Céline sat down across from Mycroft. Mycroft poured her some wine.
"How did it go?" He asked. Céline thanked him and took a small sip.
"They hired me. I start up this coming fall." Céline replied. Mycroft nodded. There was an uncomfortable tension in the air. Céline picked up on it but was confused at where it came from. She had begun to pick up on Mycroft's affection but it wasn't certain of it.
"In the meantime, you can stay with me," Mycroft spoke.
"Thank you, Mycroft…but, I've already been looking for somewhere else." Céline replied.
"Why?" Mycroft asked, confused.
"I don't want to take anything from you," Céline spoke. "I want to take care of myself like I always have," Céline replied. Mycroft nodded.
"If that is what you prefer, I can't stop you," Mycroft spoke, his tone was disappointed but before Céline could say anything else the waitress came over and took their order.
Sherlock was pacing, he was in a private jet on the way to his first location to begin dismantling Moriarty's empire. He had heard nothing about Céline from Mycroft and it was upsetting him. He had reached out but Mycroft had gone radio silent. He began to regret the decision to not tell her. His mind was racing. He thought about how realistic it would have been to take her along but deep down he knew it would have been impossible. Sherlock groaned and rubbed his eyes. What if Lestrade came back into her life? What if a new man took her affections? His mind was full of images of her being touched by another man, crying in the arms of another man, being taken care of by another man and Sherlock couldn't take it. He sat back down in his seat, his head pounding.
Céline and Mycroft returned home a few hours later. Before heading to bed Mycroft gently laid a hand on her arm.
"Are you doing okay?" Mycroft seriously asked. At dinner, they had just talked about the logistics of her move and her new job. They hadn't talked about Sherlock at all since Mycroft gave her the news. Even the night of her suicide attempt, they hadn't talked about it. Céline turned a bit pale.
"I try not to think about it." Céline softly spoke, her voice trembling a bit. Mycroft saw the tears in her eyes and frowned.
"I'm sorry…" Before he could continue speaking Céline hugged him.
"Thank you, Mycroft. For asking." Céline spoke. Mycroft returned the hug but after a few moments, Céline pulled away and kissed his cheek before leaving to bed. Mycroft stood there, the moment had happened so fast that he was trying to imprint it into his mind. He gently touched his cheek where she had kissed it. It was not romantic, it was more familial. But nonetheless, it made him feel more enamored than ever before.
A week later Céline moved out. She had found a small flat across from the University. She wanted a simple life, going from the University to her home and occasionally to the shop for groceries or clothes. She didn't want adventure or friends. She wanted to live her life in simple solitude. Mycroft would visit her once a week and they would play chess together. Miss. Hudson and Watson would call her once every couple of weeks and they would catch up for an hour or two. But aside from that contact with the outside world, Céline stayed alone. She was focused on teaching and her simple life.
This day was a cold and rainy day in December. It was the final day of the semester and the final papers were due in her class. Céline was at the front of the lecture hall collecting the papers from her students. That evening she had made plans to decorate her apartment for Christmas and bake. She wanted to send Mycroft, Miss. Hudson, and Watson some treats for the holiday. As she organized the final papers and slipped them into her folio she began to pack up. A final couple of students were exiting the classroom and a man lingered at a door at the top of the lecture hall. He watched her from the door. She looked well, tired but well. She had finally gained some much-needed weight, her body was no longer too thin due to stress from the PTSD. Her long hair was not in its usual ponytail but now it was down. The curls reached her lower back. Her dress was the same as it always was, mock neck dress, tights, oxford heels, and trenchcoat. What the man couldn't see was the pearl necklace from Sherlock that she wore under her mock neck dress. As she put her bag over her shoulder she turned toward the door and noticed him. Her eyes slightly widened in surprise and she opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. The man took a few steps down toward her and also tried to say something, words escaping him.