A/N: Well here goes. First time I've actually published one of my fanfics instead of letting it sit and fester on my computer hidden from public view. Just some notes I guess before you embark on the fic. This story is told from the point of the main character, Charlie (Charlotte) and takes place a few months after Reichenbach. I did my best to try and keep the original characters as close to their personalities as possible. Hope you enjoy!

"You do know it's perfectly acceptable in this day and age to pick up anyone you want instead of being all stalkerish from across the room."

"Excuse me?" the deep baritone voice replied clearly thrown off guard as I sat down across from its tall, lanky, curly dark haired owner.

"That man," I nodded in the direction of a short blonde man who was chatting up the bartender. "You've been watching him the entire time you've been here. Or at least since he's been here because I'm pretty sure you slipped in after him." Calculating crystal blue-gray eyes searched mine carefully as I waited for an answer. We sat staring at each other for a few minutes. I noticed his eyes kept flicking quickly back to check out what the blonde man was up to. "Even now, you're still watching him."

"Why do you care that I'm here, let alone what I'm doing?" he asked, turning his full attention on me. "Ah, unless it's your business to know which then either makes you the hostess or a waitress."

"Close," I smiled leaning back in my seat. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Neither. Though I am curious how you were able to get in here unnoticed and seated at this particular booth."

"Manager?"

"Closer," I chuckled. He seemed to be growing frustrated at this point. "Owner, one of them. This is our booth so we can watching everything from the shadows without our employees getting too upset about it. Which leads me to my next question, why are you sitting in it?"

"You already know the answer because you've said it," he replied smirking at me.

"Ok. Brings me to the original one, why not go talk to him already?"

"Because he thinks I'm dead," he replied with another smirk. I caught the sadness and loneliness that flashed quickly, very quickly behind his cool, calm, facade. I looked over at Mary behind the bar and held up two fingers. She nodded her head and grabbed two glasses. I turned my attention back to my guest.

"Who is he and why does he think your dead?"

"A friend and because the whole world thinks I'm dead," he said giving me another smile that didn't reach his eyes. Just then Mary placed two short glasses at the table and walked away. "What's this?"

"Not often I get to drink with a dead man. Besides, you look like you need something and a good gin is always a good something."

"Oh. Thanks," he replied taking the glass after I slid it to him and lifting it to his lips. "Private stock I take it?"

"It pays to be the owner of a pub," I winked. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Charlie, by the way."

He seemed to debate for a moment, watching me with those seemingly knowing eyes of his. Finally deciding it seemed, he reached a hand across the table, "Sherlock."

"Ahh," I said shaking his hand briefly, "That would explain why the world thinks you're dead."

"It seems it would."

"So not dead?"

"Apparently."

"I'd ask how you managed that, but I liked to make it my business not to know too many details."

"Appreciate it."

"So the blonde, that would be Dr. Watson I presume?"

"You presume correct."

"The puzzle pieces fall into place," I sighed. "May I ask why the whole dead but not dead thing?"

"I suppose." I watched him sit there for a moment before he realized I was waiting for an answer. "Got too big and noticeable."

"And the only way to get out of the lime-light was to die? A little counter-productive isn't it?"

"I thought you didn't like to know too much?" he smirked.

"Depends on the subject. If it's boring, then no. But you I know to be a fascinating sort."

"Do you?" I nodded. "How so?"

"Intuition." I motioned for Mary who walked over.

"Yes Charlie?"

"The blonde on the end there, no charge the rest of the night." She gave me a confused look. "Just do it and don't mention it to my sister. Camille hates it when I don't charge." She nodded her head and walked back to the bar.

"Your sister's the other owner?" I nodded my head. "And the more profit concerned."

"You could say that. It's not that I don't care, but for people like you and your friend, I make an exception. Especially when I have someone as entertainment."

"Is that what I am, entertainment?"

"Not at all," I said smiling at him. He gave me a small smile again. "Hungry?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Since we're sitting here, might as well eat something. You can keep an eye on your friend. Plus being dead and all, I'm sure your starving."

"Oh alright," he replied. "Something small would suffice."

I nodded my head and got up to walk over to Mary at the bar. She was chatting up the doctor so I walked around to punch in a food order for me and my new friend if you could call him that. I walked over to Mary who was now in full flirt mode.

"Mary, I put in a food order if you could keep an eye open for it."

"Of course Charlie," Mary smiled.

"Who's your new friend?"

"John Watson," he answered for her holding out a hand for me to shake.

"This is my boss, Charlie Brennan," Mary said as I shook his hand.

"Pleasure," I said.

"Brennan…as in pub owner?"

"Very good," I grinned. "Family pub passed on to me and my sister. Hope everything is to your liking?"

"Yes, thanks," he replied.

"Good to hear. Enjoy your evening." I turned to Mary, "Don't forget my food. Another round of gin too if you please."

"I'll bring it with the food."

"Thanks. Good evening," I said looking back at the doctor. He held up his glass in acknowledgement as I sauntered back over to my table in the dark corner of the bar. I slid into my seat, feeling my new friend watching me. "Food'll be up in a bit."

"You didn't say anything to him…"

I shook my head, "Not my business too. You can tell he's hurting though. What's it been, 3 months?"

"Something like that."

"Where have you been staying?" I asked leaning forward onto the table.

"Up until recently, a friend's couch. The stress of lying to everyone started getting to her. She's on holiday to see her family and get away for a while," he explained taking another drink from his glass. "So why exactly are you being nice to me? I'm not paying or at least you're not planning to take my money and you're giving John free drinks. Why?"

"You don't have any ideas in that funny head of yours?" I giggled.

"Several. But I was always constantly told that opinion was never really warranted."

"I told you Mr. Holmes, entertainment."

"But why? Surely you have better things to be doing? You are the owner of a pub."

"Half owner," I rolled my eyes at him.

"Something your sister doesn't let you forget." I leaned back again and watched him carefully as he watched me. I could see him trying to read me, gage my reactions, try to see what I was thinking. "You've had an argument recently. You were close with her, but not at the moment. Something, or someone, has driven a rift between the two of you, probably a boyfriend or husband. Planted some kind of thought into her head which then caused you to fight. You're not happy with her which is why you came in later than you normally do, so you wouldn't run into her. You don't really want to be here so you've fallen back to drinking your special stock of gin to cope."

"You know, it's a different experience entirely seeing you do that first hand than reading it on John's blog or the papers," I giggled finishing my glass and placing it on the table.

"You read John's blog?"

"I perused. At least when he used to write it. Hasn't been an entry really since you jumped."

"Ah."

"And if you're curious, you're pretty spot-on. Camille and I did have a fight and are not currently talking at this point in time thanks to her dirt bag husband. He's trying to convince her to sell the pub, mainly because he has a gambling problem that she's in denial about. I refused to sign anything. I grew up here, in this very booth. There's no way I'd give that up."

"Sorry."

"It is what it is. We both said some not nice things, she'll get over it, I'll move on, and we'll be fine. We wouldn't have to worry about it if Mr. scumbag was outta the picture, but what ya gonna do…so what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Does the dead man have any family?"

"He's dead so technically no," he smirked. I placed my chin in my hand, elbow resting on the table, and smiled at him, waiting for a proper answer. "I have a brother, we don't get on. Well I guess that still holds true even though I'm dead."

"You ever going to tell anyone you're alive?"

"When it is convenient for them to know."

"I think your best friend would appreciate it."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"I don't care, I'm giving it anyway."

"You're very frustrating that way aren't you?"

"So I'm told. Ask me how much I care."

"You don't, which is why you give your opinion willingly and unwantingly."

"Kind of like you."

"In a sense, yes," he sighed reluctantly as Mary brought over two bowls full of my homemade stew, bread and two more glasses of gin.

"Anything else Charlie?" Mary asked.

"I think we're good for now. Check back in about an hour."

"Can do," she said smiling at us as she left. I saw Sherlock look down at the bowl and new glass sitting in front of him.

"Homemade beef stew. Nice and hearty and of course a refill," I said answering the look on his face.

"Thank you I believe is customary in this instance."

"You're welcome," I giggled. "Are you always so prim and proper?"

"Mostly. You'd be surprised."

A/N: Guess there's no stopping now. Hope you like so far. There's a tons more to come. Updates should be regular seeing as most of it has already been typed up. So until the next time, thanks for stopping by.