Sherlock picked up his phone from the nightstand, glancing at the woman sleeping in his bed. A woman who had, in a very short time, become his entire world. He'd made a promise a long time ago, a promise he was about to break, for her because he would do anything to keep her safe.
He stepped over to the window, using the moonlight to see, not wanting to wake her. He typed out the text and sent it to the one person he trusted to hold the secrets he uncovered during the years he spent taking apart Moriarty's criminal web. There was a picture. One that would keep her safe.
He gazed out at the dark London night as he waited for the reply. The city seemed different somehow, but he knew that the city hadn't changed. He was different, he glanced at her sleeping form. He was different because of her. His phone vibrated. He glanced at the text.
Mycroft awoke to the sound of his phone. He sat up, groggy from sleep and irritated that it had been disturbed. He picked up his mobile and opened the attached image. He nearly dropped his phone at the sight.
How? But he knew. Sherlock. Somehow his brother found proof. The secret he'd been hiding for seventeen years. Sherlock knew, of course, but he swore he'd never release the information, never use the secret that haunted Mycroft.
The woman. Rose Tyler. This was about her. He'd already turned up her background, noticed the holes and he'd been about to pull them apart, but now, now he had no choice, but to sit back and watch this charade crash down around his brother. Maybe Sherlock would learn his lesson then. There's no room for sentiment.
"What're you doing?" her sleepy voice reached him as Sherlock sat his phone back on the nightstand.
"Tying up some loose ends," he replied. He climbed back into bed next to her. "You should be asleep."
He kissed her forehead and then caught her gaze as she shifted closer, propping her hand under her cheek.
She grinned. She couldn't help it. After being alone for so long it was nice to be with someone. Together. Their entire relationship had been based on a game and she wasn't sure if this was it. End of the game. End of them.
"I was going to leave," she said.
He knew she wasn't talking about his flat. She'd been packing, he'd seen that in the bag on her dresser.
"And now?" he asked, hoping she'd changed her mind, but wondering if he was enough to make her stay.
He was Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Genius. But she was…more.
"I've never been the girl who ran away. I know Mycroft's dangerous. I've been around someone like him before," she said, her eyes taking on a haunted look and one that sent anger coursing through him as he remembered her scar. "But I don't want to run."
"Good," he replied, grinning.
"Good?" she asked, unable to stop herself from returning his smile.
"I'm afraid I would've been unable to let you go."
"Good," she said, wrapping her leg around his.
"Good?" he inquired, sliding his hand up her back.
"Yes, because I'm unable to leave you," she replied, trailing her nails down his back.
In the next moment he pulled her to him as his mind went over forty-one reason she wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. He settled on number twelve as he captured her lips.
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