Evelyn had woken up in bed back at 221B, no idea how she got there or where Sherlock and the others were. She was also slightly confused by the fact that she wasn't dead, but didn't want to get bogged down in the details.
She'd rang all three men, getting their voicemails each time. Her next idea was to call Mary, but she didn't want to send her into a frenzy, especially when she must be worried enough already, although she wasn't even sure if Mary knew where her husband was or the fact that she'd gone missing. Evelyn had to think carefully about her options. She had no idea who was really left, and she certainly had no idea who knew what.
Thinking like a normal person, she figured her best option would probably be to go to the police, and by police she meant Greg Lestrade. He was less likely to turn her away because she sounded crazy.
So that's what led her to storming out of the lift at New Scotland Yard and onto the office floor.
Sally Donovan noticed her first, eyes widening at the sight of her. "Dr. Wilson? Are you okay–"
"Where's Greg?"
Sally gestured to the chair at her desk. "Sit down, I'll get someone to look at that cut–"
Eve had completely forgotten about that, and now realised why Donovan was looking at her like she was mad. She hadn't had the time to stop and clean herself up.
"I'm fine, where's Greg? I won't ask again, I'll just pull this place apart until I find him."
Sally looked a bit scared of the woman in front of her. "He's gone to collect Holmes. He left a few hours ago so will probably be back anytime now." Evelyn finally allowed herself to fall into the chair, her body giving into the relief at hearing Sherlock was alright. "Philip, make a cuppa?"
Anderson, along with most staff at their desks surrounding them, was staring at her. "Oh. Yeah. Tea, I can do tea."
Donovan sighed. "Okay, Evelyn, can I call you Evelyn?" She nod in response. "Right, Holmes and Watson are fine. They've had quite the ordeal but... I'm getting the impression you know that." Again, all she could do was nod. "I'll get a first aid kit and we'll try to clean you up. I'm no professional but wouldn't be the first time, I've had to patch up plenty of the sods around here."
Eve looked up at Sally properly, finding her voice. "They're okay?"
There was a sympathetic look on Sally's face, and Evelyn certainly wasn't used to that. "They're okay."
"Mycroft?"
"Oh, the older one? Yeah, he's fine as well, apparently dealing with stuff back at the prison or hospital or whatever it is, I'm not really cleared to know much more than that," she moved to get some medical supplies but stopped, touching Eve's shoulder awkwardly. "Sherlock is safe. He wasn't physically harmed."
They shared a brief glance. "Thanks."
"Lemme get that first aid kit. Be right ba–"
"Get off me!" Eve's head whipped around. "I need to get back to Sherrinford, please, John, I can't leave her there–"
Sherlock, John, and Lestrade all appeared as the lift doors opened. Sherlock looked a mess, his hair was sticking out all ends and his eyes were bloodshot, but she'd never been so happy to see him.
John was practically dragging him along, his own eyes worn and tired and his clothes were damp. A million questions popping into her head about what they've possibly been put through.
Lestrade was following behind the other two, head in his hand, but also visibly on guard in case Sherlock tried to make a break for it.
"Please," Sherlock sounded utterly broken, his shoulders slumped and legs only barely holding him up. "Please. Please, Greg, let me go–"
"Sherlock, you need to calm down or I will cuff you this time!"
Evelyn stood up, the chair making a noise on the floor as the wheels rolled back. All three men looked over automatically. They all appeared to be in varying degrees of shock, unsure if they could believe what was in front of them. Eyes widening, faces creased in confusion.
But now she could finally get a good look at her boyfriend. His cheeks were wet with the continuous flow of tears down his face, the look in his eyes desperate but apprehensive as he seemed to be having some kind of internal battle.
Then, he moved hesitantly foward. Evelyn took to sprinting the short space between them, throwing her arms over his neck as he grabbed her around the middle, head buried into her shoulder. Instantaneously Sherlock fell to his knees before he could catch himself, dragging Evelyn down with him, but she couldn't find it within herself to care for her aching legs.
Sherlock cried out, a strangled noise coming from deep within his chest. "You're alive. You– You're alive."
"I'm alive. I'm here."
Sherlock sobbed loudly against her. "She made me think– she let me believe you were gone."
"Shhh... It's okay. I'm here," she kissed his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "We're okay."
"I love you, Evelyn. I love you. Entirely, wholly, completely," he was mumbling into the collar of her shirt, gripping onto her in the fear that she might evaporate from him. "I love you more than anything I could have ever imagined. God... I love you."
"I love you, too, Sherlock. Take a deep breath, okay? You're spiralling a little–"
As quick as lightning, he moved his head and kissed her, hard. She gasped at the surprise of it and she could feel the wetness of his cheeks on her own. His arms across her back pulled her in tighter as he kissed her so forcefully her head bent back. Eve slipped a hand into his hair in return, revelling in the moan that dropped from his mouth. Coming to her senses and remembering where they were, she pulled back, resting her head on his.
Once Evelyn caught her breath, she looked up. "We have an audience."
She turned to see over her shoulder. The entirety of Scotland Yard was staring, only some of them having the decency to turn away when noticed.
"Ah." Sherlock pressed his mouth shut for a second, wondering what to do. "Well, it's happened now."
"Maybe we should get up?"
Sherlock gripped her hips tightly and sighed. "Probably."
She held his face tenderly, wiping away tears. "I'm not going to vanish, Sherlock. You can let me go for a few seconds."
"I can't, he shook his head. "I can't– I just–"
"Here," she slipped her arm between them and offered up her wrist. "Hold my pulse."
Sherlock immediately took her limb in his fingers, letting out a sigh of relief.
"We need to stand up now. I think Anderson might have a heart attack otherwise."
His face broke out into a large smile, trying not to laugh. "I could live with that." But he did steadily get to his feet, pulling her with him. "The past eight hours have been the worst of my life, believing you were dead... It was hell."
"I'm right here. We're all alive." She allowed him to keep his grip on her wrist as she walked towards John. She wrapped her free arm around him. "I'm glad you're okay. Although, you are damp."
"Long story." John shook his head. "You have no idea how glad I am you're okay. Holy shit, Eve," he squeezed her gently then let go. "And I'm so glad I hadn't told Mary."
Eve attempted a laugh.
"He's been a wreck," Greg said solemnly. "Never seen him like that... scared the shit out of me."
Evelyn glanced back at Sherlock. His eyes were glassy still, but he looked more functional. Both his hands were still wrapped around her wrist. "I'm better now." He said softly.
"I can see that, mate. You didn't lose her, eh?"
Evelyn couldn't stop herself, she pulled her arm free and wrapped them both around his body. "I worried I wouldn't get to do this again. I had no idea what she might do to you."
His hand rose to smooth down the back of her head, pressing his nose into her hairline and inhaling. "I want us to go home." He whispered.
"Me too."
———
Once they'd got home to 221B Sherlock had taken her into the bathroom, turning the shower on and stripping them both of their clothes. He washed her clean, careful of the stitches John had hastily put in while still down at the station. Evelyn watched the water run red for a brief while as Sherlock backed her under the spray, wiping the blood from her face, rinsing the shower gel from her skin and the shampoo from her hair.
Then she repeated the action on him, soothing a flannel over his shoulders, feeling him relax at the sensation. He'd occasionally stopped her motions to kiss her gently, touch her face, then release her to continue. The weight of the day was heavy on them both, and neither seemed in a particular rush to bring it up again for the time being.
Sherlock lifted her out of the shower and took a towel to her hair, carefully drying it as best he could, then moved to wrap it around her shoulders. Eve took it from him before he could complete the task, pulling him down and shaking it on his head, stretching onto her tiptoes. Sherlock laughed heartily, twisting to try and help her reach his hair at the back.
Once she decided she was satisfied and removed the towel, Sherlock took her hand and forced her to drop it. He pressed his lips to her fingers, gazing at her purposefully. Evelyn inhaled sharply as his mouth descended, kissing her like she was the most delicate thing he's ever laid eyes on. Then he was lifting her up, the slickness of their still damp skin proving to be a non issue, his firm grip never faltering.
He took her to bed and made love to her so passionately it was almost agony. He was slow and thorough and eager, like he was committing her to memory all over again. When he bit and sucked at her skin she didn't complain, she didn't tell him to do it somewhere they could be covered, because at that very moment she wanted nothing more than to have evidence of him all over her body.
She'd returned the favour at his insistence, the silky white slope of his throat becoming home to a fresh purple mark. Her blunt nails dug into his back, holding onto him tightly. His fingertips left bruises on her thigh, her waist, her hips... he was appalled with himself for it, but she affirmed there was no harm done.
Two hours later, when they were sated and wrapped in the bed sheet, Sherlock blurted out everything that had happened after she'd been abducted. It came out in a flow like he couldn't stop himself once he began, but she didn't try to interrupt. She got the impression he needed to get it out.
"... Then Lestrade showed up," he took a long breath. "I know I was unmanageable, I wasn't so dissociated that I didn't realise that, but all I could think about was you, your body left on the floor of that... that..."
"You don't have to carry on."
"You're okay," he whispered, mainly to himself. "You're okay, you're here."
"I'm here."
Sherlock pressed their heads together, her fingers continuing to wind through his curls. "I called Mycroft while you were getting checked over, wanted to know if he had any answers. Turns out both pills were sedatives, laced with belladonna, enough to make you seem dead but not actually kill you. She had staff give some kind of antidote and move you while unconscious. Makes sense now why guards came in to pull me away from you," Sherlock sighs. "I would have sat with you forever." Evelyn felt a lump in her throat, watching him try to compose himself. "She was never going to let you die, she simply wanted to see what I'd do. She wanted to knock me off balance for the remainder of her games. The entire thing was one big experiment," he swallowed. "And I was the test subject."
"Sherlock... Everything you went through–"
"Wasn't the best day I've ever had."
"This is the most stupid question ever, but are you okay? Right now?"
Sherlock looked at her deeply, stroking a lone finger down her cheek. "I'm not, but I will be. Right now though, in this moment, I feel jubilant. I spent eight hours and twenty four minutes believing you were dead, and now you're here with a hand in my hair. My heart is swelling in my chest to look at you. The joy within me is overwhelming the trauma for the moment."
Evelyn smiled softly. "I'm grateful you made it home."
"Me too," he moved his arm and traced the bones in her hand. "There's a lot of cleaning up to do. Mycroft and I will have to inform our parents their daughter is in fact alive, albeit a sadistic murderer, and I'll have to track down Victor Trevor's parents, they deserve the closure," his eyes got a new shine to them at the mention of his lost friend. "I'll be going back to a therapist, John insisted."
"You don't need to worry about all of this right now. I don't know how you haven't collapsed from exhaustion."
Sherlock shuffled impossibly closer, taking her wrist in his hand once again. "Sleep might be a good idea."
"Agreed," she kissed him gently, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Close your eyes, we'll deal with it tomorrow."
"Evelyn."
"Hm?"
"I meant what I said. You're the love of my life, and there will never be anyone else. Ever."
Eve took a breath. "It's the same for me, too, you know? What I have with you– What I feel with you... This is it. You've always been it."
"Marry me." There was no hesitation behind the words, nor a single flicker of regret in his face after either.
Evelyn's eyes widened. "Sherlock–"
"I'm not asking just because I think it's what you want, I'm not asking because I'm reeling from a traumatic event, I'm not asking because I'm too tired to think straight... I'm asking because I want to be your husband."
"But–"
"Evelyn, you won't convince me that I don't know what I'm talking about, so why don't we skip that part and get back to our cloying displays of affection where you kiss me and tell me yes?"
"You don't..."
Sherlock gave it a moment to see if she'd finish her sentence, but when nothing more came from her lips he sighed heavily. "Do I at least have time to convince you?"
Disorientated, she squeaked, "Mm-Hm."
Sherlock smirked, eyes creasing at the corners in amusement. "You didn't want to say the word 'yes' in case I took that as an acceptance of my marriage proposal, didn't you?"
Her face flushed. "Maybe."
He chuckled, tucking her head against his chest. "Go to sleep, we both need it. I'll just keep asking you to marry me until you say yes."