Chapter 3: Try Not to Get Worried

The day Sherlock was due to testify finally came and there was a sort of tense atmosphere around the flat. John has been telling him all week to just answer the lawyer's question and not get too carried away with the details; "Don't show off, Sherlock," he warned, "the last thing they need is to deal with your ego." Sherlock just nods and distracts himself with anything he can find: experiment, computer, violin, etc. He doesn't want to talk about it, let alone think about the whole ordeal.

Had I known any better, I would've guessed Sherlock didn't care about the trial. The truth was, though, that it was affecting him to his core. Sherlock is always on edge when it comes to Moriarty, and this time is no different. If anything, he's more stressed about it because he doesn't have any idea of what Moriarty's plan may be. For once, he's not in control and that bothers him. It makes me worried to see him like this, so cold and lost in his thoughts, but there's nothing I can do. He has to just figure things out for himself.

In the early hours of the morning, I feel Sherlock rise out of bed and then hear his bare feet patting against the hardwood floor. This is the third time he's gotten up since we went to bed around 10.

First at 11:30pm: I acted like I was still asleep as he paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, mumbling quiet nothingness to himself for about half an hour.

Second at 1am: he woke me up, quickly apologized and told me to go back to sleep because he was just going to the bathroom. He ended up going to the living room for about an hour.

I open my eyes just a tad just as Sherlock exits the bedroom. Sitting up slightly, I squint to see the green numbers on the bedside alarm clock: 4:00am, far too early for anyone to be awake, even Sherlock. With the doting wife in me kicking in, I climb out of bed and tiptoe out to the living room. Sherlock is sitting in his chair, hands in a prayer position under his chin and his eyes locked on the dimly lit fire in the fireplace; he must have lit one when he got up at 1. I can tell that he is deep in the mind palace, thinking about God only knows what, not really in this reality, but rather in a world of his own.

Careful not to startle him, I cautiously enter the room fully and go to his side. He doesn't acknowledge my presence; he just keeps staring at the dying embers. Slowly, I kneel down beside the chair and rest a hand on his thigh. Sherlock shutters at my touch and his eyes dart to meet my own.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't." he sighs, gently intertwining both my hand in his, "I was just…thinking."

"About?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"You know exactly what about." Sherlock sighs and looks back at the fading fire.

I bite my lip and I reach up to gently stroke his cheek; "Do you want to talk about it, love?"

"What's there to talk about," he says, still looking at the fireplace, "I have to testify, end of story."

"Well, I just thought that since you were stressed about it…"

"Stressed? Have you ever known me to be stressed over something as minuscule as this? I'm fine."

"But I know that your really not."

Finally, Sherlock turns his head and lock his eyes with mine. He knows I'm right, but I can see that he really doesn't want to talk about it. I give him an understanding nod and lean in slightly so that I can place a soft kiss on his cheek. He turns his head so that my lips land on the corner of his mouth.

"Can…can I sit with you?" I whisper, "Unless you want to be alone for a bit."

"No, please," he replies, opening his arms to me, "I'd welcome it."

I crawl up into my husbands lap and curl up beside him, resting my head on his chest so that I can listen to his heartbeat. Sherlock wraps his arms around me, hooking one hand under my thighs so that he can hold me in place. As he places his other hand behind my neck, I feel a cold piece of metal come in contact with my skin. I'm startled for just a second but then relax when I realize what it is.

"You're wearing your ring." I say, fiddling with the collar of his blue dressing gown; a bright smile grows across my face.

"Of course I am," he replies, stroking my hair, "that's what husbands do don't they? Wear their wedding rings."

"You never wear it."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, I know why you don't: the press and what not, I understand" I say, "It doesn't matter to me. Whatever makes you happy, Sherlock." I let out a small yawn and nuzzle up closer to Sherlock. His chest vibrates with a low, baritone chuckle as he places a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"You should go back to bed," he whispers into my hair, "you have work this morning. Can't have you falling asleep at your desk, now can we."

"I'm fine." I reply, holding him close like a child clutching their favorite teddy bear, "Besides, I want to be with you right now. I'll stay awake." Sherlock's hold on me tightens slightly as he rests his cheek on top of my head.

"You don't have to," he whispers, gently beginning to stroke my back, "Just having you close is good enough for me." I blush and lift my head slightly to look him in the eyes. He looks down at me with a smile, but I can see the stress and worry in his gaze; I think, for the first time, he's nervous.

"You know, this whole trial thing, love," I say, trying to be comforting, "there is nothing to worry about. You're going to do great and they'll convict Moriarty, I know it."

Sherlock sighs then places a soft kiss on my forehead; "I…I just don't want to talk about it." He whispers, stroking my cheek, "I just need to think, mull over my own thoughts." He then looks at me like a child and my heart can't help but ache for him: "Will you stay with me?" he asks, "I know it's late and all but, having you near helps me to clear my mind."

"Of course," I reply, "What do you need me to do?"

A soft smile grows across his face and Sherlock cradles me close to his chest. "Just go to sleep," he coos, "my darling, darling, girl." I smile and allow my heavy eyelids to fall. I rest a hand over his heart and place a soft kiss on his bare chest. Sherlock takes in a deep breath and contently hums; "I love you, Elfie."

"I love you too, Sherlock."

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The hour for Sherlock and John to leave unfortunately came sooner then I had wanted it too. I lean against Sherlock's desk by the front window; quietly sipping my coffee and watching my two best friends get ready to face the truly eventful day. John is more nervous than Sherlock, or at least is showing his nerves more. Sherlock seems very calm and collected for someone who only got a few moments of sleep the night before: stone faced, emotionless, pretty much his normal self. He catches my glance out of the corner of his eye and gives me an affirmative nod, as if to subconsciously tell me that everything was going to be fine and that there is no need for me to worry.

"Boys, there's a whole mess of people at the door." Mrs. Hudson says, coming up the stairs, "They've got cameras and microphones."

"It's the press, Mrs. Hudson," John sighs, "They'll be gone as soon as we leave."

"Oh, I do hope they clear out soon." She says, shaking her head in worry, "They are making such a scene."

Curious, I pull back the curtains slightly to view the crowd building around our doorstep. It's surprising really; this trial is the biggest news story, true, but I guess it never sank in that Sherlock was equally as big. My husband is the latest headline and his involvement with James Moriarty has made his mysterious story even juicer.

"The police car is here." I say, facing them again. John sighs heavily and gives Sherlock a nod. My husband just turns and looks at the mirror, straitening his black jacket. "Good luck," I say, and John smiles at me.

"It'll be fine. We'll see you when you get home from work," he says. He then turns his attention to Sherlock, "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Sherlock replies coldly. He then turns on his heel and heads to the door.
"Sherlock, wait." I call out, setting my mug on the desk. Sherlock turns back around and I quickly run to him, practically jumping into his arms. He catches me in an embrace and plants a deep kiss on my cheek. I don't want him to go, but I know in my heart that he has to. He needs to go and be my brilliant detective and play his part to put that creep behind bars forever.

"Don't you worry about me, alright," he whispers in my ear, "Promise?"
"Promise." I whisper in reply, "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"And I love you, Elfie Holmes."

We look at one another and exchange a quick kiss. He then straightens his back and heads downstairs with John trailing close behind. I watch them reach the bottom of the staircase and cautiously go to the front door.

"Ready?" John asks, taking a moment.

"Yes," Sherlock replies with a deep sigh.

John opens the door and the flat is immediately filled with the voices of reporters calling out Sherlock's name, begging for a quote or at least some word on what he's thinking. The door closes and all is silent again. I stand at the archway of the living room with Mrs. Hudson and let out a shaky breath.

"I don't feel good, Mrs. Hudson," I say, staring at the place where my husband had just stood moments ago, "Something just doesn't feel right about all this."

"Oh, cheer up dear," she says, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder, "You know that this whole thing will all be over before you know it. Sherlock will fix it; he always does."

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The hours at worked dragged by; my boss, Janice, had given me a half-day because she knew I'd be too focused on the trial to work to my full potential. I was able to get a radio news station to play on my phone so that I could be updated with the trial as the day went on. I had hoped there would be some report on what Sherlock had said, but it was in vain; the reporters didn't know anymore than the general public. For it being the biggest headline in ages, the court case of James Moriarty sure is very hush-hush. The clock finally struck 2:30 and I flew out of my office faster than the speed of light. I need to get home. I need to know how it went. I need to see Sherlock.

Upon reaching 221b, I sprint up the stairs in hope that Sherlock and John were back; they had to be by now. I give off a sigh of relief when I reach the living room archway and hear the two of them bickering, as is their natural way:

"It's my face." Sherlock says in annoyance

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face." John rebuttals

"Well, we do."

"No. I don't, which is why I find 'The Face' so annoying."

"What about Sherlock's face?" I tease, entering the room fully. John chuckles and gives me a small wave. Sherlock, on the other hand, rolls his eyes and starts to pace the room.

"If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them." He says, "If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there. Somehow this is part of his scheme."

"So, I'm assuming it went well." I say, taking a seat on the couch.

"Yeah, sure." John says with a mixture of sarcasm and annoyance in his voice, "if you call your husband here being held in contempt and having to spend the rest of the trial in a jail cell 'going well', then yes I say it did."

"Sherlock, what did you do?" I ask with a roll of my eyes, "John told you not to show off."

"I wasn't showing off, the barrister was an idiot." Sherlock snaps, "She was asking all the wrong questions. Anyways, that's not important right now. What is important is what does Moriarty have planed. He was far too calm for someone who's on trial for his or her life and, as I stated before, he wanted to be caught. There is something bigger afoot, something I'm missing." He runs his hands through his curls violently then plops down beside me on the couch; "I'm annoyed with the world." He grumbles, resting his head in my lap.

"Annoyed with the world or with Jim Moriarty?" I ask, gently massaging temples-a weakness of his I have discovered while being his lover. Sherlock delightfully hums and temples his hands under his chin.

"Both." He replies, closing his eyes, "I'm tired. John, go make tea."

"You go make it," John replies, getting up, "I'm going out."

"On a date? Do tell the details." I say, giving John a friendly wink. John chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"No, just with Stamford." He replies, "Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't stay out too late," Sherlock says, half awake and half completely relaxed, "I need you to go watch the trial tomorrow."

"Why can't you go yourself?" John asks,

"They'll be presenting the defense tomorrow and I need my best man to watch Moriarty's movements."

"Once again; why can't you go yourself?"

"Held in contempt today, remember? It would be in bad taste to show up in the court room."

John rolls his eyes and heads to the door; "Alright, whatever. I'll see you two tomorrow then."

"Hmm, not a date, but you don't plan on coming home tonight." I tease, "Interesting, Dr. Watson, very interesting."
"Please, Fee, one deducing Holmes is enough." John playfully replies. I laugh and give him a small nod as he heads to his own bedroom to get changed.

"How was work?" Sherlock asks, relaxing his arms so that one is draped across his stomach and the other is dangling off the edge of the couch.

"Oh, hello, I thought you'd dozed off." I say, tangling my fingers through his curls, "You were up most of the night."

"So were you," he chuckles, "which relates back to my question: how was work?"

"Uh, I didn't get much done." I say, "It's been slow anyway and I was focused on other things. Janice gave me the rest of the week off, though."

"Why?" he presses me to explain.

"Surely even you can deduce that." I tease. Sherlock chuckles and takes one of my hands into his own. He examines my wedding ring with a small smile then places a soft kiss on my knuckles.

"I told you not to worry about me," he says, intertwining his fingers with mine.

"I know, but I can't help it." I reply, "Sorry that I care too much."

"You always have." He says contently, "Even before you and I became…us."

"I've never heard you refer to our relationship as 'us' before, Sherlock."

"Well, what else am I suppose to call it? You and I are an 'us', Elfie; there is always one with the other." Sherlock then looks up at me with a smile: "and there always will be."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say you've become sentimental Mr. Holmes," I tease, placing a kiss on his forehead.

"No, never," He mumbles, closing his eyes again and letting out a sigh of relief, "I'm just…tired." I chuckle at Sherlock's childlike behavior; he always gets like a toddler when he's exhausted and I can't help but find it extremely attractive. Within moments, Sherlock's breathing becomes relaxed and rhythmic. Careful not to wake him, I lift his head off my lap and slowly rise from the couch. I rest his head back down on the cushions and slowly slip his black blazer off of him.

"Sleep well," I whisper, leaning in and kissing his cheek, "I'll see you in the morning." Sherlock mumbles an incoherent reply and turns on his side so that his back is to me. As I straighten out the sleeves of Sherlock's blazer, a small business card falls out onto the floor. I pick it up and read over the name in bold type:

"Kitty Riley." I read aloud,

"Not important," Sherlock suddenly grumbles, brushing a hand through the air, "just a stupid…person. Toss it."

"Who is she?" I ask, genuinely curious, "A reporter?"

"Yes." He moans, "She stalked me into the bathroom."

"Ah, I see." I say with a laugh, "She wanted to get the inside scoop on you, I'm assuming. The whole 'who is Sherlock Holmes?' kind of thing?"
"I'm going back to sleep," he mumbles, curling up into a ball, "G'night."

I chuckle and kiss his cheek again; "Sleep well, honey," I say, heading down the hall to the bathroom. I take another quick look at the business card and shrug: "She must be desperate if she thinks she'll get Sherlock to talk to her," I say to myself, "Really, really desperate."

Hello!
So I didn't quiet know how to end this one, so I do apologize if it seems a bit unfinished or off. But we are getting into the beginning of the episode and I have some plans on how to bring Elfie into it all.

Thank you for all the wonderful responses-truly, they help the writing process- and the continued support. I enjoy writing these stories and I hope you all enjoy reading them.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.

Much love and many thanks.