I hope this chapter is okay. I just write until I reach the end and then post it. Let me know, reviews are like my lifeline :P
Not really, but I do bloody love them :)
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Faye sat up, pulling the cover around her as she dangled her feet over the side of the bed. Sherlock was lying next to her, also completely naked, watching her intently. He had been able to tell instantly how self-conscious she had been, obviously worried about how he'd see her now she'd been pregnant. It was going to be tough to get her out of that, just like when they'd first started sleeping together. The first time he'd managed to convince her to not cover his large mirror had lead to an absolute mind blowing night of sex. He'd have to get it put back up again.
"You should leave." Faye muttered and he nodded, sitting up.
"John will be back soon." He agreed, reaching over and wrapping his arms around her waist. His lips trailed over her shoulder, "Half an hour, maybe." She shook her head, shrugging him off.
"No, I mean, you should leave." She said more firmly, "Now. Get out." She stood up and started scooping her clothes off the floor.
"You're still angry." Sherlock declared and she spun around, pulling her t-shirt over her head.
"Yes, I'm still bloody angry!" She snapped, "Sherlock, you made me believe you were dead!"
"And now you know I'm not." He pointed out, joining her in getting dressed. They obviously weren't going to be having any more sex, more's the pity. He did rather enjoy it.
"Why couldn't I have known from the start?" She snapped, "Why let me think you'd left me forever when you were just going to pop back up again?"
"It was safer for you to think so. Moriarty's men would be watching both you and John for any signs of my death being a fake. Any sign that you were hiding something and they would have attacked you. Your grief had to be believable."
"Believable?" She screamed, "Nothing about this is believable, Sherlock! You are unbelievable!"
"You're the one who just fucked me." He retorted smugly and immediately regretted it as her fist connected with his face again.
"Get the fuck out of my flat."
"Actually, this is mine and John's flat." He replied and she shook her head.
"Not anymore. You lost ownership when you died!"
"Then why haven't you redecorated?" He asked, "Is it because you don't want to lose any part of me you have left? The same reason you have been searching for me and have my coat underneath your bed?" He grabbed her, pulling her against him again, both in just their tops and underwear, "You wanted me back from the dead, you wanted me lying with you, why are you fighting this?"
"Because you made me think everything was okay!" She replied, pushing him off her, "I was starting to feel okay again, and you ripped that away from me! I didn't just lose the love of my life, Sherlock! You took Mary with you." He sighed, shaking his head.
"I don't know what you want from me." He told her sadly.
"I want you not to be dead." She whimpered, "I want you to not have jumped off that building. I want you not to have lied to me."
"I thought you were dead for two decades and I forgave you." He reminded her.
"Yes, but I never once chose for you to believe that. If I had known I wouldn't have gone gallivanting across Europe while you sat at home, mourning me." She wiped her eyes, "If it was just me, this wouldn't be an issue. I could be as self-destructive as I like. But I can't let you hurt Bella."
"She's only a baby. I doubt she has any notion of what has happened over the last year." Sherlock scoffed.
"Maybe not." She conceded, "But what about when she's older? I can't trust you not to pull this stupid stunt again, and I won't have you breaking her heart like you did mine." His eyes widened at her logical argument. He glanced around, trying to form his own argument in his favour.
"I promise, Mary." He begged, "I'll never leave you again."
"You already promised me that." She replied, "Please, just leave Sherlock. I won't tell John, or anyone. He's been a superb surrogate father while I've been unable to be a proper mother, he doesn't deserve your betrayal." He reached out, tilting her chin and kissing her desperately. She replied, unable to resist his soft lips pressed against hers.
"Please, I can't do this without you." He whispered, heartbroken. This wasn't right. She was supposed to be happy, she was supposed to smile. Why was she rejecting him?
"You already did." She whispered back, "Please, just leave me alone Sherlock."
"Tell me you still love me." He demanded and she shook her head.
"Please, Sherlock." She begged.
"Just, tell me."
"I love you." She whispered and her lips tugged, just like they had done on the phone just before he jumped off St Bart's. He pressed his forehead against hers.
"I love you too." They stood in each others arms, both devastated, then Faye made the move first, stepping back.
"I'm going to go get Bella." She told him shakily, "Please be gone when I get back." He closed his eyes in pain, he had wanted to hold his daughter. But, he nodded.
"Of course." She nodded once, stalling for a moment before turning and leaving him stood there on his own.
~0~0~0~
John half-staggered into Baker Street, because while he'd had a few he wasn't by any means drunk. Nope. He was just tipsy. He chuckled to himself, even as he tripped over a carrier bag of rubbish that Faye had obviously put outside the front door to take down to the wheelie bins the next morning. Tipsy was quite a funny word. What wasn't funny was the phone number his new friend Mary had put in his phone. He had a date. Well, rather the promise of a date but it was a start. He entered to see Faye sat on the sofa, Bella in her arms as she held the feeding baby to her chest. She looked up, a large grin on her face even as she seemed to be crying. John's heart almost burst at her voluntarily looking after her daughter.
"Guess who got a date?" He slurred out, pulling a confused face afterwards because he couldn't understand why he was slurring in the first place.
"You?" Faye asked with a giggle.
"How did you know?" He asked amazed and she stood up, halfway between crying and laughing at his behaviour and walked over. She leant up, placing a kiss on his cheek.
"Well done John. You deserve it." He nodded.
"I do." He replied proudly, "Her name is Mary too, you know?"
"Is it?" Faye asked, moving the bottle as Bella finished her food. She adjusted her to her shoulder.
"It really is." John leant closer to her ear, "She's really pretty." Faye pulled an exagerated offended face.
"What, and I'm not?" She exclaimed.
"No, no, you are. You're very, very pretty." He turned to place a kiss on Bella's head, "And so are you. Bella. Bella, Bella, Bella." He began repeating her name until Faye placed a kiss on his cheek.
"I think you should go to bed." She commanded gently and he nodded, reaching over to take Bella.
"Okay dokey. Come on my princess." Faye shook her head, keeping a grip on her daughter.
"No, it's fine. You go up, I'll put her down." He beamed at her.
"Good for you." He cheered before stumbling to the stairs up to his bedroom.
"John?" She called after him and he looked down at her, seeing she was still crying.
"Yesh?" She smiled at him, her eyes glistening.
"Thank you." She told him, "And I'm so sorry." His brows furrowed and he swayed on the spot.
"What for?" She shrugged.
"Everything." She whispered sadly. He seemed to study her for a moment, realising that for some reason she needed his forgiveness. He held a hand aloft.
"You are forgiven." He declared regally before swaying slightly. Deciding to head to bed, he turned and left the two in the front room.
~0~0~0~
Another restless night saw Mycroft heading to his study, fully dressed in his work clothes. Working internationally always threw his sleeping patterns and he wasn't quite on UK time just yet. He had to drop into Faye's in the morning, like he'd promised his mother just that evening before having a nap to try and sort himself out. He was still quite concerned about her, so he was considering offering a week at his home for her, and of course the child.
Had he been an ordinary man, he would have jumped in fright when he spotted Sherlock sat in his desk chair as he turned on the lights. Instead, being Mycroft Holmes and never truly surprised by his brother's actions, he just raised an eyebrow at his brother's choice of seat.
"I take it you went to see Miss Newbarns this evening?" He asked, "And that your presence behind my desk means she did not take it as you might have been expecting?" Knowing that Sherlock wasn't going to move, but not giving him the pleasure of acknowledging it, he headed over to his books, casually scanning them as if that had been his intention all along.
"She was not as overjoyed as I had been expecting." Sherlock admitted, "We had sex, then she threw me out. It's quite unfortunate." Mycroft paused mid-reach, trying to suppress his anger at the talk of his friend and his brother having sex. But, he knew Sherlock was just trying to rile him up, and if he was honest, he had missed that.
"She was never going to welcome you back with open arms, Sherlock." He tutted instead.
"I see that now." Sherlock agreed, "No matter, I give her a week and she'll come to see you about my whereabouts. By then I shall be back from Minsk, so it should turn out quite nicely." Mycroft turned to face him, not convinced at all by his dismissal.
"If that were truly the case, then why are you sitting in my favourite chair?" He almost winced; too much information, Mycroft. That was a rookie mistake.
"I want you to help convince her to see me when I get back."
"That would be foolish of me, at best." He retorted, "Why would I incriminate myself to help your love life?"
"Don't worry about that, Mycroft." Sherlock replied with a sickly smug grin, "I already did that for you." Mycroft pursed his lips together.
"You told her I knew?" He asked lowly and Sherlock jumped up off the seat.
"She asked, I told." He retorted, "I'm sure your favourite seat can comfort you in your hour of need, however I must dash. Planes to catch, I'm sure you understand, brother dear." He headed towards the door, "Oh, you must pass my love to mother and father when you see them next."
"It's your turn." Mycroft stated angrily and Sherlock shot him a smirk.
"I'm dead. It's always your turn now." And he left Mycroft standing in the middle of his study, fuming.
