#moriarty fic

You’d been standing in the kitchen of the Holmes’ residence for just over three hours. Sherlock was on a case until six hours previous when you received word from his brother that Sherlock was, in fact, missing. 

Unable to do anything to find him, you turned to the one thing you knew always seemed to calm you when almost nothing else worked; you baked. 

Cakes, scones, cookies, bread; anything to help you with your frustration and fear. 

When you didn’t answer, James spoke again. 

“You’re beating the thing as if it owes you money.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, without looking up.

Not that you had to, to know how he was standing. Leaning against the frame of the open door, one foot crossed over the other with his hands crossed in front of him. 

James paused for a slight second. “I was hungry and smelled a fresh loaf in the oven. Came to see if there was any available.”

You sighed. “By the counter.”

He nodded his head, pushing himself from the doorframe. “Thanking you kindly.”

You were that tense and wired, you couldn’t feel his eyes fixed on you as he walked across the kitchen. Nor could you see the way he was studying you – analysing you. The way you stood, the way you moved, the fact you weren’t yelling at him was his biggest worry. 

Instead, you just kept kneading the bread over, and over, and over again. 

Crossing the room once more, James stood beside you and laid a hand on your arm. You hesitated, but you stopped working the bread for a moment. 

And a moment was all he needed. 

“He’ll be okay.”

“How?” You asked, not tearing your eyes from the wooden counter top. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I know him.” 

You sighed, closing your eyes. 

“Knowing Sherlock,” James said. “He’s probably halfway to the docks to ask some poor, unsuspecting stranger a random question. Without context. And get him caught in a two hour lecture about…bees.”

That got a chuckle out of you, but rather than it being coarse and dry – like the usual sound of your laughter when you ‘laughed’ at something he said. Your laugh was…wet. Held together by the tears you were too stubborn to shred. 

“He’ll be okay.”

“You should be out looking for him.” You said, your voice unarmed for the first time in his presence. “What if he’s hurt?”

“There’s nothing I haven’t taught him, that I already know. He’s prepared.” James nodded, before adding. “I just hope he listened.”

You nodded, trying to believe it yourself. But from the way you’d gone from pummelling the unbaked bread, to using whatever energy you had left to try and kneed, told James more than he needed to know. 

For a second, he hesitated. “I-I’m gonna do something, now, but I need your word that you won’t try and stab with your bread knife.”

Swiping your hand across your cheek, quickly, you tried to steady your voice. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to hug you.” 

Looking at James, the memory of your first meeting flipped through your mind as quickly as it took a few seconds to pass. 

It had been around the time when Sherlock had thought of the bright idea to help his mother escape her asylum. Although you didn’t like her being in there in the first place, you would have thought he might have written to you to tell you before he came barreling into his home, sounding alarm bells in your head. 

As Sherlock and James had searched a couple of the rooms, James had entered the one you were standing in. Rather than announce himself, however, he opted to lay a hand on your shoulder and proceeded to get flipped over you, his arm twisted and a bruise in his shoulder that was an identical match to the bottom of your heel. 

Rather than flip him in the kitchen, you accepted the hug. 

And when Sherlock came strolling in through the back door, the next afternoon, and found you and James Moriarty not only alone together in a room, but that room was also standing; it was safe to say he was more than shocked. 

“Sherlock!”

Laying the hot try down on the counter, you ran over and hugged him as tight as you could. 

“I see you’re alive,” James said, taking in the muddy image of his best friend. 

“I can see you are, too.” Sherlock replied. “You bake?”

“My mother taught me,” James smiled, leaning on a tea towel and crossing one boot over the other. “Not to say Y/n hasn’t taught me a thing or two in the last day or so.”

Standing back from the hug, you hit Sherlock as hard as you could in the arm. “Where the hell were you?! What the fuck did you think you were doing?!”

He rubbed his arm, a little offended that it hurt him so much. “Ow!”

“I’d answer her if I were you, Sherlock.” James chimed in. 

In the last twenty four hours alone, Sherlock had been kidnapped, made friends with his kidnappers, helped them solve their case, cash in on their favour for him, solved the majority of his current case and picked up a new one. 

And out of it all, seeing you and James be…friendly? Was that really the best term? It was the strangest thing to happen to him. 

“Forgive me,” Sherlock said, leaning across the table hours after his explanation of his day. “But…are you two friends? I go missing for several hours and you two decide to-”

“Decide to…move on quite quickly and find a new best friend?” James asked before nodding proudly. “Yes, I believe so.”

Then you hit his shoulder, hard. 

“Ow.” Mostly, he laughed. 

“We’re civil,” you corrected, before laying a tray of biscuits in front of Sherlock. “Eat up. There’s plenty more.”

Looking across the kitchen, Sherlock made a mental tally of the baked goods. More than likely, you’d be wrapping them up and handing them out to the people in the village. 

“I’m sorry I worried you so much,” Sherlock said, sincerely. He wasn’t always the best at apologies, but looking around, he had no choice but to give you one. 

You nodded. “Next time, send a telegram. Better yet, take James with you.”

Sherlock and James looked at each other with slightly knowing smiles. “I’ll be sure to do that,” Sherlock said just as James said, “He can survive without me.”

You didn’t notice, but a look crossed between the boys as you turned away. Sherlock knew what it meant and James wasn’t one bit embarrassed to be caught in his crush. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Tell me something,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice quiet. 

You’d fallen asleep on the sofa just over an hour into the whiskey filled conversation between the boys. James was sitting beside you, letting your feet rest against his thigh, whilst his hand absentmindedly fell to your ankle and traced against the soft skin. 

“Do you like her because she’s the first woman to not flirt back? Or because you actually…like her?”

James looked at his friend, a tired smile on his face. “Can’t be giving away all my secrets, now.”

Sherlock’s face didn’t change. “She’s my friend, James. I won’t see her get hurt.”

“I think she can take care of herself, don’t you?”

“The sentiment still stands.” 

James watched Sherlock for a quiet moment, but Sherlock was unwavering as usual. 

“A bit of both,” James answered, honestly. “She’s beautiful, and smart. She can keep me on my toes, that’s for sure. I suppose she intrigued me…when she didn’t flirt back.”

“You mean when she told you to fuck off?”

James chuckled. “Yeah. That.”

During your first meeting, after asking who he was, he’d tried flirting with you a little just before Sherlock walked in and properly introduced you both. With his arm still twisted, you’d rolled your eyes at the fact the guy you were physically standing on still had the gall to try and flirt. 

That had been when you’d told him to fuck off. 

“But, truthfully, I can’t deny that having her argue with me…well,” James smiled. “It’s certainly a highlight of my day.”

Sherlock smiled, briefly, too. But watched as James’ eyes fell onto your sleeping frame. His friend didn’t have to ask his question out loud. 

Sitting forward in his chair and laying down his empty glass, Sherlock let out a small breath. “It’ll take time. But- and this is only if you’re serious about your feelings for her. I suspect that somewhere behind all those walls that I’ve seen her build…she’s willing to lower them. For the right person.”

Sherlock bid his friend goodnight before leaving you in James’ hands, which became the physical embodiment of the truth. 

After downing the rest of this drink, James stood and gently pulled the blanket from your frame. 

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you to bed.”

It took him a try or two, to try and get his arms around and under you without jostling you too much and waking you up. But he succeeded and lifted you from the sofa, before carrying you up the main staircase and towards the general servants area of the house. 

Mostly, it was out-of-date guest bedrooms that Cordelia had told you to stay in when she returned with Sherlock since she didn’t like the idea of the cold and dreary room you’d been sleeping in since she’d hired your parents to work in the kitchens and on the grounds. 

“Sleep tight,” James told you, though he suspected you couldn’t hear him since you were lost in a dream. 

Either way, once he’d closed your door with a soft click, he couldn’t help but hope that his friend was right. Would you be willing to lower your emotional barricades? Would you be willing to lower them for him?

It took six months, eight days and fourteen hours for James Moriarty to get his answer. 

All because some stuffy, upper class gentleman who had been a long-time friend of the family’s decided to stick his nose into business where he wasn’t wanted. 

He’d arrived one afternoon with Mycroft. 

Considering he had nothing else to do that afternoon, a simple carriage ride out with his friend to see the people he cared for sounded like a lovely idea. 

“Michael,” you had smiled, almost friendly, before accepting his hug. 

“Oh, him you’ll hug,” James said, quietly, as you stood back again and stood just in front of him a little. 

“Shush.”

As Mycroft introduced James to Michael, he got an uneasy feeling. Though he couldn’t be too sure it wasn’t because you’d hugged him, rather than flipped him and nearly broken his arm. 

“Mrs Holmes,” Michael smiled, gracing the lady of the house. 

She blushed, just a little. “Michael, darling. How are you? When Mycroft told me you were coming I was almost certain it was a practical joke! I thought you’d forgotten all about us.”

“Oh, I couldn’t forget about you Mrs Holmes.”

“Cordelia, please.”

He nodded, politely. “Cordelia.”

Raising your chin just a little, you cleared your throat. “Tea, Mrs Holmes?”

“That sounds delightful,” she smiled, warmly at you, before she took Michael by the arm. 

“You will be joining us, won’t you, Y/n?” Michael asked. 

Cordelia jumped in quickly, nodding her head. “Oh, yes, darling do!”

You smiled and nodded your head. “I’ll be right out.”

“Fantastic.”

Meanwhile, as you went to fetch the tea tray, Michael was led outside by Cordelia. But, rather than follow them, James followed you. 

“Oh, Michael,” he said, mimicking your accent. “Michael, how much I have missed you.”

“Shut up,” you told him, hitting him in his diaphragm. 

James just laughed. “Is he seriously the kind you’re mooning over? I thought you didn’t like the guy?”

You didn’t look at him. “What gave you that impression?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” James pretended to think. “The tight lipped smile you gave Cordelia when she told you he was coming, the way you stand back in the hallway rather than beside Sherlock like usual. Or how about-”

“Yes,” you said, clipped. “James. I think I get it.”

“So?” James asked, leaning against the counter in front of you. 

“So…what?”

“Is it that sort you like?”

You looked at him longer than you usually did before tearing your gaze away and picking up the tray. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

James watched you as you walked away and for the first time…something didn’t make sense to him. 

Outside in the garden, Sherlock could practically feel the heat radiating from his friend as he sat down beside him. And it all made sense once he started listening to the rather boring conversation that was taking place between his brother, mother, friend and Michael. 

It was the most words, in a calm tone, that either Sherlock or James had heard you utter. And then came the inevitable question of romantic relationships. 

Cordelia pressed Michael, against Mycroft’s wishes. Apparently he was yet to find a suitable woman whom he could love. But he was certainly on the market. 

James watched as, within a split second, all the attention around the garden table turned to you. 

And you hated it. 

Surprisingly, you managed to sit incredibly still. James (and even Sherlock) were expecting you to at least fidget with your hands as you spoke. Well, rambled. 

“Well, I–” 

That was the second surprising thing. You were lost for words. 

The third and final surprising thing was where you looked. Rather, who you looked at. 

It was just a split second. Nothing more than that. But James saw the look in your eyes. And Sherlock saw the exchange. 

“Darling, I was just speaking to your mother,” Cordelia smiled. “She was saying you’d only just spoken to her about this?”

If your eyebrows could have hit the sunshade above you, they would have. Awkwardly, you barked out a laugh. “Oh, um, well, yes!”

God, you wanted to die.

“You’re looking for a husband?” Michael asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

Sherlock and James looked at one another rather quickly. They both knew how you felt about getting married so young. 

“I’m not against it.”

“You’re just not for it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it marrying me? Is that the idea you’re not fond of?”

You groaned. “For the last time, we’re not getting married! And–” You groaned. “Neither of you would understand what being married actually means! It means giving up the very little part of me that isn’t owned by anyone else! Marriage, for centuries, has been nothing more than a business contract between families. Men have the ability to do as they see fit, even in marriage. But not women.”

“But I’m not asking you to give that up.” Sherlock clarified. “I’m just asking you to pose as a couple getting married. You don’t actually have to go through with it.”

The context of the conversation was something different, but even after Sherlock's case of The Missing Wedding Dresses, he’d asked you to expand on your views on marriage. 

“Uh, well-”

“Well, I’m certain you are,” Michael announced. “Isn’t it what every young lady dreams of?”

“Not always, Michael,” Cordelia jumped in. “But it can be a rather big adventure. With the right person.”

With the right person. 

As James cleared his throat, rubbing his temple and you stood up quickly. “How about some fresh tea?”

“That sounds delightful,” Mycroft said. “Thank you, Y/n.”

James watched your every movement. The lack of eye contact, the speed at which you cleared away the cups and saucers. 

And the slight tremble in your hand as you did so. 

Plastering on a fake smile, you excused yourself and started making your way back over towards the house. 

Finally able to place the tray down and start a fresh pot of tea, James came carefully bounding through the backdoor. 

“Are you alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop them when-”

You looked at him for the slightest moment, before looking away again. “You didn’t have to.”

“I should have. We both know you hate the spotlight being on you.”

“It’s fine, James.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Slamming down the teapot in the sink, you closed your eyes. “Please just-” You took a breath. “I’m fine. You should get back out there.”

Only, he didn’t. 

Instead, he remained fixed in place between the table and the door, his gaze doing nothing but analysing you. 

“Would you stop that?” You asked, noticing him. “What? What is it?”

“Women have confused me…for a long time,” he said. “But you…you are…”

“I am what?”

You continued moving around the kitchen. Pulling biscuits out of the oven, boiling the water, setting the tray back up – all of it done within a fraction of the time it normally took you. 

“Utterly confounding.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied, dryly. 

“I can’t tell if you like the fella, or if you want to see him dead.” James said. “All I know is that you’re holding something back. And since you didn’t know your mother spoke with Cordelia…there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” 

James nodded, moving around the kitchen towards you. “Fair point, you don’t. But I can read you.”

For the first time, you stopped moving and turned to look at him, placing one fist on your hip as you gripped the tea towel in your hand. 

“You can read me?” You almost rolled your eyes. “Now I know you’ve been spending too much time with Sherlock.”

James nodded. “Probably, but it’s true. And I’m trying to work out if that’s because I’ve known you longer than I expected to. Longer than you expected to, I imagine.”

You nodded without feeling guilty. 

“Or if it’s because…”

“Because of what?”

James, again, studied you before standing tall and keeping his hands in his pockets. “Or because you want me to. See, I’ve known you for, what? Almost a year? And in all of that time, you haven’t shown anything to anyone you haven’t wanted to. You don’t talk about things, and you’re hyper-aware of your actions.”

You nodded, just a little. “Well, I grew up with Sherlock. He could be quite the taddle-tale, if you weren’t careful with your secrets.”

“How come I know yours then?”

For a brief moment, you paused. You could admit the truth that had been growing inside of you – developing over the last few months you’d gotten to know James Moriarty. But you still weren’t convinced your answer to that question was correct. 

Not yet at least. 

So, rather than tell him (and probably satisfy his ego), you shook your head just a little. 

“I don’t know.”

From the look in your eyes, James saw your truth; it wasn’t ready yet. You were still working it out. But something was clear. 

You didn’t know. Not really. 

“Darling, it’s starting to rain,” Cordelia said as she entered, followed by Mycroft who was carrying the sunshade. “So we’re going to take tea in the living room. Is there anything I can bring in to help?”

Before you could answer and tell her you had it handled, James turned around with his cheeky but charismatic smile. “It’s alright, Mrs Holmes. She’s already ordering me about.”

On instinct, you hit the back of your hand into James’ diaphragm. But he surprised you and caught it. And once the others had left and passed through the kitchen to the other door, he turned to you. 

Lifting your hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to your palm. 

“When you figure it out,” he said. “Tell me.”

You had a feeling by the time you figured it out, he’d already know. 

Another few months passed and before you knew it, Sherlock was raising a toast to the year anniversary he and James had met and become friends. 

Meanwhile, you were helping Cordelia set up a charity centre that would help children in and around Oxford and London an education, the ability to find apprenticeships easier, and hone their crafts. 

“Knock, knock.” You heard the Irish tone say before the English followed. 

“We’ve come to make sure you haven’t died.”

“I am very much alive,” you called out with a tired smile before seeing the pair open the door and walk inside. “I was just going over your mother’s diary. She’s got a busy week ahead of her.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Sherlock nodded before he took a tour around your office. “Mycroft told me you had been granted your own office.”

“Your point?”

“He wants to know how his brother knew before he did.”

“Ah,” you nodded, peeling your eyes from James to Sherlock. “Well, if you’d answered the telegraph your mother had sent you, you would have seen whose office it came from.”

Sherlock turned to you. “You know I never check my mail.”

“You should at least check it from your mother, Sherlock.” James told him. 

He just hummed, continuing to pace and take in every inch of your new office. Meanwhile, James took a seat on your desk and started rifling through your notes. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking.”

“What?”

James hummed. “Secret love notes, cipher keys to your beloved. The usual.”

“Ah, and who would this beloved be?”

“Well, I was hoping it would be me.”

You hummed, narrowing your gaze at him playfully, letting him continue. “But since I hear you’re such an independent woman these days– ah ha!”

“Ah ha?” Sherlock asked. 

“There is a lover!”

Despite wanting to throttle the pair of them for prying, you couldn’t help but laugh as James took a turn around the room, reading out the supposed love letter. 

James feigned a gasp. “Y/n, this is practically a scandal sheet! Oh- he wants to do what?”

“Who is this man? I must defend your honour!” Sherlock played along. 

James turned around, laying a hand on his chest and shaking his head. “Not with your fighting skills, dear.”

“Ah, I suppose you're right. How about you, then?”

James shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

You chuckled. “Are you two quite finished?”

“We must make a plan.”

“Yes, a plan!”

Groaning a little, but hiding your laughter, you held your head in your hands but continued to watch the Shakespeare worthy performance in front of you. 

As the pair discussed their ‘plan’ to send a fake letter to your lover, then move under the cover of darkness- 

“How well does he know the court yard?”

“At the university?”

They both nodded. 

“Like the back of his hand.”

“Drats.”

“Change of plan?”

“Perhaps we can blindfold him.”

When they’d finally finished their plan, you had tidied up your desk, put your coat on (with James’ help as he continued to plan with Sherlock), managed to get both of the boys out of the building and locked the building up behind you all. 

“There’s just one solution left,” Sherlock said. 

“We must take you away.”

“Away?”

They both nodded, letting you loop your arms around theirs as you walked between them both. “Somewhere far away. Far enough to help you and this Barnabus character forget all about each other.”

“Barnabus?” 

Sherlock nodded. “We’ve renamed him.”

“Rather fitting, don’t you think?”

“If you think so,” you chuckled. 

The story continued all the way back to Cordelia’s London home where it was recounted to Mrs Holmes in full detail over a warm meal and some tea. 

“Come on, sleepyhead. I’m practically falling asleep watching you,” James said before he scooped you up in his arms. 

You called his name but he barely flinched. 

“Put me down! Where the hell are you taking me?”

He paused in the doorway, still holding you in a bridal carry. “To bed.”

From the grin on his face, his words landed exactly how he wanted them to. So, rolling your eyes, you hit his shoulder. 

“You’re pathetic.”

“Only for you, dear.” Then he started walking again. 

“I can walk by myself, you know.”

“And let you twist your ankle on the stairs? Or fall from being unable to lift your weary limbs.”

By the time he was finished listing the amount of unlikely accidents to happen, he dropped you down on your bed and bid you goodnight in a less gentle manner than he had done the first time he’d carried you to bed. 

“Well, here we are.” Then he hummed. “I suppose you're right.”

“That’s a first, coming from you.”

And, despite the laughter from behind the door that had you rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the faint burn against your palm. 

A sensation that only seemed to happen when you were around James Moriarty. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Do you ever plan on staying still?!”

Through the darkness of the discontinued factory, you looked at James as he finally joined you behind one of the barrels. 

“They were shooting at us! What the hell did you want me to do?”

“Sherlock told me to look after you!”

“I don’t need looking after!”

Another bang from a gun sounded somewhere behind you both before a forgotten barrel on a shelf exploded. 

“At least they’re a shit shot.”

“Doesn’t matter how bad they are if they’re close enough!”

Running again, James groaned and ran after you. No doubt Sherlock would scold him if he didn’t – not that he planned on leaving you behind. If he was being honest, he was rather hurt Sherlock thought he had to remind him. 

Until he told him the reason why. 

You both ran as quickly as your legs could carry you, through the building and out of the back, narrowly missing the flying bullets. But, aside from your lives remaining intact, all that mattered was that you were holding the evidence to prove a boss’ misdeeds against his employees who, no doubt, were probably in the same pickle with Sherlock. 

They were just in the town square rather than by the docks. 

Taking as many back streets as you both could, eventually you both made it to a street with a carriage. Hailing it down, you handed over the address and made sure the curtains were closed as the horses began trotting in the same direction you’d both ran from. 

The men with the guns ran past the carriage, none the wiser. 

Meanwhile, inside the carriage, you were still trying to catch your breath. 

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m…I’m-”

“You can’t breathe.”

“I just need a minute.”

In that moment, James fully understood what Sherlock had meant when he said it scared him. 

In recent weeks, you’d begun to suffer with breathing difficulties. Mostly, they stemmed from anxiety or panic attacks. 

Only, rather than fall down and back yourself into a corner, you worked through them. Rather, rammed through them. It was bad enough not having your own body know what it was going through; but the thought to have to sit with that feeling? 

It churned your stomach. 

“C’mere.”

A little panicked at where James was reaching, you stopped him. “What are you-”

“You need to breathe. That corset can’t be helping any.”

You were still struggling to catch your breath and, although you knew he was right, something in the back of your mind was panicking for a whole other reason. 

You trusted him. You didn’t think he’d take advantage of you, or use your vulnerable moment against you. 

But it was still a vulnerable moment. 

“Turn around,” he told you, his voice calm. 

You found yourself complying whilst he fiddled with the hooks on the back of your skirt, pulled up your blouse from the back and started pulling at the strings holding your corset together. 

“Always thought these things were like torture chambers.”

You hummed. “They’re usually not so bad.”

“Better?”

For the first time, you managed to let out a full breath. “Yes. Thank you.”

You could feel his hand gently pressing against your back. “Just try and take some deep breaths, yeah?”

You nodded, bracing your hands against the frame of the carriage as it rattled over the potholes in the street. Meanwhile, you tried to focus on James’ calming voice as he focused on keeping your breathing. 

“How long have you been like this?”

“A while,” you admitted as you finally caught your breath and he helped tie everything back up again, though not as tight. “I don’t know what started them.”

“Stress of the job?”

You shook your head. “It’s the only time I can feel like I can breathe. I don’t know what they are. They just…come out of nowhere.”

“Have you consulted a doctor?”

You laughed. “What? Just so they can tell me I’m being hysterical?”

“Fair point. Maybe you are.”

You hit him in his diaphragm. 

“Joking. Joking. I’m just messing with you.”

“Better be.”

James nodded before continuing to hypothesise what could be causing your sudden inability to breathe at random moments. Though neither of you had much longer to talk since the carriage was coming to a stop. 

“Not a word about this to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

And, to his credit, he didn’t. He didn’t tell anyone…who didn’t already know. 

“How was she?” Sherlock asked as you headed to bed on Sherlock’s orders. 

“Exactly as you said,” James replied. “Breathless. Constricted.”

“Constricted? I never said constricted.” 

Rather than panic, he remained calm. 

“What do you mean constricted?”

James let out a controlled breath. “She needed help. I helped her.”

“I’m aware you care for her, James. But you really need to be careful-”

“Sherlock, nothing untoward happened. You have my word on that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” James nodded, his voice firm. “Have I really given you a reason to doubt me now?”

Sherlock studied him for a long time. “No. I suppose not.”

James nodded with a little thanks. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“No, let her be.”

“Why?”

“She needs rest.” Sherlock said. “She’s been swept off her feet since coming to London. I highly doubt she’s had the same rest to balance it out.”

James sighed, pausing by the door. And, for the first time, Sherlock truly saw his friend in a vulnerable state. “I’m worried about her.”

“I know,” Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder. “So am I. But she’ll only get agitated if we hover.”

James knew his friend was right. He didn’t like that he was right. But he was right nonetheless. 

Though it didn’t stop him from worrying about you. 

Or checking on you when he woke up in need of a glass of water. 

Your bedroom door was wide open, but you weren’t inside. 

James found you sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, and far away in your own head. 

“Are you alri-”

You nearly jumped out of your own skin. “James.”

He held up his hands as he stood by the door. “Sorry. How long have you been awake?”

“Oh,” your gaze narrowed on the mantle clock. “I don’t actually know.”

James looked around. “Want some company?”

“Aren’t you tired?”

Walking inside and taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, he shook his head. 

“Too much excitement from the day.”

You let out a small chuckle. “I suppose you’re right.”

For a while, James and yourself talked. He tried to keep the conversation away from the case or anything that would get your brain fully tuning in and working. 

And, after a solid hour, it worked. 

“Rest now,” he said, softly, running his hand through your hair as you laid your head down against his thigh. 

And somewhere between the feeling of his hands running through your hair and the soft hum of his voice, you fell into the first deep sleep you’d had in weeks. 

James woke up to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. “James, darling.”

“Mrs Holmes,” he said, a little shocked. “Is everything-”

“Oh, yes, yes. Everything’s fine. A telegram has come for you, from Sherlock.” Cordelia held it out to him, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper. “It seems rather important.”

“Thank you, Mrs Holmes.”

“Would you like me to wake her?”

James almost forgot what she was talking about until he looked down and saw you still fast asleep, his hand on your arm. 

“Oh,” he shook his head. “No. Let her sleep.”

Cordelia smiled. “I thought that would be the answer. I just wanted to make sure. You go ahead. I’ll stay with her.”

James nodded, carefully moving you without waking you. And, just as Cordelia took his place, she turned to him as he stood at the door. 

“James, dear.”

“Yes, Mrs Holmes?”

“Thank you for helping her sleep,” she said, her tone soft. “I knew she hadn't been resting as much, so this was a delightful sight to see.”

Laying a hand over his heart, he bowed a little. “It was my pleasure.”

You woke up a little over an hour later. At first, you were a little embarrassed. And then worried. But the reassuring smile and hug from Cordelia calmed you. 

Your job wasn’t in jeopardy, and neither was your standing within her home. 

By the time the boys returned, with Mycroft in tow, they were bleeding. 

“Jesus,” you breathed, standing quickly from your place at the kitchen dining table. “What happened?”

“Sherlock! Oh, my- James!” Cordelia called out as she took in the sight of them both. 

Mycroft was the only one unharmed. 

As you were gathering spare, clean rags and some warm water, Mycroft and his mother helped the boys into their seats. 

Apparently one of their suspects didn’t like the idea of getting followed. But, at the very least, they knew they were on the right track. 

“Look at me,” you instructed as you turned James’ head to look at you. Not that you needed to force him all that much. 

“You look well rested,” he told you. 

You nodded, quickly. “And you look like you’ve just lost your first fight.”

“I’ll have you know, I won this one, actually.”

Sherlock nodded, trying to escape his brother’s attempts at cleaning his wounds. “He actually did. Saved my bacon, too.”

“Thank you, James.” Cordelia said, reaching over and squeezing his hand, briefly. 

“At least someone has thanked me.”

“I had it under control.”

From the back of his head, Sherlock felt you hit him. 

“Ow.”

“Thank him. God only knows you’re terrible at fighting.”

Sherlock sighed, “I suppose I do owe you thanks, James. So…thank you.”

“That’ll do.”

Holding Sherlock still, you placed a separate cloth against his wounds before handing him back to his brother. Meanwhile, you returned to James. 

And you tried to ignore the way he was gently holding his hand against your thigh.

“And you should know,” James told you. “I lost my first fight ages ago.”

You hummed. “Really? When?”

“Against you.” He smiled. “Don’t you remember?”

“I just remember you being an arse.”

“Seems the only time I’ve actually lost a fight has been against you. Sadly, multiple times.”

“You don’t sound so beat up over that,” you said, because he didn’t. 

He seemed happy. Amused, even. 

Then you finally looked him in his eyes, and not at his wounds. And he was practically beaming. 

“No,” he said. “I guess I’m not.”

Thankfully, Mycroft broke the tension that was growing quicker than usual between both yourself and James Moriarty. 

“Would you stay still?”

With a heavy sigh, you rounded behind James and shoved Sherlock back into his seat. 

“It hurts!”

“James?” You asked, looking at him. 

He just nodded, placing both of his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, anchoring him into his seat. “Stay still.”

 “I regret ever going missing now,” Sherlock announced. “If I hadn’t, you two wouldn’t have become friends.”

“Don’t feel too bad, Sherlock. I’m sure I’d still be holding you down to help her if we weren’t friends.”

“Did anyone ever tell you- Ow!”

You smiled, briefly, holding up the shard of glass that had lodged itself in Sherlock’s arm. “It’s out.”

“Now I’m bleeding.”

James leaned down. “You were already bleeding.”

“But, now, I’m bleeding more.”

“Stop complaining,” you told him. 

James smiled. “Listen to the woman, Sherlock.”

“Are you well, James?”

“I’m less beat up than you – I’d say so. Why?”

Sherlock lifted his head to look at his friend. “Because you never agree with Y/n.”

You didn’t look at either of them as you cleaned out the bleeding wound. “He’s open to learning, unlike some people I know.”

“If you mean me, I am open to learning.”

James leaned down, again. “Ah, but do you listen? You might find you learn more, that way.”

“If us being friends bothers you so much, Sherlock,” you sighed. “Maybe you should have sent a wire to tell us where you were.”

“You still haven’t forgiven me about that?”

James stood tall, crossing one boot over the other. “Didn’t you know her grudges have an excellent shelf-life?”

“All done,” you announced.

James smiled, lifting his hands from his friends shoulders. “See! It wasn't so bad.”

“Ah, I believe it’s your turn, James.”

Sherlock stood, with a proud smile. Though James didn’t need any help being held down to stay still. He was rather pleased that, despite the pain, he got to stay within your vicinity – even if you did take to scolding him every once in a while. 

“Don’t they give you a headache, mother?” Mycroft asked, leaning over. 

“No more than you boys did growing up,” Cordelia smiled. “Besides, it reminds me of being at home. There’s never a quiet moment. I can’t stand the quiet anymore.”

Mycroft gave her a reassuring smile, taking her hand in his. 

In the meantime, Sherlock ran over everything that had happened whilst working the case and you cleaned the cuts across James’ face, arms and hands. 

That case was cleared up within the week. 

Though it wasn’t long before Sherlock was sticking his nose in somebody else's business and dragging James with him. And, by proxy, yourself and eventually Mycroft. 

*~*~*~*~*

“I’m home, dear!”

Without looking up, you continued writing out your letters that would be sent to every wealthy friend who couldn’t say ‘no’ to Cordelia Holmes. 

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me in the middle of the day?”

“I thought I might check in on you,” James said, looking around your office, though his eyesight always landed back on you without fail. “Make sure you aren't overworking yourself.”

“As you can see I am perfectly fine,” you smiled, still not looking up. “But still rather busy.”

“Do you ever actually leave your office?”

“Yes,” you told him. “In fact, I’m due to meet Mrs Holmes at the Charity House. We have another shipment of sheets and general medical equipment coming in.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. “A baker, a maid, a secretary and now…a nurse?”

You chuckled. “Sherlock and yourself aren’t my only patients.”

“Don’t you have to be medically trained to help?”

“That’s why Mrs Holmes has hired a resident doctor,” you said. “We all help out where we can. Anything major gets an appointment at the hospital. You might think about volunteering at some point.”

“Oh, I might?”

You nodded, looking at him. “You might. It would keep you and Sherlock out of trouble.”

“Do you really think you can keep me and Sherlock out of trouble?” He asked, leaning forward against your desk. 

You hummed. “Probably not. I figure by now it’s soaked into your bones.”

James hummed, too. “Souls, you might say.”

“That would figure you were born into it, would it not?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

You kept your gaze fixed on his. And whilst his eyes searched yours, a smirk started to develop on his face. 

His voice dropped a little lower. “D’you know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you like me,” James said, rather confidently, though quietly. “And I also think you want to see more of me.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“So…going ahead with your theory…if I asked you to come with me to the House and help out…what would you say?”

He smiled, his eyes landing on the small vase of flowers by your desk. A small vase of cornflowers and baby’s breath. 

Hope in Love. Purity and Innocence. 

“I’d say…” James leaned over, plucking a single stem of baby’s breath and a simple bloom of cornflower, before leaning closer to you and tucking the small bunch behind your ear. “Anything for you, my dear.”

In the two afternoons a week he spent volunteering at the Charity House with you, helping entertain the children with stories, and helping hold patients steady as the doctor helped clean their wounds; you got to see his vulnerable moments. 

And he got to see yours. 

Whilst he simply collected visual evidence of something he already knew, you caught passing glimpses of his softer side. 

“You’re good at this,” you smiled as yourself and James walked down the street and towards the carriage. 

“Good at what?” He asked. 

“Entertaining,” you clarified. “Teaching. Keeping people calm.”

“Ah,” he chuckled, lowering his gaze to his feet. “The art of distraction.”

“Call it what you want,” you said. “It works. Do you have siblings? I’ve never heard you mention any but the way you are with the kids…you’ve got a natural talent.”

James scratched the back of his head. “Just a brother. But my ma tended to a couple of the local families in the village. Believe me, I’ve cleaned more scraped knees and stopped fights than you could count.”

“And I suppose, taught them how to properly defend themselves, too?”

James chuckled. “I suppose. But if my mother ever asks, you don’t know that.”

You nodded. “Duly noted.”

Helping you into the carriage, quickly followed by Cordelia who had finally said goodnight to the doctor, James sat beside you. 

And when the carriage shook from the pothole in the road, and James held out his arm to steady you, you weren’t quick to throw him away from your reach. 

*~*~*~*~*

Later that evening, as Sherlock balanced the needle of the gramophone to his mother’s favourite song collection, James held his hand out to Mrs Holmes before leading her to the make-shift dance floor in the middle of the living room. 

Somewhere between the laughter and slightly out of time dancing, as Sherlock tried his best to avoid stepping on your toes, Mrs Holmes whispered something to her own dance partner. 

“I believe someone’s feet are in need of saving.”

It didn’t take much for James to catch on to what Cordelia was telling him. Stepping across, Cordelia pulled her son away and into her arms, laughing about how he used to dance as a boy. 

Meanwhile, James held out his hand and, despite the pull you felt in your gut – that awkward, yet excited feeling that usually would have had you pulling your hand away and politely saying no – you went with it. 

Taking his hand in yours, over the next thirty seconds, you came to realise just how much James Moriarty had been keeping from you. 

Because he was rather an excellent dancer, despite the context. He didn’t step on your feet, led you rather than you leading him; all whilst being light on his own feet. 

And you had never known. 

But it was a relatively nice surprise. 

“I shall bid you goodnight, my darlings,” Cordelia's soft voice smiled before she kissed each of you on the top of your heads. 

The dancing had long been put to rest, but the conversation had followed far into the evening.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she told you. “And do try to stay out of trouble.”

“Of course, mother.”

Sherlock soon followed his mother, James saying he wouldn’t be long behind him. But, finally being left in silence together, yourself and James cleared away the glasses and half empty decanters. 

“I have a question I’d like to ask you.” James said, breaking the silence. 

“Should I be worried?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to him, finding him already looking at you. 

“Maybe,” he answered with a grin. “Probably.”

“Then I await your question in trepidation.”

James chuckled, feeling the warmth of the dying fire. “There’s actually a few questions I’d like to ask you, but I’ll stick to one for now.”

You looked at him, and nodded. “Okay then.”

“Have you been sleeping? Well, I mean.”

Taking the short stroll from the window to the mantel, you nodded again, placing your hands behind you. “I have, if you must know.”

“Good.”

“I believe the reason for that is…down to you.”

“Down to me?”

You nodded. Again, you felt that pull inside of you. But rather than excusing yourself and locking yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, you decided to follow it. 

“Whenever I can’t sleep…I think of you.”

“Oh…right.”

“Not in that way.”

James chuckled, a little nervous. “Right. No, I suppose not.”

“But certainly the memory of you,” you told him. “That night…in here…it was the first time I felt…” You took a breath, unable to break your gaze away from his. “Safe. At ease.”

James took a small step closer towards you. “That’s a lot…coming from you.”

“I suppose so.”

“What was it that you called me, when we first met?” James looked away and down at your waist before looking back to your eyes once more. 

“A half-wit?”

“No.”

“A reckless one?”

“Closer.” 

James took another small step towards you. 

Then it hit you. “Ah, a reckless idiot?”

James nodded. “Actually, I think your specific words were ‘reckless, untrustworthy, idiot’. Have to say – you were pretty spot on with that insult.”

You bobbed your head. “Well, you did think the best course of action was to sneak up on a woman.”

“Well, I did learn my lesson.”

You chuckled. “You did.”

“What…what I’m trying to ask you…” Never in his life had he been this nervous to talk to a woman. 

“Do you still believe that?”

“That you’re reckless? Or untrustworthy? Or an idiot?” You asked, quickly, with a confident tilt of your head. “Because I have a different answer for each.”

The feeling of James’ heart sinking in his chest when you asked him the specifics of his question, came to a grounding halt when you finished your sentence. 

This time, you took a step closer towards him. Instinctively, his hand came to your waist, trying not to hold onto you for dear life but also trying to keep you tethered to him so he had at least one memory of holding you close; in case everything blew up in his face. 

“I do think that you’re still reckless,” you told him. “But only when you have to be. I still do worry about you and Sherlock from time to time. Sometimes I wonder if one morning I’ll find your names printed in bold in the paper.”

Your hands pressed gently against his waistcoat and the sleeve of his shirt. 

“In terms of you being an idiot, well, for as long as I live both you and Sherlock will both be idiots to me. Stupid? No. Well, unless we’re counting the time you two thought it was wise to pose as policemen to break into a jail.”

James chuckled a little. “Even I have to admit, it wasn’t exactly our brightest moment.”

You smiled gently, before making sure he looked you in the eye for what you were about to tell him. 

“But if you’re asking if I think you’re untrustworthy?” You took a breath and shook your head. “No. I don’t think you’re untrustworthy. Not anymore. I’ve seen you with your friends, and with the people closest to you. I’ve seen how you’ve treated strangers in their lowest moments, and in their highest.”

Gently resting your palm against his cheek, you continued talking. 

“But most of all…I have seen how you’ve treated the moments I’ve shared with you. I don’t trust easily, James. But rather than judge me for that…you listened. And you learned. And you…you made a safe space for me to be…me. Without judgement and without fear.”

“There have been plenty of times where you could have used something against me,” you continued. “Sadly, I’ve known people who would have. But you didn’t.”

“I’d never. Not for anyone I care for. Especially you.”

With his hands anchored at your hips, he pulled you closer to him before he lowered his head against yours. 

“I know,” you smiled. “I know. And that is why I trust you, James.”

Closing his eyes, James breathed you in, solidifying a memory of you both that in his darkest moments, he would use as a lantern to guide him home. 

You could feel his straining resistance as he tried not to ruin the moment. One of his hands anchored themselves at the base of your skull, under your hair; either to pull you in and kiss you, or to keep you away from him in case the reality of kissing you was more than his existence could handle. 

But you trusted him. 

Gently, you swiped your thumb back and forth against his cheek. 

“I trust you, James,” you said, your voice soft and calm. “I trust you.”

Looking at you, his gaze flickered over yours, searching for a physical answer. So, you nodded a little and repeated yourself. 

“I trust you.”

Finally, he kissed you. 

He kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever be able to do in life. As if he was begging with God Almighty to let him live just a moment longer, just so he could kiss you. 

Your hand circled to the back of his neck, in order to pull him down closer to you. 

By the time morning rolled around, neither of you spoke about what had occurred the night before. You knew you would, eventually, when the room was safe from prying eyes and ears. 

Ultimately, when the time did come for people to find out, the only one who didn’t seem surprised was Cordelia. 

"What are you thinking about?"

It was Sebastian who pulled you out of your thoughts, almost like destiny had intended it, since he was exactly what you were thinking about. About his return. And you couldn't stop yourself to think about, if your brother returned... What if William could return too? What if he just waltzed into the Manor with his stupid big grin and his cane in hand?

"You", you finally mumbled,"And Will"

"You still miss him?", he asked carefully and sat down next to you. He knew that the topic of your beloved was still delicate to talk about.  

"Always", you said and slowly sipped your tea,"And I always will"

You watched as Sebastian thought about what he was going to say, but instead he just pulled you in for a hug. You tried to resist it for a second, not giving him the satisfaction of being soft to him, but after a few seconds, you crumbled.

You pressed him against yourself tightly. You knew that he didn't hug people often, only when he was being serious. And he was rarely being serious. And you cherished every single second of it, until you finally pulled apart. 

"Thank you", you whispered and wiped away a few stray tears,"I'm glad to have you back, Seb"

He only smiled at you,"I'm glad to be back, little sister"

"Guys!?", it was Ms. Moneypenny. She was standing in the doorway, peering inside your room:"You should better come"

You looked at her perplexed, but she only smiled before dissapearing around the corner. 

Your gaze fell onto your brother but he didn't seem to know what she was on to either. He only shrugged and got up to follow her. You quickly put your teacup down and followed the two of them through the corridors towards the main entrace.

You couldn't believe what you saw there. You almost believed that you were dreaming.

Right there, at the entrace door, stood all three Moriarty brothers hugging each other in a tight embrace. 

You stopped, frozen in track. You leaned yourself against the stairwell, afraid you might faint at the sight in front of you. You felt your breath go slightly heavier and you couldn't prevent the small tears slipping down your cheeks.

Could it be? Could it really be him? As you took a closer look, you also spotted Sherlock standing next to the three brothers. His hair had gotten much longer and he wore a smug grin on his face.

As he spotted you, his face slumbed. He slowly turned to William and nudged him with his elbow. William pulled out of the embrace with his brothers and turned around to look at Sherlock. He only nodded into your direction. William turned around and his eyes met yours. The first thing you noticed, was the bandage over his left eye. You sucked in a sharp breath as you realized that it must have happened when he fell from the Tower Bridge.

"Y/N",he only smiled.

You felt fully fledged tears fall down your face now, as you slowly walked downstairs, towards him. You never even thought that you would hear his voice again. Hear him say your name again.

"William", you mumbled quietly, as you were now standing right in front of him. The air felt like it was on fire. You couldn't prevent your hands from shaking. William seemed to notice, as he leaned forward and carefully put his hands on top of yours.

He gently pulled you into his embrace and you let him. You could feel how his arms wrapped around your body. You tentively put your hands on his chest, taking ahold of his suit. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in his scent. You were immensely scared that if you opened your eyes, he would just disappear, that it was all a dream and that you would lose him again.

"Y/N"

Your eyes shot open and you quickly looked up. Will was smiling down at you, his arms still tightly wrapped around your waist.

"I missed you", he whispered. He raised his hand to softly grasp your cheek,"My beautiful Y/N, I missed you so much"

He leaned forward, leaninghis forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

"I missed you too, Will", you smiled,"I missed you too"

"I never knew you were this good at chopping", you chuckled, as you entered the kitchen, various bouquets in your arms. William, who had just finished cutting the carrots, turned around smiling:"If you don't say, Love"

You giggled and put the roses, that you had been carrying inside, down on the counter, before walking over to William and greeting him properly.

"Did Fred grow these?", William asked, as he lazily pulled you into his arms by your waist. You followed his gaze and realized that he meant the flowers.

You nodded and leaned your head against his shoulder:"He's as passionate as ever about his roses"

"They are just as I remember them", Will smiled and looked back down at you. A smile appeared on your face, before you cupped his cheek and pulled him in for a tender kiss. You felt William smile against your lips, as his grip on your waist tightened. His back suddenly hit the counter, startling the two of you. You giggled, hiding your face in his chest, while a soft Chuckle escaped his lips.

You gazed at him for a second. A lovestruck expression on your face. You took in his features. His sharp jawline and his long golden locks. The soft grin on his face, the bandage over his left eye and the other one almost glowing with glee. The intense red orb, that you suddenly noticed was staring at you.

"Do you like what you're seeing?", He mumbled playfully.

"I do", you nodded.

William chuckled and quickly grabbed your hand. He pulled you out of the kitchen

"Since we're all finished here, why don't we take a break together?", William chided. You chuckled and nodded, as he swiftly pulled you through the corridors, almost dancing around. He opened the door to your, now again, shared room. You followed him inside and as he closed the door, you let yourself fall down on the huge bed. For three years, you had despised that bed. It always felt so empty, so big without him.

You suddenly felt the bed dip, as William slowly crawled on top of you. You could only giggle at him, as he rested his hands next to your face. He leaned down, connecting your lips in a short kiss. You quickly pulled away and gently carressed his face. His skin felt as soft as ever and you watched him close his eyes, as he leaned into your touch. 

"I...I want to thank you William. For returning, for choosing us...choosing me", you muttered under your breath, as he opened his eyes again. A smile appeared on his face.

"I would always choose you", He whipered and softly pressed his lips to yours again.

"I love you", you murmured. The first time since his return.

"I love you", he repeated, without hesitation.

"Oi, Lovebirds, we need your help!"

Your little moment was interrupted, as you looked up from your place in the bed and saw your brother standing in the doorway. He had a shiteating grin on his face, as he winked at you, before quickly making his way downstairs again.

"Your brother didn't change at all", Will smiled, as he got up.

"Not one bit", you agreed, as he held out his hand for you to help you get back up. He elegantly pulled you to your feet.

"And I hope he never does", you added quietly.

He needed to apologise, to explain, and to get her back.

But if he did, the plan would be ruined.  He only needed to stay away a few more hours, and then he could go back to her. Jim had dreamt of that moment for the past three months, and now the hours felt like passing by slower than before, torturing his rotten soul.

He would see her walking inside the flat, her face saddened with loneliness and her looks deteriorating due to her broken heart. “I will save you,” Jim would promise over and over again, but he never dared to cross the street.

He checked his wrist watch. Only an hour left.

If her windows weren’t stained with rain drops, she would’ve noticed a man standing right across the street, in a grey hoodie with a cap that covered his face. Maybe she would’ve thought he was a stalker, or simply a strange man that enjoyed standing under the pouring water; maybe she would’ve recognised him, even though he was disguised as a common person.

The darkness took over the light, and so the grey sky turned dark blue, but the rain didn’t stop. Moriarty noticed Sherlock turning on the living room’s light, and Mrs Hudson turning her own light, and the dim light from Dr John Watson’s phone, who always had his phone on the brightest setting. 221 Baker Street was almost completely illuminated, except for one window: her window.

She wasn’t a big fan of turning on the light, not since Jim left her. The darkness worked in a way that, psychologically, made her brain think it was time to sleep and so she would be unconscious sooner than everyone else.

Jim had considered climbing up her window, taking the lack of light to his advantage, only to see her for a second. But the plan had to be followed, that’s what his rules said.

Thirty minutes left.

Something unexpected happened. Sherlock and Watson left 221B, hurriedly. They both shared a big, black umbrella as they walked to the avenue, trying to find a cab that would take them. The streets were empty, but they were lucky to find the only cab willing to drive in spite of the heavy rain.

It had been years since it rained like that.

Jim remained still on his place, ignoring how his limbs became number and number. His eyes were glued to her window, as his mind thought of the many possible ways to get to her without calling everyone’s attention. It was a great luck to have Holmes out of the flat.

Jim could imagine her ice blue eyes, looking at him lovingly as her jet black hair waved with the wind. He remembered her smell, and her laughter, and the wicked ideas she had but was never evil enough to develop. Oh, how he wished to go back to those times…

“Staying Alive” played suddenly, and Jim had to answer quickly. However, (Y/N) was already at the window; she had jumped from bed since the first note – she recognised it as Jim’s ringtone – and Jim’s heart ached when he noticed her face falling back into a sad frown. She had looked so hopeful…

“What?”

“We succeeded.”

Jim hung up as a mischievous grin grew on his face. He was now free to go to his loved one.

Finally, he was crossing the street, knocking the jet black door, like he had dreamed of in the past three months. He didn’t even care to be discovered anymore, he was free.

Mrs Hudson opened the door, and Jim had to lower his face so the hat covered him enough not to give away his identity.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see Mr Holmes.” Moriarty said using a fake accent with a very high pitch.

“He had to leave.” Mrs Hudson replied apologetically.

“Can I wait for him?”

“Of course, come in. The rain is too heavy to be wandering out.” She stepped back so the man could get inside and then guided him up to the flat. Jim had to pretend like he didn’t know it, in spite of the fact that he had been there, drinking tea with Sherlock before. “Sit, the black couch is for the clients. Sherlock shouldn’t take long.” Mrs Hudson spoke. She was about to leave when she remembered about (Y/N). “I beg of you, do not disturb Ms Holmes. She is having a hard time.”

“We all are.” Jim muttered and Mrs Hudson took that as a sign that he understood. She finally left.

Jim remained seated for five more minutes. He had waited three months to be that close from (Y/N), and when he finally got the chance he was unable to get up and knock. What would he say? She wasn’t the everyday girl that forgave her man with just a flower bouquet and spare kind words; no, she was highly functional and too clever to fall for something so dull.

Finally, Jim decided that he would only see her, although his pocket begged him to do something more, Jim needed nothing else but to see her, to make sure she was still real, still there and not just a vision created by his twisted mind.

He walked silently to the door. He knew she was just at the other side, possibly sleeping. He took a deep breath, turned the doorknob and pushed just enough to see her, but not quite that the light from the living room woke her up.

She was under the blankets, cuddled with a pillow the same way she would cuddle with him. Her hair was messy, and spread all over, and her breathing was slow and steady.

“I’m still alive, Sherlock.” She spoke, without moving.

Jim simply huffed, not knowing how to impersonate Sherlock in a way that was convincing.

“Close the door, I don’t want to see you.” She commanded. Jim could tell her nose was stuffy from all the crying.

“Uh-uh.” Jim managed to say in a low, yet playful voice tone.

“Sher, I’m serious…” She sat up, finally looking at the door. Jim stepped back, holding the door still so it didn’t move. “Sher, are you high again?” She got up and walked to the door.

When she saw Jim, her face became a mess between happiness, sadness and utter hatred. He had an apologetic smirk and his puppy eyes on, yet it was impossible for (Y/N) to melt at that.

“What are you doing here?” She inquired bitterly.

“I came for you,” he replied.

“Three months, Jim.” She argued, “Three months, no calls, no texts, no nothing. Where were you?”

“I was just across the street.”

“You have to leave, for I do not desire to see you anymore.” She stated and tried to shut the door but Jim stopped her.

“Allow me to explain, please.” He begged.

“Explain what? That you left me? That you used me? That you never loved me?”

“I do love you, and I never used you. You are the only person in this planet who is as clever as I am! My queen of crime, remember?”

“Those days are gone, Jim.” She hissed and tried to shut the door in vain, again.

“I had to disappear, leave your brothers to think that you were free of me…” He explained hurriedly, “I had to make them think I don’t love you so I could get extra time to fix everything.”

“Fix what?”

“Everything.” Jim responded, frowning.

“What is everything?” She asked angrily.

“Our identities, our passports and bank accounts… Our everything.” Jim explained as his eyes widened with excitement, “I have two tickets to America, come with me.”

“And do what?”

“Get married at last.” His face lit up. “Your brothers will not allow us to marry here, so let’s go were their influence can’t help them. Be my official queen.”

“Jim…”

The pocket. Jim searched his pocket and took out a big engagement ring that had once belonged to one of his first victims. Jim had taken it as a token, noticing how beautifully done it was and promising to give it only to another person if said person was worthy enough.

“Let’s get married for once and for all.”

“You are crazy.”

“Are you finding about it just now…?” Jim cocked and eyebrow.

“Sherlock will be back in any minute.” She warned.

“My men are keeping him busy until I say so.” Jim snapped back.

(Y/N) hesitated, biting her lip and looking everywhere as if the walls had the answer.

“If you still love me…”

“Which I do.”

“… Then promise me you will never ever leave me again.”

“I promise.”

-

It had been a small ceremony, with only two witnesses – which were there to save their lives – but it was all they needed. By the time they returned to London, they had been married for two months. The future for them was bright and full of possibilities.

Sherlock and Mycroft had worked their arse off to find them right after Sherlock returned and found her empty bed and a note explaining briefly what had happened. They were sure Moriarty was using her to hurt them, but it was too late to make her consider that.

“What if they don’t approve?” She asked nervously as 221 Baker Street became visible from the cab’s window.

“They do not approve.” Jim reminded her.

“Did we do the right thing by getting married so quickly?”

“No, but who likes doing the right thing anyway?” Jim joked, “Bad is better.”

“You are terrible at comforting.” She complained sadly.

Jim wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her closer to him. “Your brothers don’t understand love. They think that, because they can’t love, everyone else can’t either.”

“Greg doesn’t approve either, and he can love.” She commented.

“Lestrade is… A friend will never fully approve one’s partner. Maybe they are jealous, because your attention was taken away from them to focus solely on one person; that person is me, and being their enemy doesn’t help much.” Jim explained calmly. “Do you regret marrying me?”

“Never.”

“Then that is enough for me.” He smiled warmly, “Maybe we didn’t do the right thing but, if it helps, we didn’t do the wrong thing either.”

“Oh, Jim, I must be losing my mind because that makes absolute sense!” She joked and pecked his lips softly.

“They say madness is contagious.” He flirted.

“Who says that?” She squinted.

“Me.”

-

The flat was empty, not even Mrs Hudson was there. They were probably out, shopping for groceries and maybe having breakfast together at some fancy restaurant. Sherlock would invite John and Mrs Hudson once a month to a nice restaurant with lots of different versions of the typical English breakfast.

The flat was just as messy as (Y/N) remembered, but she was impressed and a bit shattered that, for once, instead of pictures of dead bodies and documents about murder, the papers on his desk were clues to find her.

“He was looking for me.” (Y/N) commented, taking a zoomed in picture of a lady that looked a lot alike her.

“I would look for you too if I lost you.” Jim mentioned listlessly; he was playing with a skull he found on top of the chimney.

They heard the black door opening quickly, and people running upstairs. The door was opened with a kick and so Sherlock, Mycroft, John and Greg appeared on the scene.

“Look! My brothers-in-law!” Moriarty greeted, walking closer to them, ignoring the fact that Greg was pointing a gun his way. “Hello!” He tried to hug Sherlock, but the detective pushed him and ran towards his sister.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked her. She nodded and repeated the question, noticing he looked worse than he did the first time she disappeared.

Meanwhile, John had managed to immobilise Jim, using a movement he learned in war. Greg kept his gun pointed right to Jim’s head and Mycroft alternated his gaze between the criminal and his sister.

“Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid.” Sherlock begged, noticing the look on his brother.

“Stupid?” Jim laughed, “Like what? Jumping off your ego? Nah, we’re not that stupid.”

“Shut up.” Sherlock hissed, “(Y/N), what did you do?” She covered hid her hand behind her back and Sherlock sighed heavily as his eyes became watery and disappointed. “What did you do?” He asked once again, refusing to accept what the evidence implied.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock…”

Masterlist.

With an out-of-breath smile, you’d stuck your hand out for him to shake it. “Y/n Y/l/n. Nice to meet you.”

James didn’t shake your hand. He needed more explanation about your existence. “Sherlock.”

“Yes, I probably should explain.”

“You think?”

Despite James’ opinion of you, Sherlock seemed to have a different one. He liked your company. You were also his friend. 

Sherlock, of course, knew neither of you really got along. Mostly because of James. 

“Why does she have to be here?” 

Sherlock smiled as he watched his friend stand tensely as he poured the drinks. “It is your fault, you know. She’s tried being nice to you.”

“You call tackling me, nice?”

“She saved your life, James.”

James handed him his drink. “I was doing just fine before she showed up.”

“Well,” Sherlock sighed. “I want her here. We both need her here. So, you’re just gonna have to deal with it, I’m afraid.”

But part of him hoped that one day, maybe, James might also become your friend. 

What Sherlock didn’t expect was to find out you had kissed James. 

For four days, yourself and James had been nothing more than incredibly awkward around one another. Sherlock found it a nice break from the constant bickering, but after the first couple of hours, he suspected something much worse was at play. 

Though, it wasn’t until the case was finished that Sherlock found out what had happened. 

“Unbelieveable!”

James was still pacing, running a hand down his panicked face, speechless. 

“I-I mean it’s just…” Sherlock was certain he was dead. He had to be. James’ information had practically killed him. “Unbelievable!”

“Well, you best believe it.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Sherlock asked from his seat on the chair, as James continued to pace. 

He’d been pacing long before Sherlock had entered the room. His mind had been running a hundred miles an hour since the first time it had happened. But after accidentally touching and, sort of, maybe, holding your hand for a moment that could be considered more than brief…well! 

James had tried his best to leave the situation as normally as he could; and so had you. 

But that hadn’t stopped the panicking. 

And he never panicked. 

Not this visibly, anyway. 

“I didn’t think I needed to! She’s-she’s…” James grunted, unable to find the words he was looking for. “She’s…her!”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, Y/n is Y/n.”

“Don’t mock me.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’m not mocking you, James. I’ve just…I don’t know how to react to this. To you.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re pacing, for one. And you clearly are having a hard time grappling with your changing feelings for-”

James stopped pacing for a minute, and laughed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. Changing feelings? There are no feelings. Zero. Nill. Fucking…none!”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me,” Sherlock mumbled, sitting back in his seat. 

“Sherlock.”

“What?! Oh, come on! Seriously, James? Even you can’t be blind to this! You’re in denial.”

He started pacing again. “I'm in no such thing!”

“Says the man who hasn’t been able to look a woman in the eye after she made the first move! I can see it in your face, James. Just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You like her. Your feelings have changed.”

James shook his head. “They’ve not changed.”

“But there are feelings?” Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk. 

James stopped and glared at him before grumbling. Then he kept pacing. 

“Look,” Sherlock sat more comfortably. “Just…start from the beginning again.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to hear it again. Because I, quite frankly, still don’t fully believe it. And because I think you need to realise something because, clearly, you don’t want to hear it from me.” 

James stopped pacing, breathing heavily. 

“Sit down,” Sherlock told him, calmly. 

And, eventually, he did. 

“I need a drink first.”

“Pour me one, too.”

Situated with the drinks, James took a seat and eventually started over again. This time, more calmly. 

Four days ago, Sherlock had told James to go with you to the Library to see if there were any records on housing leases in the area. 

James had questioned why you couldn’t do it on your own, but Sherlock was adamant. So, eventually and reluctantly, he complied. 

You’d both been combing over the records for at least three hours before the library had grown quieter than usual. People had gone home, students had returned to their accommodation. Really, there were only a few stragglers left. 

But from the slam of the door, James had turned to check who it was; the rival family son, and his friends, who were desperate to prove he was the rightful heir to a family fortune. 

In a panic, yourself and James had cleared up the records and shoved them back into their places. But there was no time to escape the incoming men who, by the sound of their voices and footsteps, were ready for a fight. 

And, considering James was still healing from a black eye and bruised cheekbone from when he’d fought (and won) against the rival son’s friends, you didn’t fancy getting caught in the middle of it. 

“We’ll be fine.”

“No. I didn’t come this far to watch you get beaten up.”

“I’ll have you know, I won last time.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what do you plan on doing when their bruised egos get added into their anger? Besides, Sherlock would kill me.”

“We can just slip past them-”

Taking James by the lapel of his jacket, you pulled him towards you. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question.”

James hadn’t really thought about it before. Yes, you were a pain in his arse. But…there wasn’t anything telling him he couldn’t trust you. 

“Yes.”

“Then just trust me.”

“Why should-”

James got his answer before he finished asking his question. Because, within a mere five seconds, you were pulling him towards you, backing yourself against the shelves on the library, and kissing him. 

God help him, he kissed back. 

With his hands firmly on your waist, you kissed him deeper. And when you heard loud voices, you made sure your hands remained on his face. 

“Stop staring,” one of them told another. “We’ve got no business with them.”

One of them chuckled. “I remember me and my Rosie being like that when we were young.”

They followed their pack leader, still talking. “You’re still like that now.”

“Can you blame me?”

One of them grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I have to walk in on it.”

“We were just kissing!”

As the voices faded, James felt your hands push him back a little. And it wasn’t until he was trying to catch his breath and asking you to wait, that he realised just what had happened. 

And he liked it. 

And, from the hazy look in your eyes, you had to. 

Over the course of the following hours, neither of you really knew what to do. The longer the silence lasted, the deeper the memory started to bury into your memories. Even the quick agreement you’d both made outside on the Library steps hadn’t stopped you from thinking about it. 

“We don’t talk about it?”

“Agreed.”

“Great.”

“Grand.”

Only, a day and a half later, a similar situation occurred that resulted in James being the one to initiate the kiss. 

James would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about that kiss since it happened. 

In truth, he’d been trying his hardest to understand why; why it happened, why it had felt the way it did, and why…why he wanted to do it again. 

After all, he’d considered you a pain in his arsesince the day he met you. So…why? Why you? Why now?

But even after kissing you for the second time; he still didn’t have his answer. 

It had started out innocently enough; a simple search through an abandoned property landed you and James in a relatively small predicament – you and James had to convince a copper that you were married. 

“You should know if you two aren’t married, I shall have to inform your-”

James stepped forward, putting on an accent. “I am terribly sorry for the mistake, sir. But, you see, my wife and I must have gotten a little lost.”

Stepping forward, taking his arm, you plastered on a smile. “Yes. I- Sir, you must know-”

“We were given an address for a small hotel. You see, our coachman was meant to take us back home – we’re in London for the day, you see.”

“But he got rather drunk,” you quickly added. “He did give us an address but it seems his memory isn’t what it usually would be, if you understand?”

The copper nodded, giving a visible sigh of relief. “You’re looking for the Bluebird House. This is the Blackbird Inn. Well, it used to be.”

Both you and James nodded. “Yes!”

The copper held out his arm, guiding you both out of the house. “I’ll take you, myself.”

Yourself and James kept the act up the entire way towards the Bluebird House. Only, for as much as the copper was convinced you were both a happily married couple, the landlady wasn’t so convinced. 

Glaring at you both, she hummed. “Sure you’re married?”

“Do you not get a lot of married couples?” You asked. 

The lady nodded. “We do. We also get a lot of fake ones. Those who over-act. Who doesn't act enough. I know ‘married’ when I see it.”

“Miss-”

“Mrs.”

“Mrs,” James smiled, stepping forward. “What would it take to convince you? You see, we’ve both had a very long day and I’d rather go to bed with my wife and get some much needed rest.”

The landlady looked to the copper who just shrugged. “They seem married to me. They smile like one. Bicker like one, too.”

Looking a little shocked, you looked at the copper. “You heard that?”

The copper shuffled on his feet, nervous. “I-I-. Yes, ma’am, I did. And, I must say…I’m on your side.”

Looking towards James, you smiled. “He’s on my side.”

James looked at the copper. “Are you sure about that?”

He chuckled. “I’ve had the argument more than a few times with my wife and, if she’s taught me anything, it’s that she’s right. A-and that’s not just me saying that. She’s actually provided some pretty substantial evidence.”

“See, darling. I was right.”

“Well, I still need to see some proof for myself-”

“As do I!” The landlady called out. “Kiss her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Kiss your wife.” The landlady said. “Kiss her. And then I’ll know.”

Due to the shock, neither you or James knew what to say. The copper just shrugged and agreed with her. And, just before you regained full control of your mind and body again – managing to tear it away from the memory of James kissing you back – he kissed you.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds; but it felt like a lifetime. 

Suddenly, there was a racket of a key being placed on a desk. “Okay. You’re in room four.”

James managed to steady himself, and he didn’t let go of your hand until you let go of his a brief moment after the door closed behind you both. 

Neither of you talked about the kiss. Nor did you turn over in the one bed you were both forced to share since there was barely room to stand, let alone sleep elsewhere. 

All of which just added to the awkwardness. 

Waking in the morning, James found his hand in yours as you slept side by side. And, rather than remove his hand and turn away, he pretended to stay asleep. 

Whether it was just a few moments, or a few more hours, something pulled in his gut and his heart when he thought about removing his hand from your own. 

Little did he know; you were awake, thinking the same thing.

James was yet to touch his drink. 

As he re-told the story to both Sherlock, and himself, he couldn’t do anything other than stare at the amber liquid in his glass. The quick shot he’d done before he sat down had given him the courage to admit every detail out loud to his friend: as well as himself. 

But the thought of taking a second drink felt like he’d burn away the taste of you. Something that, even after the first kiss, had seeped so deep into his memory, he could still feel your lips when he thought about you. 

“You said there was a third and forth?” Sherlock clarified. “So, what happened next?”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Sherlock just shrugged. “I’m a romantic, James.”

James took a breath. 

“Better kiss your fella goodbye, love.” One of the brothers told you. 

James could have killed Sherlock before he realised he might have an opportunity to kiss you again. Even if the circumstances weren’t all that great. 

Splitting up had resulted in yourself and James nearly killing each other when you thought it was someone else; before followed by sudden relief. 

Only to be stuck up on by the very people you were both trying to avoid. 

“Because, by the time we’re finished with him-”

“Point is; you won’t get the chance again.”

Looking at James, you had only a few seconds to decide what to do. So, following their orders, you walked over to James. 

Pulling him close to you, you leaned up and whispered in his ear; “There’s a pin in my hair, at the base of my bun. Take it.” 

Looking in his eyes to make sure he understood, he nodded, before taking his hand and laying it at the base of your skull. 

And whilst he took the opportunity to kiss you like his life depended on it; and it kind of did; he pulled the pin from behind your bun. 

You felt him reach out for you, pulling you in at your waist when you went to step back. If he really was about to be in danger, he wanted it to be worth it. 

And it was. 

By the time he had a chance to look up and actually take in a breath, the wind was knocked out of him. 

You were hurt, but standing. You were bleeding, but you looked…irresistable. 

For a moment, James was sure you were looking at him the same way, until you looked past him and your face dropped. 

“We’ve gotta go.”

James turned and saw what you had seen. A poorly made bomb. A poorly made bomb that still had too much danger in its name. 

Taking James’ hand in yours, you pulled him with you. Making a break for it, Sherlock found you both frazzled and able to look at each other, but couldn’t speak a word to one another. 

“What happened to you two?”

Sherlock helped you both up as you and James explained, sharing your lines, until you were both dusted off. 

“Well, you’re both bleeding. Mycroft should still be awake. You can both get cleaned up, there.”

Neither of you spoke on the way there, or whilst yourself and James got cleaned up by the Holmes brothers. 

“I feel I should tell you,” James said. “The fourth almost happened at your brother’s place.”

“What?”

“Those twenty minutes felt like a flash in the pan,” James admitted. “Too quick. But also not enough time. We were just talking and…”

Sherlock studied his friend for the few silent minutes that followed. James’ mind was clearly focused on his memories; the kisses and the almost one. Slowly, James’ thumb swiped back and forth over the bumps in his glass. 

His mind was well and truly on you. The soft question of ‘are you okay?’, the quiet replies and quick sentences that followed, the feeling of the tense air that somehow created a bubble you both felt safe in, the catch in his breath when he felt you take his hand, and the loud burst of the bubble when Mycroft swept into the room with fresh water and clean towels.

“So, if the fourth didn’t happen at my brother’s home…when did it happen?”

James swallowed just before he looked across at his friend. 

“Sherlock’s looking for you!” James called out as he approached you. “What with the case being finished and all-”

“Fine.”

Turning around from where you’d been standing, looking at seemingly nothing, you stomped past James. 

“Did I do something?” He asked, noticing the shift. 

You’d both spent the last three days unsure of what to say to one another.  He wanted you both to get back to normal as much as he suspected you did. But he didn’t expect the turn around to be so quick. 

Not when he was starting to think of ways he might be able to kiss you, again. 

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“Whoa, slow your horses!”

You stopped walking and turned around to look at him, keeping your arms folded. “What?”

“You know I never know what you’re talking about when you ask me that,” James pointed out. “And I thought you were above asking me. You usually just tell me to my face. Why the change?”

You seemed to study him. And for the first time, he had a word for the feeling you gave him; nervous. 

“What?”

For a brief moment, he saw you stop building whatever concrete wall you were trying to fix around yourself. 

“Do you feel something, too? A change?”

James stood back. “A change?”

You nodded, certain. “Yes.”

“A change to what?”

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

You sighed, heavily. Rather than fight him on the thing you both knew, you stepped back. “Knew it.”

“Knew what?” He chased after you. “Knew what? Hey, wait a minute.”

Jogging in front of you and stopping you in your tracks, he looked at you. 

“Is there something…” James tried to search for an answer on your face. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“There’s something I want to know.”

“Then just ask me. Ask me. That’s all it takes.” He told you. “Just…ask me.”

As your eyes flicked over his, he felt relief when he saw your arms unfold. Then, suddenly feeling your lips on his once more, he felt a rush across his entire being. 

“I won’t be a game to you, James Moriarty.” You told him. 

He felt genuinely offended. “You’re not a game to me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He nodded. “Yes. And, for the record, you’ve kissed me first more than I’ve kissed you.”

Setting yourself back on your feet, you rolled your lips as you lowered your head. Finding the courage to look at him, you took a breath. 

“And I’d do it again,” you told him. “But would you? If I hadn’t kissed you first, would you have kissed me?”

James felt something punch his gut, harsh and deep. He’d never felt more empty than when you pulled yourself from his arms and left him standing in the field. 

And yet…he started to question it himself. 

Sherlock smiled. “So…there are feelings. And they have changed.”

James looked from his whiskey filled glass, to his friend. “I don’t know.”

Sherlock’s face dropped into a deadpan expression. “You’re an idiot.”

“Whatever I feel for Y/n…I don’t know how to describe it. I’m not a poet.”

“Says the man who quotes Shakespeare from memory.”

Laying the glass on the table, James stood and started pacing again. “I’m being serious, Sherlock. I don’t know how to describe it. Y/n went from being a pain in my arse to…I don’t know. All I know is that if she kissed me, I’d kiss her back. And I wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“Do you still think she’s a pain in your arse?”

James paused for a moment. “No. Yes. I don’t know. She’s a pain I’d miss.”

“The poet, ladies and gentlemen,” Sherlock stood up. “‘She’s a pain I’d miss’. Just what every woman wants to hear.”

“I told you; I’m not a poet.”

Sherlock laid a hand on Moriarty’s shoulder. “No, my fine friend, a poet you are not. But you are a man in denial.”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock just chuckled before stepping in front of James to hold him by both of his shoulders. 

“Aside from the fact that I can see it in your eyes, James. You’ve just told me that she’s not a game to you. You’ve also told me that you wanted to kiss her again. James,” Sherlock sighed. “I don’t know what’s going through your head but, as your friend, I am begging you to tell her how you feel.”

“What if it’s a trick? What if she is a game to me? How can I trust-”

“What are you so scared of?” Sherlock asked, abruptly. “Genuinely. Tell me. What is it, truely, that you are so scared of?!”

“That I’ll lose her!” James shouted. “People I care for…people who care for me…there is a reason why life is a game we have to win.”

Sherlock took in what he was saying, and also what he wasn’t. James had lost before; and he didn’t want to lose again. 

For a moment, Sherlock tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted to say something profound; something that would break through the barriers that James had built for himself, long before he’d met either Sherlock or yourself. 

But he didn’t know what to say. 

Turning to the window, he could see you. 

Dressed in a long cloak, with the sleeves of your borrowed dress pushed up. You seemed to be in a hurry. 

“And what if you lose her because of that very same reason?”

“What?”

James hurried to stand beside Sherlock. Now, the pair of them watched as you hurried towards the horse that Mr Crowle had brought round for you. 

Sherlock looked at James, who looked every shade of terrified. 

“I’d catch up to her if I were you,” Sherlock said, calmly. 

Grabbing his jacket, James made a break for it. 

“Where is she going?!” James called out as he ran down the stairs. 

Mr Crowle seemed confused, but answered him anyway. “Said she needed to clear her head. She’s gone up through the hills, most likely. Have to say; never seen her this…frazzled. That has something to do with you, son?”

Sherlock managed to smile. “Uh, we’ll have to explain later. Is there, perhaps, a horse James could borrow?”

Mr Crowle nodded. “Sure! There’s one just-”

“Thank you, Mr Crowle! We’ll handle it from here!”

Within a matter of minutes, James was hurrying along the broken grass paths around the Holmes Estate in order to find you. 

Meanwhile, as you were hurrying your way across the familiar paths, you let down your hood and felt the wind rush around you. It pulled at every worry and anxiety filled thought you had. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel something for James Moriarty. What that was…you didn’t have a word for it just yet. Mostly that was down to him. 

For a short while, you thought maybe he felt the change, too. But you couldn’t be sure. He kept so much of himself locked away, you couldn’t even figure out the thing that you couldn’t figure out!

A part of you thought he thought you were a game; something to figure out, some rivalry to win against. Another part of you thought he didn’t know what you were to him; were you a game? Were you still a pain in his arse? Were you both? Or were you neither?

Action and words could only go so far on their own. Coming from him, you needed them together. You needed him to tell you what he was feeling – even if he hadn’t figured it out yet. And you needed to see it in his eyes that, what he was telling you, was the truth. 

For a moment, you thought you heard him call your name. But between the last few days and the not-so-dreamless sleep, you figured it was just another trick of your head. 

Until you heard the heavy hooves of another horse. 

“Jesus, woman! Don’t you ever slow down?”

Pulling at your horses reins, you pulled your horse into a harsh stop and watched as he practically flew off his own. 

“Are you crazy?!”

Dismounting your horse, you pulled your cloak away from you and tried to meet him halfway. 

“What the hell were you thinking, pulling in front of someone like that?!”

“Well, I was calling you! You were the one who didn’t slow down!”

“I came out here for a break! To get away from you!”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you out here?!”

James finally reached you, out of breath. And with a brief warning, he pulled you in. 

“Because of this.”

With his hand on your neck, he practically yanked you towards him and kissed you. Despite the desperation, it didn’t take you long before you were melting into his touch. And, from the way his arms wrapped around the rest of you, you figured you’d have a hard time escaping him. 

Not that you wanted to. 

“Did I ever tell you, you are a pain in my arse?”

Holding your hands against his shoulders, you tried to catch your breath. “About half a dozen times a day.”

“Well, you are.” James said. “You are a pain in my arse. And I wouldn’t change you for the world. And to answer your question; yes. Yes, I would. I don’t know when it would have happened, but I would have kissed you. And I’ll keep kissing you. For as long as you let me.”

Taking a moment, you kept your gaze on his. 

You needed to know. 

James felt his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for you to reply. On the ride up, he didn’t really know what he was going to say. Just follow your heart, someone in the wind told him. 

Just follow your heart. 

Very faintly, he felt your thumb swipe across his cheek. And then a smile broke out onto your face. 

“Prove it.”

With a chuckle, James didn’t need to be told again. It would take some time for everything between yourself and James to find a label – some kind of word, that existed, that could explain your feelings for each other.