So, this is my new fic based around my OC Cassandra . It basicially tells the story of her relationship withSherlock and John. I've tried to follow the original episodes as best I can but obviously this isnt just a retelling of what you've already watched, that would just be dull, to quote the favourite word of a certain highly functioning sociopath. But yeah, it starts at the end or near to it and then jumps back to Cassies time with the boys. I think that is all, if its unclear fell free to tell me via messafe or review and I'll tryto fix it best I can. The characters belong to the genius of Conan Doyle and the modetn adaptions to the cruel but wonderful Moffat and Gatiss. Cassandra belongs to me and everything you recognise to them. Enjoy( I hop

e!)!

To: Jwatson18 .uk

From: CassieJane42 .uk

John…

I know that I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, and I'm genuinely sorry about that, the thing's I said and did, I just wasn't thinking after…what happened. Look I can't do this over an email, so can we meet somewhere? Just so I can explain why. It's your choice so just reply if you want to or if you don't, don't.

Cass

To: CassieJane42 .uk

From: Jwatson18 .uk

Café. In the Natural History Museum. Friday at 11 am. Meet you there.

John

John sat in the café clutching his tea. He looked around; he was alone apart from a woman sat in the corner reading a book. He couldn't remember the last time he'd read a book. He dropped his gaze down to his tea and blew feebly on it in an attempt to cool it down, when he looked up he saw her. She looked exactly the same. Of course she does he thought it's only been six months. Her blonde hair was pulled back into her usual ponytail and she wore the same jacket she had worn on that day. Had she done that to spite him? Or had she just forgotten? She brushed her fringe out of her face, a habit of hers and scanned the room, searching for him. What would she think of him? Had he also changed as little she had? Would she realise the reason he chose to meet here? That it was one of the only places in London that didn't have a link to their time with Sherlock? Then their eyes met and he realised that she wasn't exactly the same. Her eyes held a darkness that wasn't there before. A darkness that he was sure his eyes also held.

She approached him slowly, as if unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge of emotion. He stood up enveloped her in a hug. She froze for a second before she relaxed in his arms. When he pulled away, he saw the tears in her eyes and felt a sickening pang of guilt. This woman had watched the person she loved kill himself. And John hadn't offered her any support; he had been too caught up in his own emotions to see that she was hurting also. He accused her of not caring, not realising that showing nothing was her way of grieving. Even after she left he carried on hating her. Until now.

He motioned for her to take a seat and she did. He glanced over at the woman in the corner but to his relief she was too caught up in her book to have noticed the previous exchange. He sat down opposite her.

"Cass…" He began.

"No, let me…please" She said and he nodded signalling her to continue.

She sighed.

"John, First of all I'm sorry, sorry for what I'm about to tell you and sorry that I couldn't tell you sooner" She watched as confusion clouded his eyes. "When I left, I didn't leave because I was grieving; I left because I couldn't trust myself not to tell you"

"Tell me what?" John said, he could feel his heart rate rising in fear of her answer. She closed her eyes momentarily as if considering something. Then she said three words that John never thought, never let himself hope, that he'd hear.

"Sherlock is alive"

Sherlock was alive? But he'd seen him, seen his blood splattered on the pavement, checked for a pulse. There hadn't been one. He'd attended the funeral. Whose body had been in the coffin? Was there even a body at all? Had he stood and spoken to an empty grave?

He could feel her watching him waiting to see his reaction.

"Where is he? What happened? Is he ok? I mean…"

"I don't know" She said solemnly.

Then he realised something. She had left no more than a week after Sherlock's 'death'. She'd known all that time and she hadn't told him. He could feel the anger knotting itself up inside his stomach.

"You knew" he said through gritted teeth. She nodded and clasped her shaking hands in her lap.

He continued, struggling to keep a lid on his anger.

"All that time you knew, you let me grieve and you knew he was alive"

"I…John" she said starting to stand up. She turned away from him. "I never should have…I'm sorry" Then she began to walk away. John sprang up out of his seat and grabbed onto her arm. She spun around and the look on her face made him release his grasp, he watched her walk until she disappeared around the corner. Running away again. He sat back down and picked up his mug. The tea was cold.