New Year's Eve

Greg sat patiently as Molly fiddled with the coffee, her breakfast growing cold. He had waited until her back was turned and slid the diamond ring into her eggs. Now if only she would come over and find it. It seemed like an hour before she finally sat down. It only took one bite of scrambled eggs for her to find it.

She jumped up so quickly that the chair clattered to the floor. Her hands flew up to her face and she began crying immediately. Crying was a bit of understatement, actually.

Greg smiled. "Molly, I know we haven't been together long, but you are the person I want to be with for the rest of my life." She sobbed louder, her nose turning bright red. "Will you marry me?"

"No." She screeched. A beat passed. Then two. Then three. Then she made her way out of the kitchen, slowly at first, but then very quickly.

Shit. Greg thought. He texted John to keep Mary occupied. He sauntered to Molly's room. It appeared that she had barricaded herself inside.

"Molly," he knocked. "Molly, can we talk about this? I know it's a big step, but I love you. Please, just open the door."

"You should go, Greg." Her voice hoarse.

"Not until we talk about this."

"I can't!"

"Molly, please. Tell me why."

"Greg, I can't."

"Will you open the door?" There was a muffled squeak, but the door opened a crack. Whoa. He was surprised she had actually done it. "Thank you." He stepped into the room. Molly was nearly cowering in the corner. She slid to the floor. Greg sat down next to her.

"I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

"I can't be with you anymore. I shouldn't have let it get this far. I shouldn't have."

"What do you mean? Everything is good."

"Everything was good. Everything is good! But you wanted more. I was fine being your girlfriend!"

"But not my wife."

"I can't. And I can't tell you why I can't."

Greg's heart sank. "Are you with someone else?"

Molly looked horrified. Not that then. "No. Never."

"Then it's okay."

"Is it?"

"Molly, I love you."

"But you're leaving me now."

"I thought you knew that this is what I wanted, in the end."

"That's not a no."

Greg sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We'll have a cup of a tea, and talk about it, and it will be okay."

"Really?"

"I dunno, maybe? Will you just put the kettle on?"

An hour and three cups of tea later, a tentative and bizarre agreement was reached. They would pretend it had never happened. Greg had not proposed that morning. They would spend their New Years together, as they were planning to anyway. Molly, or possibly Greg, or most likely John, would talk to Mary about getting her own place. And things would go on. Maybe.

Greg swirled the dregs of his tea in the chipped china mug. Happy fucking new year, he thought.

New Year's Eve

John and Mary walked regent's park, taking in the crisp air on the last day of the year.

"So what happens next?" John asked.

"I'll need to find a job. I suppose I can't stay at Molly's forever, even if things with her silver fox are fine. Maybe I'll get a bedsit for a while. If I'm lucky, I'll get on at a boarding school and they'll provide a place."

"I meant 'did you want lunch', but that's fine too," he laughed. Mary joined in, the sound musical in the chill.

"Either way, it'll be a few months before I can reliably afford somewhere,"

"I guess I'll be buying supper then." She grinned.

"Excellent. Chinese?"

"Chinese," John agreed. "I know a great place. Did you know that you can tell a great Chinese restaurant from the…" he trailed off.

Mary seemed to notice. She patted his arm. "Let's go."

John bought enough take-away to keep them busy until well into the evening.

"Are you sure I'm not being a bother?" Mary asked for what must have been the fiftieth time. They were still nibbling at cold chowmein on trays in his den, even at only twelve minutes to midnight.

"No, of course not." John smiled. He didn't want to tell her that today had been one of the best holidays that he could remember. Conversation had flowed easily and the time had really hurried by. He was happy. Since he met Mary he had been so very happy. "Molly and Greg probably would appreciate the privacy anyway." John was also appreciating the privacy. He hadn't made a move on Mary yet, but he was hoping she'd stay the night. After all, it was already almost midnight. Hell, he wanted her to stay forever.

John picked up the remnants of supper and moved them out of the way. He took the opportunity to move close to Mary on the sofa. She tucked herself around him, her head finding its way under his chin. This was quickly becoming his favorite place for her. She had this way of just slotting herself in. IT was nice, comforting. It made him feel needed, wanted. They sat there in silence for a moment. He could feel her heart beat through his chest. A slow thump that twined with his own.

"John?"

"Mary?"

"Happy New Year." She pushed her lips to his just as the clock began to chime.

New Year's Eve

Sherlock slammed the door to the safe house behind him. Today had not been a good day.

He had tracked Ivan Gregor through Africa to Cape Town, following a trail of crimes that seemed to come up from nowhere, ending at a drug den deep in the seediest part of town. The confrontation had not been pleasant. He had simply walked in, posing as just another one of his many dealers. The man was in control of nearly a thousand men across two continents, there was no way he could remember them all.

"You lookin' to buy?" He had said, looking at the slim man.

"Tell me about Jim Moriarty."

"I don't know nothing."

"You stood in my home, ready to kill a woman I care very much about. Is that ringing any bells?"

"Look, it was nothing personal." That was all the confirmation that he required. Sherlock fired three bullets into his brain. Unfortunately the shots attracted more than one drug dealer who also happened to have a gun. He had narrowly escaped out of the window, but not without some injury.

Sherlock shook himself back to the present; his side felt like it was on fire. He gently laid himself into a chair, peeling off the blood-soaked hoodie and vest. His wound hurt, yes, but it was only a graze. An inch to the right and he would have bled out. It needed stitches, badly. He was flying to Venezuela in less than five hours and needed it patched up before then. Luckily Mycroft put all of the aliases he was using lately on some sort of priority passenger list, so getting through border security would be easy.

Of the four people he had set out to destroy, two were now dead. Thomas Parker had been found strangled to death in a Paris apartment. Sherlock was still unsure who had done it, but he had a strong suspicion. Parker had been the information man. He made sure that all of the pieces fit together. Jim must have had some kind of blackmail to use against him, because there was no possible way that a geeky little IT guy could have gotten that deep in the mess. The other three probably killed him as soon as the puzzle stopped working, but that was all conjecture at this point. Gregor was just another two-bit thug, not unlike Dunnigan and Moran, his other two targets. So far, tracking them had been simplistic at best. If it continued in this manner, Sherlock would be back at Baker Street with John in less than six months.

Sherlock rooted around in the backpack that held all of his current possessions for his sewing kit. As he threaded the needle he thought about a certain doctor who was always able to patch him up when he needed it. The doctor that he needed to get home to. He pulled out the sewing kit, as well as his mobile.

To: BLOCKED 23:17

Update – SH

From: BLOCKED 23:19

Safe. Happy. – MH

To: BLOCKED 23:22

Do you have any photos? – SH

He cursed almost as soon as he pressed send. His sentiment was showing.

From: BLOCKED 23:24

Yes – MH

The message was followed with a grainy CCTV shot of John, walking arm in arm with a woman. His head was thrown back in laughter. He did look happy.

Sherlock set his mobile down and set about taking care of his wound. He grit his teeth against the pain as he wiped his side down with antiseptic and threaded a needle. Nine clumsy stitches later, he was packing up the kit again. He hurt. Everything hurt. It felt like his brain was about to explode.

Putting the first aid supplies back into his backpack, his hands fell upon the few things he had taken from Gregor's as he made he way inside. He needed his mind to stop racing, and this was the only way he knew how.

Sherlock looped his belt around his arm in a makeshift tourniquet. The black tar heroin was a far cry from the carefully crafted formula he preferred, but this would have to do for now. It felt like the old days, when getting the hit was more important than the quality of the high. It had been years since that time, but muscle memory took over, preparing the syringe with a steady and practiced hand. It was clean, still in the plastic. He had been sure of that. It wasn't his usual gauge. Sherlock sighed. Look at him, a connoisseur of fine cocaine, stooping to street quality smack. He held out his arm, his side aching in protest as his terrible stitches pulled.

His mobile vibrated.

From: BLOCKED 00:00

Happy New Year Brother – MH

Sherlock slid the needle into his vein with practiced accuracy and depressed the plunger.