Chapter 13

"I chose to love you in silence, for in silence I find no rejection. I chose to love you in your loneliness, for in your loneliness no one owns you but me."

The morning sun was bright as it filtered in to the flat through the front windows, the sound of the city awakening breaking the awful, taunting silence. Reminders of the festive gathering from the night before still lay scattered about the room, an empty glass here and there, pieces of ribbon and wrapping paper littered the floor and the lights round the mantle still twinkled, fighting to still remain bright in the daylight. Every remnant reminding Sherlock of what had transpired the prior evening, outside on the sidewalk. He peered out the window to that fateful spot, all traces of their footsteps gone, filled in by the night's freshly fallen snow. The world appeared as if it had never happened, but it had. And it had changed everything.

Sherlock had spent the night tossing and turning for every time he'd closed his eyes she haunted him. Her warmth, her soft skin, pink rosy lips and the way she trembled beneath him, she was intoxicating. His body ached for more of her and his heart grew heavy with each passing hour she was not near. But the facts remained he could not pursue this. No matter how much he wanted it, required it even, he could not put himself, or her, in the danger that came with any sort of relationship. It had already gone too far and it needed to stop before they went tumbling off the cliff past the point of no return. One problem remained, he did not know how to stop these thoughts, these desires pooling in the pit of his heart. There was no patch, or medication to help ease the suffering of this compulsion; this was something he needed to fight on his own. But whom could he talk to about this? John, absolutely not, he would be furious. Even an idiot could see how interested in her he was. Which brought up another interesting problem. Lestrade, he wouldn't believe him, Mycroft, not a chance. No, Sherlock was in this alone. He could just delete her number from his phone, not go anywhere near Bart's Emergency Department and forbid John from speaking about her, and from inviting her anywhere that he would be. Yes, that seemed easy enough. He'd forget all about her and the sweet taste of her lips and the feel of her gentle touches and the sight of her blushing cheeks before he knew it. And John would never have to know about what happened.

"Oh hello dear, Merry Christmas! I just came up to see if you needed any help cleaning. But just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson offered as she walked through the open front door.

"I think I can manage, thank you," Sherlock responded, still wanting more time to continue his inner debating in peace.

"If you say so! Perhaps that pretty doctor can come by and help."

"What? Why would she? What would bring her here?"

"Oh don't be all bashful Sherlock, I saw you two outside last night, kissing in the falling snow. Just like a Christmas carol! She's very pretty-"

"No, no that wasn't me."

"It most certainly was. I do still have my eye sight Sherlock, that's one thing I still have going for me you know!"

Sherlock clenched his teeth. This situation just went from bad to worse. No doubt Mrs. Hudson would be telling her gaggle of gossiping friends all about it at tea later. And John.

"You can't tell anybody. Promise me you won't," Sherlock spoke sternly.

"Well all right dear, if you insist. Though I don't know why, people would be happy for you!" she replied, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Just, promise."

"I promise."

"It was a mistake. I'd had a little too much of Lestrade's eggnog."

"A mistake? Oh Sherlock, nothing that makes you happy is ever a mistake. You shouldn't be so afraid dear; happiness hides in the strangest of places and finds us at the strangest of times. You've just got to be brave enough to see it. Everybody needs somebody sometimes."

With a final pat to his shoulder she left his side and began bustling around the flat, clearing the memories of Christmas Eve away. The ribbons were tossed in the waste bin, cups placed into the sink, Sherlock sat, hands steepled in front of his lips, oblivious to the woman flitting about around him, instead focusing on the one inside his head. Emotion, it was such a fickle thing when discussed and described, but a torturous device when felt and distressed. He knew the answer to everything, except this. His mind told him to stop, this would destroy him, but his heart screamed to find her, hold her and never let her go. Never let your heart rule your head Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock sat in the small coffee shop around the block from his flat. The white walls, floors, and tables were overpowering and the smell of coffee and pastries hung heavily in the air. He waited patiently, a pot of tea centered on the small round table getting colder and colder by the second as his fingers strummed against the glass top rhythmically one after another. Thump, thump, thump, thump. This idea was terrible. He shouldn't be here. Thump, thump, thump, thump. No, this needed to be done. He couldn't keep living like this. Thump, thump, thump, thump. How was he expected to think when this woman weighed so heavily on his mind? His brain was for deducing and solving cases, not figuring out how to please someone else. Thump, thump, thump, thump. The arrival of his guest broke Sherlock from his train of thought, and made him completely forget his reasoning for inviting her there in the first place. All bundled up in a jacket, scarf and knitted cap, her hair sticking out in disarray around her rosy cheeks and cold reddened nose, the only thing his mind could focus on was the events that had transpired just over twelve hours before, and how much he wished it could happen again. The smile on her face as she spotted him in the back corner made him immediately regret his decision. He stood as she walked over, pulling her chair out for her to sit in before sitting back down in his own chair across from her.

"Hello, Merry Christmas!" she greeted as she poured tea into both of their empty mugs, stirring milk into both and small amount of sugar into hers, to which Sherlock took notice.

"Merry Christmas. Thank you," Sherlock responded as she slid his mug towards him, "I asked you here, so I could apologize for my actions last night."

"Oh. No need for that. It's fine."

"No, it wasn't. I'd had too much to drink and I wasn't in my right mind."

"I didn't see you drink anything."

So she was more observant than he gave her credit for. It was true, he hadn't had a sip of alcohol that night; his actions were wholly his own, drunk solely on the possibility of curing the haunting loneliness he felt in his heart. He would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't once considered what it would be like for her to be lying in his bed next to him, the soft sound of her breathing lulling him off to sleep, her reassuring warmth harboring him safely. She looked across to him, sipping her tea slowly, her warm brown eyes gentle and alluring.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea-" he began, his tongue felt like lead as he spoke the words he did not want to.

"Sherlock, you can't break up with someone you aren't dating," she interjected, a small smile tugging at her lips as her eyes lost their sparkle.

"Break up?"

"Yeah, that's what it seems like you're trying to do. It's ok, I didn't think we were, or will..."

"I don't date."

"I assumed as much."

"It was a mistake. And I'm sorry."

A mistake? Hearing him say that was like a stab to her heart. She understood why he wouldn't want to continue it, to let it be just what is was, but hearing him say it was a mistake, that he regretted it, the words drained every ounce of joy she'd walked into that building with. It had felt so wonderful and right to her, and she'd thought it was the same for him, even if it was just a one-time thing. She placed her mug gently down onto the table, dropping her eyes from Sherlock's to the caramel colored liquid swirling lazily in the cup. Sherlock could see just how much his words had hurt her and he wanted to take them back, the look of rejection that had overcome her features was enough to break his heart in two. He didn't reject her, he wasn't, but what exactly was he doing then?

"By mistake, I mean, I shouldn't have done it, not that I, regret doing it," he attempted to reconcile, watching her features carefully, "I'm sorry if it sounded that way."

"No, it's fine. I understand, don't worry about me," she answered with a forced laugh and smile, her eyes giving away her true feelings.

"Well, if you need anything, regarding your case, you know where to find me."

"Yes. Thanks."

There was so much more he wanted to say, so much more he wanted to do but he had to leave. This was treacherous water he was treading in. Every second he looked at her led him closer and closer to where he knew he could not go. She was biting at her lip, trying to hold on to her resolve, and all he could think about was how there was a much better activity she could do with them. The more her teeth pushed into the sensitive flesh the more he thought about replacing them with his own now tightly clenched mouth, pouring his true feelings towards her out in actions instead of poorly chosen words and lies.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," she spoke as he rose out of his seat to leave.

"For what?" he asked, she had nothing to be sorry for.

"For what happened. For making you feel awkward, or putting you in an uncomfortable position, it wasn't my place to do that. So I'm sorry."

His face contorted in confusion, head tilting slightly to the side. She thought this was her fault?

"You have nothing to apologize for," he assured her softly, even he noticed how uncharacteristic his voice sounded, it was laced with concern and affection.

Her eyes finally turned up to him, she looked so innocent and fragile. This wasn't fair to do to her, or to himself. Why should he have to deny himself what he wanted? This mystery was not going to solve itself, but he couldn't justify her safety for his curiosity and confused emotions. People were after him. They would use her to get to him no doubt, was that a risk he'd be willing to take? There were already enough people in the crossfire thanks to him; he couldn't add another name to that list. The thought of her standing there before him, a bomb strapped to her chest, red laser dots dancing menacingly, and tears rolling from her doe eyes as Moriarty laughed in the background passed through his mind, he would never forgive himself if that ever came to pass. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to her cheek. He couldn't help it; it was like instinct, incontrollable. She looked far too sad and he needed to change it, she didn't deserve this. He let them linger, relishing again in the feeling of her soft skin.

"You are the prettiest mistake I've ever made," he lightly joked with a small smile, pulling his face away from hers, his eyes averting down to the floor.

"I'll, take that as a compliment I suppose," she replied, her voice morose.

"I am sorry."

She didn't want him to be sorry she just wanted him. Even though his words spoke one thing, she knew his heart spoke another. His eyes gave him away; they weren't hard and piercing as they usually were, they were darker, softer, and sad. She wanted so badly to reach out and grab his hand, tell him whatever reasons he had for thinking any version of a relationship with her was a bad idea didn't matter. She didn't care how broken he was, or of the demons that danced in his head in the silence and dark of the night or even that he had no idea what he was doing when it came to women, she wanted to fight along side him, comfort him when he needed it, support him through every up and down. But the words didn't come out. She mustered a nod to his repeated apology and watched as he walked out the door, leaving her alone, how she knew she would always remain.

Sherlock walked out of the coffee shop fighting every urge he had to look back at her, but he knew if he did he would run back to her and would never leave. This was the right decision, but for being so right it felt so very wrong. The world whizzed by him, but he didn't see it, he didn't care. He thought back to what Mrs. Hudson had told him that morning, 'everybody needs somebody sometimes'. He did need somebody but not just anybody; he needed Everleigh. As he walked he felt like a rope was pulling him backwards, each step requiring more energy than the last to fight the resistance from going forward. With each step further away from her, sitting alone drinking cold tea, he felt his feet get heavier and harder to lift, every piece of him ached. He needed to turn back. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't do this for the rest of his life, avoid her, and pretend like she didn't exist. He couldn't even last five minutes, how was he expected to last another fifty years like this? It was impossible. Finally, he stopped the fight, stood frozen on the sidewalk, deliberating what his final decision would be.

A/N: A wee bit of a cliffhanger, but I promise to update soon! I got an iPad and keyboard for Christmas and it has made my writing portable! Thank you to KimchixBurger, Marisol and truelondoner123 for your amazing reviews! I'm so happy you guys liked the last one! It means so much when people take the time to review, please send me more! =)