A/N: Thanks to purpleyin, cowmow, booda77 and Nocturnias for reviewing! I love you guys so much! 3 Thanks for reading, people!
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xoxo,
faeryenchanter.
Chapter 1:Sherlock
It had already been 5 months since Sherlock's self imposed exile from England, and he was restless, bored, and hellishly frustrated. He couldn't solve any cases, for it was a global fact that he was dead, and solving cases would only draw attention to himself. Not a good thing for people who were supposed to be dead.
Sherlock missed London, missed everything about it, even the smog-filled air. He missed John and Mrs Hudson, missed Lestrade and Anthea even.
But he missed Molly most of all.
Frustrated and bored, Sherlock had turned to cocaine and archery. Why archery? Because it was the only thing that was silent and lethal, and didn't attract too much attention. It wouldn't really a problem, because Irene owned a superbly luxurious villa on Lake Como, Italy, that had acres of land and completely everything under the sun, including very hi-tech gadgets that normal people could only dream of having.
In consequence, Sherlock had become a deadly good shot, and could hit anything, no matter how far it was, or however small the target.
So there he was, now. Aiming at random targets, yet never missing a single one. He probably looked like some sort of modern day Apollo, wildly aiming and firing. Woe betide anyone who crossed his path.
It had been a particularly trying day for him. John had given an interview in the newspapers, about him.
Also, there seemed to be paparazzi stalking Molly's every move, suspecting that she had been Sherlock's girlfriend. Nearly everyday, he would see some pictured of her in random places.
He always cut them out and put them away safely, poring over every detail just before he went to sleep.
Not that he slept much, anyway.
Molly seemed different from the last time he saw her. A whole LOT different. She seemed paler than usual, with dark circles around her eyes and a permanent sad expression.
"No need to be so violent." Irene laughed, coming over to stand next to him. Irene had turned into an artist, and often came out to Sherlock to paint him.
"Easy for you to say, woman." He responded harshly, aiming at a scampering squirrel.
"Still thinking about her?" Irene asked sympathetically. Sherlock's only answer was a well aimed arrow at a tree nearly a 100 yards away.
"I need to go back to London on some business." Irene said. Sherlock immediately perked up.
"Maybe you could stay here yourself for a few weeks?" she finished.
"No. I'm going home."
"But it's dangerous."
"I don't care."
"I thought you did. I thought you cared about your friends?"
"The rules have changed. I think I can protect them." Sherlock said forcefully.
"You said it would take years to disband his gang."
"I don't have years to wait!" Sherlock said impatiently.
Irene looked sad, and thoughtful.
"We'll wait one more month. Just for luck." She sighed.
"Thank you, Irene." Sherlock said, and kissed Irene's cheek.
Then he left.
Irene sighed. If only he knew...
A/N: Knew what? Anyone care to have a guess? Cookies and candy for you if you do!
faeryenchanter.
PLEASE R&R!