Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Author's note: Sorry for the wait for this chapter. Serious case of writers' block on this one. I knew what I wanted to say, had whole swathes of conversation happening in my head, but somehow it just wasn't working when I typed it up. Still not 100% happy with it, but I've been tinkering with it for days and if I don't just bite the bullet and post it I never will! Constructive criticism gratefully appreciated.
The three of them had been back at the flat for about an hour. Boxes from the Chinese take-away were scattered across the table and they were already onto the second bottle of wine. The fire was warm and the conversation entertaining, but Sherlock found that he just couldn't relax. It wasn't the usual restlessness that beset him at the end of a case, knowing that he no longer had anything to focus his mind on. This time he did have something to focus on, but he wasn't sure he liked it.
Images from the afternoon's stand-off kept replaying in his mind's eye. The look on Seona's face just before she'd 'collapsed', the way she'd winked at him. The way Mack had been holding her against his side. The way he'd moved to catch her as she fell, losing his grip on the gun.
"He could have shot you." Seona paused in her animated description of a concert she'd recently attended as his words cut harshly across her. Her look was puzzled and he made an impatient gesture. "When you pretended to faint today. What made you think he wouldn't just pull that trigger, accidentally or otherwise?" He could feel John staring at him in surprise, but he kept his focus on the young woman curled up on the sofa.
She tilted her head to one side for a moment while she considered the question, then shook her head sharply. "No, he wasn't likely to shoot me. For all his talk there about killing me, he wanted me alive. Despite the bruises he gave me trying to make me stop hitting him, he was surprisingly solicitous of my health." She shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of her wine. "There wasn't much either of you could do while he had the gun to my head. I figured giving him a reason to remove it was worth the risk."
Sherlock tipped his own glass towards her in acknowledgement. "Your actions certainly did... expedite matters. But the risk to yourself was still substantial." A part of his mind wondered why he couldn't let this go, even as he added, "I hadn't suspected you of such callousness towards your own welfare."
Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "He fancied me," she muttered. "That's why he took me instead of John, not because he thought it would get a better reaction from you." She drained the rest of her glass and set it on the table beside her. "Horrible man. Needs to learn that 'no' doesn't mean 'yes please'."
John jumped in before Sherlock had a chance to fully digest that statement. "He didn't..." The question trailed off, but she shook her head.
"No, it didn't go that far. Bit of groping, bit of dirty talk. Enough to make me want to wash, not enough to do any lasting damage. Although I'll admit I'll be happier to know he's locked away somewhere." She tipped her head back against the sofa, running her hands back through her hair, then sat up and looked at the two of them intently. "I did thank you both, didn't I? For coming to get me?"
"You did," John replied with a smile. "But I can understand the way you're feeling. I've been the victim of a few kidnappings myself in the year I've lived here."
Sherlock was about to add his own assurances when she tipped her head back with a peal of laughter. "Ah, that you have," she gasped, turning her face towards John but watching the detective out of the corner of her eye. "He's obviously a dangerous man to know, our Mr Holmes." He froze. Our? A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught her gaze and held it, one eyebrow raised in question. Colour flooded her cheeks. "I... that is... I mean..." Her hands twisted together in her lap as she struggled to find something to say. Finally she shot him an exasperated look and snapped, "Oh, damn it all, Sherlock, this is you. You probably know exactly what I mean!"
John and Sherlock both collapsed in fits of laughter. After a moment, Seona joined in. It was several minutes before they managed to bring themselves back under control enough to speak, and the laughter had cleared the last of the tension from the air. John pushed himself to his feet. "Well, on that note I think I'm going to head off to bed. Good night, you two." Still chuckling quietly to himself, he passed through the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink before heading for the stairs.
Seona murmured her own goodnight as he passed, then glanced at Sherlock as she prepared to rise. There was uncertainty in her eyes, though, and the realisation hit him that he didn't want her to leave. Not yet. He put out his hand to grab the wine bottle from the table. "One more glass to help me finish the bottle?" he invited.
Her warm smile reassured him even before she picked up her glass and held it out for him to fill. "Gladly," she murmured. "Thank you." He filled both their glasses and settled back in his chair, thoughts racing. What could he say to her? That he wanted their association to continue now that the case was over? Too clinical, and for once he didn't want to retreat into bare facts. That the thought of her walking out of his life as suddenly as she'd walked into it made him feel ill? She'd think he was daft, and somewhere along the way she'd become the second person in his life whose opinion of him mattered. How did normal people manage this sort of thing?
Her eyes had been fixed on the fire as she sipped at her wine, but now they shifted to him as she licked her lips. The motion caught his attention and he almost didn't register when she said hesitantly, "Sherlock, can I ask you a favour?" He nodded. "Would you be willing to... keep in touch? I've really enjoyed the evenings we've spent together this last week, and I really don't want to give that up completely. Even just meeting for the occasional dinner or coffee would be fine. I know that... well, John said you didn't have any interest in... well, a relationship... and I can accept that. I just want to be able to talk to you occasionally, and... and I'm babbling now so I'll just shut up." Her eyes dropped to the glass clasped between her hands, her cheeks flaming almost as bright as her hair.
He had sat dumbfounded through her whole speech from the moment she had asked if they could keep in touch. That she didn't want to see this chapter close completely either had never occurred to him. Perhaps John was right, that for all his genius and skill at reading people there were still some areas where he was woefully under-informed. Then the significance of the last part hit him. John had said he wasn't interested in a relationship. She had asked John about him. And if she could accept it, that meant...
Sherlock's mouth was dry and he had to swallow hard before he was able to speak. "And if I said that I was interested in... a relationship?" He winced slightly at how rough his voice sounded and wondered if he'd just started something he would regret. A part of him didn't care, though.
Her head snapped up at the question and the smile blooming on her face set his heart racing. "Then I'd consider myself more fortunate that I ever expected," she replied softly.
Unable to sit still any longer, he flung himself out of the chair and started pacing in front of the fireplace. "I'm not an easy man to know," he cautioned her, even as a little voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to shut up. "I've often been accused of being selfish and overbearing and inconsiderate of other people's thoughts and feelings."
Her eyes tracked him as he paced. "And yet you warn me, rather than just taking advantage of the situation for your own gratification," she mused, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I think you care more for other people than you let on."
He shook his head with a wry gin. "Not usually. You're just on an extremely select list."
"I'm flattered," she chuckled as she set her glass aside and twisted gracefully to her feet. He was unable to move as he watched her approach him, and not entirely sure he wanted to. She raised one slim hand and laid it along his cheek. "You're a brilliant man, Sherlock. I'd be more than willing to put up with your personal quirks just for the pleasure of knowing you. For the sake of something more..." She smiled and shrugged.
Her skin was warm against his. Without consciously deciding to, he found himself turning his head to place a soft kiss against her palm. The soft shiver that went through her gave him an odd thrill. He intended to analyse the emotion, examine it and try to determine what it meant, but Seona raised herself up on her toes and brushed her lips softly against his.
It was like an electric jolt. His mind froze, his breath caught in his throat, and it was all he could to to keep on his feet. She started to pull away after a moment but he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers with bruising force. The small part of his mind that was still functioning coherently was insisting that he should be more gentle. Then her felt her hand slide around to the back of his head and tangle in his hair, felt her lips curve in a smile against him. Since she obviously wasn't complaining, he abandoned that line of thought.
The need for a full breath forced them reluctantly apart after a few minutes. Wondering if he looked as dazed as he felt, Sherlock looked down into the laughing green eyes a few inches from his own. He wasn't sure he liked the fact that something in the situation had amused her, but couldn't seem to find the right words to frame the question. He settled instead for a raised eyebrow, hoping she'd take the hint.
She apparently did. Wrapping one of his curls around her finger and tugging gently, she said teasingly, "Either you're a very quick learner, my dear, or you haven't kept yourself as pure for science as John thinks you have."
Not what he'd expected. Not unflattering, either. With a shout of laughter he clutched her to him, lifting her off the ground and spinning them both in dizzying circles until her tripped and they ended up sprawled across his armchair in a tangle of limbs, both giggling like schoolkids. "You mean it can't be both?" he asked in mock-hurt tones. She laughed and shrugged, and he continued more seriously, "It is, you know. Both. I know the impression I've given John of never having any interest in... well, any sort of personal relationships. That doesn't mean I didn't experiment when I was a student. Trying to see what all the fuss was about." He gave her a broad grin. "I am a quick learner, though."
Seona returned the grin and dropped a quick kiss on the end of his nose. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you, really. You seem to make a point of doing anything you do very well. Why should this be an exception?"
He chuckled and gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. When they parted for another breath, he said, "So... you asked John about my love-life?" She smacked him gently on the chest and buried her face in his shoulder with an embarrassed laugh.