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You had all called it a night and made it back to your respected bedrooms. When you went through a scenic trip of hell you really needed time to recharge. Opening the door, your eyes landed on your bed and your skin crawled. It had once been something that you had seen as a special place. It was where years of late night conversations were held. Here Sherlock had shared his first and only intimate moments with you. It was here you both slept peacefully at night.
Now it was just the place where you fucked the murderer who kidnapped your baby and was trying to kill your husband. It was vile. It was tainted. It was something you never wanted to see again, let alone touch. The most horrifying aspect was seeing Sherlock in that abomination.
You were so busy loathing the bed to notice Sherlock hovering near the door, a look of great confusion and focus on his face.
“Somebody has been here,” he stated. Stated.
You thought you had destroyed and evidence, but it had been such a pointless, stupid gesture. You might as well have left a banner that said, “INFDELITY” over the bed because Sherlock’s eyes were flying across the room. He was deducing.
Sherlock Holmes was deducing and you were absolutely fucked.
Grasping at straws, you focused on the last thing you could control – yourself. Your heart was thrumming in your chest like a humming bird’s wings and you had started to tremble. Taking the most unnoticeable deep breath known to man, you tried to calm yourself down.
“What are you talking about, Sherlock?” you were able to ask in your normal voice. Somehow, your breath and heartbeat had slowed.
He continued to look around the room. “James Moriarty,” he said thoughtfully, “was here.”
Okay. You were absolutely terrified, but by this time you were not surprised. As a teacher who had to deal with bullshit every single second of her day, you thought that you could possibly lay it out a little thick.
You furrowed your brow and tilted your head. “I don’t understand. Why would you think that?”
Sherlock began to sniff with a gusto as he stepped into the room. “His cologne, I can smell it in here.”
“Oh!” You couldn’t mask the look of shock on your face.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “What was that look for?”
You had to pull it from all of the ‘my dog hate my homework’ files. “I’m just shocked you would think of such a thing. It’s me.” you pointed to your clothes. “He was all over me and some must have rubbed off.”
God, could your self-loathing get any higher?
Sherlock shook his head. “No,” he said slowly as he leaned in. He bent down and ran a lock of your wet hair through his fingers. “You took a shower. The smell wouldn’t have lingered.” He stepped back and let out an aggravated breath. “He must have come in here to nose about or plant something. Now I’ll have to tear this whole damn room apart.”
Your heart sank. If it had been anyone but you, he would have deduced an affair as easily as if it had been written on your forehead. But his judgment was clouded. He trusted you too much. He loved you too much.
Sentiment.
Sherlock Holmes had been right; it was for the weak and it did debilitate him.
And it absolutely broke your heart.
~*~
The next day Sherlock tore the room to shreds, looking for bugs or anything else Moriarty could have planted or taken. It was Saturday, so you stayed home and helped put together the new evidence on the wall. In the middle you stuck the name, “Moriarty.” You were about to tack the first string to his name that would lead to his connections when you stopped.
“Well, go on, then,” John urged.
“Fuck,” you swore, throwing the tack to the ground and almost stomping into the middle of the room. “Fuck!” you swore again.
“What is it!?” John asked impatiently, picking up your discarded tack.
You turned to him, eyes closed. You placed your hand across your forehead, ready for a bad headache to start. “That prick never confessed.”
John groaned and dropped the tack. “Dickhead just implied and Sherlock only deduced.” he slid on to the couch and ran a hand down his face. “Disgustingly obvious but that guy can’t be charged.” he leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “But we do still have that DNA sample from the second body.” He gave a tired sigh.
“Well, here’s to hoping.” You held up your hand as if you held a fake mug and John did the same.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sherlock had come back into the room with pillow fluff in his hair and a look of mania. He was completely disheveled, part of his shirt untucked and completely wrinkled. His pants would have to be ironed for weeks.
“Didn’t find anything?” John asked.
Sherlock gave an aggravated sigh. “Nothing. GOD, YOU FOOL!” he smacked himself on the forehead before wrenching John off the couch and flinging himself onto it. he touched his fingertips together and closed his eyes. “How do I expect to find my baby if I can’t even figure out why my room is smelly?” he snapped his fingers. “You.” he pointed at you, “come here.” He pointed to the ground next to him.
You walked over and sat next to his head.
“I’ve grown accustomed to Jade being with me as I search my mind palace. I think it will be better if you are here to help while she is gone.” still not opening his eyes, Sherlock placed a hand on your head and gave you an affectionate light ruffle of the hair. “You need a new shampoo,” He said plainly as he took his hand away. “Dandruff City. Capital, You.”
For the first time in two days, you laughed.
“Thanks, poodle head.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek.
He smirked. “I’d rather be a poodle head than a dandruff snowstorm.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.”
You shifted to make yourself more comfortable. “John says you’re still hoping on that DNA sample?”
“Yes. It should be identifiable tomorrow morning. Hopefully this Moriarty is in the system so we can get a match. Unfortunately things being blatantly obvious doesn’t stand up in court.”
You ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah.”
Just then, your phone rang. You were surprised. People who called you were usually from work and it was usually during the weekdays. You did have a couple of friends, but you were a very busy women and between a demanding job and being a new mother, you just didn’t have a lot of leisure time. Slipping your phone out of your pocket, you checked to see who was calling. Your eyes narrowed.
“Private number,” you said questioningly.
“Ignore it,” Sherlock said dismissively with a flick of his wrist. “If they turn out to be someone important they will leave a voicemail.”
“What if it has to do with Jade?”
Sherlock opened his eyes and you took that as a sign to take the call.
“Hello?”
You were met with a crunching sound. The person must be eating. You were about to hang up just due to the person’s sheer rudeness, but you finally got a response.
“Su-p, buttercu-p?”
You looked over at Sherlock and rolled your eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t come in today. I’m a lot busier than I used to be and can’t work overtime.”
Moriarty chuckled softly, breathing static into the speaker. “In front of the family aren’t you? Skip off to somewhere we can talk, sweetheart.”
You saw that Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on you and your insides turned into knots. Looking at your husband and secretly talking to your one night stand was bizarre. The shame and guilt was unreal, yet apparently not enough for you to hang up the phone.
“Obviously,” you said, maybe a little too aggressively, because both Sherlock and John looked at you in surprise. “Maybe we can solve it over the phone. I’m truly unavailable.”
You were met with more crunching.
“Wow,” Moriarty said as he snacked, “you’re really a quick thinker, aren’t you? Your stock has gone up.” more crunching, “Anywho, we most certainly cannot solve this over the phone. One of your corpses has become a zoooombie,” he sang. “You’re the only one who can stop it. Or I will just walk across the street and let little Curly-Q know about how we became the beast with the two backs last night.”
You pressed the phone’s speaker against your shoulder.
“Hey, Sherlock,” you said gently, “I have to go to work for a bit. Are you okay to man the fort while I’m gone?”
“I believe I will survive.”
“Tell me if you find anything.” That was rich, coming from a person who was going to see the man who knew everything you were looking for. You were going to see the person he was trying to find.
You leaned down and brushed his hair back and admired his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered sadly before giving him a longer than usual goodbye kiss. “I love you. I swear to god. I truly love you. Please believe me,” you pleaded.
Sherlock sat up, looking both stunned and confused. “…what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You only kissed him again before bringing the phone back to your ear. “I’m coming down.”
“I love you as well,” Sherlock finally said slowly, obviously still confused about your strange declarations. He watched you, trying to read your face.
You only looked away and put the phone closer to your ear.
“I’m counting the seconds, sweetheart.” With that, Moriarty hung up and you made your way out of the flat and down the stairs.
Sherlock’s eye’s followed you until you were out the door