So, Chapter Four. I've been waiting for this.

By the way, if you're reading this, please leave a review. It makes my day, and helps me as an author.

So, without further ado, here's a chapter!

DIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDER

Sherlock spent a good hour composing and playing the violin. John had gone off to do- something or another. He couldn't remember, and he didn't need to remember, so he didn't dwell on it.

Sherlock thought about the two notes, and the flat. His brain, however, wasn't about to let him concentrate on it, so he ended up having a flashback.

He was playing the violin, thinking. Janine was there, too, listening. He was playing Ode to Joy, a simple piece, because he had other things to think about.

"That was pretty, Sherl."

Sherl. He detested that pet name, but he reminded himself to stay in character.

"Thank you." He replied, wishing desperately to not thank her but to point out her faults, including(but not limited to) her fake nose and breasts and her alcohol addictions(only an idiot wouldn't notice the way she occasionally stumbled into the flat, slightly tipsy).

But, of course, he had to stay in character, so he could do none of those things.

He put the violin down and watched as Janine got up and walked over to him.

And then, she kissed him.

His eyes widened, but then he closed them, because he had to stay in character.

His character was somewhat shy and a bit ridiculous. So, he was able to simply wait for her as she bit his lower lip and pulled away.

His character would be in a state of slight shock and breathlessness, so he said, "Uh-uh."

Janine smiled, and asked, "So, was that good?"

He replied, "y-yes, that was, um, nice."Even though, it really wasn't. But he had to stay in character.

DIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDER

Ian sighed. He knew that he shouldn't be dwelling on his past. He definitely knew that he shouldn't be pitied for it. After all, it was all his fault.

All. His. Fault.

Shaking his head, he headed over to the bathroom and splashed water over his face.

He needed to do something, something productive, something to distract him. Anything.

So, he thought of Sherlock more.

He had talked to Molly on occasion, before coming to invite her to his wedding. She had told him about Sherlock, describing his eyes and cheekbones, his arrogance, and his ridiculous intelligence. She had admitted to having a crush on him, and called it impossible. She had said that he was probably the most interesting person on the planet, and he would make any therapist cry.

He had told her to stand up for herself, to reply with the fire he knew she had.

She had smiled(he couldn't see it, as they were talking on the phone, but he knew her well enough to know) sadly, and told him that it was a lot harder to stand up to Sherlock Holmes than he had assumed.

She had turned out to be right, of course. The man seemed to stare right into your soul, and he knew your entire life story based off of little things. Things that people saw, but didn't think anything of.

But he did. He saw those things and knew exactly what they meant.

And that is the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

Switching subjects, why was he still here? He had invited Molly, so why was he still here?

He pondered that question for a while.

DIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDER

Greg was irritated. Sherlock still hadn't shown up at the crime scene, and it was a good murder, too. No weapon, no way to enter.

He didn't know for sure if the man had actually committed suicide, but the best way to find out was through Sherlock.

And he didn't show up.

Sally, of course, kept saying, "Greg, you need to do this on your own. He's just gonna let you down. And you're wasting our time."

Greg knew she was right. But that didn't mean that he was ready to give up on Sherlock quite yet.

Greg picked up his phone and called Sherlock. Again.

DIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDER

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by a phone ringing.

As he looked around the room, he realized that it was his phone.

So, irritated, he stomped over to his phone, which happened to be lying on the cluttered desk.

He answered, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock, I swear to God, if you don't get your arse over here in five minutes, I will tear your bloody head off! We have five minutes to wrap up the case, so GET OVER HERE!" Greg shouted over the phone.

Oh! The case! The...porta-potty case, wasn't it?

"Something came up. I'm coming." Sherlock replied, forgetting his irritation.

He hung up and called, "JOHN! We have a case!"

DIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDERDIVIDER

Molly was bored. And that was never good. Because that meant that she would have flashbacks.

Molly opened the door, seeing Ian with tears streaming down his face. She could tell that he was scared, and traumatized. And, at the moment, very, very vulnerable.

He collapsed into her arms, sobbing.

"Don't worry, Ian, don't worry." She soothed, trying to calm him down.

"I did something...horrible. I-I'm horrible. I-I..." sobbed Ian.

Molly put her finger to his lips and sat him down on her couch, rubbing his shoulder.

"Don't leave me alone. Please, don't hate me..."

Molly smiled sadly. "Oh, Ian, I could never hate you. Never. Tell me what's wrong."

And, as he confessed, Molly could only think of all the good things he did, and she refused to think of him as a monster. She thought of all the times that they sat on their hillside, chasing cars in their heads.

And she still thought of him as her best friend, despite the confessions of horrible things flowing from his mouth.

So, she hugged him.

She had thought, at least it wasn't entirely his fault.

So, that was short. But I can't think of anything else to add.

I know, I know, you thought you'd get the backstory. But, unfortunately, I'm feeling moderately evil. So, no, I just teased it.

Thanks to AvacynHope, Renaissancebooklover108, and MouseyJayne for following! Thanks to vlad980 and AvacynHope for favoriting! Thanks to SammyKatz and Renaissancebooklover108 for reviewing!

There once was a boy. His name was Jimmy. He was brutally murdered by some bastard whom has not been identified. Jimmy was trapped inside a box. For eternity. He will escape the box one day. He will murder you just as he has been murdered. The only way to stop him from killing you and your loved ones is to comment the story. Compliment it, criticize it. Jimmy does not care. But he has agreed to leave you and the people you don't want to be murdered alone if you just click it, type something, and then send.