drwhitly | Closed to formersurgeon

Closed to formersurgeon

Martin Whitly had made a deal with the devil, but he was completely content with that. He had to fake his death with the help of a wealthy professional and relocate to a whole new town. It was still a luxurious lifestyle he was brought into but fairly confined. He would still be used for his skills as a surgeon and a killer, but be paid and housed for it.

He had to wait a few weeks after pretending to be dead - he was sure by then that his ex wife had flushed his ashes down a toilet by this point - before seeking Joan out. He was escorted by the people who had managed to get him out of Claremont and located the place that she had shared with this Sherlock fellow.

He could have spent hours looking through the things collected there, but found his way to her room and stayed there. It wouldn’t do him much good to be spotted by her roommate. His appearance was cleaned up despite his age still showing on his face, but his hair was in better shape. He was still unmistakably him even if he wore a disguise the majority of the time he was in public.

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Joan had been heartbroken when Martin died. It had been particularly difficult because there had been so much glee and celebration over the demise of the Surgeon. People knew that she was close to him, but not how close, and in what way. And she couldn't let on that she cared deeply for him, lest it negatively affect how her colleagues in the police department saw her. So she grieved silently and alone.

She was returning from the precinct where she and Sherlock had just closed out their most recent case. She was tired from long days and sleepless nights, and still heavy hearted with grief, so when she came into her darkened room she didn't see Martin sitting there. She sat on her bed and began taking off her high-heeled boots.

“You really should turn on the lights when you enter a room.” His humor was unfaltering, but she was really setting the joke up for him. “It’s like a horror flick. I could be a serial killer or something.”

He knew sitting there in the dark was going to startle her, but he was a free man now and he had his fun where he could.

Joan scrambled to her feet and backed up against the farthest wall from that voice, staring into the dark and making out the man's form, sitting there in the chair.

"...Martin??? It can't..."

Her heart was beating rapidly like a terrified rabbit. Either he was dead and a ghost of some sort, or he was alive, and there was a serial killer sitting in her bedroom, laying in wait for her.

“Surprise!” He grinned as he stood up, chuckling at her reaction. He moved to turn on the light for them to actually see one another.

“Did you miss me, darling?” He hadn’t been able to communicate a word to her outside of a passive comment when they had been together. For the operation to go off smoothly he couldn’t have let on in any way that he was going to escape.

Joan sucked in a breath when the light went on. It was him.

"Yes," she answered, because she had. She had missed him terribly. And part of her wanted to run to him and into his arms. Fear held her back, though. He was still a sadistic, sociopathic serial killer. There would have been consequences had he killed her while he was incarcerated, but now? No one would know it was him, or at least not soon enough to catch him again. Not to mention that now that she'd seen him, she was a liability.

She should run. She should scream. It was that one hope that maybe he did care for her and wouldn't hurt her that kept her from doing so.

"Why are you here?" she asked, mentally cataloging the objects in her room and how quickly she could snatch them up to defend herself.

“To see you.” He stated matter-of-factly. “I didn’t risk coming back into New York City for just anyone.”

Martin watched her and picked up on the nonverbal signals he had seen before. “Are you frightened?” His eyes narrowed as if studying her as he started to step towards her. “It’s just me, darling. You know me.”

That was a good point. He was risking a lot being here, back in the city where his face had been splashed all over the newspapers after his "death" in a gaudy carnival of sensationalism. Why would he do it to kill her?

She was frightened, she wouldn't deny it. But still she took a step away from the wall and toward him.

"Do I?" she asked, studying him in turn, looking for any sign that he meant to hurt her as she took another step.

He chuckled as if in disbelief, “Well, I’m not sure now. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” A conceited expectation but he was being honest. “Not seeming like you wanted to attack me or run.”

“I am not going to hurt you, Joan.” His arms opened wide, smiling as he always did. “I didn’t fake my own death and escape to come kill you.” He rolled his eyes at the thought; she wasn’t that special. “And if I were to hurt you, I wouldn’t have given you so much time to react. I’ve done it over 23 times, you don’t think I perfected what I do? Come on, Joan, a little credit. I’m starting to feel a bit offended.”

"If I was going to run I would have done it already," she countered, taking another step. "And I wouldn't attack you, I'd defend myself." She let out a breath, the tension in her body easing slightly. She paused, considering her options, making up her mind...then stepped into his arms, slid her own arms over his shoulders and around his neck, and kissed him.

"I am happy to see you."

“There she is,” he smiled, his arms wrapping around her to embrace the slender woman. He turned his head to kiss the side of hers, inhaling her scent as he did.

“Good because I missed you.” Again, he wasn’t lying. He had treasured the time they spoke even if just through text.

When he pulled away he looked around them for effect. “Quite the place you have here. You and Sherlock have quite the collection.”

"For the most part it's Sherlock's collection," she said. "He likes to keep things from cases. And things he finds interesting and bizarre. Honestly, I'm not always sure what I'll find when I open a closet."

She lifted a hand and gently touched his hair, so much neater than it had ever been before.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she said softly.

"I am going to assume that I shouldn't meet him," Seeing that they both work for law enforcement.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you what was happening, darling." He smiled at her touch and moved to sit them on her bed. "The operation needed the upmost secrecy and all."

"But now," his arms went out, "I'm a free man. Life sentence served." He paused and rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Just without the whole walking freely on the street-part."

"Definitely not." Sherlock would not hesitate to call the police. Joan...was conflicted. She knew she absolutely should call the police. But...she didn't want to. She didn't want him taken away, chained to the wall again.

She didn't want to never see him again. Or give him reason to kill her.

"You...shouldn't tell me where you're living," she said. "If they find out you're alive, they'll come to me. I need plausible deniability."

"Who is going to find out I'm alive?" He poised to her, seeing that to him, he didn't have any reason to be concerned about it. "If the people who got me out of prison learn that I've been found, they'll kill me." He didn't sound too concerned. He also knew that they would kill someone like Joan if linked to the leak; but no need to worry her with such things. He had confidence in her and saw that she wasn't interested in knowing more than she needed to.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to hang out here then." He didn't mind her place so far, it was quite comfy minus the roommate. "Sherlock knows of your 'exercise partners'?"

Well, that was that. She wasn't about to risk his life. And if they would kill him, they would almost certainly kill her, too.

"He does," she answered. "He originated the idea, actually. He has a lot of his own." She took his hand, threading her fingers through his. "It might be better if we meet somewhere else. Sherlock can pick up on things you'd never expect. I don't expect them half the time, and we've been working together for a long time."

“A wise man.” His hand responded in kind. “Well, if you don’t want to know where I live and we can’t come here then I’ll have to see if we can set up a space.” He had wealthy funders and wasn’t so concerned about the money aspect of things. “Not a hotel where anyone could see us. Maybe a condo outside of the city. That could be arranged.“

“I also brought you something,” he reached into the pocket of his suit, something that made him look incredibly different since it wasn’t scrubs. It was clearly a small jewelry box that he offered up to her. “Since I was rarely able to give you anything before.”

"That would work." Sherlock would still be curious about where she disappeared to, but would likely be sufficiently appeased with the explanation that she was meeting a lover that she was keeping private. Sherlock didn't tell her about all his lovers, after all.

He looked amazing in that suit. And in general. Freedom really suited him.

"Oh," she said, taking the jewelry box. "I don't think I reminded you last time about the sex toy..." The box was almost certainly too small for that. She opened it, eager and curious.

“The sex toy?” He had been through so much in the precious weeks that he had to tug on his memory for her reference. “The dildo?”

In the box she would find a diamond necklace, the piece in the shape of a heart but with red jewels in the middle. It was cliche but Martin was old fashioned and he was still romantic in his own way. It was merely a gesture more than anything that he wasn’t just paying a quick house call.

“Just a little something.”

"You wanted to get me a toy I could use on myself while I was thinking of you," she reminded him as she opened the box and drew a breath. "It's beautiful," she said, looking up at him. The significance of it was not lost on her...he still wanted a future with her. "Thank you." She took it from the box and put it on.

“Yes, I do remember.” He had fallen asleep to that image many many times. “What did you not remind me of?” He was very curious now and more than his mind had perked up.

“I’m glad you like it-“ he didn’t suspect she wouldn’t. “You’re welcome, darling. If you like this sort of thing then it’ll be the first of many.” Or whatever he could spoil her with.

"I didn't remind you to buy me one. I think I fell asleep first."

She leaned in to kiss him. "I love it. We might want to be careful about too many gifts, though. It would make Sherlock suspicious if I started getting a lot of expensive jewelry. He'd think I have a sugar daddy, which would concern him, which means he would delve. And we definitely do not want Sherlock delving."

"Well, if I were dead then that would have been a huge loss," He began, leaning into her, kissing her back. "But now you won't have to buy one." He paused, the corners of his lips curling, "Unless of course, you would want me to use something on you."

"But what if you did have a sugar daddy?" Martin jested, his hand now going comfortably to her thigh. "Does Sherlock not want you to have one? What's his buy into this?" Concern for her well being? Martin was suspicious of this Sherlock.

"Then I'll have to spoil you in other ways." He pondered out loud, head turning before his lips went to her neck.

She smiled. "I wouldn't object to that. Are we going to get back to texting, though? How often are we going to be seeing each other?"

That hand on her thigh felt good, and she leaned into him, savoring his presence. She had thought he was dead, and it was heartbreaking. That he was alive and right there, solid and warm, was amazing, and she wanted to drink it all in.

"I think he'd be worried that I was being taken advantage of." Sherlock was protective of her because he loved her, and their partnership meant the world to him.

She smiled wider as his lips found her neck, and she closed her eyes, tilting her head to give him more access.

"God I've missed you," she whispered.

"Well, I do have some work I am to do now that I am...contracted." He didn't feel he needed to say more than that. "But I feel like much of our time together will be dictated by your schedule, sweetheart. You're going to be busier than I am, so you tell me how often you want to see me." He watched her and enjoyed her smile, "We can certainly still text."

"Hmm," his hand squeezed her thigh, sliding further north, his lips kissing and gently sucking on the soft skin of her neck. "And here I thought you liked it when I 'took advantage' of you." She would feel the smirk against her neck as he spoke. He really wasn't threatened by this Sherlock guy, but he'd do what she advised to bring her comfort.

Pausing his hand's movement, he took hers and brought it to the clear growing erection against the fabric of his pants, "And I you."

Contracted. That...didn't sound good. It seemed unlikely that he was now a full fledged contract killer, if just because he couldn't easily move around in public without being recognized. But it was clearly for something illegal. Maybe a mob doctor?

It...was probably best if she didn't know.

"I'll have to use one of my burner phones," she mused. It would be too much of a risk to text with her own phone.

She smiled at those words and his lips on her neck. "In the sense that I like to let you hold me down and fuck me? Yes. But I'm definitely not in the market to exchange sex for sugar. Sherlock would be suspicious."

She hummed her approval as she felt his erection. "Yes you have," she purred, and began to massage him through his pants as she leaned in to kiss him again.

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