Chapter 18

"I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons."

-Christopher Poindexter

She was nervous. Her hands were shaking as she brought the sharp felt tip to her eyelid, resulting in the third failed attempt at a straight, flowing accent to her wide, brown eyes. She groaned in frustration, grabbing for another cotton ball and her bottle of make up remover. As she threw the wad into the growing pile on the bathroom counter, her mind wandered to the only thing she'd been able to focus on; When will I see you again? -SH . Every time the words ran over in her head her heart jumped into her throat as she remembered his hand on her waist and the graceful steps of his feet as he led her around the creaking wooden floor of his flat. She'd wanted to respond now, whenever you'd like, as much as you want, but her fingers only spelled the word Soon. It hadn't been a lie, that was only three days ago, whether he knew about his surprise party today had yet to be determined, but probably, her attendance, however, she hoped was still unbeknownst to his infallible mind.

The clock struck seven, signaling she was now late, dressed in a bath robe, with only one eye done up, and her hair still matted and tangled on her head. This was not how she envisioned the evening beginning. Was a dress too much? How casual was too casual? Clothes showered across the room as she threw them out of the running; too pink, too shiny, plaid, no. Since when had choosing clothes to wear been so difficult? It wasn't like her life depended on this. They were clothes, it was simple, makeup, she did it everyday, why did it seem like this mattered so much more? She closed her eyes in frustration, piercing grey flashed behind hers, scrutinizing her softly, searching gently; she missed that gaze.

Slowly, she finished prepping herself for the night, finally getting her make up right, drying her hair and dressing in a simple combo of jeans and a sweater. Her fingers shook in anticipation as she turned her keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life causing her to jump. She was on edge, nervous and excited as she drove closer and closer to the flat where he lived, remembering vividly the softness of his eyes as he'd looked down upon her and the solid, toned muscle that lie beneath his tight dress shirts, the buttons groaning as they barely held together across his chest. A jolt hit her in the lower abdomen, sending a shockwave of desire coursing through her; definitely not the way she wanted to start this evening off.

Mrs. Hudson answered the door this time, her cheerful smile and welcoming embrace eased Everleigh's trembling hands slightly, "So good of you to come, dear. Sherlock will be happy to see you!"

"Sorry I'm late," Ev apologized as her heart began hammering in her chest.

"Oh don't worry about it, just so long as you're here."

"I hope no one's been waiting just for me."

"He's been waiting a long time for someone like you."

"What? Someone like me?"

"Someone who sees past his façade, because that's really all it is, underneath he needs love just as much as the rest of us. He's lonely."

"We're just friends."

"Oh don't be bashful!"

"We are."

"You know, I think we like to complicate things, read too far into, try to see the future, when it's all really quite simple; find what makes you happy and hold onto it. That's all it is really."

Ev stared at the woman in front of her wide eyed and bewildered. Happiness, which had been a topic at the very front of Everleigh's, and Sherlock's, mind as of late. She remembered what she'd said to Sherlock three days ago, words her grandmother had engrained into her memory since before she could remember, and she'd asked herself the very same question; what made her happy? Music, wine, the creaking of a piano as the keys were uncovered, her grandparents, Sherlock Holmes' soft, fleeting touches-

"Well come on, everyone's upstairs," Mrs. Hudson interrupted, extending her arm towards the staircase excitedly.

As the two women ascended the stairs, the wood squeaking beneath their feet, Sherlock sat in his leather chair, hands steepled at his lips, thinking of nothing else but just how miserable this evening was. He'd known John had been planning it for weeks, he could have easily gotten out of it, but he couldn't deny that a small piece of him wanted to be here, just to see exactly who attended. So far he'd been disappointed. Only the usual suspects had arrived, Lestrade, Molly, John and Mrs. Hudson; John had been smart enough not to invite any one else. There was still one person missing, someone he desperately wished were there. Maybe she just didn't want to come, or maybe, John hadn't invited her. The babbling from around him disrupted his recollections of her, Molly laughing at a ridiculous impersonation Lestrade was doing, John dropping glasses into the sink, the loud clangs echoing off the walls of the mind palace. Why couldn't they all just shut up?

His attention turned to the open doorway, revealing Mrs. Hudson returning from the first floor with a large, toothy grin. What was she so happy about? Seconds later, the answer to that question stepped out from behind his landlady and into the room, a wave of relief rushed from his chest out into his fingertips and down into his toes. Finally. He'd endured what felt like countless hours of this torturous, unnecessary gathering, but now, it could go all night for all he cared. Their eyes met from across the room, a small, flirtatious smile curling her lips and Sherlock felt himself begin to unravel. She had the ability to completely undo him with a single momentary glance, and her touch, he felt, would one day send him to his grave. In that moment he realized just how much he'd missed her.

"The eyes tell what the heart feels," Mrs. Hudson whispered from beside Ev before patting her on the shoulder and walking into the kitchen.

His eyes were soft and filled with gratitude, as if he'd been waiting for her. The rest of his face was still hardened behind the layers of stone that had built up over the years, but his eyes were the windows into the man beneath the wall. She wondered just how long it would take to chisel it all away, chip by chip, crack by crack, and what lie inside that cold, unemotional fortress. What burdens, betrayals and hardships were locked away behind his icy grey eyes? She would spend a lifetime getting down to his deepest levels if that's what it took, but would she allow him to follow in her footsteps and delve deep into her psyche? He wouldn't like what he found, that she knew for certain, and she would lose him, except one couldn't lose what they did not have. It was all irrelevant now anyway, he didn't need to know, not now not ever.

Her feet began to carry her across the room and closer to the man whose ghost kept her company in the dark hours of the night. His hands fell away from his face and he leaned forward slightly, ready to greet her, just waiting for her to be close enough. His vigor, although slight, reawakened the longing she'd felt standing outside his door, her body buzzing at the thought of his touch. He stood quickly, buttoning his jacket before his fingers began nervously tapping his thighs.

"Hello," she greeted softly as she came to stand just inches away from him, her eyes peering up at him adoringly.

"Hello," he replied, pursing his lips.

"Happy birthday!"

"Thank you."

With a soft giggle she extended herself up onto the tips of her toes and planted a gentle, lingering kiss to his right cheek. His eyes snapped shut as his senses went into overdrive, he wanted so desperately to memorize every sensation she brought to him, knowing that is was only her that caused them. He needed assurance they were real for when he lied in his bed alone in the early hours of the morning, because whenever she wasn't there, they seemed like nothing more than a fabrication of his hyperactive thoughts. But this was real, she was real, his fluttering heart was real. As her breath tickled his ear as she exhaled slowly he stifled the growing urge to wrap his arms tightly around her and never let go, to turn and press his lips into her soft hair, then to her forehead, down to her nose and finally, back to her velvet lips. These feelings were new, these thoughts were foreign but it seemed right, every thought of his brain telling him it was exactly what he needed.

"How are you?" he choked out as she pulled away, hoping she would hear what he truly wished to say 'I've missed you more than I've ever missed anything before'.

"I'm okay. How are you?" she answered, rubbing her hands gently down his upper arms.

"Fine."

"Just fine? It's your birthday!"

"I seem to be the only one here who doesn't care about the date."

"Oh Sherlock, whatever will we do with you?"

'Them I don't care, but you, you can do whatever you like', he thought as he watched the shades of gold in her hair dance in the light.

"So, what does Sherlock Holmes want for his birthday? A murder spree throughout London? Or a chained of armed robberies maybe?"

"Those are my Christmas wishes."

"Ah, of course. Something a little more simple for your birthday then?"

A crooked smile broke out onto his face, he couldn't help it; over and over he fell for her no matter how hard he tried not to. His birthday wish was this and for the first time in his life he had got exactly what he wanted.

"Hello!" a merry female voice interrupted from behind Ev.

"Oh, hello. Um, Molly right?" Ev greeted, seeing the green of envy dancing in the young woman's bright eyes.

"Yep. Here to celebrate Sherlock's birthday with everyone?"

"I am. Just wanted to give the birthday boy my well wishes first."

Sherlock rolled his eyes; he would've been more annoyed if she hadn't looked so charming as the words fell sweetly off her lips like honey. As Molly dragged Ellie away from him and over to where she had been standing with Lestrade she looked back at him, her eyes mischievous and a warmth flowed from his abdomen down into his pelvis, causing him to remember the awful embarrassment he'd suffered at her will back on Christmas Day. His eyes fell discreetly downward, hoping his current flushed state wasn't visible to everyone else. He needed a break.

"So, how was Christmas?" Molly asked Ev, her mouth formed into a tight line.

"I worked. Yours?" Ev answered, her eyes following Sherlock as he entered his bedroom.

"Good, spent it with family."

"Ah. That must have been lovely."

"It was! Did you see Sherlock? On Christmas?"

"Uh, briefly, yeah."

"Oh. How nice. Did he visit you at work?"

"No. We went out for coffee."

"Out. For, coffee?"

"Yeah."

What was this girl's problem? Why did she care if Ev had seen Sherlock on Christmas? They'd done more than just go out for coffee, but Ev got the feeling the revelation of what had else had happened would crush this poor girl's spirits. The small talk was getting quite tiresome, her concern for Sherlock and his sudden removal from the group outweighed her desire to get to know the prying woman that had stolen her away from him.

"I've known Sherlock for a long time," Molly blurted out, craning her neck so her face was now blocking Ev's view of the hall, "We've worked together for years."

"That's great. I'm sure you've helped him a lot," Ev retorted, her, ability to hide the annoyance in her voice waning.

"I have! It's fun! Have you ever helped him solve anything?"

"I can't say that I have."

"Oh. Well, maybe he'll ask you one day, he may need a physician's opinion on something, if he already doesn't know everything-"

"Excuse me."

Everleigh's attention, what little she had been giving, was torn away from Molly and directed to the door. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she watched one of the last people she had ever expected to see again stroll in, umbrella in hand, his air of arrogance still swirling about his receding hairline and hook-like nose. What surprised her even more was how John walked up to him and greeted him like an old friend; how did John know him? The man cracked a sly smile as John whipped his head left to right, no doubt searching the room for a man who'd been missing for quite some time now, Sherlock. That man had asked Ev to spy on Sherlock for him, why would he need that if he were able to just stroll into his flat like an old friend? Things weren't adding up.

Ducking behind furniture, her feet guiding her quickly and silently, she wound her way back to Sherlock's bedroom door unnoticed, she needed answers. She knocked lightly three times, breathing his name loudly afterwards.

Sherlock's head shot up, she was at his bedroom door? Oh this wasn't the time, he didn't trust himself so secretly tucked away with her, not again.

"Sherlock, I need to talk to you, please open the door," she whispered loudly, her voice growing frantic, something was wrong.

He rushed to the door, ripping it almost clear off the hinges as he opened it, checking her up and down as her figure came into his view.

"What's the matter?" he asked, scanning the flat behind her for any other signs of distress.

"I need to come in," she rushed, looking behind her then back to him.

He moved aside, giving her enough to room to scurry into his room before closing the door behind him. She looked flustered, distressed, but he couldn't help where his mind wandered to next. He'd wondered countless times what it would be like to have her here, in his bedroom, alone, with no concern for what lie on the other side of that door. Now with her here, it was easy for his imagination to run wild, introducing new scenarios for him to mull over in the middle of the night, alone.

"There's a man out there," she started, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.

"There are two men out there," Sherlock told her, sitting in the armchair against the back wall.

"Well now there are three."

"What?"

Sherlock jumped up, no, he wouldn't have, he wouldn't dare. He ran to the door again and cracked it slightly, poking the front if his face out to look and listen. As he investigated the newest, and unwelcome, guest, he felt a pair of small hands gingerly rub across his back, one continuing over to his upper arm, before a little blonde head popped out from behind his shoulder. He turned his head back, startled by her sudden contact, bringing their noses touching tip to tip and for a moment, he didn't care about his brother showing up unannounced to his flat, or that he'd just heard one of his test tubes go crashing to the ground, shattering into a million tiny pieces. His self control felt like that little glass tube as he turned to face her, grabbing her jaw gently in between his hands, relishing in her shocked little intake of breath. Everything she did was driving him mad, the way her eyes looked up into his, so full of hope and how her hands came to rest on his hips, fingertips digging into the bone and skin desperately.

Their breaths came out in pleading gasps, pelting against the others lips. This was unfair, he couldn't hold onto his resolve, not like this. He couldn't even remember why he was so against this, why he tortured himself day in and day out. Whatever he was doing it wasn't working; he didn't want it to anymore.

Mycroft Holmes laughed to himself as he watched John frantically swinging his head in search of the guest of honor, the birthday boy, baby brother Sherlock Holmes. He noticed the usual guests were in attendance, friends of Sherlock's, which made him laugh even more. Leave it to Sherlock to get wrapped up with all these abhorrently normal people, how he did it Mycroft would never understand. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small blonde head bobbing up and down away towards Sherlock's bedroom. Did no one listen to warnings anymore?

"John, is that, Dr. Braxton," Mycroft asked smugly, smiling mockingly.

"Oh uh, yeah she's here, somewhere," John replied, now searching the room for both Sherlock and her, "Have you met?"

"Briefly. She isn't safe with him."

"What? What do you mean?"

"My brother is a ruthless intellectual savage. He sacrifices whatever is necessary to reach the truth and she is not excluded. He would let her die if it became the key to solving his latest puzzle."

"You're wrong. He wouldn't do that. Not to her."

"I find you're faith in him truly inspirational, I do. But the facts remain; she is not safe with him. You need to get him as far away from her as possible."

"And how would I do that? He would find her. He's, falling in love with her, in some way, shape or form."

"Love? Sherlock doesn't know what it is. You mistake his current infatuation with her as, love. Emotionally, he's an empty shell. He cannot feel what he doesn't understand."

"You don't give him enough credit."

"You give him too much."

"I won't keep him from her. I can't."

"This will end in disaster John, mark my words."

Mycroft looked absolutely sinister, if John didn't know him to be nothing more than an arrogant ass, it must run in the family, he might have been slightly intimidated. John had no idea what Mycroft's intention was by his little warning; was he protecting Ev, or Sherlock? John had a haunting suspicion Mycroft really could care less about her, why would he? And why did he feel the need to pull Sherlock away from her? Surely as his brother, Mycroft should be happy Sherlock had found someone. Was he jealous? Or did he know more about he situation than John gave him credit for?

"He's my brother," Sherlock spoke softly, his lips centimeters away from hers.

"Your brother?" she spoke angrily, ripping herself away from him, taking a small piece of him with her.

"Yes. Mycroft."

"He's an asshole."

"Yes. But how do you know that?" Realization hit him like a brick, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Uh... um, he offered something, I don't really remember. I was so mad-"

"Don't worry about him, he's an idiot."

How dare he? Sherlock recomposed himself, now was not the time for weak emotions, Mycroft had no right to pry into every facet of Sherlock's life to begin with, but especially not her. He straightened his jacket, ruffled his hair and ran out to greet the party's latest arrival.

Ev felt a pang of fear hit her, Mycroft had known so much about her when she'd met him weeks ago, but did he know all of it? Had he looked further into her since then? Was he going to tell Sherlock? Whatever Mycroft knew, Sherlock could not, especially now. She ran out the door after him, her heart booming thunderously in her ears. She'd kept her past so tightly guarded, wiped it out of existence to anyone not in the loop. There was no way he could have discovered anything, no matter how persistent he might have been, but the people she knew, she couldn't erase their memories or the facts of her involvement with them. She needed to stop this train wreck before it began.

Sherlock and Mycroft stood in the foyer of the building, out of earshot of the other guests. Sherlock's mouth was down turned in an angry frown while Mycroft's face looked the polar opposite, grinning ear to ear.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" Mycroft oozed, linking his hands in front of him.

"I've been informed you've already met," Sherlock spat, his nostrils flaring.

"Briefly, not enough to learn anything about her. Who is she?"

"A friend."

"A friend? Still doing that are you? Making friends?"

"No."

"Then what exactly do you call it?"

"Broadening my horizons."

Sherlock couldn't stand it, couldn't stand him. The sarcastic way his brother was looking at him stirred the pot of rage he kept buried deep down.

"Weren't you leaving?" Sherlock seethed, opening the front door and gesturing with his arm to the bustling London street.

"Proceed with caution, brother mine," Mycroft warned as he began his exit, "And happy birthday."

With an infuriated groan he slammed the door, the force rippling through the very foundation of the building. He dug his hands into his hair and pulled, letting the pain radiating from his scalp wash over him and replace the fire rampaging through his mind.

"Sherlock?" her voice called out to him, was she there, or was it a figment of his imagination?

His question was soon answered as her hands covered his, loosening his grip on his black curls, her presence extinguishing every bad thought he'd ever considered. He hadn't realized before just how much he needed her, what her presence alone did for him. The cycle came full circle, he was done trying to stop it, he'd thought about it enough, for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes knew he needed to follow his heart.

He tore his hands from his hair and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her body flush with his and sent his mouth crashing down onto hers. She squeaked in shock, freezing up for a brief second before locking her arms around his neck and pulling herself as close to him as was humanly possible. His lips moved frantically against her, the weeks of yearning and desire pouring out in his motions; they were fast and unhindered by the burden of his thoughts. Their mouths flowed effortlessly together, giving and taking, the speed alternating from slow and burning to hungry and desperate, both allowing small noises of approval to escape from their throats setting the other into more of a frenzy. His hands explored her back and hips, the feeling of her skin on his as he grazed a spot left unguarded by her now bunched up sweater was unimaginable; he had definitely not done her justice. Cautiously, he let his tongue slide along her bottom lip, remembering how she had done to him and she gratuitously allowed him access, coaxing him in further by pulling the hair on the back of his head. His tongue shot into her mouth, he was no longer thinking rationally, the only thing guiding him was the raw, primal urge he felt brewing in the pit of his stomach. Never before had he felt so free, so alive, so intoxicated; there wasn't a drug in the world that could produce these results. As their tongues waged war inside their clamoring lips he pushed her up against the nearest wall, moving his hands to her ribs, then her neck, and her hands followed his lead, sliding down to his chest, yanking and pulling on the fabric.

They didn't care they were in the hallway, or that anyone could walk in on them, their minds were clouded by the essence of the other. As their lips slowed to an adoring pace, each kiss lingering longer, his hand smoothing her hair as hers traced his perfectly carved jaw line, they took in the moment. They felt kindling love, acceptance, peace and an undeniable connection to the person in their arms, physically and emotionally. He could no longer deny his feelings for this woman, he no longer wanted to try; this was where he wanted to be.

"We should probably go back upstairs," she whispered, running her fingers along his prominent cheekbone.

"No," he answered immediately, "I'm going to get our things, we're leaving."

"To?"

"I don't care."

"Bring your violin."

"Why?"

"We'll go to my flat and play."

A surge of happiness worked through him as he moved in to plant one last kiss on her lips. Is this what it would always be like? He didn't feel judged, or self-conscious, or pitied, it was quite the opposite actually. Why had he waited this long? Regretfully, he pulled himself away from her, gazing at her satisfied little smile with a sense of pride.

"Wait in your car," he instructed as he turned towards the stairs and excitedly jumped up two at a time; thirty was going to be a very good year.

A/N: Sorry about the delay, I feel I say that a lot... Let me know how you like this one! I'm going to try my hardest to get another one out before the 11th when I leave for a little trip but I can't make any promises! New puppies are exhausting...

Please please review I love them so very much!

Thank you to twilighterheart xxxx. EmberWolfe1717, Mel, and zannet for you lovely words! They mean so much! As do all your follows and favorites!