Felicity took the free time and unexpected privacy the shower brought her to express herself without Sherlock and John seeing, where all sounds would be muffled by the endless pounding of the water. The hot spray on her bruised skin hurt at first, but once the nerves there were numb she stood blankly in the shower, staring at the opposite wall. She was starting to banish her grief as well as she could in order to soldier on; Felicity wanted to be strong for Charley, strong for Sherlock and John, and strong for herself. After being in control for so long it was terrifying to not have a good grasp on her emotions anymore. The rational part of Felicity knew that no one should ever have to exhibit that kind of control all the time, but the emotional part of her didn't care.
Once she'd figured that she'd cried enough and wasted enough hot water, she quickly bathed and then stepped out, wringing her long hair out as she did so. Darkened with water, her hair looked brown instead of its vibrant red as she got dressed, making sure to choose clothes that would cover her skin. She didn't want John and Sherlock to see the rest of the bruises- that shame was hers alone. Once dressed, Felicity stared at her face for a moment, trying to get herself to relax. Her ordeal at Ruth's was over, she was with people who loved her and she loved them, there was no need for her to be so cold anymore…and yet she couldn't stop herself from remaining closed off, especially with the idea of Charley's death fresh in her mind. She knew that she could trust Sherlock and John wholeheartedly (for god's sake they'd moved to ADOPT her without even thinking about it), but Felicity didn't trust herself enough to do so. As she stared at her face further, she frowned. Maybe she needed a change- cutting her hair, perhaps? She didn't recognize herself anymore and she wanted to. Badly. What would she have to do to go back to the way things were?
Once she was done contemplating how she'd managed to come this far, Felicity exited the bathroom, shivering a bit in the colder air. She could hear Sherlock on the phone in the kitchen and felt for a moment that she was home, listening to Charley in the next room over talking to himself or on the phone or swearing when he dropped something. She would have to get used to hearing new sounds of home in a new place with new people, but she knew that she'd manage. These things would just take time. "No, the baby grand piano, not the upright," Sherlock was saying impatiently into the phone, gesturing wildly as Felicity turned the corner. "Yes…of course…OBVIOUSLY…thank you." Sherlock sounded anything but thankful as he hung up, stuffing his Blackberry almost viciously into his pocket.
"Having problems?" Felicity asked, not meaning to sound nearly as sarcastic as she did, her voice making Sherlock turn, having not heard her enter the kitchen. "Oh," Felicity noted after taking one look at Sherlock, instantly noting the new wrinkles in his shirt, his slightly messed up hair…what he and John had been doing while she was in the shower was suddenly obvious. She and Sherlock started to flush at the same time; Felicity's cheekbones started to glow a delicate pink and Sherlock's ears turned red.
"Well, yes. All of the receptionists at Steinway & Sons are idiots." Sherlock said, coughing briefly into his fist, trying to quell his embarrassment.
"You're—a Steinway?" Felicity spluttered, shocked by Sherlock's generosity. She knew that he wasn't trying to buy her happiness, but he had just about managed it. Steinways were beautiful instruments, far better than the upright piano Felicity had taught herself on at school.
"Of course. You will have to size down to a twin bed, but the Steinway will fit in your room without difficulty." Sherlock stated factually, and then frowned at Felicity's darker, unbraided hair. "I'm not used to seeing your hair this way," he explained briefly, moving to come around the table for closer inspection, but Felicity turned and walked into the living room.
"I needed a change," she said shortly, sitting in John's armchair, ignoring how the man it belonged to looked up questioningly at her. Sherlock followed at a slower pace, recognizing Felicity's obvious signal for space, for her two guardians to leave her alone. The three of them had a quiet night, not used to being up so late but unable to fall asleep. The next morning, around nine o'clock, the piano arrived, causing Mrs. Hudson an awful lot of surprise when the men showed up at the door. It took a lot of maneuvering, but the pieces were brought in an assembled where they belonged. Once the men were gone, the flat went oddly quiet. John was making a cup of tea, still slightly red in the face from the process of getting the piano all together without yelling his head off at someone and Sherlock was trying to field Mrs. Hudson off the warpath on the stairs. Felicity was seated on the new piano bench, staring at the instrument as if she were unsure of what to do with it. Finally she placed her long fingers on the keys, experimentally hitting middle C, letting out a satisfied breath at the gorgeous tone that came from the piano. It was new, so the keys were a bit stiff, but the piano would be seeing a lot of use so that wouldn't be a problem for much longer. Throwing caution to the wind, Felicity ran a scale, then another, until music was pouring out of her fingers as fast as she could make them fly across the ivory and ebony, racing from end to end of the piano.
In the next room over, Sherlock and John listened silently to the music pouring out of Felicity's room. Sometimes it was incredibly sweet, sometimes bone-chillingly haunting. It ranged from sad to happy to angry in mere moments, the sounds and melodies folding over themselves over and over again. John had lived with Sherlock for a long time and had heard a lot of what his lover could play, all of it beautiful, but none of it compared to this. Neither man went in to bother Felicity, to ask her about her music, what she wanted to talk about (if she wanted to talk about it), nothing. They let her vent until she was finished, the notes dying away into the silence of the flat in an awful, unfinished resolution.
A few minutes later, Felicity emerged, looking tired. Without a word she crawled up next to John on the couch, burrowing her face into his jumper with a sigh. Neither man batted an eyelid; Sherlock went back to his experiment and John simply draped an arm over her shoulders, offering silent, unyielding support. "Do you want to talk about it?" John asked finally, and Felicity turned her head so that one eye could look at John, the blackened one. She seemed to hesitate before pushing herself up to sit upright, hugging her knees.
"I'm not sure if there is anything to say," she said finally, sounding slightly confused as she tried to form the words she wanted to say. "I-he's just gone and I have to come to terms with that. It sounds stupid, of course he's gone, he's dead, but I still feel like any second now he'll walk through the door and ask why I'm not at Ruth's." The words slowly tripped out of Felicity, as if she wasn't quite sure what to say. Sherlock put down his beakers, sliding off his goggles so that he could see her better.
"Well, that's not a bad thing, Felicity. It may be a little disconcerting, but it's not wrong." John said, and Felicity frowned.
"But—it's not logical! My brain knows that Charley is dead, so what am I waiting for? Why do I feel like this?" Felicity asked, half to herself as she wrung a strand of her hair between her fingers, as if doing so would give her the answer.
"Felicity, you need to feel whatever it is you feel and not hold back. That only makes it hurt more, trust me." John said, shooting a loaded glance at Sherlock, making him nearly drop a flask to the floor. He caught it just in time and Felicity actually giggled. It wasn't up to par with her usual standard, but it wasn't the hoarse laughter she'd displayed earlier, either. It was beautiful to Sherlock and John.
"I forgot that you know all about that," She said, leaning over the back of the couch to stare at Sherlock, her eyes back to their usual inquisitive brightness as she studied him. "So, you two love each other." She threw out there, and the two men glanced at each other, their eyes getting more appraising by the second.
"Yes, we do." Sherlock responded only when he knew his tone would be level. The look on John's face had him very close to going over there and kissing him senseless. Felicity looked back to John for a slightly embarrassed nod in conformation.
"When did you realize it?" Felicity asked, directing her stare to the floor this time to avoid getting caught in the cross fire of John and Sherlock's sexually charged glances. Bringing up their relationship made Felicity happy- two people that she loved actually loved each other as well; there was something beautiful in that.
"It started to be more pronounced during The Blind Banker if I remember correctly, but I always felt that way, even though I didn't recognize it." John admitted, glancing at Sherlock to see his reaction. The happiness sparkling in the detective's eyes made it very clear that Sherlock approved.
"I believe that John has summed up my own emotions and thoughts on the subject perfectly." Sherlock spoke to Felicity but his gaze rested on John the whole time. Felicity, who had never seen much affection between couples before (considering she lived alone with her over-worked brother), was not at all bothered when Sherlock got up and kissed John once on the forehead, then on the temple, and then a quick peck on the lips. It was just human contact to her- and the two men made it look so natural that she automatically filed it away under 'Love and Relationships' as to how two people were supposed to act when they were in love.
"And tell me more about your case after that one, and all the cases I missed while I was at school," Felicity requested, and Sherlock , who had been walking towards the kitchen, paused. Whenever someone asked him about cases, his mind always flashed to the seconds where he was looking at John, asking permission to blow up the bomb vest and possibly kill them during The Great Game. In that moment he would have had a spark of happiness knowing that John, the one person he'd ever loved, was going to be with him until their rapidly approaching end. That one moment had made it very clear to Sherlock that John was precious and that he could never leave him. It also tried to bolster his courage to make a move, but to no avail. Finally, thinking about Moriarty made Sherlock think about Moran, the dangerous colonel that was still out there…somewhere.
"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow, hmm? It's getting late and I want you on a proper sleeping schedule again. Besides, it'll probably take a whole day to tell you everything." John suggested, and Felicity looked between them curiously, sliding off the couch to stand up. She could tell that she was missing something important- that was the only reason why Sherlock and John would hesitate in telling her what she wanted to know.
"Is this about Moriarty? Because if so, you shouldn't—oh." Felicity stopped herself as the idea of Moran snapped into her mind. Sherlock had mentioned him very briefly at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies, and since then she hadn't had time to dwell on what he'd done during his three years away. "I understand," she said quickly, seeing that Sherlock had turned around and was staring at her. Sherlock was still worried about Moran, and with good reason. He wanted her to know everything, but that idea was still hanging over his head. "This has to do with Moran." She lay it out there, and Sherlock gave her one nod of assent. For a moment, they stared at each other as Felicity tried to quell her curiosity. Sherlock would tell her about Moran when they had time. She shuddered to think that the man was still out there somewhere, possibly ready to kill Sherlock at a moment's notice. It was also painfully obvious that if it wasn't for Charley's death, Sherlock and John would be out trying to kill Moran at this very moment. The fact that they weren't and were giving him time to plan made her nervous, but also made her feel incredibly grateful that John and Sherlock cared enough to stay with her through her grieving. "Alright. Tomorrow, then. Goodnight," Felicity agreed quietly, before turning and going down the hallway, up the stairs, and to her room, shutting the door almost silently behind her. Her old goodnight routine, back when she and Charley still lived in Sussex, included goodnight kisses, something that Felicity could never have again. While she was relieved that John and Sherlock were filling some of the holes that Charley's death had punched in her, that one, special ritual was not something she was willing to give up just yet, not while the memories were still so fresh.
Neither man came in to bother her with wishes of goodnight, wishing to give her space. As Felicity curled up in her new bed in her new room by herself, she thought that the isolation was a good thing. She thought that it would help her shed her cold shell so that she could go back to the way things were. However, halfway through the night she was still awake, still curled into a ball and staring at the opposite wall, her grief heavy in her heart. The idea of formally saying goodbye to Charley at his funeral scared her and frustrated her because her emotions had become irrational. The idea of Moran hurting people she loved scared her too, especially because there was nothing she could do. Above all, she was still wary of letting go of her control and just being herself. Deciding to seek comfort, Felicity slipped out of bed and padded downstairs.
To her surprise, Sherlock was still awake and not with John, like she thought he would. He was sitting pensively on the couch, fingers pressed together as if in prayer. Felicity came over and sat next to him, cross-legged, in her usual mind-skyscraper pose. She didn't enter it, despite her posture. Sherlock glanced at her briefly, his plans on taking down Moran drifting back into their proper files as he focused on his daughter instead of his last enemy. Felicity's realization today made him feel more pressed than ever to eliminate the very last of Moriarty's network. If he left Moran alone, it would be like stopping an antibiotic regimen; the strongest would survive and grow again, being even harder to destroy than ever. Sherlock looked at Felicity, noted the tension in her back, her shoulders, and the faint lines by her eyes as she wrestled with her problems. "How do you do it, Sherlock?" Felicity managed to ask a few minutes later, having sensed Sherlock's intelligent eyes on her face. "How do you not let emotion bother you yet feel it at the same time? It's not right but it always is- it's a paradox!" Felicity was upset, but her voice wasn't anything louder than a whisper as she stared at Sherlock, as if looking at him would give her all the answers she desperately wanted.
"It took me a long time, Felicity." Sherlock shared, turning to face her. "You've lived happily, let emotion run through you, and now that you've been repressed it hurts. As a child, I never let that happen, to the detriment of my morals because of it. It wasn't until Lestrade and John came into my life that I let myself feel again. I understand that it is frightening; the feeling of losing control is hard to process when you've been under so much pressure for so long. What you need to understand, Felicity, is that you have no reason to be scared of letting go. There is no one here and I will never let anyone near you who will judge you for being yourself." Sherlock promised in a low, intense voice. Felicity stared at him for the longest time, her black eye a stark contrast to her pale face. Only when she'd searched Sherlock's expression did she nod, cracking a weak smile. "You will heal," Sherlock murmured, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders and kissing her hair. Felicity settled into his side, closing her eyes. Sherlock's words carried weight, and she'd reflect on them later. For now, all she wanted to do was take comfort from being close to him.
"I'm sorry for being short with you earlier." She apologized softly, and Sherlock made a dismissive noise. The words 'I love you' almost slipped out, but Felicity caught them at the last second, feeling a stab of pain for Charley. Her mind chastised her for thinking that loving someone she'd always loved was traitorous to her love for Charley, but her heart hurt nonetheless. Instead, she let Sherlock lead her to his room and crawl in with him and John for the rest of the night rather than spend the night alone.
OoOoOoO
The next day, Sherlock and John sat Felicity down and talked her through the events at the pool, and then their two biggest cases that had followed, A Scandal in Belgravia and The Hounds of Baskerville. Once they'd sorted through Moriarty's thefts and then his successful plan to smear Sherlock's name and force him to jump to his death, Felicity finally understood the depth of Moriarty's dangerous nature and just how important it was for him to take down Sebastian Moran. There was an awkward discrepancy as to when Sherlock and John were going to do this (they told her to focus on the funeral, and that shut her down much more than Sherlock and John had meant to), but at least Felicity understood.
While they were having their deep, slightly painful conversations, Sherlock and John mentioned briefly that with Sherlock's return, the media had once again taken interest in him, John, and now Felicity as well. Their attention would remain as a hindrance for a long time, but once the three of them settled into their newer, calmer life the media would eventually lose interest. The idea of the media being fascinated with their family struck Felicity as odd; to her, they were just a normal family, with two parents and a child. How anyone could see them as different or strange was beyond her. With all of the thoughts in her head from the cases she'd missed, Moriarty and Moran, and now the media, the pressing date of the funeral coming the next day made Felicity very withdrawn. The weight of the funeral weighed heavy on her heart, and there was nothing Sherlock and John could do to help. They stayed in the flat all day, bumming on the couch cuddling with each other.
OoOoOoO
On the morning of the funeral, everyone at 221B got up early, but Felicity was awake before anyone else. Also, to the worry of Sherlock and John, she was very quiet. She barely ate breakfast, got ready without a word, and accepted their words about media outside their house with little more than a nod. She had braided her hair into the French braid that Charley always loved to tug on, and she had purposefully covered her black eye with makeup (the idea of honoring Charley with that mark on her face made Felicity boil inside). She wore the usual black clothes of someone in mourning, along with a single red poppy to honor her brother's military service. When Mycroft and his guards arrived to transport them safely to the funeral, Felicity was standing silently by Mrs. Hudson's side, allowing the older woman to hold her thin hand. Felicity's fiery hair against her pale face against her black clothes stood out even in the darkened entryway, and it made Mycroft want to stop and pause. The way she reminded him of Sherlock gave Mycroft, the strongest, coldest man in England, the shivers.
With a guard on either side of their group, Mrs. Hudson, John, Felicity and Sherlock were ushered through a crowd of reporters and into one of Mycroft's sleek, black cars. Felicity was silent for the ride there, for the general service, for the military salute, while she was receiving Charley's last possessions, all of it. It was only when the time came for the eulogy did she speak. Her steps were measured and calm and she held her head high as she stood in front of the podium, looking at the extremely small crowd that consisted of John, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Unden, and the ten living members of Charley's regiment. Despite the humble nature of the service, Felicity spoke as if she were a queen addressing a crowd.
"Charley was more than my brother. For the longest time, he was my entire life, my entire world. We were all that each other needed, and we were happy. He supported me and I supported him; the two of us understood each other like no one else. When he was deployed and I was sent to school, he was still my whole world, even though we were far apart. Now that he's gone, I've realized that he was more than just my world- he was my entire universe as well. He has and will continue to mean more to me than anything else. Charley raised me, loved me, and gave up everything just to do so. I owe him more than I can give, and now that he is dead I can't give him anything at all. Although he can no longer hear what I have to say, I still find the need to let him know that I love him with all my heart."
After her speech, she quietly thanked everyone in the regiment for coming, hugged each soldier, and accepted the small urn of Charley's ashes, Sherlock and John standing by, silently overwhelmed by the power of Felicity's words. She had somehow taken every last emotion that she'd been feeling since Charley's death and had wrangled them into deep, meaningful language that she then delivered to an audience of Charley's peers. For a girl her age and with what all she'd been through, it was just another reminder of how impressive of feats Felicity could pull off.
It was only in the car on the ride home, the urn tucked safely in her arms that Felicity cried. She had opened the top of the bag that held Charley's last possessions and had pulled out the deceased man's dog tags, slipping them around her neck with trembling fingers. Only when the tags were safely around her neck did tears streak down her cheeks. "He's gone," she said softly when John put an arm around her. She ran her thumb over the stamped lettering of the dog-tags, imagining how they used to hang from her brother's neck, resting right by his heart.
"Not completely. You'll always remember and love him, and that's what matters," Mrs. Hudson said on Felicity's other side. Her words suddenly made a lump grow in John's throat. Charley had been a good man, a good soldier, and his death hit close to home for John. He'd seen thousands of soldiers die, many of them under his hands, despite his best efforts. It was far too easy for him to picture Charley Muller dying in the sands of Kuwait. Sherlock seemed to sense that and cast his worried look from Felicity to him, silently asking if he was alright. John gave him a gentle nod, wishing suddenly that he could hold Sherlock's hand, squeeze it tight, run his fingers over the detective's bony knuckles and then kiss each one.
"I'll be in touch. I'm sorry for your loss, Felicity," Mycroft wished her as they pulled back up to 221B, guards getting out first to bat away reporters and open the door to the car.
"Thank you," Felicity said quietly, letting Mrs. Hudson take her hand and lead her out, Sherlock and John following. Compared to the raucous yelling of the media, the silence of 221B was incredibly nice, so peaceful that for a moment they all just stood there, Sherlock holding onto the bag of Charley Muller's last possessions. "Can I spend the night with you, Mrs. Hudson?" Felicity asked suddenly, voice strained as it obviously hid tears. "I just-," Felicity struggled to put her want into words. The memories she had of her family were scattered, lying mostly with Charley, but she did have a few of her mother, and Mrs. Hudson's hand around hers was the closest anyone had ever come to reminding Felicity of what she had. Considering she had just lost the last of her true family, the idea of being closer to something she couldn't have anymore was as comforting as it was addicting.
"It's ok, dear. You can spend the night whenever you want. Should we go get some of your things?" Mrs. Hudson interrupted her gently, looking up to Sherlock and John for their input.
"No, you go on; I'll get everything you need. Felicity, do you want us to take Charley's urn upstairs for safekeeping along with his possessions?" Sherlock asked, compassion behind his business-like tone. Felicity's arms tightened around the small urn for a moment before her shoulders crumpled and she held it out to Sherlock. The detective received it with the upmost care, kissing Felicity's forehead briefly. "I'll be back with her things," Sherlock promised, and Mrs. Hudson nodded, guiding Felicity over to 221A and ushering her inside.
Felicity stuck to Mrs. Hudson like glue, listening attentively to Mrs. Hudson's stories about her siblings, all of them deceased, her ex-husband, and what life had been like for her in Florida. Her talks about growing up in the countryside of Wales gave Felicity something else to think about besides what was obviously missing, and if Sherlock and John were balm on a wound, Mrs. Hudson was the bandage, her motherly nature sealing in and locking in place all of Sherlock and John's efforts to make Felicity feel better.
OoOoOoO
Sherlock came back from dropping off Felicity's things to find John standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands, staring at the small urn sitting on their kitchen table. It hadn't taken much for the detective to notice that Charley's death had hit John with unexpected force, and Sherlock, who was still in his protective mode from worrying about Felicity, wanted to make it better for him. "Are you alright?" he asked, his low voice permeating through the kitchen as he walked closer, relishing the fact that he could stand closer to John, touch John. Sherlock wrapped a long arm around John's shoulders and kissed his temple softly.
"He was a good man," John started, still staring at the urn. "And I've watched a lot of good men die- I can picture what it was like for him. I can picture how he died." John finally tore his eyes off of the ashes to look into the depths of Sherlock's silver eyes. The reassurance and general love that John saw there made him unconsciously relax.
"Come on," Sherlock offered, tilting his head towards their bedroom. John swigged down the rest of his tea and walked with Sherlock to their room, bliss spreading through him as Sherlock rubbed his arm, the detective's long fingers relaxing the muscles. He shut the door almost all the way, but left a sizeable crack. "If Mrs. Hudson or Felicity need us, I want to be able to hear them at the door," Sherlock explained, seeing John's puzzled look.
"I hope she's doing alright," John sighed at Sherlock mentioning Felicity. The doctor fumbled with the buttons on his dress shirt, not used to wearing such nice garments. He longed for his jumpers and sighed gratefully when Sherlock's nimble fingers pushed his away and efficiently undid the buttons. When Sherlock reached the bottom, he put his hands on John's hips and kissed him softly. Neither man was in nowhere near the right mood for anything remotely sexual, not after the long, emotional day they'd just gone through, but the feeling of Sherlock touching him was nice. In John's opinion, cuddles were in order. "I have an idea," he announced as he shucked off his shirt and threw on his pajamas, Sherlock following suit.
"Oh?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow with a hint of a smile. He was glad to see that John's brief moment of sadness had passed.
"C'mere," John said, tugging Sherlock by the arm into bed. John sprawled Sherlock out accordingly, leaving a kiss here or there before snuggling up beside the detective with a happy sigh. Sherlock's arm rested on the doctor's waist, his fingertips massaging light circles into his hip. "Sherlock?" John asked, and the man in question hummed slightly in response, the reverberations from the deep sound passing into John's side. "You cared, at the funeral. You let it show, and that's the first time I've ever seen you do that. Why?" John worked to form his question without sounding mean. Sherlock was silent as he contemplated the question.
"I was always taught that caring was never an advantage, and it's not," he began, using his free hand to hold John's, intertwining the fingers together. "It's not an advantage when I'm working on cases, which, until now, has been my entire life. Caring, however, is no means a detriment to my happiness; I care for you and for Felicity and so I will express that in any means possible." Sherlock murmured, and John looked at him. He looked utterly peaceful, his face smooth and his eyes closed. A sudden rush of emotion nearly broke John's heart as he realized that he would get to see Sherlock like this all the time. Sherlock was his, and John would get to spend the rest of his life with him. That overwhelming bliss made John reach out and kiss Sherlock's cheekbone, his ear, his hairline, cataloging details, the flow of his beloved's skin. Sherlock steadied John around the waist as he rolled them over, putting himself over the doctor.
Then, their lips met in a slow, passionate, loving kiss that burned as much as it soothed. It was gentle, deep, and meaningful, with the shadowed promise of something much, much more that would be revealed not then, and not in the span of a few days, but in the months and years they had to come. "I love you," John gasped as they broke away, staring at each other, nose to nose. Sherlock smiled a wonderful, beautiful smile before he kissed the tip of John's nose.
"I love you, John." He murmured, kissing John's jaw before resuming their kiss. The two of them spent the rest of the night alternating before snuggling and sweet kisses before they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, their passion, for the moment, satiated.
OoOoOoO
A/N: Sorry for sadness and for lateness! I've been super busy lately (who thought it was a good idea to schedule 3 midterms for the same day? The NERVE of some people) and so writing time has been...significantly decreased. Also, I may have fallen out of my lofted bed and earned myself a concussion for my troubles. This is hypothetically speaking, of course. Your author is much more graceful than that, right? Well, hypothetically speaking, it's hard to concentrate when your head is throbbing out of your ears, so that's hypothetically why this chapter is late. Also, midterms. I give you Johnlock, but what will I take in return? It'll be good, so keep an eye out for trouble... :D
Reviews are my reminder that I need to stop being a little bitch, so do please kick my ass in gear.
If you didn't notice last time, I/we have fanart! Isn't it beautiful?! :DD
Also, billions of buckets of love to louisuperwholocked on Tumblr, my beta. You are a witty, incredible person and I love you.