What Lies Beneath

“Cupcakes!” Hamish begged, grabbing my hand with sticky fingers and rushing towards a window display. I barely managed to keep my feet under me as he towed me mercilessly across the sidewalk.

He pressed his face to the glass, his eyes bright and a wide grin on his face. I crouched down and lightly pulled him back just a bit. It was just passing eight o’clock, and though Hamish’s bedtime was coming up, he had his heart set on sugar.

“We just got hot cocoa,” I reminded him, a small smile on my face. Hamish shuddered just a bit and I pulled him closer to me, deflecting him from the cold November wind. “Do you really need a cupcake?”

Hamish nodded vigorously, pointing at a beautifully decorated green and blue one sitting at the top of a display.

“That cupcake.”

I sighed, ruffling his hair just a bit and standing up, taking his hand and letting him pull me into the store. The shopkeep, a lovely little old lady who reminded me of Mrs. Hudson, gave us a warm smile.

“What’ll it be, dears?”

“Hamish, show her the cupcake you want,” I said, picking him up and carrying him to the display. He pointed excitedly to the cupcake of his choice, and the kind woman gave him a smile, taking it down and –with a permissive nod from me- handed him his treat. He beamed wide and immediately licked the frosting.

“Anything else?”

I glanced around, a small smile on my face. John couldn’t say no to a cupcake, even after a long day. I wandered to the display case, ducking my head to avoid getting frosting on my face from Hamish, and pointed to a lovely cupcake. It was red velvet, having a swirled mount of pearly white icing sprinkled with ruby and white sprinkles.

The lady wrapped up my other cupcake in a small box and bid us goodnight as we slipped out of the shop. Hamish opted into walking, one sticky hand in mine, the other thoroughly coated in frosting and crumbs as he munched happily.

Hamish and I paused as the cross as the traffic rushed by. I had just stooped to wipe the frosting off his cheeks when I heard footsteps pause behind me. I hesitated out of instinct, but brushed it off. Anyone could be walking up here with us, to wait for the light, but my mind nagged at me.

And, as I tucked my napkin back into my pocket, a very unwanted voice spoke up.

“Hello Laicee,” Oliver said quietly; immediately I jerked to my feet, pulling a very startled Hamish up with me. I whirled and came face to face with bright, unsettling blue eyes. The last time I’d looked into those eyes, I’d had a gun pointed at my face.

“Get away from me,” I snarled, wrapping my arms around Hamish. He’d gone quiet, barely managing to keep his cupcake from getting smooshed between his mouth and my shoulder.

Oliver held up his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. His eyes flicked to Hamish, and I squared my jaw, turning my body just a bit to keep me between Oliver and my frosting-coated weasel.

“Cute kid,” he offered; I narrowed my eyes.

“Either get the hell away from me yourself, or I will have all of Scotland Yard after you, you hear me?”

“I’m just here to relay a message from my boss.”

“Tell me and leave,” I snarled, taking a step back. Oliver gave a quiet laugh.

“It’s fine, Laicee. I won’t be the one to kill you. You’ll die, obviously, but not for a while yet. Sebastian Moran wants to send his regards, and let you know he’s looking forward to killing you personally.”

My entire body tensed, and even Hamish looked back, confused. Oliver gave us an unnerving smile and nodded his head in goodbye, then turned away and strolled back down the street.

Hamish and I made it home in under two minutes. Mrs. Hudson was out for the night, but John was settled in his chair, drinking tea and watching a late night show on the tellie when I burst into the flat.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, jumping up and spilling tea all over the front of his jumper. I sat Hamish on the table as I pulled off my jacket, nearly hyperventilating. John came into the kitchen and paused when he saw Hamish’s face.

“Is that frosting? Please tell me that’s frosting-”

“I saw Oliver,” I cut in, and John’s worry over his son’s hygiene disappeared.

“What?!”

“I… saw Oliver,” I repeated, much quieter this time, turning away to stare intently at the wallpaper. For several long moments, the only sound in the kitchen was Hamish munching around the cupcake wrapper. When I finally turned back around, I found John staring at me.

Worry creased his face, and his soft gray eyes held deep concern for me. I couldn’t even muster a smile to show, and we kept our bout of silence. We didn’t speak for a while after that, not until Hamish had been bathed and put to sleep, and not until we were both reclining comfortably on the couch with a mug in both our hands.

The fire flickered dim across from us; we had the living room to ourselves, now that we’d moved Hamish’s bed to my room. It got chilly in the living room this time of year, and I didn’t want a frozen weasel.

John sipped his tea, and I sipped my warm milk. Finally, John took a breath and turned his head towards me. He quirked one brow, and then asked softly,

“Oliver?”

I nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” John asked me, and I shook my head quickly.

“No, he just… he had a message. He said Sebastian was going to kill me.”

John turned fully to me, setting down his tea and leaning forward just a bit. He’d taken off his jumper, and his skin glowed a dim orange in the firelight. The plain tshirt he wore was just snug enough to show the small lump on his left shoulder, his war injury.

One of John’s hands reached out and rested on my leg; he gave a gentle squeeze. I gave a small smile.

“He won’t. We’ve been fine so far, and we’ll stay that way.”

“It’s been getting worse, though,” I said softly. “I mean, I haven’t seen Oliver in years, and now suddenly he shows up and tells me he’s working with Sebastian?”

John let out a heavy sigh.

“Be that as it may, we’ve got Lestrade and Mycroft keeping us safe. They’ve got their guards out, watching for Moran, and they keep an eye on the flat.”

When I opened my mouth to argue, John leaned just a little closer and said softly, almost hesitantly,

“And you’ve got me. I’ll always keep you safe, Lace.”

I kept his gaze, swallowing hard and trying to ignore my heart beating just a bit faster.

“I’ve done well so far, haven’t I?” he mused, his voice taking on a hint of humor. I chuckled softly and then reached out, resting my hand on his.

“So far so good, Watson. I can’t deny that.”

“My point exactly,” he said with a half-smile. “But I’ve got a question.”

“Hm?”

“Why was Hamish covered in frosting?”

“Oh!” I said, jumping up and startling John as I hurried into the kitchen. I moved my jacket and grabbed the box of the cupcake. I came back and sat sideways on the couch, setting the box on his knees. John opened it and grinned at what he saw.

“For me?”

“Of course,” I laughed. “I know red velvet is your favorite.”

John lifted the cupcake out and took an appreciative bite.

“This is brilliant,” he almost groaned, licking the frosting from his lips. “Want a bite?”

“Please,” I said, reaching out for it. John pulled back and gave me a devilish grin.

“Too bad, Bennett.”

I laughed and reached again. John put a gentle hand on my shoulder and pushed me back a bit as he leaned down onto the couch. My short arms scrabbled for the dessert.

“John! I want a bite!” I whined, almost sounding childish. John laughed.

“Oh, you want a bite, do you?” he mocked, and I pushed harder against his arm. I felt his arm give an unsteady wobble, and then it collapsed to his side from the strain he’d been putting on it. I dropped onto his chest, barely catching myself. My hands landed on his shoulders, my face just a couple of inches away.

My breath caught in my throat; I’d never been this close to John under these circumstances. I saw John swallow hard, and his tongue flicked out as he nervously licked his lips.

“Yes,” I said softly to him.

I’m still not sure who made the first move, but suddenly John’s free hand snaked around my back and pulled me closer, and then I was leaning forward, one hand reaching up to rest on his cheek.

And then our lips pressed together, and the cupcake was forgotten. John sat it on the ground to bring his other hand up to grip my waist, and I ran my own free hand down his chest, resting on his stomach.

John deepened the kiss, tilting his head up and running his tongue lightly over my lips. I obliged and parted my mouth as John moaned lightly into me. Ever so gently, John rolled to the side and spilled me onto the couch so I was between him and the cushions.

Finally, we pulled apart, breathing deeply. John’s grey eyes glinted softly, and I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks. John cleared his throat and the reality of what just happened began to set in.

“I’m sorry Laicee,” he said quietly, starting to sit up. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation-“

“John,” I tried, but he kept talking.

“It was wrong of me to assume you felt the same way-“

“John Watson,” I said, more force to my words. John didn’t listen. He started to sit up, shame on his face, so I did the first thing to come to my mind. My hand snagged the front of his shirt and I pulled him back to me. I kissed him briefly and then pulled away. John stared down at me with a startled look, and I offered a shy smile.

“You didn’t assume anything,” I said quietly, and John let out a slow breath. He settled back down with me, lightly resting his arm over my waist. He leaned his head forward and rested it against mine.

“Is this… wrong?” he questioned, and I sighed. I moved my head to rest it on the crook of his shoulder, my cheek against his chest.

“I honestly don’t know,” I told him; in reply, John reached up and pulled the blanket down over us, his cheek against the top of my head.

“Let’s sleep on it, yeah?”

I nodded quietly, curling myself to him as he did the same.

Whether this was right or wrong, whether this was the best thing to happen to me since Sherlock’s death, or whether this was the biggest mistake I’d ever made, for tonight it didn’t matter.

Because that night I fell asleep immediately, no harsh memories, no depressing thoughts, no tears or restlessness. For the first time since Sherlock left us, I could say that I felt content. It felt good to sleep in someone’s arms again.

No matter if those arms belonged to John Watson.