AN: when the chapter you've been working on for weeks mystery disappears from your laptop ughhh this is going to be a bit different than originally planned because truthfully I don't remember what I originally wrote haha anyways thanks for all the support! I hope I keep on not disappointing y'all!

Self-harm mentioned in this chapter… and also the next chapter that I already have written, so hurry up and review, so I can post it already xx

Before/After

Maybe the next day was Sherlock's day off, or he didn't feel the need to pester anyone at the station, but I made it to the freedom of my day off without seeing him, though I woke up around 8am to him blowing up my phone again.

Not that I didn't have a good time with him, but having good times and then not having good times were part of the game, and I didn't want to play by the rules, so therefore I had to think out my next interaction with Sherlock.

I couldn't just try to be his friend or anything like John, nooo, because I already tried that and failed. I just wish I knew John's secret.

Truthfully, my days off generally consisted of me sleeping till 8am, cuddling with Draco till 9am, and then raiding my fridge for leftover takeout for breakfast for preparation of after all of this being done, I plant my butt on my couch and watch Netflix till it was dinner time and I order fresh take out.

But this morning at a little before 8, my phone received so many texts in the span of one minute, it sounded like my phone was vibrating as it counted down to an explosion. The vibrations disrupted the air, sending waves to where I was sleeping, successfully waking me up and annoying my cat so much he left me.

"Ughhh," I groaned to myself, reaching my hand out to the abyss that was not my bed and my cat, and pulled my phone off it's charger. I rolled unto my back and held the phone a foot from my face to see what it's deal was.

Five unread texts from Sherlock Holmes. Oh, boy.

Where are you?

There is a dead body, you should be here. You're late.

Lestrade has informed me it is your day off.

Tell me it isn't true.

OH GOD YOU LEFT ME WITH ANDERSON

I read through the texts quickly, groaning outwardly, but my heart fluttered excitedly. Damn you, heart! I sighed, squinting at the screen. My fingers plucked a response back, drawing it out to two texts.

I'm sleeping

Leave me alone

But despite my reply, his response was immediate and ignored what I just said.

His idiocy will contaminate the evidence.

Your idiocy will contaminate the evidence, I thought to myself grumpily, but I texted back something else.

Be nice.

His texts in reply yet again disregard what I previously said, so I don't know why I keep it going.

At least you don't speak. He never shuts up!

He's got it all wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I rolled my eyes at the phone and sat up to reply, dragging my response into three texts to him.

You're such a big baby

Let him do his job. I have a right to a day off and he has a right be at a crime scene

If you hate him so much then leave

It took a couple minutes for him to reply to that and I actually thought I'd finally shook him. Groaning again, I flung my feet off the bed and stood up, making my way to the kitchen to scavenge the fridge, but my phone vibrated in my hand as I walked.

But murders where the husband or the maid he's sleeping with don't do it are so much fun.

I clicked my tongue. It's a wonder how he's kept his small group of friends if things like this come from his mouth. I sent my last texts to him before shutting off my phone and putting cold leftovers in the microwave.

I feel like I should delete that text from my inbox, Sherlock...

I am going to eat leftover Chinese food and I'm shutting off my phone

Because it's my day off and you're a piece of work

If there are dead bodies that aren't murdered by the husband or the maid he's sleeping with tomorrow, I'll see you there

How was that for not playing the game? Pounding heart and shaking hands, you shut up…

Later that evening, I turned on my phone, secretly wishing it'd be overwhelmed with texts from Sherlock, but alas it was not. I had one text from Molly though and it was enough to make me smile. After I left college in the states and began at a police department in the city, my phone didn't vibrate with texts or calls, other than ones telling the location of where my forensic abilities were needed. Even before I left uni, my 'friends' had constantly complained about me never replying, and when my mother died in my last year there didn't even seem to be a point in keeping up with physically speaking to them.

I failed my mother in high school and wasn't able to allow her to live through me, so I thought I'd try a bit harder in university… but I failed my mother in a different way when I decided to leave her. Three and a half years of coming home during break left me coming home in the middle of year because my mom slashed her wrists late one night. Essentially in trying to save myself, I killed my mother.

Sitting curled on my couch, with Draco in my lap, I tried to shake off the dark thoughts that suddenly overcame me. I reread Molly's text of 'are you free Friday night? There is a Johnny Depp movie in existence that our eyes haven't seen and it's in theaters this weekend', trying to find comfort in the fact there was someone out there that wanted to do something with me, and that there was a new Johnny Depp movie that my eyes could watch. Since I now have more than 7 pounds in my bank account, I was mostly excited to say yes. The small part of me that was not fell around the dull ache in my chest that used to remind me that I was, indeed, alive, and it never really went away.

I set my phone back on the coffee table and I clicked 'yes' to the most annoying question ever from Netflix: are you still watching this show?

And I kept watching till Netflix asked me the question again.

There were no murders by noon the next day that the husband or the maid didn't do, and therefore, all my peeking through my blinds in my office, were for nothing. However the day was still young and there was still hope for an interesting murder.

Oh God, I was starting to sound like Sherlock…

A little after 12pm, I walked a block from the station to a little sub shop on the corner. I placed my order for a chicken and cheese sandwich and looked around for a place to sit, however being peak time, there were no empty seats. I stood awkwardly to the side, but seeing the amount of people in the room, worried it might take a while.

It wasn't long before I heard my name being called, though, and I searched around for the culprit, though my heart had already dropped at not recognizing the voice.

"Ruth!" A man called my name, and stood up in the back corner of the shop. The sandy hair and the short build was easily recognizable once I saw the owner of the voice.

"Hi, John!" I smiled, giving a short wave as I made my way over to him. "It's good to see you again."

"You on your lunch, too?" He asked, his own face folding into a smile. I nodded and he waved his hand in front of him. "Sit. I won't be here too much longer and truthfully I'd like to get to know the girl Sherlock is so fond of." John paused before adding, thoughtfully, "Not that he'd admit he was fond of you, but you seemed to have made a bit of impact in his schoolboy years."

I sat in front of him and pulled at my fingers nervously under the table. I know I've thought a lot about John Watson over the past days, but to be sitting across the legend himself was a different story. "Yeah, I kind of did, though he'd deny that as well," I replied, my voice slightly betraying my nerves. "However it goes both ways… I was the poor kid on scholarship. I was just equally outcasted for my lack of money as Sherlock was outcasted for his lack of empathy. And humanity. And knowing when to stick his nose in something..."

John chuckled. "Sounds like he hasn't changed much since you've known him."

"So it would seem, but there are little things that suggest otherwise," I replied, shrugging slightly.

"Like what?" John asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he waited for my answer.

"Well, you, for one," I watched as his eyebrows rose at those words. "During the few years I knew him, during the time I spent all I could at his house, sitting in his kitchen, talking to his mother, and all the hours we spent studying in the corner of the library, and all he found out about me, and my parents… in all that time, he refused to call me his friend and made it clear he could not be mine."

"I'm sorry, Ruth, that-" his voice was gentle, but I couldn't take it. It wasn't all Sherlock.

So I shrugged again. "You've found the trick and that's good. Maybe if I had stuck around, maybe if the things that happened to me… didn't happen, I could have been you. But I was not. Equally as he refused to call me his friend and made it clear he could not be mine, I realized I was just as incapable. The difference was I tried anyway, just to try to fulfill the need I had to have a friend."

"Well, I do think he probably had the same need and like all the other things he won't admit, he thought of you as a friend," John said, rubbing his ear. He looked off behind me, a little lost in thought.

"I don't know. Maybe if he's actually acknowledging to people we went to school together..." I trailed off, trying to not have this conversation turn too serious.

"He hasn't quite done that yet," he replied, slightly grimacing.

"Well." I gestured my hand in a 'there you go' movement.

"So, he was just as arrogant and rude… distant back then? There wasn't some defining moment that made him that way?" John wondered out loud before downcasting his eyes. "Sorry I don't often wonder this anymore, but I just think about why."

I remained silent, thinking about his question. I thought about Sherlock's fight to keep up with his brothers, how stiff his shoulders got when the other kids said unkind words to him, or the tips of his ears when his teachers chided him in front of everyone, and that one time he fell to his knees in tears due to a family trauma, finally displaying the broken boy he hid so well.

"I think he was on the brink of changing when I knew him. He- I- uhhh..." I stopped speaking, remembering my promise to keep Sherlock's secrets. His secrets of how badly his bullies truly affected him, of his fight to be out of his brothers shadows, and of what eventually happened to his oldest brother. "Yeah, I'd say there was a defining moment."

"I have a feeling you're going to leave it at that," John commented, quirking his face in defeat.

"Yup," I answered, nodding with a small smile. It was silent after that as John took in all I told him, but his thoughts, and mine, were interrupted when his phone went off.

"Pardon me, Ruth, I'm sorry," John said, digging his phone out of his pocket. His face scrunched in confusion and he answered the phone… it wasn't long till his confusion turned into horror. "I'll be right there," he told whoever was on the phone, before turning back to me, "Sherlock was in an accident."

And I once again found myself running out a building and frantically trying to find a means of transportation to St. Barts because of Sherlock… just this time it wasn't him I was doing it with, but for.