Chapter 19

"Curl now into me press you nose into my neck and breathe. I will not go away. When sleep you find and roll you do I will glue these fingertips to the smallest part of your back so if you ever wake and face the black part of night, you will know I never left."

-Tyler Knott Gregson

Sherlock stood silently before the front door of 221B Baker Street, his scarf snugly wrapped around his neck, his violin clutched in one gloved hand, but his feet were frozen. He knew what waited on the other side of that door, what he'd just done; did he regret it? He'd acted out of impulse, out of anger at Mycroft, this was what happened when he didn't think, but did he regret it? She certainly wasn't what he wanted, no, she was better. She was warm, calming, intoxicating, and dangerous, but not regrettable.

His fingers wrapped around the cold metal door knob as he considered his options. If he went out to her car, there was no going back. He knew that, he wouldn't be able to turn back. If he didn't, she would never forgive him, and he would never forgive himself. Those were the choices; venturing unguarded into the unknown or forever walking an unending trail of self-accusation and condemnation, which was worse he couldn't quite figure out. One doesn't always need water to feel like they are drowning, and Sherlock felt the air thicken as his chest constricted, each heave more difficult than the last.

When he opened the door and looked outside, his questions were answered. His eyes found her sitting in the driver's seat of her running car, the fingers of one hand drumming nervously on the steering wheel, the other tracing her chin as her teeth gnawed the cuticles of her index finger. When her eyes met with his as he stood in the doorway, his mind had made its choice. Her hand fell slowly away from her face and a small smile lit up her features and his worries melted away. He couldn't even remember what he had been so concerned with. She smiled when she saw him, he could count the people he had that effect on with one finger, and she didn't pry or scrutinize or try to change him; if he was ever going to do this she was the only option, the only one he would choose.

His feet carried him closer to her car, he locked his wandering thoughts into the dark corners of his mind, only allowing the light emanating from her to fill the blackened voids. What was it about her? Was it her that captivated his interest, or her mystery? As he came to her window, he thought he knew for certain what the answer to that question was; her. He was entranced, the empty hole in his chest slowly being closed

She motioned with her head towards the passenger seat, urging him to peel his eyes away from her, if only for a moment, to get into the car, which he obeyed.

"What took you so long?" she asked, shifting her car into drive.

"I," he began, did he tell her it was because he couldn't decide if he had actually wanted to go?

"You..."

"I, couldn't find my gloves."

The remainder of the drive was continued in silence, each of them a prisoner in their racing minds. Ellie felt fear as Sherlock sorted through the confusion but one thought they shared was that this was right, there was no avoiding it. Sherlock certainly didn't believe in fate or soul mates or destiny, but he was starting to believe what his heart was telling him. It went against everything he thought he knew, leaving him confused and clueless to what he was now supposed to do. Ellie was afraid, afraid of getting hurt, of Sherlock discovering her unsavory past and the threatening darkness those years haunted her with. If it all came back to light, the destruction would be irreparable.

As they pulled up to Everleigh's flat, a realization hit Sherlock like a brick; he'd forgotten to get her coat. Panic flowed through him and he did the first thing that came to mind.

"Here," he stated as he handed his blue striped scarf to the woman to his right.

"What this for?" she asked, crinkling her face into the most endearing expression Sherlock was certain he'd ever seen.

"Because it's cold. You don't have a coat."

"Oh. I suppose I don't."

"Sorry."

The scarf smelled just like him and Ev took in a deep breath as she wound it around her neck, the familiar scent of bar soap mixed with tobacco easing her bubbling nerves. The pair exited the car, Sherlock following excruciatingly close to her the entire walk up the pathway to her door. Her fingers were numb as she fumbled through her keys to find the one for her front door, resulting in the collection of keys and charms to go falling to the ground, hitting the pavement with a subdued clang. Before she could lean down to retrieve them, a dark head of curls appeared from behind her, two slender fingers holding the correct key out for her. His eyes were soft, the grey being slowly replaced with blue, a ring of gold emerging from the black of his pupil.

"I'm," she began, trying to build the courage to say what had been idly pooling in her heart since he'd gotten into her car, "Thanks."

She mentally slapped herself, how did she expect to get anywhere if she couldn't even talk to him?

"Are you, going to open the door?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes darting from the left back to the right.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, feeling the familiar burn of tears brimming her eyes.

Anxiety began building in Sherlock again, this couldn't be good. With his free hand he took the key from her frozen fingers and unlocked door, a warm blast of air refreshing both of their icy cheeks. The warmth helped Ellie recompose herself, she had absolutely no reason to cry, not right now, she was finally getting what she'd been so desperately hoping for; Sherlock. Her feet began to move and she stepped into the her flat, her eyes instantly darting over to her piano in the living room, the anticipation of playing accompanied by Sherlock's violin relighting her excitement and shoving all feeling of doubt to the back of her mind.

His footsteps padded lightly behind her as she heard her front door click closed, the proximity of his body to hers caused goose bumps to erupt across her alabaster skin. All the times she'd imagined this happening had left her ill prepared for this moment. She'd sworn she had thought out every possibility of what could happen, but as she stood with her back to him, his large, dark form only inches away, she had no idea where to go or what to do. She wanted to turn around and bury herself into his chest, forget her troubles and the loneliness that gnawed at her every waking moment, just give in to her heart and her head, but she knew he didn't want the same thing. But as Sherlock stood behind her, again marveling at her hair shimmering in the light, he fought the urge to gently take her by the upper arm and turn her into him, he needed her like the stars needed the night, as a safe harbor, somewhere the faint light in him could be seen.

"I-" he began, causing Ellie's heart to hammer, "I'll go wait in the sitting room."

She watched as he walked away, his black coat swaying at his knees, her breath returning to its normal rhythm. He pulled her emotions in two opposite directions, both tugging, battling to overtake the other. On one side pulled happiness, on the other, fear, neither giving in, neither relenting.

Her feet slowly carried her in the direction of the sitting room, her mind berating her with possibilities, both good and bad. The butterflies fluttered to life, before the dread sent them falling defunct back down to the pit of her stomach. She saw his shoes first, the toes tapping nervously on the floor, before the rest of his body came into view. He was sitting on the couch, both head and shoulders were slouched over, his head in his hands; he looked sad, innocent, and afraid. She felt stupid, she had no reason to be so nervous, he was in worse condition than she was, his jittering toes and tangled hair gave it away.

She came to stand in front of him, his gaze remained averted to the floor, toes still tapping on the ground. What did he think he was doing? He couldn't do this, he didn't know how, or why, this wasn't how it worked. This was science, with facts and evidence, it was all chemical reactions, simple biology, so why couldn't it explain the physical pain he felt when he was alone? Where was the text book answer to the tangible emptiness that accompanied her absence? He had wracked his brain for days, weeks, but her effect was still inexplicable. There was no chemical combination, no physiological explanation for Everleigh Braxton.

Her hands came to gently rest over his, in the same manner they had earlier in the evening, with the same effect. A wave of calming energy washed through him, easing every nerve from his brain through the tips of his fingers and toes. His breath evened and his heart slowed as his hands loosened their grips on his now disheveled curls.

Her fingers entwined with his, her palms softly covering the tops of his hands, warm and inviting. He lifted his head, finally turning his gaze to her, her brown eyes welcoming and reassuring him. He looked so lost, and it broke her heart; he was far too brilliant and innocent to have been corrupted by cruelty, for his soul to be left shattered and broken at the bottom of his chest. She leaned her head down towards him and she watched his face contort slightly in confusion.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, his warm breath hitting her lips.

People didn't want him, not unless they needed him for something. He wasn't a man someone simply chose to spend their time with; except for John, he at least assumed for now. He was rude, arrogant, and stubborn, he held every single undesirable trait known to man, and he definitely wasn't someone a person chose to start a romantic, intimate relationship with.

"What?" she responded, shocked by his strange question.

"Why? What do you need from me? I've already told you I'll help you, you don't need to do this," he answered, his mouth down turning in a frown after the words had passed through his lips.

"Why would you assume it's because I want something?"

"There's no other explanation."

"Really? None? You're absolutely certain that the only reason I'm spending time with you, is because I need you to do something?"

"Or someone is trying to get into my head. Mycroft, Moriarty… the list is endless."

"Or maybe, you're just not always right about everything."

"Well-"

He was swiftly cut off by a sweeter kiss than he could have ever imagined. Her nose pressed tightly against his and her hands came to either side of his head, pushing his face further towards hers. It wasn't romantic, or sensual, it was desperate and pleading; an attempt to show him that he was wrong, she did need him, but not for a case or a task or work. She needed him like the ocean needed the moon; his entire being pulling her whenever he was near, making her stronger, and that power dissipating, sending her retreating back when he was gone. His lips finally formed around hers, melting the tension she had been holding. She wondered how she could prove to him that she was just as broken as he was, she was no prize. Next to her, Sherlock Holmes looked like an angel, but she knew he didn't see her in that light.

"I wonder the same thing you know," she began softly, leaving her forehead pressed firmly against his, "Why you, choose to spend any fraction of time with me."

She felt his brown furrow against hers, but she kept her eyes closed. He was brilliant, and he carefully chose exactly who he spent every second with, not willing to waste even one on anyone unworthy, and the people he felt were a waste of time, knew it. But he wanted to spend time with her, a lot of time with her, and she didn't deserve it.

"Everyone always leaves me," she added sadly.

She didn't know why she confessed that to him, it sounded pathetic, but as soon as the words left her mouth she felt like a weight had been lifted. She had kept her sadness locked away for so long, she'd forgotten what it felt like to release it.

Her words echoed through him. How could people be so willing to leave her? She was smart and beautiful and flawed and strong, to be in her presence was a gift in itself. Why would anyone cast such a precious thing away? Perhaps he saw a certain beauty in broken things, a familiarity that he identified with, but she was more than just her scattered, irreparable pieces. He felt his face grow hot with rage towards all those who had abandoned her, how stupid their small, insignificant minds had been to not truly see the wondrous being before them.

The words danced like wildfire on the tip of his tongue 'I'll never leave you'; he wouldn't, he could never. To live in a world where she didn't exist, that wasn't much of a world at all, not anymore. Nothing would ever be able to replace the feeling of her fingertips against his skin, the sweet taste of her lips as they molded against his, not a drug or a drink or any distraction could take her place. 'I'll never leave you', he thought again, but his brain stopped the words from passing his teeth.

"I'm sorry, that must be difficult," he said, his voice shaking, regret washing over him as he heard his deep voice speak the words.

Her eyes averted down, that certainly hadn't been the response she had hoped for and he knew that. He wondered in that moment which was worse, saying something and wishing you hadn't, or saying nothing and wishing you had? His mind stuttered through different things to say to make up for his insensitive response but nothing was making sense. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, lying back onto the couch and positioning her between his legs, her head resting gently on his chest, he'd remembered John doing it with one of his blubbering girlfriends before and they'd seemed to like it. He felt her body disarm and relax into him as her hand came to rest on the other side of his chest, putting his mind slightly at ease. She listened to his heart beating steadily in his chest, letting her head loll with the deep rise and fall from his breathing as his arms wrapped tightly around her, guarding her from any and all harm. He so was warm she realized as she felt herself going into an almost meditative state, the consistency of his heart and breath lulling her into a blissful rest.

"So much for-" Sherlock began, tucking his chin to get a better look at her face, but stopping when he noticed she was fast asleep.

Her eyelids were fluttering, her lips slightly parted, her face was soft and at ease. She looked so much different, so peaceful and he smiled slightly to himself as he settled his head back into the pillow. And just like that the hole that had ripped its way through him all those years ago had been sewn shut by the lingering fingers dancing to the rhythm of slow, sleepy breaths.

A/N THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BEARING WITH MY HIATUS. Life went a little crazy, it still is but it's calmed down and I just couldn't find the time to dedicate to make the chapter actually good. This one may still be a little lacking but trust me when I say, it's much better. I'm on a mad search for a job now, and that's the final piece to my puzzle so updates should be more regular. I wrote a lot of stuff for later on my little break that I think you guys will really like.

Let me know what I need to fix, what you want see, I do this for you guys!