DeWitt's murder helped. Her sleep was instantly improved, and only rarely did she have moments on jobs where she felt that same acrid fear. About three and a half weeks after she'd slaughtered the man in the basement, she was reading over her latest job in the living room, and was surprised when she came along a familiar name. Well, this job was going to be interesting to say the least. "I can't use a cover name for this next op," she said as he passed by, with a mug of what she assumed was coffee. "I know him. Doesn't matter, though, we're friendly, I'll make it work. Christ, though, it's a long one."

He frowned, walking over as he tipped a shot of whiskey in with his coffee. "That Sherrinford bloke you were going on about? How long are you assigned? I haven't gotten around to today's updates.."

She flipped through a few pages. "A month, or two, depending on how long it takes for him to really trust me. Oh, for fuck's... he's Sherlock Holmes' brother. Christ."

"What ?" he asked, sitting down next to her and taking the file, reading through it. "You're shitting me... who knew there was another Holmes? What the hell... ah, now I see. Well, this is certainly going to be an interesting operation..."

"Who knew he was that deep into government operations? You can't tell by looking at him. A spy. I didn't think he was smart enough. I guess he hides it well," she shook her head, sitting back. "I start tonight. I wonder if I have any pictures of myself from a few years ago, it might help to wear my hair like that..."

He flipped through a few pages. "Won't be for long and then my team takes over. Looks like your job is to keep Mycroft and Sherlock off the hound trail as it were. Doesn't look like they have a good relationship with him but given that he's likely a goldmine of secrets on them..."

"Well, we're fucked if Mycroft or Sherlock sees me," she snorted, standing up and heading for the bedroom to start getting prepped. "Last two times that happened, we ended up getting tortured."

"I assure you that won't be happening," he snorted. "Jim and I will keep them busy. Does this mean you'll be living off-site for a while?" He didn't exactly like the idea.

"Most of the time, probably. Maybe not in the beginning. We'll see. I'm going to rent a hotel room tonight, just in case, and get a suitcase in there," she said loudly from the bedroom, already packing. Honestly, she was just a little bit excited to see Ford. She hadn't really had the chance to talk with him for years, and he'd been just about the closest thing to a friend she ever had. A friend with benefits, but still. Who didn't she sleep with.

"Right... well... don't get killed, then," he said, nodding a little and watching as she packed. It was odd. A year ago, if someone had told him he'd miss someone sharing his flat, he'd have told them they were batshit crazy and probably have shot them for good measure.

"I'm generally pretty good at not dying, but I'll try harder, if it makes you feel better," she chuckled, turning to the closet to grab herself some fancier clothes. She had a pretty big suitcase for a reason. As much as she would miss spending her time with Sebastian, it was fun to go on these missions; low risk, a lot of parties, some good old-fashioned lying...

"Right, yeah," he says, nodding a little and walking over to the kitchen to find something to eat. "Then have fun, I suppose."

"Thanks," she called, packing up the rest of her things and heading for the door, before hesitating, and ducking into the kitchen with a smile. "Try not to get too fucked up while I'm gone, huh?"

"When do I ever get fucked up?" he asked with a smirk, leaning against the counter with a banana. "I won't be distracted for a few weeks. Jim'll be thrilled."

"Yeah, I'm sure he will be," she chuckled, then waved and turned, heading for the door. "I'll come back in when I can. See you."

The party was a little ridiculous. Most of the younger 1% were in attendance, which at least meant she blended in fairly well. The idea of Sherrinford being here, though, as a government agent with secrets worth a few million quid, was even more ridiculous. He'd lived above her own shitty flat at one point, in the bad part of town, and even though he'd always been clean and a little healthier than the rest of the building's tenants, she never would have suspected he came from this. It seemed all of the Holmes brothers had a hunger for justice, or politics, or whatever they might want to call it. At least Ford wasn't a good reader, if he was a reader at all. Lorna smiled, excused herself from a conversation with a particularly boring group of well-dressed frat boys. The quicker she found her mark, the better.

Ford smiled at an old classmate, raising his glass in their direction, before taking a sip and looking around for anyone else he knew. This wasn't his favorite type of party. It was better when the room was small and the good friends were close. But it certainly had its upsides, and he was enjoying himself.

The movement caught her eye, as it was bound to - he was tall, like his detective brother. Handsome, but not as striking, whether you could say it in a good or a bad way. She guessed that might make his job a little easier. Slipping through a small throng of chattering guests, she sidled up to his side, sipping at her champagne with a smirk. "Ford. I never expected to see you here."

He turned to her with a polite smile, searching her face, before his eyes widened. "Lorna!" He let out a laugh. "I could say the same! What the hell are you doing here?"

She grinned. It would be easy to lie to him, even with how well he knew her. In fact, it would only make it easier. "I attached myself to one of these idiots, walked right in. I got bored, you know me. Always looking for something new to do. But I do kinda belong here now," she shrugged, giving the obnoxiously decorated room a slight roll of her eyes. "That's what inheritances are for, right? How have you been?"

"I've been alright," he chuckled. "Travelling, drinking, fucking... You?" He looked her up and down. "You look good..."

"I know I do," she smirked, taking a sip from her glass. "And I've been pretty much doing the same thing. Except now I have money. And I don't live in a place where I have to fight the rats for my breakfast every morning. You look good, too. Even better in that suit. Who knew we could look so classy?"

He laughed. "Certainly not me. Used to scorn the suit-wearers, but I'm finding I like it on this side of the playground." He smirked. "How are you liking the party?"

She shrugged. "It's alright, I suppose, as far as these things go. A good portion of the people in here are boring as hell, though, Christ. If I hear one more conversation about Cambridge's unspoken hatred of Oxford I might need to start a fight. You know me. I like my evenings lively."

He snorts slightly into his glass, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know that feeling. Their noses are so high I can count nostril hairs." He nodded towards the corner. "Why don't we catch up?"

"As long as you're not going to make me look up anybody's nose, sure," she agreed cheerfully, linking her arm through his and starting through the scattered crowd.

"God no. I'm sick of doing it myself." He sat down on a couch, pulling her gently down beside him. "So, unveil for me, Ms. Harrison. How the hell did you get from fighting rats to peering at nostril hairs?"

"Well, the thing about heroin is that rich people like doing it," she quipped, smirking, then rolled her eyes a little. "And don't pretend to be surprised, I know you knew what I was doing when I lived under you. How could you not? Anyway, I'm told I'm really quite pretty. I did a little piggybacking off of some wealthier men to get here, I'll admit it. But look at my dress," she laughed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Normally she wouldn't be playing so fast and loose with conventions, but Ford was magnetized by the unusual, the out of place. Even if he worked for the government, he couldn't have changed his taste in lovers that much.

He leaned forward slightly, lips parted in a small smile as she spoke. It developed into a smirk as she mentioned that he knew, and he nodded just a little but let her speak.

"I am looking at that dress. I'm not sure I've stopped looking at that dress since I saw you, if we're being honest."

"Oh, we can be honest. I've had about half a flask of whiskey, I think I'm loosened up enough," she said wryly, finishing off her flute of champagne and setting it on a side table absently. "Honestly, probably a little too much, for this crowd. God, there's not even any dancing."

"No, there isn't," he sighed. "You know what? I don't like this party too much anyway. Want to go hunt down some dancing?" he asked with a grin.

"That would be a relief, to be honest," she grinned back, rising to her feet. God, Ford, could you make it any easier? Jesus.

He laughed, standing and offering her a hand up. "Come on, then. Let's ditch the nose hairs."

She, of course, got Ford into bed without an issue. Fortunately for her, it was familiar territory for them, so she woke up in a pretty good mood. It was a good start towards getting the information she needed from him. But he wasn't going to offer that shit up just because they were fucking; she was going to have to earn his trust, going to have to make him emotionally dependent on her. If she could win Sebastian Moran's heart, she could win anyone's. This would be simple.

She rolled over, yawning, and buried her face in his bare shoulder. "Y'made me sore. And here I was wondering how much you remembered from the good old days."

He groaned softly, an arm wrapping around her. "I have made it a very high priority to never forget those particular good old days, thank you very much," he sighed, smiling. "I was crushed when I had to leave. I would have packed you if I could have."

"I'm pretty portable, I'm surprised you didn't even try," she chuckled sleepily, stretching a little before relaxing into him. "Where'd you go, anyway? I heard you were off in South Africa or something. That's quite the change."

He shrugged. "I got a job offer I couldn't refuse. I was all over the place for a while. Then shit got sticky as shit is wont to do, and I came back here to get away from it all for a while. So now I'm back."

"Mm. Sounds... a little stuffy, to be honest," she teased lightly, yawning as she sat up, pushing a hand through her hair. "You can tell me about how glad you are to be back in London over breakfast, yeah?"

"Sounds great to me," he said, smirking and sitting up, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. "Not sure I commented last night, but this is a nice hotel room you've got here."

"I have very particular tastes, when I can afford them," she hummed, getting out of bed with a bit of a groan. He'd definitely marked her up good. Normally, she didn't really like the thought of getting that carried away with a mark, but Ford was a little bit special. He'd been maybe her first and only good friend, despite how little they'd had in common. "Call room service and order up something unhealthy, will you? I'm going to shower, I need to smell a little less like sex."

"Will do!" he said, saluting cheerfully. "Still a french toast fan?" He reached for the phone, dialing down.

"You bet your ass I am," she called from the bathroom, fiddling with the over-complicated shower controls before finally getting the water on. She was going to need to learn how to use these if she was in this for the long game.

When she came out a few minutes later, he was sifting through breakfast trays. "What do you want? We've got coffee, tea, french toast, a variety of berries for said toast, ham, beans, bacon, cheesy eggs... "

"Christ, Ford, how much are you planning on eating?" she asked with a chuckle, sitting down next to him and grabbing a slice of bacon to munch on. "So, do you have some job to get to, or do I get to have you all to myself for the day?"

"No, no job at the moment, just taking a bit of time off. I've got some savings to burn through before I consider working again." Which wasn't exactly true, but the government contract funding his recovery time was almost the same idea.

"Oh, cool, we can totally abuse room service," she said through a mouthful of toast, leaning over the small table to get the perhaps overly sophisticated-looking menu, scanning over it. "Where you staying? Or did you just get back into town?"

"I've got an apartment down by Leicester Square," he said, starting to make himself a cup of coffee. "It's just small, but I like it."

"Mm. I like small places, too. What the hell am I going to do with space, you know? Get a dog? That would end in tears for everyone," she snorted, waiting until he was done with the pot before pouring herself a mug and drinking it black. On her job, she was used to just trying to get caffeine into her system, not worry about to taste too much. She demolished another slice of toast. "Christ, I can't believe we were both at that party. Fucking crazy, right?"

"Very. My lucky night, though," he said, biting into a strawberry. "It went from the prospect of an incredibly boring evening to spending the night with you. It is a hell of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she agreed, laughing. She was almost genuinely having fun with him. She certainly had last night - he was a good dancer, besides what he knew in bed. It was a shame he had to be related to that prick Mycroft, a shame he'd ended up on this side of the fence. But then, if he had taken the path she had, would he still be the same? Still laugh at her shitty jokes? Still spend the night with her without pulling rank, or putting up walls, or threatening her life? It was hard to say. She wasn't a fucking psychic or anything.

He leaned back against the bed with a handful of berries and a piece of bacon, closing his eyes with a sigh. "So, are you still running that stuff, then? Heroin?"

Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be best, she decided. "No," Lorna shook her head, taking a sip of coffee. "No, I stopped that years back. Got out as soon as I could. Not before I got hooked, though," she snorted, a bit bitterly. "I... drift, now, mostly. I do some odd jobs, when I have a chance. It's easy hopping from rich man to rich man, though. They're always willing to believe any lie I care to tell them. Not exactly a difficult life."

He smirked a little bit and nodded. "That sounds more like the Lorna I know," he sighs. "Fair warning, I am far from rich, so if that's your plan, depart at the next stop." He flashed her a grin around a blackberry.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, I've got enough to coast on for a little while," she smirked, setting her coffee down and heading to her suitcase so she could pull out some clothes. The less he saw of her in the light, the better. She didn't want him getting curious about her scars.

He laughed. "That's the pair of us then, coasting from job to job on savings, doing whatever the hell we want in between, and somehow running into each other all over again."

She shook out a looser spring dress - it wasn't really warm enough for it, but she had coats - and set it on the bed before diving back in for some clean underwear. "Really not too shocking, when you think about it. We were bound to run into each other eventually. We have similar tastes."

"I suppose," he says, nodding a little and sighing, sitting up to take a sip of his coffee. "Can I ask something?"

She glanced back at him as she started to get dressed, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah, sure."

"Look, I've been around the block, we both have. But those scars you've got... what the hell causes that? No offense meant, just honest curiosity."

She looked away, pulling her dress over her head, jaw tight. "You don't want to know, Ford. I wish I didn't know."

He was surprised by that, eyebrows shooting up, but he didn't push. "Hell... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, none of my business." He was quiet for a minute. "You're okay, though?"

"Mostly," she sighed, sitting on the bed and combing a hand through her hair. She shrugged. "I don't know. I went through some pretty fucked up shit. The memories are starting to fade, but I still get nightmares, once in a blue moon. But I've always been a little fucked up, one way or another. You remember."

"So was I," he reminded her, smiling a bit. "What's the fun of not being fucked up? No one who's normal ever gets movies made about their lives. If we want to be rich on royalties we've got to start somewhere, right?" He set his empty cup aside.

"Oh, no, they're not ever going to make a movie about my life. A porno, maybe," she snickered, rising back to her feet. "C'mon, get dressed. Let's go do something ill-advised."

He smirked, rolling out of bed and heading for the shower. "All I've got is my suit from last night. What kind of ill-advised is this?"

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet. We'll just have to see what's out there, won't we?" she chuckled, beginning to unpack her stuff into the small dresser pushed against the wall.

He got dressed, walking over to pull her around and give her a kiss, hands sliding down her sides, (a subtle check for weapons). "Shall we, then?"

She grinned, slipping her hand into his and starting to tug him towards the door. "Let's."

It wasn't until two weeks later that she made it back home to Sebastian - Ford was out meeting a friend that she really knew was another government agent, and he wouldn't be back until late at night. She slipped into his flat an hour after texting him a warning, collapsing on the sofa with a huff. She was sore. A good sore, but a sore that Moran probably didn't want to know too much about. Things were going well with Ford, but not well enough. He didn't trust her. He was right not to, but still, it was frustrating.

He heard her come in, and entered from the kitchen, giving her a smile. "Hey there. Almost didn't recognize you in your old age," he snorted, sitting next to her. "The hell took you so long to check in?"

"Ford isn't exactly a real workaholic, right now," she shook her head, leaning back into the sofa with a tired sigh. "And I'm pretty much staying with him, and I don't really have a 'job', so there's just no really getting away. I would have, just couldn't."

"Yeah, yeah, excuses excuses," he sighed, standing up. "Come on, you want something to eat?"

"Yes, please," she agreed, standing up a little stiffly and following him into the kitchen to also sit a little stiffly at the kitchen table. Knowing him, he'd notice, but she was hoping he wouldn't say anything about it. "You and Jim running circles around the elder Holmes brothers? I feel so out of touch."

"Jim's been... recovering, mostly, still. He's frustrated, but he's getting better slowly. Which isn't at all his speed." He pulled out the makings of pad thai, starting the noodles boiling. He'd noticed her stiff movement, and wasn't surprised. Given the amount of time his surveillance indicated she and Sherrinford were spending at one or the other of their rooms, he was shocked she could walk at all. He saw no reason not to rib her a little. "You know, for someone so used to fucking, you'd think you'd walk a little better sore."

She groaned, leaning forward to rest her forehead on the table. "I can't help it," she complained, allow it was with a little bit of laughter. "Normally I wouldn't be, but he remembers how I like it, and Christ, does that start to take a toll after a few too many rounds. I'm exhausted, Moran. Exhausted."

"Sorry you were so starved for good sex," he muttered under his breath, starting to stir together the peanut sauce perhaps a touch to vigorously.

She sat back up, frowning at him. "What? Sebastian you've come maybe like a millimeter away from making me black out from orgasm, okay? I was certainly not starved. Not hungry at all, actually. I did tell you that I really had no interest fucking anybody else outside my job, didn't I? You're not Malcolm, I don't actively lie to you about that shit. This is just work."

"Mhm," he muttered, starting to chop up vegetables. "Well, I'm glad that you can enjoy your work. It's a good thing he remembers how you like it and all," he sneered. "I'd hate for you to be bored."

"What the fuck's wrong with you? This is my job, Sebastian. So I've known Ford since I was a lowly little drug mule. So what? Besides the fact that he's a goddamn government spy, he's a fucking Holmes. This is my job. I fuck who I have to. You've never had a problem with this before."

"Who said I had a problem with it? Lay off, Harrison, I'm just screwing with you. Take a fucking joke," he snorted, tossing the vegetables in, irrationally irritable.

She didn't say anything in return, giving him a sidelong glance. She wasn't quite sure she believed him, but she wasn't so used to Ford that she would risk pushing it. "Not a very funny joke," she said finally, thumbing at a scratch on the table. "You need to hang out with Jim less. He's really not a comedian."

He rolled his eyes. "You've been around civilians too long," he snorted, pouring the sauce and the rest of the vegetables in, adding egg, and chicken from the other pan, and started to stir it together. He wasn't sure why he was so angry. Harrison was right. This was normal. It just didn't feel normal. That was all. She'd been gone longer than usual.

He dished out the food onto plates, handing her hers. "Want something to drink?"

"Anything non-alcoholic, if you want to help me avoid liver failure for as long as possible," she sighed, taking her plate with a nod of thanks. She had missed his cooking. Ford wasn't really the cooking type. "Thanks."

He returned with two glasses of grape juice and sat across from her with his own plate, starting to eat quietly.

She was about halfway through her meal before she spoke again, clearing her throat a bit. "It's good to see you."

He glanced up, then nodded a little. "It's good to see you, too. You were gone longer than I thought you would be."

"I didn't mean to be. He's just never busy, and he doesn't fucking trust me at all," she shook her head, sighing into her glass of juice. "He checks me for weapons, thinks I don't notice. I got to come up with something to try and speed this process up a little."

He sat back, sipping at his juice for a moment. Then, "Let him find what he's looking for. Not a weapon, obviously, but something that you're hiding from him. Some connection to someone you didn't want him to see, or a job. Let him think you were worried he wouldn't approve."

She made a little bit of a face as she thought it over, trying to think of something that would work. He couldn't know about her current work, and he knew about her drug days. Eventually she rubbed her eyes. "I can't think of anything. God, I need more sleep..."

He nodded a little. "Finish eating and go to bed. We can discuss it more tomorrow."

She looked mildly uncomfortable. "I... can't. As much as I want to, if I don't get back before he does, he's going to have some questions."

He grit his teeth slightly, but nodded, not letting the emotion carry to his face. "Well, can't make your warden uncomfortable, can we?" he asked, standing and walking over to the counter to get a pencil and paper, sliding it across to her. "Bullet everything you've told him about your past, fact and fiction. Figure out what you could have him 'discover'."

She nodded slightly, picked the pencil up, and spent maybe four minutes on the list. When she finished it ended up looking something like this:

Fact

- Drug mule

- Criminal parentage

- Heroin addiction

Fiction

- Gold digger

- Traveled for fun

There were a few things beneath both lists that she had crossed out, because she didn't think they were important enough to mention. "And he's asked about the scars. The beetle ones. I told him he didn't want to know."

He glanced over the list. "Heroin addiction- is that past or present? Same with the drug mule business. Is that over with, or are you still doing it?"

"Past. I knew him during, and I look a lot healthier now than I did then. For both, really. Didn't want to run the risk of him asking for any, either," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Alright, fine," he said, sitting back. "Then here's what you'll do. Stay here tonight. Get back early tomorrow. When he asks where you were, cover, but leave him a bit suspicious. You know the line. Do it a few more times over the coming weeks. When he finally presses you for answers, tell him you're in debt. We'll fix up your accounts. You had to pay some money to a few gangs and now you need money badly. You were going to scam him but you lost heart on it, so you're out fawning over older men and frisking them. You didn't want him to know about all of it. He ends up feeling like the hero and being reassured that you're too taken with him to do anything to him."

She nodded, turning it over in her head for a moment. Ford really did have a bit of a hero complex, it wouldn't be too hard to pull off. Hell, this was right up her alley. "That's good. That will work. He's not going to start leaking secrets or anything, but it's a hell of a good start. And I can sleep here tonight, that's a bonus."

He nodded a little, standing up to clear his mostly empty plate, not quite hungry enough to finish. "There you go. Gives you something to work with at least."

"Thanks. I start getting a little fried, when I'm out in the field so long," she mumbled, standing up after another moment to follow suit, haven't scraped her plate clean a few minutes ago. "I don't see this taking more than another month and a half, though. It's only been two weeks, after all."

"Good. I want him in here and under control as soon as possible," he said, starting to wash up.

She leaned against the counter, stifling a yawn. "God, I hope Mycroft has a heart attack. Fuck him."

He glanced over at her. "Agreed, but any particular motivation to that statement?"

"Motivation? What, you mean besides having us tortured and me raped, or are you asking if I have a new one?" she snorted, then shrugged, a little more mildly. "I don't have a lot of people I actively wish death on, but he's one. Grifting a Holmes reminds me of it a lot. It's good motivation."

He nods just a little, setting the plates aside to dry and starting in on the pans. "Just seemed a bit random. But I understand where you're coming from." He glanced over at her. "Go sleep."

"Yeah, alright," she agreed in a mumble, pushing off from the counter and shuffling into the bedroom, where she stripped down and crawled into bed with a comfortable sigh. His bed just smelled like home, now, and it felt good to be back. Careful not to roll onto any particularly tender bruises, she burrowed into the pillows and slipped into a light doze.

He stayed up a long time after she went to bed, trying to sort his head out. Finally, however, he gave up. He knew it was a job, but it didn't seem to matter. She was enjoying herself. Not in the usual way, not the job, but... her time there. Or she seemed to be anyway. Hell if he really knew.

He climbed into bed a few hours later, shifting possessive arms around her, and fell asleep.