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marwritesgood · 2 years

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Invisible String | S. Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Summary: [Based on Invisible String - Taylor Swift] Even after two years apart, all signs seemed to point her back to Sherlock, despite her best attempts at ignoring them.

masterlist

A/N: This is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection.

This one is a long one! Many details from the movie have been changed slightly. I had quite a big plan going into this, so I didn't pay as close attention to characterisation and accuracy as I would have liked to, but I do quite like how it turned out!

Nonetheless I hope its a good read x

There will be one more part following this story :)

Y/n felt her feet begin to drag as she sped across the train station platform with her uncle trailing closely behind her. She could not bear the thought of being in her hometown any longer. Not after an especially humiliating end to what was meant to be a promising season for her.

She marched with determination, aiming to kick and scream her way onto the train that was already preparing to take off. She would have made it too had it not been for the old woman who came out from nowhere and took hold of her hands.

"Miss Y/l/n, would you care for a quick reading?"

Agatha was a pleasant old woman who Y/n never previously thought ill of. However, for the mere reason that she was standing in her way, Y/n felt her cheeks heat up in frustration and she forced a smile. Throwing a fit would only slow her down.

"On any other given day, I absolutely would, but our train is about to-"

Y/n was interrupted by the sound of the train whistle and the roaring of its engine. Her already sour mood worsened as she watched it leave the station, knowing the next train would not be for another half hour.

"Appears meant to be, does it not?"

She turned to her uncle Francis and met his mockingly cheerful smirk with a bitter frown. Agatha took hold of her hand once more and gestured towards the small table she was stationed at with her crystal ball. Y/n sighed.

"Oh, all right."

Agatha grinned as she guided her towards the empty chair across from where she was previously seated. Y/n huffed as she hovered her fingers over her side of the crystal orb. This was not her first time sitting with Agatha.

The woman glanced at the crystal and inhaled deeply, mumbling something quietly to herself. She was well aware that Y/n was sceptical about her craft, but Agatha was most intrigued by the way she begrudgingly sat herself down with her every time.

"Are you in quite a hurry, Miss Y/l/n?"

"I suppose you could say that," Y/n answered mindlessly.

"Running away from something?"

Y/n's eyes shot up at Agatha and narrowed.

"Lucky guess," she muttered.

"Hm," Agatha's brows crinkled as she squinted and peered closer into the ball. There was something most intriguing embedded in the fabrics of her future.

"What is it?"

While she did not necessarily believe in fortune-telling, Y/n quickly found herself with nothing left to do than become somewhat invested in whatever conclusion Agatha would make about her destiny. From the way the inquisitive look on the woman's face, it was not difficult to be even the slightest bit interested.

Agatha finally leaned back and met Y/n's eager eyes with little to no expression.

"You've not made much progress in finding a suit this season, have you?"

Y/n scoffed and pulled her hands away. For someone trying to make a business out of her supposed gift, she was clearly still learning how to speak to her customers in a way that was not offensive.

"If you are going to just insult me, I will be on my way-"

"Allow me to finish," Agatha interjected, grabbing hold of the young woman's hands and guiding her back down. "I see a change in your luck occurring soon."

Once more, the young woman let out a huff.

"Go on."

"It will happen when you least expect it, but it will be soon," Agatha explained.

"How very conveniently vague," Y/n muttered.

"Your scepticism will not change your fate, Miss Y/l/n."

The younger woman shrunk. Perhaps it was rude to respond so smugly to something she was being stated with sincerity, whether or not it held any truth. Satisfied, Agatha gazed upon her crystal ball and closed her eyes momentarily.

"On your path towards this new suitor, I see.... a field of daffodils," she stated as she scanned through her perception of Y/n's future. "And I see a necklace, a cartographer and... and an apple."

Y/n shut her lips tightly as she stifled a laugh. This time, her amusement was less in regards to her disbelief and more to the thought of being matched to a mapmaker with impaired vision. It was hardly the sugarcoated fairytale she was expecting to be sold on.

Shortly after, the sound of the train track echoed through the station as the 4 o'clock train to London arrived. Agatha opened her eyes and smiled wearily at the only person who agreed to receive a reading from her all week.

"I suppose that is my cue to let you go."

Y/n dropped her hands and reached for the money she had stored in the small purse she carried with her. Much to Agatha's surprise, the young woman placed the money in her hand and smiled warmly before rising from her seat.

"I thought you do not believe in fortune-telling," Agatha sputtered, taken aback that she was choosing to pay for a service she did not buy into at all.

"I do not," Y/n shrugged before turning towards her train, but not without grinning at the now grateful old woman.

As agitating as Agatha could be, Y/n knew she was tight on money. While she could care less what the stars had written for her, she did not mind sitting with Agatha just to be able to offer up what limited financial help she could give. It was the very reason Y/n typically took her up on her offer.

She and her Uncle Francis continued down the platform as they headed towards the entrance of the train when Y/n stopped in her tracks. There was a young girl being approached by a train station guard and there was something eerily familiar about her.

"Uncle, would you be willing to purchase an extra ticket?"

Francis nodded without thinking to question why. As he trodded along to the nearest ticket booth, Y/n approached the guard and the girl, both of whom she was well acquainted with.

"Mr Slater, I hope you are not reprimanding my charge." Y/n looped her arm through the young girl's and turned to face the guard with a disapproving scowl. "As her governess, I do believe that is my job."

"You are this young girl's governess?" Mr Slater narrowed his eyes. He had spoken to Miss Y/l/n on several occasions and never once did she mention being a governess to a particularly troublesome youth.

"Do you question my integrity, Mr Slater?"

The guard's eyes widened in horror and he immediately shook his head profusely. While he was not convinced she was telling the truth, he knew better than to cross her.

"Of course not, Miss Y/l/n," he winced.

"Then you will excuse us," Y/n smiled, before turning away and heading for the train, her grip on the young girl's arm still firm.

Once she was certain no one was suspicious of the two of them and that Mr Slater was well out of earshot, Y/n loosed her grip.

"It is lovely to see you again, Enola," she murmured, her eyes still glued to the path ahead of them.

"I was hoping you would not recognise me," Enola groaned.

When she saw Y/n sitting with the fortune-telling lady, Enola tried her best to make it by without raising suspicion until she bumped right into a train station guard. Y/n let out a quiet laugh as the two of them boarded the train.

"I think you will find that you Holmes siblings are terribly difficult to erase from memory," she muttered. After a quick glance down at the young girl, Y/n made note of her pitiful disguise. "-Even with a frilly dress and a ridiculous hat."

Enola lifted her hand and took her hat off before chuckling. She was most sceptical about wearing it but the lady at the store had her convinced it was all the rave now.

"It is quite ridiculous isn't it."

As the two of them followed Francis into the first available private compartment, Enola found herself feeling uneasy as she remembered the entire reason she was undercover, to begin with.

"Will you be alerting my brothers that you have seen me?"

Her voice was small and filled with worry. Y/n frowned momentarily. While she knew it was the right thing to do, she also knew Enola would not have run away for no good reason. After a moment's deliberation, Y/n sighed, her mind already decided.

"If that is what you wish," she began, before glancing down at Enola and offering an assuring smile. “But, if it is not, I will not tell another soul.”

Y/n felt nostalgic as she spoke. When Enola was old enough to run and talk, Y/n always promised to keep quiet when it came to the mischief she would get up to around the estate. She envied the freedom Enola had to run amuck with no strict and rigid parents to refrain her from doing so. For that reason, Y/n was determined to preserve that freedom in every she possibly could.

“That is," Y/n continued. "After you tell me why you are running from your brothers.”

"You know why," Enola sighed.

Following the death of their father, Mycroft and Eudoria revisited the plans put in place for what would happen in the event of her death. While most of it was legal jargon that no one else cared for, it was the matters pertaining to Enola's guardianship that became a highly contested topic.

With Eudoria's recent disappearance, Y/n quickly realised that meant Enola was now under the care of her eldest brother. She felt an evergrowing bitterness settle in her stomach as she remembered the heated argument she engaged in with Enola's older brothers, both of whom saw no flaw in Mycroft becoming her guardian.

"What does he have planned for you?"

Y/n held her breath and hoped it was far from what she feared would happen. That poor Enola was not being forced to stare down the barrel of a finishing school and an arranged marriage.

"Exactly what you suspected."

Y/n winced.

“But it is more than just Mycroft," Enola added. The young girl inhaled sharply. "It is also my mama.”

“I am sorry to hear about her disappearance,” Y/n frowned.

While Eudoria Holmes was an incredibly complex woman, it was always clear how much she loved her daughter and how dedicated she was to raising Enola. For this reason, Y/n could not understand what possessed Eudoria to leave.

"I believe she has been trying to communicate with me."

"You do?"

"Yes," Enola smiled. "And if I can get to London, I am certain I will be able to find her."

Y/n wanted to feel comforted by Enola's unwavering confidence, however, she could not obliviate the immense worry that loomed over her. Even as the young girl explained her thought-out plan of getting to London, the crease between Y/n brows as she listened remained.

When Enola finally finished her vague explanation of what was an incredibly detailed and complex plan, she stood up from her seat and headed towards the other side of the train carriage.

"Enola, that sounds like an awfully dangerous pursuit."

"I am aware of the risks I am taking, Y/n," she replied nonchalantly.

"I don't believe that you are," Y/n replied honestly.

While she hated being yet another person doubting Enola's judgement, Y/n knew her doubts came from a place of concern, not her ego. However, it appeared to make no difference, as Enola's expression remained blank. In fact, just as Y/n went to speak again, the young girl turned her back and sped off to the other end of the train carriage.

"Enola, where are you going?"

Y/n followed after her and felt her anxiety grow exponentially as she watched Enola unlock the door and peer outside. The train was passing an empty field and was headed for a bridge.

"It was really lovely seeing you again, Y/n," Enola smiled sincerely when she turned back momentarily. "I've missed you terribly, as have my brothers."

Y/n's eye's widened as she realised what the young girl was doing and felt her stomach drop. She wouldn't, Y/n hoped. Not when they were closer and closer to the bridge. But Enola just smirked.

"One of them in particular."

Y/n sprinted for the door and watched with terror as Enola leapt from where she stood and disappeared from the doorway.

"Enola!"

She raced towards the nearest window just as the train carriage made a sharp turn and approached the bridge. It was not until she saw Enola's figure safely standing up on the field where she landed that Y/n finally exhaled.

After catching her breath, she headed back to her cabin and hoped she would get to see Enola again soon. Y/n's thoughts were far too flooded with worry, she barely noticed the yellow flowers that adorned the field they had passed nor Enola's last words before she jumped.

When the train finally arrived in London, there was a familiar brooding gentleman standing on the platform. When Y/n grew impatient with the long line of people waiting to exit her carriage, she cursed the fact that she and her uncle were the last two waiting. She stood on the tip of her toes and squinted as she peered through a nearby window.

It had been two years, but it was still so easy to recognise him. Not only was Sherlock wearing the same hat he did when they last spoke but he still stood tall and stiff like one of the lampposts they passed on walks through his hometown. Y/n wondered if he still remembered those lampposts or if they, too, were a disregarded memory.

When she and Francis finally reached the exit, Sherlock was in the middle of questioning an old couple. Francis was able to race past without the detective noticing however when Y/n lowered her head and attempted to do the same she was outrun and out of luck.

"Miss Y/l/n.”

His tone was ever so stern and formal which made Y/n's face scrunch. She begrudgingly turned around and faced him, donning a sarcastic smile as she watched the gentleman step closer.

“Detective,” she spoke curtly.

“What brings you to London?"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. Though she would never admit it, she had spent many hours imagining what he would say the next time their paths crossed. She hoped for, at the very least, an apology but was instead with him questioning her as though she were a suspect in his latest murder investigation.

“Why is that of any interest to you? I do believe this is a train platform, not a police station.”

“Avoiding the question, I see,” he noted snidely.

She glared at him and stepped closer.

"I would choose my next words very carefully if I were you," she warned. He sighed and for a moment Y/n could have sworn he smirked.

"You are travelling alone?"

"Of course not," Y/n answered, before turning around and gesturing her hand towards her uncle Francis who was organising their carriage.

“Is there something you want, Mr Holmes?”

“My sister, Enola. She is missing,"

Y/n inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it after remembering just how annoyingly attentive Sherlock was. In an attempt to save face, she softened her expression and mustered an answer as quickly as she could.

"I am sorry to hear," she responded rapidly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. It had been a while, but he could still pick up on her nervous habits. The way her pace of breath changed and how she averted her eyes. It was as clear as day to him.

“You have seen her.”

He expected her to crack and immediately disclose any information she had, but Sherlock was quickly remembering that Y/n was far from predictable. When she began laughing at his question, it became clear to him that she would not be letting up any time soon.

“Of course, I have seen her, Mr Holmes." Y/n shrugged condescendingly, a sly grin ever-present on her lips. "I have known Enola since she was a mere infant.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know that,” he scolded, a familiar sense of agitation settling uncomfortably beneath his skin. Y/n was unfazed by his frustration. If anything, it amused her. Even so, Sherlock continued to press for answers.

“You are hiding something.”

“Everyone hides things,” Y/n shrugged.

She turned her heels and attempted to head back to her uncle Francis, but Sherlock raced past her and obstructed her path. He was beyond agitated.

“If you know where my sister is, you must tell me at once.”

"Why must I? She is not your ward," Y/n hissed.

Sherlock's brows rose in surprise. Even after two years, she was still adamant about advocating on his sister's behalf. Though he could now

"Again with this?" Sherlock laughed bitterly, bruising Y/n's ego in a way he had grown masterful at. There were few things she despised more than being patronised and he knew it better than anyone else. "My answer is as it was two years ago when you nagged me relentlessly about this."

"Well, then you need only look at your reflection to find the culprit for your sister's disappearance," Y/n sneered.

"I will never understand-"

"Your brother means well but you know how he treats Enola," she interrupted. For a man so brilliant, she could not fathom why he still did not understand her reasoning. "... Like she is a mere burden and not a young girl with her own thoughts and pursuits."

"You do not know what you speak of."

Y/n could not help but laugh. She knew precisely what she was saying. It was the very reason Enola confided in her and not one of the other adults that surrounded her.

"And you do not know what it is like to be a young girl whose entire destiny rests in someone else's hands," Y/n shouted, her jaw clenching as she a lump rise in her throat. "It is terrifying and daunting, so I can understand what possessed Enola to run away, especially when you can very easily change her circumstance by becoming her legal guardian... yet you continue to choose not to."

Sherlock's cheeks flushed. It had been a long while since he was confronted so aggressively regarding his role and duties within his family. Two years to be exact. He was quickly remembering the very reason he chose to pursue work such a great distance away from home.

"You are overstepping your bounds, Miss Y/l/n," he growled.

Since arriving in London, he had encountered more than his fair share of irritating people, but no one got under his skin quite like Y/n. No matter how much he push and retaliated she was always eager to fire back just as ferociously.

"Only because you are being complacent to the demise of your sister's happiness and you know it," Y/n scorned. How could he leave her behind with such carelessness? "Your parents would have wanted more for her."

"Regardless whether or not that is the case," Sherlock fired back, unwilling to hear another word from her about it. "That is a private matter. And despite how persistently intrusive you continue to be with our lives, I must remind you, Miss Y/l/n, that you are not family."

She inhaled sharply, stifling a gasp behind her tightly held lips. She felt the corner of her eyes begin to sting but composed herself just before they glossed over with tears. She would not give him that satisfaction.

Not after he made it abundantly clear to her, through his two-year silence, that he did not care one bit for her feelings. That she was not significant enough to have a place in the new life he had paved in London.

“You have not changed at all, Sherlock."

He felt him should slump at the disappointment and hurt ever prominent in her tone. He knew he had a tendency to take things too far, but it was only with her that he felt affected by the ramifications of it.

“She could be in danger,” Sherlock whispered, hoping Y/n would finally come to her senses and tell him what she knew.

“Enola is a brilliant and capable young girl,” Y/n began.

She would have considered telling him the truth had he not been so patronising with her. Enola needed to discover the truth about Eudoria's disappearance and Y/n was willing to ensure she did just that. Especially considering the fate that awaited her if she made her presence known.

Y/n was fuming at Sherlock's utter disregard for just how affected Enola was and would be. She expected such ignorance from men the likes of Mycroft, but she always hoped Sherlock would never follow suit.

“I understand that you think so very highly of yourself, but you mustn’t let that ego of yours cloud your already questionable judgement."

“My judgement is perfectly fine,” he rebutted defensively.

“Then I am sure you will be able to solve this without badgering me for information I simply do not have," Y/n glared. "Now if you will excuse me.”

She pushed past him and finally made her way to her uncle and their carriage. As if her week was not already dreadful, to begin with, she had to encounter the most irritating detective in all of England. Y/n hoped it would be a long time before they ever crossed paths again. However, as Sherlock watch her carriage leave, he felt an unnerving urge to see her again and knew exactly how he could ensure that.

***

The following morning Y/n wandered the halls of her uncle's estate curiously. Normally Francis was found wandering the gardens with his wife, but neither one of them were in sight. When Y/n returned inside and headed towards the sitting room she heard the faint sound of two men speaking, both voices familiar.

"Uncle Francis?" Y/n called out as she cautiously knocked twice on the door before slowly entering. Francis was sitting with his wife on the chair facing the door while another gentleman had his back turned on the opposite seat.

"Oh, good morning, dear," Francis smiled, rising from his seat to greet his niece. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did," Y/n answered gratefully. It was a relief to be from home. She quickly returned her attention to the seemingly intense conversation he was having. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"My dear, you will remember Mr Holmes," Francis spoke, gesturing towards the fourth person in the room.

Y/n glanced at him once before taking the only other available seat which, much to her dismay, was beside Sherlock. The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence on opposite edges of the settee. Y/n wondered if her aunt and uncle could pick up on their disdain for one another.

"Of course, she remembers, my love," Margaret, Francis' wife, murmured. She grinned as she glanced over at the two before looking back to her husband. "They were practically inseparable during our time in the countryside house."

Y/n shifted awkwardly as she thought back to the last time her family and Sherlock's were together. That was the last time she could remember looking him in the eye and not feeling repulsed. It was hard to imagine they were once great friends.

"Miss Y/l/n," Sherlock spoke, turning his head and greeting her with a curt nod. Y/n offered no more than a sidelong glare before turning back to her uncle and ignoring Sherlock's presence entirely.

"Has something happened, uncle Francis?"

"A family heirloom was taken from our vault sometime last week," he explained sadly. "Your grandmama's lavalier. Her most prized possession, second only the pendant she gifted you when you came of age."

Y/n frowned. Her grandmother passed a mere three years ago and, as her only grandchild, Y/n was inherited many of her prized possessions. The lavalier, in particular, was meant to be gifted to her upon her wedding day. Weeks prior, Y/n was beaming at the thought of finally being able to wear her grandmother's beloved necklace. Now she was left disappointed yet again.

"The lavalier is missing?"

"Stolen," Sherlock corrected.

"I do believe I was speaking to my uncle, Mr Holmes," Y/n sneered.

"I suppose you are both right," Francis smiled, unaware of the tension in the room. Y/n sighed before turning to face Mr Holmes.

"Well, have you discovered who has taken it?"

"I believe your missing lavalier may be a part of a much larger ongoing chain of heists," Sherlock explained, ignoring Y/n's annoyance. "I have a lead I am rather confident in, I just need to inspect the premises before I go any further with my investigation."

The detective let out a small cough before excusing himself. Y/n watched curiously as he made himself scarce, noting something odd in the way he made himself scarce with such abruptness.

"I believe breakfast will be served soon, dear," Francis announced. His wife was already on her way towards the dining room when Y/n rose from her chair and spoke lowly.

"May I be excused, uncle?" She asked. "I don't particularly have an appetite at the moment."

"Well if you have a change of heart,"

"I won't, but thank you," Y/n smiled graciously.

Francis did not miss the way her eyes were glued to the window. It took him half a heartbeat to realise his niece was looking for the detective. The crinkle on her temple as she scanned the garden made him chuckle.

"Do not be too hard on the man, Y/n," he whispered.

His niece's eyes widened and she met his smirk with a humoured grin. Any other person in her family would have scolded her for acting with such impropriety. Her mama would have surely scolded her on how unbecoming her snide remarks and constant glares were. Francis was much different, which was the very reason she asked to go with him to London for a few weeks. She could hardly take another lecture or disapproving frown.

"Fear not, uncle," Y/n chimed. "I will be as kind to him as he has been to me."

She and her uncle parted ways in the corridor. While he followed after his wife, Y/n returned to the garden and looked for the brooding detective with a permanent frown. He was examing the gates from afar, trying to make note of the different points of entry.

"Have you spoken to the maids?" Y/n asked abruptly, startling Sherlock. While he scowled, she stood beside him and joined him in gazing at the gates. "They keep a very attentive eye while moving around the estate."

"I doubt it will be necessary," he dismissed.

"How can you be so sure?"

Y/n raised her brows and waited expectantly.

"I have my reasons," Sherlock answered shortly.

She scoffed. Never mind that she knew the estate far better than him, there was no interfering with what he decided was the truth.

"You have not changed at all," she muttered in disdain.

Sherlock turned around and walked towards the home. He liked conducting investigations on his own. It was the very reason he chose to work independently as opposed to with an agency.

"If you will excuse me, I have an inspection to conduct," he huffed.

She turned around followed him inside, unable to let him even a moment of peace. When he heard her footsteps follow him onto the paved foyer, Sherlock gritted his teeth. Why could she not leave him be like any other sensible person? Why did she have to go out of her way to get underneath his skin?

"Well, I have a beloved lavalier that I intend to find."

"I do believe I was the one asked to look into this," Sherlock argued pointedly, finally turning around and facing her again. She stopped in her tracks and glowered.

"You may have my uncle convinced that you are fit for the task at hand, but I remain rather sceptical."

"Ah, so it appears you have not changed at all either," he scoffed.

"Do you ever grow tired of being so self-righteous?" Y/n scorned.

"Do you ever grow tired of your relentless nagging?"

"No," she shouted. "I find it rather useful when dealing with frustratingly difficult people."

They were both far too busy glaring at one another to realise how close they stood. When he had no snide remark to respond with, Y/n let out a huff and stepped back. While she had much more to reprimand him about, there was a greater issue at hand.

"Sherlock, that lavalier means a great deal to me."

He softened his posture and nodded once. When news of her grandmother's passing reached the countryside, it was Sherlock who spent hours sitting beneath the willow tree comforting a very devastated Y/n.

Of course, he knew the necklace was greatly important to her. After all, it was the very reason he insisted on finding it free of charge.

"I cannot just sit idly knowing it is gone," Y/n sighed. She braced herself for an insulting response from the emotionally-detached detective himself but, to her surprise, he let out a smile.

"I know," he whispered.

Watching her eyes light up made his stomach turn in a way he found surprisingly favourable. It had been a while since he had seen that.

"So you will let me help?"

Sherlock gave it a moment's deliberation before remembering the lead he had. Y/n watched in anticipation as he narrowed his eyes before letting out a sigh.

"Hm... reluctantly so," he muttered before turning his back and walking towards the nearest bench. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper before unfolding it. "As a matter of fact, your help may actually be crucial to retrieving it."

"Of course, it is," Y/n grinned as she assumed the seat beside him.

"You will remember I mentioned a pattern of heists targeting family heirlooms."

She nodded and watched intently as he held up a sketched out portrait of a man, the name Leonard Kingsley scribbled in the bottom left corner of the page.

"I believe I have found the culprit," Sherlock began, before quickly folding the page and tucking it back into his pocket before anyone else could see it. "Which is why your presence may prove to be useful in allowing me to corner him."

"How so?"

"He will be at a gala tomorrow," he explained lowly. "I initially planned on attending it alone, but it may be wiser to attend it in disguise, so as to catch him off guard."

Sherlock shifted closer to Y/n so only she could hear him, however, he kept his eyes averted and scanned the view ahead of him to appear as though they were not discussing anything of much importance. She took note of his behaviour and followed suit.

"And how exactly do I fit into this scheme of yours?" Y/n asked in a hushed tone.

"Well, the invitees are mostly couples," Sherlock answered. "If we were to pose as husband and wife, I am certain we will go unnoticed."

Y/n nervously glanced at him quickly, curious to see his expression. He was still so stoic, which irritated her far more than she would have liked. How could he propose they act as a couple so nonchalantly when the very thought of it made her heart pound?

She brushed off the thought and turned back to the view ahead of her, hoping he did not catch her watchful glance. Sherlock did.

"What if we are spotted by someone who recognises either one of us?" Y/n questioned, straightening her back and narrowing her eyes.

"The gala caters to a rather niche group of people," he assured. "I presume you are not well known among the London mapmaker society?"

Strange, Y/n thought. Though she knew no mapmakers, the topic of cartography felt oddly familiar. She quickly dismissed the thought.

"Very well, then," she nodded. "If that is what is needed to recover my missing necklace, then so be it."

Y/n rose from her seat and walked past him, unaware that Sherlock was not yet done speaking.

"Stolen," he muttered, prompting Y/n to scrunch her brows in confusion. When she turned to him, he finally met her gaze with teasing eyes and otherwise indifferent expression. "Your stolen necklace."

She bit her tongue and entered the house silently.

***

Y/n's eyes wandered down to her ungloved hands. Her mama would be livid if she knew what her daughter was up to. Y/n had never felt more exhilarated. She walked up to Sherlock who held the carriage door open for her.

"Shall we?"

She stepped out carefully, far too preoccupied with ensuring she did not stain her dress to notice his watchful glance. Sherlock pulled himself away and closed the carriage door. As they approached the doors to the building, she suddenly moved closer to him and tenderly looped her arm around his.

"What are you doing?"

Y/n glanced at him and stifled the urge to grin. There was something about the way he was so easily startled by her, not to mention the fact that he was not pulling away.

"We are acting as husband and wife, are we not?" Y/n quipped pointedly.

"For someone not yet matched, you seem to have a rather vivid understanding of how a couple behaves," he retorted quietly.

She winced. He was not the first to point out the fact that she was still unmarried, yet it still stung. She pursed her lips as they continued to follow the small crowd of guests.

"It's hardly a well-kept secret," she scoffed. "Or at least it is to anyone with an ounce of empathy and emotional intelligence."

"You only say that because you lack any real intelligence."

"I do pity the poor woman destined to tolerate your ego until death do you both part," Y/n groaned.

Sherlock glanced at her then at the sight of her bare fingers clinging onto his sleeve. It was clear she was nervous, so he took it as his opportunity to startle her for a change. Resisting the urge to grin, he moved closer to her and spoke lowly.

"The grip you have on my arm tells me it is envy you feel for her. Not pity."

Y/n gasped and slapped his shoulder lightly. Sherlock chuckled beneath his breath. If it had been any other person, he would have been livid.

"Not even in your wildest dreams, Mr Holmes," she hissed.

"Just for tonight then I suppose, Mrs Holmes."

He remained unfazed by her shocked expression and took hold of her hand before they walked into the ballroom. By the time they moved through the crowd and found a secluded spot to stand and spectate, her fingers were intertwined with his. Sherlock did not mind at all.

After several rounds of dancing, Y/n and Sherlock secured a spot close to the edge of the dance floor. From there, they were able to gauge a better view of the other attendees without raising suspicion.

"Do you see him?" Y/n asked.

Sherlock squinted as he looked across the room and nodded.

"He is across the ballroom," he sighed defeatedly. "It would be impossible to follow after him without raising suspicion."

Y/n raised a brow and leaned closer to him.

"For a self-proclaimed genius, you have a rather limited skill set, don't you?"

They were standing on the edge of a dance floor. Did he not see the obvious solution to their predicament? Just before the music changed, Y/n gripped his hand firmly.

"I shall have you know-"

He could hardly finish his sentence. Before he realised what was happening he found himself amidst other couples looking to dance the next set. Sherlock's breath quickened as he looked around the room nervously. He was never good at dancing but, luckily, Y/n knew that better than anyone.

"Just try and follow my lead," she whispered assuringly.

Y/n took hold of his shoulder with her free hand raised her elbows just as she had been taught. Sherlock glanced over quickly at the gentleman across the floor and tried his best to mimic.

When the music started, Sherlock found himself struggling to keep up with Y/n's swift and graceful movements. Thankfully, all of the other attendants appeared far too invested in their own conversations to notice his shaky hands and hesitant steps.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Sherlock asked curiously.

He would never admit it, but he was rather impressed. Though Sherlock never paid much mind to ballroom dances, he could tell Y/n was very skilled at it.

"I spent a month learning just about every ballroom dance," she explained. "And then another ten teaching it in Nottingham."

Sherlock drew his brows together in confusion.

"I took up an instructor position at Miss Moore's finishing school for young ladies," Y/n clarified but to no avail. He was still puzzled.

"How am I only just hearing of this now?"

"I took up the position after you left for London," she spoke softly. "I wrote to you about it, did you not receive the letter?"

Sherlock winced, his expression suddenly riddled with regret. It suddenly became clear to him why she was so short with him ever since their conversation at the train station.

"....I did," he gulped.

Her face fell.

"Oh," she inhaled sharply.

As the two of them continued to dance, Sherlock's guilt grew tenfold as he watched Y/n intently whilst she glanced at everyone but him. Of all the harsh insults he had thrown at her, she had never been as hurt as she was then.

When she realised the set was reaching its end, she quickly brought her attention back to her missing necklace. Sherlock sighed in relief when finally Y/n met his eyes.

"Do you see him?"

Sherlock scanned the room until he landed on the side door. The monocled man was approaching the worker by the door.

"He appears to be whispering something to the guard."

Y/n leaned back, guiding Sherlock towards the left side of the floor until she could get a closer look herself.

"He is heading outside," she whispered. "You should follow him."

"Only me?"

"I will make conversation while you go," she assured him, slowing her steps as the music came to an end. "It might raise suspicion if we are both missing."

Sherlock shook his head, despite Y/n pulling him off the dance floor and attempting to push him towards the door Mr Kingsely left through. He planted his feet firmly and reached for her hand, pulling her closer so no one could overhear their words.

"We do not know anyone here, Y/n," Sherlock reminded her. "You might find yourself in danger."

While Y/n had an urge to scoff at his sudden concern for her safety, particularly after his last revelation, she could not ignore the terror and guilt in his eyes. She sighed before taking firm hold of the sides of his arms.

"Sherlock, do you trust me?"

"Of course," he answered sincerely, without even a moment's deliberation.

"Then go," she whispered.

With nothing left to say, he turned headed for the door. Y/n returned to the crowd of mapmakers and braced herself for a night of pretence. It was

After a long gruelling conversation with the cartographer, Y/n finally managed to pull herself away long enough to get a glass of water. Having to lie about being married to a mapmaker for hours on end left her quite parched. When she finished, she began pacing back to the crowd until she bumped into a familiar figure.

"Oh, forgive me, ma'am," he apologised, turning around and reaching to help Y/n back up. She blinked dumbfoundedly when the realisation settled.

"Mr Harridge," Y/n whispered.

The very man who courted her, asked for her hand, only to retract his proposal all in one season. It had been quite some time since they last spoke. There was a time Y/n would have scorned him unashamedly at the first available opportunity. However, with the amount of time she had to grieve the future she once hoped for with him, she had no more spite. Only questions,

"Miss Y/l/n," he said curtly.

"Are you here alone?"

Mr Harridge gulped before shaking his head. Y/n had never seen him so terrified, not even after she had a heated argument with her mama the night he came over for dinner.

"No," he answered shakily. "Um... I am here with my wife."

"Your wife?"

He extended his hand and gestured past Y/n. She turned and realised he was pointing to the woman caressing her protruding stomach. It all made sense now.

"Oh, of course," Y/n whispered beneath her breath.

When it became clear he intended to propose, Y/n and Mr Harridge disclosed to one another the last person they previously held affections for. For Mr Harridge, it was the woman now carrying his child. For Y/n, it was a particularly irritable detective who she missed terribly at the time.

They chose to make such confessions in the hopes it would strengthen their trust in one another. Y/n was quickly deducting it only made them realise they were not with the right people.

"I am sorry, Miss Y/l/n," Mr Harridge spoke sorrowfully. "I never meant for you to be affected."

While Mr Harridge caused her a great deal of heartache, she was far enough past the pain to realise there was no more point in wielding it.

"I wish you both every happiness," she smiled sincerely. "And you must inform me when you and your wife welcome your child. I will be sure to send a gift."

Prior to his courtship, and even throughout, Mr Harridge was a dear friend to her and her family. She refused to let that be tainted by bitterness all because he chose to be with the woman he loved all along. Y/n stood and watch him approach his wife and wondered if she would be lucky enough to find such a companion for herself.

"That was very kind of you."

Y/n jumped at the abrupt sound of Sherlock's voice. She turned and realised he had overheard the better half of her conversation with Mr Harridge. Sherlock held his arm for Y/n to hold on to, before walking out of the ballroom and towards the front steps of the building.

"I think you will find I am a rather pleasant person when I am not irritated," Y/n quipped.

"Then I suspect you will become a saint when you see this."

Just as they reached the front steps, Sherlock pointed to a group of guards detaining a familiar monocled man. Y/n squinted her eyes before smiling when she recognised the figure.

"So it was him?"

"After cornering him in the garden, he confessed."

In truth, Sherlock had to chase him through the hedges and disarm him when he got hold of a pair of clippers. Y/n did not need to know the finer details, he decided. She just needed to know her necklace would soon be retrieved.

"I take it he is not a real mapmaker," Y/n chuckled as they continued to watch.

"Mr Leonard Kingsley has been posing as a cartographer while infiltrating the staff at different estates and stealing the most prized heirloom from each place to sell in the foreign market."

The two of them made their way down the steps and towards the foyer. After Sherlock organised their separate carriages, they stood and waited, her arm still looped through his despite there being no more reason to continue pretending.

"Y/n, I am sorry," Sherlock sighed, pulling his arm away and opting to hold her hand instead. He had grown rather fond of how her fingers felt intertwined with his. "I should have kept in contact with you after leaving for London."

She watched him closely. It was clear he regretted not writing back, however she still needed some answers.

"What hindered you from doing so?"

"I was a coward," he admitted sheepishly.

Her brows rose. It was unlike him to admit to his shortcomings. Y/n was realising that perhaps there was still much to learn about the boy she had always known.

"I suppose I convinced myself it was better to cut all ties to you completely, as well as Enola and my mother, because..." Sherlock paused and sighed defeatedly. "Well because I wanted to believe I could venture off to London and devote myself to my work and nothing else."

Y/n knitted her brows in sympathy. She had always resented Sherlock's insistence on working and living independently. She never realised how detrimental that must have been to his happiness. He, too, only came to realise this now.

"That sounds like an awfully lonesome pursuit," Y/n spoke, holding onto his hand all the more firmly.

"It has been," Sherlock admitted, feeling instantly relieved. "Nevertheless, I am sorry."

"Well," she smiled warmly. "Considering the tremendous help you've been in retrieving my grandmother's lavalier, you are very much forgiven."

They stood in silence for what felt like only a few seconds. He felt relieved. Perhaps the reason he walked the streets of London with such a dissatisfied scowl was that he was missing the one person who never failed to irritate him relentlessly and perceive the world in a way he could not.

It was her insight and her nagging that he missed so terribly, even when he refused to see it. It was always her.

"I believe this is my carriage," Y/n said as the worker from Francis' estate held the door open for her.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock responded, though he was not yet ready to part ways with her.

He watched fondly as she moved to approach her carriage but, for some reason, turned back remained where she stood, her feet never leaving the paved ground.

"Sherlock?" Y/n smiled. He appeared preoccupied with a thought, though his eyes never left hers. She did not dare let her heart wonder why that was.

He raised brows, finally pulling himself away from his train of thought. Y/n glanced down and grinned.

"You are still holding my hand," she murmured.

His cheeks grew warm and he immediately let go of her. Even so, she was not quick to speed off into her carriage. Instead, she lifted her hand, the very hand he held, and placed it briefly on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He placed his hand atop hers and followed her to the carriage, only letting go of his grasp when she was seated inside.

"Goodnight," he whispered before the worker closed the door.

On the journey back to the estate, Y/n's eyes never left her ungloved hands. Mama would have surely imploded had she known. Y/n grinned and peered out into the night sky.

***

A week had passed and Y/n had not heard from Sherlock. As a result, when a worker informed her she had a visitor waiting for her in the study, she opened the doors hoping to see him. Instead, it was his younger sister.

"Enola?"

The young girl turned around and Y/n immediately closed the door behind her and raced forward. She pulled Enola into her arms and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, I was worried sick about you," Y/n cried, before promptly pulling away and inspecting the young girl's face and limbs. "Are you hurt? You must have at least been bruised jumping out of a moving train carriage like an absolute maniac, what were you thinking!"

"I am perfectly fine, Y/n," Enola assured Y/n who pulled her in for yet another hug.

"Enola, my dear, you are so brave but absolutely wild!" Y/n exclaimed. "I don't know whether to reprimand you right now or ask you what you're secret is."

"Rather ironic you say that considering everything I know is because my mama and you," she grinned.

Though she did not doubt the girl was being honest, Y/n found herself narrowing her eyes at her enthusiasm. Watching a young girl jump off a moving train was not something she could easily move past.

"I am flattered, but I need you to promise me you won't ever frighten me like that again."

"I am sorry."

Y/n sighed. Enola was alive and safe. Perhaps that was what mattered most, even more than the terror she felt on the train.

"I am just relieved all your limbs are still intact."

She playfully poked Enola's shoulder, causing the young girl to laugh before sitting on one of the empty chairs facing the desk.

"Have you heard from my brothers?" Enola asked nervously. Y/n leaned against the edge of the desk and faced her.

"Sherlock," she answered shortly. "He was very worried about your disappearance."

"You didn't tell them you saw me, did you?"

Y/n shook her head, causing Enola to let out a sigh of relief. As she leaned back into her chair, Y/n donned a proud grin.

"Fortunately for you, I am a rather masterful performer."

"I somehow find that difficult to believe," Enola chuckled.

Y/n could not help but laugh along with her. Not long after, however, she quickly found herself reacquainted with her worries pertaining to Enola's safety. It did not take long for the wrinkle between her brows to reappear.

"Why are you here, Enola?" Y/n asked concernedly. "Has something happened?"

"I am in need of a place to stay... just for this evening," Enola explained." I cannot return to previous lodgings however if my suspicions are true I might be seeing mama tomorrow."

"Then, of course, Enola, you are more than welcome to stay here."

She knew she would have to come up with some sort of explanation for her uncle Francis, but Y/n did not mind. Not if it meant helping Enola.

Before she could finish thanking her, Enola's face fell when the two of them heard a loud knock on the door to the study, followed by a familiar voice.

"That is your brother," Y/n whispered in a panic. "You must hide before he sees you! Quickly!"

Enola scurried behind the desk and hid beneath it, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle any sounds she would involuntarily make from fright. She listened closely and heard the door swing open and close quickly after.

"Sherlock!" Y/n shrieked. She barely had the chance to open the door herself when the intolerable detective let himself in.

"I heard you speaking," Sherlock commented suspiciously, taking cautious steps towards Y/n. "Was there someone else here?"

He began scanning the room for any signs of another person. It was not until he stepped closer to the desk that he noticed the way Y/n jumped.

"No, I was- um," Y/n stuttered as she turned to her uncle's desk and picked up the book left open on it. She then quickly turned back to Sherlock who was already inching closer. "...I was reciting some poetry."

"I never knew you enjoyed doing that," he replied narrowly.

"Yes, well I developed a liking for it during my time teaching at the finishing school."

It was a good lie, one Sherlock would have bough had she picked up a book of poems and not a botanical encyclopaedia. For reason he was not willing to disclose, Sherlock ignored her obvious lie.

"What brings you here?" She asked after tossing the book back onto the desk. Mere hours ago she was exanticipating his visit, but now she was quietly hoping he would be on his way out soon.

"I wanted to personally return the missing lavalier," he answered. "Your uncle has returned it to the vault now."

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you for that, Sherlock," Y/n beamed. Her smile quickly wavered when he continue to step closer and whe his eyes began to wander over her shoulder. "W-was there anything else you needed?"

Y/n stepped back only to realise there was no more space between her and the desk, much less the young girl hiding beneath it. She placed her hand behind her and gripped the wooden edge.

"I suppose there is," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, though his eyes were narrowed and tense. He moved even closer to her. "I still have yet to figure out where Enola has run off to."

"Well, I am certain she is perfectly fine... wherever it is she may be."

"How can you be so sure?"

As though she were not already nervous enough trying to lie for Enola, Y/n had to also endure the watchful glance of the gentleman she held such strong feelings for.

"Well she's an exceptionally intelligent young girl," Y/n blubbered. "I mean... all of you Holmes siblings are alike in that manner."

"It is very unlike you to speak so kindly to me," Sherlock commented.

She could have sworn there was a trace of disappointment in his tone, but she was far too overcome with nerves to give it much thought.

"Yes, well I am trying to turn a new leaf, you see."

"Y/n," Sherlock began, the corner of lips turning upwards like he had his chess opponent cornered. "Is there anything you know about my sister's disappearance?"

"Like I told you previously. No," Y/n held firm, despite having little confidence she had him fooled to any degree. He continued to lean closer, causing Y/n to lean back and hope Enola was out of sight.

"I fear I am still not convinced you are being honest with me."

"Then I do not know what else to say," she shrugged, though she was just about trembling from nervousness.

"Might I suggest the truth?"

Sherlock went to lean even closer, knowing true and well he would be able to discover his sister sitting beneath the desk, just he suspected. However, he stopped when he met her gaze. Their faces were mere centimetres apart, but she remained silent.

Y/n was well aware that he knew, but she looked at him and hoped he would trust the decision she made to help Enola. Sherlock needed only a moment of looking her in the eye to comply. If it had been anyone else, he would not have stopped, but it was her. And though he would have enjoyed the opportunity to reprimand his sister and Y/n for undermining his intelligence, he fought the urge and stepped back.

"Very well then," he muttered softly.

She watched in shock as he turned away completely and began pacing across the opposite end of the room, studying the books on the shelves.

“Well… when my sister eventually does make her presence known, I suspect she will be pleased to learn that I’ve decided to take her as my ward.”

Y/n raised her brows as her eyes widened in shock. After years of debate, he finally gave in and announced it to her with such nonchalance. It was most peculiar.

"And when the transferral is made official," Sherlock continued. "My first task will be to appoint someone as her governess. Ideally, they would be someone already familiar with her and with me. Someone who is able to advocate for Enola even in spite of my tendency to be stubborn."

He approached Francis' globe and spun it once with his finger before continuing on. Y/n furrowed her brows and watched him pace curiously. Why was he disclosing this to her?

"Perhaps someone who is firm, but also kind. Someone loyal and patient and..." Sherlock paused and turned to face Y/n. "Frustratingly insightful."

Her jaw fell when she realised.

"In any case, I hope you will consider taking up the position," Sherlock smiled, moving back towards her. "I am certain Enola will be thrilled to have you back in her life."

She would not be the only one, though Sherlock was not yet ready to admit that. Her eyes gleamed as she gave it more thought.

"Well, I too would be delighted to spend more time again with... Enola," she grinned. "However, I must ask... why the change of heart? Two years ago you were disposing the unopened letters I wrote to you. Now you are wanting to employ me?"

Sherlock nodded. It was a fair point to make. Perhaps he was being foolish expecting her to be willing to work in close proximity to him. However, he knew he would be a greater fool if he did not at least attempt to persuade her.

"I may have come to the realisation last week that I... I rather enjoy being in your company," he explained. "It is something I have missed greatly. Something I will not take for granted again."

"And what of your sudden decision to become Enola's guardian?" Y/n questioned, still puzzled by his sudden change of heart.

"Well," he began. "There is this particularly irritable young woman in my life who has continuously reprimanded me at every given opportunity to the point where I... I soon found myself convinced that this was the right thing to do."

"It sounds like you have an awfully wise woman in your midst," she smirked.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Their gaze remained unbroken, though Y/n was quickly startled by the sudden feeling of his fingers intertwined with hers. She froze for a mere second before chuckling at how dumbfounded he appeared to be. Did he realise what he was doing?

“Sherlock," Y/n whispered. He continued smiling at her, studying her eyes and her face like it was the greatest mystery he had stumbled across yet. "You are holding my hand again.”

“I am aware," Sherlock replied, knowing he did not intend on letting her go again anytime soon.

NEXT PART

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #imagines #one shot #imagine #fanfiction #fic #x reader #inspired by folklore / evermore #taylor swift

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twjournals · 3 years

Text

The Right Place

This is the third and final part of the trilogy. I can not thank you enough for the endless support. I did not expect to even turn this into a three-parter, but you asked and you shall receive. You guys are amazing!

So Wrong It's Right

What's Wrong is Right

Warning: dark!Peter Parker x reader, dub-con, all characters are of age, pregnancy, abuse, mild non-con touching, violence

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You're an old troubled friend of May's. Your life consists of being a workaholic, a party animal, and bringing home the shittest of guys for a one-hit-wonder. Just when you get your life in order, you're knocked right back into your old habits. Peter has watched you suffer long enough. He can make it all better.

Taglist: @discoverwhattheworldhastooffer

Your world was in shambles and any move you made to try and fix it only seemed to make what was left crumble. You did not speak with anyone since you had found out you were pregnant, not even May. You did not know what you could even say to her or how you could explain what was going on. You knew she would find out sooner or later, but you had planned on later. You could not even stomach the thought of telling her. It would not be easy and you knew you would probably lose her friendship in the process.

You avoided Peter as much as you could. He always messaged to check up on you, but you would never reply. You were disappointed in yourself. If you had just been the biggest person and moved on, if you had not have gotten drunk, you would not be in this situation right now.

Peter never gave up on you. He had hoped you would come around. That you would understand why your life was going in the direction it was. You needed to get away from the toxicity you surrounded with, especially Chris. You were meant for bigger and better things. You were meant to be more than a housewife. You were to be a mother, a lover, a soulmate. You deserved the world and he wanted so bad to give you it plus more.

You continued to shut him out though. You did not answer his phone calls or his text messages no matter how many times he tried. He sat outside on your fire escape many nights, listening to you crying yourself to sleep. It broke his heart to see you in this situation, but he wishes you would look on the bright side of things. Maybe it was not the greatest timing to have a baby, but it didn't mean your lives were ruined. Sometimes what we want is not always what we need. Sometimes change is required for what we need in our life and you weren't necessarily open to it.

He honestly had tried to give you your space. He stuck to the rooftop above you where you could not see him when you would finally leave the house for work. You always looked so beautiful to him, even if he knew you had been crying all night. If you would just answer his messages, he would not have to go this far.

Peter watched you many mornings on your way to work. He followed your bus all the way to the place he prayed you would never go. He kneeled on top of the building, watching as you stared sadly at the front doors of the clinic. He wished you would turn around. To save him from having to web you down before you got in the building. You were picking at your sweater. No matter the number of times you found yourself standing outside the clinic, you never could bring yourself to even reach for the door.

You were at war with yourself. Peter could tell you fought against the changes, but your heart could not bring you to stop them from happening despite how unhappy you were. It always ended with a sigh and with you proceeding to walk the rest of the way to work. Peter seemed to hold his breath until you walked away.

Work was always a drag now. You had nothing to look forward to anymore but everything in the world to worry about. You stared at your phone as it lay against the computer screen. You rubbed your face tiredly.

You knew it was time to let go of your past. You sighed deeply, taking your phone in your hands and clicking on Chris's old messages. You began typing.

Are you able to come by later?

You noticed he read your message right away. You sat your phone down, still staring at the screen when he responded back.

Of course. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.

You told him you would message him once you got home. You were sure what time you would get off when it came to your job. You wrote a company and spent the hours necessary to do what you needed to do.

By the time your workday had finally ended, you were having mixed feelings about inviting him over. Being pregnant did not help your feelings from being all over the place. Your thumbs hovered over the keypad on your screen. You were hesitant. Even if he had said he respected whatever you decided, you knew he could not entirely mean that. You quickly typed out that you were home and hit send before you could give yourself time to think almost about it. Maybe you should have thought about it a little longer.

Peter was stuck at school for one of his night classes. He dreaded his night classes now more than ever considering your condition. He had already skipping enough classes due to worrying so much about you. He could not afford to flunk out of school now after all the time and effort he had dedicated already. As much as he wanted to keep an eye on you, he tried to give you room to breathe, to think, and process.

You pushed his bags in the living room by the door, straightening your sweater to keep it off of your stomach. You were not big to others, but to you, you worried if people can tell. You did not want to chance it and certainly not with Chris. You wanted this to go as smoothly as possible.

Your heart almost leaped from your chest at the knock on your door. You slid the chain from the lock and pulled the door open to see his face light up as soon as he saw you.

"Hey there, beautiful."

"Hi." You leaned against the door slightly as you moved out of the way for him to enter.

"I'm so glad you're giving this a second-" He stepped into the apartment, noticing bags of his belongings to the side of him and he grew quiet. "You're not giving me a second chance." He pointed out and you frowned slightly, still standing by the door.

"I think it is what's best for the both of us." Your voice was quiet and calm, but in your mind, it was the hardest thing possible for you to say.

"Is it?" His voice seemed bitter and you looked down at your feet, nodding slowly. Even without looking at him, you could still feel his eyes on you. He turned to face you fully and you hesitated to make eye contact with him.

"It is. I still want the best for you."

"Do you not believe I can change? I don't understand. What can I do to change your mind?" He pressed.

"Please don't think I haven't given this a lot of thought. It consumes my mind to no end. I just need to focus on myself right now."

"Imagine that." It was silent in the room and you glanced at him, only to find him shaking his head with a snicker. "It's not what's best for the both of us. Not for me. This is what's best for you. Can't imagine how I even thought you could be anything but selfish."

"Chris, I just want to keep this civil."

"Good for you." He pulls the door from your grasp and slamming it shut, startling you. "That's all you've ever been, hm? You're gonna have to lose that mindset if you plan on marrying me."

"I don't-"

"You will." He corrected, moving so close you could feel his breath across your face. "I put too much time into this for you to walk away from me."

You swallowed hard. The man who stared back at you was far from familiar. You tried to step around him but he only pushed you back into your place between him and the wall.

"Goddamn it, just get your stuff and go!" You raised your voice and he slapped his hand hard across your cheek. It was strong enough to make you see stars in your eyes. You yelped at the impact and held your cheek as it stung in pain.

"You watch your fucking tone." He stared down at you. He had never hit you before in the years you had been together. He never raised a hand to you, but then again, he never raised one for you either.

You could not imagine how much worse this would get. You left sick to your stomach when he grabbed your chin, tilting your head upright to look at him, stroking his fingers across your stinging cheek as his eyes flickered over your face in thought.

"Truth to be told, I think it's you who needs to change. I put up with so much from you. You had me in the beginning. Thought I was getting this wild, sex-crazed wife, oh, the fun we use to have. The drunken nights." He stiffed a laugh as he let his free hand grab the end of your sweater. "You really had me fooled, didn't you sweetheart?"

You were scared to move. Scared that one wrong move and he would hit you again, maybe worse. You closed your eyes, hoping Peter would answer your prayers. You regretted how much you ever took advantage of his kindness. How long you acted like you never noticed. You had always noticed. You felt his hand push underneath your shirt, and his gaze grazed over your stomach.

You noticed the way his hand froze against the small curve of your rounded stomach and he instantly lifted your shirt to see the problem. Your vision was blurred from your tears as he stared at your stomach with wide eyes. You could tell he was getting pissed.

"Really looks like you've been focusing on yourself." He lets your sweater fall back down over your stomach. His grip was still firm on your jaw, giving you no choice but to look at him. "You have some nerve to leave me. I could bet money it's Parker's. It is, isn't it?"

You could not bring yourself to admit it, but you did not have to.

He shoved your face from his hand, causing you to hit your head hard against the wall as he let you go. "You fucking make me sick."

You tried to keep your sobs quiet, listening to his footsteps moving away from you, listening to him jerking his bags up. "Better it's his problem and not mine." He muttered before slamming the door shut behind him.

You pulled your knees to your chest as you sat up against the wall with a sob. You didn't realize how much you needed Peter until now. You were sure he would have been successful if Peter had not have stopped. You hugged your knees as you tried to catch your breath in an attempt to calm yourself down.

After a moment, you took a deep breath as you pushed yourself to your feet. You let out a whimper quiet, feeling mild cramps in your lower stomach. You frowned as you turned the lock to the door, pressing your forehead against it as you held your stomach from the pain. It only seemed to worsen the longer you stood there. You weren't sure what was going on, but you had a feeling whatever it was, it was not good. You stood like that hoping the cramps would ease, but they never did.

It was close to the end of class when Peter's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out of his phone slightly to see who it was. He glanced up at the professor who had still proceeded with his lecture and Peter lowered his head to answer. He knew something had to be wrong if you were calling him after all this time of avoiding him.

"Y/n? Is everything okay?"

"I think something is wrong." You whimpered quietly and he raises an eyebrow slightly.

"What do you mean "wrong"? Is the baby okay?" He looked up at the teacher who was making eye contact with him now as he talked.

"I don't know." You answered honestly.

That was all it took to get Peter moving. He grabbed his books off of his desk and tossed them in his bag while he scrambled from the classroom.

"It hurts." You rubbed your lower stomach like you always did when you had cramps before. Cramps were normal, but with being pregnant, you could never be too sure what they really meant.

"I know, love. I'm so sorry. Hang tight. I'm on my way." He reassured you as he sprinted out of the building.

---

You lay back on the hospital bed, sighing as Peter ran his hand over your bump in gentle circles. For once, you let him. Your cramps had surprisingly lessened since Peter had shown up, but he did not want to take any chances. It was better to be safe than sorry. He was so worried about you and the baby.

Nurses had been in and out of the room, doing blood work, swabbing, anything necessary to get to the bottom of this. Peter was quiet as he sat on the side of the hospital bed, focused on the massage he was giving your stomach. This was the first time he had touched you since the night you found out you were pregnant.

You could not help back to smile slightly to yourself as his long gentle fingers worked over your skin. He must have sensed your stare because it was not long before his eyes glancing up to meet your stare.

He raised an eyebrow curiously. "Is this okay? I'm not making it worse, am I?"

You shook your head. "It's fine. I'm just watching."

He smiled at you while he continued his massage to your tummy. His eyes looked toward the door when a nurse came in, rolling some equipment over to the bedside.

"Miss. Y/l/n, your lab work should not be much longer. If you do not mind, I would like to do an ultrasound to check on the baby. Is that okay with you?"

You nodded and Peter took his hands back to let her work. She rolled over a chair, taking some gel and squirting some across your lower stomach. The nurse rolled the transducer over the gel and smearing it in as she applied some pleasure in search of a heartbeat. You watched her roam your stomach, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes widened slightly when the sound of the baby's beating heart filled the room. Once the nurse got a clear view, she turned the screen to show you and Peter what she was seeing.

You looked over at the monitor, your heart fluttered slightly at the first sight of your baby. That was your baby, even if it was only a little bean now. You could not stop the smile from forming on your lips. This little bean was life was growing inside of you. This brought a whole new light to your pregnancy. It was like a light had switched on. You did not know how to explain the overwhelming feeling. It felt more real after seeing him or her.

Peter was just as taken back as you. His grin never faded at the sight of your baby. It only made him 10x more eager to be a dad.

"Look at that. Already looks like me." Peter teased and you giggled, considering he or she was not much more than a heartbeat at the moment.

"I can definitely see it." You grinned as Peter rest his hand over yours, sliding his fingers between yours. He brought your hand to his lips before pressing a kiss to the back of it. You watched him kiss your hand and shivered slightly. You did not know what to think of everything at this point.

The nurse checked the baby's heartbeat before turning to the computer behind her and check your lab results with a quiet hum as she scrolled through your charts.

"Well, it seems like everything is just fine. Your baby is certainly healthy and has one of the strongest heartbeats I have ever heard." You looked over at Peter and he only grinned. You could thank Peter for that and all of his spidey senses.

"Your blood pressure was pretty high though and considering your history, your blood pressure has always been perfect. Have you been stressed out lately?" She looked back at you and you nodded slightly.

You were ashamed at how stressed you had let yourself get. "Well, I won't ask for details but if it is anything I can help you with, I would be happy to help. If not, I would stay to keep the stress to a minimum. Your baby does feel anything you feel, so some things can be too much and really take a toll on them." She explained. "Think of this as your baby reminding you to breathe."

You smiled, feeling Peter giving your hand a warm squeeze.

"If your blood pressure does continue to be high, we will see if we can do something to help." You nodded again as she made out some prints of your ultrasound and handing them to you. "If you don't have any questions, I'll let one of the other nurses know and they can keep your paperwork ready for you to go home." She took a paper towel and wiped your stomach clean before tossing it.

With that, she gathered up her equipment before rolling it out of the room with her. You pulled your sweater back down over your stomach.

"Hear that. Now do me a favor and leave all of the worrying up to me." He looked up at you as your eyes stayed glued to your ultrasound prints. His eyes flickered over your face, landing on the bruising mark on your cheek. He reached up, moving a piece of hair back of your face to get a better look. You flinched at the contact. Peter seemed taken back by your flinch.

"What happened? How'd you get that?" You kept your head down with a small frown.

"I invited Chris over to get his stuff. He thought I was taking him back. He didn't take it well." You explained and his eyes widened.

"He hit you?!" You reached Peter's hand as he started to jump up from the bed. "I'll kill him. I swear to you-"

"Peter, please. It's over with now." You assured him, tugging his hand to pull him back to the bed to sit down again. "He's not worth it."

Peter frowned, letting out a deep sigh before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. He did not want to stress you any more than you had already been. "I'm sorry he did that to you. I wish I could have been there."

"Honestly, I needed this. It made letting go of him a lot easier."

"Was that all he did?"

You grew quiet.

"Did he..."

"No, he didn't." You shook your head after he could finish his sentence. "He saw that I was pregnant and left."

Peter tried to keep his composure as his fist clenches out of your sight. He could not imagine how someone could lay a single finger on you with intentions to hurt you. He was quiet. He was trying to hold it together for your sake.

"He didn't say anything?"

You stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing your thumb across the print. "Just that he was glad it was your problem and not his." You shrugged your shoulders slightly. "Even though it's not a problem, I am glad it's you and not him. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a baby with someone that selfish."

His clenched fist loosened at your words and his eyes softened. He could not believe his ears. Were you really saying this?

His cheeks blushed a deep shade of red. "You mean that?"

You smiled at him with a nod. "I do. You're so selfless and care so much about what you can do for others. Even though I've been selfish, you still stuck by my side. I honestly couldn't ask for a better father for my baby."

His smile widened as he looked at you, resting his hand on your small bump. "Our baby."

You rested your hand on top of his with a smile, nodding your head. "Our baby." You agreed.

---

It was not long after that the nurse gave you the okay to leave. Peter had stopped to get you something to eat before he took you home. He wanted to make sure you had been fed. All of the little things like this had slowly pulled you closer Peter. You were not used to how observant and patient he was. As much as you knew how wrong your whole situation was, you could not help but to give in to it. Despite your age, Peter had treated you better than any other guy you had been with. Even better than the one you had been with for years. Peter was the blessing you never knew you needed. He was the blessing in disguise.

He held onto your hand, walking up the steps to your apartment and using the keys to unlock the door for you. He didn't expect you to let him stay. All he wanted was to make sure you were okay before he left you alone.

"Thank you for everything." You looked up at him as you both stood in front of your door.

He smiled down at you. "You don't have to thank me."

"You know I owe you."

He rolled his eyes playfully. "You don't owe me anything. You're having our baby. I consider that payment enough." He teases, his hands resting on your waist. He could not help but touch you. In every possible, he would if he could. Your cheeks blushed at his response, looking down but Peter let his finger hook underneath your chin to tilt your head back up. Your lips were barely an inch apart when the moment was quickly ruined.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" A familiar voice pulled you from your moment, making your heart sink to the pit of your stomach when the realization hit. You did not even have to look over to know it was May. Her face was red in anger when your eyes met hers. "You ignore me for weeks and when I come to check on you, you're smacking lips with my nephew?! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Your lips parted to say something, but no words came out. You did not where to begin with explaining yourself to her. You knew this was all wrong, but it was all too late.

"I thought you were hurt, but obviously, you're perfectly fine." She was fuming.

You never wanted her to find out this way. You wished you had more time to think about it and figure out a better way, but this was it. This was the moment of truth and you were terrified to lose your best friend. You felt tears forming in your eyes and Peter frowned.

"Aunt May, stop."

"Stop?! I'm not going to stop! You're not going to use my nephew so you can get over your worthless ex-boyfriend."

"Aunt May!"

You fought to hold back your tears until you could not anymore. You felt the tears running down your face. As much of a low blow that was, you felt you deserved to hear it. "Peter, i-it's okay." You struggled to form your words. You were hurt, embarrassed, ashamed.

"No, it's not." He shook his head, pointing a finger at May as she stood only a few feet distance from the two of you by her car. "You've gone too far."

"I don't understand how you think this is okay, Y/n." She shook her head, ashamed at you.

"I didn't expect for it to be like this. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." You confessed.

"Just like you never meant for all those one-night stands to happen huh? I trusted you!" She yelled, making you flinch. You hung your head in defeat, glancing at Peter with sad eyes before going inside. You could not stomach the rest of the conversation without sobbing. You tried to calm yourself once you were inside.

"That's enough!" Peter yelled suddenly. "I am capable of making my own decisions. I don't need you to decide what is best for me, Aunt May. I'm not here against my will and neither is she."

"She's supposed to be my friend." She didn't know what to make of this.

"You're supposed to be my Aunt! You knew how hard I crushed over her. For years you knew."

"I thought it was just a crush."

He moved closer to her in the parking lot. It was never just a crush. He was head over heels for you. "I love her. I've always loved her. You're can either respect it or accept it, because it's either way, she's pregnant and nothing is going to change that." He stood by her car.

Her mouth fell open in shock. She did not know what to think. Never in a million years would have thought this would happen, but then again never would have you.

"Pregnant?" Her voice was quiet.

He nodded. "I'm gonna be a dad, Aunt May." He pulled his copy of the prints out of his wallet and showing them to her.

She was at a loss for words. He was right. There was nothing she could do about that. May stared at the prints for a moment, trying to process everything in the short time it had all happened.

"Peter... I don't understand..."

"She almost had a miscarriage today because she's been stressing herself out over Chris. You're not going to take this away from me." He looks down at her, taking the prints back from her." He looked down at her as she stared back with a small frown. "Go home, Aunt May before we both do something we'll regret. You can come back when you're ready to apologize for this." He held the car door open for her and she hesitated before slowly getting in the car.

She knew she was in the wrong for how she had handled things, but Peter did not give her the chance to even risk making things worse. Peter felt deep in his heart despite everything she would come around. She would realize how happy you made him and she would accept it, but for now, she needed to leave.

Peter walked back to your front door, knocking on the door with a sigh. After a few moments, you moved from your spot on the couch to answer the door. You opened it slightly to see Peter and you glanced behind him at May's car pulling out of the parking lot.

"How are you?" He frowned when he saw your red watery eyes.

"I feel awful."

He sighed when you finally let go of the door and he stepped inside of the apartment. He let the door close behind him. His arms wrapped around your body instantly, pulling you against mine as he hugged you, resting his head against yours and kissing the top of it. "I'm so sorry. I know it's hard to believe now, but she'll come around. Just give her some time."

"She was going to find out sooner or later. I expected that reaction. I just wasn't prepared for it right now." You pointed out as your head rested against his chest, letting him hold onto you.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat. You relaxed in his arms. Your eyes were burning from all the tears shed. Peter scooped your body up in his arms bridal style, carrying you down the hall to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, sliding into the bed with you as his arms naturally found their way around your waist. Your head fell to his chest as you got lost in your thoughts for a moment.

"I'm starting to think I can never make the right choices." You admitted, laughing slightly to yourself and Peter tilted your head up to look at him.

His lips pressed a kiss to your nose. "Sometimes, the wrong choices bring us to the right places." He assured you before leaning in to close the space between your lips and kissing your lips.

He was true to word. No matter how much you held yourself back, every wrong choice you had ever made in your life brought you to this moment with Peter. This opportunity with Peter to finally get your life right. It was your chance to allow yourself the happiness you knew you both deserved.

End Credits Scene

He was not sure how long he had been sitting with his wrists and ankles restrained to a chair in the middle of a dark room. Maybe hours. It even could have been days. He was not sure. His eyes blinked rapidly to adjust to the light that poured into the room when he finally heard a heavy door open.

"Oh good, you're awake." He was covered in sweat from fear and the heat of the closed-off room. He could make out bits of a red and blue suit. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, his eyes widened at the sight of Spiderman in front of him. He did not understand what was going on. Spiderman is supposed to save people.

His mouth was covered with solid webbing so he could not speak.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here." Peter moved closer to him as he spoke. He leaned down, ripping the webbing from Chris' mouth and making him cry out in pain from the grip it had on his skin. "You see Chris if there's one thing I hate, it's people who hurt the people I care about."

"W-What are you talking about? I haven't done anything."

"Don't play dumb." Peter gritted his teeth underneath his mask, backhanding Chris across the face before gripping his jaw. "You know exactly what you did, but that's okay because it won't happen again. You'll never touch Y/n again. I'll make sure of that."

Blood dripped from Chris's mouth from how hard Peter hit him. "I should fucking kill you for putting your hands on her." He smirked to himself when Chris starts squirming under his grip. "But I won't."

"I won't. I won't touch her again. I swear-"

"Oh, I know you won't." Peter let go of his jaw before backing up towards the door again.

"W-Where are you going? Aren't you going to let me go?" Chris started to panic as Peter pulled his mask off for Chris to see his face. He wanted this to be the last thing he saw if he died and the thing he would definitely remember if he lived.

"I didn't say I was going to let you go. I said I wasn't going to kill you." He smiled and Chris's mouth fell open slightly at the sight of Peter Parker standing before him. "I was thinking we could make a game out of this. I hear you like games. Let's see just how important you really are. I'm gonna leave you here and we're gonna see if your friends succeed with their search party if they even send one out. I can't imagine what they would care about scum like you for, but I guess we'll see. I give you about 48 hours before your body finishes you off itself. That should give you more than enough time to think about what I've said. That's if you do make it and I don't really have faith that's gonna happen, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I expect you to get the hell out of New York. I promise to you if ever see you again, I'll kill you."

Chris swallowed hard as Peter stood in the doorway once more, the sun outlining his figure at the door. He was scared of the possibility of not being found. He was furious that a guy like Peter was capable of putting him in a situation like this.

"They'll find me and when they do, you're a dead man, Peter Parker." He pulled at the restraints on his arms with all of his might but he did not stand a chance against the webbing. Peter made it look so easy.

Peter grinned at Chris's promise. He loved the challenge. The possibility that even if someone did find him, he would have the pleasure of killing him himself. It amused Peter that Chris could even have the nerve to threaten him in the position he was in.

"Well, let the game begin." He gave a wave as he started to pull the door closed. Chris yelled to the top of his lungs until the heavy metal door ceased his screams.

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