A/N: I wanted to write a story dealing with Harry beginning her long road to recovery. The POV is still John, though. The title is an homage to the wonderfully twisted comedy by Alfred Hitchcock, but in no way resembles it. Action begins the morning after "Shake the Disease" ends. As always, any and all feedback is cherished!

Warnings: Established John/Sherlock, references to drug and alcohol abuse. Bad language. If anything else comes up, I'll post a warning on the chapter in which it happens.

Disclaimer: No profits. Done for love.

The Trouble with Harry - 1

I woke up to find that Sherlock was still curled around me, in close to the same position as he'd been when I'd fallen asleep the night before. I smiled. He must have slept well.

I was a bit worried, however. I needed to go back to work today, something I hadn't done since his episode with the heroin. He had promised not to take any more drugs, but I couldn't help but be concerned on leaving him alone for the first time. We still hadn't really dealt with the issue, we'd been too busy navigating the waters of our relationship.

I tightened my arms around him slightly, feeling both a wave of affection and wonder. I still found it hard to believe that this incredible creature had allowed me to get inside of him, both literally and figuratively.

Why me? After a lifetime of seemingly contented solitude? Why me, when he could probably have anyone he desired?

I bent my neck down and kissed the top of his head. He yawned and stretched lazily, then blinked up at me. As his eyes cleared of sleep, he began to frown.

"You're leaving."

"I have to go back to work, Sherlock."

He sighed and rolled over.

"It's probably just as well, anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Mycroft might be coming over."

"Oh really? Why?"

"Mum."

"Oh," I said. I really wasn't sure what to say. After a pause I said, "Well, tell him hello for me, that is, if he isn't still cross with me about Margaret."

I got out of the bed and began getting my clothes together for work. Knowing that Mycroft might be coming was a bit motivating, as I was certain that if he came over he would somehow instantly know that I'd shagged his brother yesterday.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked, fervently hoping that Sherlock at least wouldn't have a suspicious limp to confirm Mycroft's suspicions.

"I am fine, please stop fussing," grumbled Sherlock.

"All right, all right, I just wanted to be sure is all."

I hurried to the bathroom and by the time I came out Sherlock was out of the bedroom in his dressing gown. He was no longer limping or making strange faces when he moved, so I left for work with my worries greatly eased.

I texted Sherlock several times from the surgery that day to ensure that he knew I was thinking of him. It certainly wasn't any more than when he would often text me, but he still deduced my intent after the fourth text I sent.

In answer to your unspoken question - no, I am not injecting heroin into my veins. - SH

I came home to the sound of Sherlock's Stradivarius. He was playing one of his raucous, improvised compositions. They tended to make appearances when Sherlock was nervous or upset about something.

He immediately stopped playing when I came in the sitting room, however, and waved his bow at me by way of greeting.

"Hey," I said, "how was your day? Did Mycroft come over?"

"No," he responded, looking a little perturbed, "and he didn't call either."

"Maybe there was some sort of crisis, couldn't get away from work."

"He could have texted me."

That night Sherlock didn't come to bed until after I had fallen asleep. I could hear him out in the sitting room rustling through his mother's file. It made my heart ache a little bit, knowing that there was an area of hurt there that I really couldn't help him with.

Sometime in the middle of the night I half-awoke as Sherlock slipped into bed and wrapped himself around me. I never expected him to be so cuddly in bed, after a lifetime of sleeping alone. However, after thinking about it I realize that he had no real physical affection of any kind since his mother had died. With Mycroft away at uni and his father busy drinking himself to death, Sherlock had probably not been held by anyone since he was a child.

The next several days went by in much the same way. I got back into my usual work routine and Sherlock re-immersed himself into his mother's case. However, Mycroft continued to be absent. Sherlock grumbled that the most he could get out of his brother was that Mycroft still felt it was too soon to take additional action and that he was far too busy anyhow.

I could see that Sherlock was getting increasingly agitated over the situation, but was at somewhat of a loss as to what I could do about it. I attempted to distract him as much as possible, and hoped that Lestrade might come through with an interesting case for him.

I also tried to be extra affectionate, but was met with varying success in that area. We cuddled a lot in bed, but Sherlock generally didn't respond to anything physical out of the bedroom. We also did not engage in anything overtly sexual. Sherlock didn't make any new overtures in that area, and I was still a bit leery of making any. I was still concerned about making him think that he owed me sexual favors now that we were in a relationship.

I found myself surprisingly ok with the situation. I discovered that it didn't really matter that much to me whether Sherlock and I had sex or not, as long as I was sure of his affections. And, so much as he had them, I knew that they were all mine. My happiness would have been complete if only I could have eased Sherlock's mind about his mother's case, but I knew that was outside my power.

Almost before I knew it, enough days had passed that I got a phone call from Harry. She had successfully completed her first two weeks of rehab, and she wanted me to come for a visit the next day.

"Congratulations, Harry! Of course I'll come."

"Thanks, John. Will you be bringing Sherlock?"

"Um, I don't know what his schedule is. Do you want me to bring him?"

"I'd like to see him, if he could come."

"All right then, I'll ask him, but I'll be there for sure."

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow, then. And John?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Harry."

I hung up the phone feeling a little strange. I don't think we'd ever actually said that to each other before.

I asked Sherlock about coming. He was surprised, but agreed to come with me on my visit the next day.

To be continued...