Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

14: back to baker street

I knew my brother was going to find me eventually. It was only a matter of time that he did. Especially if he had the help of Mycroft. The greatest consulting detective that ever lived along with the head of the British government.

Yeah, I could run for awhile. But they would catch up to me. Like I said, they always had a better mind than me.

It was different the last time. I went off to live somewhere else and changed my name and number, but it was the fact that I wanted to not be found. They respected that to a fault.

But now I've committed a crime. One against the crown at that.

My simple life with boring people was over. And it was all the fault of a certain James Moriarty.

"I told you we won't get caught," James dismissed me for probably the fifth time that day. We only just stole the crown last night, and already I can feel the breath of my brother breathing down my neck.

"You don't know my brothers. They will find me," I huff out, crossing my arms. "We were on the security footage."

"No, dear, tampered with the CCTV, they will only see what I want them to see," he hands me a stack of pancakes, fresh made off the stove. I glance down and see a sad excuse of a smiley face made from the syrup, the mouth and eyes running off the sides. It looks more horrific than anything, but I smile up a James anyway. He lets a kiss fall on my lips.

Sebastian is out doing god knows what, so me and Moriarty are laying low for awhile. He says he's still a target for the government here and my face is still recognizable. We are close to Baker Street after all. Even if they don't know I stole the crown, I still don't want to be seen by anyone.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Well that was a few hours late than I thought it was going to be. I sigh greatly before turning over the cursed phone in my hand, the number the same is it was two years ago.

'Meet me at Baker Street. I know what you did.

SH'

I love that he signs it with his initials. Like I wouldn't already know who it was. Mycroft must have found out my new number.

Well so much for living a life by myself. Right back under my brothers thumb I go. I can't wait for this family reunion. How lovely.

I eat my pancakes a little downcast. Silence stretching between my ears, I don't want to think of anything and my mind seems to be blank. I can't think of a way to get out of this. And if I keep running, especially with a criminal like Moriarty, Sherlock will not hesitate to lock me up. And he especially will lock up Moriarty. No one can go against my brothers. Even a high class genius like James.

I look to him in sadness. I will do this for the both of us. The only way I can get us out of this mess is if I turn myself into my brother and beg him to not throw me in prison.

But the thought of leaving my Irish man behind is terrifying. I just started feeling myself after so long. I felt like an equal to James, even if I knew I wasn't as smart as him. I still know he will always treat me no different from himself. He encourages me. He is proud of the things I do. He wants to be around me. Nothing I have felt before.

I drag my feet on the way to James, looking him in the eyes, those brown beautiful irises, before I push my lips onto his.

It's sticky with syrup and passion. My hand cups his face and he seems to lean into the warmth. If only I could push myself into him forever and stay in this moment. I wouldn't have to face the real word and consequences and brothers.

And with one last small peck, I leave my king behind.

•••

Baker Street.

A place that I didn't want to ever step foot in again if I could help it. Well, that's a lie. Maybe I would have been able to come for a holiday, a small visit. But the sibling that I left in Baker Street was a cold hearted, attention seeking, drug abuser. And I wanted to stay away from him for at least a good while still, hoping he would grow up.

I have a feeling I won't be so lucky, even two years after seeing him the last. I can imagine he is as childish as ever.

I step out of the cab. Obviously I am not out getting more orange juice like I told James I was. But I couldn't tell him where I was actually going, but for some reason, I had a feeling he knew.

I straighten the knocker on the door, putting it perfectly straight before I give it a good wham. The scuffling of shoes just beyond the door let's me know that Ms. Hudson is still alive and well.

"O-oh," the classic surprised Hudson greeting is what I get. She looks the exact same. My eyes roll in my head at all the similarities I left behind, now glaring me in the face. I just hope this this isn't a premonition for the conversation I am going to have with brother mine.

"Hello Ms. Hudson," I push past the elderly lady, "talk to you later Ms. Hudson." I wave over my shoulder. As much as I want to listen to the old woman drag on and on about how terrible of a flat tenant my brother is (because I know she will), and how have I been, and what I've been up to, I decide to leave that conversation for another time.

I step precariously up the stairs, ready to face possibly my last day as a free woman. Who knows what Sherlock will do? Family doesn't mean shit to the detective.

My hand pauses on the door before I open it at full swing, not prepared for what awaited me on the other side.

I was expecting Sherlock, and probably John. But not both brothers, and the blogger.

And they are sitting on the couch, not fighting, and waiting. For me.

Oh dear. A family intervention.