On The Run – II
AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance. Please do not copy this story anywhere.
July – August 2013
"Do we have to?" Teddy whined.
"Yes," Helena replied without looking at him.
Sherlock let out a displeased noise and the two 'clones' stared at her with identical scowls. She resisted the urge to bang her head somewhere. Teddy had taken to shift between her and Sherlock's appearance and it was proving to be too much for her. It had been too long since she'd taken Teddy out and today was perfect. She had it all planned and couldn't understand why Teddy was complaining. It was a day's trip and she'd informed them so… just not the place. She'd wanted it to be a surprise, but now, she wasn't so sure.
"That's enough both of you," Helena told them firmly. "Finish your meal and then we'll be getting dressed and going on a family outing."
Sherlock frowned before stating, "It's a family outing. Clearly, I don't have to go."
"Yes, you do. You're family." Helena told him offhandedly.
Sherlock stopped with the cup halfway to his mouth and blinked a couple of times. He looked stunned for a moment before asking carefully, "You mean – I'm your… family?"
Now, both Teddy and Helena went silent and stared at him like he'd grown another head. They shared a look before Helena said, "Of course, you are."
Teddy nodded his ascent and Sherlock let out a small – 'Oh.'
Roars filled the air as soon as they reached their destination and Helena smirked when she saw identical wide-eyed looks of awe thrown her way.
"Are those…" Sherlock asked, unable to contain his excitement.
"Dragons." She grinned.
Teddy's hair flashed a series of colours, her boy's hair mimicking the flames of the dragons and she had to nudge him to get moving. After that, there was no stopping the two as Charlie showed them around the dragon reserve along with the dragons they currently had – Romanian Longhorn, Common Welsh Green, Chinese Fireball, Hebridean Black, Hungarian Horntail and Swedish Short-Snout.
Both Sherlock and Teddy brightened more than they had in days and Helena couldn't keep the smile off her face. By the end of the day, it became nearly impossible to drag Sherlock back, but his eyes were bright and he was laughing with Teddy, much to Helena's amusement.
September 2013
South Africa
Sweat dripped down her nose as she leaned against the wall, trying to gather her breaths after running more than a mile. Her legs felt like jelly and the world seemed to be turning irrevocably upside down… her world. It hurt and she clutched her chest, ignoring the phone that had been trilling constantly in her pocket.
The scene she'd first-hand witnessed flashed in front of her and she nearly puked. Once the feeling passed, she took deep breaths to calm herself. Helena reminded herself that she had Teddy to look for and she couldn't fall apart. Standing up on shaky legs, she walked in the unknown streets. Her phone rang again, but she ignored it. Instead deciding to walk as further away as possible.
It must've been hours as night had fallen when she decided to return. Finally, deciding to check the phone, she pulled it out, ignoring numerous calls and opened the message.
Helena, I'm sorry. What you saw wasn't what it seemed. Please, let me explain.
– SH
Foolish. That's what she was. She should've known better. Helena snorted at herself.
Earlier that afternoon, she'd decided to do the touristy stuff, while Sherlock was out, doing God knew what! The heavenly smell of food wafted through the air and pulled her straight to the café, where her heart had shattered into a million pieces. Sherlock was talking to a blonde and the woman had her nails all over his shirt. He did nothing to push her away, instead looked at her like she was the only woman in the world and leaned down to press his lips against her blood-red ones. Her hands found a way into his curls as the woman pressed her body against Sherlock's.
The pain of losing her loved ones wasn't new to her, but it ripped through her chest as it had never before. She must've made some kind of noise because Sherlock pulled away and his eyes filled with horror as soon as they landed on her.
"Helena!" Sherlock called, leaving the woman to rush towards her, but before he could reach closer, she apparated away from him.
Sherlock cursed before hailing a taxi and rushed back to the hotel they'd been staying at.
'Had she already left? Was he too late?'
His chest felt tight at the mere thought. He knew Helena hated Adler with a passion for a reason and he'd unknowingly hurt her by 'kissing' another woman. The mere thought that Helena had seen him kissing someone else and what it must've looked like made him swallow bile.
'Oh, how could he have been so stupid?'
She'd seen him and had seen it as a chance to ensnare him into her trap. She had no money, no one to love, no future and she'd known that he wouldn't be able to resist. So, she had provoked him and he had been too cocky and full of hatred. He wanted revenge… and it had gone wrong! He had always hated Victoria, but at the moment, Sherlock wished he could burn her to the ground.
She'd been surprised when he pushed her back and had tried to bait him further, but all his focus had shifted on the girl he loved… who was staring at him like he had stomped on her heart. In a way he had, but if only he could explain what had happened, she would understand, but she had vanished. Sometimes, he undeniably loathed magic. It made him feel incompetent as he was left to do nothing but wait.
Gahhhh!
He got out of the taxi and ran up to their room only to find it empty. He hastily rushed to check the cupboard and sighed when he saw her clothes lying as they were – she hadn't left, he thought before pulling up his phone and dialling her number yet again.
He waited for hours and finally decided to text Mycroft when the door opened and she walked in.
"Helena."
He whispered, but she didn't respond, instead, waved her wand in the direction of the closet. Her bag flew out, expanded itself and her things started floating out of the cupboard, disappearing inside the said bag.
His breath hitched at the prospect of her leaving and he tried again, "Helena."
She turned away from him, but he walked around to face her, catching her wrists in his hands before pleading, "Helena, listen to me."
"Let go of me." She muttered.
Sherlock felt his heart squeezing in his chest and he shook his head adamantly. "Not until you listen."
Helena looked into his eyes and said coldly, "You lied to me and then I found you snogging some blonde on the road."
"It wasn't that…" He tried again.
She cut him off and asked, "Really? So, you weren't snogging some blonde?"
"What I did was stupid, but you have to know that it didn't mean anything. If only you'd let me explain…" Urgently, Sherlock tried to clarify.
Abruptly, she pulled away from him and shouted, "And how exactly would I know that it didn't mean anything?! You aren't exactly forthcoming with your feelings! I'm tired of guessing them every step of the way."
Sherlock frowned because that wasn't right. Sure, he hadn't told her how important she was in so many words, but she had to know. She was the most important person in his life… more than anyone else. Though he would never tell her this – but she occupied the whole east wing in his mind palace, while Victoria was just locked in a room in the basement.
He took a step toward her and said, "I just kissed her to prove a point."
Helena took a step away, picking up her bag which was now packed. She gave a humourless smile and said, "Well, that makes it all better."
"Please, don't leave." He begged, suddenly scared that she might leave. He didn't think he would be able to take it if she left. "Please…"
"Sorry, Sherlock," Helena muttered unapologetically, not looking at him before apparating on spot and away from his life.
Sherlock couldn't remember how long he stood there, staring at the spot where she'd been a few moments ago, hoping that she might return and give him a chance to just explain. He made a mistake, a blunder, but it wasn't his intention to hurt her. He couldn't imagine a life where Helena wasn't a part of it – she made everything better, a brighter place and he simply basked in her glow.
Though, he had always known Helena too would leave one day. Everyone did and he'd known it all his life, so why was he surprised? Why did he feel like he couldn't breathe? Was it because of sentiment? His sentiments for Helena had made him weak. No, he couldn't be seen as weak, not now when he had so much to do, but despite the thoughts of pushing her presence away, he felt his eyes burn, much to his horror.
Two Hours Later
He blinked out of the daze when his phone pinged. Sherlock took out his phone and looked at the message.
What did you do?
MH
He quickly typed a response.
I assume Helena is in London.
SH
Currently in Baker Street, having a cup of tea with Martha. Now, whatever you've done, apologise.
MH
I don't know if I can fix it.
SH
You are better when she's with you, dear brother. If I were you, I'd better start finding ways to beg forgiveness.
MH
Sherlock stared at the message for a long time. It didn't take a genius to figure out what his brother was implying. Helena was the only one who could tolerate him. Caring was not an advantage, but even Mycroft knew he had gotten overly sentimental when it came to the witch, especially in the last year. He could no longer imagine his life without Helena being a part of it one way or the other… and in the end, Mycroft hadn't been wrong – 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.'
But Helena's presence in his life had made him stronger. He'd won the game because of 'sentiment', but without her warm presence to soothe him, the world already seemed like a cold place and he hated it.
Mycroft's Pov
He leaned back into his seat and contemplated the predicament his brother has found himself in.
Helena Potter.
Sherlock's first friend.
A girl who had 'broken' his brother when they were children. Sherlock had ended up locking all her memories giving birth to a 'new friend'.
So, Mycroft was less than pleased when she found her way back into Sherlock's life after all those years. He'd hoped to be wrong, but wasn't the least bit surprised when the two got attached to the hip – just as they were before. Yes, he admitted there was an allure at times when she helped Sherlock in ways no one else could and she was passably tolerable, but he knew it would end tragically… again…
He could never forget how far his brother had fallen – hooked to the tubes and IV lines, nearly dead and Mycroft had thought that his brother would never come back to him. Though Helena wasn't to be blamed, he could see Sherlock going down the same road.
This time, it was much worse. His brother cared for the girl… and if Mycroft wasn't wrong, which he rarely was, Sherlock possibly was in love with the witch as well.
Now… now Helena had abandoned Sherlock and this was the chance where he could make his brother understand that 'caring was not an advantage' and with Sherlock vulnerable, it would be easier to manipulate him. He would stop his brother from falling down the same path again. His decision being made, he picked up his phone and typed the message –
[Caring is not an advantage.]
He was just about to send the message, but something stopped him.
'It was good right? Of course, it was. It was a pragmatic solution. Simple. Clean. Better for everyone involved, surely.'
'Wrong!' Sherlock's voice sang.
With a sigh, he deleted the words and wrote – [I'm sure there is a way for —]
No, it wasn't right. So, he deleted it again before tying his next words. Once satisfied, he sent it to Sherlock, hoping, he hadn't made the wrong decision.
You are better when she's with you, dear brother. If I were you, I'd better start finding ways to beg forgiveness.
MH
November 2013
London
Two months.
That's how long Sherlock had been able to last without Helena… before he'd gone back to his old ways. Mycroft hadn't thought his brother would resort to drugs again, not after the last time… also because he had something to keep his mind occupied this time, but it all failed when it came to the one girl – again.
As always, two of his men had been following Sherlock before he had sold his phone along with other things to buy drugs and had simply vanished. It had been two days and he still didn't know where his junkie brother had taken off to. At this rate, it wouldn't take days before Sherlock got himself killed.
Mycroft leaned back into his chair and rubbed his forehead tiredly. No matter how much he disliked Helena's presence in his brother's life, he knew her to be the only one who could 'control' Sherlock to an extent. Not to mention that it will be easier if she rescued him, giving them a chance to talk.
'Now that the perfect opportunity had presented itself, it would be foolish to let it go.' He thought, staring at the number on his phone. 'Hopefully, it would all work out in the end.'
He sent the text.
Mycroft's Office, London
We lost his trace…
The words flashed in front of her eyes as she glared at the haggard-looking man.
We lost his trace…
Two months.
It had been two months since she'd left and Mycroft managed to fuck it up!
'How was it possible?' Helena thought furiously. 'They had a simple job! Keep their eyes on one man! How could they lose his trace?!'
The question must've written on her face as Mycroft said, "Sherlock has been… difficult since you left. This was his third attempt to throw off my men."
She sighed, knowing how difficult Sherlock could be. If he was deliberately hiding from Mycroft's men and didn't want to be found, there would be no way to find Sherlock, no matter what. But why?
Helena couldn't come up with a single reason that explained the questions and inquired, "How long…?"
"More than 48 hours." The elder Holmes replied simply, "My men were supposed to contact me after taking care of 'the man', but they never did."
At his words, her panic increased tenfold and she deadpanned, "You think they're dead."
"Most likely." Mycroft shrugged, looking down at his shoes.
Helena took a calming breath. One more question before she was going to curse him and asked, "Do you think he has been captured?"
Instead of replying, he looked at her and said, "I was hoping you might be able to track him down."
Of course, she had known this the moment he'd told her about Sherlock, but it did nothing to quell the anger that boiled inside her. She looked at him and asked blankly, "You know I had a tracking charm on his coat, don't you?"
'The coat which was now hanging in his office.'
"Yes, but I do believe you can track him down with this." As soon as he finished his sentence, his secretary, Athena, presented him with a glass tube which had a lock of dark-coloured curly hair in it. He didn't have to tell her that it was Sherlock's as she recognised them as soon her eyes fell on it.
'You've done it before. You can do it again.' It went without saying, but still, she was angry and frantic as she yelled again, "2 days! He has been missing for 2 days and you're telling me now?!"
"I didn't think you'd care." He gave her a cold smile and said sagely, "You left him, remember?"
It felt like an accusation and Helena tried not to blanch, but determined not to let the blame fall on her shoulders because Mycroft and his men were incompetent, she hissed furiously, "Don't try to blame it on me! You don't even know what happened!"
There was his condescending smile as Mycroft looked at her like she was an idiot as he said, "I could guess. Though, you didn't give him a chance to explain, did you?"
She raised her chin defiantly and responded stubbornly, "There was nothing to explain."
"Wasn't there?" He asked mockingly before he closed his eyes, looking resigned and whispered earnestly, "I wouldn't have asked you to come if I wasn't – worried."
She closed her eyes, sorely tempted to just abandon everything – Sherlock, Mycroft, 221B Bakers Street and all the games she was tired of playing, but even as the thought crossed her mind, Helena knew it would never happen. She loved Sherlock too much to abandon him when he needed her the most. It didn't matter how many times he broke her heart, she would always stay by his side and fight. She knew it wasn't good and Hermione had made sure to tell her as much repeatedly in the last two months, but she didn't understand that if Sherlock was a drug, then Helena was the addict.
Malaysia
The sun was setting in the sky, by the time she tracked Sherlock and apparated at the location. She sent the address to Mycroft and looked around. The garden was overgrown with weeds and the insects were buzzing around in the hazy evening sunlight. She cast a silent charm to find out how many people were hidden in the house and was surprised to see that there were only two including Sherlock. Wand in hand, she followed the rough gravel path to the entrance and found that the front door was open.
It was a single-story house and she looked around for a light switch as soon as she entered. With a huff, Helena decided to ignore it for now and cast a silent 'Lumos' before noticing a staircase leading to the basement.
The house was completely silent, but she knew Sherlock was in there, so she called, "Sherlock?"
No one responded as she made her way down the stairs, looked around and called again, "Sherlock?"
"Go away."
A voice she recognised sniped from a corner and Helena turned towards it instinctively before calling again, "Sherlock!"
"GO AWAY!"
The voice shouted and Helena's eyes fell on the heap lying in the corner. His clothes were dirty and torn, but it was Sherlock and Helena released a breath she'd been holding. He was fine. Not dead.
"Sherlock!" She kneeled in front of him and he flinched away from the light illuminating the room.
"Ughhh! I said go away!" He bemoaned.
She raised her hands and didn't touch him again, but spoke slowly, "Sherlock, it's me. Helena."
"I know you're not here." His face was still hidden as he mumbled, "Not really."
'What the…?' Helena frowned before stating, "Sherlock, I'm right here."
"No, no, you're not." Sherlock shook his head obstinately, his long hair flying all over the place. "You'll disappear. You always do."
Now, she was worried because he was hallucinating her? Right now though, she needed to get him out, but asked, "How did you even get here?"
"Moriarty's man. I followed him here and he tried to kill me." He shrugged.
Alarmed, she asked, "Where is he?"
Sherlock nonchalantly waved a hand in the opposite direction and Helena turned around, only to find a man lying in the pool of his own blood – definitely dead. Then a thought occurred – if the man was dead and there was no one else in the house, why hadn't Sherlock left? There was definitely something wrong as she looked at him and asked carefully, "Are you hurt?"
Sherlock blinked at her a couple of times in rapid succession before stating in a small voice, "I – I think I broke my leg."
Unconsciously, her hands rubbed his arms in a soothing gesture and she said, "We need to get you out of here."
Again, he shook his head, making the wild curls fly all over the place and spoke, "No, you should leave. Just let me die alone. It's what I deserve."
She couldn't help herself and snapped angrily, "Oh, for fucks sake, Sherlock!"
But he wasn't deterred and replied, "You don't love me anymore… possibly even hate me. What's the point?"
"Don't be melodramatic." Helena grounded out, turning to look around, making sure they still were alone.
He suddenly grabbed her wrists and babbled, "I'm sorry, Helena. I'm so sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you. Please, please let me explain."
Not ready to listen to his excuses, she took a calming breath before muttering, "Sherlock, can this wait? We need to get out of here."
"No! Not before you listen to me! You have to know! How can you not know? You must know… you must! You…"
His voice was frantic and for the first time, Helena noticed that he was having difficulty talking. Worried that he might be hurt more than he knew, she grabbed his chin, startling him, but ignored his eyed-eyed expression and looked into his eyes. They were wild and hazy – the greyish blue colour barely visible because of the black ring which was covering them.
"What did you take?" She asked through gritted teeth.
"Take?" He repeated idiotically.
A cold laugh bubbled out of her when she realised that he was drugged. Mycroft had hinted enough that 'Sherlock's behaviour might be different and not to be alarmed'. This was it, wasn't it? He was taking drugs.
"John was right. You're a bloody tosspot!" She gritted out.
Sherlock didn't look at her as he mumbled, "You're going to leave me… aren't you?"
And this was the thing she'd been trying to avoid. Helena couldn't stop herself anymore and blurted out suddenly, "Why did you do it? Wasn't I enough?"
His eyes snapped to hers and he stated furiously, "Don't be absurd! It doesn't suit you."
She was about to retort, but he spoke before she could, "The woman was Victoria Trevor. We went to Uni together. She was my first friend and the only one who talked to me like I was normal – not a freak. I was just so lonely that liking her was the easiest thing in the world, so when she told me that she loved me – I believed her. I was happy… and 'in love' and didn't think much when she asked me to… to… I never had… with anyone… and I agreed because I trusted her, but it turned out she had a bet going on with other students – who could get the freak to break and into their bed. I found out before we could… go all the way, but I… she – she reordered everything that we had done before and sent it to everyone."
'Oh God!' Helena gasped as her heart sank because she hadn't known. Hadn't even realised that he could have gone through something so traumatic. Now that she thought about it, it made perfect sense why Sherlock didn't like people… because he had never had someone who stood up for him. Didn't even know what a friend was until John moved in with him. Even though she hated that he called Victoria Trevor his first friend, she understood why Sherlock chose to forget her in the first place. What happened all those years ago – when they were both children – wasn't his fault. It was entirely likely that he didn't even know what had happened that fateful day. As far as he thought, she abandoned him and he chose to forget her.
Yes, she hated that he kissed someone else and she was still angry, but on a certain level, she understood why he did it. She wanted to go back in time and curse herself for not listening to Sherlock… if only she had…
Sherlock's voice broke through her musing. He didn't look at her even as he forced himself to continue, "Mycroft took care of it and I never saw her again… until now. She saw me a few days back and asked me to meet. I couldn't say no. I didn't want to. I wanted to show her that she meant nothing. I – I was planning to show you off and humiliate her for not having what I have."
"Oh, Sherlock…" Her heart ached for him and Helena wanted nothing more than to pull him in a hug and never let go.
"I would admit that – that, she provoked me… and I fell for it. But I kissed her only to prove that she doesn't matter. The only one I love is you… but then you saw… and I didn't get a chance to explain." He blabbered.
Of all the things, she hadn't expected this. Dumbfounded, her mouth fell open as she gaped at him and asked, "You – you love me?"
"Of course, I do!" He stated vehemently.
"You – never said…" she choked out.
Sherlock looked into her eyes. Just looked. His pupils were dilated, eyes were blown wide, hair dirty and a mess and he asked breathlessly, "How can you not know? We're married."
The sudden realisation was so… so… undeniable… because once again, she hadn't seen it. So lost in the chaos of life, she had ignored the fact that they were indeed married. Sherlock was different. He wasn't like others. A formal ceremony or a piece of paper meant nothing to him… Sherlock had shared himself with her because in his eyes – they were married. A couple. Partners for life… and she'd completely missed it.
Helena took his face between her hands, making him blink. She rested her forehead against his, feeling his breath on her lips before whispering, "You're an idiot."
His face fell, so she rubbed her nose against his softly and said, "…but you're my idiot and I love you."
Sherlock blinked at her confused, even as his hands grabbed her waist with all the strength he possessed at the moment.
Next Day
She gave him a glass of water as soon as he woke up from his 15-hour sleep. He seemed to be in pain as he shied away from the sunlight like a vampire would, looking ready to puke. Through it all, he didn't look into her eyes once.
"Are you feeling better now?" She asked.
Finishing the glass of water, he handed it to her and uttered, "Yes, thank you."
"Good," Helena uttered before smacking him hard on the face.
His head flew to the side. Perplexed, he looked up at her, rubbing his cheek which was turning red and opened his mouth to ask, but didn't get a chance when she asked frostily, "Seriously, Sherlock? Cocaine…?"
He stared at her, unable to come up with anything because not only did he feel like puking, but his head was throbbing and he was plotting ways to murder Mycroft for telling Helena about the drugs.
"If you ever did something like that again…" She stared.
"I won't." He promised even before she could finish.
When she didn't say anything, he asked tentatively, "Am – am I forgiven?"
"No."
His face fell, but he collected enough courage to ask, "You'll be leaving?"
When she kept glaring, he ranted, "I know I'm difficult to live with. I know my life is unconventional. I know you've been hurt because of me… numerous times now. And I know it would be in your best interest to leave. It is practical if you want something… normal. I'm selfish and it's entirely possible – that I might… unintentionally… end up hurting you again. Or Teddy. So, I understand if you never want to see me again –"
"Sherlock. Shut up."
His mouth snapped shut.
"I'm still angry that you snogged someone else, but I love you and I'm not leaving." She told him firmly. "Do you understand?"
Sherlock nodded, feeling relief like he hadn't since she'd left him. He kept his eyes on her as she prepared breakfast, unwilling to look away in case, she turned out to be another one of his hallucinations. Then, his phone pinged.
Don't start to wallow in self-pity brother.
MH
Sherlock glared at his phone before quickly typing out a reply.
Mind your own business, fatty!
SH
Somewhere in London, Mycroft rolled his eyes as he read the text, while his brother sulked in another part of the world.
December 2013
Austria
Mycroft had told them to lay low for a few days, so they were locked in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere. On top of it all, it had snowed heavily the night before. She had forgiven Sherlock, but she hadn't been able to respond to his advances in any way – still angry for some part.
They both knew it had been a long time coming. So, when he kissed her tentatively, she returned his kisses with a passion that surprised even herself. She wanted to make him forget everything in this world, but her.
Her fingers dug in his locks when he buried his face between her thighs. Helena had finally broken her silence when she had pushed his head down where she needed him the most and demanded more. After he made her cum, he crawled over her body and ground his hips against hers.
But she had something in mind, so in a quick move, she flipped them over and made sure to explore every inch of his skin with her mouth and hands, leaving him burning for more. That day, she learned more about him than she had before – like he loved when she licked him over his pecks; he was ticklish when she brushed her lips over his hipbones; feeling her hot breath on his perineum made his toes curl and it made him squirm in a good way when she moved her fingers to brush his hole as he had forgotten himself and gurgled spit because it had been too much. Helena memorized every sound and movement he made, pushing him away every time he tried to push his cock inside her.
His hands turned out to be too distracting, so she whispered a silent spell and just like that his hands were bound to the headboard before he could blink twice. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other for several seconds – Sherlock with surprise and Helena making sure she hadn't gone too far.
It was an arch of his brow which challenged her like no other and a smirk that vanished as she sat back and fingered herself as retribution. She'd blushed when she realised that even though his hips were thrusting up in the air, he was enjoying the show she was putting on.
Determined to break him, she touched, squeezed, sucked, bit and licked – bringing him to the edge only to stop before starting the torture again and again – until he couldn't form words anymore.
Nothing but her name on his lips – a desperate plea.
There were only his moans of pleasure, the wild bucking of his hips, and the rattle of the headboard as he fought to break the binds. His body shook underneath hers as he trembled and begged as if in pain, chanting her name over and over again. Finally, she positioned herself on top of him and sank until she couldn't anymore.
Four.
Just four times he sank into her heat and was screaming his release.
His face is twisted into both pain and pleasure and suddenly, the joyful feeling of seeing him lose control turned into guilt. Helena stayed on top of him with him still inside her. She gnawed her lower lip at the contorted face in front of her before whispering another spell, vanishing the binds and his arms hit the bed lifelessly. She grew more worried the longer his body twitched and trembled, his eyes stayed shut and he didn't speak.
"Sher – Sherlock? Are you alright?" Helena asked slowly.
His voice was gravelly as he rasped, "Fuck."
She kept staring at him and whispered, "I – I shouldn't have…"
Sherlock didn't let her finish and stated the obvious. "You were angry."
"Yes." She mumbled shamefully, eyes shifted away as she moved to get off.
His hands on her hips stopped him as he said, "Don't be."
"Hm…?" Helena asked confused.
"I've fantasized about that since uni. Though, it was the other way round." He informed her seriously.
"Really?" She blinked at him wide-eyed.
"Yes." Sherlock uttered before adding with a smirk, "Next time, you should be ready for revenge."
In place of replying, Helena leaned down and kissed him soundly on the lips.
Next Morning
Helena woke to the bright sunlight shining right into her eyes because neither she nor Sherlock had thought to draw the curtains. Sherlock was plastered against her back, an arm draped over her waist, snuffling breaths into the back of her neck. Turning on her front, she stretched luxuriously, basking in the glow of being back with Sherlock. In the past two months, she had forgotten what it felt like to wake up and still be thrumming with satisfaction. She hated to leave the bed. Helena wanted to wallow in the gloriousness of waking up with Sherlock once again, but she was starving.
She carefully slid out from underneath Sherlock, pulling on Sherlock's silk shirt which had been thrown on the wooden floor sometime during the night. They were in the middle of nowhere, locked in a cabin for at least another two days, so she didn't bother wearing a bra or panties before walking down the stairs to the small kitchenette connected to the living room.
Their surroundings were quiet and the cabin was drenched in sunlight. Helena loved the brightness and content it provided, something akin to her feelings at the moment. She found packets of tea and groceries in the small cupboard and smiled at Mycroft's thoughtfulness. She filled the kettle and busied herself in making eggs with toast when she felt Sherlock against her back. His arms found their way around her stomach as he clung to her and pressed a somewhat sloppy kiss to the base of her neck.
Judging by the amount of weight she was absorbing, Sherlock had practically collapsed against her back, but she whispered with a smile, "Good morning."
"Come back to bed." He mumbled against her neck.
"I'm nearly done making breakfast. I know you're hungry too." She replied as she finished plating the food.
"We can have it in bed." He stated the most obvious solution sluggishly.
"You want to have breakfast in bed?" She asked, finally turning around and her mouth fell open. Because he hadn't even bothered to put something on and was standing in the living room – stark naked. He looked thoroughly debauched – swollen lips, hickeys all over his body, wild hair sticking up all over the place and a very prominent erection.
She gasped, "Sherlock!"
"What?" He spoke innocently. "There's no one but us. Clothes are completely unnecessary for what I've planned."
She blushed, surprised and delighted by the suggestion and let Sherlock tug her upstairs, back to the bedroom as their food floated after them.
Christmas 2013
Helena's Tent
The room was bathed in the bright lights that adorned the tree in the corner that Helena and Teddy had decorated together. Teddy and Caesar were, sitting in front of the fireplace watching a Christmas movie on TV, ignoring both the adults.
Sherlock stared at her for a moment before concluding. "You think he loves me."
"Yes."
"You are serious." He looked astonished by the observation.
"Brilliant deduction." She mumbled, busy doing the last-minute cleaning.
Sherlock stared at her with comical amounts of shock from where he was sprawled on the sofa. Then, he repeated, "You really believe Mycroft loves me."
Helena finally looked at him and said, "I know he does."
He stared at her some more in a way Helena didn't understand and didn't even bother asking. Mycroft would be here any minute now and Sherlock still was lying in his dressing-gown,
Sherlock rolled off the couch as slowly as possible, dragging himself over to Helena. He collapsed onto her shoulder and asked, "How much do you love me?"
Helena laughed before kissing his head and said, "It isn't going to work. Go and get dressed."
He stood up disdainfully and just to be difficult, asked, "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
She clicked her tongue and deadpanned, "I've seen you wearing Dolce & Gabbana shirts while sleeping."
He shrugged as if it was completely acceptable to wear a dressing gown with sleeping pants on Christmas and said, "It's a compromise."
"Fine." Helena sighed before adding, "…but do put some socks on because if you got sick again because you're too stubborn, I'll drop you at Mycroft's."
He looked at her like she'd betrayed him and said uncertainly, "You wouldn't."
Helena just smiled angelically, making him huff as he dragged himself to the bedroom to retrieve his socks… cursing under his breath.
February 2014
Germany
She could hear his stomach growling as he prattled about something or the other.
Sherlock was working to find the location of the next assassin – one of the last few left – and as usual, was calming that his body and its needs were nothing more than 'transport.' By now, she was aware that no amount of nagging or pestering or arguing would change his mind.
Helena opened the containers of rice and curry before setting them back on the table. She munched on a piece of chicken and waited for the chance.
When he was too engrossed, she asked deliberately, "You sure he'll be here?"
"Yes." He groaned as if answering physically pained him.
Helena stabbed a piece of chicken as Sherlock scrutinised the map and pictures laid out in front of him. He was talking to himself like he usually did, becoming more and more engrossed with the man he was trying to find… and she figured it was a good time as any to go for the kill.
Bringing the forkful of chicken curry and rice up to his lips, she waited.
At first, he didn't seem to notice, but just when she was about to give it up as a lost cause, Sherlock turned his head and captured the morsel between his teeth, not having taken his eyes off the photographs once. She watched smugly and somewhat fearfully as he chewed a few times before swallowing… still not realizing what he was doing.
Deciding to give it another go, Helena repeated the process, but this time with a piece of naan filled with curry and a piece of chicken. Just as he had before, Sherlock absently opened his mouth and ate the offered bite… still unaware, but humming in the back of his throat with subconscious approval.
He kept mumbling and she kept feeding him, when suddenly, he shouted, "Helena!"
She nearly dropped the fork that was on the way to his mouth, but trying not to seem guilty, she crammed the loaded fork load into her own mouth, stabbing her tongue in the process. Her eyes watered, but to distract him, she asked with her mouth full, "What?"
Sherlock looked at her suspiciously, thankfully too busy to call out on her odd behaviour and said exuberantly, "I know where he is."
Swallowing back the pain, she asked, "Where?"
He pointed at the map and she leaned over to see before asking, "Hong Kong?"
"Yes." He sang, his face lit up, eyes shining brightly as he folded back the papers, stuffing them into his pocket and said, "I'm starved."
She watched amused as he snatched the fork from her hand and stabbed the piece of chicken before shoving it into his mouth.
March 2014
Hong Kong
"SHERLOCK!"
His eyes widened as he looked at the 'clothes' he'd been experimenting on. In retrospect, he should've known it wasn't a good idea, but he had been bored while waiting for his idiot of a brother to give him all the information about the next assassin.
He had nowhere to go and gulped when she barged into the room – sans clothing. Her hands were on her hips and her hair was tied in a towel, but other than that and the drops of water sliding down her skin, she was nude.
"You burned my clothes!" she screeched.
"Don't be dramatic. It was just your undergarments."
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say because she picked the first thing she got her hands on – which turned out to be an empty tea cup and threw it at his head. Sherlock jumped to the side with a loud yelp, hiding beneath the table to get away from the witch.
He peeked out from the table, hiding his smirk and called, "Hag!"
"You dim-witted ninny!" She yelled back.
"I'll show you, dim-witted." He growled under his breath before jumping out from his hiding spot and picking her up in a swift motion.
"Let me down, you blockhead!" Helena squirmed, trying to get down, but he was stronger as he carried her towards the bedroom, intent on showing how much of a blockhead he was!
April 2014
Russia
Sherlock met Baron's eyes as he repeated, "I'm here of my own volition. I am not working for any government agency."
Baron clicked his tongue in disappointed irritation and drove his fist into Sherlock's gut before stating, "Well, now you certainly are, my friend. Your partner was shot down by my men. He must be dead by now. We might even let you see whatever's left of the body – if there's anything left after the animals are done with him."
Sherlock's whole body jerked as if physically hurt and shook his head silently. Because it wasn't true. Baron wasn't aware that Helena was a witch… an auror and couldn't go down by a bullet. No. No. Baron was wrong.
He wasn't aware he'd said the last words out loud. Not until the Russian laughed and ducked him across the face hard enough to bloody him, teeth and soft tissue of lips and cheek colliding.
London
"Mr Holmes," Anthea called. "Sherlock has activated the panic code."
Mycroft was on his feet, moving swiftly to his desktop as his fingers flew over the keyboard for the next half-minute, logging in through checkpoint after secure checkpoint until he was at the Intelligence Mainframe, leaning in as he clicked on the blinking red link.
"Still in Serbia." He muttered, watching as MI6 worked at the feed, intercepting the Serbian's making an effort to verify a name and serial number.
'Where was Helena?' He mused and reached the only logical conclusion. – 'Compromised.' He hoped she wasn't dead. Not only would it 'affect' his brother, but it would also be difficult to explain to her people, why their war hero was killed… not to mention its consequences.
He swore under his breath, knowing the situation was dire before walking towards the door and saying, "Get the car, we are moving."
Russia
Mycroft's heart dropped to his feet as a battered man was dragged into the room, locked in the grip of a soldier. The man's hands were tied to the metal chains as he was forced to stand and it took every single atom of his self-control not to cry out and go to his brother's aid. Sherlock's hair was wild, his face bearded and swollen nearly beyond recognition, but there was no doubt this was his brother.
Sherlock struggled to look up to the man, but drawled, "Who do I have the pleasure of showing off for today? Baron's very good. I make delightful noises under his hands."
Mycroft grimaced at his brother's condition, knowing it wasn't good. He had his men looking out for Helena and hoped they would find her alive. But for now, his main concern was his brother. He had to let Sherlock know he was here, so he spoke, "Aleksandar Džagić Nikola, security counsel to the Vatican Cameos at times, perhaps you've heard of me?"
Baron Maupertuis drove a hard fist right into Sherlock's gut before grabbing him by his long hair, wrenching his head back and driving his fist into him again. To Mycroft, he explained, "We've been trying to get after his intentions."
He had a whip in hand, swiftly cracking it brutally hard over Sherlock's back.
Mycroft cleared his throat, pushing down the urge to shoot the man between the eyes and said, "If you render him unable to speak, I'm not exactly sure how successful your attempts will be."
Sherlock looked at the corner where Helena was standing. She shook her head and said – 'Stay calm. Mycroft is here. He will find me and then we'll go home together.'
'Together.' He mumbled under his breath just as the whip cracked against his back and he cried out again.
Mycroft could no longer censor himself. "That will do nothing. He is hardly lucid. I speak the language, and he is speaking to no one physically present in this room. Find your superiors and bring them, or at the least, offer my services. We have a much more… effective method of interrogation."
Baron lowered the whip, but shook his head and said, "Whoever he is loyal to, he will not shift. He has been entertaining, but sadly he won't last much longer."
Then, he stared at Mycroft for a moment before thumbing the radio and speaking swiftly. With a nod, he left the room, head cocked to the side to hear his instruction.
Mycroft was up from the seat and moving swiftly towards his brother. He dragged his fingers in Sherlock's hair, doing his best to appear brutal in his movements before leaning in close and speaking softly, "There is an extraction team. Back to Baker's Street. A few hours longer, brother."
"Helena?" Sherlock asked, his French was broken and frantic as he struggled against his bonds.
"My men are looking out for her," Mycroft replied swiftly.
Mycroft was on the phone with Anthea, speaking in rushed French as they transported Sherlock and Helena to the airport. His men had found her nearly buried in snow and deeply unconscious because of the bullet that had buried itself in her left shoulder. She was thankfully alive because Mycroft even shuddered thinking what would've happened to his brother if the witch had been dead.
He ended the call and balled his fists, struggling to keep himself calm, more worried than he'd ever been and far more furious than he thought capable of being.
On the Plane
Mycroft could tell Sherlock's dreams were fevered, resulting in tossing on the gurney despite being administered anaesthesia by the medics. He set his tablet down as Sherlock stirred before curling into himself. They were more than two hours out still and he was hoping Sherlock wouldn't wake until they reached a proper hospital. The gashes across Sherlock's back were cleaned, but massively infected and he was still feverish.
"Sherlock," he called out, putting a hand on Sherlock's head as he crouched over his brother and said, "Sherlock, you are safe now."
Sherlock startled awake and shouted in Serbian, "You should not have untied me you –"
His brow furrowed as his eyes landed on his brother and he asked, "Mike?"
For a moment, Mycroft was dumbstruck. Sherlock had not used that particular moniker for decades… not since he'd turned 12. The effect of it was extremely powerful as it shredded through his chest, flaring to life the fierce protectiveness he practised when Sherlock used to wear the pirate hat. He covered Sherlock's hand with his own and spoke, "I've got you, Sherlock. I know you're in pain, getting to you was difficult but we will be back to London soon."
Sherlock nodded as he did when he was a child before asking, "Not in Serbia?"
Mycroft shook his head and reassured, "Not in Serbia."
"Helena?" Sherlock asked.
Mycroft sighed but pointed to the other gurney where she was sleeping and said, "She's fine. Just asleep."
Sherlock craned his head to take a look before nodding and promptly fell asleep, but not before drawing his brother's hand to his hair, leaving it there.
Mycroft was shocked again, but abandoned his mobile and tablet, spending the remainder of the flight next to his brother, smoothing his palm over the chaos that had become Sherlock's natural curls. He did not leave his brother's side until they were in the hospital and finally, Sherlock was being treated properly.
A Week Later
May 2014
London, the Diogenes Club
"After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion. Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago. Sherlock fell to his death from the top of London's St. Bart's Hospital..."
Both the Holmes brothers ignored the telly as they were busy having another one of their 'discussions'. Helena mostly ignored the two, until Sherlock asked, "John Watson?"
She kept her face away, knowing it would give her away. She hadn't been in contact with John per se, but she had tried to talk to him a couple of times during the two and a half years. Tried – being the keyword. John was a stubborn bastard and although she didn't blame him after what had happened, he had thrown both her and Mrs Hudson out of his life. Yes, he found a new home and a girlfriend after being through something traumatic, but that didn't do anything to quell the hurt she felt. She'd thought they were friends. She'd been wrong.
"I've kept a closer eye on him." Her attention returned when Mycroft stated, gesturing for Anthea to hand Sherlock a file.
Sherlock promptly opened the file and flipped a recent photograph of John with his moustache. "Oh well, he's going to have to lose that."
Helena nearly snorted. Trust Sherlock's naivety to believe that things would start just where he'd left them. Despite knowing the answer, she asked, "You haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?"
"No, of course not. You know I couldn't contact him while undercover." Sherlock stated the obvious. "I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted."
"You think so?" Mycroft asked with an arched brow.
At the same time, Helena chimed, "I think he'll punch you."
Oblivious, unbothered and overly excited to see his best friend, Sherlock said, "I'll pop into Baker Street. Maybe jump out of a cake."
Helena shared a look with Mycroft before he said, "Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. It's been more than two years. He's got on with his life."
Sherlock gave Mycroft 'the look' which meant he was being mental and snarked, "What life? I've been away. Where is going to be tonight?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes even as he said, "He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint – Emilion, though I prefer 2001."
"I think maybe I'll just drop by." Sherlock mused, fixing his shirt as he looked into the mirror.
Mycroft perused his lips before speaking, "You know, it is possible that you won't be welcome."
"No, it isn't." Sherlock stated before asking, "Now, where is it?"
Mycroft's brows pinched as he asked, "Where's what?"
"You know what," Sherlock asked with a roll of his eyes.
Anthea appeared with his iconic coat and Sherlock couldn't help but smile as she helped Sherlock into his coat and said, "Welcome back, Mr Holmes."
"Thank you... blud." Sherlock said to her before rushing out the door as he called excitedly, "Helena! Come on! We're going home!"
EN: So, we're done with this one. I'm halfway through Season 3 but will only post it after I finish its first draft.
Though, I would still like to ask again – is anyone still interested in reading more? Now that this is complete (kind of), I might as well work on the other pending stories which readers are still interested in. I haven't had many views on this one, so I'm unsure if there is someone still willing to read this.
Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is insulting.
