The beginning of this chapter has been a pain in the arse. I've re-written it so many times. So, this is what you are getting. Sorry it's not fantastic, but it wasn't behaving :(
~0~0~0~
Richard was Moriarty. Richard was Moriarty. Richard Brooks was bloody Jim Moriarty! How was that possible? Why was that possible? What the hell was Moriarty doing asking her out to dinner? Pretending to be her friend, pretending that he wanted to date her?
"Why me, though?" She asked, sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair as he stared out into the room, his fingers pointed in front of his mouth, "When I first ran into him we weren't exactly fighting to keep our hands off each other."
"When did you first meet him?" John asked her and she thought back, trying to remember what she was doing when the pretty man with the gorgeous Irish accent had bumped into her in the street.
"Err, it was on the way back from..." She groaned loudly, "Oh god, it was after bloody Adler! I bet she relayed the fact I wanted you back to him!" She rubbed her eyes. Great, Irene Adler yet again!
"So, he was going to use you to get to Sherlock?" John asked, looking at the detective for confirmation.
"Obviously." Sherlock muttered in reply, "He must have gotten word that I chose you over Adler. He's probably got big plans for you." She looked down at him, alarmed.
"Has big plans?" She asked, "As in, 'is still going to go through with them' sort of plans?" Sherlock nodded, standing up and heading over to John's laptop.
"He isn't going to drop them just because Scotland Yard have finally got their incompetent hands on him." He replied, "There's more to this than that. He is most likely the reason behind your real identity being posted across the newspapers."
"Why would he do that?" She exclaimed.
"Why else would he do anything?" Sherlock retorted, "Because he can. You're not to leave this flat. He's in custody, but that does not mean he hasn't got men working for him right now. If you've disobeyed him, he will come after you."
"Oh, gee, thanks Sherlock." She snapped, "Top points on the reassuring there."
"You made yourself a target when you started dating me." He called over, "You knew what you were getting into."
"Wait, we're dating?" She asked and he shot her a disbelieving look.
"Is that not the correct terminology for two people in an exclusive relationship?" He asked and she nodded.
"Well, yeah. I just didn't realise that's what you thought that's what we were." She looked at John, "Did you?"
"I don't like to think about you two doing anything." He replied, "I'm still convincing myself that he can have a relationship." Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"Anyway, back to the whole 'staying in the flat' thing." She started before Sherlock started arguing with John again, "That's all well and good until I have to go to work. Maybe if I call Mycroft, explain the situation he'll get me a car to and from the bar."
"You're not going to work." Sherlock reiterated, "You're not leaving the flat."
"I have to go to work, Sherlock." She insisted, "It's how I make a living."
"Not anymore. You handed in your resignation." She shook her head, a sinking feeling in her stomach as he didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"No I haven't." She replied shakily. He closed the lid pointedly, standing up and heading back to his chair, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other.
"You just did."
~0~0~0~
The argument could be heard down the other end of the street, John was sure of it. Unfortunately, only he could hear the aftermath of it. Did they really have to leave the door open? He didn't need to know what they were up to, especially considering he wasn't up to anything remotely similar himself. Bloody couples.
~0~0~0~
Sherlock rolled onto his side, watching Faye sleep with a smile on her face. Her roots were really showing now, the light brown it should be showing at the top of her head. With his brain still completely wired over the Moriarty problem, he was never going to get any sleep anyway, so he had found himself watching her. He gently reached over, pushing the hair off her face in time with her breathing so he could examine the faint scars on her jawline.
When I was almost 16, the boy I fancied told me I was ugly.
That was him. He'd been aware for years before she'd disappeared that she had fancied him, but he couldn't remember saying anything of the sort to her. He wouldn't have, she had never been anything that could have been considered ugly. Awkward, maybe. As a teenager she developed quicker than she bought clothes so sometimes her tops were a bit too tight. And she'd had to wear them ridiculous braces for nine months when they were 13. She'd been loud, annoying at times, and she'd insisted on following around for so long that he'd given up trying to shake her off. The day she'd disappeared had been one of the worst he'd ever lived through. Until John, she had been the sole reason he'd never let anyone in. Mycroft always had a field day with that, and yet he'd kept her to himself. He still didn't understand the motivation around that, but one thing at a time.
He wasn't about to let anyone take Mary off him again. He'd do anything to keep her safe, even if that meant ensuring she never left the flat again. He placed his lips against hers, slowly moving them and encouraging her to wake up and respond.
"Sherlock." She groaned with a yawn, "I need some sleep."
"Sleeps boring." He scolded, rolling her on top of him so she was straddling his waist, "You, on the other hand, are very stimulating." She rolled her eyes and leant down to brush her lips against his.
"I'm glad you're really getting into this caring for other humans business," She told him, "But I just don't think I can keep up with you." He wrapped his fingers in her hair, his fingers playing with her scalp just like he knew she liked as he gently kept her in place.
"You can, Mary." He replied huskily, "My Mary. My beautiful," he placed a kiss on her lips, "sexy," kiss, "my Mary." He locked eyes with her to see her wide-eyed and looking almost scared, "Kiss me, Mary." The way he'd begged her, the way her old name rolled off his tongue had her slamming her lips onto his. He smirked; step one complete.
~0~0~0~
Moriarty was found Not Guilty. Then again, Sherlock knew that was going to happen. That's why he'd left John to watch the outcome of the trial on his own and had stayed in the flat with Faye. John had rung him, confused at the verdict, but as he had known better he'd prepared for the arrival of their guest. Faye watched him make a pot of tea, carrying it along with a milk jug and sugar bowl to John's chair, placing it down next to it before picking up his violin, heading to the window.
"Sherlock?" She called over from behind John's laptop, "What's the tea for?" He didn't look at her, instead starting playing the violin as he kept an eye on the street outside.
"You should go have a lie down." He told her and she frowned, standing up.
"I'm sorry?" She asked as the door downstairs opened. She looked towards the door, "That can't be John already, can it?"
"No, it can't." He agreed, "Go to the bedroom."
"No!" She protested, "I'm not a child, what the hell is going on?" There was slow footsteps heading towards them and she gasped, "Sherlock, who is that?" She asked him, although she suspected she knew who it was. He kept playing and she headed towards him, "Sherlock, please talk to me." He'd convinced her to barely leave the flat unless both he and John were there with her, he'd quit her job for her because of the man she knew was coming into the flat. Why wasn't he doing anything?
"Go to the bedroom." He told her firmly again.
"Yes, go to the bedroom Mary." She tensed and turned around slowly to see Moriarty stood in the doorway, a smug smirk on his lips, "I'm sure we can both join you later."