After The Fall || A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 23 - The Other Woman

Jemima wanted to come back to Baker Street as soon as possible. She hated hospitals and wanted to get out quickly. She was discharged by the doctors even though she could hardly walk, but Sherlock promised to take care of her. As soon as they both got back she shuffled in, leaning heavily on Sherlock for support and immediately slumped into his armchair. He checked to make sure she was fine and settled himself at his microscope, studying something to do with a recent case.

Jemima soon found that she couldn't concentrate and that her eyelids were becoming heavier. She couldn't read the newspaper that had previously been the focus of her attention. She slowly drifted off to sleep in the chair, her head lolling over her shoulder. Sherlock looks up when he heard the soft slap of the newspaper hitting the floor as Jemima's grip on it slackened. He walked over to find his wife curled up in a ball on the armchair, rather like a small kitten, he thought to himself. He scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her carefully to their bed and tucked her in gently. He brushed a light kiss on her forehead and made to leave.

"Stay with me." He heard her mumble from behind him.

"Okay. I will." Sherlock replied, lying down on top of the duvet next to her.

They stayed like that for a long while, Jemima drifting in and out of sleep, plagued by nightmares.

"Was I shouting out in my sleep again?" She asked him after he pulled her out of another bad dream.

"No."

"Then how did you know that I was having a nightmare?" She asked.

"Because I took your pulse." He said softly. Jemima felt his fingers resting on her wrist.

"Do you do that often?" She whispered back.

"Yes. It helps me sleep sometimes." He replied sheepishly.

Jemima didn't reply for a minute, apparently deep in thought.

"I was just thinking... Have you ever loved anyone else?" She suddenly asked. "Romantically, I mean."

"There was one, but she doesn't count. We were only teenagers." Sherlock said sadly, hurt flickering in his eyes.

"What was her name?" She asked.

"Beatrice." He winced, as if the name was painful to say. Jemima looked distressed as she took in how much Sherlock's demeanour had changed in less than a few seconds.

"Did you love her?" She probed tentatively.

"Very much." He replied quietly.

"What happened?"

"She left without saying goodbye. I never saw her again." His lip quivered.

"Do you miss her?"

"I did. All the time. Until I met you."

"You never got over it?"

"No." He admitted. Jemima just stared back at him.

"What was she like?"

"Beautiful. And strong, she could deal with anything. She was like me, she didn't show many of her feelings and it suited us both just fine. We had fun together and we loved each other. Well, I thought she loved me. And then she was gone." He cut himself off abruptly, trying to act as if she didn't matter.

"Why did she-"

"I don't know." Sherlock cut her off sharply. "I don't want to talk about it." He slid out of the the bed and stomped sulkily out of the room.