Molly clutched her purse tighter as Sherlock, John and James walked towards the exit, pushing through the crowd of journalists, heading right in her direction.
"You were fantastic!" Molly breathed as they approached.
John grinned. "Oh, thank You Mo..." he started to reply but halted, eyes widening as Sherlock marched past her and out of the door without a second glance. "Err…He still hasn't finished working on this case, sorry. Well, uhm...Right. See you later, Molly." His smile, somewhat faded now, bore her same uncertainty as he excused himself and followed his friend.
The young pathologist didn't even turn around to look. She just stood there, her lips slightly parted in hurt surprise.
He ignored her.
She was right in front of him, and he ignored her.
Why?
Because that's what he always does. The chilling answer fell with a hollow thud in her heart, carrying with it the same, empty despondency she knew so well. It felt like when you know you have failed at something, but at the moment you hear the anticipated "no" you realise that deep down, secretly and subconsciously, you actually had been hoping for a "yes"; You thought that you had prepared yourself, that you were ready…You weren't.
It was a cold, bitter hint of laughter that escaped her lips in one mirthless breath.
She should be used to this.
"Molly?"
She turned to her left to see a pair of warm, deep green eyes looking at her.
"Oh, James...Hi!" She attempted a smile.
Oh God. He saw that.
Suddenly she started wondering about the building skills of Milanese masons. Maybe they had been neglectful when constructing the part of the floor she was standing on and it would now fall apart, swallowing her up in a nice, comforting, gaping hole...
James Bailiff looked at the vulnerable, sweet creature before him. Her confidence had just received a blow, and she stood there, hesitantly turning her delicate face to him. She looked so scared he would rub it in...It almost hurt that she thought so little of him.
"I just wanted to compliment you on your medical skills. You saved that man when very few doctors would have succeeded. Doctor Crispini's statement to the press is glowing with praise of your talent! You should be very proud of yourself." He smiled at her.
"Oh, well...Thanks. But I didn't do anything, really." Molly stammered slightly. "I mean, it's not like he's up and about or anything. He might be little more than a vegetable for the rest of his life, so it's not much I..."
"Molly, you did a great job. Just accept the compliment." He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "So: well done, doctor Hooper."
The young pathologist opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before mustering the strength to answer. "Thank you, James."
His grin widened, as she smiled up at him.
"You're leaving this evening, am I right?" James asked, turning to the door.
"Yes." She took his lead as the walked to the exit together. "Thankfully my time here has not been detracted from my holiday entitlement, due to my cooperation on the case, but I'm not necessary here anymore and...Well, Doctor Hoffe needs me at the hospital." She bit her lip.
It was hard to hear the poised, refined Doctor Amélie Hoffe try not to burst into tears on the phone as she told Molly the date of George's funeral, asking if she would like to say a few words and wondering aloud where that silly old fool had hidden his favourite tie...
"I see. Well..." James took a deep breath. "Before you leave, why don't we go for a walk? You have had no time to enjoy Milan, and it would be a pity to leave without seeing a little of what it has to offer. Unless..." He tilted his head meaningfully in the direction where the consulting detective had gone. "Unless you have somewhere else to be?"
Molly hesitated. Honestly, she wasn't expecting this reaction from James.
To be fair, she had seen her exes behave in a plethora of ways: most just got jealous and would make accusations, some of them would even ask her to choose with that suicidal ultimatum: "It's him or me!", and then cut her out completely when she obviously chose him;
A couple bowed out quietly, without there being any confrontation, and she even remained friends with them;
Others were a little more unusual...Leo had burst into tears and kept asking why she didn't want him, but then he saw Sherlock on the news and stopped begging for explanations, pestering her to introduce him to the consulting detective instead, or at least to give him his autograph!
David actually asked her if she liked Sherlock after their fourth date, and declared himself very open to a threesome, or even a foursome if John was willing, and had she ever heard of polyamory?...Then he called her a prude and stormed out of the restaurant leaving her with the bill.
Mike had gone completely round the bend, and started stalking her. He would call at all hours, ringing at her doorbell at night even though she wouldn't open... One time she had deactivated the bell when Sherlock was crashing at her apartment for the night and she didn't want to bother him. That night Mike started shouting for her in the middle of the street and didn't stop untill Molly opened the window of the spare bedroom -Sherlock was in hers- and begged him to be quiet because 'her aunt was sleeping'. He only left when she promised she would talk to him the next day. Afraid to have bothered the consulting detective, she had stolen a quick peek into his/her room, but he seemed completely engrossed in his experiment, totally oblivious to the outside world. With a sigh of relief she had closed the door. Although Molly dreaded the appointment she had promised Mike, it never happened: oddly enough, he didn't show up or make contact with her ever again. Someone later told her he had left London that very week. Mike was probably ashamed of his behaviour and had decided to move on...Something she never succeeded at.
"I've moved on..."
Tom.
She sighed. That one had been difficult...
"Molly?" She jumped as James broke her reverie. He was still smiling, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "It's all right if you don't want to join me, don't worry..."
"No! No, of course not," she hastened to say. "I would love to go for a walk."
"What was that about?"
"Mmh?" Sherlock barely acknowledged his friend as he walked swiftly out of the building.
"You know what! You've got to stop messing her about, Sherlock. If you're going to act like a wanker again I'll..."
"I'm not giving her anymore boxes." Sherlock muttered, silencing John's threats.
"Uhm...What?" John shook his head slightly, his forehead corrugated and his eyes squinting in that puzzled expression he sometimes got when Sherlock became too confusing, even for the soldier.
His friend sighed. "It' not important, just something Doctor Paten told me on the plane while you were sleeping. I would have gladly forgotten his words...But I couldn't because I never understood what he was trying to say or why. I think I do, now." The consulting detective looked straight before him, frowning slightly as he pulled is coat collar up.
When Sherlock got like this there was no point in trying to get much more out of him, really.
With an exasperated sigh, John changed the subject. "So, what do we do next?"
"We go home." Sherlock pulled his coat closer. "There's nothing left for me here."
The consulting detective strode purposefully away from the consulate and John followed. The doctor glanced back at the large woodden doors in the distance as the last few journalists lingered outside for a chat and a cigarette.
"Shouldn't we wait for Molly? it's not nice to leave her alone af..."
"She isn't alone." His friend interrupted him, his icy eyes fixed blindly ahead.
He hadn't been able to eliminate that story from his memories, not as long as it had been a puzzle to him. But now he understood, so it had become irrelevant, a waste of precious space in his mind palace to be swept away and never brought back to memory again.
Sherlock tightened his grip on his collar, feeling its warmth against his cheeks.
"Forget..." He murmured quietly to himself.
"Just Forget."
He never did.
James and Molly stepped out of the consulate, turned left and walked down via san Paolo. They talked about their favourite childhood memories as they strolled down the narrower, quieter roads of the historical centre.
The ambassador was a competent and captivating tour guide, describing the history and curiosities of this ancient city as they made their way. Eventually they reached the Scala, a famous opera house with an understated neoclassical facade which concealed a luxurious, almost decadent interior of red velvet, sparkling chandeliers and intricately adorned boxes.
Molly, for the fist time since her arrival in Milan, felt very much like a tourist as she stood next to James, just beneath the statue of Leonardo da Vinci in the centre of the square, and had their picture taken by a passing Italian student.
Piazza della Scala is one of the entrances to Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, known by the Milanese people simply as "la Galleria", it is among the world's oldest shopping areas. An impressive structure which almost resembles the interior of a majestic church, it was a place of worship for the fashionistas, who would go there to shop, to see but most importantly to be seen.
Molly gaped at the glass-vaulted arcade, the wrought iron and the exquisite mosaics on the floor. She gasped at the shocking prices in the windows and James chuckled at her reaction.
Who would spend so much?" She breathed as her eyes fell on one particular garment. "I mean, it's lovely, but..."
How did these shops survive? There can't be that many hollywood stars walking about Milan, surely! "I thought there was an economic crisis in Italy! How can anyone afford this?"
"What if they bought it as a gift?" The ambassador asked, admiring the sleek blue gown that had caught her eye.
Molly shook her head. "Why spend so much for a dress? There's no point..."
James smiled. "Unless it would look particularly beautiful on the recipient." He turned to suggest stepping in the shop, but Molly had already moved on and was staring at a small crowd of people.
Tourists and Milanese citizens stood in a circle around a mosaic on the floor, waiting for their turn to stand in the middle. The pathologist joined them.
"What's going on?" She asked.
"Tradition." A Milanese gentleman in a dark grey suit replied enthusiastically before James could answer. The ambassador smilingly stepped back, for nobody is as eloquent and passionate a tour guide as one who speaks of home.
The Italian's wavy brown hair moved lightly as he turned to her with a grin. He spoke with a heavy accent as he tried to explain. "The architect to build the Galleria, he died. Fell -maybe pushed- from the top." He pointed at the glass vault above. "Only few weeks before inauguration. We think that he fell here, so we turn to fight bad luck and bring good luck." The man nodded gently, and Molly noticed him swiftly scan her features. She saw pity in his eyes
Molly had forgotten what she looked like.
suddenly she was fighting the instinct to raise her hands in an attempt to cover her bottom lip and the small cuts and bruises on her face.
It couldn't be helped.
Grin and bear it.
She met his commiserating gaze and forced herself to smile back at him.
"You try. Send away bad luck...Excuse me," The Italian said as a Japanese girl moved away from the centre of the circle "Is my turn. You watch, then you do." He nodded and then moved to the centre of the mosaic.
It depicted a bull standing on its hind legs on a blue field. "The coat of arms of Turin." James mused.
The Italian gentleman placed his heel firmly on the the bull's testicles, then spun backwards three times. He waved at her then strode off to work with casual nonchalance, as if spinning on a bovine's balls were the most natural and normal thing in the world.
"Do you want to do it?" Molly asked James, nervously biting her lip as an old lady turned on the spot with the aid of her elderly husband and her walking stick.
She could hear Sherlock reply in her head, dismissing it as a stupid superstition. Only fools believe that there is such a thing as luck, or that completely unrelated actions and behaviour could have any possible bearing on the course of future events. Its asinine. Let's go, Molly.
"I want to try." She reacted instinctively to the absent consulting detective.
"Go for it." James grinned.
Moly nervously waited for her turn, then stepped onto the mosaic. It wasn't hard to see where she was supposed to put her heel: due to the constant grinding of passers-by, where there was once the bull's genitalia there was now only a deep dent in the floor.
Accidental censorship through superstition.
Molly carefully placed her heel in the hole and turned backwards three times, trying to keep her balance as the Galleria spun around her.
"Oh!" Molly gasped as she tried to step away from the mosaic. She had recently had a concussion, she shouldn't have been... Molly blinked as darkness creeped into her peripheral vision. She swooned.
"I think it's time we sit and have something to drink." Strong arms wrapped around her. James had been waiting close-by, ready to catch her if she lost her balance. Her fingers gripped his sleeves, feeling the soft brown felt of his jacket.
He felt warm.
Safe.
It only took her a moment to regain her balance, but James kept an arm wrapped around her waist as they walked down the Galleria, her place on the bull soon taken by a couple of teenagers in their own attempt at good fortune.
No more bad luck...That would be nice.
Luck doesn't exist. Don't be stupid, Molly.
She gritted her teeth as the consulting detective's scornful voice creeped into her thoughts again.
Believing in luck gives people hope, what's wrong with that? She felt herself replying, hating herself for it.
It's a pathetic crutch, an excuse for the naive and incompetent. Instead of living their life and taking responsibility for their choices, people blame the stars, as if the rotation of astral bodies had anything to do with...
We make our own Destiny. Molly started as a warm, older voice softly interrupted the consulting detective's rant with words the old man had spoken before. She swallowed to fight back the lump forming in her throat. It was just like him to agree with Sherlock while presenting his point so differently. Her lips softened in a gentle smile as she listened to her mentor.
Every choice we make influences the succession of cause and effect, and it's only natural for people to desire the results to be in our favour, just as it is true that we should take responsibilities for our actions and decisions. If fate truly exists, then it cannot be considered anything more than a moment in which an opportunity presents itself, but whether or not we take it is entirely up to us.
If we do not grasp the chances we are offered, then we can truly say "The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves." Do you remember, Molly, that story I told you about a man who died and found himself in a valley...
She sighed a short gasp of a laugh. Oh, that story. He had told it to her so many times, she would roll her eyes whenever he'd start...
It was strange she had forgotten.
"Molly? Are you all right?"
Only when she heard the ambassador's voice did she realise her eyes were filling with tears. Molly quickly blinked them back.
"I'm fine, James, thank you. So...Where is the Duomo?"
He smiled. "Here is is."
Molly gasped as they stepped into the open.
A beautiful, white cathedral of staggering height towered over the square: the Duomo.
Its construction started in the mid XIV century and took over 600 hundred years to complete. Although officially a gothic building, it has elements of different styles and cultures as over the centuries the mindset and inspiration of the various architects changed.
On a beautifully adorned spire, 108,5 metres high, stands the iconic Madonnina, a polychrome statue of the Virgin Mary.
Molly peered up at the majestic, golden figure which looked so small from where she stood. She could see the feminine form holding a spear in her right hand...
"Santa Maria Nascenti." James said, reading the inscription above the main door of the cathedral. "Holy Mary of the newborn."
"The newborn?"
He nodded as they walked closer to the massive doors, the entrance and exit of tourists carefully patrolled by two officers after a terrorist attack.
"On my first visit, they told me that centuries ago there were no baby boys being delivered in Milan. Alarmed by the implications for the survival of the city, the people built the cathedral to ask the Virgin Mary to bestow upon them some male heirs. Apparently it worked, and that is part of the reason "Maria" is a common second name for males born in this city."
Molly looked up at the Madonnina. An entire cathedral, just for the sake of offspring. Suddenly Molly remembered watching a family in the hospital garden, spying on them in their quiet moment together when the husband had lovingly placed his hand on the small of his wife's back...
She felt a familiar hollowness in her chest.
"The Milanese take the Madonnina very seriously, nothing is higher than her." The ambassador's afterthought brought Molly out of her morose musings. She turned to him. "So there are no skyscrapers in Milan? I thought I saw one or two..."
James nodded. "There are a few...But the tallest had a replica of the Madonnina placed on top." He looked at her and winked
"Shall we take a look inside?"
He was keeping her distracted, she realised. All of this was for her benefit. Her first instinct would usually have been to feel embarrassed, to come up with an excuse to leave, ashamed for looking so weak that someone had taken pity on her...But James was smiling so openly, with no pretences, and she felt comfortable. Simply, she acknowledged his gesture for what it was: not an act of pity, but a sign of affection. Molly felt a twinge of guilt. She didn't deserve this...
"Come on." The ambassador said, taking her hand and walking to the cathedral door before she had a chance to protest.
John kept his eyes fixed on his favourite trousers.
Dont look at him. Just dont look at him. The doctor hissed at himself, his hands tightening their grip on the side of his open suitcase.
They had gone back to their rooms to pack. John had folded everything quietly, carefully ignoring the banging and crashing behind the closed door. Every thump and groan of his friends had slowly eaten away at the soldier's patience, and he had to frequently pause and take a deep breath before folding a new item. He was about to put the last shirt on the pile when a loud smash pushed him over the edge. John impatiently threw the garment aside and marched into Sherlock's room.
"Sherlock!" he cried in exasperation.
The consulting detective's quarters was a mess. The suitcase had been obviously kicked about, clothes were scattered around the place and a 3-legged chair lay on one side of the room while on the bed Sherlock knelt astride a pillow and was viciously hitting it with the fourth leg.
"What in Hell are you doing?" The doctor tried not to yell, but there was a distinct edge to his voice.
Sherlock looked up, the chair leg held aloft.
There was a moment of silence.
"An experiment." The consulting detective finally said, lowering the weapon and moving away from the bed, running his free hand through his hair.
"I thought you said we had to pack straight away."
"We do."
John looked meaningfully at the valise.
Inside there was only a letter and a mismatched pair of socks.
"I've nearly finished." Sherlock said with nonchalance. Then, to prove his point, he tossed the chair leg into the suitcase.
"You're being an idiot, Sherlock."
"I've nearly finished, John." He repeated, more quietly, with his back turned to his friend.
John shook his head slightly. With a sigh, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
A few moments later, the sound of a violin playing echoed in the air.
James and Molly walked around the inside of the cathedral in quiet awe of the beautiful stained glass, intricate mosaics and solemn atmosphere. At noon they watched a ray of sun filter through, from a strategically placed hole, to shine on a tile representing a star sign, marking the house of the zodiac in which the sun was that day. Then they went together to the roof. As Molly stepped out of the lift and approached the open air, the ambassador placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Close your eyes." he murmured. "It's worth it, I promise."
Molly bit her lip. Trusting men wasn't as easy as it used to be...
Stop it. She commanded herself. Stop it! You are NOT going to live that way.
She took a deep breath and complied.
James let go of her right shoulder to gently take her hand. He carefully guided her to a particular spot on the roof. Molly felt a light breeze kiss her face and softly move her hair.
"You can look now." She could hear the smile in his voice.
Molly opened her eyes and gasped.
It was a clear day, and from her spot on the cathedral roof she could see Milan stretching beneath and around her, but what took her breah away was the clear view of the mountains, some covered in snow, gently framing the city in an ancient and stunning embrace.
"It's beautiful." Molly breathed softly, James smiled as he leaned forward against the cathedral's Candoglia marble.
For a few minutes the two stayed in peaceful silence, admiring the view in the crisp Autumn air.
"I know you are in love with Sherlock Holmes."
Oh.
Ok.
Brace yourself. Molly straightened her back, unconsciusly tilting her chin slightly upwards.
She turned to face him.
James Bailiff was looking out to the mountains. In a simple blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he was leaning forward with his crossed arms resting on one of the marble borders, as his eyes gazed in the distance, his profile unreadable.
"I understand why you do, of course: he's a great man, a genius." the ambassador blinked and his eyes lowered to watch the people walking in the square below. "We cannot choose who we love."
Molly's face softened. She placed a hand on his right shoulder. "I'm sorry, James."
His left hand moved to cover hers. Then the ambassador stood straight, his fingers curling gently around her own.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Molly. I haven't given up."
She met his gaze, his deep green eyes warm but focused with a grim determination burning inside them.
"He might be a great man, but I could be the right man...For you."
Molly opened her mouth, but couldn't think of a reply. The voices of all the other tourists seemed to fade away, as if they were in a room next door or behind a pane of glass...
"Sherlock Holmes has had years ruling over your heart, but he doesnt know what to do with it... Yet you've loved him so deeply and selflessly, any man would be insane to ask you to forget him. I won't do that, I promise: love Sherlock Holmes, Molly. Love him untill your heart is about to burst if you like, all I ask is a chance. I don't want to lose you, not without a fight."
His jaw was set, and Molly realised that the slight tremor she heard in his voice was not anger.
"I am sure I can win your heart, if you only give me a chance to try. You dont have to let me in, just leave the door open for me and that will be enough. Sherlock has had the advantage of time: you've been in love with him for so long your heart is used to it, but I know there is room in there for me."
"James, I...I don't know what you want me to say, what you want me to do..." She stammered.
He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them softly. "All I ask for is a little time. When your next vacations are due, come to Italy. Stay with me here, for seven days. If after that time I have not won you over, I will graciously admit defeat. I am an unworthy suitor, Molly, but a sincere one. I truly believe we could be really happy together. Please grant me this chance. All I ask for is one week."
An small, tentative smile played on his lips as he took both her hands in his.
"Give me one week, Molly. One week to make you fall in love with me."
An hour later, John closed Sherlock's suitcase.
"You forgot the complimentary shampoo and conditioner." Sherlock, critiquing his room mate's efforts from his vantage point on a dark blue armchair, stopped playing the violin to point at two little plastic bottles on the table with his fiddle.
With an exasperated huff, John took the two items, opened the zipper an inch and shoved them into the valise.
"Careful! You'll ruin my shirts!"
"Well then pack your own suitcase next time, you twat."
"I told you I'd nearly finished."
The doctor looked up, a trite retort ready to fire, when his response died on his lips as he saw his friend's expression change.
It was a tiny thing, so small a shift that nobody would have noticed... Nobody except John.
"What's wrong?" He asked, all annoyance forgotten.
"Nothing." Sherlock stood, his back rigid as he put the violin away and straightened his shirt. He walked over to the bed where his friend was.
Shortly after, John heard the soft clicking of heels and then a gentle rap on the door.
"Come in!" "Go away!" John and Sherlock respectively cried in unison.
There was a moment of silence.
"Uhm...It's Molly. What do you want me to do?"
Sherlock turned his back to the door.
"Come in." John repeated, throwing a sidelong glare at his friend. the consulting detective cautiously stepped into the room, which was now fortunately presentable. "Hi, I...Uhm...Well, I think it's time for us to go, soon..."
"Yes, quite right." Sherlock nodded cheerfully, "I've got my suitcase nice and ready." He gave the valise a proud pat. "Let's go." He added, gripping the handle and pulling the suitcase off the bed. "Hurry up, John, the plane won't wait for you." he cried impatiently over his shoulder as he strode swiftly past Molly and out of the room.
With a sigh, the doctor shook his head, picked up his own luggage and followed.
John twitched slightly, grateful to get out of the car. The drive to Malpensa airport was relatively short, but time was ticking slowly by in awkward silence as Sherlock glared out of the window. The doctor had tried to start a conversation with the agents in the front seats, but unfortunately the Italians' English was so poor John had given up any attempt at further communication in fear of offending the armed men, especially the one at the wheel. There's only a limited number of times in which you can say "pardon" to someone without looking like you're taking the mickey.
Molly had not been in the car with them. She was following behind with ambassador Bailiff in a sleek black vehicle which pulled over right after them.
The young pathologist and the diplomat emerged quietly, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Sherlock didn't say a word and walked straight into the airport.
There was a strange, almost numb feel in the air as they went through all the motions one has to perform before boarding a plane. The mood was lightened slightly -or maybe worsened, depending on one's point of view- when Sherlock began to point out all the safety issues with the airport and bemoaning the complete ineffectiveness and waste of time of the security checks, pointing out how a woman in her fifties was obviously hiding a stash of cocaine in her bobtail.
Soon John, Sherlock, Molly and James reached the point where only passengers can go.
The ambassador shook hands with the doctor smilingly, wishing each other the best for the future. James then looked at Sherlock and offered a silent but respectful nod. The consulting detective looked down and reciprocated with his own curt salute. Finally ambassador Bailiff turned to Molly.
"I hope to hear from you soon." He simply said. No other words were necessary as he lowered his head to give her a gentle peck on the cheek.
"Have a safe journey home!" He waved at them before they stepped out of sight. James Bailiff then walked back to the car. An agent opened the door for him and they drove away, heading back to Rome.
"Uhm...I need to go in that direction." Molly hesitantly spoke a few minutes later. She had to go to gate 26 for Manchester.
John looked at his own ticket. Gate 6 for London. "Oh, right. Well, yes. So...It was wonderful to see you again, Molly. Do keep in touch." He hugged her.
Molly gratefully reciprocated the embrace. She looked at Sherlock.
"You will be coming back to Italy." He stated matter-of-factly.
He had noticed she didn't turn around for a last look at the country; a foolish, sentimental thing she would have done unless she had plans to return...
But she didn't ask how he knew.
Molly bit her lip. "James invited me for a week. A little holiday, when I have time, without any murders." she laughed nervously.
He nodded.
"Right well...Ok, then. Goodbye, Sherlock."
"Goodbye, Molly Hooper."
They turned away from each other and began walking to their respective gates. Suddenly Molly took a deep breath and spun around.
"Sherlock."
He stopped, paused, then slowly faced her.
"That holiday, the week in Italy... James' invitation. Can you think of...is there any reason..." she hesitated "Any reason at all...I shouldn't go?"
John looked at his friend. He stood so very still the doctor wondered if he was actually breathing.
Then Sherlock spoke.
"I can't think of anything." he shrugged.
"Oh." Molly murmured softly. Then she attempted a smile. "Oh, good then. That's...That's good, very good. Uhm...Ok, then. Well, uhm..Bye! Bye, John. Bye!" She cried before turning her back on them and hurrying to her gate.
The consulting detective did not say a word, nor did he move. He remained perfectly stiff, his steely eyes unwaveringly fixed before him, blindly staring ahead long after their target had moved out of view and into the crowd.
"Sherlock..." The doctor rested his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"I don't want to hear it, John."
"It's all right. I understand why you did it. I do."
The consulting detective blinked. "Thank you." he muttered quietly, then picked up his suitcase and walked in the direction of Gate 6
"I still think you're a bloody idiot, though."
"Shut up, John."
.
.
.
A/N
Hi all!
"Give me one week to make you fall in love with me." was said by someone to a dear friend of mine. She was in a rocky relationship and this man was completely smitten with her. His words and the feelings behind them were a huge inspiration for this story and for the character of James Bailiff.
Apologies to my Beta reader, I just couldn't wait!
My most sincere thanks to:
SammyKatz, Rocking the Redhead, likingthistoomuch, coloradoandcolorado1, Bucky5, NiceNipps, rose and sherloki'd, mrspencil, TheSongOfTheNightingale, Renaissancebooklover108, Icecat62, OpalSkyLoveDivine and a very kind Moonunit for the wonderful reviews. You guys are fantastic, thank you so much!
There are only two chapters left! See you soon (I hope)
Feral