Author's note: I'm sorry if you're getting tired of this universe... Anyway, I decided that it's time Sally and Sherlock had to deal with the past and some problems in their relationship... Because it can't be easy. That would just be too boring.

I don't own anything, please review.

She doesn't know what to think.

Maybe that's not strange, after all she is in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes, therefore she might well be confused from time to time. But this – this is different.

It isn't that he hasn't called her because he's forgotten all about it during an experiment or a chase for a criminal; it's not that she was kidnapped by his brother once again; it's not that they had a fight – at least she isn't aware of it.

No, the fact is that, all of a sudden, there's this distance between them, and she doesn't know why. A few weeks ago, everything was fine, going well. But then, everything changed.

All of a sudden, on a normal evening – at least for them, she had just filed the confession of a triple murderer, and he had just completed an experiment about the decomposition of severed limbs in a tropical climate – she felt it, for the first time. He'd come to her flat, and she had greeted him with a kiss, and it had been just that – he hadn't deepened it, he had barely accepted it, and then moved away and started playing his violin.

She had barely registered it at the time – when you're in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes, strange moods are a part of your life – but when he kept only kissing her chastely, and trying not to touch her, she became suspicious.

Especially since his strange attitude (strange for Sherlock Holmes, at least) only became more pronounced over the course over the next two weeks. He rarely looked at her; he touched her less and less, eventually, he didn't touch her at all; he didn't place any body parts or experiments in her fridge (and it seemed strangely empty, all of a sudden; she didn't know when she'd started to regard body parts in the fridge as "normal", but she missed them all the same); when he played something on his violin, it was Bach, not Beethoven, her favourite; sometimes, he seemed not to hear her when she asked him a question.

And now...

He hasn't been to her flat in a week, and she hasn't spent the night at Baker Street either. They've talked twice, over the phone, always short and to the point. He informed her that he was busy, and hoped "she was well". Then he hung up, without so much as a "goodbye".

At first (even with the chaste kisses and Bach), she thought he might just be lost in his head, or stuck on a case Mycroft forced him to take, or maybe upset because he had had a fight with John.

But it's been a week now, and she's rather concerned.

Because, despite her best efforts, she can't help but think that he might –

That he might want to end it all. That seeing her less and less, barely talking to her, slowly withdrawing herself from her life, might in fact be the Sherlock version of a break-up.

And that is a thought she just can't accept.

Sherlock has turned her life upside-down; she never knows what tomorrow will bring, his brother still kidnaps her now and then (if he isn't in the mood to invite them to dinner), his best friend calls her when he hasn't seen him for a longer period of time, she is supposed to call her boss by his first name, and every time he's after a murderer, she fears she will never see him again, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

She can't have it any other way.

She has tried not to use the big, unbelievably scary word until now, but when one week turns into two, she as to admit –

She loves Sherlock. And she wants to spend the rest of her life with him, in whatever way possible.

He apparently even avoids her at crime scenes, because every time she arrives, he doesn't seem to notice. He ignores her, he doesn't even spare her a look, he just rambles of his deductions – without a smile, apparently without enjoying it, and she can see that John is concerned as well – and then leaves, ducking under the part the crime scene tape that is as far from her as possible. When it happens for the third time, DI – Greg looks at her and asks, slowly, "Sally? Is everything alright between you two?"

She wants to say yes, God knows she wants to. But Greg is Sherlock's friend, and by now her friend too, so she answers "I don't know" and Greg seems to realized that she's suffering, because he pats her shoulder and tells her "You know how he is... Everything's going to be fine, you'll see – ". She feels a little bit better afterwards, because Greg has known Sherlock longer.

She could do without Anderson's triumphant smirk, though. Not only at this crime scene, but at the Yard too. This certain look in his eyes that tells her I told you so. Her fears tell her the same, and she decides to ignore them as well as Anderson.

The day after the third crime scene, Mycroft kidnaps her. Typical, of course; he can't just call either one of them. He takes a look at her – and she's very aware that she hasn't slept the night before – and then says, "Apparently you don't know what's going on, either. I have noticed that he isn't acting like himself, and hoped you could shed some light on it – I was mistaken. I'm sorry for having wasted your time".

And these words hurt her more than Sherlock's attitude. Isn't she an important in the world of the Holmses anymore?

When it's been two weeks and three days since they've spent the night together, and almost a month since they had something similar to a conversation, she decides to go to 221B. She's let him be, she's given him time to snap out of it, but she wants to know what's going on. She has a right to know, after all, she is his girlfriend. And she ignores the little voice in her head that whispers Are you still sure about that?

When she arrives, Mrs. Hudson is nowhere to be seen – she's probably at the stores or meeting a friend and bragging about her "boys" and here, Sally can't help but smile – and Sherlock doesn't seem to be in, either, because the flat is quiet when she lets herself in. And no place Sherlock Holmes happens to be is ever quiet. She learned that quite soon after meeting him – when she still hated him... But it's no use, thinking about the past. She has to think about the present, to know what's going on now, what is happening to them.

John's there, as it turns out, and comes out of his room when he hears her walking around their living room. She's aware that she must look lost, and confused, and maybe a little sad, but she doesn't care.

The doctor, who knows Sherlock better than anyone wells, sighs. "I should have known he wasn't spending every single night and free minute at your flat – how long has it been?"

"Two weeks and three days" she answers sadly, and John makes time, because that's what he does.

When they're sitting in the living room, two steaming cups in front of them, he decides to speak.

"Do you remember the case of the woman who thought she was stalked by a cyclist?"

"Yes" Sally answers. She does, and quite well too. It was rather unusual, even by her – by now pretty wide-ranging – standards.

"Sherlock wanted to look at the forensic evidence himself, after she was attacked – although not by the cyclist – so we went to St Bart's. I had to use the loo, so I left him alone in the lab... When I came back, Anderson and the chief Superintendent were just walking out the door, Sherlock looked like he had seen a ghost, and he refused to tell me what had happened".

Sally feels cold, all of a sudden. Her ex-lover hasn't been happy about her new relationship. What could Anderson have done that - ? And the Chief Superintendent was all but supportive when she proved Sherlock right, when he returned. These two together – they're bad news.

She tries to imagine what they could have said to Sherlock to make him act like they mean nothing to each other, like he never spent three years on her sofa after coming back, like they never started dating. None of the scenarios she comes up with are particularly pleasant.

John seems to sense what she's thinking, because he adds, "At first, I thought they'd just said the usual things – you know, calling him "psycho" and all that – but then... Anderson had a particularly nasty look on his face, and Sherlock, when I asked him about you a week ago, called you an "old friend", so I thought the two might have reminded him of a time when you used to call him freak and hate him... And maybe told him that you were only sleeping with him because you felt bad for having believed the lies of his archenemy".

"But he doesn't believe that, surely?" she asks, bewildered.

John shrugs and shakes his head.

"You know how he is. He has built up his life on logic. And, as much as I hate to admit it – you feeling bad for making him miserable and therefore sleeping with him is, from a logical point of view, more likely than you falling in love with him, after everything that's happened..."

He trails off, apparently unsure whether she's angry with him, but she knows Sherlock well enough by this point to simply nod.

"You could be right. But... That's not – I –" she swallows, because she's never said the words aloud and never expected to have to say them. "I love him, John".

"I know" he replies. "But, naturally – "

"He isn't convinced."

"No, I'm afraid you'll have to do that."

She nods. "Of course. Do you know where he is?"

John shrugs again. "He told me he was going to your flat when he left an hour ago, but that's clearly not true, so – "

But then, she has an idea. "I think I know where he might be. Just – when I'm wrong, and he shows up, please tell me."

"Sure" he hesitates for a moment. "Would you make him text me once you found him?"

"I promise". She drinks her tea and is out the door in a flash, and John smiles to himself as he thinks that Sherlock might well have found the only woman in the world to run after him when no one else will.

She doesn't have to think where to go, not really. Sherlock Holmes, for all his rants about logic and sentiment, is a rather sentimental man, and there is one place that means a lot to both of them, because it's where it all started.

Somehow, considering her boyfriend, it seems logical that it would be the street opposite the entrance to the cemetery, where she first met an old violin player, who turned out to be an officially-dead-but-very-much-alive consulting detective she just happened to fall in love with over the course of the next few months.

Of course he's there, staring at the entrance as if it would grant him answers to questions he hasn't even asked, and she walks up to him and looks at the door too.

"Sally" he says. Just that, nothing else, and she takes a deep breath.

"What did Anderson and the Chief say?"

He looks at her and raises an eyebrow. "So you met John..."

"I went to your flat. I was concerned. I – " her voice breaks despite her best efforts. "Sherlock, do you want to – are you breaking up with me?"

His eyes turn dark, and she can't tell what he's thinking. "I think it would probably be for the best."

It hurts more than she thought. She tries to stay calm.

"Why?"

"So we wouldn't have to pretend." He isn't looking at her anymore. He's staring at the entrance again.

"To pretend what?"

"To care about each other."

She has to take such a deep breath that he turns around and just for a moment she sees concern in his eyes. And regret. He doesn't want to break up. She clings to this thought.

"But I do."

"I'm rather sure that you are just sorry about everything, Donavan."

She wishes Anderson were here, just so she could punch him.

"I am." He winces, but only slightly, and once upon a time she wouldn't have noticed it.

"But that's not all, Sherlock. This – what we are to one another – it happened, I don't know why, but – you mean a lot to me, in fact – " She pauses, because she's never considered telling him what she feels. Not once. But she has to, now.

"You were a freak to me once, I won't deny that. I was jealous, I wanted to be better than you, I didn't understand you. And when you died, and it was my fault, I felt guilty. But then you came back, and we spent time together, and you played for me, and – " she swallows. "Do you remember the case of Melvin Teebold?"

His brows furrow. "The paedophile?"

"Yes, the paedophile. You almost fell off a roof – again, I might add –" He chuckles, and she can't suppress a smile – "And it was then that I realized that I – " That's it. Either he'll end it all, or everything will be alright. Either way, she'll know what's going on.

" That I'm in love with you".

She's said it and he stares at her like she's crazy, and she's rather sure that she is.

"Why?"

"It's not that easy, Sherlock. What do you want me to say? Or would you prefer it if I only slept with you because I was sorry?"

"It would be logical" he says, and her heart sinks, because maybe that means he would prefer it, but then –

"But not necessarily fine. In fact, I would be rather – sad. I – " And he looks everywhere but at her "I reciprocate your feelings."

It takes her a moment to understand what he's just said, but then she kisses him, and this time, he responds, though he's a bit taken aback at first. She breaks the kiss and takes out her phone. "I promised John I'd tell him where you are" she says when she sees his questioning glance. He nods.

"Tell him I'm staying with you tonight."

"Are you?"

He smiles, and she feels that her life is about to become weirder and better once again. "Yes."

She smiles too and answers "About time".

They walk back to her flat, hand in hand, though neither of them is very fond of public displays of affection, and she smiles all the way.

She's in a relationship with the only consulting detective in the world, and it's complicated and crazy, and –

It's absolutely perfect.

Author's note: I couldn't resist, and I had to write something else – I'm still working on "Because I Chose To Be Who I Was", don't worry.

I hope you liked it, please review.