BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Sherlock: Lost and Found (Part 3)

Previously on "BBC Sherlock Imagines"

Moriarty would never hurt Johanna. It was another game. And Johanna was the pawn. He was befriending her for the sake of hurting Sherlock, trying to take away any joy and happiness in his life, trying to get under his skin and drive him as insane as Moriarty himself was.

~

Sherlock had been distracted on the way back to the flat. John had eventually taken Johanna from his arms and coaxed her tears away. He was so distracted in fact, that he did not notice the sleek silver car parked right outside his flat, nor the woman sitting on the steps leading up to his door.

"Sherlock?"
He heard the voice from below him and looked down. He was standing over, almost on, a familiar (h/c) haired woman. She looked up at him with big eyes, the eyes he had so dearly missed. The scent of her rose to his nose as she stood up on the steps, their bodies nearly touching. "Sherlock, it's me, (y/n)."

Y/N pov

"Sherlock, it's me (y/n)," you said. It was easier to say his name the second time - it filled your mouth naturally and you felt your insides dancing to the tune of it. He looked dumbstruck, then angry, then sad - all within a split second.

"Mommy!" you heard from behind him. You tore your eyes away from him to find a shorter man holding your daughter. She wriggled out of his arms and flew up the steps towards you. You enveloped her into your arms, a second nature action to you now, and lifted her onto your hip; for a seven year old, she was tiny. "Mommy I had a tea party today!"

"You did?" you asked with all the enthusiasm you could muster. You went to give Sherlock an admiring look (who would've thought in a million years he would participate in a tea party?), but he was too busy looking at Johanna with all the love in the world to notice.

"And there was stuffed animals and pink and OOH Jaime gave me a chainsaw!"

See, a normal parent would be bothered by the fact that their child played with a chainsaw. But, you on the other hand, you were angry at the fact that this "Jaime" girl was probably Sherlock's girlfriend. Sure, you had left him seven years ago and didn't bother to give an explanation why, but in those seven years, you had never once had another love. It could only be Sherlock. It only was Sherlock. It would always be Sherlock. It was Sherlock in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. It was Sherlock in every breath and every thought. He had never left your heart or your mind. When the smell of him had worn off of everything you owned, it was still engraved in your brain, revealing itself at the randomest of times and driving your senses crazy. So yes, it bothered you to think that another woman was with him, sharing in his crazy antics, running her fingers through his curly hair, kissing his soft lips...

"(Y/n)."
You snapped back to reality when you heard his voice speak your name. It sounded like home.

"Yes?"

"Wouldyouliketo-erm-comeinside?" He had spoken fast, but you caught every word. All you could do was nod. He opened the door and motioned you inside before him, a new manner he had picked up in the seven years you had been gone. When you had last seen him, he was always the first in, leaving the door to crash in your face - you had to admit, it was a nice change. Once inside you knew right where to go - up the stairs to the second floor to the door straight ahead. And when you walked inside there would be a couch to your right, a table, a chair, a hall around the corner, an open kitchen... The list went on. You were pleased to see, when you walked in, that nothing had changed except now a new armchair sat across from Sherlock's. Must be Jamie's, you thought bitterly to yourself. You set Johanna down, once inside, and she ran behind you to the short man who was carrying her backpack.