a/n: Oh Geez! I was so so so excited to get the last chapter up, I forgot to thank my Betas! Ladies you are both amazing and have been a huge huge help throughout this process. Not sure this would be where it is now without you!

I'd also like to thank all of the lovely people who have been following this story and reviewing. I truly appreciate it!

I'm excited for this chapter. You'll know why soon!

Someone I used to know

Chapter 9

Two hours later I was once again dressed in clothes I hadn't packed. I stuffed my gloved hands into the pockets of my brown wool coat as I hurried in unfamiliar boots towards the café Milverton and I had agreed to meet. I cursed under my breath at my decision to enjoy the chilly winter weather rather than taking a cab. While it was cold, the sun was out, and after living in London for so many years, I had learned to appreciate the sun when it decided to appear.

I found her sitting at a table for two near the back of the café. It was an area that would allow for some privacy in the busy place. However, as I approach, the seat I assumed was for me was taken by the same woman I had seen the night before, Irene Adler, as Sherlock had confirmed.

Rather than approaching, I decided to stay where I was, pretending to look for the person I was meeting while also watching the interaction. While a casual observer happening to glance in the direction of Madame Milverton and Irene Adler would think they were simply two women meeting for a coffee, on closer inspection, the strain the conversation was causing Milverton was obvious. Previously she had been sitting casually, but from the moment Irene had sat down her posture had become rigid, formal. Irene however was draped in the seat with a look as though she didn't have a care in the world.

With a blink of an eye, Irene was standing up and making her way across the café. As she passed, she tilted her head in my direction in recognition, but didn't say a word of greeting as she made her exit. When I turned, I noticed Madame Milverton had also stood up and was nearly in front of me.

"My apologies, but we will need to reschedule," she said buttoning her coat. "Unfortunately, something has come up."

Without waiting for my response, she made her way out of the café and quickly got into a nearby cab. With a sigh, I also exited the café, debating if I should go directly back to the hotel.

Lunch has been postponed. Adler made an appearance. – MH

Take a cab to the attached address. You have an appointment scheduled for an hour from now. Stay until you pick something. Purchase it and then return to the hotel. – SH

His text arrived mere seconds after I sent my own. Obviously he had expected this turn of events and I couldn't bring myself to be surprised. He had seen Adler just a few hours ago and even if she hadn't told him about crashing my lunch, he would have figured it out.

I don't know where I expected the cab to pull up in front of. But currently I was looking at an expensive looking bridal boutique. Obviously, this was to go along with the front we were trying to portray, a newly engaged couple who expected to marry soon, very soon if they believed the story that Sherlock made sure was being whispered around.

To say I was intimidated would have been an understatement. Like all women, I had imagined my wedding day and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't daydreamed of Sherlock being the man waiting at the end of the aisle. However, faced with the reality of everything I was beginning to wonder if all of these lies were too much for me to handle.

This time last year, I was single with no hopes of finding the right person or pushing my feelings for Sherlock aside. I was, and still am, a workaholic with little opportunity of meeting anyone new outside of the hospital and most men I did meet were already dead and laying on the table waiting for an autopsy. Now I was supposedly engaged to Sherlock, no matter the disguise I still knew it was him, for the purpose of a case and trying to outsmart a mastermind at blackmail. And all of this led me to be standing in front of this bridal boutique.

This wasn't the time to fall apart. With a deep breath I paid the driver and exited the cab and walked as confidently as possible into the boutique.

"Señorita Hooper?" asked the lady behind the desk on my left as I walked through the door. I was slightly blinded at the sight of so much white in one place, and it look me a moment to realize the woman had said my name.

With a smile I nodded and walked closer to her.

"Your fiancé just phoned, he informed me that you need a dress this afternoon and to not worry about price. We've pulled a few samples for you already if you would like to follow me? Unless you would like to look around first?" The woman spoke completely in unbroken English, but her Spanish accent could still be heard.

"We can start with what you pulled," I said, still trying to keep my composure. It would be my goal to make sure I didn't show just how intimidating I found the whole concept of this trip.

Half an hour later I stood in front of a set of mirrors staring at my appearance. I had settled on a lace covered dress that was simple and to the point. The skirt was straight but not constricting and the top came to a 'v' in the front and back. A simple cream ribbon sat around my natural waist and was tied in the back in a pretty bow, its ends trailing down the back of the dress.

"We can have this sent to you within a few hours, will that do?" asked the same attendant.

"Yes that's…. that's fine," I replied pulling my gaze away from the mirrored image of myself. "I'll go change so that you can make the alterations," I added without moving.

"It's always a special moment when you find the right dress," The attendant said. She had talked from time to time throughout trying on the other few dresses she had pulled for me. I found it hard to keep responding to her and not be trapped in the thoughts circling in my mind. But somehow through my silence she had been able to put me in the dress I had never dreamed of, and yet was the perfect fit for me. "I'll give you a few more moments alone," she said before leaving me in the mirrored area.

I let my smile turn sad as I thought of this dress never being worn, especially not by me. No matter how much I wanted to imagine myself wearing this as I walked down an aisle, most likely not a church but rather a pretty room somewhere in London, walking towards Sherlock, I knew the likeliness of it ever happening was nil. No matter what it was that we had between us, I could never imagine Sherlock wanting to marry me. How could a marriage between us even work? Would he remain Paul Cross, officially, forever? And what if we married before he could clear his name? His real name couldn't be used on a marriage certificate; it was the name of a dead man. And how would I one day explain all of this to my family?

This relationship was mostly just a ruse to make the lie of Paul Cross that much more real. How would I handle the day when that lie was no longer there? And how could I explain the slips of intimacy we had in private? Was that all for show as well? Was that just Sherlock staying in character or was I supposed to read more into it? Was I supposed to just go with these slips and not let them affect me, not let myself become invested in whatever it was?

But how could I not when I was staring at myself in the mirror wearing an overly expensive wedding dress that was all a part of this lie?

How could I keep putting myself through this turmoil of the heart without asking questions, without knowing what it all meant to the man at the heart of it?

I couldn't keep avoiding ask the questions that had plagued me for months just because I feared the answers. I couldn't keep trying to seal off my heart when I knew in reality I was already so deep into this that once I received the answers I expected, I'd be shattered. But I couldn't keep not asking. For the sake of my sanity, I had to. I had to know if everything was fake or if any part of this ruse, no matter how small, was real.

For the second time in three days, I decided to skip pleasantries and get straight to my questions. I knew more than anything I needed to ask before I lost the nerve.

"What are we?" I asked after closing the hotel room door. I leaned against it and looked across the room at Sherlock, once again perched on the sofa with a laptop, this time mine, in front of him. "And please, I know you know exactly what I mean so please do not… say something to push me off or… or avoid the question and pretend you aren't listening."

Still without looking at me, he clicked on a few more things before slowly shutting the laptop and leaning back in his seat.

"Your shopping trip went well," he replied.

"Sherlock… please… please just answer the question." I moved from the door still not sure where to go, where to stand.

After a few more moments of silence I began pacing in front of the sofa, still wearing my coat but discarding my bag on one of the chairs.

"I just… bought a wedding dress; a very, very expensive wedding dress all for the sake of keeping up appearances for a case. And it's hardly the first time this trip or ever, that I've done something I never would have imagined in the past few months." My pacing continued as I snuck a quick look in his direction to see if my words were being absorbed. "In public, I'm dating Paul Cross, a man so similar to you and yet so different, but I still know it's you underneath, no matter how many people we fool. And then… in private I have moments where I don't know where… where Paul Cross ends and where Sherlock Holmes begins. Are the moments between us in private just you practicing playing the part of Paul or are they actually you, dropping the shield you keep so steadily in front of you to protect yourself from sentiment?"

My pacing stopped and I stood across from him with the coffee table between us.

"How can I keep going on without asking these questions? I don't take back offering to help you, I never will, but how was I supposed to know to what extent I was agreeing to? And how long am I to expect for this to continue? What happens when one day Paul Cross is no longer around? Do we go back to how things were before? Am I supposed to just tell everyone that we simply broke things off after however long this lasts? And what about me, Sherlock? What about what I want out of life? Because I want so much more than just being someone's cover story. I … I deserve to be more than just your cover story. And I can't… I can't keep doing this. I'm not like you. I can't just simply divorce my feelings from my life. I… I can't."

Tears were pricking my eyes and while I had gestured with my hands as I spoke they now fell limply to my sides as I looked at the man in front of me who was barely showing a reaction to anything I had said.

After a few moments that could have been seconds or hours, he spoke.

"Are you finished?" he asked standing from his spot on the sofa.

"That's… that's all you have to say?" I asked disbelief evident in my voice. The tears that had been on the brink of falling slowing started to drip down my face.

He shook his head as he crossed the short distance between us.

"You matter, I've said it before and I assumed you understood," he said before gently taking my cheek in one of his hands. I couldn't help but hold my breath as I waited for the other shoe to drop.

"It's all real," he said before closing the distance between our lips. The kiss was soft and sweet unlike any we'd shared before. I found myself gripping his arm to steady myself as my knees grew weak.

"I will try to be more… vocal about my… feelings in the future," he said as we pulled apart slowly. He pulled me closer with his other hand, letting the hand on my cheek also drift down to my waist. We stood there for some time with his hands wrapped around my waist and my head leaned against his chest, his own head resting on top of my own.

"Don't leave me in the dark," I said after some time. "I'm not truly as… meek as you think. I won't be blindly led any longer. I want—no, I need to know where this is going and I need you to communicate that to me."

"I'll keep that in mind in the future and do my best," he replied moving slightly to kiss the top of my head. "I apologize for the confusion I've caused. I expected you to say something sooner."

"I was terrified," I confessed.

"I see that now," he replied. He let go of me and moved to pick up his coat. "I'm going to Milverton's office tonight to take the evidence she holds on Mycroft's friend. We'll leave tomorrow morning."

The case of Madame Milverton ended with all of her evidence against a large variety of people being completely erased by Sherlock. However I didn't learn the actual fate of the woman herself until a few days later when I was reading the newspaper in my apartment. She was found murdered the day we left Spain. Her body was found in her rented apartment with no signs of a break in.

"I only went to her office," Sherlock said from behind me. "It was someone sent by Irene." I turned to watch him as he moved across the flat towards the door. "I'll be back in a few hours." He paused behind me sitting on the sofa before quickly leaning down and kissing the top of my head before straightening quickly and exiting the apartment.

I shook my head and smiled before skimming through the rest of the paper. While I knew where I stood with Sherlock now, for the most part at least, things hadn't changed much with the exception of a slight increase in the affection he showed from time to time. We had also barely spoken of my outburst in the hotel room in Spain. Obviously my words had been heard and Sherlock felt that no more needed to be said. I however couldn't help still wondering about my many more unanswered questions. Most importantly what would happen when one day he cleared his name and returned to the life of Sherlock Holmes?

When we reached to airport together in Spain, the engagement ring which had taken residence on my finger for the trip was removed and given back to Sherlock, who deposited it in a box before placing it in a pocket of his jacket. Over the next few days I caught myself looking at the particular finger, occasionally touching the spot absentmindedly as I worked, sometimes being almost shocked not to feel its weight.

Placing the paper beside me, I stood up to stretch before moving towards my—our—room to change for work. As I shuffled through my closet looking for a particular cardigan, I noticed a cream colored bag hanging in the back that I had never seen before. I moved the other hangers away from it and hesitated when I saw the name on the garment bag.

The dress, my dress I had picked out in Spain.

I was pulled out of my spell when I heard my phone go off across the room.

It may serve a purpose one day. – SH

And it was in that moment, more than those minutes in Spain as he held me that I knew exactly where Sherlock's heart laid in all of this.

And the smile on my face couldn't be removed for some time.