's back and outright screamed as she came, her spine arching upwards and her eyes rolling back, and John let out a loud halting shout as he exploded inside of her a few moments later.
As her pleasant high faded, Laura couldn't shake the knowledge that while she had orgasmed, it hadn't been that wonderful feeling of loving release she'd felt with John in the past. It had been tainted, mutated by the way she'd forced a change in order to try and avoid the consequences of her time with Sherlock.
Laura felt her throat tighten and her eyes began to sting as she lay on her back and came to the realization that she really had ruined the single greatest thing she'd ever had—and all because she hadn't been able to resist Sherlock's advances. She'd ruined everything, thrown it all away, smashed it all to pieces, and now she could never get it back.
She'd ruined her relationship with John and now she had nothing.
"Oh God Laura, don't cry; I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," she heard John murmur, his voice strained with worry, and she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with an expression clouded with guilt and self-loathing. He reached down to wipe away one of her tears, his thumb grazing her cheek as he repeated his heart-felt apology.
Laura felt as if she might be sick; John thought she was crying because he'd hurt her.
Laura didn't deserve him. Not even a little.
"It's alright John," she told him, her voice tight and her head throbbing. How could she have done this to him, have put him in this position? She couldn't possible let him go on thinking that this was his fault, that he'd done anything wrong.
He was perfect, had put her first at every turn. She was a fiend, the worst woman to ever walk the earth.
"No it isn't," he told her with conviction, and she briefly let her eyes fall shut as she searched for the strength to go on. She should just leave now, run away and stop hurting him before it got any worse. But she was too weak, too selfish, and so she stayed.
"That isn't why I'm crying," she told him without opening her eyes. She didn't want to keep watching the way she was ruining him. She just wanted it all to stop.
"Then what's wrong?" John asked, and Laura wondered if she could manage to hold her breath until she passed out and could just sleep forever. That sounded nice. But no, John was a doctor. He'd save her, he'd bring her back to life, and then she'd just be back here again with the added guilt of owing him her life in more ways than one.
"You haven't been the same for the past few weeks," he added as he lightly trailed his fingers down her face, his skin dampened by the tears that just didn't want to stop falling.
John's last few words were like a sharp jab to the gut. Despite all her efforts, John had still managed to pick up on the fact that she'd changed, that things were different now. She'd wanted so badly to let him continue in blissful ignorance even if she'd had to endure the pain, but the idea that she hadn't even been able to keep him in the dark before things had gotten this bad only made her feel worse. Even before today's events her attempts to protect him, to protect herself, had failed.
"I…I can't," whispered, her voice catching on more unshed tears as she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. John stared down at her, his brow still furrowed in concern even as his face fell ever so slightly. He'd been asking her to trust him, she knew, and she'd outright refused.
But she couldn't tell him—she wouldn't do that to him, to herself, to Sherlock.
A sob exploded from her without warning, and Laura fleetingly wondered if she could actually drown in her own tears. She reached up her hands to hide her face from John, to hide everything about herself from John. God, if she wasn't so weak, so disgustingly helpless, she'd leave and take every horrid aspect of herself as far away from him as possible.
"Shh, it's alright love," John whispered as he gently pulled her hands from her face, but she still refused to look at him as he gently kissed at the backs of her fingers. She tried to control her breathing, to halt her tears, but she just wasn't strong enough.
"Come here," she heard him murmur ever so softly as he sat up to lean his back against the leather chair, and she let him pull her into him. "It's alright," he repeated, and Laura still couldn't bear to look at him as she crawled into his lap, snuggling against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. John slid an arm around her, running his fingers through her hair as she nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt.
Laura had no idea how long they sat there, the night slowly continuing on even as they sat together suspended in time. After what could have been hours or just a few minutes John placed a kiss on the crown of her head and whispered that Sherlock would be home soon. Laura was far too exhausted to even tense at the sound of the detective's name, and she supposed that her despondency had actually worked in her favor this time.
"I could use a shower," she sighed in response, leaning back to finally look up at him. He was so lovely, so beautiful, and she didn't quite understand how after all she'd done she was still lucky enough to sit huddled into his arms.
"Alright. Take as long as you need," John told her as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her face. Laura knew he wasn't just referring to the shower, but rather to the painful weight that was becoming increasingly hard to keep from him. She hated facing this storm without him, but she'd rather drown alone than bring him down to tumble beneath the waves by her side.
Laura still spent a few minutes wrapped in John's arms, taking in the feel of him so close and warm and around her. She knew he would keep her safe even as a war raged on within her that made her feel more hunted and unstable than she had in over a decade. But eventually she rose to her feet and waited for John to stand as well before he went up to his room and she retreated into the bathroom.
After a long, warm shower, Laura pulled on a t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms from one of the two drawers she'd claimed in John's room. She tried not to make too much of a disturbance as she climbed into bed beside him, but she found herself genuinely smiling at him for the first time in far too long when he sleepily leaned over to pull her into him.
She snuggled deep beneath the blankets as he held her close, and if Laura concentrated hard enough she could almost trick herself into believing that they were the only two people in the world, and that nothing else mattered because as long as she had John everything would be alright.
A/N: Whew! I wasn't kidding when I said it was a long one! Actually it's the longest chapter yet, by far. But I didn't want to divide it up and I like it as one long one.
Please let me know what you think about how Laura's handling with it all! Or you could just rant about how freaking amazing John is. Really you could say anything.
JUST SAY SOMETHING.
I MISS HEARING FROM YOU GUYS.