Author's Note: Only one more chapter to go! I hope that you are enjoying the story as it plays out. I hope to have the final chapter up within the next few days. Much love, xxDustNight.
Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Huge thank you to starrnobella for reading this chapter over to make sure I haven't lost my touch! Haha! Much love, xxDustNight
*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!
Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
31 December 2018
Ginny was sipping her second cup of coffee at the sink when she saw Draco arrive in their backyard. Setting the mug aside, she wandered over to the back door and opened it before he could knock. "'Morning, Malfoy," she greeted, allowing him to step inside the kitchen.
"Morning," Draco replied, running a hand through his blond hair. "Thanks again for letting Scorpius stay the night. It was nice of you to do so with everything that's been going on this past week."
Making her way back to her coffee, Ginny picked up the warm mug before responding, "It's no problem. The kids shouldn't have to worry about the problems of our world. I think they had a lot of fun together," Ginny explained with a sad smile.
"Is Harry around? Have you heard anything further on everything that went down yesterday?" Draco asked, shooting a quick glance at the doorway that led to the other part of the house. "I haven't had a chance to see him or Theo."
Sighing, Ginny said, "He hasn't been home yet since yesterday. I'm hoping to see him this evening after everything has been finalized."
"Finalized?" Draco asked, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean by that? I thought they-" He cut himself off, and then his mouth popped open in surprise. "It wasn't him!"
Ginny merely shrugged before taking another drink of her coffee. "I can't be certain, but I do know that Theo and Harry had a plan worked out to get to the bottom of everything. Harry said that it would be a closed case by tonight."
Draco leaned against the counter and let out a low whistle. "This is even more complicated than we all thought…." Noise could be heard from the other room as the kids began to move towards the kitchen. "Look, have you heard from Greg about picking up Thomas?"
"Not yet," Ginny said, a sad smile on her face. "I figured Thomas could just hang out here until we heard anything further."
Draco nodded once and straightened back to his full height. "I'll take him home with me. He and Scorpius are used to hanging out all day anyway."
"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, gesturing around. "I don't mind keeping him here either. It's not like I have much going on at the moment."
"You've got three kids to be worrying about," Draco said, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You and the kids enjoy the day, and I'll send word to Greg that Thomas is with me at the Manor. Okay?"
"Okay," Ginny replied, feeling relief at the fact that Draco was willing to take Thomas home. According to Harry, Ginny didn't know all the details about the case, but she knew that Draco was innocent. "Sounds like a plan to me."
After Draco left with Scorpius and Thomas, Ginny had the kids get cleaned up so they could go to the Burrow for New Year's Eve. It was still relatively early in the day, but Harry had suggested they spend the day there just in case anything further happened with the case. Standing in her kitchen, Ginny wondered if, after today, everything would actually go back to normal or if their lives would be changed forever.
"Are you going to be here tonight?" Hermione asked Sherlock as she watched him pace the front room. "Mrs Hudson said that New Year's Eve is a difficult time for you."
"I lost someone who meant more than I thought on New Year," Sherlock explained, slowing his pace to stroll toward the windows. He peered out at the cars passing by and waited for Hermione to speak again.
Thinking about this for a moment, Hermione decided to just accept his words and not press for more information. If Sherlock wanted to share about his loss, he would have. "Can I ask why you were in such a horrible mood last night?"
"Lestrade has informed me that the case is closed," Sherlock said, his calm facade growing irritated. "The case still appears to be wide open, in my opinion. I can't seem to figure this one out, Hermione." He whirled around to face her, his eyes wild. "How can it be closed, and yet you're still here?"
Something Sherlock said the night before clicked in her head, and she gasped. "Detective Nott."
"What about him," Sherlock said, taking a step toward Hermione.
"I know him."
Sherlock closed the distance between the two of them in a mere breath, and Hermione counted because she'd barely inhaled when his masculine scent invaded her senses. Then, staring helplessly up into Sherlock's sea-coloured eyes, she went from breathing to holding her breath, waiting for a reaction from the consulting detective.
"How?"
"He's my partner," Hermione practically whispered, blinking slowly. "We've worked together for several years now. I didn't realize that you'd met him."
"Nott and another man were at the murder scene on Christmas," Sherlock said, his eyes observing Hermione carefully. He'd missed clues before, but he was determined not to miss a blessed detail now.
"I bet that was Harry," Hermione responded, finally having to look away from Sherlock's intense stare. "He's the one who told me to stay away until it was safe."
Infuriated, but not at Hermione, Sherlock stomped around Hermione before he said something rash. "The pieces of this case grow ever more complicated to fit together the longer I know you," Sherlock told Hermione. He faced her again and waited for her to say something.
"What was the name of the murder victim?" Hermione asked, stomach-turning more and more by the minute. "Please, you have to tell me. I have a right to know, especially since it could have been me."
"Dennis Creevy," Sherlock said, eyes narrowing only slightly at the sharp intake of Hermione's breath. "You know him as well."
"We went to the same school," Hermione admitted, feeling exceptionally sad at finally knowing the truth. "He lost his brother when we were really young."
"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, knowing it was the right thing to say but not sure exactly why the words left his mouth. "Why do you think you were attacked?" He needed answers.
"Honestly?" Hermione said, shrugging one shoulder, "I don't know. I have a few theories, but none of them makes sense even to me at this point. Without Harry or Detective Nott giving me any information, I have nothing."
"I have to go out," Sherlock told Hermione without turning around to face her. "I'll be back in time for the festivities."
"Are you lying?" Hermione called out as his hand turned the doorknob. "Will you really be here tonight, or are you not going to come back until I'm gone?" A part of her knew that this would be her last night in 221B.
Hand falling from the doorknob, Sherlock turned and stared thoughtfully at Hermione for a hard minute before sighing heavily. "I promised Mrs Hudson that I would be here tonight, and so I will."
Hermione nodded once and then watched as Sherlock left her alone again. She placed a hand over her heart and felt it beating erratically. Sherlock did something to her that no one else had ever done before, and it drove her mad trying to figure it out amidst everything else. If she stayed here any longer, Hermione knew that she'd do something reckless.
She pulled the mobile phone out of her pocket and ran her hand over the screen, bringing it to life. A part of her wanted to call Harry and see what he had to say about everything now that Sherlock confirmed the case was supposedly closed. But, on the other hand, part of her, the rational part, knew that if Harry had yet to call, the case was still wide open. He wanted her home as much as she wanted to be there.
The irrational part of Hermione, however, wanted to know why Sherlock made her heartbeat like this. Eyes lifting to stare at the door, she knew that the irrational part of her would win today. She was well enough now to leave, but without knowing what lurked in the world beyond flat 221B Baker Street, Hermione was more interested in staying here and discovering the mystery of her heart.
"Are you going to be able to do this?" Harry asked, placing a hand on Theo's shoulder.
Theo, who was currently standing staring at the Wizengamot courtroom door, nodded solemnly. "It's just a few questions, and then it's over, right?" he asked, faking a smile. "I can handle that, I'm sure."
"He's your husband, Theo," Harry said quietly, dropping his hand. "It's okay if you think it will be too much to handle. I don't mind stepping in and taking over for you."
Turning around to face his colleague and friend, Theo said, "I love Blaise with every beat of my heart, but even I know how to separate love and justice."
"It might not be as bad as you think," Harry began, but Theo shook his head.
"He violated my trust and put Hermione and so many others in danger," Theo said, obviously upset. "I don't know how that isn't considered that bad, Potter."
Holding up his hands, Harry relented. "You're right. I'll leave you to it, Theo. Just know that I will be right here behind you the entire time in case you need me to step in."
"I appreciate it." Taking a deep breath, Theo reached out and opened the door. "Here we go."
Midnight wasn't far off this New Year's Eve, and Hermione found herself smiling joyfully as she watched Rosie being bounced on John's knee. Sherlock stood at the window, his back toward the room as if having so many people together thoroughly annoyed him. Mrs Hudson and Mary were in the kitchen tidying up the leftovers and making tea. Feeling a bit tired from the long evening, she sat in Sherlock's chair and listened to John recount his and Sherlock's previous cases. It was fun and frivolous, and despite being exhausted, Hermione felt better than she had in ages.
When the clock finally struck midnight, Rosie was fast asleep in Mary's arms but they all toasted and celebrated the New Year all the same. Well, everyone except for Sherlock, who had wandered into his bedroom. Hermione could see him in there, going through his drawers and tidying up as if there wasn't a part going on a mere room away. There was no reason to say anything on the matter, seeing as the others paid him no mind. She figured it was safe to assume this was just his way.
"Goodnight, Hermione," Mary said as she passed Rosie to John so she could give Hermione a hug. "Happy New Year." She kissed her on the cheek before letting her go.
"Same to you, Mary, and you too, John," she said in reply, giving her friends each a hug in return. It was nice to celebrate with friends, even if they were new and still slightly unknown to her. She did miss Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan dearly, but she was safest here until she heard that the case was well and truly solved.
When they were gone, and only Mrs Hudson remained, the landlady handed her two glasses of freshly poured champagne and nudged her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go and see if you can't cheer him up," she whispered with a grin. "He's always such a grump on the holidays." Once Hermione had taken the glasses, she added, "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, dear. Happy New Year."
Hermione said nothing, simply stared after the landlady, wondering if perhaps she knew more than she let on. Finally, alone, she had a decision to make; either she could take the champagne to the kitchen without trying to start a conversation with the consulting detective, or she could go back into the bedroom and offer Sherlock a glass. Against her better judgement, Hermione chose the latter, figuring she only lived once. Hell, she'd almost been beaten to death in a dirty alley; certainly, having unwarranted feelings for Sherlock Holmes wasn't nearly as dangerous?
She felt awkward standing in the doorway with two glasses full of bubbly champagne. The lights in the rest of the flat had already been turned down by Mrs Hudson, so the only remaining light came from the Christmas lights strung up along the hall and above the bed. Sherlock stood by the window as was his custom, his back to her and both hands in his pockets. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped fully into the room and cleared her throat, which caused him to turn around.
"Happy New Year, Sherlock," she greeted him softly, extending one of the glasses towards him. He regarded her for a moment before striding forward. He slid one hand from his trousers and accepted a glass of champagne, surprising her. She lifted her drink with a bit of a smile. "Cheers."
Sherlock said nothing still, simply clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of the celebratory beverage. She made sure not to drop her gaze as she drank deeply, enjoying the way the bubbles made her nose tickle. This was her first bit of alcohol since the accident, and she felt her cheeks flush. The current silence was getting them nowhere, and, to be honest, Hermione was tired of silence. She wanted answers. She wanted to know more about Sherlock and why she was compelled to stay in his presence. Setting her half-drunk champagne on the bedside table, she turned to Sherlock and crossed her arms.
"Look, I just want to apologize. Again." She tucked a curl behind her ear and took a step toward the detective. "I know we've discussed this previously, but I want to apologize for being a burden here. I've been thrown into your life, taken your bed and your time, forced myself into your work, and overall I feel like you can't stand my presence at all."
She sighed and raked a hand through her curls because, damn him, Sherlock still didn't utter a single word. "I have tried over and over again to get to know you better because I feel like we have this bizarre connection, but you never let me in," she continued, finally eliciting a response from the man.
He blinked and then frowned, looking around the room as if to say, I'm here now, aren't I? Huffing, Hermione ignored her inner musings and carried on ranting. "Is it me, Sherlock? Is there something wrong with me that you just don't like that makes you wish I had never been attacked so close to your doorstep? Because I need to know before I leave here. What is so wrong with me that you want nothing to do with me!"
Sherlock smirked then and gave a slight shake of his head as he watched Hermione breathe heavily. In turn, she watched him, wanting to throttle him for smirking. Instead, he chuckled, the sound amused and deep, so deep she practically felt it in her soul. Merlin, what was happening to her?
Slowly, painstakingly so, Sherlock closed the space between them with purposeful footsteps. His eyes never left hers, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. She hadn't been so bold previously, too injured to do much more than lay around. But, perhaps, he was seeing her in a new light, one where he found her attractive enough to look at further. He deposited his champagne next to hers and then peered down into her eyes.
"Do you truly wish to know what I find wrong with you?" he asked, his voice sending shivers down her spine.
"What's that?" Hermione breathed in return, completely taken aback by his sudden closeness. She was a bit breathless after her rant, but she had a feeling it had less to do with her remaining injuries and more so with the way Sherlock was staring at her right now. And his voice. Sweet Salazar, that voice was giving her the naughtiest of ideas. "What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing," Sherlock replied simply. "Absolutely nothing." He didn't wait for her to say anything further, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.
Startled, it took Hermione a second to realize what was happening. Sherlock's mouth on hers was strange, or rather, unexpected, really. For days she'd wondered what it would be like to get to know this man, and here he was snogging her senseless. Finally, deciding she no longer cared, Hermione closed her eyes and returned the kiss. Her hands found their way into his hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp. He moaned into her mouth, and she nearly melted into a puddle at the sound.
Pressed so firmly against his body, Hermione could feel the contours of muscles under his Oxford shirt. But she wanted to feel more. She needed to feel all of him, and sooner rather than later. Separating their mouths, she simply stared at him, panting, her eyes burning with a fire she'd thought was gone forever. Sherlock was watching her, examining her, wanting to know if he'd overstepped his boundaries. Reaching forward with surprisingly steady hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale skin to her inch by inch.
He helped her shed the shirt when she was finished before reaching out and grabbing hold of her waist. Tugging her back to him, his lips found hers for a brief moment before sliding down to trail wet, hot kisses along her neck. She could feel him trembling, but she was too. This time, her hands did shake as they reached for his trousers, his arousal tenting the front of the expensive fabric. That was for her, she thought, and she moaned as he nipped at the base of her throat.
After unfastening his trousers, Hermione slid one hand inside, stroking him through the cotton fabric of his boxers. He was hot and hard and long, and Hermione wanted him inside of her like she couldn't believe it. Sherlock had stopped his kisses to pant wantonly into the crook of her neck, so it was easy for her to disentangle herself. She stopped her ministrations for a moment just so she could pull her own shirt over her head. It hurt, but she ignored the pain as a fresh wave of desire rocked through her.
Sherlock was staring at her hungrily, his pupils blown wide like he was high. And, maybe he was. Perhaps they both were. Hell, Hermione had drunk champagne on top of her pain medicine, and she knew from quiet conversations with Mrs Hudson that Sherlock was prone to using illegal substances every now and then for a case. Forcing such thoughts away because they were distracting, Hermione quickly removed her borrowed jeans. She wasted no further time before removing her socks, bra, and knickers as well.
Now, she stood in front of Sherlock, naked and bearing her soul.
Sea-coloured eyes roamed over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking in the valley between her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was far from perfect, scars from the war and recent years marring her body. But as she continued to stare at Sherlock, his hands removing the last of his clothes and revealing his entire self to her, she realized he had scars too. Cuts and slashes, and what appeared to be a bullet wound showed his own battles won.
Sherlock was not perfect, and neither was she, and now she could finally know him.
The true him.
Swallowing audibly, she reached out and placed her hand over the bullet wound scar. "You've gone through a lot in your life," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.
Sherlock's hand gently reached out to cup her chin. "So have you."
He kissed her then, much more tenderly than before, and she began to walk backwards slowly, leading him to the edge of the bed as they kissed. He helped her onto the high mattress, waiting until she'd shuffled to the middle before crawling on top himself. Hermione's heart was racing as she stared up into Sherlock's eyes; everything she wanted and more was reflected there.
"Please," she asked, wanting nothing more than to be entirely filled by him. "I need you."
He nodded and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. As Sherlock slid inside of her, she cried out his name. Her hands slid down his back, feeling his muscles pull taut as he made love to her. She met him thrust for thrust, wanting nothing more than for this to last forever. He was close, she could tell, so Hermione took matters into her own hands, sliding one hand down to rub at her swollen clit. She wanted to find completion together, and Sherlock nodded, knowing what she was after.
Hermione tugged his face down to meet hers with her other hand, her tongue sliding into his mouth for a taste. He tasted like tea, champagne, and perhaps a bit of tobacco… When the rhythm of his hips became erratic, Hermione sped up her ministrations, which was all she needed. She came with a cry, tears springing to her eyes as Sherlock continued to move within her. He helped her to ride out the orgasm for a moment before he, too, let go. Her name was whispered into the crook of her neck, so reverently she wanted to cry all over again.
When it was over, Hermione could barely breathe; her heart was so full. As if knowing this, Sherlock retreated from her body and curled onto his side. Pulling her close, he pressed his body to hers and settled his palm over her heart. It was comforting, more compassionate than she expected from the hard-shelled man she'd come to know. She wanted to speak, to say something momentous, but words escaped her.
Desperately, Hermione had wanted to unravel the enigma that was Sherlock, and here it was. He was just as lonely as she, and now they had to figure out where to go next. Wrapped in Sherlock's embrace, she was warm and content underneath the Christmas lights. Eventually, sleep took them quickly without knowing that the morning's dawn would light the way into their new future.