You felt your breath catch in your throat.
The Woman
You didn't expect to hear that name leave Sherlock's mouth. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. I mean, here you are in a panic dragging out the letters that had damned you from the retched Moriarty. Everything and everyone that could come between you and your new friends were here threatening to pull down the life you were building on top of you.
"y/n," Sherlock's voice kept you from spiraling further into the frustration and self-pity that was consuming you. "did you know that..." his words trailed off. You could tell he didn't want you to know the Woman was not actually dead. He didn't want you to have lied to him.
You clenched your fists.
"I didn't know, but how? What does this mean?" Sherlock studied your face doing his best to try and read you. His stare was unsettling at the moment, the intensity behind them was different than you had experienced before when he tried to read you or when he was facing down a psychopath with a sniper trained on him. Seemingly satisfied, SHerlock turned his gaze from you and began walking through the door.
"A game is afoot." With his final remark, he quickly left your flat, leaving you speechless with a pile of letters from your psychopathic ex scattered around.
That night you dreamt of him, of Moriarty. You were sitting in the corner of a dark room, knees pulled to your chest as he paced in front of you. The words that spilled from his mouth were the same ones that he wrote in the letters. You were getting a live performance of them. You weren't looking directly at Moriarty, but you weren't avoiding his gaze either. Even in a dream, you felt far away, removed from what was happening.
"...Somehow boring yet indignant all at the same time," He was complaining and noticed how far away you seemed to be. "LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK." he screamed at you immediately drawing your attention back to him. You met his gaze as he peered down at you, but something about his gaze was different. You were looking at Moriarty's eyes, but there was something about them that felt off, but you couldn't place it. His anger had quickly been extinguished, as he was always able to shift from murderous rage to business casual when he needed. He straightened up smoothing down the front of his suit as he did so. "Now that I have your attention, I think it's time we have some fun!" Fun could have a lot of different definitions, but none of them were going to meet any normal person's expectations. "You see Irene is doing just what I need her to, coming out of hiding was no coincidence mind you. She is the only one who can draw Sherlock's attention away from the important things, distract him, confuse him, fluster him. Oh, the poor boy just can't keep his head on right with her in the picture." He laughed coldly, never breaking eye contact. He tilted his head to the side, "But you know that already don't you. Here you are, nearly broken, hurt physically and emotionally, and all he can think of is her and the game. Oh, yes, the game. When you make the rules, it's impossible to lose." You stood up as the last words cut into you, knowing they had truth to them.
You stood up to Moriarty, looking him dead in the eyes when you realized why they felt different. They were Sherlock's eyes. They were calculating but a bit less cold than Moriarty's and you found comfort staring into them. Moriarty chuckled at your realization and as he did his face morphed into Sherlocks then it changed again into the face of the American that has threatened your life twice now. The morphing of features made your vision spin, and keep spinning until the spin shifted to falling.
With a start, you woke up. You usually didn't remember your dreams so each time you did it was usually something unsettling. And that had certainly shaken you. Slowly, you got up stretching a bit as you went. Light danced through the curtains of the windows high on the wall and entered your room at a harsh angle. It was probably mid-morning based on the amount of light so it seemed plenty ok for you not to go back to sleep, even if you wanted to sleep more you didn't think you'd be able to on the heels of that dream. As you lazy went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water you noticed something that hadn't been there the night before. You were used to letters appearing, but this wasn't a letter. It was a (insert your favorite flower) sitting on your small kitchen table. Underneath it there was a small note that read, You cannot stop him from destroying himself. - M xoxo
Sherlock. obviously, was the "he" being referred to, but destroy himself? You knew he had bad habits, but you never expected Sherlock to intentionally cause himself pain, he hated emotions unless they were associated with his triumph after solving a case, that seemed to be partly why he used certain drugs like nicotine- to feel a rush rather than anything else. Then it clicked. The game you idiot, this is part of the game. Moriarty wanted to destroy sherlock, but it would be far entertaining and satisfying to the psychopath if Sherlock was the one who caused it, and you not being able to prevent it, well, that was your punishment for being on the losing team.
Whatever Moriarty had in mind it must be starting.
With that realization, you rushed out of the flat, no shoes or socks in a T-shirt far too big on you and a pair of shorts. Your hair also wasn't in the best condition, but that didn't matter to you right now. You barely knocked on the door to 221b before waltzing in.
"Sher-" you stopped mid-word to find The Woman standing in the living room in a robe. She had an effortless beauty that made sense for a dominatrix, so even though she hadn't had the time to brush her hair or do her makeup, she was still gorgeous. There was a strange tension in the room as the Woman watched Sherlock as he paced muttering "double O seven," repeatedly, the gears in his mind working their way through his memories trying to find out why that was important. John, like you, seemed a bit unsure of what he was watching go down. A common experience the two of you shared. Sherlock didn't notice your interruption, but you caught the attention of both John and The Woman. Suddenly you regretted not brushing your hair before rushing to their flat.
"Uh- sorry, what's happening?" you asked as you had clearly interrupted something.
"Good to see you again, (y/n). Has something happened to your arm?" The Woman greeted you and pointed out the fact that your bandages on your arm were falling off and a bit bloodied. Likely a result form thrashing about in your sleep last night.
"Yea, long story." You muttered.
"Here let me help," John insisted. You were grateful for his help, he honestly kept you sane and in one piece while working with Sherlock and the acquaintances he made.
As he redressed your arm you realized Sherlock had gone to his mind palace, occupied with 007, and The Woman was gazing at Sherlock seemingly in awe, but she also had a look that you had seen before. A crazed look of accomplishment that you had been on the receiving end whenever Moriarty had you at the pool. This didn't sit easily with you, there was never a good reason for that look.
"Sooo, what did I miss?" you asked John.
"Well Sherlock did his thing, showed off to Irene by solving a code she got from one of her, er, clients, but she also outsmarted him with the phone trick he did to try and get the passcode to it."
"Ah, gotcha, but what exactly was the code he decrypted?"
"Something to do with a plane that's supposed to take off tomorrow. Not really sure why it's important. Do you know anything about it?"
"No," you sighed, whatever it was Moriarty was clearly ten steps ahead of you. You needed to tell Sherlock to be careful, you didn't trust the Woman. Your dream was right, it couldn't be a coincidence she came out of hiding now. "John, would you mind telling me when Sherlock is done with whatever this is he's trying to figure out? I have some things to take care of."
"Of course, (y/n), but I doubt it'll be anytime soon." He gave you a sympathetic look. John had to have known why you were uncomfortable with this reunion with the Woman, but you weren't exactly in the mood to discuss it, even with John.
You thanked him and returned to your flat downstairs once he had rebandaged your arm. You decided you weren't going to let Moriarty win any easier by breaking you down. You cleaned up your apartment that afternoon and did something that some would say is stupid, but you reread the letters. And then you read them again, and again. You kept reading until the sun had set, searching for patterns, clues, or anything that might help you understand what Moriarty was up to and what his endgame was. John had stopped by a few hours ago to let you know Sherlock was still in his mind palace and didn't appear to be done anytime soon. You didn't hear anything from upstairs either to make you think that he may be out.
Sighing you got up and put the kettle on the stove to make some tea. Britain had gotten to you and made you more or a tea person by the day. You looked over your notes from the letters. You barely had anything after reading for hours. It was times like these you wished you had Sherlock's mind, able to deduce with ease without emotions hindering him.
You hadn't realized how exhausted you were until you sat down on the couch with a warm cup of tea in hand and let yourself relax a bit. Before long you had fallen asleep. You probably would have spent the night passed out on your couch if someone hadn't come down the stairs in heels, making enough of a racket to jolt you awake. You poked your head into the hall to see what was going on. At the door the Woman stood there, checking her lipstick in her reflection of the window as if she wanted you to see her leave.
"Don't worry," she said, barely acknowledging you were there and keeping her focus on her reflection. "Mycroft sent a ride for him, but I wouldn't expect him home soon." She turned back and winked at you before sauntering out the door and into the night.
***A/N
Thank you all for your feedback! I always appreciate your guys' thoughts. I decided that I want to finish this book, but I want to finish it right. It will probably breeze over Hounds of Baskerville and skip to the fall, and will probably end beginning of season 3 or so. Do you guys want a happy ending or sad or a cliffhanger, let me know if you have ideas thank youuuu
-T.S.