S.Holmes: Sebastian's Revenge

Mycroft was seated behind his Whitehall desk, a stack of folders to the left and a smaller one to the right. He opened the next one, scan read it, contemplated the contents for a moment, and then signed his name with a flourish at the bottom, flipped the manilla shut and placed it on the left, adding to the files he had already signed off. He would be done in time for his--delightfully plebeian--tea break at eleven. He had just opened the next folder when his phone pinged. A text. Curious, he retrieved it, noting it was his assistant, Anthea--or was it Medea today?--who had sent it.

Thought you might want to know that SHe has gone to see the boyfriend - A

Anthea today then. Mycroft frowned. The capital SH in the word 'she' refered to Samantha. Quickly he texted back.

Anything amiss? MH

Sir, she is supposed to be in lessons. A

And I might have had something to do with that. Monitor the situation for me please. Let me know where she goes when she leaves. MH

Mycroft turned back to the work in hand. If and when she had something to say, Samantha would contact him. It was a little too much to hope that she would complete the work he had set her. Time would tell. In the meantime he would remain vigilant.

She was a Holmes. No good would come of worrying about her, she was herself a force to be reckoned with and despite the fact that she was not related to John by blood, she still had his pragmatic streak of survival a mile wide. Yet she was still only a teenage girl and he had a suty of care, for his brother if for nobody else.

Samamtha kept her head down and her coat collar turned up. Busy Londoners swarmed past her like angry bees. There was a reason she wasnt in the public school system. Even now, she could feel her chest seizing up from the amount of people around her. Brave as she was, put her in a crowd and she became a startled animal in the headlights of an oncoming car.
Samantha considered hailing a cab, but she didnt have any money. Huffing out a breath of fog into the chilly air, she continued on her way. Just a little farther to go and she'd be at Ty's. He had some explaining to do for the events of the previous night. Walking a little swifter, she rounded a corner and looked up at Ty's bedroom window. A warm feeling spread through her when she saw he'd left the curtain open and was pulling his shirt off, revealing perfectly sculpted muscles beneath. Reminding herself to be furious, Sam turned away and walked up to the front door. She rapped her knuckles briskly against the smooth brown wood....

(( Ugly Christmas sweater from John? that's godmoding too far XD ))

John finished the washing up and called up to Sam to say he was going out. There was no answer. He knew where she had sneaked out to. He couldn't help her with this, he couldn't help Tyler either much as he liked the lad. He hoped Ty would never regret having chucked his army career away to stay in London to be near Sam.

Ty stumbled round his flat and whipped up some breakfast for himself then went to the shop for milk for later and thought about the painting he was working on for a client while changing into his working gear. Hearing a knock on his front door Ty peeked out the window and took a breath in when he saw it was Sam. Jogging downstairs he opened the door.

"Er, come in." he led the way through to the living room. "Coffee?" he presumed it'd be a 'yes' and went to the kitchen cursing that she looked fantastic and he was in one of his old shirts splattered with paint ready to start work.

((My apologies, John, I couldnt resist xD))

Sam followed him inside, glancing up at the familiar paintings that hung on the walls. Of all the fish in the ocean she had to pick an artistic one. He always seemed to have a splotch of paint somewhere on his person. Today he appeared ready to create something judging by the sheer amount of paint on his clothes.
Sam sat down at the kitchen table and watched him make coffee. Her eyes took in everything. His shaking indicated he was nervous. The clothes told her that he was probably trying to distract himself with his work. Smirking, Sam spoke up, "Do you love her?"

Ty fetched mugs out and boiled the kettle as Sam sat herself down at the kitchen table. His mother, who had thrown a fit about him leaving the army, would love to be able to say 'I told you so' about Samantha being too young for him. It was sour grapes. Dad had died and thanks to his inheritance from his dad, including the London house, she couldn't boast about her son the army officer. It was 'my son the unknown artist in England' now. 'England, on the other side of the world'. It didn't make any difference that she had chosen to go back to Australia.

Tyler sighed and dropped sugar and coffee in the mugs. “What are you on about?”

Sam restrained herself from snorting with laughter. He was feigning ignorance, obviously, making himself look even more like a fool. She tapped out the notes of a piece on the table top. Sam imagined her violin's strings humming beneath her fingertips.
"Oh, you know, the woman - who was obviously a secretary at a bank, by the way - that you were kissing in the alleyway last night." She snatched the cup of coffee offered to her from Ty's hands and slurped at it greedily. Mentally, she willed her pounding headache to subside.

She's with the boyfriend - A

Mycroft spared the text a glance and frowned. He had expected as much, but he wasn't sure that this wasn't Samantha at her most obtuse. He wouldn't put it past her for the lad to have caused her the upset and for her, as was her wont, to go confront him directly. Mycroft sighed.

He had never wanted to be a parent. He knew all too well the risks involved in bringing up a child. Heaven knew, they didn't come with an instruction manual. To bring up an emotionally balanced, healthy and productive individual took time, honesty, emotional investment and patience. He had patience in copious amounts, rarely had the time, was honest to a fault unless it concerned matters of National Security. Emotional investment, however, came at a cost, one which Mycroft Holmes was reluctant to pay. He found he was paying though, on behalf of his little brother, every damn day. And to his surprise, he found he did not want to stop.

There was something about his neice that got under his skin, made him smile, and while it wasn't unheard of for Mycroft Holmes to smile, there were usually only two reasons why he did. Samantha was one of them. Victory was another. He sent a quick text back to Anthea.

Tell me if she leaves - MH

Ty looked at the floor because Sam looked like she wasn't there to hear any explanation just to give him a piece of her mind. And no doubt she had already told her dad what she thought had happened and she would sail off after ditching him and John wouldn't speak to him or answer a text again let alone let him see Sam again.

“Those guys at the party, while you were talking to your friend in the bathroom, they were taking the piss out of me saying I was gay. How all artists are poofs. How they hadn't seen me touching you up or kissing you or anything. I took the big guy outside and walloped him, he pissed off and she said it didn't prove I was straight so I shoved her against the wall and snogged her to prove it and shut them all up. Which is when you came out yelled, and flounced off before I could say a word.”

“I don't want us to be just friends Sam. I want to be your boyfriend, I want to be able to put my arm round you in front of people.” he wanted to say I love you, and press her up against a wall right now and snog her as well but not if she didn't want to be his girlfriend. He smiled. “And, gorgeous brains, I want to meet your mysterious uncle before he starts thinking I'm a stalker. And none of your changing the subject. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer.”

Sam frowned and closed her eyes. She replayed the events of last night in her mind, looking for details that would show he was telling the truth. Then she realized. What she had mistaken for a shadow was the 'big guy' who had returned for the woman. Samantha had made a grave mistake in her judgement. Opening her eyes she looked up at Ty. He was waiting patiently, the coffee mug shaking in his hands. Sam stood and placed her hands on either side of his face. The cup slipped from his grasp and shattered on the wood floor. She pressed her lips to his. It was an experiment, of course.

Tyler wasn't sure if she was listening and he had given it his best shot. It wasn't elegant but it was tender and he was being serious. Sam still looked, to him, as if she might be about to reject him. He would never admit it to anyone that his hands were trembling at that moment.

He didn't expect Sam to stand up and take his face in her hands and although he attempted to stow his mug of coffee on the table it missed. It just fell from his grasp and he barely heard it hit the floor as Sam placed her soft, warm lips on his. He closed his eyes as his lips parted slightly to receive hers and a hand instinctively went to her waist. As she withdrew a little he followed and their lips touched softly again.

Sam had to constantly remind herself in those precious few seconds that this was just an
experiment.
This isn't real.
Slowly though, her grasp on reality was slipping.
My brain is being intoxicated with chemicals, that's all this is, I don't love Ty, I don't love...I don't -
Ty's tongue brushed her bottom lip. Shivers radiated up her spinal column, rattling her rib cage. She took in a shaky breath and pressed her body closer to his. All that she wanted was to get closer to him, close enough that their hearts would beat against one another in perfect time.
The funny thing was, she had indirectly changed the subject, defying Ty's wishes.

Ty followed the sweet lips and they responded to his as Sam closed the gap between them. He could feel her mind unslipping it's moorings by the way she searching for his body to be against hers. Even as he was repeating to himself hold back, be still, hold back and be still because this wasn't Sam loving him, it was just Sam desiring him, his body was responding exactly how it was meant to.

“Sam.” he whispered a little out of breath as his arms folded around her. “Please.” he stopped kissing her before he started to get carried away and just held her to his body where she wanted to be. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Sam paused for a moment, listening to his husky voice. For so long, she had told herself not to love. But Ty, her friend and ally had somehow stolen her heart. She'd denied it for such a long time, she hardly knew what was real and what were comforting lies she had told herself. Tyler Ashcroft, the man who had given up everything for her. Sam cursed herself for being so stupid. Of course he'd been in love with her. She was deaf and blind to everything except the thrill of the next case. Thank God for John - he'd taught her how to be human, despite everything.

His girlfriend?

Sam knew what he must think of her simply by his facial expressions.
He didn't think it was real. Sam couldn't deny that she wanted him, more than she'd ever wanted anything else, but this was far from false love and sexual needs.
She didn't know any other way of convincing him that it was true except for replying, breathlessly, "Yes."
I did not love, but now I do. The world still continues to surprise me.

Tyler thought his heart would tear in two if Sam rejected him now. And he knew he would paint the darkest things, and nothing lovely, for a long time if she did that. In his mind they had to move forward if she cared, and he was certain she did, but whatever held her back from him, and he didn't know what it was, was shredding him.

He was utterly relieved when Sam said 'Yes'.

“Good.” Tyler's voice cracked with emotion as he looked into her beautiful eyes. As he couldn't speak he pulled her closer again and slowly tilted his head to kiss her. The warmth of her spread through his chest and through his heart. His tongue grazed her bottom lip as he held her gently. Samantha was the centre of his world as he kissed her with gentle passion until they were both glowing and breathless.

Sam was trying desperately to sort the flood of emotions in her head. It was like trying to catch raindrops in your mouth. There was a momentary flutter of panic in her chest that Ty would want more. She didn't think she could handle anything further than just this glorious kissing. She pulled away again and backed up, bumping into the table.
Samantha could feel her face flushing from the exhilaration of it all.
One part of her wanted to let him do as he pleased. The other wanted to run screaming from the room and pray he didn't follow. There was an uncertainty about what may happen next that hung over her like a dark cloud. For once, she couldn't deduce his intentions.
My God, what are these emotions? I don't know what to do.

As Sam detached herself from their unexpected embrace she backed up against the table. Tyler let her go without following. She looked wonderful to him, all aglow, but uncertain too.

“I forgot to breathe.” he grinned, his hands trembling a little. “Are you, ok?” he asked tilting his head with concern. “Too much?”

There was a shard of mug by his foot and a puddle of coffee in his vision. “Oops.” he squatted and began picking the big bits up and looked up at Samantha.“We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. You tell me when to stop and I will. Promise.” he smiled and straightened up then took the debris to the pedal bin flicking the kettle on as he passed it.

Samantha flicked through possible scenarios in her mind. None of them were particularly pleasant, except for the ones involving -
Damn. I'm turning into a girl.
Cuddling.
But, she thought, I suppose I am more than capable of more.
It was time to break out of her shell and explore different...things. Licking her lips, she considered it. As long as the right procedures were followed to the letter, no harm could be done to either of them...
Right, so, how to make this subtle? Or has subtlety been thrown out the window, metaphorically, at this point?
Sam cleared her throat, "Alright then." Her body was humming like she was a violin personified and Ty had just plucked the deep throbbing G string. She resisted the urge to sigh in pleasure and walked over to him.
She could stop whenever she wanted to. The only problem with that is that she wasn't sure she would know how to stop. It was rather like that bottle of Mycroft's liquor. After one drink, she had to down it all.

Gazing into his eyes, her thoughts mainly consisted of:
Now what do I do?

Looking at Sam a minute earlier Tyler had wondered if she was unsure about going where such intimacy led. She had stopped and backed away. Now, he thought, seeing her standing in front of him that she seemed to have decided that there truly was no pressure on her.

Something that always resonated within him was how she looked at him, not just looked at him, but how, as if she was looking into him. He wasn't afraid of that gaze, or of returning it, because there was nothing he wished to hide. He wanted to be seen by her. Opening his arms he invited her to be held again and, wanting to be held by her, took the tiny step forward and bent his head at the side of hers.

Samantha reveled in the smell of him -like fresh paint and cologne.
Unsure, uncertain, she let everything go and turned her face into his neck, kissing it softly. A ghost kiss, light and gentle.
It was a masculine act of affection, but it was a start at least.
She closed her eyes and explored him, moving slowly upwards to his jawline. Kisses were scattered across his warm skin as she went. His jugular vein pulsed beneath her lips. For a moment, she indulged herself in the fanciful of idea of biting the throbbing line like a vampire would, but she did not act upon it.
By the time she reached his face, she was half way standing on tiptoe. Sam was tall, but not quite tall enough. She cursed her height and prayed she'd have a growth spurt soon.
Laughing into Ty's cheek, she murmured, "I don't know what I'm doing." - finally admitting her confusion.
Sam wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest.
She was still hungover, despite the high percentage of caffeine she'd consumed in the past hour. It hadn't helped that she'd pulled an all-nighter - expect for the time period in which she passed out on her bed.
Exhaustion made her limbs heavy and her mind numb.

Ty buried his nose into Sam's shoulder and inhaled. She smelled of soap and London and of something that was uniquely Sam.
Kiss me, Sam. You can.

Staying still and moving only his head he let her do as she wanted exploring his skin without haste.
It’s always new at the beginning, Sam. It’s all right. That's how it is.

He relaxed automatically opening up, responding to her. He breathed out as her lips ghosted across his neck and quickly in again as they lightly brushed across a sensitive area that sent a tingle down his spine.
Oh, fuck do that again. Yes, just like that. You’re very nearly holding your breath. I'm shaking a bit too. We're like a pair of virgins.

“You don't have to know, love, you just...feel.” He whispered with a happy little grin.

He folded his arms around her and held her to his chest.
Feel my heartbeat. If you were still thinking in deductions and clues it’s evidence. The things that tell the truth.

He kissed the top of her head and felt her body becoming heavy in his arms. “Go have a sleep?” he asked. He wasn't sure what the murmured reply was exactly but she needed sleep so he took her upstairs.
Not the living room sofa, no, not comfy.
He walked her into his bedroom and helped her take off her coat. Pulling the duvet back for her he smiled as she unthinkingly made herself comfortable in his bed and he covered her over with the duvet. He sat next to her looking at her dark curls on his pillow until she was asleep.

Pausing in his bedroom doorway Tyler smiled and quietly went downstairs and into the studio at the back of the house. Feeling inspired he picked a new canvas out and began painting a peaceful landscape in Afghanistan.

((Just a little backstory to flesh out Sam's character. I wanted to show that she's not invincible))

Sam screamed and begged for mercy, but the hot knife continued to make its way down her chest. A perfect line was being carved between her breasts. She tipped her head back and howled, crying out for John and Mycroft. "Shut your mouth." The knife was suddenly dangerously close to her face. Her cries died away to pitiful whimpers. This wasnt the first time she'd been kidnapped. It was, however, the first time she'd been tortured. "I don't know where your money is," She gasped, tugging restlessly at the ropes binding her to the chair. The man, shrouded in darkness so she couldnt see his face, laughed, "You're never going to know anything ever again." He plunged the blade deep into her gut -

Samantha awoke screaming, kicking wildly at the blankets tangled around her legs. Her stomach burned like the knife was still buried in her flesh.
The dream had been real, though. An unknown man had tortured her for unknown purposes and left behind ghastly scars. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was apprehensive earlier.
Still caught in the haze of the dream, Samantha Holmes - brave and strong - began to cry.

Ty was startled by Samantha crying out and dropped everything to run upstairs. He shot into the door-frame and half pushed himself and bounced off it.Distraught he flew to sit with Sam with his face full of concern. “Sam! It's ok, you're ok. It's all right. Shhh.” he didn't hesitate to scoop her into his arms and cradled her. “Shhh, it's ok. It's ok.” he repeated.

Sam found herself being held by Ty. Her beating heart slowed down to a more steady rhythm. She had thought the nightmares were gone for good, but she had been mistaken. There were nights not so long ago where she and John would both wake up from their nightmares and have a cup of coffee together, discussing what their dreams had been about.
Sam's tears turned to sniffles. She felt like a child - and she hated that. The young detective pulled away from Ty, "I'm okay. Sorry for disturbing you."
Secretly, she hoped he would stay here with her, but she would never admit that.

Sherlock Holmes was sat with his nose in a book about bees, completely absorbed by the subject matter and totally unaware that he had another customer, an impatient old lady who slapped her book against the counter for the second time.
"Young man!" She chastised him. "It's a surprise you do any business at all the way you treat your customers!"
Sherlock glanced up with barely concealed contempt and rested down his book, moving his hands to pick up hers and check the price.
"2.99," he muttered, holding his hand out half heartedly.

He hadn't wanted to run a bookshop. He would have much preferred something more exciting like a morgue or a private detective agency, but Mycroft had been quite insistent. It had to be something as far removed from his actual occupation as possible, and a second hand bookshop was the perfect cover, apparently. He'd been there five years, having spent three years abroad immediately after the Moriarty affair and then the next nine years flitting back and forth between London and Europe, and although he saw John regularly he had never really had a proper home in London, staying in hostels and cheap hotels whenever he was over, and eventually it was decided he should move back into the city on a more permanent basis.

He had settled down quite nicely into the routine at Benedict's Books, that was the name of the shop - his new alias being Benedict Sigerson. He still took cases for private clients, mainly abroad, and so often the shop was closed for weeks on end anyway, but business ticked over slowly and it was much easier than staying in hotels. It was important that he stayed close to London, more important than ever, as six years ago they had heard reports that Sebastian Moran was back in the capital.

Sherlock had first encountered the sniper upon his original return to London fourteen years ago, but he had escaped their clutches and gone underground. Although Sherlock always kept his ear out for news, he had heard nothing about him. Then an informant told him Moran was back in London, and the detective had members of his Homeless Network constantly on alert. The only problem was, the sniper is reported to have changed his appearance and identity, and Sherlock had no idea what to look for anymore. It was most frustrating, and more often than not he felt his hands were tied.

He sighed and handed the old lady her change before standing up and throwing on his leather jacket. That was another thing that had changed. His appearance. He no longer wore his preferred suits and Belstaff, but a pair of scruffy jeans, T-shirts, checked shirts, trainers and an old leather jacket. His hair was considerably shorter, and although still fluffy and curly, was now a dark shade of red.
"I'm closing now," he announced, pinging the till. The old lady shuffled out muttering to herself and Sherlock grabbed the keys to lock up. He was off out to St Barts to see John, his favourite part of the week.