She's gonna die
Danielle continued walking away. Andrea or Frankie or whatever brought the car around. Mycroft must have sent a message after-
She's gonna die
Danielle yanked the door open. She had a mind to apologize to the car for being so rude. That's how addled her brain was.
"Danielle!"
"Sod off!" She snapped, not turning back. If she did, she knew she'd break. She knew she would crumble in his arms just like she did when the Americans attacked her. Then he would shove her aside, the moment she was starting to think things were real. Things would go back to normal. They can't now, not after what Danielle did.
The car door slammed. Before she could give directions, the car started to drive. Nobody spoke to her. Nobody was there. She's all alone.
She's gonna die
==MPH==
Nightwing wanted to cuddle. Even the cat knew, which troubled Danielle.
Still, she welcomed it. She curled up on her couch. Her cat made himself at home on her hip. The dog sat down below on her rug, nose resting by her hand.
The flat was dark. She hadn't bothered turning on the lights. The telly stayed dark too. Why bother? It's not gonna chase away the dark inside. She sentenced someone to death. Over a pun. A good pun too, which isn't fair. People should die because of bad puns.
Danielle sniffled. She curled tighter around the couch. Nightwing raised his head, stared at her. He blinked slowly. Danielle sniffled again. She met his eyes, copying his blink. Nightwing settled back down on her hip. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.
Instead, Danielle turned her face on the couch cushion. She wasn't crying. Or that's how she thought about it. Tears just leaked from her eyes. It's how she cleans the couch. And anyway, her flat is empty and dark. Nobody was around to notice.
Her list of people was very short. Molly would be at the morgue until late. John was out- no telling when he'd come back or if he'd even want to see Danielle. Sherlock would go off to save the Woman because Danielle took away her protection. She was all alone. Her cat and dog were, once again, her only reliable friends.
She pushed her face down on the couch cushion. Tears slipped out, soaking into the fabric. Yeah, who needs a spray bottle? Danielle's got this shit handled.
Erika whimpered. Danielle, blind, reached a hand for her. Erika licked her fingers before scampering off. Ah, the abandonment by her friends has already begun. Danielle tilted her head to search for the dog.
Sherlock stood in her living room. Erika was at his feet, staring up at him and her tail drooping.
Ah. That makes sense. She's a murderer, and he hunts those. Danielle stayed slumped on the couch. Maybe she can escape a murder conviction under the defense of 'my cat is in my lap and I can't move'. It's as good as a prison sentence anyway.
"Hello." Her throat was scratched to high heaven. She didn't even care anymore. What does it matter that she sounds like she's been crying, Sherlock would still send her to jail.
Can't impede the flight of a bullet with crying, isn't that what he said when Neilson beat her? It sounded close.
"Hello." His voice was perfect and clear. No struggle of emotion, long devoid of even the idea of feelings. It's a gift. Danielle wanted that for Christmas this year, instead of the pain she got last year. "Your security lock is still useless."
Danielle wanted to laugh. Honestly she did. In the end, she looked at Erika. The dog watched Sherlock so forlorn. She missed him. He stopped coming over for movies. Erika must have felt abandoned. Even Nightwing was more upset than normal. Maybe everyone in this flat was miserable after Christmas.
Sherlock walked closer. He knelt down by the couch. His hand reached up. Erika came to his side. She licked his hand. Sherlock sighed, lowered his hand back down, and scratched her ears.
It's such a familiar sight. A beautiful, perfect sight. Sherlock with a dog in a flat. He could have had it with the Woman, if Danielle hadn't ordered her executed.
Well not exactly like that.
But basically. She gave the unlocked phone to Mycroft. That equals an execution. Doesn't it?
Danielle turned her head back against the couch.
"Thank you."
She tensed. That can't have been right. She tilted her head, hair falling over her face. She blew it back. Some fell back.
Sherlock moved the rest behind her ear.
Danielle froze at the contact. When did he get close enough for that? It's...It's...It felt really nice.
Sherlock met her eyes. It's dark in her flat, but light came in from the window. Soft light from the street. It made his eyes sparkle. The product in his hair caught the light too. The curls were perfect. He was perfect. And he was here. He'd been gone so long. He's back, here, like she needed.
"What?" She croaked. She cleared her throat. Sherlock hadn't moved his hand away, so it was resting very close to her throat. "Umm. Uhh."
Sherlock moved her hair again. More of it out of her face, pushed back. The way she liked it. The way he deduced she liked it after no time at all. "Yes. You did...You were..."
Danielle continued to stare.
"Sorry, I was trying to-" Sherlock sighed. "You and John do this better."
She blinked. Her jaw dropped. "I- what?"
Sherlock sighed. "I'm saying..or trying to say..you were brilliant. I couldn't have done it without you, Danielle."
It's so bizarre. Because he said it in this voice. This one tone. He said it the way the Doctor spoke to Rose Tyler on the beach. It's the voice of Spock complimenting Jim Kirk. It's a voice that means it.
She's hearing it from Sherlock. She's never heard it before, from anyone, not for her. The sentiment is meant for heroes and true love. Why is Danielle Nolan hearing it from Sherlock Holmes? She's no hero. She's a villain.
"I killed her." Danielle reminded him. "You- You love her, and I killed her."
Sherlock sighed. Danielle's heart ached. It's not fair, but she needs to tell him. Sherlock had been very clear on his feelings. Danielle needs to be clearer on hers.
"I'm just like him." Danielle sniffled. A tight ball in her chest began to crack. "I was so mean and she was nice."
"No she wasn't."
"Okay she wasn't but she begged and I said no." Danielle choked on a sob. She coughed, choking really hurts. "God, I killed her."
"You didn't-"
"No. Worse. I let somebody else do it like a bloody consult-"
"Alright, alright." Sherlock squeezed her arm. "Breathe."
"I-"
"Look. You've startled Nightwing." Sherlock warned.
Danielle sniffled again. She turned her head, locking eyes with her upright cat. "Oh. Sorry, sweet baby, did I scare you?"
The cat meowed.
Danielle cried a little harder. "That's my bad. Sorry."
Sherlock chuckled. Danielle frowned, letting her head thump on the couch. "No, no, sorry. Just- a mean person wouldn't apologize to a cat."
That's a very good way of thinking. Danielle considered it, trying not to cry harder. She failed.
"No- you were supposed to stop crying."
"You're so nice." Danielle sobbed. "Like- like why? Why me? I'm just a stupid Moriarty and I don't deserve it-"
"You think you're like Moriarty? Impossible." Sherlock assured her. "You, lying here, feeling remorse? He's not capable of it. Neither was the Woman."
Danielle shook her head.
"You are an idiot if you believe that. And I know you're not an idiot. You deduced the code long before I did."
"Because of a bloody joke-"
"So you regret solving it? That's it then? I don't believe that and neither do you. You solved it because you wanted to stop her. Why?" Sherlock asked.
Danielle finally hardened her gaze. She thought of it a full two seconds before immediately rejecting it. "I already said."
"When?" Sherlock countered.
Danielle's jaw started to wobble. She tightened it. She was certain she had said it. "You don't want to hear it."
"You've never said the words themselves." Sherlock said. "So say them now." She opened her mouth to deny him. "Please."
Gone. All power of speech, gone. She couldn't come up with anything to say.
Sherlock squeezed her arm again. "Danielle?"
"I did it because I love you."
There. She said it. She actually said the words to his face. It hurt. It hurt worse than anything else she'd ever done before. She'd watched people be murdered, found out her father wasn't her father, but nothing comes close to the look that she knows she'd see and Sherlock's if it was brighter in this room. The same look he gave her at Christmas. Same way he avoided her eyes ever since.
"I love you and she hurt you." Danielle admitted. "Over and over, she hurt you. I couldn't let her do it again. I couldn't. It broke my heart."
Sherlock moved his thumb. Up and down. A soothing motion on her shoulder.
"And I'm very sorry. Cause I know you don't like that." Danielle rambled on. If she cried any harder, she'd vomit. "I love you, and you think it's pathetic and you think I'm pathetic and it makes you uncomfortable and I'm sorry I can't stop-"
"You are not pathetic." He cupped her cheek, not caring that it was soaked in her too pure tears. "I owe you an apology for even saying such things to you."
"No I made you uncomfortable and you were letting me down-"
"I let you down by not saying this sooner." Sherlock stressed. "Love is not the losing side. It's the winner's side. Danielle Nolan, you are the kindest and strongest woman on this street. I never want to leave your side again."
Later, when John and Mrs Hudson asked with too giddy smiles, and Molly asked with a shocked look, and Felix was willing to climb on a tube to see her, Danielle would say it was everything that week caught up with her so she just reacted. The truth she kept to herself. Those words he said somehow made her feel seen again. Valued. Loved. Even for just a second, even if he was lying, she wanted to believe it.
Sherlock would later tell John, Mrs Hudson, and (only because he looked so disgusted at it all) Mycroft that Danielle had been staring at him with those eyes. Those eyes that Danielle had that made you want to move mountains so she'd stop looking like that, with this frown that broke the world apart. He couldn't keep looking at that. He'd already seen it too many times to bear, and he cannot handle being the cause. He needed her smile back. That beautiful relaxed smile that would make you smile back.
The one thing they couldn't seem to agree on was who moved first.
His lips were thin and dry. Perhaps, from talking so much, or the cold, London air. He did not taste of cigarettes but instead like the tea Mrs. Hudson made that morning.
The hand on her shoulder moved to her back as he came so very very close. By instinct she leaned back. That only succeeded in getting Sherlock on top of her. Nightwing ran off as far as his paws could carry him.
Sherlock had categorized the mini taste and smells of 221B. He spent his entire life labeling anything he came across. Her lips tasted of her own tears: water and salt. But as she gasped, she opened her mouth, he could taste the faint remnants of food she had ordered for dinner. Mycroft had not exactly given her time to brush. Oh, but now Sherlock understood what it meant to want dinner and not be hungry.
He did, indeed, move his hand to her back. Because now he was getting a taste, a taste of something that made him hungry and he wanted more. So he moved with her- folded halfway over her body on this couch. A couch that she and him spent many afternoons and evenings watching terrible television and movies. A couch he had not seen since Christmas. This was an error he never wanted to repeat. Now is the time for correction of that oversight.
Nightwing was gone. Normally, Danielle should feel cold right now. Sherlock continued to kiss her, she continued basking in the warmth of the moment. She could not feel any cold. The only pain in her heart was the pain of old wounds healing.
Her own hands moved. She grabbed the back of his head to feel those curls. Long awaited fantasy now sat in the palm of her hand. She curled her fingers, squeezed the strands up, and used her new grip to keep him where he was. He wanted to stay by her side, and Danielle was eager to please.
Sherlock normally didn't let people touch his hair. The only times it was touched was when an assailant was getting quite violent and creative with an attack. It might be an apt comparison for what Danielle is doing right now. He can't move with her comforting grip on his hair. Not that he even has the mind to, so focused on the way he is bending over the couch. That's something to fix.
Danielle only noticed because she needed to control his head. As his lower body moved, his head turned. One of his legs swung onto the couch, dragging the rest of his body on top of hers. Their legs entwined. his weight against hers, mouths still locked. It's paradise.
Okay maybe she needed to breathe. Why do humans need air? It's annoying.
She pulled his head up. She would mourn the end of the kiss if she weren't still elated by Sherlock being here. Mouth free, she quietly panted for air.
Sherlock gulped, also almost copying her gasps and pants. He could feel her chest rising and falling.
They didn't speak. Why would they? There's nothing to say. Nothing that can't wait until morning.
And as Danielle thought that, Sherlock caught her mouth for another kiss.
==MPH==
AN: I'm just having so many feelings this Christmas Eve. Isn't everyone?