Just as she wasn't sure how she ended up married, she wasn't sure how she ended up on holiday right after they signed the paper at the courthouse. It was such a rush that they just picked the flight that was leaving first when they arrived at the airport. They ended up in Rome much to Ginny's glee as she never did end up seeing an Opera in Italy with Damen, and much to Sherlock's delight who had been following the news of a serial killer throughout the Italian countryside.

Ginny watched Sherlock sleep in bed next to her. It was their first day in Italy together, and their first day as a married couple. Needless to say, they hadn't left the bedroom all day, but still as he slept, Ginny laid awake. Her mind was reeling. She looked to Sherlock once more before she slid out of bed. She pulled on a shirt and pants before from under all her clothes in her suit case she took a jacket: a dark navy Westwood of a fine virgin wool.

She looked to Sherlock to ensure he was asleep as she absentmindedly ran her fingers across the fabric. Ginny slipped her shoes on and walked quietly out the room and out behind the inn they were staying at. She didn't have to walk far to come to a steep set of cliffs that looked over the sea. it was a popular sight for suicide and one she found fitting especially with the turbulent weather approaching. A storm was just on the horizon already bringing in winds that scattered her hair in chaos and pulled at her clothes.

She slid her fingers down the jacket she now donned and looked out the the vast sea contemplating. What she was contemplating was the very thing she had been avoiding since she had started to heal again: James Moriarty. She was unsure if he had ever cared about her or if it was all a ruse. She wasn't sure if giving her the jacket was a sign of his humanity or him just trying to twist her back into Ursa or perhaps a bit of both.

They had spent a lot of time together when they were younger, and part of her refused to admit that he was just using her. There were times that they just spent time together where he wasn't trying to gain something from her- or she didn't think he was. Yet, all that had unfolded the last year showed her otherwise, and it bothered her. It really bothered her to not know whether he was just a manipulative psychopath even toward her or if she was an exception, because if she was honest with herself she knew she loved him at least at some point in her life.

He had been bad for her, yes. He had manipulated her, yes, but it was a chemical defect that she couldn't have stopped nor did she know is she would have tried to prevent it if she could. James Moriarty had given her a daughter- one she adored more than anything. He had given her a purpose- no matter how twisted. He had given her some sort of love. And without meaning to, James Moriarty lead her over and over again to Sherlock Holmes.

Her hands that had been nervously sliding down the fabric as she bit her lip froze at the thought of her now husband. Sherlock Holmes was James Moriarty's counterpart. He was him- the eccentricities, the boredom, the mood swings... it made her wonder if that's what attracted her to him. But no, she shook her head, she was attracted to Sherlock before she even knew James. So maybe Sherlock was why she was attracted to James, or maybe, it was completely unrelated.

Sherlock Holmes may have, in a way, been exactly like James, but in another sense, he was nothing like him. Ginny knew what Sherlock felt, and he was very willing to admit that- well, when they were in private. Sometimes, he used her, but it was obvious, and he always seemed sorry for it if his plans worked out. Yet... James's words fell like poison from his lips when he told her he loved her; it made her shutter. He said it so freely. It took her years and very nearly both of them dying to get it out of him, because he meant it.

She sighed heavily not really sure if any of it mattered. James Moriarty was dead now, and Sherlock Holmes was at her side if she needed him. But the darkness still lingered in her. James fed that craving; she was unsure how long Sherlock could keep the edge of before she snapped. Oh, she would never go back to Ursa again, but that didn't mean she would never turn to Ursa's ways again. That was what she needed James for. He played both parts for her. He played the angel and the devil... he allowed her both.

Ginny pressed a hand to her head bothered by this nagging that she just couldn't let go of. She felt like she needed him still, and that made her physically ill. Her swirling thoughts came to an abrupt halt as other thoughts dripped through the shadows that had begun to emerge.

She had family now. Her mother, her brother, John, Mary, Victoria... Sherlock, hell even Mycroft, and they put themselves on the line over and over again, and they would continue to, because that's what they were there for. She had never really had a family before. James certainly wasn't family... he was a cohort, a comrade, a lover but never family. They depended on her as she depends on them. She didn't need James Moriarty anymore. He was a shadow, a poison. He infected her, and the antidote was now in front of her.

Ginny slowly slid off the jacket letting the wind slice against her skin. She held it in front of her staring at it. The jacket represented the life she knew as Ursa, as Raine. She wouldn't forget how she got here, but she no longer needed a strange psychopath as her anchor nor did she need to know the truth. It could be buried with the jacket miles under the sea. She let go and the wind let it be carried farther out until it fell in the water. James Moriarty receded to the depths of her mind with the rest of her insignificant memories.

She turned only to gasp and jump back nearly stumbling and falling off the cliff. "Sherlock," she stuttered putting a hand to her chest. He had been extraordinarily quiet during her thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you leave," he replied obviously. She shuffled her feet a bit nervously unsure what he thought she was doing.

"How... how long have you been here?"

"Same amount of time you've been here," he answered. They stared at each other for a while longer.

"I... I..."

"You don't have to explain," he assured her not coldly or happily but rather very understandingly.

"I don't?" she asked curiously.

"He was a big part of your life, Ginny," he remarked. "I assume this is goodbye then?" Ginny glanced back out to the sea and turned back to him with a grin.

"Well, I just don't have time for him anymore," she laughed. "I have a husband now, you know?" she teased walking back to him taking his hand in hers.

"Do you now?" Sherlock mocked. "I'm sure he's a pain in the arse, biggest prick you've ever met."

"Oh, he is," Ginny agreed with a nod. "He's the rudest, most arrogant arsehole anyone has ever had the displeasure to meet, but you know what?"

"Hm?" he asked sounding mildly offended.

"He's also the most brilliant, loyal man."

"Redeemed only by his neurotic wife," he added causing her to laugh. "Let's get back to bed, Mrs. Holmes," he teased turning and heading back to the inn intending for her to follow. She didn't at first.

"And will we be sleeping, Mr. Holmes?" she teased back.

"Of course not," he replied. "We're on a sex holiday."

"Sherlock Holmes," she scolded running after him, "it's called a honeymoon."

"Society should just drop the pretenses," he assured her.

"It's not romantic to call it a sex holiday," she reminded him.

"Who said anything about romance?" he asked her with a mocking grin cause her to give him a disgusted look.

"Sherlock Holmes, you're an ass!" she shouted at him.

"So you've told me a hundred times," he retorted as they both snuck back into the inn to continue enjoying their holiday.

The jacket rocked back and forth with the waves and was tossed about as the storm came in. Wave after wave crashed over it before it slowly sank down into the sea. In a hidden pocket of the jacket, a photograph of a young woman with chaotic curls and the eyes the color of a storm began to bleed until the woman in the photograph was nothing more than a memory, and her connection with James Moriarty was nothing but the past. The storm was over.

A/N: I did want to leave you with this thought: did Moriarty actually care for her or not? I never actually plainly stated it, but it's interesting to consider it. I apologize that my writing has not been up to par. I actually regret the addition of Victoria at the end. It was meant to happen, but I should have ended with Ursa/Jen becoming Ginny, and anything else could have gone in the next one, but ahh well. Anyway, there will be a sequel. I'll announce it on this story when I post it. Like I said it'll be very laissez faire, and I'll update when I have a chapter, so it could be days or weeks or maybe months between chapters. Who knows? It will also have a very loose central plot. It's just the domestics. I could leave it at this, but I do want to go into the third episode and the effects that has on Ginny as well as a few ideas I've already popped up.

Thanks to Reviewers: hannahhobnob and TinkerbellxO. Review please, and thanks for reading!