After The Fall || A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 8 - A Christmas Domestic

Jemima had been helping out on cases for months now. The guys at Scotland Yard had started calling her 'Puddleduck', even Lestrade. Even though she had beaten him to it on the first case, Sherlock liked having Jemima to help him. He had John as well, obviously, but he wasn't available as much anymore.

It was Christmas day in London, the snow was falling heavily and one murderer was running for his only chance at freedom. Sherlock and Jemima were chasing after him through the quiet streets. The sound of their pounding feet seemed much louder than usual. They were quickly making up ground and the wanted man would soon be behind bars where he belonged.

Suddenly, Jemima tripped and fell on her arm with a loud gasp. The noise made Sherlock turn and look but just as he made to start running again, the criminal they were chasing hopped over all a wall and disappeared. A few seconds delay, and they'd already lost him.

"Damn it Jemima!" Sherlock shouted grumpily. "We could have got him!"

"I'm sorry." She replied pitifully, holding back tears of pain and shock as she nursed her injured wrist.

Sherlock huffed and stormed off through the thick snow. Angrily kicking the piles of fluffy ice at the side of the street as he went.

"Where are you going?" She shouted after him, a few tears escaping and rolling down her face.

"Back to Baker Street." He growled at her, not even bothering to look back.

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John and Mary were both at Baker Street when Jemima got back. They had come for Christmas but had been left with Mrs Hudson when one of Sherlock's homeless network had spotted a man wanted for murder on the snowy streets.

"Where's Sherlock?" Jemima asked John when she walked in.

"Locked himself in his room." John replied. "I thought I heard him kicking things so I left him alone. What happened to you?"

"I tripped and fell on the snow and the killer got away. It's my fault he escaped and now Sherlock is angry with me." Jemima replied. Eyes still slightly puffy, only partly due to the cold weather.

"Let me have a look at your wrist." Jemima held it out to him gingerly. It was red and swollen already. Jemima winced as John carefully turned it over to examine the other side. "Looks like a sprain to me."

He stood up and walked over to the cupboard which he knew had a first aid kit in it. He pulled out some bandages from the small, green box and tossed them to Mary, who immediately began bandaging Jemima's wrist.

"I'm going to go and talk to him." John gestured towards Sherlock's bedroom door. Mary nodded back.

John knocked on the door sharply.

"What." Came the simple reply from within.

"Jemima just got back." John said. Before he could continue, however, Sherlock interrupted him.

"Good. I have some things to tell her." He marched out of the bedroom and into the living room. Jemima was still having her wrist bandaged and Mary was securing the final pieces.

"Thanks." Jemima smiled at Mary before noticing Sherlock standing angrily above her.

"We could have caught him." Sherlock said, glaring at her.

"Yes we could've." Jemima replied, matching his stare.

"Yes, but you had to trip up at the crucial moment and mess everything up."

"Well everyone makes mistakes Sherlock! You seem to like pretending that you're perfect and that you never make mistakes but you do. Like everyone else, you make mistakes too. I actually hurt myself, if you didn't notice already. You don't seem to care one bit! I help you. Every day, I help you to solve crimes and you don't ever thank me, you don't ever seen to care about me at all! You seem totally heartless! I put up with you not showing any gratitude because I like to help you. But this time you crossed the line. And you know what, Sherlock Holmes. I've had totally enough! I make one tiny mistake,I have one accident, and you go mental! I've had bloody enough. You're a heartless bastard and I'm not going to help you anymore!" Jemima screamed at him. She stormed out, hands clenched into fists and slammed the door as hard as she possibly could behind her. She marched right out of the front door and into the street. Snow was gently drifting around her as she slumped down onto the front step and lent back against the door, crying angrily. She started to shiver as she wrapped her arms around herself, tears freezing to her face.

A few minutes later, Jemima was shivering and her face was red and raw from crying. She was just recovering from her anger when the door softly opened behind her.

"I knew you'd be out here." Sherlock said from behind her.

"Of course you did you twat, because you know everything." Jemima spat bitterly. "Did John make you come out to apologise?"

"No actually. I came out because I wanted to, not because I was forced. I wanted to say sorry. I ummm...take you forgranted too often." He said, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Jemima turned to face him. Her teeth were chattering now. Somehow she knew that he was being sincere. She was shocked. You didn't hear Sherlock making a sincere apology that often. But today he meant it. Sherlock Holmes was properly sorry.

"And..." He continued, "I do care about you..." He took a deep breath "I like you a lot." He picked Jemima up from the step and pulled her into a hug.

"You're cold." He stated plainly.

"No shit." She mumbled into his shoulder, her teeth still chattering slightly. He laughed a little.

"I care about you too." She said quietly, after a pause.

"In what way?" He asked.

"Probably not the way you care about me." Was her only clue.

"I'm serious, tell me." Sherlock said, his eyes widened.

"You first." She said, smirking.

"This isn't primary school." He said, slightly frustrated.

"I know." She replied in a soft voice. "You first."

"Uhh...I...I mean... Um..."He stuttered, the words catching in his throat. "I don't really know how to say it."

"Find a way." Said Jemima quietly, looking into his eyes.

As Sherlock looked down at Jemima's bright red, puffy yet extremely pretty face, he finally knew how to tell her. He leaned in and kissed her gently, his hands softly cupped her face and his fingers traced along her cheekbones as thier lips met. The snow drifted down around them and crunched under their feet, small flakes found their way into their hair. When Sherlock pulled away Jemima could still feel her lips tingling. She looked into Sherlock's nervous face, waiting anxiously for her response, she couldn't help but smile. She watched his face flood with relief and his hand brushed hers as they made to walk back inside. She grabbed it and they walked back into Baker Street with their fingers interwoven. As she looked up into his face, her heart beat a little faster. She felt his fingers adjust themselves slightly and move up to her good wrist. She just knew he was taking her pulse.