Alright this is a re wright of the first chapter. I hadn't even realized people were actually reading this story and to be frank, I forgot about the account altogether. Anyway, here it is!

I walk briskly down the street the freezing London air biting into my exposed skin and even though the think jacket I threw on in a hurried flurry this morning. I wasn't expecting the weather to get this cold, but then again one doesn't usually expect anything much when they find a dead tiger shark laying in their sitting room.

No, my mind wasn't exactly on the upcoming weather. but then again, when was it ever?

Living with Sherlock is like a roller coaster on a particularly foggy day. It's all ups and downs and upside downs with the horrifying knowledge that you have no idea what's two feet in front of you. And even if you hate roller coasters, want to leave and never look back; you can't.

Because after Sherlock Holmes life is never the same.

Or rather you're not the same it it.

So, no matter what I tell people when they evidently ask why I put with with such a person as Sherlock Holmes, that's why I stay. And because I love him, but at the moment that's an entirely different subject. Or at least thats what I keep telling myself instead of exploring the probability I may have misjudged the depth of an eight month romantic relationship. Or perhaps misjudged their being a relationship of that sort whatsoever.

But I'm not thinking about that ring now. I'm angry at the idiotic genius for putting dead thing is my sitting room and then having the nerve to pull me out of a perfectly pleasant coffee with an old friend for unnamed 'urgent' pleasantries. Not that there is much of a chance things would be pleasant when I got there.

It wasn't as if I could simply ignore his texts. Well I could, but that's really beside the point. When Sherlock contacts me there is always a reason behind it. Now, weather that reason actually has important or is as simple as a request for my phone or a midday shag I can never seem to tell. So I'm stuck serving his beck and call like a loyal puppy always at his side and nothing close to the girlfriend I so desperately want to be.

I pull my jacket closer to my body; bending my head down slightly and pulling my arms closer to myself, almost subconsciously conserving body heat. the wind keeps wiping my fee blond hair in all directions, a particularly; annoying bunch keeps falling periodically on my face. It seems as though I really can't win, today event the atmosphere itself doesn't appreciate my existence.

My annoyed steps are lost in the flurry of urban ambiance as it turn on baker street. without the full fledged crowd of people that surrounded me during the previous leg of my route the cold and seemingly dropping temperatures hit me at full force. I almost go reeling back into the masses I've left but the warmth and satisfaction of reaching our fault than having a proper one sided row with Sherlock before storming out to meet with a few friends to drink and most definitely sulk is far too appealing.

I'm in that kind of mood today.

The door to 221 B Baker street is slightly ajar when i arrive. a sliver of our home shines through the open crack. A claw of fear shoots to my heart sinking its ebony marble talents of dread into the beating muscle.

I move up the creaking steps taking them two at a time. My previous anger at the detective replace by fear for him. While sometimes I feel like killing the man myself I can't deny the depth to which i care for him. The gut wrenching pace at which my heart beats in my chest now is proof enough of that.

I pause when I reach the old wooden door of my home, what will I find when i enter? Will I be commanded by the smooth baritone to 'run' or with this be the beginning of an adventure I may not want to embark on?

Has he not called me home for an emergency or request, but to tell me that the love i harbor for him in not requited.

I push open the door, the slow creak of it un molded hinges creaking loudly to find….our flat. The sitting room, not lacking dead corpses, isn't ransacked quite the opposite actually. When I enter I find the surfaces dusted, and mound of papers straitened and even put away.

And on the table the just hours previously was riddled with scientific equipment, sits one small red box.