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Y/N’s fingers flex on the door as she takes a deep breath and finally pushes it open. Dragging the suit case behind her, she carefully heads up the steps to the landing. Leaving the suitcase there, she clenches her fists tightly and turns to the open door of the flat she’s lived in for years.
Taking a few steps into the room, she freezes as she finally sees Sherlock sitting in his usual chair. His eyes meet hers hopefully, but drop to the cup of tea in his hands as she feels a scowl pass across her face.
Looking over his face, her throat tightens as each new detail hits her. Scruff. He never let his facial hair grow beyond when he’s been… so it’s definitely true then. A black eye, the blood vessels in the same eye burst.
“Have you anything to say?” She asks after a few moments of silence.
“You’ve not brought your luggage in,” he states quietly, his gaze going toward the door briefly.
“I’m not sure I’m staying,” she snaps.
“This is your home. Where would you go?”
“Is it Sherlock? Is it my home?” She asks as she crosses her arms. “Because my last memory of this place was you sending me away.”
A frown pulls at his lips, “I wasn’t kicking you out of our home, I needed to send you somewhere safe where you wouldn’t have to be involved. You still live here, and we’re still together.”
“I’m honestly not sure about either of those things anymore. You sent me away giving me no real explanation, then ignored my every attempt to contact you.”
“I was trying to protect you from-” he begins before being quickly cut off.
“From you trying to kill yourself of drug overdose? Or was it the part where you baited a serial killer to murder you? One of those things?” She blinks at the hot tears crowding her eyes. “I’ve talked to John, I know what’s happened since I’ve been gone. So don’t even try to lie.“
“I… wasn’t going to lie to you,” he says softly, getting to his feet.
“No! Don’t come near me!” She yells and backs further away from him. “You sent me away to follow the most idiotic plan you’ve ever come up with. Broke your promise to me about never touching that shit again. And I find out you were weeks at most from your body just shutting down due to it.”
“I had to-”
“No you didn’t! Maybe John just needed time? Maybe he needed more therapy. He agrees with me that he thinks the entire plan was insane. I’m glad you two have mended all that, and that he’s getting the help he needs and moving forward. But what if he hadn’t made it in time Sherlock? What if he didn’t go along with it? Then what? I was supposed to come home and find you dead of an overdose or get a call that you were killed while in the hospital?”
“There was very little chance he wouldn’t have come,” Sherlock insists trying to take a step closer as she takes another away.
“You promised me!” She shouts as the tears finally drip down her cheeks. “No more drugs and no crazy life risking crap. You promised. I told you I couldn’t do this if you continued on like that. I asked you to tell me honestly if it was something you could do before I got too deep. Now here we are, you’ve broken both of them, lied to me, sent me away and ignored me for months, and I’m far too deep to just say it’s just some differences we can’t get past and just be friends. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
“I’ve hurt you,” he says slowly.
“Excellent deduction, just figured that out did you?” She growls, turning her head away from him.
“Please try to understand,” he takes another step toward her.
“What is there to understand? You didn’t attempt to understand how I would have felt about any of this, why do I have to try to understand your view on it?”
Before he can give a response, she sticks her hand up to silence him. “I don’t even know why I came back here. Maybe I was hoping you’d try to fix this somehow. I should have just stayed where I was.”
Turning back toward the door, she steps out onto the landing and grabs her suitcase. Without turning back she shouts over her shoulder, “I’m done Sherlock. This is done.”
“I- your belongings?” Sherlock asks helplessly from the doorway.
“John already said he’d box them up and send them to me when I get a new place. Goodbye,” she tugs the suitcase down the stairs as quickly as she can, pulling it out the doorway and slamming the door behind her.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she angrily stomps a few blocks away before sinking onto a bench defeated.
Where could she even go for now? Nearly everyone she knows in the city is connected to her through Sherlock. John has a baby, and Sherlock will surely be going over there.
Scrolling through her contacts, she pauses as she sees one in particular. Mummy Holmes as she’d put herself in there. His parents home… seems inappropriate but what choice does she have? He rarely visits them as is. He wouldn’t happen upon her there like he would at John’s. And she did always tell her she could come to her for help.
Swallowing her pride, she taps the contact and holds it to her ear, gnawing at her bottom lip as it rings.
“Y/N darling! It’s so good to hear from you!” The warm familiar voice greats her and eases the tension in her slightly.
“Hello, how are you?” She asks weakly and sniffles, quickly wiping her nose with a tissue from her pocket.
The line stays silent for a moment, “Y/N, are you alright?”
“I… No. I’m not,” she says swallowing thickly.
“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” Mrs. Holmes asks concernedly.
“Sherlock and I broke up,” she admits, the words burning on her tongue. “And I understand completely if based on that information alone the answer is no, but I… I have nowhere to go and-”
“You can come here, there will be a train at 3 and we will pick you up from the station,” she says firmly. “Or I can phone Mycroft and have him send a car to you. You can absolutely stay here dear.”
“I can take the train,” she responds softly, relief washing over her. “I don’t want to trouble your family more than I already am.”
“I assure you that you aren’t troubling us at all,” Mrs. Holmes says quickly. “Now you get a move on and get to that train. I’ll have a nice warm dinner waiting for us when we get back. We’ll see you soon!”
Hanging the phone up, Y/N stands up and grasps her suitcase and heads toward the train station with a renewed sense of determination.
-
The first few weeks at the Holmes’ Estate go by relatively quickly. Mrs. Holmes doing her best to make Y/N comfortable, and eventually pulling the whole story from her about the breakup.
Staying in Sherlock’s childhood room however wasn’t the easiest part of the whole ordeal. Being surrounded by all the little things that made him, well, him. Made even harder by the daily phone calls by the man himself.
Just one call a day at exactly 8PM. Each time she would watch it ring, his contact photo enlarged on the screen seeming to taunt her. A simple photo of the two of them, him behind her with his chin on her shoulder and one of his relaxed genuine smiles.
And at the end of the rings each time, he’d leave a voicemail. Sixteen voicemails sitting in the inbox staring back at her each time she unlocked her phone. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to them.
Now the seventeenth voicemail popped up on her screen shortly after the contact picture disappears, the sinking feeling in her deepening. She needed to figure out something. What she’s going to do, where she’s going to go. She couldn’t stay at his parents’ home forever.
Walking out into the family room, she freezes as Mrs. Holmes’ voice carries to her, “Sherlock, honey, slow down. What’s wrong?”
The woman in question looks up to see her, and gestures her over.
Y/N looks away for a moment, then finally gives in and walks over to take a seat next to her on the couch.
Mrs. Holmes quickly puts the call on speaker and sets it in between them.
“Mummy I don’t know what to do anymore,” Sherlock’s voice comes from the device sounding defeated and clearly upset. “She won’t answer my calls, she hasn’t responded to my texts, I’ve no clue where she’s gone and Mycroft refuses to help.”
“Dear, she may just not want to speak to you. You can’t force her to talk if she doesn’t want to.”
The line stays silent for a moment before Y/N’s eyes widen at the sound of a sniffle. “I can’t give up. I know I’ve hurt her, I know I was wrong. I know this is all my fault. But I just… can’t. I don’t know what to say or do to fix it, but I want to. I need her. I need to try.”
“You can’t always fix it when you hurt someone Sherlock, there is only so much people can handle or will deal with,” she says gently.
“I know,” he responds miserably. “I know I have probably ruined it. I don’t know how to accept that fact. Clearly I know it, but it won’t actually process as fact. Every time I think of it my brain goes frantic and tries to think of some way to stop it from being true.”
Y/N points toward the mute button on the phone quickly, making eye contact with Mrs. Holmes, “Darling give me one moment, your father just stepped in.”
Tapping the mute she looks back up at Y/N expectantly.
“Can… can you maybe invite him over here?” She asks hesitantly.
“Are you sure?” She asks asks, seemingly searching Y/N’s eyes. “Once he knows you are here, he may keep coming by trying to talk.”
Looking down at the couch, she grabs onto the fabric and takes a deep breath, “I love him… I don’t want to be apart from him. That’s one of the reasons I was so hurt. And that he seemed to not think he’d actually done anything wrong. But he sounds remorseful now… maybe…”
Mrs. Holmes reaches over and squeezes her hand tightly, “I’ll invite him, if you decide you can’t face him once he’s here you can just stay in the room until he leaves.”
Y/N nods firmly as watches as she unmutes the call, “Sherlock honey, come visit us in the morning tomorrow. It will do you some good to get out of that flat for a bit, and you know we always want to see you.”
“I… that may be a good idea,” he says slowly and shuffles on the other end of the phone.
“Why don’t you take the train at 8 and we’ll pick you up from the station?”
“Ok,” he agrees easily. “I will see you tomorrow then. Good night.”
As she ends the call, Mrs. Holmes wraps an arm tight around Y/N’s shoulders and presses a kiss to her head. “Everything is going to be alright dear.”
-
Fidgeting in front of the mirror, Y/N looks over her reflection for perhaps the hundredth time since she heard the car return to the house.
Was she ready for this? The question burning in her mind as she went around in circles each time she glanced at the door.
Placing her hand on the handle, she quietly twists it open and takes a step out into the hallway. His voice carries to her immediately, and she pushes herself toward the kitchen with all the determination she can manage.
Leaning against the doorway, she looks him over as he talks to his parents with his back angled toward her.
From his profile it’s obvious he still hasn’t shaved, his facial hair longer than when she last saw him. The black eye nearly gone, but his features sunken in. His hair un-styled and barely brushed hangs dully against his skin. And he appears to be wearing an old t-shirt and baggy jeans she wasn’t even aware he owned.
“Drink your tea before it goes cold,” his mother scolds as she gestures toward the cup in front of him and pushes a plate of biscuits across the table before briefly glancing up at Y/N with a reassuring smile.
“Good morning Sherlock,” Y/N says after a moment, watching as his entire frame tenses then whips around to face her, a biscuit halfway in his mouth that tumbles out to the floor.
His eyes widen and he stumbles to his feet quickly, taking a step toward her cautiously before rapidly closing the distance between them and throwing his arms around her. Her cheek presses hard into his chest as his arms tighten around her shoulders and he buries his face in her hair.
Her own arms wrap around his waist and she rubs his back soothingly. His body trembles against hers, his breathing sounding labored against her ear.
“You’re here,” his states, his voice muffled from her hair.
“I am,” she agrees, and tries to pull back to see his face. But his arms quickly tighten and pull her back in.
“I don’t want to let go of you,” he admits softly. “I thought I would never see you again.”
“That had been the initial plan.”
His breath catches in his throat and he makes a garbled sound before pulling her body completely flush to his own. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, I know how badly I’ve ruined this.”
“Do you?” She asks as she gently runs her fingertips along his spine.
“I’ve lied to you, I’ve left you out, I sent you away, I broke my promises. I was using again, I didn’t consider what you would have felt if it went wrong. I didn’t even consider how you would feel with it working out. I just expected you to be fine with it even though I hurt you,” he says miserably, his breath warm against her head. “I’ve done everything wrong and I have no right to ask it of you, but I need you, please.”
She runs her hand slowly up his back and neck until she reaches his hair, twirling her fingers in the curls she finds there and smiles slightly at the almost purr-like sound he makes at the contact. “I need you to look at me and say it.”
His hold on her slowly loosens, letting his hands go to her shoulders as he takes a step back and her hands move down to his hips.
His eyes meet hers, the redness and irritation from the tears he tries to quickly wipe away on his shirt is obvious but she doesn’t mention it.
“I’m sorry, I have royally screwed up, I’m an idiot to have risked us without a thought,” he states as his grip on her shoulders tightens. “I could make promises again, but I know they mean little after what I’ve done. All I can say is I love you, and I need you in my life. I won’t push you away, I’m going to work on letting you in. I won’t use again, for anything. Recreational or case.”
“And?” She presses quietly.
“And I won’t be as reckless with my life. It’s not just my own anymore. We built a life together and I have no right to carelessly put it at risk.”
Lifting her hand from his hip, she reaches up to cup his cheek. Smiling at him gently as he nuzzles into her palm, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you,” he says firmly, pulling her in closer once again. “Please come home.”
Reaching her other hand up, she grabs ahold of the fabric just below the collar of his shirt and yanks his face down closer to her. “I’ll come home,” she whispers against his lips before pressing them together.
His lips press nearly bruisingly back, his lips moving in a quiet desperation on her own as his arms slip around her waist. As their lips part, a shuttered breath he lets out ghosts over her lips and his body slowly relaxes into her.
“Perhaps you should both come have your tea and give yourselves a chance to relax into this?” Mrs. Holmes voice makes them jump as they remember their audience of two.
“Good point,” Y/N responds sheepishly, slowly pulling back from Sherlock. “I’ll just grab myself a cup.”
Sherlock nods reluctantly, brushing against Y/N briefly as he walks back to his seat at the table.
Heading to the table herself, she steps toward her usual chair before feeling a pair of arm wrap around her midsection and swiftly tug her back into Sherlock’s lap. “I could sit in my own seat you realize right?”
“Mm, a physical possibility yes,” he mumbles and grabs a biscuit from the tray and brings it to her lips. “However, until moments ago I still thought I’d never hold you again. Therefore for my own health and well-being, you should stay where you are.”
Taking a bite of the biscuit, she shrugs gently and leans back against his chest, “If it’s a matter of medical well-being then I suppose I must.”
“Good,” he responds quietly as she looks up at his flushed cheeks. His eyes looking across the table at his mother’s warm gaze on them, his father’s arm across her shoulders with a similar smile.
“I, for one, am very glad you two are working this out. You both seem so distressed apart,” Mrs. Holmes says as she reaches across the table to pat Sherlock’s hand. “And I certainly didn’t want to lose Y/N from the family.”
Sherlock nods in agreement, looking back down at Y/N briefly, “Is this where you’ve been this entire time?”
“Yes, I really didn’t know where to go. I feel safe here, and they graciously let me stay despite the situation. I was here while deciding what exactly I was going to do.”
“You can always come here dear,” Mr. Holmes says with a gentle smile. “You are part of the family, even if our son seemingly does everything to make you want to leave it.”
“Alright fair, I deserve that,” Sherlock responds with a physical cringe. “Where had you intended on going after here?”
“I was talking with a friend out of the country, had put some thought into moving in with her. I have actually applied for jobs there already,” she says with a shrug.
“Offers you will turn down to return home I would presume?” He asks in an even tone, but his eyes betray a moment of panic.
“I said I’d come home, I’ll come home,” she reassures him and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“You’ve been in the guest room here?”
“I put her in your old room,” Mrs. Holmes says with a bit of a smug smile. “I may have hoped it would possibly… inspire a reconciliation.”
“Sneaky,” Y/N laughs and reaches for her tea. “It did have me missing him even more. There’s something so inherently Sherlock about the room. Including rolling over in the middle of the night and stretching out, only to brush against a piece of paper with soil quality test results on it.”
Sherlock stays quiet at that, his eyes gently searching her as she turns back to his parents and continues the conversation.
Twenty minutes go by with his relative silence in their conversation before his head whips toward his parents, “Would it be alright if we stayed here for the day and night?”
“Of course,” his mother responds immediately. “We can have dinner all together tonight. I’ll even invite your brother. A nice family dinner would do us all some good.”
“If you must invite him,” Sherlock rolls his eyes but gives her a tight smile before adjusting his hold on Y/N.
Sweeping her up as he gets to his feet, he carries her bridal style from the room as he announces they’re going up to take a short rest.
“And if I’m not tired?” She teases.
“You are. You were up all night thinking about how this would go,” he answers. “You were nervous.”
Pushing his old bedroom door open with his shoulder, he walks through the door to set her on the bed and turns to shut the door behind them.
He quickly sets to pulling his shoes off then gets on the bed to crawl around her to lay down and press his back flush with the wall, “Joining me?”
Laying back, she grabs the blankets and pulls them over the two of them, sliding in closer until his hand lays on her hip and guides her even closer.
Plopping her head on the pillow beside his, her eyes start roaming over him once again, “Now then, where did this outfit come from? I’ve never seen you in this.”
“Under the rest of my clothes. I… have mainly stayed in my bed clothes lately. I didn’t have the motivation for a suit today. I look rather awful don’t I?” He asks with a frown.
“You look… very worn down at the moment,” she admits reaching out to run her thumb along the dark circle under one of his eyes. “You also still haven’t shaved.”
“I haven’t used since the day in the morgue,” he says in response to her silent question.
“You’ve just decided you like facial hair?” She asks with a raised brow, hand slipping down to run along the hair on his jaw.
“Hardly,” he rolls his eyes and leans into her touch.
“What have you been doing the last seventeen days then?”
“Staying in bed. In my mind palace. Going between trying to think of any way to change your mind and trying to accept that you were done with me. John came over a few times, forced me to eat, and packed your things. They’re sitting in boxes stacked against the wall. Started unpacking one of them one night, putting your clothes back in the drawer, convinced that if I just…” he trails off into silence and his eyes shut tightly.
“Convinced that what?”
“That if I just put everything back, that I’d wake up and you’d be there. That you’d change your mind when you saw all your things still in place, realize you wanted to be at home with me. I put them all back after a day, to not cause further problems for John.”
“Well we can put it all back together this time, hopefully permanently back in place yeah?” She offers and lays her free hand on his chest.
His eyes blink open as his own hand covers hers to move it to the left side of his chest, “If you go again, please just take it with you. I clearly can not handle it well, look at me Y/N.”
“Something so darkly romantic from the one who always said sentiment was a defect on the losing side,” she teases lightly, pressing her forehead to his.
“Mhm, still is,” he states, his eyes drifting down to her lips for a moment. “I’m an absolute mess riddled with sentiment for you. I’m losing that battle, and it’s far too late to correct it. I’m in too deep, and I’ll drown without you there. And frankly, I don’t give a damn as long as you stay with me until my time comes.”
“And that time better be a long ways away, I’m agreeing to this under the condition I’m going to be waking up next to an old man Sherlock in thirty, forty years.”
A small smile spreads across his lips and he exhales deeply, “Just the fact you want that is enough for me.”
“Lift your head would you?” He says, shifting his arm under her as she does, pulling her in until she rests her head on his shoulder. “More comfortable?”
“Mmm,” she mumbles, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me too,” he admits, settling his chin on her head and cradling her with his other arm. “Get some sleep love.”
“You too,” she replies as she feels his hold on her tighten. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Will you?” He asks, clearing his throat roughly to cover up the crack in his voice.
“I will. And if you’re serious about everything you’ve said, I’ll be there every time you wake up.”
“I will hold you to that,” he says softly, turning his head to bury his face in her hair. “I will see you in a few hours then, messy hair and all.”
A giggle erupts from her throat before she can stop it, and she snuggles in closer to his chest, “Messy hair and all then.”