Evanna's hand slid up and down the guitar neck, pressing down on the necessary strings. It rested against her scarred wrist and the pick she held in her hand dug into the tops of her fingers a little, but she wasn't that bothered. She played the melody with such care and accuracy and passion it felt as if she wasn't holding and instrument at all, something a lot more delicate. And she sang, loud enough to hear herself over the guitar but quiet enough not to let anyone else hear her. It was one of those songs she just felt the urge to play every time she listened to it.

"...now when I caught myself, I had to stop myself, from saying something, that I should've never thought of you of you, oh you. You're pushing and pulling me down to you. But I don't know what I want... no, I don't know what I want..."

She sighed at herself and kept playing, before starting to sing again. Evanna's heart began to race and her hands quivered like the strings beneath them but she wasn't sure why, so she just kept playing and hoping she was fine.

"You got it, you got it. Some kind of magic. Hypnotic, hypnotic. You're leaving me breathless. I hate this, I hate this, you're not the one I believe in..."

She stopped at a grinding halt to hear a buzzing sound coming from her bedside table. Why would anyone text her? She never got texts. It could only be one person, so she put down her guitar and went to test that theory.

Five words.

Five words that sent a range of emotions through Evanna's skull and down her spine, starting with surprise, leading to doubt and confusion and then a feeling which caused all of her nerves to shake violently, like an angry crowd rushing through her street-like veins.

Can I see you again? – SH

Her hand was clasped around her phone, her freshly painted scarlet nails ironically pointing towards the keypad. She took a deep breath and typed a response to the text.

Why not. Still haven't worked it out? – EN

Evanna pressed send and felt like she was being too arrogant, too cocky towards the man. Oh well. Why would I care anyway. She collapsed onto her bed, her back resting on the soft sheets and her legs sticking up in the air. Barney, to see his mistress in such a laid back state, leaped onto the bed and curled up next to her waist. His purrs vibrated through her body violently expressing his happiness towards the situation, and Evanna gently rubbed a finger under his chin and she swore she could see him smiling a little. Her phone buzzed and she opened up the text in a heartbeat.

Not completely. – SH

She smirked at his reluctancy to admit defeat. Typical Sherlock.

It's alright, no one can. – EN

Sherlock's phone made a small monotone bleep and he scanned over the message she'd just sent. He put down his violin, which he'd been holding in his other hand gently and wrote a reply. He stared up and out of the window as he pressed send.

No one could. – SH

What about that meeting then? I would invite you over but I did actually get round to sorting out those CDs. – EN

I'm guessing there were more records in that cabinet than you thought. – SH

If I could speak to myself back in my college days, I'd tell her that bulk buying albums won't solve her problems. – EN

Good idea. – SH

Who needs the same album seven times?! – EN

Your sixteen year old self might have. – SH

Good point. So yeah, you can't come over. – EN

Park? – SH

What about it? – EN

Speed up a little, please. – SH

Oh. Yeah, we can meet in the park. – EN

Good. I'm free for the most part of tomorrow. – SH

Me too. – EN

I know. – SH

Stalker. – EN

No, I just know these things. – SH

Because you stalk me. – EN

I observed them. Don't flatter yourself! – SH

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, genius. Guessing you'll be able to work out what time we should meet too. – EN

No, I'll leave that up to you. – SH

Fine. Four in the afternoon. – EN

Two minutes past four in your case, probably. – SH

I'll aim to get there at four. Happy? – EN

Very. – SH

That sounded odd. – EN

How old are you? – SH

Can't work it out, genius? – EN

From these messages you seem no older than thirteen. – SH

Thank you. I take pride in my youthful mental age. – EN

Was that sarcasm? I can't detect it over text. – SH

There's probably an app for that. – EN

Probably. – SH

Well. This has been great, but I've got a cat to stroke, songs to write and four copies of the Sophtware Slump to rearrange by purchase date. – EN

I look forward to seeing you tomorrow then. – SH

Me too. – EN

Sherlock turned the screw on the end of his violin bow, relaxing the hairs before putting it back in its case. Evanna's eyes sprung to mind, those glistening hazel circles that shined like broken glass in morning light. He longed to look at them again and didn't understand why. Maybe it was the empathy he experienced at their last meeting, turning into a drug and he was itching for his next fix of it. It was like that whenever he felt a new emotion that he hadn't had before. That might have been why he was addicted to adrenalin rushes, matters of life and death, all those things that kept him on the edge.

Or maybe it was the other thing. That he was so desperate to know Evanna. He wanted to know her story off by heart like a drunk man knows the lyrics to every song from a pub stereo. He wanted to understand why she felt the way she did, because he just couldn't.

She wasn't useless or stupid at all. He couldn't think of any other way to sum up how he felt in her company, apart from that it was a lot better than cigarettes.

How could you want to die when you're better than cigarettes? And to Sherlock Holmes as well, of all people?

Sherlock just didn't understand Evanna. But he wanted to.

And that was when it started to worry him. Not just because she was a case that he couldn't close, not because she was interesting or fun. Maybe there was another reason.

It definitely wasn't the empathy. He listed through every possible emotion he could force himself to feel, every reason he could have for attachment and nothing fitted. He didn't like not knowing himself. It was double as worse as not knowing her, and triple as worse as both of those put together was not knowing why not knowing her was so important.

There was no other label he could give to it than one thing, and that was too farfetched to even be taken into consideration. He remember his bulletproof guard, his shields formed by his lack of capacity to store any other feelings in. This was why he shouldn't have made himself even try to fit anymore in. They'd all spill out and his guards would fall. No. No more feelings, or emotions.

It was probably chemically induced, he told himself. Withdrawal symptoms from the nicotine.

Withdrawal symptoms could always make people act out of character.


Sorry this chapter's a bit short and not that well written, it's a bit of a filler. I won't have that much time to write so I'm a chapter ahead of this one already, it makes sense to write while I have the time. The next one should be up in a couple of days if I'm keeping you on the edge of your seat. Haha. I'm funny. But thank you so much to all the readers, reviewers, followers... I can't even explain how much it means to me! I really hope you guys stick around, I know this seems a bit predictable right now but it's going to be a lot more exciting, I promise. Also I'm going to add in some chapter titles, in case you're observant or something. Laters!