When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
His hand traced the wallet of the newest victim, muttering a few things from the cases arising the past few months.
"So, where's your girlfriend?" Every single moment he heard that voice, Sherlock felt the last of his sanity peel away. "Finally run away, did she? Realise how much of a freak you are?" Snarks Donovan, smugly.
"Y/n is not my girlfriend," Sherlock clips shut the magnifying glass. "A neighbour and occasional assistant, sure... oh, did Anderson finally end the affair? Must be so harsh on you,"
"Why you little-" she was halted by Lestrade calling Sherlock and John over, the blogger glaring at Donovan before leaving.
"Remember the market case? That symbol- or 'M'?" Lestrade recollects.
"Yes, what about it?" the detective stood back as the officers pull down another cloth to reveal the paint. "Oh..."
"Moriarty..." John breathes out, fear trickling out evidently.
"Paint..." Sherlock drags his fingers along the paint. It was so familiar, not from the previous market case but rather from- "Y/n."
~~~
"Y/n!" Sherlock yells, rushing up the stairs with Lestrade and John.
Headphones on, you couldn't hear the men over the music. "I love you, ain't that the worse thing you ever heard?" you splash another bit of red against the grey background, spreading it with your fingertips to form the outline of a face. "He looks up, grinning like a devil..." you fiddle with the lips before nearly falling back at the door bursting open.
"Oh, I knew it!" Sherlock's mind was slightly hazed with determination as he rushed in.
He had beat Moriarty once more. He had done it once again!
Your headphones stained with paint while you rush to ask about the commotion. "What's going on??"
"Sherlock, calm down," John tried to hold his friend back as you nearly hit the wall from fright, moving out his way.
"Sherlock, what the fuck?!"
"You said you didn't know- you liar..." Sherlock unveiled buckets of blue paint, the same shade as the paint. "Explain that, hm?"
"What the fuck are you on about?!" By this point your body had set into panic, screaming all the air out your lungs for reasonable answers. "You better tell me or I swear-!"
"You're scaring her-" Lestrade pulls Sherlock back.
"Yeah no shit he is! You three come bursting through my fucking flat and start yelling about random shit-" you started to breathe rapidly, furrowing your brows together as the stress got to you, tears starting to form.
"You work for Moriarty, don't you?" he gave such a horrid glare, one full of pure hate. Sherlock, someone you trusted, was looking to you like you were the scum of the earth. "That's why you moved here, you're his little spy! And- and you mix the paint up for him to use! Don't you??"
"I was mixing that paint for a project!" You yell at last, sniffling in pure shock at his tone. A shudder escapes, "I was experimenting for a big project... that blue was dry and if you knew anything about paint, is that it dries darker," getting the splotch to match what you assumed was a dry sample, you show the wet and dry being practically the same. "And this particular pigment dries so much darker-"
His head finally caught up with his body. "Y/n... I'm-"
"Get out."
"Y/n, I didn't- I'm so sorry-"
"Get out!" you yell, raising the crimson drenched hand to nearly stop you from yelling anymore. "Get out."
"Sherlock," John urges his friend who had realised his mistake.
His mind was tormented ever since that case. Knowing Moriarty was out and about, he grew paranoid of everyone. From those he hardly knew to you. At times he worried about John, maybe even suspecting certain actions.
The build-up leading to this... an explosion of emotions.
~~~
A few days passed and Sherlock finally took it upon himself to talk to you first. In his hands were some flowers, unsure why John suggested it but here he was. "Y/n?"
You were midway taping a box up, looking to the door with a fall in your face, "doors unlocked,"
He fiddles the handle open, seeing you leant over some boxes, "what's going on?"
"I got an offer... at a gallery- uhm, MoMA," awkward tension drifts by as you let the news out.
"New York?" Sherlock felt his heart drop, "was this anything to do with- I'm so sorry if-"
"No, no," you dust your hands, "I was going to tell you the day you uhm... but with everything that happened,"
"Listen... what I did-"
"Was fine. I understand all that stress. I mean chasing a criminal mastermind, uh, I can't say I would be any less paranoid," you then see the flowers, "are those...?"
"Yes, John said they might help but I'm not sure how," he hands the most gorgeous daffodils ever, baby breaths scattered between the emerald leaves.
"Thank you, that was very thoughtful," you put them in a vase of water you quickly prepare.
He couldn't believe the sight of this flat turning bare again. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow. Well, my flight is at 2 in the morning, all my stuff will be out by 11 tonight," looking absently around, it always ended on him.
"If there's anything-" he almost heard his voice crack. This was all his fault.
"I'm okay, Sherlock, I forgive you," you could sense his slight confusion—where he couldn't believe this was happening. "This wasn't your fault," trying to meet his eyes was almost impossible until you held his cheek.
"If I didn't scare you, would you have stayed?" he chuckles questioningly.
"Afraid not," you run your hand through his hair a little. "I don't think you could have said or done anything sweet enough for me to stay,"
He raised a hand to hold the one on his face. "Nothing at all?"
"No... but I appreciate everything you've done for me- for bringing so much chaos into my life, it was almost nice," leaning in, your lips were firm against him. He just wished... it wasn't against his cheek.
"I should go," he immediately retracts, almost pushing you away. "Leave you to it," Sherlock rubs his nose with his sleeve, nodding a little before swiftly exiting.
That was that...
That was all he could do to stop himself from saying more.
At least then he could save whatever chance of your return that was left.
~~~
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