London, Great Britain

1 year ago

Samantha sighed a puff of cold air as she hesitated outside 221B Baker Street. She had been given the chance to make reparations with John and had been looking forward to it all week. Now though, doubt had crossed her mind. She recalled the awkwardness of the phone conversation she had with him last week. She had used and betrayed him. Even though John understood her reasons would their friendship still be the same? Would the real Samantha feel the same to John as the Samantha he thought he knew?

She took a breath and knocked. What seemed like the longest moment passed before the door opened. John stood before her wearing a beige sweater and blue jeans. She smiled. It was good to see him again.

"Hi," Samantha piped with a little wave.

"Hi," John replied shifting nervously.

"I brought wine." She held up the bottle she was carrying. "Hope you like red. It's a little cold from the walk though."

"Well come on in and we'll warm it up." John held the door open wider. "And you. You must be freezing."

"It's getting a little nippy these days." Samantha entered into the hallway and was instantly comforted by the warmth of central heating. Memories of her time living in this building flooded to the front of her mind...followed by more unpleasant reminders. "Is it just you here or is Sherlock around?"

"Sherlock is on a case," said John, taking Samantha's coat, scarf and the bottle of wine, "so its just us tonight."

"Oh good." Samantha caught herself. "I mean... I just don't think he likes me all that much."

John chuckled, leading her into the kitchen.

"Don't take it personally. He doesn't like anyone."

Samantha glanced around. The apartment was much the same as she remembered.

"Where's Gladstone?" she asked, noting the absence of the dog.

"Oh. I had to rehome him when Sherlock moved back in."

"He doesn't like dogs?"

"Actually it was more that he considered Gladstone a prime subject for his experiments. He's most definitely in a better place right now."

Samantha grinned. She missed the way she and John used to chat like this.

"So what's on the menu this evening?" She asked.

"Ah, well now," John tossed her an apron and emptied a shopping bag onto the counter. An assortment of ingredients spilled out. "For your first cooking lesson we'll be making an exquisite dish of the finest Italian cuisine: Spaghetti Bolognese." He pronounced the name in an exaggerated Italian accent.

"That's...a lot ingredients," Samantha pointed out warily.

"It's not as daunting as it looks. Spag bol is a very simple dish to make."

"Alright. I'll take your word for it. Where do we begin?"

John gave a laugh.

"Ok. No dilly-dallying for you then," he said jovially, "Well, first thing's first: preparation." He handed Samantha a carrot. "Peel and dice."

Samantha tied the apron around her waist and took the carrot.

"That I can do," she said affirmatively. She got to work while John pulled out a few saucepans and measured out the pasta. He explained a few rules of thumb in the meantime: prepare everything before you start cooking, tidy as you go and so on. When she finished dicing the carrot (with some less than elegant results) she began chopping an onion on John's orders.

"So how's the new place working out for you?" he asked as he began crushing some garlic.

"I like it," Samantha replied, "It's pretty central, near a gym and it has a fabulous view. I was lucky to snap it up when I did."

"That's good to hear," John said, "I think Mrs. Hudson misses your tenancy though. Haven't had anyone fill 221C yet."

"Ah, well...I didn't think it was appropriate for me to stick around after...you know...everything."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, that's not what I meant at all," John babbled, panicked.

"It's alright, I must have misinterpreted-"

"No it was my bad, I-"

"It's fine, John."

They both lapsed into silence. Samantha stared down at the chopping board, fiddling with the bits of chopped onion with the knife.

"How have you been keeping anyway since...you know...everything?" John said soberly.

Samantha sighed. This was what she had been afraid of: the talk. She hadn't spoken to John since that day he discovered she had been using him. He told her that Sherlock had filled him in on everything but he and Samantha had yet to properly talk it out. She had taken advantage of him when he was in a place of vulnerability and she had deeply hurt him. Now she would be asked questions she didn't want to answer, but she knew she had to if she were to gain John's complete trust again.

"I'm still adjusting," she said, continuing to chop, "I've never been...settled before so this all just feels...weird."

"Have you found a job at all?" asked John.

"Mycroft offered me work but I'm taking some time off for the moment. I need to distance myself from the agency before I'm ready to jump back into that line of work again."

"I understand. I think."

Another silence fell between them. Samantha finished chopping and scooped the onion into a bowl. She paused then, leaning with her palms against the counter top.

"John," she said, her head down, "I'm sorry."

"I know," John said kindly.

Samantha gave a terse nod and began to dice a stalk of celery.

"Moriarty has a way of getting to people," he continued.

Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of that name.

"Did you know he strapped a bomb to me?"

She felt that was a dig at her expense.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," she said.

Another pause. Samantha was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She hoped this wasn't going to be the atmosphere for the rest of the evening.

"What was he to you?" asked John.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you love him?"

The knife slipped and blood pooled to the surface of her finger where it had been cut. She swore and rushed to the sink to run her finger under the cold tap.

"Oh god, are you alright?" said John. He pulled a first aid kit from one of the cupboards and rooted around inside it.

"It's just a cut," she replied.

"Well let me have a look. I am a doctor you know." He gave a weak smile. Samantha held out her hand to him and allowed him to examine her injury.

"That looks sore," he said with a mild grimace, "Nothing too serious though. I can dress it for you."

She watched as he carefully dried her hand and applied disinfectant to the cut.

"I should be honest with you, John," she said suddenly, "This isn't easy for me to talk about but I value your trust more than anything else. And I don't want to lie to you anymore." She took a breath as if collecting the words she was going to say next. "When I was first...involved with Moriarty...things were different then. I...contributed to his plan to bring down Sherlock. I'm not proud. He exploited a weakness of mine and used me for his own gain."

"He does that," John murmured.

"I slept with him."

"I know. I've seen the... recording from 221C." John cleared his throat and kept his head down as he wound a bandage around her finger. Samantha could feel heat flood to her cheeks as she recalled that moment when Moriarty kissed her. That it had been recorded by a spy cam and seen by Mycroft, Sherlock and John, that they had seen her kiss him back and lead him to the bedroom, drove a feeling of shame to the pit of her stomach.

"So what was it between you and him?" John asked, "And I'm not trying to be nosey or looking for gossip or anything. I just want to believe that you would never put him before myself or Sherlock."

"John, it was a silly schoolgirl romance," she replied, "It was just chemistry. It was just sex. At least..." She shook her head and looked away. "At least that's what I try to tell myself. I keep asking what if, you know? What if he wasn't a deranged master criminal? What if we had met under normal circumstances like at a social gathering or a bar or whatever it is that's normal these days? Would we still have hit it off? Would we be dating? Would we-?" She gave a snort. "I don't even know what normal is! Of course I let myself get in too deep with the world's most dangerous man."

She glanced at John then who was studying her intensely. She couldn't determine his expression. Was he angry? Pitying? She realised then that he had finished dressing her cut a while ago and had been holding her hand this whole time. She withdrew from him, feeling undeserving of any kindness.

"You should talk to someone," John said compassionately, "Professionally I mean." He wasn't angry. He just wanted to understand.

"I'll...consider it," Samantha replied. Another silence fell between them but this time it was less uncomfortable. "I'm pretty hungry," she said after a time.

John gave a small warm smile.

"Well, how about we postpone the cooking lesson for now?" He said, "gotta let that finger rest you know. How does beans on toast sound instead?"

"With wine?" Samantha ventured.

"Oh god yes."

They both laughed a silly, awkward, childish laugh, but Samantha knew it meant that they were OK again.