36.

Moriarty strode into the flat, slamming the front door behind him. "Ellie," he called, dropping his keys on the dining table. "Ellie, where are you?"

"In here," was her muffled reply. Moriarty found Elspeth in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and staring at the small box in her hands. Looking up, she gave him a wry smile and lifted the box a little, giving Moriarty the opportunity to see what it was. A pregnancy test. "I haven't taken it yet . . . I thought –" Elspeth laughed shakily. "I didn't want to do it on my own. How pathetic is that? I can't take a damn pregnancy test on my own."

Slowly, Moriarty walked forwards and lowered himself to the ground next to Elspeth. "Do you really think that you might be pregnant?"

"I don't know. I – I've been feeling ill for a couple of days, I'm late . . ." Elspeth's voice trailed off, her cheeks turning pink. "It's possible. We haven't exactly been careful recently, have we?"

A heavy silence fell over them. Moriarty had never planned on being a father; a family wasn't something he'd ever considered having. Why would he? He was a consulting criminal, he didn't need or want a family to worry about – the thought of becoming a family man seemed so boring to him. Staring down at the unopened pregnancy test in Elspeth's hands, Moriarty tried to imagine them becoming parents, thinking about the possibility of having a son or daughter in nine months. Unless she was further along they thought . . . she couldn't be, though. Elspeth had only just suspected that she might be pregnant. Would things change between them if Elspeth was pregnant? It wasn't something she could hide from Sherlock for long, and if – when – Sherlock worked out who the father was, that was it; all the secrets would come out.

Sighing, Moriarty gently brushed Elspeth's hair behind her ear. "Do you think you ought to take the test now?" he suggested in a low voice, selfishly hoping that it would turn out negative.

"In a minute," Elspeth murmured. "I'm waiting until I really need to pee. I've been drinking so much water." She gave him a sheepish grin, then sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't want to be pregnant, Jim, I can't be a parent . . . I can't be a mum. My mum was so rubbish – she let me go in foster care because she was more interested in drinking than she was in taking care of me! What if I turn out like that too?" There were tears in Elspeth's eyes, which she wiped away stubbornly. Moriarty had never seen her open up about Catherine like that. "I – I can't do that to a kid . . . being an unwanted child sucks, and I can't put a kid through that, Jim." She pinched the bridge of her nose, lowering her head when Moriarty took one of her hands in his own. "I know that Dad's been there for me, and I'm so grateful, but knowing one of your parents didn't love you enough to put you first . . . it sucks."

"You'd love it," Moriarty said quietly. Elspeth looked up at him. "You would love it because you are the most loving person I know. You wouldn't put another person through that."

Elspeth gazed at him for a long time, biting her lip. Would she love it? Her biggest fear was that, if she really was pregnant, she wouldn't love it enough – or at all.

She'd never planned to become a parent. Elspeth knew girls who wanted to be mothers, and girls who were mothers, and she knew lots of people whose mothers were present in their lives. It wasn't that she didn't like children, because she did, but they were never something she'd thought about having. Elspeth wanted to do so many things in her life, but having children had never been one of them.

She wondered if that made her selfish. There were women out there who couldn't have children for a variety of reasons, and there she was, hoping more than anything that she wasn't pregnant.

"I can't imagine being a mum," she admitted. "I'm not exactly maternal, am I?"

"I'm not exactly father material," Moriarty said, making Elspeth laugh. "We could do it, though. If you wanted."

"Ok, so while I'm at home taking care of the baby, you'll be at work organising crimes and being a consulting criminal – it's hardly the picture of domestic bliss, is it?" Elspeth gave Moriarty a wry grin, trying to imagine the scenario in her mind; it was too bizarre to picture properly. "Look at how many times I've been in trouble being involved with you. What would happen if a baby was involved?"

Moriarty cupped Elspeth's cheek with a strong hand, running his thumb against her skin. "I would never let anything happen to you," he promised her. "Either of you."

"Would you want to be a dad?" Elspeth asked him. "I mean . . . would you be there? All the late nights, nappy changes, feeding – there's not just that, there's schools and nativities and sports days and dealing with their first heartbreak . . . being a parent is hard, Jim, and if I am pregnant, I need to know that you're prepared to step up and be a father."

He used to think that normality was a bad thing, a boring thing, but the thought of doing with Elspeth made Moriarty want it a little bit.

"If I was going to start a family with anyone," Moriarty told her, gently resting his forehead against Elspeth's. "It would be with you."

Staring at him, Elspeth couldn't help but feel amazed at how far she and Moriarty had come, after everything that had happened between them. The thought of becoming a mum was terrifying when she really thought about it, but knowing Moriarty was going to be there throughout the entire thing made Elspeth feel a little less scared, and she never thought that she could feel that way about someone. It was new and exciting, and as much as she hated having to keep Moriarty a secret from Sherlock, Elspeth enjoyed the danger of it all; she'd always been attracted to the dangerous sorts of situations.

"Ok, get out," Elspeth said, scrambling to her feet. "I've got to pee on this thing."

"You have such a way with words," Moriarty muttered. Catching her hand before he left, he pulled Elspeth close and added, "I'll be there – no matter what the result is."

Moriarty waited outside in the corridor, and before long, Elspeth opened the bathroom door again for him. The box said they had to wait for two minutes, so she set the timer on her phone and sat on the closed toilet seat while Moriarty leaned against the doorway, both of them waiting for the longest two minutes of their life.

The timer went off. Elspeth took in a deep breath, then picked up the pregnancy test.

"Well?" Moriarty asked.

Elspeth stared down at the pregnancy test, her face pale and her hands trembling, and she slowly lifted her head to meet Moriarty's eyes. "Panic's over," she said. "Not pregnant."

She held the test out for Moriarty to see. He took it from her, the two words clear as day: not pregnant. He wasn't quite sure how he felt. Relieved that she wasn't pregnant, but disappointed at the same time – in a strange way, Moriarty had been rather hoping that Elspeth was, the idea of being a father becoming more and more appealing as they'd spoken about it. He handed the test back to Elspeth, who looked at it with an unfathomable expression. For someone so expressive, Elspeth was surprisingly good at masking her emotions when she wanted to.

Moriarty pursed his lips together, putting his hands in his pockets. "Now what?"

"Now . . ." Elspeth bit her lip. "I don't know, I guess we just . . . throw this away and be more careful from now on," she said. "Y'know, so we don't have any more scares like today. I guess I must just have a stomach bug or something, it'll be gone by tomorrow." Rising to her feet, Elspeth gave Moriarty a tight lipped smile and left the bathroom so she could throw the negative pregnancy test in the bin.

It wasn't like she'd wanted to be pregnant. Even so, Elspeth wondered why she felt so disappointed.

Elspeth barely slept that night, and when she woke up the next morning, it was before Moriarty. She sat up, gently stroking his hair off his forehead and reaching for her phone, which she'd left charging on the bedside table. She'd expected to hear from Sherlock about the Mayfly Man – the name was ridiculous, in her opinion – but there were no texts or missed calls, and Elspeth huffed as she put the phone back down. Moriarty stirred next to her, his eyes flickering open.

"Good morning," Elspeth said, smiling down at him. Moriarty squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, then opened his eyes again. "Sleep well?"

Moriarty made a sleepy noise under his breath. "Why are you up so early?"

"I don't know . . . I didn't sleep much last night," Elspeth said, shrugging. "I'm probably going to see Dad and John today, they were talking about this stalker guy yesterday – the Mayfly Man, Dad called him." Moriarty frowned, glancing at her. "Didn't I tell you? There's this guy – married, apparently – going out with women, using the names and apartments of dead men . . . it's really weird. I don't suppose you know anything about it, do you?"

"Why would I?" Moriarty grumbled, sitting up and climbing out of the bed.

"I don't know, it might have something to do with the fact you're a consulting criminal and have an entire network of other criminals," Elspeth retorted. "You can't blame for me for asking."

"It would be nice if you didn't just make assumptions all the time."

"I was asking. Guess what, you may be happy to earn money by destroying people's lives, but I don't want to see more people die!" Elspeth snapped back, also getting out of bed and following Moriarty down the corridor when he walked away from her. He rolled his eyes. "It was just a question anyway – all I wanted to know was if you knew anything about it. Why are you being so weird about it?"

Moriarty turned suddenly, holding Elspeth's face in his hands and gazing down at her with a strange look in his eyes. "I'm not," he murmured. "I'm not being weird." He pressed a gentle kiss to Elspeth's lips, then disappeared into his own bedroom to get changed.

Staring at his door for a few seconds, Elspeth frowned and walked through to the kitchen to feed Gladstone, who was waiting impatiently by the door for her. Elspeth poured Gladstone's food into a bowl and boiled the kettle to make coffee for herself and Moriarty, wondering what was going on in his head. She thought she knew him well – well enough to know what was bothering him – but Moriarty's strange behaviour baffled her. Did it have something to do with her asking if he knew anything about the Mayfly Man? Elspeth bit her lip. It couldn't have been that because Moriarty rarely cared when she asked him about his business. She thought about the previous day and the negative pregnancy test, and how things hadn't been quite the same that evening, and sighed under her breath. For a few seconds, Elspeth had almost hoped that she was pregnant, so she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when it turned out she wasn't. She made the firm decision that she wasn't going to be a mother, though – not now, not ever.

Would that bother Moriarty? Elspeth couldn't see how it would; he never expressed an interest in children. He rarely seemed interested in anyone other than himself, which often made Elspeth wonder if he cared for her as much as she cared for him.

She looked up when Moriarty walked into the kitchen, holding out the mug of coffee she'd made for him. "I know you can't start your day properly without at least one cup of coffee," she said with a wry grin.

"Where would I be without you?" Moriarty asked in a low voice, reaching out to brush Elspeth's hair behind her ear. She caught his hand in her own and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, just as he often did to her. She cared about him – a lot. It was almost scary to Elspeth, who had never been in a relationship that meaningful or intense before, and that made it even harder to keep Moriarty a secret from Sherlock. She knew she couldn't have Sherlock, John, and Moriarty in her life at the same time; she wished she could. "Don't do anything silly today, will you?"

Elspeth narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"What I said."

"I won't do anything you wouldn't," Elspeth promised, grinning. Moriarty smiled back and leaned in to kiss her, scowling when her phone started to ring from the bedroom. "Hang on, that might be Dad." She darted to her bedroom, picking up her phone and smiling when she saw it was Sherlock. "Hey Dad, what's –"

"Get dressed and to Baker Street as soon as possible."

"Good morning to you too. What's going on?"

"Major Sholto," Sherlock said. Elspeth frowned and picked her jeans up from the floor, wondering if she could somehow change one handed. "He's going to a wedding today – now, imagine someone is going to get murdered at a wedding. Who would you pick?"

Elspeth paused, struggling to get her jeans on. "Uh . . . is that a trick question?"

"Who could you only kill at a wedding? Come on now, Ellie, you should know this," Sherlock insisted. Holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder, Elspeth buttoned up her jeans and reached for a pair of socks. "Most people you can kill any old place. John, I'd poison – sloppy eater, it would be easy. I've got a pair of keys to Mycroft's home, I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him."

"Well, if you can only kill them at a wedding, it's a rare opportunity," Elspeth said. "Hang on a second." She threw her pyjama top on the bed, replacing it with a paint stained t-shirt that had seen better days. "Ok, I'm back . . . it would be someone who doesn't get out much, wouldn't it?"

"Very good, Ellie, good to know you haven't wasted your intelligence since I've been gone," Sherlock praised. Elspeth rolled her eyes. "Killing someone in public is difficult, killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then. Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security – possibly someone under threat."

"Alright, so someone like Major Sholto . . . why he is under threat?"

"New recruits died in battle, Major Sholto was the only survivor," Sherlock told her. "Receives death threats from all of their families, had to go into hiding –"

"All the women had a secret they've never told anyone," Elspeth cut in. "They all worked for him – the Mayfly Man was dating them to get close to Sholto!" She hopped around her room, pulling a shoe on with one hand. "Wait, do you know who the Mayfly Man is yet?"

"I have an idea."

"Ok, I will be there as soon as I can, don't leave without me," Elspeth said. She hung up, stuffed her phone in her bag, and all but ran back to the kitchen. "I'm so sorry, I have to go now, I have to get to Baker Street as soon as possible – Dad thinks he may know who the Mayfly Man is, we have to get to a wedding and save Sholto before – he's going to die, I think, I don't know. We have to stop it though." Elspeth pulled Moriarty in for a quick kiss, pausing momentarily to hold his face in her hands and gaze up at him. "I'm so sorry I have to rush off. You understand though, don't you?"

"I do." Moriarty kissed Elspeth again. "Go."

Elspeth didn't wait for a bus or a cab. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she started to run as fast as she could down the street, her heart racing against her chest. She'd missed that. The running, the danger, the adrenaline pumping through her – the thought of stopping someone from dying was terrifying, but exciting at the same time. When she was about halfway to Baker Street, a dark car with tinted windows pulled up alongside her, the window opening.

"Ellie, get in," Sherlock called, opening the door for her and moving over. Elspeth threw herself into the back seat, slamming the door with little care for the wellbeing of the car.

"You said you wouldn't leave without me," Elspeth said between breaths. She leaned forwards and rested her head against her lap. "Oh my God."

"You were taking too long," Sherlock said. He rubbed her back sympathetically. "Now I realise why." He filled her in on everything she needed to know – Sholto felt as though he was being stalked too, a similar case to Bainbridge's, despite living so far out in the country that it was almost impossible to find him. Both he and John had been invited to the same wedding, a former soldier who fought alongside them, but John had declined the invitation because it wasn't long after his break up with Mary. He had no idea Sholto was going. "The wedding won't have started yet, Sholto will be in his room still."

"Hotel room?" Elspeth guessed. Sherlock nodded. John was silent, his fists clenching and unclenching while he stared out of the window. "Hey, John, it's going to be ok. I didn't run halfway to Baker Street for it not to be ok."

John gave Elspeth a sideways glance and a tight smile. "I wish I had your optimism, Ellie."

"We'll get there in time, this car – whose car is this, by the way?"

"One of Mycroft's. I'm borrowing it." Sherlock avoided looking at Elspeth for a few seconds, glancing her way when she raised her eyebrows at him. "I called him and let him know." Elspeth didn't look convinced. Sherlock grimaced. "I may have texted him about it."

"You know, normally I would say that you can't just borrow people's cars and send them a text about it, but this is Mycroft's car and driver so it's hilarious," Elspeth said, grinning. Sherlock grinned back and John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the pair of them. He was used to Sherlock and Elspeth acting inappropriately at serious times – giggling at crime scenes, making jokes, grinning at the prospect of people being kidnapped, or worse – but it was still annoying. Especially when John knew the person who was in danger. "So what's the plan? Barge into the hotel and demand that Sholto let us in before someone kills him?"

"Pretty much," John said. Elspeth thought about it for a few seconds.

"Good plan."

Elspeth never thought that she would spend her afternoon racing through a hotel with Sherlock and John, but there she was, running after them as fast as her legs would carry her and skidding around corners. The elevators weren't working, and Major Sholto was on the top floor of the hotel; they didn't have much time left.

"There it is!" John cried, spotting the room. He ran ahead of Sherlock and Elspeth, hammering on the door. "Major Sholto! Major Sholto, it's John – John Watson. You have to let us in, you're not safe, you're in danger –"

"Yes, I am well aware of that," Major Sholto said from the other side of the door, sounding oddly calm. "If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready." He wasn't a stupid man; he'd worked it out before they arrived. After years of threats, Sholto wasn't surprised.

"Kick the door down," Elspeth said worriedly, grasping Sherlock's arm.

"I really wouldn't. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there. Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him," Sherlock said, walking close to the door so Elspeth had no choice but to let go of him. "I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again."

"Solve it, then," Sholto said. "You're the famous Mr Holmes. Solve the case. On you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door."

"Please," John pleaded. "This is no time for games, you're in danger!"

"So are you, so long as you're here. Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don't approve of collateral damage."

"Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago," Sherlock said quickly. He'd thought about it on the journey to the hotel, and had only then come up with the solution to the case. "Don't take off your belt." He turned to John and Elspeth, both of whom stared at Sherlock in confusion. Elspeth blinked back tears. "His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt – tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

"The belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight, and when you took it off . . ." John's voice trailed off, realisation dawning on him. Sherlock nodded.

"Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi."

"So – I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate," Sholto said thoughtfully. Elspeth bit her lip and stared at Sherlock, hoping that he and John could somehow convince the other man to open the door. "I'm not even supposed to have this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose – given the circumstances – I don't have to." He paused for a moment. "When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it, right now. I will kick this door down," John threatened.

"Mr Holmes, you and I are similar, I think," Sholto said. Sherlock agreed with him. "There's a proper time to die, isn't there? And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier."

"Of course one should," Sherlock said. "But not now. Not like this."

There was a long pause; Elspeth held her breath. She listened out for any movement, about to suggest a second time that John break the door down, and let out a sigh of relief when Sholto slowly opened the door and stepped out.

"I believe I am in need of medical attention."

John nodded. "I believe I am your doctor."

He attended to Sholto, and Sherlock put his hand on Elspeth's shoulder, leading her away from the room. He knew how sensitive she was about cases such as those, and he admired his daughter for her sympathy of others; Sherlock never got emotional like she did. Elspeth didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She'd been completely and utterly convinced that Sholto would remove his belt, thus ending his life.

"When I thought you were dead," Elspeth said in a low voice, looking at the ground. "At the beginning, I felt . . . empty. You probably wouldn't have recognised me back then, if you'd seen me. There were times when I kind of felt like Sholto felt today."

Sherlock's hand tightened on her shoulder, and he pulled her a little closer as they walked down the stairs. "I am sorry," he said. "that I put you through that."

"I know," Elspeth said. She gave Sherlock a sad smile. "You did what you thought was best."

They got to the hotel lobby, and Elspeth was surprised to see that Lestrade and a few others were there too, holding a nervous looking man. He appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with mouse-brown hair and eyes that didn't stay still. They swept over Elspeth, focusing on Sherlock.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "I – I just got here!"

"You should've stayed at home," Sherlock told him, releasing Elspeth's shoulder and strolling forwards. "May I see your camera?" He took the camera before the man could protest, looking at the screen on the back as he began flicking through the photos already stored. Elspeth stood next to Sherlock and looked at the photos too, slowly catching on. "Ah, yes. Yes, very good. There, you see? Perfect."

"What?" Lestrade asked, his brow furrowing when he frowned. Sherlock had called him to tell him that he caught a murderer. "Is the murderer in the photographs?"

"It's not what's in the photographs, it's what's not in them – not in any of them." Sherlock smiled. "There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. You only ever see the camera." Sherlock took his phone out to show Lestrade the screen. "Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Johnny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed, an invitation to a wedding – the one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail."

"So he's the one who killed Bainbridge," Elspeth said, looking between Jonathan Small and Sherlock.

"Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac – though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good." Sherlock handed his phone to Lestrade while his officer restrained Johnathan with handcuffs. "Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to . . . arrest him or something."

"It's not me you should be arresting, Mr Holmes," Jonathan said, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. Sholto – he's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker . . . I shouldn't have tried to be clever."

The officers started to lead Jonathan away, and while Sherlock was distracted talking to Lestrade, Elspeth darted after the police.

"Wait," she said. "I – I need to ask him something." The officers exchanged looks, then nodded and turned the other way. They didn't let go of him, though, so Elspeth took a step closer and lowered her voice. "Who put you up to this? Who are you working for?"

Jonathan sneered at her, his upper lip curling. "Why would I tell you?"

"This isn't a game, Small, tell me who you're working for," Elspeth hissed, glancing over her shoulder. Sherlock was still talking to Lestrade.

"Jim Moriarty," Jonathan said under his breath. "I never met the guy, just spoke to him – his name's Moriarty, that's all I can tell you."

That was all Elspeth needed to know.

She was quiet on the way home, despite Sherlock and John's attempts to include her in conversation, and stared out of the window for the entire journey. Rather than let them drop her off at home, Elspeth asked that they simply let her out a few streets away from where she lived, saying something about needing some air. She wasn't lying; she needed time to think about what Jonathan had told her.

That morning, Moriarty said that he didn't know anything about the Mayfly Man. He'd lied to her.

When Elspeth arrived back at the apartment, the first thing she did was walk to her bedroom and pick up a bag, mechanically packing away her clothes. She didn't pay much attention to what she was doing, her vision blurred by the constant tears that sprung to her eyes, and more than once Elspeth had to pause in order to let out a small sob, struggling to compose herself. After everything – everything – they had been through together, Moriarty lied to her about Jonathan Small.

"Honey, I'm home!" Moriarty sung, the front door shutting behind him. Elspeth didn't stop packing, not even when she heard his footsteps approach her bedroom. He paused in the doorway. "Are you going on holiday?"

"You lied to me."

Moriarty frowned. "What?"

"The Mayfly Man. Jonathan Small – ring any bells?" Elspeth pushed her clothes down and zipped up the bag. "He wanted to kill Major James Sholto because his brother died when Sholto led him into battle, and apparently, he had a really nice conversation with you about it. He was working for you and you looked me in the eyes, and you lied to me about it."

"Ellie, you can't –"

"Don't tell me to not believe him," Elspeth interrupted, turning to face Moriarty finally. There was a fierce anger in her eyes, bordering on hatred, and a lesser man may have taken a step back when they saw the look on her face. Moriarty didn't. "Don't you dare lie to me again, Jim. Sholto – an innocent man – could've died today because you lied to me. After everything we've been through, after all the things I have told you . . . you just lied to me! You looked me straight in the eye and you told me that you didn't know anything – you had a go at me for making assumptions."

"What would you have done if I told you I knew about him?" Moriarty asked. "Would it have made a difference?"

"Yes, because Major Sholto nearly died!" Elspeth yelled. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, her hands trembling. "He was going to kill himself and you were going to let him because you knew what was happening!" She paused for a moment, turning away and running her hands through her hair. Moriarty put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't touch me!" Elspeth jerked away from him. "Don't. I can't – I can't do this, I can't . . . trust you like I used to."

His hand falling to his side, Moriarty stared at Elspeth for a long time. "You can't trust me," he said in a flat voice. "Ellie, it was one man – you wouldn't have even known if Sherlock hadn't called you –"

"It's not just one man though, is it?" Elspeth asked, each word heavier than the last. "Think about it, Jim. It's Roscoe, and Freddie, and Lord Moran and Jonathan Small and Magnussen . . . I killed a man because of you – I wouldn't have ever met Freddie if you hadn't introduced us – and I can never undo that. Ever. I'm going to have to live my life knowing I ended someone else's, and if you can live with yourself, then good for you, because I can't."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying . . ." Elspeth took in a deep breath. "I'm saying that I need to take a break. From this. From us."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ellie," Moriarty scoffed. "You're just being a little overdramatic –"

"Stop patronizing me," Elspeth snapped. "I'm taking Gladstone and I'm going to stay at Dad's for a bit." She pushed past Moriarty and fetched Gladstone's lead, calling for her puppy. "I'm sure Seb'll keep you company if you get lonely, I bet he won't mind shooting a few innocent people for you."

With her bag on her shoulder, Gladstone's lead in one hand and another bag full of Gladstone's things in the other, Elspeth turned to leave the apartment. She reached the front door when Moriarty's hand shot out, grabbing her by the arm and holding her still for a moment, his eyes piercing hers. He was begging her not to leave, asking for a second chance, telling her that he was nothing without her – but Moriarty couldn't find the words to say it all out loud. Elspeth faltered. She didn't want to leave, not really, but she had to. How could she stay with a man she didn't trust anymore?

Elspeth slowly took her arm away from Moriarty, opening the front door and leaving without a word. If he really wanted her to stay, she thought, then he would say something to stop her from leaving. But he didn't.

That time, Elspeth got a cab to Baker Street. She wasn't in a rush, she didn't bribe the driver with tips, she didn't panic or feel excited or try to hide the tears trickling down her cheeks. Gladstone sat on her lap, her head buried in Elspeth's arms, and Elspeth wondered if her puppy could sense her pain – that was what a lot of people said, wasn't it? That dogs could sense when their owners were hurt or upset. It was little comfort to Elspeth, though. She stroked Gladstone, and when the cab driver pulled up outside her former home, Elspeth thanked him quietly and handed him the money before gathering her belongings together.

Mrs Hudson was the one who opened the front door when Elspeth knocked. She took one look at the young woman, saw the tears, and ushered her inside with a mother-like affection, wittering on about how it was too cold and dangerous for someone as young as Elspeth to be wandering about at night. She didn't even complain about Gladstone.

"Sherlock's upstairs," she told Elspeth. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you."

"Thank you," Elspeth whispered. She carried her bags up the stairs, the door of the living room ajar when she got to the top. Sherlock and John were in their armchairs, the TV playing in the background while John typed on his laptop and Sherlock read the newspaper. Sherlock was the first to look up. Elspeth bit her lip and carefully put her bags down on the ground. Gladstone wandered across the room to greet John when Elspeth unclipped her lead. "Erm . . . before I say anything, Dad, can you promise something?"

"Anything."

"Say yes to this." Elspeth bit her lip. "Can I move back in for a bit?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quietly, standing up and crossing the room to hug Elspeth. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. Elspeth had no idea what had happened to her relationship with Moriarty; all she knew for definite was that things were no longer as they used to be.

Thank you PutThatInYourBlog, ElizabethCullen08, Fantasy-Mania31, the musical bender, Sophie, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, TheDoctorIsMyGuardian, lisistrataantigona, ahundredyears-itsnothing, demiwitchonfire, Female whovian, Pygmy Pandazilla, tardislover1, BlondDragon, AFAN, and Adrillian1497 for reviewing! I hope the result wasn't too disappointing . . . ;') don't worry though, I have a lot planned for Elliarty!