“I just don’t think that you should be wearing that color. It seriously washes you out,”

You held in your angry response as you narrowed your eyes at your date across the table in front of you. It really wasn’t a good idea to go out with a fashion advisor, but he had money and you wanted attention. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You smiled sweetly. He continued to list the colors that you should wear, along with good patterns to go with your body shape. You started to drift off as he explained which fruit your body resembled most before your phone jolted you awake as it buzzed silently in your pocket. 

Free tonight? ;) -M

You frowned and quickly shoved your phone back into your pocket. 

“....just throw some heels on, they’d compliment your legs so much,”

Over it, you reached forward and grabbed his glass of wine from across the table before downing it completely. He stopped rambling instantly and watched you in awe. 

“Don’t tell me how to dress,” You said as you slammed the glass back down on the table. Opening your purse widely, you wrapped up the remaining breadsticks and shoved them in before getting up and leaving. 

You hated dating. The only thing you wanted to do was find that one person who you could come home to each night without a doubt. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket as you reached the bus stop nearest the restaurant you were just in. 

Just a quickie ;) -M

You cursed quietly to yourself as you responded. 

I’m going home.

Honestly, the hardest part about dating was knowing there was already someone you wanted, but couldn’t have. Well... you could ‘have’ him whenever you wanted... but not in a serious way. Not in the way you wanted. 

You knew he’d be there by the time you got back, but his presence in your empty apartment startled you nonetheless. 

“Busy night?” He asked, glancing at your dress as you slipped out of your coat. 

“I was on a date,” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

He scoffed. 

“Am I not enough?”

Was he being serious? 

“We’re not together,” You said, stepping toward him, “You said it yourself,”

“Because you’re ashamed of me,” He smirked, “I’m just your guilty pleasure,”

“I never said that,”

“You didn’t have to,”

Silence fell over your flat and you looked down at your shoes awkwardly. 

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t be serious,” You mumbled, not looking at him. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” 

“That could’ve worked if you didn’t keep suggesting these ‘quickies’,” 

His head fell and he kicked absently at the floor. 

“I couldn’t keep myself away from you,” He finally mumbled.

“Well, it hurts more than if you just left completely,” You said, “It’s like you’re teasing me now,” 

“Did you want to be serious?” He asked, stepping in front of you, practically forcing you to look at him, “Because last time you were pretty ashamed,” 

“I still am! You’ve done horrible things but I’ll be damned if I didn’t love you,” Your breath hitched in your throat as you confessed and you backed away slightly. 

“Fuck it,” He mumbled before grabbing your face and kissing you passionately. 

You pulled away to catch your breath and his hands slowly made their way to the back of your neck and hair. 

“I love you too,” He mumbled before kissing you again. 

You pushed at his chest softly so he’d pull away again. 

“Take me seriously this time, Jim,”

“Speak for yourself,”

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.

They both got down on the marble floor.

"Shove your guns away."

They did what he asked.

Moriarty started moving backwards, pulling me with him. He pushed the exit door open, shoved me into the backseat of a waiting car and climbed in behind me. We sped off.

I looked at Moriarty with a raised eyebrow as I dried my tears. "You really don't have to jab me that hard with the gun, genius. It kinda hurts."

He smiled. "Well... It does have to look convincing."

I rolled my eyes.

Thirty minutes later we pulled up in front of the estate Moriarty was renting. He handed me the tube holding the stolen painting for his client, and I slung it over my shoulder as the driver opened my door.

We walked up to the front entrance of the huge place. The door opened and I walked to the safe room and locked the painting up.

When I came back into the foyer, Moriarty was standing there, waiting. I took off my fake glasses and smirked. "I guess my newly dyed hair and glasses tricked people again. It's funny how focused security guards and police are on you and not the person you're threatening. Tomorrow I'll show up somewhere, pretending that I remember nothing, and we'll move on to Berlin."

He chuckled. "What are we getting there again?"

"A ruby. Privately owned by a Herr Austein."

"Right." Moriarty took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. "I have a surprise for you."

I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "Oh, really?" I shut my eyes. "Lead the way."

I let him guide me, hoping he wouldn't allow me to trip. I heard a door open, and felt a light breeze. We were going outside. Suddenly he picked me, and I almost opened my eyes out of surprise. "Whoa! What are you doing?"

He laughed quietly. "There were steps." He put me back on my feet and whispered in my ear. "You can look now."

I opened my eyes and gasped slightly.

We were standing in an area of the huge backyard that was tiled in the shape of a flaming sun. A table with two chairs, a white tablecloth, a candle... The whole shebang sat at the center. Hanging above the table were criss-crossing strings of lights. The blooming garden around it just added to the beauty.

Moriarty pulled out my chair, and I smiled as I sat down. "Who knew a psychopath could be so gentlemanly?"

He looked down at me. "Do you still hate me for jabbing you too hard with the gun, y/n?"

You couldn’t tell where you were. Sun shone through the parted blinds and a record player across the room spun silently, occasionally jumping. It had ended many hours ago. Sitting up, you realized you weren’t alone in the bed. 

“Oh God,” You mumbled once you saw who it was. Guilt set in instantly. What would Sherlock and John say when they found out? You couldn’t betray your best friends but you knew Sherlock would figure out what had happened.

He looked so vulnerable lying there deep asleep. His hair was a mess and his mouth hung slightly open. If you wanted, you could kill him right then and there. It would save Sherlock the hassle. 

Slowly, you reached over the edge of the bed and pulled out the pocket knife you kept in your inside jacket pocket. You turned to face him again and flipped the knife open. Now was your chance. 

He hummed sleepily and pulled the covers up. You froze and held your breath so as not to wake him. Luckily he stayed asleep. For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to bring the knife down. Hand shaking, you closed it and set it down on the table beside the bed.

“y/n?” 

You froze again. His hand snaked under the sheets and pulled at your shirt slightly.

“I think that... maybe I should go,” You mumbled, turning to face him. He was awake now, hair still tousled with a stupid smirk on his face. 

“Why?”

“John and Sherlock-” You started, sitting up more in the warm bed. 

“They won’t find out, Love,”

“Sherlock might,” Fear set in and you looked away from him quickly. 

You didn’t want to leave, though. You wanted to crawl underneath the warm covers and play absently with his hair while he rubbed your back. 

“This was a mistake,” You mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest. 

How could you feel the way you did about him? After all of the things he’s done? You couldn’t stop thinking about his gruff morning voice and the way his hands felt when they roamed your body. Your mind started to drift to the night before...

“If Sherlock finds out, I’ll lose his trust completely,”

“Then he won’t find out,”

You looked over at his smug smirk again. The only thing you wanted to do was curl up next to him...

His hand reached and once again pulled slightly at the edge of your shirt. Giving in, you sunk back under the covers and let him pull you into his chest tightly. 

“You’re a horrible person,” You mumbled, enjoying the feeling of his fingers in your hair. 

“And?”