Chapter 2

Her peaceful sleep got rudely interrupted when the door slammed open and someone strode inside with complete disregard to her still slumbering form in bed. Kyrie bolted right upside with a startled shriek and then spat out a clump of hair. Yuck!

"Good morning," the deep baritone sound of Sherlock's voice greeted her. "I'd say 'I trust you slept well' if not for all the tossing and turning you did. Your bad dreams kept me awake."

Kyrie swallowed the words 'Good morning, yourself' and just glared at the person responsible for her rude awakening. Okay, so it wasn't as peaceful a sleep as she had thought. If Sherlock noticed her lack of greeting, he didn't let it show, he just sauntered towards his closet to pull out a shirt and suit. He dumped the garments on the bed and walked around it to find socks and a pair of briefs from the dresser.

She just watched him pad about the room as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. Well, it probably was, but she was pretty sure he wasn't used to doing this while someone else was occupying his bed. His hair was messy and tousled by sleep and he yawned unabashed while he scratched the back of his head right before he disappeared into the bathroom.

A few moments later she could hear the sound of water begin to jettison from the shower head. Immediately Kyrie jumped out of bed and fled the bedroom. She had no desire what so ever to be confronted by a half-naked male, if he actually had the decency to cover himself up with a towel. Something she seriously began to doubt due to his lack of decorum showed so far.

A tight feeling on her scalp began to demand her attention and she moaned in disgust when she found out she had just passed out in bed, without removing the pins from her hair or even bothering to clean her face. She was just in the process of pulling the pins from her hair when her eyes fell on her phone, still sitting on the arm of the chair where she had left it the night before.

Ugh, she really had to keep in mind not to leave her phone out and about. Not while she was suddenly forced to co-exist with other people in the same flat. As if someone knew her attention was drawn to her phone, a ring tone alerted her to an incoming call. It was the musical part of the 'Ronde du veau d'or'. Kyrie didn't know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. In the end she did both and she shook her head as well for good measure. Well, obviously someone had been playing with her phone! She didn't need to check the caller ID to know the identity of the person calling her. She quickly accepted the call.

"Good morning, Mycroft!" she greeted her brother-in-law.

"Good morning, sister dear." Kyrie rolled her eyes at the lazy drawl of his voice. "I trust you slept well?" She snorted when Mycroft pretty much used the same words as his younger brother had just a few moments ago.

"I did, thanks Mycroft. Though I don't think your brother would agree. He's cross at me for keeping him awake with my tossing and turning."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Sorry, Mycroft. Just bad dreams. Thankfully none that I can remember though."

Mycroft fell silent on the other end of the line and it took him a sweet moment before he cleared his throat. "Err… I feel an apology is somewhat in order. My little… gift. Though it was meant as a harmless joke, I later err… well, it occurred to me you might be offended by it after, well… you know."

Kyrie smiled. It was endearing to hear a man like Mycroft make an effort like that, to take the 'feelings' of someone else into consideration. He seemed to be quite allergic to them.

"It is fine, Mycroft. I actually liked the gift. It…" she sighed, trying find the right words, "I wasn't exactly in a good place last night. Though I do agree it was in really poor taste," Kyrie couldn't resist to mildly scold him, "It relieved my anxiety and Mrs Hudson and I had a good laugh about it. And that, Mycroft, was the real gift, because I really, really needed that at the moment."

Another moment of silence. "Oh," was finally his reply, sounding oddly falsetto, "Ok then, err… have a good day."

"You too, My… Do you mind if I call you My?"

"I do, actually - "

"Too bad," Kyrie cut him off, "Mycroft is too much of a mouthful. So, My it is."

"Good Lord, you sound just like Mummy. She always insists on calling me 'Myc', can't even finish the bloody name she gave me," he muttered darkly.

"Don't bad mouth your mother, My!" Kyrie warned him, "She's great and you know it."

Mycroft sneezed hard into the phone. "Sorry, sister dear, too much emotional interference on the line. Ta-ta."

Kyrie snickered as she ended the call. She glanced in the direction of the bed room, longing to be able to take a shower herself. Ah well, first order of business, tea. She walked to the open kitchen, taking her phone with her, and groaned at the sight. The table was a mess of vials and jars and instruments. Someone hadn't even bothered with a half-hearted attempt to clear at least a small portion of the table. The kitchen counter was pristine though and Kyrie suspected Mrs Hudson's hand in that.

Kyrie started rummaging through the different cupboards to get herself acquainted with its contents. She found a small box with a few teabags still sitting inside. She resolutely pushed it to the side. There was also a tea tin with loose leafed tea, but she scrunched up her nose when she discovered its contents. Looked like an Assam and not a very good one. For now it was what she would have to work with, but Kyrie intended to remedy the tea situation very soon. She found a teapot, something that could pass for a strainer and she put the electric kettle on.

While she waited for the water to boil, she removed the remaining pins from her hair, letting her tangled, unruly blonde mane cascade down her back to right below her waist. She then proceeded to massage her sensitive scalp with just the tips of her fingers to relieve some of the pain caused by the tight hairdo.

She quickly washed and dried her hands and poured the hot water over the tea in the pot. To keep herself busy while waiting for the tea to infuse, she tried to comb the thick strands of her hair with her fingers. She would need a shower, a good conditioner and a brush to really get her hair tangle free, but for now she tried to do her best.

She started to hum a little and closed her eyes as she finally started to feel a bit more like herself after everything that had happened. Her hum slowly started to develop and Kyrie could feel the need rise in her to give voice to her emotions by singing.

Her mouth opened, but before the notes came, her eyes flew open as well. For a moment she saw Gerulf leering at her again from the depths of the shadows. No… never again. Her voice had attracted something so vile and wicked, she never wanted to experience that kind of fear and humiliation again. Which meant she could never lose herself like that again. And it made her indescribably sad. A quiet hum, a soft lament, it was all she would permit herself. Even then she had to take care.

"That sounded really sad. Are you okay?"

Kyrie gasped and nearly toppled from the kitchen chair at the unexpected sound of John's voice.

"Sorry!" John was quick to apologise and he held up his hands with a smile. "Sorry, really didn't mean to startle you like that."

"Err… it's fine, you just caught me off-guard." Kyrie offered John a hesitant smile. It was really weird to think that she was no longer on her own, that she had to live with two men who were both still strangers to her.

"What you just sang, it sounded really sad. Beautiful though, but err… yeah, sad. What was it?"

John seemed to just want to make light conversation, but singing was a bit of a tender point for her at the moment. She didn't want him to notice though so she just shrugged her shoulders.

"Ennio Morricone. I space out sometimes and when I do… I hum." Kyrie jumped out of the kitchen chair and held up the teapot, trying to change the subject. "Tea?"

"Oh, that would be lovely, actually," John said with a shy smile. He obviously felt as weird by the situation as she did. Kyrie poured both of them a cup and put a sugar pot on the table.

"Ta," John said as he accepted the cup. There was a moment of silence as they both waited for the moment it was safe to carefully take the first sip. After that first sip they both started to talk at the same time.

"This is great, you make a good cuppa," John complimented her, visibly enjoying the brew.

"Sorry, this is not really up to my standard, there was nothing else but I promise to make it up soon," Kyrie apologized for the poor tea at the same time.

They both laughed a bit and it sounded very forced, as if they had to really make an effort to get along.

"Throws me back to when I first had a look at this place," John said with a grin, "It was a big mess, but I could definitely see the potential. You know, once we got the mess cleared out. And that's what I said, right at the same time that Sherlock said that he saw the potential as well and he had went ahead to move his stuff in.

Kyrie nearly choked on her tea when she had to laugh and tried to take a sip at the same time. John flashed her a cheeky grin and shook his head. He looked away in embarrassment, then suddenly he leaned back in the chair and shook his head again, as if he was trying to find something to say.

"Look… this is ridiculous," he said in the end. "Leave it to Sherlock to spring a surprise like this on me. I know this is an awkward situation, Sherlock explained some of the details yesterday evening and… I am so sorry for everything that happened to you."

Kyrie was very interested in the contents of her tea cup, unwilling to look John in the eyes. What she had went through was bad enough, she didn't like people knowing about it as well and bringing it up.

"I can see this makes you uncomfortable and you don't have to worry. This will be the only time I will mention it. You got dealt a bad hand and you are making the best of it. So is Sherlock. He is my best friend, believe it or not. Even though sometimes I would love to strangle him. And trust me, there will be moments that you will want to strangle him as well. But," John said, popping the B a bit, "I will always have his back and by extension that means I will always have your back as well. If you ever do want to talk about things, I'll be here. Obviously."

Kyrie still stared at her tea. "I am really not good at this," she softly started, "But thank you, I appreciate it and it means a lot to me. For now I just… want to get on, you know. Find my footing here and just take it by day. I'm not expecting us to become best friends immediately, but you are…" She paused for a moment. She still found it weird to talk about and refer to Sherlock. In her mind she often thought of him as 'that man', or 'that stranger', that really had to change if she was to find a way forward. "You are Sherlock's best friend so, I hope that in time that we will become friends as well." This time Kyrie looked up at John and she saw nothing but kindness.

"No need to hope, I'm sure of it," John said and he raised his cup to her.

"Ah, we have tea! Odd, Mrs Hudson is never this forthcoming with tea. She's not our housekeeper as she loves to remind us," Sherlock walked into the kitchen and went straight for the teapot with an odd smile plastered on his face. His hair was still a bit wet but other than that he looked like a model who had just stepped out of one of those fashion magazines. Except for the fact that he had quite an unhealthy looking complexion. In a weird way, it suited him though.

"Actually, I believe your wife made the tea this morning," John replied casually. Kyrie tried to hide her face in her teacup as she could feel her cheeks flush. Sherlock stopped his movements immediately at those words, the teapot hovering over his cup. He soon recomposed himself though and poured himself some tea.

"I would prefer it if you didn't call her that," Sherlock said a bit tetchily. "You know what's going on, no need to turn this into something that it isn't, just call her by her name… Kylie." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand as though her name was of little consequence.

John rolled his eyes and sighed in clear annoyance. "Here we go again," he muttered to himself.

For a moment Kyrie didn't know if she should reply and if so, what she should say. Then she got angry. "Well, that's promising," she scoffed, "If that's how you react every time John refers to me as your wife when we're outside, heaven forbid it should reach Gerulf's ears. And at least have the decency to get my name right. I don't know about you, but I would find it fishy if a husband can't even remember his wife's name!"

"It's a name that's not going to stick with me," Sherlock explained, seemingly unfazed by her comment, "same goes for Lestrade. Still can't get his first name right. Graham?" He raised a brow at John.

"Greg."

"Damn, I was sure it was Graham," Sherlock muttered under his breath, "Also," he continued, redirecting his gaze towards Kyrie, "Why do you assume we will spend time outside together?"

The statement was said without any trace of vehemence, but it sounded so cold, so detached, as if Sherlock really couldn't imagine the three of them spending time together. At all. She was just an unwanted factor in his life. She could have the protection of his name, but other than that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Had she expected that at some point love would blossom? No. Had she expected them to become bosom buddies? No. She had gotten plenty of warnings in advance that life with Sherlock would not be a picnic. She had expected that getting to know each other would be a bit bumpy and she had also expected that there would be moments she would really dislike him. She had not expected however that he would treat her like a piece of furniture with complete disregard and without even the smallest hint of intention to at least make an effort to get along.

Kyrie just stared at both the guys, not knowing how to respond or how to act. She felt as if the wind completely and utterly had been knocked out of her. "Oh," she finally said. Ugh, could she sound even more dim-witted if she tried? "I'm sorry, I…" she had trouble translating her jumbled thoughts to coherent speech and had to actually shake her head to keep the gears going. "I was under the impression that we would have at least some dealings or interactions with each other, outside of the apartment I mean." She tried to smile but her muscles only seemed to want to twitch. "I guess I was wrong and I misunderstood. I'll err… I'll have a shower now." Not able to wish them a good day, Kyrie wordlessly turned around, took her phone and headed to the bedroom in a bit of a daze.

Sherlock saw a myriad of emotions flash across her face. He narrowed his eyes in confusion when she suddenly seemed deflected and left the kitchen to take a shower.

It had been a normal question, why did she assume the three of them would spend time together? He had kind of thought she would want to spend time with friends of her own instead of spending time with a man she didn't know and his friend whom she knew even less.

"What the actual fuck, Sherlock?" John suddenly lashed out at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked perplexed, "I simply asked her why she would assume we would all spend time together. Why would she even want to? She doesn't know you and she is stuck with a fake husband against her will. I'd think that having to deal with you… and I… around here on a daily basis would be more than enough for her to stomach. So, WHY would she assume to spend time with us? And WHY do you act as if I'm the blackguard. Argh, all these useless emotions running rampant in those tiny little minds of yours," he muttered darkly. He got up from the chair and finished the tea with angry jerky motions to show John he was annoyed with all of it. He stopped to look at his empty cup in surprise. "That was some good tea," he commented.

"You were still an ass to her, Sherlock. She now thinks YOU are the one who doesn't want anything to do with her."

Sherlock snorted, "What on Earth would make her think that?"

"You made her think that, Sherlock!" John cried out. He sounded quite exasperated. "You know, for someone who is supposed to be a genius, you sure are a dumb twat! By some stroke of dumb luck, you are now married to one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in my life! And she's not even a stuck up arrogant snob like some people I know! She's nice, Sherlock! And I know I just said it, but I will say it again… She is beautiful! I mean, does it even register in that brain of yours how pretty she is?"

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit at the comment. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked in bewilderment as he grabbed his long coat and wrapped his blue scarf around his neck.

"It has to do with the fact that you are a lucky s.o.b. and you don't even realise or appreciate it," John grumbled, "couldn't your mother have put me forward instead of you? I wouldn't have minded one bit."

Sherlock didn't respond, still mulling over John's words. So, John thought that… what was her name, Kira, was desirable? Interesting. Although not really, John usually thought anything that was female and had a pleasant smile was attractive. Though he had to admit, he was surprised by the length of hair Kira turned out to have. Her hairstyle of yesterday had betrayed nothing of the sort. He tried to see Kira through John's eyes. Or Gerulf's for that matter. He was the chap responsible for this mess. His obsession with someone of the other sex. Sherlock shook his head. No, he still couldn't see it. He was never distracted by feminine beauty or wiles and he scoffed at men who were.

He wordlessly put on his leather gloves, ready to go out and meet Lestrade about a case. The prospect should thrill him, but now he found himself a bit preoccupied. Sherlock suddenly looked up in a bout of abrupt annoyance. See, that was why he didn't do emotions. They were only a distraction from the things that mattered! "You coming, John?" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder as he bounded down the steps.

Kyrie heard the door downstairs slam shut. In response she reclined further into the scolding hot water in the tub. That was something she had not expected, to find a tub. She'd thought that with the small size of the apartment, she'd be lucky to find a decent shower. And then there it was… a little piece of heaven. A place of refuge from the madness outside of this tiny space. Kyrie leaned over the edge of the tub and stared at her phone, within arm's reach, resting on a towel. Her ego was hurt, she was moody, chagrined, she would love to punch something, but she settled for pestering Mycroft. She quickly wiped the excess moist from her hands and grabbed her phone. She sent a simple text. - I hate your brother. KE. Then she returned to her previous position, leaning over the edge of the tub to stare at her phone. Until a happy chime signalled she had received a text.

- You are not the first and you certainly will not be the last. I thought you would have reached this conclusion sooner. Why are you texting? Mycroft

- He wasn't this much of an ass sooner. It's faster. KE

- Get used to it. And I prefer talking over texting. You may want to change that to KH, you are a Holmes now. Mycroft.

Kyrie scowled. So much for emotional support. Maybe she could call Mable? Nah, it would just make her sad. She'd be disappointed to learn this soon that things weren't exactly working out.

- Friendly heads up, a crew will be coming in shortly to turn that closet into somewhat of an acceptable place for you to sleep. Make sure you are decent when they come. Mycroft.

Kyrie sighed. Time to deal with reality again. She got up in the tub and rinsed herself off. Her body was a bit red from the angry scrubbing earlier. With a shrug Kyrie quickly got out of the tub to dry and dress herself, then she yanked a brush through her now soft locks and loosely braided her hair and just piled it together above the nape of her neck in a low messy bun. Not looking forward to spending the day all by herself, she decided to check on Mrs Hudson. She found the landlady downstairs, cleaning the hallway.

"Good morning, Mrs Hudson," Kyrie said, trying to sound cheerily. Mrs Hudson wasn't having any of it though.

"Good morning, love. What's gotten into you then? You two have had a little domestic?"

Kyrie snorted at the question. "If you could even call it that. A domestic," she muttered softly.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked, clearly preoccupied with cleaning.

"Nothing. Er… Don't be alarmed but Mycroft is sending a crew over today. Apparently Sherlock has a closet in his bedroom that should be able to actually fit a bed."

"That's nice, dear. You'll be able to sleep in your own bed tonight then."

Kyrie scowled. Just no emotional support whatsoever available to her this morning. She still felt like punching and hitting stuff. Or ripping those annoyingly perfectly fitting suits and shirts to shreds.

"Do you happen to have flour and eggs? Milk? Something I can throw together and bake something?" Kyrie asked.

"Oh, so you like to bake things? How wonderful! That should add a nice homely touch upstairs!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed all happy. "Go on, dear. You will find everything you need in my kitchen!" she stated with pride.

"Thanks, can I use your kitchen as well? Don't want to get in the way of Mycroft's crew."

"Of course, of course! You go right ahead, love."

Kyrie looked around in the tiny kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. Well, the kitchen might be tiny, but Mrs Hudson sure as hell knew how to make the most of small storage spaces. Pushing her sombre thoughts away, Kyrie set to work. She found a big mixing bowl and sorted through the collection of ingredients.

She wasn't in a delicate mood, so no cookies. She needed to knead and pound and really work off all the frustration that was pent up inside of her. Kyrie roughly put a few cups of flour in the bowl and added some sugar and yeast. She mixed the ingredients together while slowly heating water, milk and butter in a small saucepan. When the butter had melted into the milk and water, she poured it over the flour mixture and stirred everything together. Now she just had to be patient, allow the sticky dough to rise. Then the fun would begin.

When the door to the flat opened and men started walking up and down the stairs, Kyrie tried to pay them as little attention as possible. When the dough was ready to be processed, Kyrie floured the surface of the kitchen counter and dumped the contents of the bowl onto it. She added a lightly beaten eggs in, one by one, kneading the eggs through the dough. A pinch of salt, a few more cups of flour and Kyrie vigorously kneaded and worked the dough. She pulled and folded and pushed until her hands started to hurt and her arms started to tremble. Only when the dough felt smooth and soft and elastic, did Kyrie finally stop.

She wrapped the dough in plastic and allowed it to rest and rise further. She cleaned up after herself while waiting for the dough to rise until it had doubled in volume. Again she floured the surface of the kitchen counter and quickly created 3 rolls from the dough, lightly braiding them, tucking the ends underneath. All the actions were practised and perfected. She didn't need to think about what she was doing as she again wrapped the dough in plastic for a last rise and preheated the oven. She prepared an egg wash which she lightly brushed onto the dough before she placed it in the oven.

Kyrie made sure she left the kitchen in as pristine a condition as she found it and, not having heard any noise upstairs in a while, ventured back up to 221B. Instead of checking out her new 'bedroom', she perused the collection of books. A book about chemistry, how surprising, Kyrie snorted and looked at the other books. Plants and herbs, she wanted to bet anything that only the sections about harmful plants were of interest to Sherlock. Oh look, a book about serial killings. Murder, murder, mass murder, murder… Encyclopaedia about Earth, encyclopaedia about minerals and rocks.

Wow, nothing there that was actually 'fun' to read. No, of course not, 'fun' was beneath him. She rolled her eyes at the lack of things to do or read to occupy herself with. Yes, she was testy and she knew it. And she predicted that her mood wasn't likely to change in the near foreseeable future. Plus, she was getting hungry.

"Would it really kill him, just to try and get along?" Kyrie asked herself. But of course no one was there to answer her question. Also, no one was there to listen to her. She turned around the room and was met with a space devoid of human presence no matter where she looked.

At first the words came softly, hesitantly, melodiously, "Piangero, piangero la sorte mia. Si crudele et tanto ria. Finche vita petto avro." Kyrie repeated that verse a few times, lamenting her fate, as Cleopatra had done, her eyes closed.

Suddenly her eyes flared open and her singing became aggressive and deeply passionate, she was outraged, like Cleopatra had been. Her voice trilling and vibrating as she sang.
"Ma poi morta! D' ogn' intorno, il tiranno e notte e giorno. Fatta spettro agitero, fatta spettro. Fatta spettro agitero."

But when I am dead, wherever he goes, tyranny, night and day. Everywhere I will agitate. She stood there, shaking, breathing heavily, and staring out of one of the windows. For a moment, she saw a face staring back at her, black dull hair slicked away from a gaunt face, green eyes observing her with a heated look, a lecherous smile curling wide thin lips. She gasped and stumbled backwards. When she looked again, the face was gone. But she knew, every time she would sing, he would be watching.

Kyrie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn't really here and at least the singing had helped get rid of her frustration. She straightened her shoulders and opened her eyes again. He wasn't here. She was safe.