Next chapter is comin' tomorrow puddin's 3
Mycroft and Sherlock were both up all night.
Mycroft had gone home that night and in the morning he called off all of his meetings and spent his day holed up. Guilt was a new emotion for him and he was having trouble dealing with it. All night he paced the room, thinking of her lips against his and berating himself for his betrayal. A single question kept him up all night. If he had told her would she be with him now? Would she be his? Would she have chosen him over his brother?
Sherlock walked the streets all night before wandering to see the only person who would hear him out, Molly. When he got to her flat he knocked and the second she answered he tried to explain himself and why he was there but before he knew it he couldn't speak and tears were flowing down his cheeks. Molly was taken aback and panicked. She quickly ushered him in and offered him a box of tissues.
"Sherlock, I..." she began before he cut her off.
"Céline sent me away," Sherlock spoke, he didn't take the tissues and sat up straight. Uncomfortable. Molly's face fell.
"She what?" Molly began. Sherlock stood and began to pace.
"She sent me away. She told me that she never wanted to see me again but she wouldn't hear me out. I didn't do this to hurt her. I didn't want to hurt her. I wouldn't dream of it. She has to understand that? I love her!" Sherlock rambled, more to himself than to Molly. Molly sigh. Sherlock looked to her for an answer, reading her body language. "You don't agree with me," Sherlock observed, noticing how Molly's head was slightly tilted in thought, an uncomfortable scowl on her face.
"Do you realize what you put her through?" Molly seriously asked. Sherlock quickly nodded.
"Yes." He sternly spoke. Molly sighed and rubbed her eyes.
"I can't convince you of anything. But, maybe think about if you really do know what you put her through." Molly softly spoke. "I'm going to bed." Molly left and Sherlock was alone with his thoughts. He left once more and went back to 221B Baker Street. When he got to his room and laid down it felt empty. He had slept alone for the last two years but somehow it felt like the first time that evening. Sherlock thickly swallowed and thought about what Molly said. For once he tried to understand and he was mad at himself. He felt for a pillow and drew it close as if it was her body. His body collapsing into confused and shameful tears again.
Céline woke early the next morning. It was November 4th. Her first class was at 8 am sharp. When she got out of bed and drew the curtains she winced at the bright morning light that shone in through the window. She spent some time looking outside. The night before raced through her head. She bit her lip hard. Thinking of how Sherlock revealed himself after two years and how Mycroft hid it so she could be his. Tears filled her eyes before she swallowed them down. Deciding that the two men would not make her weak. She drug herself to the shower and got ready for class before leaving her flat.
Teaching was a great escape for her. That day she taught two three hour classes and as she packed up she felt a smile perk up on her cheeks. It was a small victory but she felt happy and at peace for the first time in the last 24 hours. She checked her phone, it was 3 pm and she had a message from Watson.
Lunch?
She replied, telling him that she would meet him at a small cafe on campus and set out. He got there only a few minutes after she did and the two friends embraced. They got their tea and sat in a back corner. Céline explained to Watson about what happened with Mycroft and it upset him.
"I sent him out after the kiss," Céline spoke. "But, I just don't know, my head is all over the place. For a moment I kissed back. It's all I've thought about the last six months."
"Do you think you can forgive either of them?" Watson asked. "That's all Mary's been asking me. If I can forgive them and I'm not sure I can." Watson honestly spoke. Céline took a sip of her tea and let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering."
"I don't know, John. I decided that I want to go to a therapist for a while and I think that will help me figure it out." Céline softly spoke.
"Does Sherlock know about you and Mycroft?" Watson asked. "Did Mycroft tell him?" Céline's eyes grew wide for a moment in panic.
"I don't know." She honestly answered. At that moment neither Watson or Céline noticed the man a table away listening to them. The man was hiding it and pretending that he was reading a paper but he was methodically storing everything word they spoke in his mind. A smirk crossed his lips.
After Céline and Watson parted ways she returned home and called the therapist office. Watson had recommended it to her before she left and Céline booked a consultation for the next day. After that weight was lifted from her shoulders she opened her phone to her messages from Mycroft. There had been no new ones since the previous night and she just stared at it for a long moment. Her thoughts drifted. Could she forgive him? She didn't know. Before Céline could move to text him a call came in from Sherlock. Céline quickly sent it to voicemail and left her phone on the counter before going to take a bath.
Sherlock frowned when he was sent to voicemail. He shakily thought of what to say as the beep counted down to when he could start recording his message. When the tone rang he began to ramble.
"Céline, I know you're mad. But please, you can't be mad at me forever. I want to make it better. I want us to be back to before. Like things used to be. I'll do anything. Please, let me see you again. I want to be better, I want to understand and..." Sherlock spoke at a quick speed but the phone cut him off before he could continue. Sherlock lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. He decided to throw himself into the case Mycroft had forced his return for. He hoped that would bring a sense of normalcy back.
When Watson returned home Mary was waiting for him with a tablet in her lap. Watson hung his coat and headed for the bathroom.
"His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent." Mary began, reading from the tablet. Watson caught a bit of what she said and poked his head out of the bathroom for a moment.
"What?" Watson asked. Shaving cream covered his mustache. Mary giggled and smirked her eyes on the tablet as she scrolled through his blog.
"I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law." She matter of factly spoke. Watson realized what she was reading.
"Don't read that!" He urged. Mary scrolled through.
"The famous blog, finally! Ancient history, yes, I know. But it's not, though, is it, because he's..." As Mary spoke she looked up and noticed the shaving cream on Watson's face.
"What are you doing?!" Mary asked, intrigued. She set the tablet down beside her.
"Having a wash." Watson shrugged, trying to brush off her interest.
"You're shaving it off," Mary observed.
"Well, you hate it." Watson quickly retorted.
"Sherlock hates it." Mary corrected.
"Apparently everyone hates it." Watson chuckled.
"Are you gonna see him again?" Mary asked. Watson let the statement hang in the air as he began to remove his shaver from the bathroom cabinet. He didn't say anything. "I dunno, six months of bristly kisses for me, and then he turns up..." Mary teased, trying to ease the tension.
"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes," Watson grumbled
"Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!" Mary giggles
"Shut up," Watson smirked, a cheeky grin on his face. Mary wandered to the bathroom door and leaned against the frame.
"Or what?" She asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"Or I'll marry you," Watson smirked before lifting the razor and beginning his shave.
