Lorna slipped back into the flat at 2 in the morning, missing her knife and a pair of panties, and leaned against the door as she shut it, letting out a tired sigh. She didn't need to tell Moran she was back. He always heard the door.

He stood from where he was at the table, walking in to take a look at her. Her hair was a bit bedraggled, and there were bright splotches on her neck. "Grifting?" he asked, though he had a sinking suspicion that was far from the case.

"No," she shook her head a little, trying not to feel guilty. It wasn't like she and Moran were committed to each other, not verbally. There'd been no agreements of any kind on that department. "Found Mallory, though. We can go down and look at the corpse tomorrow, confirm it, and get out of this fucking city."

He instantly stiffened. "What?! Why didn't you tell me that immediately? Who the fuck called his kill? Armetti?" he asked, eyes blazing. "I need information from that prick, not a fucking corpse!"

"Calm down, they brought him in alive," she rolled her eyes, wriggling her phone out of the waistband of her skirt and handing it over to him. "Call him, text him, whatever. He'll wait for us."

He took the phone, anger still raging but derailed now, without any particular course, mostly fueled by the marks on her neck."Terribly kind of him."

"He just wants me to like him," she shrugged, slipping by him and heading for the bedroom, keen to get out of the clothes she'd recently been fucked in.

"It's truly thrilling, seeing you so invested in fulfilling his desires," he retorted, texting Armetti a quick Need Mallory alive and tossing the phone onto the table.

"Look, we're kinda old... murder... buddies..." she trailed off, frowning to herself, then decided to keep moving on, stripping out of her clothes as quickly as possible while he was in the other room. "Just kinda, reliving the old days, alright? I'm done now."

"Oh, murder buddies, right, of course. How silly of me," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

She pulled on some underwear and got into some comfortable clothes before walking back out, hands on her hips. "Alright, Moran, what's your problem? I'm not asking you to like him, I'm not asking for shit. So what is it?"

He stood still for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered, and headed out the front door. He needed to see Mallory with his own eyes.

She looked after him for a moment, then shook her head, turning back for the bedroom. It was 2 in the fucking AM. She was going to sleep.

He came in in the early hours of the morning, took a shower to get the blood off, and climbed into bed. He stayed well on his side, and fell asleep.

Lorna woke up in the morning a little surprised to not be completely engulfed by a nest of limbs and muscle, like she normally was. Alright. So he wasn't happy with her sleeping with Vince. Fuck. She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, raking a hand through her hair, and let out a long breath.

He heard her wake up, but stayed still and kept his eyes closed, breathing deep and even. He didn't want to talk to her at the moment, because he knew he had no grounds for being angry. He just... was. And he liked it and had no interest in her pointing out how pointless it was.

"Sebastian," she sighed, not turning to look at him. "I know you're awake. You sleep so light that if a feather dropped onto your back in your sleep you'd wake up. You only sleep in later than me when you're injured." She reached a hand up to rub her eyes. "Look, I get why you're angry. But that's something we have to talk about." She twisted a little, to look back at him. "For once, we need to talk about this."

He sat up, but ignored her, and headed into the bathroom, closing the door firmly and taking a long breath.

"Shit," she breathed, hands clenched on the edge of the bed, struggling not to break into tears. Oh, she'd really fucked up. Big time. You just had to be a slut, didn't you?

He showered again, for something to do, and took his time shaving carefully. Mallory was proving to be difficult. He'd taken a break last night, but he would go back and keep working today. Finding Mallory wasn't the end goal. Destroying his network was.

She remained where she was, paralyzed on the edge of the bed, battling the urge to hide like a child, to just try to make herself melt out of existence with pure will alone. How could she have been so stupid? She broke a little, breath hitching, face falling into her hands. Of course it was always going to be her to make the final fuckup. She was the one who went crawling back to him. All for some stupid old acquaintance.

He exited the bathroom a few minutes, and saw her sitting there, head in hands. He stared at her for a long moment, and asked himself if he really wanted to lose her over this.

Ten seconds later he hoisted her, still balled up, into his arms and held her close.

"I'm still mad. But you looked pathetic."

She clung to him, fingers balling up in his shirt. "I'm sorry, Sebastian," she said through a shaky breath. "Christ, I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I don't know either. But I can't hold you to anything. I never had that right." He sat on the bed with her still in his arms.

"That doesn't mean that it wasn't a fucked up thing to do," she whispered, blinking back tears, trying to remind herself that things were going to be okay between them. "I shouldn't have done it. I don't care about Armetti, and I wasn't grifting. Fuck, I'm sorry. I..." she took a shuddering breath, leaning into him a little. "I won't do it again. Outside of grifting." That was the closest thing to a commitment he would allow.

He shrugged a little, rubbing her back slowly in an attempt to get her to calm down. "You don't have to make that promise if you don't want to. I'll get over myself."

She shook her head a little. "No, I do. Look... You know how I feel about you. I don't.. I don't need to be fucking other people. You're enough."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "You know how I feel about you. Thank you for deciding that."

"I'm sorry I had to fuck up once to realize that I needed to," she murmured. She didn't know if she'd hurt him. He would never admit to it if she had, but fuck if she was going to do it again.

"I'm not sure I need to say it, but the reverse is the same," he murmured quietly, taking a breath and setting her aside carefully. "I need to go continue dealing with Mallory."

"Alright," she nodded, voice still soft. She pushed a hand through her hair, following suit and taking a breath herself. "Call me if you need me to come down there. I might go anyways. I got somebody down there I need to kill."

He nodded a little and headed for the door. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, slowly leaning back against the headboard. How had this turned out okay? Were they reaching a point of... normalcy? A state where every little bump in the road didn't turn into a volatile explosion?

He spent the next week on Mallory, slowly getting the information he needed. It was another five days before they'd taken out who they needed to and he was satisfied that Mallory's network was decimated. He bought the tickets for London that night.

Lorna packed with relief, and without having said another word to Armetti. She'd killed Mark the night after she'd fucked Vince, and then she left again, trying not to be drawn back into making a bad decision. Things were okay between her and Sebastian, but she was determined not to blow it again. When they were about to leave for their flight, she waited for him in the hall, leaning against the wall with her bag over her shoulder. "We still have the HQ secure, right? I really just want to go home, at this point."

He nodded. "I had people sweep it at the six month mark. It's clean. We're going home. Everyone should be there, the network is back to functioning order."

"Good," she murmured, "I'd hate to return to England only to have to live someplace else. Though I suppose there is the best of your places."

He nodded just a little. "I miss my apartment. And London." He zipped his bag up, and sighed. "Jim hasn't responded to me."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," she sighed, adjusting her grip on her bag and turning to open the door. "We'll find him. Come on, let's go. Longer we sit here the longer we don't know where he is."

He nodded, giving the room one last sweep before he walked out behind her and closed the door, locking it and enabling the alarm.

The flight was long and tiring, but he didn't sleep. Now that he was back on task- finding and protecting Jim- his adrenaline was roaring. It was finally going to be resolved.

When they landed she shifted, groaning a little. She was very stiff; she'd fallen asleep in the middle of the flight, and that was never good for her neck. "Christ, let's get out of here. We better have been sent a car."

"I called ahead and ordered one," he said, heading for the exit. "I doubt we would have been sent one."

"What, do we need to teach them a lesson in manners?" she muttered, grabbing her bag and following him in a shuffle. Jet lag. Gross. "I'll fuck Kelly up, I swear to god."

"Things are disorganized there from what I can tell. We'll fix it when we get there. Immediately. For now, it is what it is."

The rental was waiting for them when they arrived, and he climbed in the driver's seat, eager to get back to HQ.

Lorna got heavily into the passenger seat, though she looked out the window with alert eyes. London. It was good to be home. "I don't want to travel for the next six months if I can help it. Maybe I won't have to. Jim told me that he was... upping my responsibilities."

He raised an eyebrow as he merged into traffic. "What does he mean by that?"

"He's grooming me to be a sort of... you. But not for your job. I think he wants me managing more, stepping up into a stronger leadership role. I don't know. I can't remember. Ask him, sometime."

"Assuming we're still on speaking terms," he said sarcastically, sighing.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the garage at headquarters.

"Home sweet home."

"Thank god," she muttered, getting out of the car eagerly. She had no desire to be in an enclosed space any longer. "I thought I was going to die in that godforsaken city. I much rather die in this one."

He nodded in agreement, piling out and grabbing his bag. The new chauffeur- he'd never bothered to memorize his name- came running up, and he straightened. "Get word to Moriarty that we're here."

"Moriarty isn't here, sir."

He frowned. "I don't give a fuck where he is. Tell him we're back."

The chauffeur shook his head. "No, sir, sorry sir, I mean we don't know where he is, sir. We haven't had contact with him in almost a month. We assumed he would be returning with you, sir."

Moran stiffened.

Lorna swore, dropping her bag onto the concrete and turning, raking a hand through her hair. "God fucking dammit. We need to get upstairs. Someone has to know where Mycroft Holmes is."

Sebastian headed for the elevator at high speed. "Come on, Harrison," he called over his shoulder almost harshly.

"Have someone bring my bag to my department," she snapped over her shoulder at the innocent chauffeur, trotting to catch up with Moran at the elevator, sucking in a deep breath. This was bad.

He waited until the elevator door closed, and took a slow breath. "Alright. This is... workable. We just need to find him," he muttered, looking far more relaxed than seemed appropriate

She gave him a sidelong glance. She'd expected him to have an aneurysm right about now, but here he was. Looking fine. "It can't be too hard to find another of Mycroft's holding rooms. We've been in two, after all."

He nodded, but said nothing during the elevator ride, or, in fact, until he'd keyed into Jim's quarters, which were off of the normal surveillance circuit and onto one that only he and a select few others had access to. He headed immediately for Jim's computer.

"Give me five minutes. I'll have him."

She hovered by the door, trying not to exude anxiety. It felt weird to see the inside of Jim's apartment. So this is what the man chose to decorate with in his own space. About as minimalist as she expected.

He looked up as he waited for the program to load.

"Jim has a GPS tracker embedded in his skin. Right above an artery. If it's alive, I can find him."

"He has- what? Really? Did he agree to that or did you just inject him with something in his sleep?" she sputtered, folding her arms across her chest. This was all too much for her. Whatever gods there may be, I just got off a six and a half hour flight. Why.

"He agreed to it," he said, still working. "I managed to convince him that it was a necessary precaution."

"Alrighty, then," she nodded, pursing her lips together, stuffing her hands into her pocket. "Hey, how about we don't tell Jim I was in here? Sound good?"

He laughed, eyes still on the screen. "Nervous are w- I've got him. What the hell is he doing there?" he muttered, standing up and walking over to the gun safe and pulling out his spare gun and holster.

"Where is he?" she frowned, eyes tracking him across the room. She hadn't moved from out of the doorway. She felt a little like a vampire. "Do you want me to call up a team?"

He strapped on the holster. "No. You and I are going in, no one else. We'll scope out the situation and call people in if we need to. I don't want this spreading."

"Alright, well, I'm going to need a weapon of some kind," she huffed, setting her hands on her hips. "You have an extra gun? Knife, even. Actually the preferable choice..."

He tossed a sheathed bowie knife her way. "Let's go. I don't want to waste any time. He's in the warehouse district and the number of times I've seen him go there intentionally can be counted by someone with far fewer fingers than me."

She nodded, shoving the knife into the back of her jeans since she didn't have any other way to carry it, following him out and shutting the door behind her. What was Mycroft Holmes doing in the warehouse district, anyway? That wasn't anywhere near the other places they had escaped from. Those had been on the outskirts of the city, away from other buildings, disguised to look like small manufacturing firms. In the thick of things, though?

They were in a car headed for the district in twenty minutes. "Alright. We'll get there and scope it out, and figure out the best approach to the situation. For all we know, he's there voluntarily."

"Guess it wouldn't be the strangest thing he's ever done," she muttered, shifting to the knife sheath didn't press so uncomfortably on her. "But I'll follow your lead."

He nodded, parking a few blocks from where they needed to be and slipping out of the car, directly into an alley. "With any luck, Holmes doesn't know we're here, but I'd say it's a 50-50 chance."

"Don't get my hopes up or anything," she muttered sullenly behind her, the knife already in her hand. She wasn't entering the building unprepared. If she came across Holmes, she would gut him like a fish for the things he'd done and had had done to her.

They walked around the outside of the building, trying to be casual as they examined the entrances. Finally, Moran shook his head. "This is ridiculous. I need to get inside."

She nodded, keeping an eye on the small bit of street they could see from the alley. "Alright. Just.. lead the way, I suppose."

"No. Stay here. I don't need both of us getting screwed if this goes south. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He shucked his jacket, handing it to her as he knelt to tighten his boots.

"Okay," she frowned, tucking his coat under her arm. She really wanted to go with him, but he was the ex-army man, after all.

He nodded, giving her a grin. "Back in twenty," he said, before disappearing into the building.

She waited against the warehouse, knife in hand, Sebastian's coat over her shoulder. The longer he was gone, the more she worried. What if something had happened to him? She checked her watch. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes in was when the bad luck occurred. He'd been doing well so far, watching the rotations of the guards and making his way forward, taking them out as he went along. He'd avoided the few cameras, and was almost into what appeared to be a basement cell block when a loading bay door opened for a supply truck. He took out the driver almost immediately, pouncing on him and breaking his neck, dropping his corpse and turning to face the room. The far door opened and dozen men- likely there to unload- walked in. There was nothing he could do. The tranq hit him just below the left kidney, and the world went dark.

Twenty minutes came and went, and she was getting antsy. Moran was always on time, and if he wasn't he made it in a five minute window. So after the six minute mark, she set down his jacket and slipped in through the door he'd used twenty-six minutes ago, knife in hand, jaw set. He better not have just fucking tripped or something.

He woke slowly, head swimming. He tried to grab at it, but his hands were slow to respond, and when they did, they wouldn't move more than a few inches. Odd. He'd return to it in a moment. Maybe he should open his eyes and... and...

He woke again. Slowly. Try to move hands, no results. What was next? Ah yes. Eyes. Open those.

The world around him was a blurry haze of color and far too much light, and he fought the urge to vomit. It took a few tries before anything would come into focus, and even when it did, it didn't stay there long. There was a box... maybe... or a... what was it called ...

Table. That was it. That could be a table.

Or a box. It was hard to tell when his focus kept wandering elsewhere without his permission.

Something was on the box table thing. It took him what seemed a very long time- and was, honestly, probably longer than he even thought- to realize that the thing was a person. And that the person was Jim.

Jim.

Jim jim jim...

Jim was important. Now to just remember why ...

Oh. Right. Jim. He was here to rescue Jim. That was right. He tried to call out to him, but his tongue wasn't cooperating, so he tried to move, only to remember the thing about his hands, which, now that he looked at it, turned out to be shackles.

Huh.

Fuck.

She kept near the walls as she navigated the labyrinth, severely regretting her choice to bring nothing but a goddamn bowie knife. Fucking hell. Each room she passed, she slowly peeked into, feet light on the floor. At one point, she passed a room through of five men watching a football game, beers in hand, and she just closed the door again. They weren't going to be bothering her anytime soon. As long as she was careful about noises, she'd be alright. It took her a half hour of sneaking through the building, killing anybody she came across and dragging their bleeding corpses into one broom closet or another, before she just happened across Sebastian and Jim, and it was mostly because the guard watching over them was talking his ass off on the phone to his mother. She stabbed him in the kidney and chucked his phone against the wall before bending down to finish him off, grimacing as she hit an artery.

She sheathed the knife as she walked into the room, wiping specks of crimson off her face, and crouched in front of Sebastian, unshackling him quickly. "Hi. Can you walk? You look alr..." she trailed off, turning his arm further over to see the messy injection mark, given by unsteady hands. "Fuck. What'd they give you? Do you think you can walk? Jim's small, but I can't carry him out of here alone."

He squinted at the figure as it entered, getting ready to fight, but then relaxed when he saw who it was. "Harr'son..." He sighed, looking relieved. "Think 'm drugged. Thought I was gonna be stuck... Jim... Jimmmm's over there..."

"Christ. Alright. Okay," she let out a long breath, shaking her head, leaving him in his seat unrestrained for a moment and hurrying over to Jim. The boss had been here for some time. Some of the wounds on him were healing already, although a good portion of them were too fresh to have been more than a week old. She could see why Jim was unconscious. She returned to Sebastian, pulling him to his feet with a heave and steadying him with her hands on his shoulders. "Alright. You're going to have to carry Jim. I can't do it. Do you think you can do that for me, if I lead us out?"

He nodded a little, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Yeah... c'n do that... thanks for gettin' us out... fuck, I love you, y'know that? I do. You always fix shit..." He pushed off the wall again, heading over to Jim at a mostly steady pace, and swore quietly when he saw the boss. "He's bad... okay... let's get outta here..."

She allowed herself a single moment of shock, her footsteps faltering for a second before she caught herself. Now is not the time, Lorna. MOVE. But holy shit, though. She shook herself free of her thoughts and walked over to remove Jim's restraints, trying to ignore how awful he looked. Another thing that she could worry about once they were out of this place. Once she had him free - she didn't think Sebastian had the hand-eye coordination to do it himself at the moment - she left the boss in Moran's care, turning for the door, unsheathing her knife again. "Okay, I remember the way out, but we really should probably jog, okay? I don't know how effective sneaking is going to be with you drugged."

He hoisted Jim carefully into his arms, disliking how light he was, and the parts of him where the drugs were wearing off were angry. One part was a little panicked about what he'd just let slip to Lorna, but he was ignoring that part. "Jogging. Good plan."

She nodded once, watching him sharply to make sure that his focus wasn't wandering too much, then slipped through the door to peer both ways down the hall before toeing open the door the rest of the way for the load-bearer behind her, and started to lead the way out, jogging on her toes to keep the noise of her shoes hitting the linoleum floor to a minimum. They didn't run into trouble until they came across the room with the football fans. Just as she started to pass the door, it opened, and a man jumped a little as he saw her, yelping, backing up into the room. There was a shout of alarm. "Fuck," she snarled, stepping through the door herself and slamming it behind her, locking it with a flick of her fingers as she flipped the knife in her hand, teeth bared in a grimace. If Sebastian was smart, he'd take the boss and get out. If he wasn't, there was no way he could break down a locked door in his drugged state.

"What the hell-?!" He shouted, trying the handle with his elbow. "Get the hell out of there!" he yelled through the door, waiting another beat before, gritting his teeth and glancing at the man in his arms, headed for the exit at high speed. He'd come back for her.

The nice thing about having interrupted five men watching a sports game was that they were all wearing football jerseys and had obviously left their weapons in another room, because the first one came at her with a beer bottle. He swung, she ducked and sliced, and he went down on the floor, holding his guts in. The next whacked her hard across the shoulder with a bottle, glass shards bouncing off her face and neck, and she flinched away, afraid of getting any in her eyes, and she took another hit in the stomach, with a fist this time. Her wind left her in a huff, but she traded hands with the knife to slash his throat with the knife. The third she put her blade in from across the room, then ran forward, picking up a side table and swinging it into the fourth's head with a grunt, then jabbing the fifth with a table leg in the middle of the forehead before he even knew what was in her hands. She gave the fourth and fifth another whack, just to make sure they'd stay down, then dropped the little table, panting, and crossed the room to pull her knife out of the gasping man on the floor, holding her injured arm to her side. "Fuck you guys. Rooting for fuckingBurnley. Arsenal all the way, you fuckwits."

He exited the building and headed for where they'd ditched the car, and eased Jim into the back seat lying down, closing and locking the door again before turning to head back for the building.

She took her time on the way out, picking bits of glass out of her shoulder, which was only getting harder as her fingers got bloodier. She flinched as he came bursting around the corner, grimacing. "Christ. Scared me."

"Well you fucking scared me, so get over it," he muttered, approaching quickly and swearing under his breath when he saw the blood. "How bad is that?"

"I don't know," she sighed, walking past him in silent encouragement to leave. "Minor lacerations. Need some tweezers to get the glass out. What did you do with Jim?"

"He's locked in the car," he said, turning to walk with her. "You know, for someone who doesn't want more scars, you do a hell of a job getting cut up."

"Shut the fuck up," she muttered, giving him a mildly sullen look. "You're high off something and were carrying Jim. No way we were running successfully from them. Anyway, if I'm really going to be taking more of a leadership role, it doesn't matter, really. I don't know. Sorry for scaring you."

He nodded but didn't respond, focused on getting to the car. "I think you need to drive. Can you?"

"I don't know. If it's an automatic, I'll be fine. If not, say goodbye to your transmission," she snorted, elbowing the door open, glancing up at him. "And... you know I love you too."

He sighed, pausing by the door. "Look... Lorna. Not that I don't mean that but... I didn't mean to say it. Alright?"

"I know," she rolled her eyes, walking for the car without pause. "Look, you can totally pretend you didn't say it tomorrow. Just give me a minute of normal person enjoyment, okay?"

"Fine," he sighed, climbing into the passenger side and closing the door, glancing back at Jim in the back seat. Still unconscious. "We're going to come back and kill every one of them," he said, eyes dark.

"I'll pass, but whatever," she said neutrally, relieved to see the car was an automatic, and fell into silence as she pulled onto the road. As long as Jim survived, she didn't care about him. He wouldn't care about her.

"Fine," he muttered, sitting back and watching the road for tails. "Do what you want."

"I usually do," she mumbled, unapologetic. It bothered her a little that Sebastian regretted saying it, even high, but it was unrealistic to be upset about it.

He nodded, glancing over at her, trying to figure out where they stood at the moment, before returning his attention to the road.

As soon as they pulled into the garage, he got out and headed for the back, coat in hand. He draped the coat over Jim's head and shoulders, masking his identity, and lifted him out of the car, and heading for medical.

She followed after chucking the keys against the window to the little stall the chauffeur camped out in, because she highly suspected he was napping, and caught up with them in the elevator. "Tell them to take some blood. From you. I want to make sure this won't cause a relapse."

"I feel fine," he muttered, striding out of the elevator as soon as the door opened. "They need to focus on Jim."

"They have enough people. Get your blood drawn," she said firmly, giving him a stern look.

"Don't give me orders," he muttered in annoyance, pushing into the med bay. "I need immediate assistance," he said sharply to the attendant, who nodded and stood quickly.

Lorna sat herself down in the waiting area. She could pester him after.

It took them three hours to get Jim to the point where the doctors would declare him stable. Sebastian spent the time pacing, waiting for whatever the hell they'd shot him up with to wear off, and doing his best to not kill anyone.