Repens

He couldn't bear to watch her plane leave. Those six steps were more than enough to kill him. Already, he hated himself. Keeping a close eye on her wouldn't have been that much trouble. It was such a small price to pay to keep her in his life the way she had been the last two weeks- without the elements of danger.

A cab couldn't be hailed soon enough. Sherlock Holmes was half way home when he asked the cabbie to take him to Hyde Park. He needed to walk off this nervous energy. The rain had been reduced to an overcast sky. Maybe a walk would sooth these strange unwanted feelings of anguish.

These was nothing on his schedule today anyways so it wasn't as if he was missing anything. John would probably be cross with him for at least the next several days. Mrs. Hudson would have all sorts of questions from the kidnapping that he felt no desire in talking about for now. There would come a day that the old woman's questions would be answered but today was not that day. The car stopped and he gave the driver the money with a small tip for changing route.

It took the brilliant genius seven minutes of walking to admit the truth to himself. He didn't want to walk. He wasn't avoided John, or Mrs. Hudson for that matter. He wasn't any more on edge than usual. And the truth was too simple to wrap his mind around.

221 Baker Street was being avoided because he didn't want to walk into his flat knowing that she wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be downstairs chatting or watching telly with her aunt. Nor would she be returning from somewhere to spend the rest of her night curled around him in his room. Stephanie Thomas was gone.

How had he not known he would feel like this? Surely he knew it wouldn't take long for him to hate himself. He suddenly couldn't remember how he'd spent his days before her. He'd kept busy and was constantly working on a case but how had his job ruled every moment of his day? How would he fall asleep each night wondering if he would ever feel her lightly breathing against him? Mornings wouldn't be right without her little smirks left over from the night before. They hadn't even started texting eachother throughout the day- they had somehow skipped that part of their relationship all together.

Hearing her voice alone wouldn't be enough. He needed to watch those pretty lips move with the light melodic sounds. But even when video chatting, looking and hearing her wouldn't be enough. He'd want to touch her.

His walk lasted all of twenty minutes as he wrestled with himself. In the end, nothing could be changed now. She was already almost home and he needed to prepare himself to sound half normal when she called. But his clever girl would sense the least bit of unease in his voice; the slightest wavering or cracking in his words would be noticed. He walked the two miles back to his flat on Baker Street already anticipating the lonely sting that would greet him.

Sherlock entered silently so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't hear his entrance into the building. John would be the next bullet to dodge. The staircase seemed to have gained a few steps since this morning, impossible he knew. Silence filled the air, no light familiar laughter to be heard. Now at the door, he hesitated. With a trembling hand at the door knob, the great detective took a heavy breath. He braced himself for the wave of regret that was only moments away. This was absolutely maddening.
The knob turned in his hands and the door opened. His eyes didn't raise to glance around the deathly silent room until the door had been closed. Reaching to remove his blue scarf, still holding a trace of her perfume, his eyes suddenly widened. Breathing and thinking stopped in unison.
"I've never been very good at following instructions," she hesitantly stated, her voice light and attempting some degree of humor.

His Steph was sitting in the exact spot he had first found her sitting in the same position. She was still wearing her coat and her two pieces of luggage and purse were at her feet.

"If I always took orders, we wouldn't have become what we are and your secrets would have all been given to Moriarty starting two weeks ago." She rose to her feet, her eyes off him only until she found the proper order to speak her thoughts. "Listen to me closely. I was about to get onto the plane when I asked myself what you would do. If you were being made to go somewhere you didn't want to for a reason you truly believed you could outsmart."

"And… what would I have done?" He asked with each word coming out as its own nervous question.
Her eyes lit up and a small amused grin played on her lips before she sighed, "Whatever the hell you wanted to."

Sherlock could hardly believe what he was seeing. She was absolutely certainly standing before him in his livingroom talking to him. He wasn't imagining the present scene. He didn't want to touch her. Part of him wanted to believe she was now at home beginning a happy reunion with her worried parents. But her shadow proved her existence.

"You should have been on that flight," he softly hissed, taking off his scarf and coat for the sake of fidgeting with something. She had completely disobeyed him.

"Perhaps. But I… just couldn't," she nearly whispered with her eyes now at the floor.

He didn't walk over and wrap her in the warm embrace she had rather been looking forward to. He didn't smile that gorgeous smile she had thought about the entire cab ride back to Baker Street. In fact, he was acting as if he didn't want her here at all. He even seemed a bit put off that she was here.

"I can be on the next flight back," she sighed, waiting a moment before grabbing her bags to leave a second heartbreaking time.

"No need. You're an adult. I've done all I can to protect you," he stated, still cold, and left the room to hang his coat.

The smallest of grins briefly traced her lips. He hadn't thrown her out. That was a good sign.

When he entered the room again he flatly asked, "Does your aunt know you've returned?"
"No. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"So you snuck in?"

"Not really. Just did the same as you and kept quiet."

"You unlocked the door?"

"John forgot to lock it. He did a bit of cleaning since we left then went out himself."

Each comment was emotionless yet casual- as if two strangers were talking. They remained a good distance apart. She finally took a single step towards him before he made his way to the door and opened it.

"Your aunt should know your back."

"And where will you be?" Would he leave the flat from anger or being overwhelmed? How much of his stony treatment was an act?

"I'll be here," he moaned in what resembled disappointment.

The young woman nodded then walked past her boyfriend through the door. He closed his eyes the moment she was behind him and breathed in a stronger aroma of the scent tangled in his scarf. She hadn’t even brushed against him when walking by. Each step she took helped him make up his cloudy and confused mind, his feelings and private thoughts beginning to sort themselves out.

Mrs. Hudson was more overjoyed than confused to find her niece standing in her doorway after the mysterious single knock. The girl explained how she couldn't bear to leave and the old woman only nodded with a smile, wise in her age. When Steph returned upstairs, she was greeted by an unusually calm John Watson; only Sherlock understood the satisfied gleam in the doctor's eyes. The day was spent lounging around and researching what the public was told about the incident so they each knew how to answer questions when they came- and they would come.

That night, while changing into their sleep clothes, Sherlock and Steph remained mostly silent towards eachother. She hadn't figured out how to take his still quiet and cold behavior towards her but didn't regret her choice for a moment. He crawled under the covers wearing more clothes than he had ever worn when they slept together. His back immediately turned towards her. Not breaking his so desired silence, she got into bed and kept on her own side. Her back turned towards him in hopes of a reaction- two could play this game. The lamp on his nightstand went off, everything suddenly dark.

It was several minutes before Stephanie whispered, "Love you."

She laid there perfectly still, now accepting that it would take several days for him to forgive her. All hopes of a happy reunion night had been dashed. This had all played out quite differently in her mind on the cab ride back to Baker Street. How were her calculations so wrong? Didn't she know him well enough to predict him? She could always predict people's actions shortly after meeting them- and they had spent the better part of two weeks together. One last breath was drawn before she made a true effort to sleep. It was difficult to force herself not to care until the morning. Perhaps things would be different then.

Stephanie Thomas was half asleep when she felt the mattress move beneath her. A warm familiar arm wrapped around her just before his chest molded into her back. Their legs tangled with no effort, as if an old routine. The pink lips turned in a surprised smile, words unnecessary for now. Her heart sped as he moved as close to her as possible. So he wasn't as angry as he had acted since her return.

It was a few minutes before the lips she had craved all afternoon finally brushed against her skin, on the back of her neck to be specific. The sensation sent a pleasant warm chill through her body, allowing her to finally relax for the first time in hours.

"You’re pleased I didn't go," she teased as a statement.

"Go to sleep, Cassidy," he replied without emotion. But she knew he was smirking- not about to admit she was right.

She turned towards him to better tangle them together then they fell asleep. The next morning, Sherlock and John began another case- one less deadly than the previous. And Miss Thomas' knowledge of the solar system was the key to their cracking the case.