35.

"She's left," John fumed, storming into the living room and slamming the door behind him before dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. Sherlock was there, wearing his dressing gown and safety goggles. He held an eyeball with tweezers in one hand, holding a lit blowtorch in the other; John didn't question him. "Mary – she's – she's only gone and bloody left work! She's quit her job . . . after everything – I thought we were adults, we could've coexisted in the same surgery. It wasn't enough to break my heart apparently, no, Mary Morstan had to take it one step further and quit her job." John took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looked up at Sherlock. The detective hadn't looked away from whatever he was doing. "I'm sorry, are you too busy to listen to me?"

"Mmm," Sherlock said. John rolled his eyes. "Just occupying myself . . . sometimes it's so hard not smoking." He'd been desperate for a cigarette for days, especially since Elspeth had caught him about to have one and snatched it from him. The shops wouldn't serve him – Sherlock was certain Elspeth had something to do with that – and Mrs Hudson refused to fetch some for him. The eyeball slipped from Sherlock's tweezers suddenly, falling into his cup of tea. "Oh."

"Sherlock, I am pouring my heart out to you right now and you're focusing on an eyeball . . . who's is it, anyway?"

"No one you know," Sherlock muttered, which meant he'd taken it from the morgue when Molly wasn't looking. John knew that from experience. "Sorry, were you saying something?"

John tried not to take it personally; Sherlock never listened to anyone. "Mary has quit her job," he said. "I went in this morning and found out from the new receptionist . . . I guess she didn't want to see me anymore." He grimaced, calmer but still upset. "I thought we could be mature about the whole . . . situation, but apparently not."

"Oh." Sherlock paused, his eyes flickering around the room uncertainly. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't," John said with a small smile, trying not to laugh at Sherlock's lack of understanding. He was making the effort to help, though. He ran a hand down his face. "I just want to forget everything for a night – we could go out, you know," he added thoughtfully. "You, me, a couple of beers. Sounds like fun, right?" Sherlock didn't look that convinced, but John continued anyway. "I honestly couldn't imagine anything better – a couple of drinks with my best friend –"

"Best friend," Sherlock repeated. John looked up at him. Narrowing his eyes and swallowing as though there was something lodged in his throat, Sherlock stared at John for a long time, silent and unmoving. No one had ever called him their best friend before. Very few people called him a friend, so for John to bestow such a title on him was astounding – Sherlock couldn't wrap his head around it. He continued to stare at John. Best friend. It was a casual phrase and people threw it around, but for Sherlock, it meant a whole lot more because he knew that John really meant it. They were best friends. "So . . . you mean I'm your . . . best friend?"

John smiled at Sherlock, then realised he was being completely serious. He'd never told Sherlock that before. "Yeah, of course you are," he said. "Of course you're my best friend."

Sherlock's eyes didn't waver from John as he lifted his cup, raising it to his mouth absent mindedly, and John watched with interest when he took a long slurp from it. The eyeball was still in the cup.

"That," Sherlock said, watching as the forgotten eyeball popped to the surface of the tea. "was surprisingly ok."

"All I'm saying is that a note would've been nice," Elspeth said, trailing after Moriarty when he walked to his bedroom. "I came home and you were just gone – it's been days now, and I still don't know where you went!" She sighed in exasperation, standing in the doorway and watching him open his wardrobe. "Are you going to tell me, then? Where you disappeared to?"

"Nope," Moriarty said. He picked up a shirt and held it against himself for a moment, then put it back, choosing another. Elspeth glowered at him. "Don't look at me like that, Ellie, it's for your own good and you know it."

Unconvinced, Elspeth strolled into the room and sat down on Moriarty's bed, crossing her legs. She watched him go through his wardrobe, amazed at how clean and organised it was, and realised that they still had separate rooms. They were a couple, they were meant to share a room – weren't they? Moriarty spent a lot of time in Elspeth's room anyway, usually to sleep in the same bed as her because it was hard for her to sleep alone, but they'd never combined the rooms together. Elspeth couldn't imagine their clothes in the same wardrobe, or her make up amongst his hair products, or feminine bedsheets on Moriarty's double bed. She was too messy; he was too organised. They'd get on each other's nerves. Elspeth could tell she was irritating Moriarty a little by messing up his bed even though he'd just made it.

"You know, sometimes it feels like you're keeping secrets from me," Elspeth said lightly. She shifted a little, watching Moriarty unbutton the front of his shirt. "Ooh, are you giving me a strip tease now? Because you know, I'm up for it but I'm still pissed at you."

Moriarty rolled his eyes, throwing his shirt at Elspeth. "We're going out for lunch, remember?"

"Wait, what?" Elspeth held Moriarty's shirt on her lap, gently smoothing it out and folding it. "Since when were we going to lunch? See, this is what I mean, Jim – you never tell me anything!"

"I told you last week," Moriarty retorted.

Her cheeks turning pink, Elspeth realised that he had told her last week. "Yeah, well, I've had a lot going on," she said defensively, shifting uncomfortably under Moriarty's critical gaze. "I have – and I would tell you what those things are, but you've taken off your shirt and that's actually very distracting for me. Seriously, either put another damn shirt on or get your butt over here right now."

Laughing, Moriarty sauntered forwards and kissed Elspeth. "As much as I would love to spend the day in bed with you, we really don't have time," he said. "Janine is expecting us soon, and you still need to get changed."

"Oh, so now I'm suddenly not good enough for you?" Elspeth demanded. The mood change took them both by surprise – Elspeth especially. She hadn't expected to be so pissed off by Moriarty's remark, but she couldn't stop herself from continuing. "I – I have to look perfect to go out for lunch with Jim Moriarty. I mean, what was I thinking? Wearing jeans in your presence? Jeez, I'm such an idiot." Moriarty started to protest, but Elspeth scrambled up from the bed, throwing her arms in the air. "No, no, it's fine. I'll go get changed, I'll put something suitable for you on – or do you want to do a check of my wardrobe and pick something out for me?" She stormed out of the room before Moriarty could stop her, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her. Elspeth frowned. She had no idea where that outburst had come from, or why she'd been so emotional at Moriarty's reminder. Elspeth bit her lip, then decided to blame her hormones. It happened sometimes.

Still, she couldn't help but feel really guilty for snapping at Moriarty for no good reason. Slowly opening her bedroom door, Elspeth shuffled back down the corridor like a child in trouble and returned to Moriarty's room. He was standing in front of his mirror, doing the buttons of his shirt up, and he looked at Elspeth's reflection as she crossed the room. Moriarty didn't move, but he relaxed when Elspeth wrapped her arms around him from behind with her forehead pressed against his back. Moriarty covered her hands with his own.

"I'm sorry," Elspeth whispered. "I'm really sorry . . . I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Don't apologise," Moriarty said. "I shouldn't have teased you like that."

Elspeth sighed. "You were just teasing, I shouldn't have snapped at you," she said, taking her arms away so Moriarty could turn and face her. She focused on the top button of the shirt he'd put on. "I'm just . . . I don't know, I'm super hormonal at the moment, it happens sometimes. Sorry." Her cheeks turning pink, Elspeth bit her lip and lifted her eyes to meet Moriarty's. Her hormones weren't something she liked to talk to him about. "Do you want to come help me pick something to wear?"

"Promise you won't snap at me again?" Moriarty asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. Elspeth glowered at him. "Just teasing. Come on."

He took Elspeth's hand in her own, taking her to her room and opening her wardrobe. Normally Elspeth would've thought of that as someone invading her privacy, but she trusted Moriarty and she didn't mind him looking through her clothes the way he was. She trusted him. A lot – Elspeth never let Sherlock go through her possessions, she realised, sitting on her bed and crossing her legs like she had done in Moriarty's room. Gladstone wandered into the bedroom and sat by Moriarty's feet, looking up at him. Elspeth liked watching Moriarty. When he was thinking, Moriarty's forehead creased a little from where his eyebrows pulled together, and he often talked under his breath without realising it. She recognised all his little mannerisms just as he did hers, and Elspeth thought that he was kind of cute. She then realised she'd just called Jim Moriarty cute.

"Jim," Elspeth said slowly. Moriarty glanced at her over his shoulder. "What would you say if I called you cute?"

"I'd agree with you whole heartedly."

"What if I told you I didn't think you were cute?"

Moriarty smirked. "You can try, but I'm never going to believe you," he told her. Elspeth grinned back. "Well, are you going to get changed or what?"

"You are so rude sometimes," Elspeth grumbled, snatching the dress Moriarty held out and pretending to glower at him. She got changed while Moriarty made a few last minute adjustments to his hair – he was so vain sometimes – and gently pushed him aside so she could reach her jewellery box, taking out her locket from Sherlock and the ring Moriarty had given her for Christmas. She didn't wear it as much as she liked to because she was constantly with Sherlock, and he would suspect something if Elspeth suddenly began to wear a Claddagh ring for no apparent reason, so the ring felt rather cold against Elspeth's finger. She admired it for a few seconds, smiling when Moriarty wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his head on her shoulder.

"It suits you," he said. He turned to kiss her cheek gently, and Elspeth closed her eyes. "Get your shoes on, we really do need to go." Moriarty kissed her cheek again, then let go and left the room. Gladstone followed him. Elspeth sighed.

"Guess we're going then," she muttered. She put her locket on, doing the clasp up at the back, and felt it rest against her collarbone as she reached for her smartest shoes, a simple pair of black pumps that went with everything. Glancing in the mirror, Elspeth couldn't help but grimace at her reflection; she felt like a child playing dress up in her mother's clothes despite the dress being her own. All the lies and deception were catching up on her, and Elspeth was exhausted keeping Moriarty a secret from Sherlock and John. She was even a little reluctant to go for lunch, worried that they might be seen. Dismissing the thought, Elspeth tied her hair back into a messy bun and joined Moriarty in the living room, where he was waiting for her.

"Beautiful," Moriarty murmured, taking Elspeth's hand and kissing the back of it. He didn't let go of her hand when they left, weaving his fingers through hers, and Elspeth walked as close to him as she could with her head ducked.

The journey to the restaurant was quiet. Moriarty kept hold of Elspeth's hand throughout the entire time, releasing her only to open the taxi door, and they entered the restaurant hand in hand. It was posh, the sort of place that Mycroft would visit for lunch, and Janine was sitting at a table in the centre. She wasn't alone.

"Hi," Janine said brightly, standing up to hug Moriarty and Elspeth. "You don't mind if Victor joins us for lunch, do you?"

"No, of course not," Moriarty said. He was a good actor; Elspeth was almost convinced. Victor smirked back, shook Moriarty's hand, and then bent down to kiss Elspeth on the cheek. She stiffened, resisting the urge to turn away when Victor put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his lips brushing against her cheek for a second.

"Always nice to see you, Ellie," Victor said with a gleam in his eyes. He sat back down next to Janine, draping one arm over the back of her chair and watching Moriarty pull a chair out for Elspeth. "I heard you were in a bit of an incident involving a fire – I hope you weren't hurt at all." The look in his eyes suggested that Victor didn't mean a word he'd said, and Elspeth felt Moriarty's hand tighten on hers under the table. Janine didn't know about the issues with Magnussen because he was her boss, and Moriarty didn't want to get her into trouble by involving her in something that didn't concern her.

"No," Elspeth said. "No, I wasn't hurt too badly."

"Thank goodness," Moriarty muttered, brushing his thumb against Elspeth's knuckles before lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it like he had done earlier. Elspeth wondered if he was being affectionate because of her strange behaviour that morning – not that she minded, of course. "How's work, Janine?"

Janine sighed. "Oh, you know," she said. "Magnussen's a bit of a slave driver, but the money's good so I'm not complaining. Plus he's given me a couple of hours off for lunch today."

"How nice of him," Moriarty said. Elspeth gave him a sideways glance, but didn't say anything as the waiter approached the table to take their drinks orders. Victor suggested a bottle of champagne, much to Janine's delight, but Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "A little much, don't you think?"

"What can I say? I like the finer things in life," Victor drawled. "I'm sure Ellie wouldn't mind a glass of champagne."

"I'll stick to water, thanks," Elspeth said, her nose screwed up. The thought of champagne – or alcohol of any kind – made her stomach clench uncomfortably. She'd been feeling ill for a couple of days now, and though she knew it wasn't anything to worry about, Elspeth was more than happy to stick to her glass of water. It took her a little longer to choose her lunch because the thought of most of it made her feel slightly nauseated, so she finally decided on ordering a salad like Janine had.

"Please tell me you aren't watching your weight," Janine said, grinning at Elspeth with a devilish gleam in her eyes that was identical to Moriarty's. "You're tiny, I would give anything to be your size!"

"Really?" Elspeth asked, bemused. Janine wasn't that much bigger than her. She was much softer than Elspeth, who was made up of sharp lines and angles, and had an enviably curvy waist that was accentuated by the tight fitting blouse she wore. "I guess I just take after my Dad, he's super skinny."

"He's always been like that," Victor said. "You should've seen him at University – you would've thought he deliberately starved himself, he was that skinny."

"Falling into bad habits with friends tend to encourage rapid weight loss too, I've read," Elspeth said. Victor smirked at her.

"You may look like Sherlock, but you sound just like Catherine."

Moriarty's hand tightened on Elspeth's, but she didn't say anything to Victor. As much as she'd spoken to him about Sherlock, Moriarty couldn't recall a time Elspeth willingly opened up about her absent mother, so he knew that Victor had crossed the line by mentioning her. Sipping her water, Elspeth pretended that she wasn't bothered by Victor's snide remark and forced a smile out when she met Moriarty's eyes; he wasn't convinced. Janine either remained blissfully ignorant to the tension at the table, or was skilfully covering it up with her chatter about her work. Victor looked as though he was interested in what she had to say, but every so often, his eyes would flicker across the table and he would smirk at Elspeth. She glared back at him.

"Ooh, food's here," Janine said happily. "I still can't believe you ordered a salad, Ellie."

Elspeth gave her a wry grin. "I like salads. Plus I don't think I can stomach much else," she admitted, her grin fading a little. Janine raised an eyebrow and gave Elspeth a knowing smirk that she didn't quite understand. They were halfway through their meals when Elspeth's phone rang in her pocket. "Oh . . . sorry, I've really got to take this – excuse me." Grimacing apologetically, Elspeth got up from the table and walked towards the door, holding the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Ellie, I need –"

"Wait, hold on, I can't hear you," Elspeth said. She ducked out of the restaurant. "Ok, go."

"I need your assistance," Sherlock said. Elspeth frowned. "John and I are going out tonight for –" he paused, and Elspeth could just imagine him grimacing when he continued. "– a couple of drinks, but the purpose of tonight is to allow John to forget about Mary and I was under the impression that friends often go on pub crawls –"

"Hang on," Elspeth interrupted, trying to wrap her head around the absurdity of the situation. "You . . . you and John are going out tonight to drink? You are going to drink alcohol?"

"Yes, Ellie, we are going to drink alcohol." Sherlock didn't bother to disguise his exasperation. "As I was saying, I was under the impression that friends often go on pub crawls – themed ones."

"You do know what a pub crawl is, don't you?" Elspeth asked. Sherlock started to protest. "Alright, alright, I'm just teasing you. Jeez. I still can't believe you're going out . . . ok, if you are dead set on going on a themed pub crawl, a lot of people go for Underground stations. It's quick, easy, convenient –"

"Lacks the personal touch."

Elspeth frowned. "Well if you want something personal, why don't you have a drink on every street you found a body?" she suggested sarcastically. "Can't get much more personal than finding a corpse together."

"Brilliant idea," Sherlock said. He hung up before Elspeth could tell him she wasn't being serious, and she was left staring at the phone in her hand incredulously. Sherlock and John were going out on a pub crawl. Unbelievable.

"Are you coming back in or what?"

"Piss off, Victor," Elspeth retorted, glaring at him. "So what, tormenting me in front of Jim and Janine isn't enough? You actually have to follow me outside to make my life miserable? Why are you even here anyway? I know about you and Dad living it up in America – why didn't you just stay there?"

"Because," Victor said with an irritating smirk. "I like to be where the drama is at . . . and when Sherlock's involved, you know you'll never be bored."

Over the course of the evening, Elspeth heard from Sherlock multiple times. He drunk dialled her more than once, telling her about how he knew ash – whatever that meant – and that he had an international reputation for a reason he couldn't seem to remember, and he even rang to inform her that the game was something and he and John were going to a dead man's apartment. Moriarty and Sebastian, who joined them for dinner, found it hilarious. Elspeth was just relieved Sherlock and John were seemingly having a good time. She did debate on joining them at the apartment of the supposedly dead man to make sure they didn't cause any trouble, but they were with a client and the landlord would be there, so there wasn't that much they could do. Elspeth later learned that Lestrade locked them in a cell overnight for destruction of property.

"Ok, thanks Lestrade," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hung up. "He's put them in a taxi, they're on their way home now . . . I should probably go check on them, make sure they're alright."

"You barely slept last night," Moriarty said. As well as receiving various drunk messages, Elspeth had spent a lot of the night in the bathroom throwing up.

"It was something I ate," she said dismissively. "You go to work, I'll be fine."

Unconvinced, Moriarty kissed Elspeth's cheek and left with Sebastian. Elspeth left not long after them with an eager Gladstone in tow, and it wasn't long before she was on the doorstep of Baker Street, letting herself in with her spare key. Picking Gladstone up, Elspeth bounded up the steps towards the living room, grinning wickedly as she flung the door open. She hadn't planned on making that much noise, but John and Sherlock were hung over and the temptation was just too great.

"Don't," John moaned. "Just . . . don't."

"What's he doing?" Elspeth asked, noticing Sherlock standing in front of several laptops at once and typing rapidly. She sat down on the sofa with Gladstone on her lap while John filled her in on what happened the previous night with Tessa, a woman who believed she had dated a ghost for one night; apparently she wasn't the only one. It sounded a bit loopy to Elspeth, but it was the sort of thing that Sherlock would enjoy.

"He's stealing the identity of corpses," Sherlock said. Elspeth wasn't even certain he'd noticed her arrival. "Getting the names from the Obituary columns. All single men. He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption it'll be empty for a while – free love nest. No-one wants to use a dead man's home . . . least not until it's been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man's home, steals his identity."

"But only for one night," John piped up. "Then he's gone."

"He's not a ghost, John. He's a mayfly, he lives for a day. Hello, Ellie," Sherlock added, pausing to smile at his daughter. She waved back. "So what was it he was looking for?" He returned to the conversation with the women – Tessa, Gail, Charlotte, Vicky, and Robyn – and scowled when he found out that none of them had the same job; they didn't even have the same employer. "Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse. He's romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody's pecking order – unless . . ." Sherlock asked each of the woman if they had a secret they'd never told anyone, and each one replied no straight away. "Gotcha."

"This has got to be the strangest case you've ever taken," Elspeth murmured. "So this guy is dating all these women, not returning their calls . . . because he's using the identity of a dead man?" She screwed her nose up. "He's probably married."

Sherlock beamed and crossed the room, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to Elspeth's forehead. "Married," he repeated. "It's obvious! Our Mayfly Man is trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity, and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he can't stand, he uses his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise to play the field. He's –"

"Excuse me," Elspeth interrupted suddenly, moving Gladstone off her lap and standing up. "As much as I enjoy listening to you, Dad, I really have to go throw up."

"I know how she feels," John muttered, watching Elspeth dart to the bathroom and slam the door behind her. "I am never drinking that much again . . . ever." His head was killing him, the lights were too bright, and every time he moved, John's head started spinning. "Seriously, Sherlock, if I ever suggest going out for drinks again – shoot me."

Sherlock didn't answer; he was even paying attention to what John had said. Before, he'd been occupied with the thought of the Mayfly Man, but after Elspeth's abrupt departure to the bathroom he couldn't help but wonder if she was alright. Elspeth didn't get ill often. She was in the bathroom for a few minutes, but soon Sherlock held the toilet flush and the taps running, followed by Elspeth shuffling out with a disgusted look on her face. She walked through to the kitchen and Sherlock followed her, getting a bottle of water from the fridge for her.

"Thank you," Elspeth whispered, feeling a little delicate. Her hands trembled so much it took her far longer to open the bottle cap than it should've. She sipped it gratefully, relieved to get rid of the acidic taste in her mouth and hoping she could make the journey home without wanting to throw up again. "I . . . I must've ate something, I had some chicken yesterday lunch – maybe it was off or something." Elspeth highly doubted it, but she couldn't think of any other conclusions. She gave Sherlock a weak smile. "Sorry, that's a little rude of me, isn't it? I come here to see how you're feeling after last night and I chuck up in the bathroom."

"You look awful," Sherlock told her. Elspeth glowered at him, but she didn't try to pull away when he put his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. "You don't feel warm – how long have you been ill?"

"I don't know, since last night I guess," Elspeth said. She shrugged. "It's probably nothing, it's just something I ate or – or something going round at the moment, you know what stomach bugs are like. I'll be fine tomorrow morning." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than convince Sherlock, and he narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her, wondering if there was something Elspeth wasn't telling him. "I'm fine, Dad, stop looking at me like that. Anyway, how are you feeling after last night?"

"Surprisingly ok," Sherlock admitted. Elspeth smiled. "I checked my phone this morning. Apparently I thought it was appropriate to call you multiple times . . . I can't remember why, but I must've thought it was important at the time."

"Yeah, you guys were kind of drunk last night," Elspeth said. "Don't worry about the drunk dialling though – it made my evening, it really did. Between you telling me about your international relationship and my stomach feeling the need to empty itself every few hours, I had a pretty eventful night."

"If you need to stay," Sherlock began. He knew that Elspeth wanted her independence, but if she was feeling unwell, there was no shame in offering her the spare room that used to belong to her.

Elspeth shook her head. The thought of being close to Sherlock while she was ill was appealing, but impractical. "I'll be alright. Anyway, you need to crack this case, remember? Find out the identity of this fly man."

"Mayfly man."

"Whatever." Elspeth grinned up at Sherlock. "Alright, well I just came to see how you were and to mock your hangover, so I should get going. Gladstone needs a walk and I –" A sudden thought popped into Elspeth's mind, her hand tightening on the bottle of water. "I have got stuff to do."

"Stuff," Sherlock repeated. Elspeth gave him an enigmatic nod, then smiled and turned to hug him good bye like she usually did. She leaned over the back of John's chair and hugged him from behind, laughing when he moaned at the sudden movement, and then called for Gladstone. She couldn't get out of 221B quick enough, one thought repeating itself over and over in her mind when she left, forcing herself to walk and not run down the street. Elspeth made sure she was a couple of streets away from Baker Street before stopping outside a pharmacy, hoping that it was just a thought and nothing else.

"It's probably nothing," Elspeth said to Gladstone, kneeling down to tie her puppy's lead to a post so she could leave her outside. "I'm just overreacting, aren't I? I mean . . . I have to be. I absolutely have to be." Gladstone barked. Elspeth scratched her behind the ear and sighed. "I really, really hope I'm just overreacting."

"Victor's playing both sides – he's in a sort of relationship/best friend situation with your twin sister, and is apparently friends with Sherlock, who Ellie rushes out to meet at every opportunity even though she's living with you and has to keep you a secret from him because you're meant to be dead," Sebastian said, sitting on the sofa in Moriarty's office and playing with a paperweight. He shifted it from hand to the other. "That's got to be annoying. Ellie meeting up with Sherlock is bad enough – imagine if he found out about you! No, imagine if she found out about you and Sherlock on the roof . . . damn, I would not want to be on the receiving end of Ellie's rampage if she ever does find out."

"Don't you have some work to do?" Moriarty asked irritably. Sebastian grinned.

"I don't know, do I? Because you're usually the one who's telling me who to shoot –"

"It'll be yourself if you don't shut up soon," Moriarty snapped. The conversation was getting on his nerves; he didn't want to think about the consequences of Elspeth potentially finding out about his involvement in Sherlock's faked suicide. He didn't particularly care for Sebastian making light of it, either. Moriarty knew that if Elspeth found out, he would lose her – possibly forever – and he was determined not to let that happen, not after everything they'd been through together. He didn't add that Elspeth constantly meeting Sherlock did get on his nerves. It felt to Moriarty that Sherlock was more important to Elspeth than he was. It was hard for him to understand their close relationship because he didn't have one with his own father.

Sebastian smirked. "Yeah, right. Shoot your best sniper and see where that leaves you. With Mary out of the picture, you have no choice but to depend on me and you know it."

Moriarty gave Sebastian a sour glare. "Can't you go flirt with the receptionist or whatever it is you do when you're not working?"

"I prefer hanging out here." Sebastian checked his phone. "What time is Ellie coming in?"

"I don't know, around lunchtime probably," Moriarty said, putting down his paperwork and checking his watch. It seemed to become a habit of Elspeth's, bringing lunch to Moriarty's office and spending an hour with him, and occasionally Sebastian joined them. It started off as once a week, but now Elspeth visited them most days if she hadn't made plans to meet Sherlock. It was getting to midday, around the time Elspeth usually arrived. Moriarty had yet to hear from her.

"Want me to ring her?" Sebastian asked. Moriarty shook his head. "Alright, I'm going to go – as you put it – flirt with your receptionist. I'll let you know if I hear from her."

Putting the paperweight down on the coffee table, Sebastian swaggered out of the office. Moriarty waited for a minute, trying to concentrate on his work before realising it was a lot harder than he thought it would be. He was a little preoccupied with the realisation that Elspeth hadn't contacted him since that morning.

Moriarty didn't worry. Worrying was for ordinary people, it wasn't becoming for a consulting criminal – even so, Elspeth rarely forgot to contact him unless she was in trouble of some sort.

A few seconds later, his phone started to ring and Elspeth's number flashed up on the screen. "Hello, my dear," Moriarty said, answering it after the third ring. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about little ol' me."

"Funny," Elspeth said in a tone of voice that implied she didn't find it at all amusing. "I . . . uh, I won't be coming in for lunch today."

"Ellie, sweetheart, you're hurting my feelings," Moriarty teased. He anticipated a sarcastic remark from Elspeth, frowning when he didn't receive one. "Alright, why won't you be joining Sebastian and I for lunch? We'll miss the pleasure of your delightful company." Again, Moriarty expected a sarcastic comment from Elspeth. Instead, there was a long pause. "Ellie?"

"Yeah? Oh – lunch, right." Elspeth sounded . . . off. Distracted. "Listen, are you . . . are you busy right now? Do you have a lot of work to do?"

"Nothing I can't push back for a couple of hours."

"Do . . . do you think you could come home for an hour or something?" Elspeth asked him. "I really need you right now."

Moriarty smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Ooh, tell me more."

"This is serious, Jim," Elspeth snapped, sounding far more like herself than she had done throughout the entire conversation. Moriarty's smirk grew. "I – I don't know, this is big – this . . . I can't do this on my own, I really can't." She sounded like she was choking back tears, her voice wobbling and her breaths short. Moriarty sat up straight, not smirking for much longer. "Oh my God . . . ok, I might be wrong – there is a fifty percent chance that I'm wrong, and I'm hoping that I am, but I need you to come back –"

"What's happened?" Moriarty couldn't help it; he thought about that night with Freddie. "Have you done something? Has someone hurt you?"

"No, no . . . just – please don't freak out, ok? You have to promise me that you won't freak out," Elspeth said.

"I promise."

"You're not allowed to be mad at me either – don't shout or scream or – or kill someone, you have to stay calm no matter what I say –"

"Ellie, just tell me," Moriarty interrupted. He wasn't the sort of man who panicked easily, but hearing Elspeth's nervous rambling and pleas made him a little tense – too tense for comfort. Despite her insisting that no one had hurt her, Moriarty thought of Roscoe and Freddie and Magnussen, of all the times Elspeth had been in harm's way because of his job or her inability to stay out of trouble. She was worse than Sherlock sometimes. "Just tell me."

"Ok," Elspeth said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't freak out but . . . Jim . . ." She hesitated. Moriarty could just imagine her biting on her bottom lip like she always did. "I think I might be pregnant."

Thank you That-Crazy-Psycho, Emily, Rosie, Capricornwholovesbooks, tardislover1, Adrillian1497, and SKYSPRITE for reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you, sorry for being not very prompt with update/a bit moody on tumblr . . . exam stress sucks and I was a little disheartened by everything, but I'm back! xoxox