Chapter 15

"And they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

F. Scott Fitzgerald, 'Tender is the Night'

Everleigh searched her coat pockets for two very crucial things as she walked out of Bart's Hospital, car keys and cigarettes. This day had been absolutely dreadful. Patient after patient, Sherlock's rejection, more berating text messages from that darling cousin of hers, she just wanted to go home, turn on some music and enjoy a large glass of wine, maybe two. She welcomed the cold air as it blew against her face, placing a cigarette between her lips and lighting it, letting the smoke wash through her.

"Don't let Sherlock see you with those, he'll never leave you alone," Ev heard a familiar voice sound from her left.

Ev stopped and watched John rise from the bus stop bench and walk over to her, his face sad and his eyes weary.

"John," she greeted, "How long have you been waiting there?"

"Oh not long, I came to ask you a favor," he told her as he came to stand in front of her.

"Ok."

"Don't break his heart. Please."

The cigarette fell from between her lips as the air from her lungs was quickly exhaled in shock. Ever since the first time they'd met she knew John harbored some kind of feelings and attraction for her, and she'd selfishly led him on in her desperate need for a friend and confidant. She felt terrible about it to begin with and now, he was standing there knowing her true feelings instead fell to his best friend. She felt like she'd betrayed him, she felt guilty and ashamed, but her heart had been locked onto Sherlock Holmes since she first laid eyes on him, whether she'd known it or not back then she knew it now.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue," she assured John, thinking back to what Sherlock had said to her earlier that day.

"Just, promise me, you won't hurt him. No matter what happens or how you feel, please, promise me you won't. It would destroy him, completely," John confessed.

"I promise."

"Good. Yeah, that's all. Uh, have a good night."

"John, are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Perfect. Remember your promise, and don't smoke around Sherlock, he's supposed to have quit."

John gave her one final sad smile before walking quickly to the curb to catch a passing cab. Sherlock had talked to John about her? She had known that his words to her this morning hadn't been entirely truthful, but a rekindling of hope made her heart flutter in her chest, but it didn't change the anger she still felt towards Sherlock. He'd left her there after calling her a mistake, even if he didn't mean it had still had hurt. She'd been pushed off to the side, cast away like some lowly piece of trash enough times in her life, she didn't need it from Sherlock Holmes as well. Not now, not ever.

As Sherlock exited the cab outside of Ellie's flat, the first thing he noticed was her car was not parked outside. He'd beaten her there. Well now what was he supposed to do? He thought about sitting on her doorstep to wait, but he remembered there was a little corner market not far from her flat; they would have flowers no doubt. That was always a good way to apologize, wasn't it?

Flowers? -SH

Yes. -JW

With a satisfied little smile he placed his phone back into his pocket and took off in the direction of the store. He ran through every possible reaction to Ellie seeing him, well every one he could think of, happy, nervous, sad, and he thought about what his response would be. He had no idea what he was supposed to say; besides he was sorry, that he knew. He wanted to tell her how she filled his mind with light, how the sound of her name alone could silence the demons that danced in his head and how he'd never in his life met anyone like her. He wanted to ensure she knew how truly beautiful she was, inside and out, at her good and bad times, and how he wanted to be by her side though it all. This was a strange sensation, a renewing electrical current coursed through him, he felt limitless and impervious to any and all threats.

When he reached the market he walked in happily, greeting the elderly shopkeeper cheerfully before making his way to the floral section. There were so many to choose from, how was he supposed to know the right ones to get? There were roses, cliché and overdone, he needed something better. His eyes fell to bouquets of different varieties, daisies, daffodils, baby's breath, none of them were right. They lacked a certain, flair, which Sherlock felt his gift needed to have. As he turned his face away, a look of disappointment and disgust plastered on it, he caught sight of something hidden on the back of the rack. That's when his eyes saw it, the perfect array of purple irises, lilacs, white lilies and one large yellow sunflower held together by a thick, silken ribbon in a perfectly matching shade of dark blue. He snatched them up with excitement, yes, perfect, he thought, smiling triumphantly. He paid for his perfect choice and began the short walk back to her flat, desperately hoping she would be there when he returned.

As he approached, he noticed her car was still not there. He peered down at his wristwatch; she should have been home by now, even if there was traffic. His mind went through every option of her whereabouts each sounding worse and worse as he listed them. Left work late, stuck in abnormal traffic, out on a date, car accident, on a date, kidnapped, murdered, he ran a hand through his hair, he should have spent more time trying to figure out who was after her instead of exploring his own petty feelings. What if she was holed up somewhere, pleading for her life, praying for him to show up and save her? He spun around in a circle, looking for any clue to her current predicament. And then he saw it, a lurking black shadow creeping around the side of the building. She was in trouble, and no doubt that person would have every detail needed and Sherlock most certainly knew some very, colorful ways to get him to talk.

He took of running, his coat flying behind him as he bolted across the lawn and into the intruders pitch-black hiding place. He pulled his leather pouch containing his various tools of the trade from his pocket and removed the small flashlight. He cautiously and silently stalked around the building, searching for the trespasser. This man was going to regret every stepping foot on this property. Sherlock shined his light onto the ground, noticing the pattern of flattened grass leading around to the back of the building. He followed the trail and turned the corner, finally seeing the person he pursued. He dropped the flashlight and the flowers he'd purchased and sprinted over to the him, roughly grabbing him by the sides of his cheap, well worn jacket before throwing him around the corner he had just rounded and pinning him up against the side of the building.

The man looked terrified. He whimpered in fear as he kicked his feet in an attempt to get free. Sherlock studied what he could see of the man, smoker, hadn't been sleeping well, ex-military, 32 years old, five feet eight inches tall 170 pounds, worked construction. He certainly didn't seem like a criminal, not yet anyway.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Sherlock yelled, pushing the man harder into the wall.

"Whoa, I, I wasn't doing anything, just, just looking for my girlfriend. I swear," the man stuttered back, his eyes going in every direction searching for someone to save him.

"Your girlfriend?"

"Ye-yeah, she lives here, she, she locked me out, I was just trying to get her attention!"

"You're lying. Who are you?"

"I'm, I'm not sir, I swear. Please just let me go, I won't press charges or nothing I promise, just please let me g-g-go."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled up in disgust, the man had begun to cry. He sobbed uncontrollably, his face twisted and deformed, god it was annoying. This was not going as well as Sherlock had hoped.

"Sherlock?" the sweetest voice he'd ever heard sang from his right, "Sherlock is that you?"

"Ellie," he breathed in response, completely forgetting about the man crying in his grip.

"What, are you doing to Randy?"

"Randy? Who's Randy?"

"The man you have pinned to the side of the building by his coat..."

"Oh. Him. We were just, talking, about, the weather. Lovely isn't it, Randy?"

"Oh yeah, re-really great," Randy stammered, nodding his head in agreement.

Sherlock lowered Randy down to the ground slowly, brushing the wrinkles caused by his vice grip out of his coat. Randy looked once more between Ev and Sherlock before running off at full speed and the pair watched him until he was out of sight.

"What was that all about?" Ev asked angrily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing. I was just talking to him," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, fixing his own coat now.

"Really? It didn't look like talking."

"Who was he?"

"He's my neighbor's boyfriend."

"Neighbor's..."

Sherlock hung his head in shame; of course she had a neighbor. This certainly wasn't going to help his chances of forgiveness. As his eyes stared at the ground he found his flashlight and the bouquet of flowers he'd bought, which were stamped into the mud, the petals scattered like confetti around his large prints in the ground. Well wasn't that just typical; he really did destroy every beautiful thing that came into his life.

"Would you like to come inside?" she asked, an unfriendly sharpness in her tone.

Sherlock nodded, not lifting his eyes to her, leaving his destroyed peace offering ruined on the ground. He followed her inside, all the courage he'd had before long washed away. She was not happy, nervous or sad to see him, she was angry. He hadn't prepared for this. Was she angry with him for attacking her neighbor, or for what he'd done earlier? Oh it didn't matter. As they entered in to her flat, Sherlock remembered the only other time he'd been there. She had been devastated, torn to shreds sitting on the floor, oblivious to the world around her, until he'd spoken. He remembered her glassy eyes snapping away from the window and turning to his where she saw straight down to his very core. He'd recalled the feeling like he was looking into a mirror that day; he saw a part himself in her, the self-loathing, harmful, dangerous side. Her wounds had healed and her walls rebuilt, but each time he looked at her, really looked at her, he could still see that darkness in her clawing to come out.

"Did you come here to apologize for your terrible mistake again?" she spat, her words stabbing him in the chest.

"I'm sorry-" he began.

"I don't want anymore apologies Sherlock!"

Her anger caused him to flinch. He squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his chin to his neck. She noticed how her tone had affected him and she regretted it immediately. He appeared as if her words had broken him. She remembered her promise to John from earlier that night and now she was really beginning to understand why he'd asked it of her. She saw Sherlock's fragility, and the power she held to shatter him. She didn't want to hurt him, under any circumstance.

"I want honesty," she finished, stepping to stand inches away from him.

"I'm not used to people caring about me," he stated sadly, keeping his eyes closed.

That statement broke her heart, she felt a tear form in her eye as she watched his face twitch; his lip quivered as the corners of his mouth down turned and she could take it no longer. She closed the distance between them and slowly raised her arms to wrap around his neck in a warm embrace. At first he remained still, his body frozen in shock as her warm, small frame pressed against him, her arms cradling him tenderly with one hand on the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades. He felt his troubles wash away, the tension holding him rigid melt and then he finally collapsed into her arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her similar to the same fashion her arms held him, pulling her as close to him as was humanly possible. He buried his face into her hair, smelling the faint remnants of her shampoo, a light juniper scent, mixing with her normal lavender perfume, the messy blonde strands tickling his cheeks and jaw and the steady rise and fall of her chest against his. He'd been alone for so long, denied any human contact for practically his entire life that this simple gesture destroyed all resolve he'd been holding onto so dearly.

She soothingly ran her hand through the thick hair on the back of his head, urging him that whatever he was feeling was all right, whether it be doubt or joy or fear, she was here. He was holding on to her so tightly, as if he was terrified of letting her go, afraid she would leave, that she would give up, so she matched his clinging embrace and held him closer, locking her fingers in his hair, anchoring him to her. When she felt his head pull away she kept her grip, allowing him only enough leeway to peer into her eyes. The normal hard steely grey had changed, they were almost blue and swimming in their depths was every feeling he'd forever been afraid to show; fear, compassion, adoration and need all mingled together, giving sight to the damaged soul that lay far down below.

"Ellie I-" he whispered softly before she unwound her fingers from his hair and placed her index finger on his quivering lips to silence him.

There were no words she could say to tell him what she wanted him to know, and if there were she couldn't find them. Instead, she smiled at him before replacing her finger with her lips, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss on his bottom lip. She needed him to know that she didn't care about his shortcomings or faults, or whatever negative light he viewed himself in, to her, he was gold. Her hand rested gently on his sharp jaw line as her thumb gently caressed his prominent cheekbone, pouring her emotions out into her motions. After a moment his mouth responded, pulling her upper lip in between his own, his hand pushing her head closer to his. He pulled away for a brief second before sending his mouth again crashing down to hers, harder this time, filled with intent. His vigor caught her off guard, prompting her to subconsciously squeak out a soft whimper as their mouths met again and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. That one little noise sent Sherlock over the edge. He felt a hunger awaken in him he never knew he possessed. His lips fought for dominance over hers as they began where they had left off the night before, but Everleigh's skill won out. She slid her tongue over his bottom lip, coaxing him to deepen their kiss, and he followed her guiding motions. Her tongue slipped into his open mouth, brushing his gently, before she pulled away for a brief second and opened her eyes to watch him. He understood immediately and brought her head back to his, reciprocating her prior actions, causing her to smile against his now perfectly puffy lips, swollen from contact with hers. Their waltz continued, lips brushing, tongues dancing, he'd never felt more alive in his entire life. A heat surged through him, one he'd never experienced before and he could not deny just how much he enjoyed it. He felt a tugging in his lower abdomen and then a sudden jolt to his pelvis, causing him to freeze as his eyes shot open. Was he, aroused?

Sherlock remembered back to a very awkward conversation he'd held with John a long time ago, when John was incessantly prying about Sherlock's sexual history, or complete lack of one. He'd explained what it felt like when you got, well, into a situation like this, but his description had not prepared Sherlock for the actual event. His lower half felt hot, and quite uncomfortable, like is pants were far too tight. He peered down and saw the product of these feelings and immediately he felt his cheeks glow bright red.

"Are you ok?" Ellie whispered, running the back of her hand down the side of his face.

"Fine," he answered, leaning in again to plant a soft, chaste kiss on her equally swollen lips.

When he pulled away she again wrapped her arms tightly around him, planting a kiss on his cheek, trying her best to avoid the very prominent bulge poking her in her lower abdomen. She would have been lying if she'd claimed she wasn't feeling exactly the same way he was, but that was no doubt an adventure for another time. There was an unfamiliar contentedness running through her as she stood in the arms of Sherlock Holmes, his piercing eyes changed only when he looked at her, they turned soft and tender. He held her lightly with one arm around her waist, mimicking her motions of stroking his cheek with her thumb on hers; he had so much to learn.

"I need to get to bed, work early again tomorrow," she cooed, moving her hand again to the hair on the back of his head.

"Oh. Of course. I'll, get a cab back to Baker Street," he replied sadly while unwrapping his arm from behind her.

"You're, um, I mean, you can stay, if you want to. My bed is, it's big and I've got an extra toothbrush and all that. Only, only if you want to. No, um, not to like, do anything, but maybe, maybe it would be nice to have someone else in bed with me. Not so lonely I suppose."

She mentally slapped herself for that one, could she have sounded anymore desperate? She expected him to turn and run out the door, but instead, one corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile. Honestly he was quite flattered at her offer and as much as he wanted to, he knew he was needed at Baker Street. John was no doubt still upset about the confession that Sherlock had stolen Ellie away from him, and staying overnight at her house would kill him.

"John is at home, alone. He's expecting me," Sherlock replied softly, his eyes and face so overcome with adoration he was hardly recognizable.

"Right, of course," she acknowledged, trying to hide her disappointment.

"I'll, call you tomorrow. That's what I'm supposed to do right?"

"If you want to, yeah. But not if you're just going to call it a mistake again."

"No. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"Good night Ellie."

"Good night."

He gave her one last smile before leaning in where both planted a kiss on the cheek of the other, letting their cheeks linger together before he pulled away, both feeling the loneliness of separation settling in.

When Sherlock walked back in to his flat, John was still awake flipping through channels on the television, a tumbler of whiskey in his left hand.

"Ah you're back, you know it's rude to leave right after, you're supposed to at least stay the night," John teased, his speech slightly slurred.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock answered as he hung his coat and scarf up in the closet.

"Well, then how did it go? Did you confess your undying love for her?"

"I don't love her."

"Not yet"

"I don't believe in love, you know that."

You better treat her right Sherlock, or so help me God."

"He won't be of much help."

"You know what I mean."

"Good night John."

"I mean it!"

Sherlock smiled to himself as he walked down the hall to his bedroom and his empty bed, which he hoped wouldn't be lonely for too much longer.

A/N: I need opinions! Let me know what you thought! Please! I feel like this was a big risk to take and it's hard keeping with Season 2 Sherlock now that Season 3 Sherlock is so much different, so there probably will be a bit of a mix of the two. I's like to think Ev would draw some emotion out in him like we've seen in Season 3 so far :) Please review for me! And keep favoriting/following! Love you all! And remember if you need stream/download links for Season 3 I reblog them to my personal tumblr Benny-Cumberbatched whenever I see them.