*Hello again lovelies! I decided to dedicate my entire weekend to writing, so don't be surprised if I post another chapter today. I felt that after the last chapter, things needed to slow down a little bit on the case front, focus a bit more on how the characters were doing. And seeing as both Delilah and Sherlock are injured, they shouldn't be overdoing things. I hope you all are enjoying it and I'm sorry that this chapter was so short. The next one will be a bit longer and I will say that within the next couple of chapters, there *might* be a bit of a smut scene. So if you've been waiting for that, the wait may be over soon. As always, reviews are welcome and I hope you all enjoy!*


Chapter 7: A Lull in the Investigation

It was two weeks after Tower Bridge had been partially destroyed. Lestrade had been over to the flat several times, as had a few higher ups from the government. They wanted all of the information that we had. I gave them the ruined memory stick and they were all hoping that they could recover the information. Sherlock and I had both silently agreed that we wouldn't give them the information on his laptop. The anti-terror task force had been disbanded and all members suspended pending investigation. Apparently Sherlock had found dates as well as video footage of the group gathering, getting images of all of the men and evidence that they'd been plotting this terror attack for years.

I was somewhat glad that the government knew about this plot. It meant that I could relax. But I couldn't help but be suspicious of any gentleman or lady that Sherlock didn't know. Today Lestrade was set to come over with a sketch artist so we could get portraits out to the media of the men as well as the video footage. I was dreading it, knowing that it meant hours of sitting there, recounting every detail of the men who'd made my life hell.

'And woman,' I thought to myself, feeling the damnable tears touch my eyes once more. 'God damn it, I don't understand how she could do this.'

"Delilah?"

My head jerked up to see John standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "I'm sorry John, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

"I was seeing if you wanted to come down to the market with me. You've been cooped up inside for two weeks now."

I shook my head. "Lestrade said he was coming over today to do some sketches of the men. Where's Sherlock?"

"Out, although he didn't say where. I told him to take it easy on his ribs. You know how he is." John crossed to me, a frown on his face as he sat next to me. "Look, I know things haven't been easy on you lately, but you really need to get out of the house. The market is right down the street. Lestrade has both mine and Sherlock's number. He can call us if he gets here and no one's home. Come out with me."

"I'm fine. Really. I need a little more time to process and heal is all. Maybe we can go out tomorrow instead." I forced a smile. "All of us can go to lunch or something. You, me, Mary, and Sherlock."

John sighed. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that. You need to get out of this flat."

"I will. I just…need time."

He got up from the couch, nodding his head. "If you need someone to talk to, I can always ask my therapist if they're taking new patients."

"I'm fine," I snapped. I tried to soften my tone as John raised an eyebrow at me. "I promise you, I'm fine. As I said, I need time. Another day and I'll be right as rain."

John put a phone down on the coffee table. "We got this for you. Our numbers are already programmed in. If you need anything and I mean anything, text us or, better yet, call us."

I picked it up off the table, smiling. "Thank you. You two have been most kind to me."

"Well, of course. You saved Sherlock's life."

"So did you."

"Yeah, well, you did most of the work. And…I never thanked you for that, for saving my best friend. So…thanks."

"Any time John. I'd rather he not die after you got him back. I can see how close you two are. You're like brothers. And I'd hate for you to lose one another. Now go to the market. I'll be fine, I promise. More than likely I'm going to sleep until you come back or Lestrade knocks on the door."

"Alright. Well, as I said, you've got our numbers, so if you need to get ahold of us, don't hesitate."

John got up from the couch, heading out the door, locking it behind him. I sighed, looking out the window. I could only wonder what Sherlock was doing. I'd found that my mind had been coming back to him more and more often. Ever since the bridge, he'd been a bit…kinder to me. I couldn't understand why. The thief comments had stopped and so had the personal attacks. He still ignored me for most of the day, but when we did speak, the conversation didn't end in an argument.

I laid down on the couch, closing my eyes. I needed to at least take a nap before Lestrade came. I hadn't been sleeping well ever since the bridge. I drifted off into a restless slumber.


"Wake up Del. We need to talk."

I woke up, shivering as a cold breeze blew through the flat. Wait. A cold breeze? I sat up quickly, seeing my sister sitting in Sherlock's chair. There was a gun in her hand pointed straight at me. I turned slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. Her red hair was tied up in a neat bun and there was a smirk on her lips. I began to stand up but she shook her head, motioning for me to keep seated.

"How are you feeling Del? I heard that you broke a couple of ribs from your fall and had a concussion. Tore some muscles too if I read your chart correctly."

"What are you doing here Olivia?"

"Why, I came to check on my older sister, see how she was doing. See if maybe she'd reconsidered my offer."

"I'm not joining you and your stupid organization," I growled, glaring at her. "Why did you join them? You're better than them."

"Because I saw what it was like working with the agency, all the bullshit and politics. I saw that I could save the world from the bureaucracy. Do you know how many innocent people died because some politician didn't want to give us funding? How many of my men died because some bill didn't get passed giving us better weapons and equipment?" Her voice was bitter and I could see the hatred in her green eyes. "We decided to change it. All of it. We had access to weapons and technology. A gun gets lost here, a computer there. We gathered and plotted and planned to take down the government. And I can't do it alone. I need your help, your passion."

"Olivia, you're talking to the wrong person. I've always been on the good side of the law."

"Is that so? Because some of my people have some evidence that says otherwise. Very incriminating evidence if I may say so." She reached into her pocket, producing a disc. "You see, I have quite a few break-ins on this disc, as well as you pick-pocketing people on the streets. I think I have enough here to put you away for the full sentence as well."

"You had me followed?"

"No. But it is amazing what people's home security cameras pick up and what a little fingerprint analysis can do." My sister smiled, tucking the disc back into her pocket. "You know, it broke my heart destroying that bridge. That was the one thing I actually enjoyed in this god forsaken city."

"It was your choice to do it. Olivia, it doesn't have to be this way. You could walk away, not do this. You're a good girl, I know you are. I know you don't want to do this."

Olivia chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh but I do. Believe me I do. You've got two months to make a decision on whether you'll join or end up in prison. Until then, we'll be working on our machine and waiting for your reply. I'll send you word on where to meet." She got up from the chair, going to the window. "Oh, and Delilah dear, if you value the life of your boyfriend, I suggest you not tell him where you're going when we meet again."

She disappeared out the window and I rushed to it to see where she'd gone. But she'd vanished into thin air. I sighed, staring out across the city. What was I going to do? She had enough evidence to put me away for fourteen years, to ruin my name and any chance that I could have at a normal life.

"Company?"

I nearly jumped out of the window at the sound of Sherlock's voice. I whirled around to see him standing in the living room staring at me, arms crossed. "Well? Did you have company or were you enjoying the January air?"

I closed the window, letting out a sigh of frustration. "She came to visit."

"I'm assuming by she you mean your sister." I heard him sit down in his chair.

"Who else would it be?" I snapped, hand opening and closing into a fist. "That bitch is blackmailing me to join her."

"How?"

"She has evidence of my breaking into people's homes and stealing. Said that if I didn't join her, she'd turn it over to the authorities." I turned to see Sherlock still staring at me. "Well, go on and say it. Call me a thief. Tell me I should have known that this was going to happen. Go on. I'm waiting."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you any of those things. The way that I see it, you had to do what you did to survive. And I think if we solve this case, the department may be willing to overlook a few break-ins, so long as you didn't hurt anyone."

"No! I always made certain no one would come home while I was in. I never wanted to hurt anyone and I only stole what I needed, nothing more."

"Then it comes down to us solving this case and capturing your sister alive."

"Us?"

"Well, of course. You're as much invested in this case as I am."

"I didn't think you were one for cooperation."

"And I'm not. But so long as you stay out of my way when I'm thinking we shouldn't have any problems." Sherlock gave me a small smile. "You know, we still haven't gone out to lunch."

"I'm waiting for-"

A knock came at the door, startling us both. Sherlock got up from the chair, looking through the peephole before opening the door. Detective Inspector Lestrade entered, a portly little man waddling in behind him, a sketchpad and pencil case tucked under one arm.

"Lestrade, I wasn't expecting you until later," Sherlock said and I could hear the impatience in his voice. "Delilah and I were about to get some lunch."

"Well, you'll have to put that off for a bit. This is the only time I could get the sketch artist over here. We'll be done in a couple of hours at most. Oh and I have a bit of news for you as well. We've identified three of the bodies pulled from the Thames. You would probably know them as Agent Cormack, Agent Tomlin, and Lionel Understone. Or, as they were in that transcript, B. Redge, T. Oeur, and Ess."

"So, there are still others?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, we're still trolling the Thames for bodies, but as of right now, yes, there are still others, including your sister." The detective fixed me with a cold stare. "You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you Ms. McKinley?"

"Not a clue," I replied. "Now, could we please get this over with? I'm tired and my ribs are hurting me."

For the next three hours I sat on the couch, going over what I knew and who I could remember from my time in the organization. The gentleman showed me each sketch as he finished and, while they were crude, I could see who the men were. Lestrade sat next to me on the couch as I spoke and Sherlock hovered near the kitchen, as did John when he returned from the market. They finally finished and I felt exhausted. It had been years since I'd had to remember what their faces looked like. But, perhaps this would help to finally catch the bastards.

"Oh, one more thing before I leave," Lestrade said as he tucked his phone into his pocket. "I don't suppose you have a photo of your sister that we could take?"

"Why on earth would I?" I asked. "Besides, any photo that I would have would be well over four years old and would be of no use to you. Use one of the photos online of her."

Lestrade sighed. "We could do that. We were only hoping that maybe you had a more recent photo."

I grew suspicious of him almost immediately. "Do you think that I've seen her since before the bridge?"

"I think that that's a possibility, yes."

I began to tremble with rage and I could see both John and Sherlock starting forward to usher the detective and the sketch artist out. "Are you serious? I thought she was dead you son of a bitch. I thought that she had been burned alive in London's streets and now you're implying that I knew she was alive? I have done nothing but cooperate with you all since the day I regained consciousness!" I began to cross towards the detective, feeling the rage coursing through my veins. Sherlock caught me around the waist. "Fuck you Lestrade! You and your whole department! I knew that giving you this case was a bad idea. Thinking that I'd be in with those bastards! Fuck off and don't fucking come back. I'm done with you all!"

I struggled against Sherlock's grip, but he held me tight even as John forced Lestrade and the artist out the door. I cursed Sherlock even as he held me. He let go once John had locked the door and I whirled on him. "Don't ever fucking hold me back again."

"What were you going to do, hit him?" Sherlock seemed amused by my anger and that only fanned the flames of my rage.

"Maybe it would have knocked some sense into him!" I snarled. "All of you thinking that I'd join them. Fucking ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous!"

I stormed down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. My fist connected with the wall and I sunk down to my knees, doubled over despite the pain in my ribs. The tears were flowing from my eyes now, dropping onto the tile floor. She had ruined everything. I regretted every tear I'd ever shed over her death, every time I'd vowed vengeance when she was the one who'd caused everything.

I couldn't even stifle the sob that ripped from my throat even as I curled into a small ball, clutching at my sides, holding myself tight. I felt like a fool, an absolute fool. How had I not seen it? How had I not known that she had been the one to plan all of it?

I was so hurt, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I could trust no one, not even my family. I wanted to curl up into a dark hole and die. I was so ashamed of myself, of my choices. I heard the sound of someone unlocking the door, but I couldn't even be bothered to look up from my place on the floor. A hand touched my shoulder and I curled tighter into my ball.

"That can't be comfortable," Sherlock murmured. "I'm feeling pain in my own ribs just looking at you."

"Go…away…" I choked out, fighting a sob. "Just…go away."

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down. The last thing we need is for you to have an asthma attack in the bathroom." Sherlock tried to pull me into his arms, but I refused to budge. "Please stop being stubborn. This hurts me as much as it hurts you."

I sat up, looking at him through blurry eyes. "Why are you trying to be kind to me? You're the most suspicious of the bunch."

"I saw you up on that bridge, Delilah. I caught you when your legs were giving out at the sight of her. I saw the sheer devastation and the pain, the rage and the determination to bring her down. I have no doubts as to whose side you're on." He took my hand. "Now come here. I don't offer a shoulder to cry on often."

I felt the flood gates completely open and I let out a cry of anguish even as I threw myself into Sherlock's arms. He hissed in pain, but his hand reached up to rub my back. He pulled me close to him and I buried my face into his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his waist tightly. I didn't want to let go of him. I felt as if I would break apart should I let go. I sobbed against him, letting out all of the emotion that had been pent up inside of me for two weeks since I'd seen her face. I could tell that Sherlock was uncomfortable, but he seemed to be making an actual effort to sooth me.

When my ribs began to pulse with pain, I finally sat up, wiping at my eyes with the palms of my hands. "You must think me a fool."

Sherlock shrugged. "I knew you were an emotional person, despite you trying your best to hide it. It was only a matter of time before you broke down. Let's get up off the floor. I think John is fixing supper."

"Can he even cook?" I asked, shoving myself up from the floor, wincing at the sharp pain. "I mean, I don't think I've ever seen him in that kitchen."

"I believe Mary has been teaching him a bit here and there," Sherlock replied, grabbing the sink to help himself up. "Why don't you wash up first, compose yourself a bit? I'll be out in the living room looking through more of the transcripts."

Sherlock left the room and I sighed, closing the door once more. I looked at myself in the mirror, wincing at the sight. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair a mess. I splashed cold water on my face, pressing my fingers to my eyes. God, what on earth had I gotten myself into? I felt as though I were going to throw up and pass out all at once. I took a few deep breaths before looking up into the mirror again. I shook my head.

"There's no way that I can do this. No way."

'But you have to. For me. My blood runs in your veins and you must stop this madness,' my father's voice said in my head. 'I know that she is your sister. She was my daughter and she betrayed me. Avenge me.'

"Okay papa," I whispered. "I'll do it. I'll avenge you."

I brushed my hair slowly, my arms aching still from the swim in the river. Olivia had been right when she'd said I'd torn a few muscles fighting the current. I hadn't noticed until I'd gotten back to the flat and John had forced me to go back to the hospital to get looked over and make certain that they hadn't missed any possible broken bones beside my ribs. They hadn't and it was determined that I'd pulled a few muscles in my arms and legs. I'd been given pain medicine that I hadn't touched. I didn't want to cloud my mind with drugs.

I finished, tying my hair up into a ponytail. Mary had been kind enough to buy me hair ties for Christmas and I'd been using them nearly every day to keep my mane of hair out of my face. I looked at myself once more, the only hint that I'd been crying the pink in my cheeks. I exited the bathroom, limping down the hall to find both Sherlock and John in the kitchen in a heated debate.

"Problems with dinner?"

"Yes. Sherlock's trying to tell me how to cook."

"Well, I could smell something burning."

"It was the garlic, Sherlock. Go back to studying. Cooking doesn't interest you anyway. Honestly, Sherlock, must you always know everything?"

"I was merely trying to make certain that you weren't catching the flat on fire."

"Go and sit down. Both of you. Unless you want to chop up some vegetables for me?"

"I'll help you John," I said, going to the knife drawer to find a cutting knife. "What all do you need chopped?"

"Broccoli, onions, and carrots. I'm making a stir-fry. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Sherlock, you need to rest." The man opened his mouth to retort, but I held up my hand. "Seriously, you've been busier than I have lately. Go and sit down. Rest. I don't want to have to knock you unconscious again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. But try not to burn anything down."

He retreated to his room, muttering under his breath. I smiled as I heard him begin to play the violin. "Haven't heard that in a while. So…what were you two arguing about before I got in here?"

"My cooking. I wasn't joking with you when I said that he was trying to inspect what I was doing." John stirred the chicken in the pan. "I don't know when he became obsessed with the things at home."

"What do you mean?" I questioned, chopping the carrots into bite-size chunks.

"Well, take the other day for example when you were down at the station for questioning. He began to ask me if we should invest in a futon. A futon for Christ's sake. And then he began to poke through the fridge, throwing away anything that was even close to going out of date. It's part of the reason why I had to go to the market today." John sighed. "I suppose it's a nice change of pace for him, but it's still irritating. I'm not used to this side of Sherlock. He even did the dishes. I have to wonder how much brain damage he sustained from oxygen deprivation."

"It does seem a bit out of character for him. I always saw you as more of the neat freak and the homebody." I dumped the carrots into the pan with the chicken as I finished chopping them. "I wonder what has gotten into him."

John shot me a glance. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"It's so strange for this to be coming out of my mouth because in the past few years I've never known him to be this way…but I think he fancies you. If I had to make a guess as to why he was behaving this way, I think he likes having you around and he doesn't want you to leave because of something wrong with the flat." John lowered his voice. "He has been asking me all sorts of questions about how Mary and I met and how I knew that she was the one I wanted to be with. He has never asked me those kinds of personal questions."

I blushed, dropping the knife to the floor. I bent down to get it, rinsing it off in the sink. "Are you…you're serious aren't you?"

"Very. He has been much more anxious lately and a bit more snappish, except when he's around you. I don't know what you did to him or what happened on that bridge, but ever since then, he has been changed. At least when you're around anyway."

I was quiet as I chopped up the broccoli and the onions. I dumped them into the pan as well. I washed the cutting board and knife quickly before looking at John, who was focusing on not burning the food. "I think I'll go and talk to Sherlock. How long until the food is done?"

"Another fifteen minutes or so. Have fun. And don't mention anything that I said to him. I'd rather not have another confrontation with him."

I nodded. "Of course. The things we've spoken about stay between us. That's how it works."

John flashed me a grin. "Yes, that's how it works around here. Now go and talk to him, see if you can figure out what's going on."

I limped out of the room, heading down the hall to the room where the music was coming from. I found Sherlock sitting on the edge of his bed, the instrument tucked under his chin, the bow sliding gracefully back and forth across the strings. I felt hypnotized by his playing and I sat down in front of him, watching him play. His eyes were closed and I could tell that he was focusing on the notes, but for the first time since I'd come to stay with them, he seemed completely at peace.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked, not stopping his playing.

"I wished to speak with you."

"Well then speak."

"I, erm, well-"

"You wish to know if I have feelings for you and want to get to know you on a more intimate level."

I blushed. "How did you know?"

"Do you really have to ask that?" Sherlock asked, a smirk on his lips even as he continued to play, not bothering to look at me. "Your hesitation is what gave it away. That and there wouldn't be any other reason for you to invade my private space, aside from asking me a personal question. So, now I have to ask you, do you want the truth or do you want me to be easy about my answer?"

"I would prefer the truth. And I highly doubt you could give me anything other than that anyway. I don't think you're capable of softening any blows."

He stopped playing, setting the instrument down on the bed next to him. "Are you certain you want to know?"

"Yes."

He got down onto the floor, sitting in front of me, taking my hands in his. "You intrigue me, Delilah. I find myself wanting to learn more and more about you. And that's not something that I ever want to do with any one person. You cross my mind more often in a day than you should. I don't know why either, which is part of what's bothering me about this entire thing." He reached up to touch my cheek. "I find your spirit, your personality both frustrating and enlightening. You have things to teach me that I don't think anyone else could. You're passionate and caring and headstrong. We clash constantly and yet I feel comfortable with you. I'm not one for confessing things, you've seen that. But with you, I feel that you listen to me, you pay attention. I feel like…" He seemed to be at a loss for words and I watched as he frowned with his frustration.

"You feel like I see you," I murmured, pressing my cheek into his hand. "I see you, Sherlock Holmes and it confuses you because the only other people who have seen you are people who have been around you for years. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, John. It took them years to see the good man in you, whereas it has only taken me a month." I gave him a smile, finding those enchanting eyes locked onto my face. "Do I frighten you Sherlock Holmes?"

"Very much so."

"Good. Because you frighten me too. And I don't know where this adventure is going to take us. But…I don't think I'd mind going on it with you."

He began to lean towards me and I closed my eyes, feeling my heart beginning to race even as his lips hovered over mine. We both jerked away from each other as my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, looking down at the number I vaguely recognized.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Delilah McKinley?" A woman asked on the other end of the line.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Delilah…it's your mother."