Thank you for the wonderful reviews everyone! :) I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far. Here is a longer chapter for a change, nothing exciting, mostly playing with the characters a little. This is a story I just let flow wherever my current mood desires it to go... Next will be more excitement (new case on the way, maybe more about Lily's case as well...) and more of the characters getting to know each other.

So thank you again, and enjoy! ;)

Two weeks have passed since that night at the kitchen table. Arrangements were made that allowed Lily to stay with the strange duo, under the constant surveillance of Mycroft. She took care of minor things around the flat, even helping out Mrs Hudson once in a while. Everyday life. She rarely went out in fear of getting noticed. After two weeks it she started to feel an unmistakeable longing to shoot something. She never really had a normal life, and although she was trained to be able to blend in this kind of atmosphere, she was definitely not made for it. She managed somehow to hide her discomfort, the eccentric detective however didn't even try. Two weeks without a case was something Sherlock haven't had in a while. To ease the boredom he started to take long night walks around the shadier parts of the city, hoping for something to pop up. After a long night of rain he came back completely drenched, and already sniffling. Of course John was there to scold him, which slightly amused Lily. The strange pair's presence was comfortable for her somehow, even if they still didn't know each other that well. She wondered how long will this arrangement last...

"Lily, can you take care of him tonight? I have to take a night shift." Said John already putting on his coat and walking to the door. The girl looked up from the sofa – which temporarily served as her bed.

"Of course, don't worry." She smiled encouragingly at the doctor and got up.

"Oh, you are an angel! Make sure he takes the medicine I prepared for him on the nightstand when he wakes up." Then he was gone, storming out to catch a cab.

Lily sighed. In the previous few days she got to know that the crazy detective wasn't the easiest person when ill. He was having a cold, with high fever, and they could hardly keep him in bed on the first day. As a result he got so exhausted by now that he passed out shortly after babbling something about tobacco ashes and posh criminals.

As John stormed away, leaving for work he stopped for a moment at the foot of the stairs. Did he really just leave his friend in the hands of a stranger? When he was so ill he wasn't even aware of his surroundings? It was strange though. He haven't even stopped to think about this unusual situation they got into, until now. A complete stranger was living with them as though it was the most natural thing in the world. This girl, Lily seemed to melt into their everyday lives as if she was always there. Now as he thought about it, she was always in the right place when needed, and otherwise she kept quiet and out of the way. She behaved exactly the way they felt comfortable with. CIA training, most likely.. He almost laughed at the idea. He just couldn't imagine this young girl being a secret agent. It was almost ridiculous. Suddenly a picture of a warehouse flashed into his mind. Mycroft had seemed very keen on making Lily disappear from their lives permanently. He was afraid for their safety. John would go so far as to say – he was afraid of Lily. Or God knows, the CIA. This is confusing, he thought. He hesitated for a second more, then continued his hurried steps to the streets. Think rationally. She has no reason to hurt us. And anyway, she wouldn't be able to with Mycroft breathing down her neck all the time. He thought about all the surveillance that was available for the older Holmes. I bet he is watching all the time. What a shame... she is such a nice girl.

Back at the house Lily put down the book she was reading – something about crime in the royal families of Europe, which she found on one of the shelves, when she heard the creaking of the bed from Sherlock's room. She padded quietly to the door, still slightly limping and peeked inside. She could just make out the detective's form, struggling to get up, still obviously dizzy from the fever. Lily watched in amusement as the tall, lanky figure got up and found the light switch, flicking it on. Yellow lamp light washed over the room, including the now slightly squinting man, standing on wobbly legs beside his bed. He looked a bit too pale than usual, his pajamas suffering the effects of the bed and restless sleep. The detective locked eyes with the girl standing at the door and frowned in concentration.

"John went to take a night shift I suppose." He said finally.

"He did." Lily answered, even though she knew it was no question for the detective. She stepped inside, and kept a polite distance from Sherlock as she gestured towards the nightstand. "He left you some medicine to take." She said pointedly, then added. "And you should really sit down."

The man sat with a look of disgust flashed towards the pills on the wooden surface. He hated being weak and incapacitated.

"Let me get you some water." Said Lily before disappearing, then returning with a glass of water. She stepped closer to the man this time, and handed him the water.

The detective accepted it without comment. He paused for a moment to process his thoughts about the curious girl. She always acted as the situation dictated, generally polite and friendly, but Sherlock could see the constant guarded manner with which she moved and the carefully hidden alertness in every single uttered syllable.

He took the pills and washed them down with the cool water, placing the glass on the nightstand, and leaning back against the headboard, still studying the young face of the girl.

Lily stared back at him in much the same manner, and after a moment there was a spark of unspoken agreement between the two – let's call it a draw.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Company. I am bored." Said the detective, for a moment sounding suspiciously like a child. "My brain is rotting away in this terrible..." Lily could see he was looking for the right words which expressed his horrible condition the best. She wasn't expecting what he found fitting. "... peace."

She smiled a little and sat down on the chair beside the bed – left there most certainly by John.

"I can stay if you would like, but I am not the most entertaining company." She said with an almost apologetic tone.

The detective lost his childlike expression and despite his illness, his eyes flashed with a strange light. "Oh, but you are." He said in a low voice.

Lily tensed slightly, but masked it with a questioning glance at the man. "Why would I be? I am hardly unpredictable for you." She remarked with another careful smile.

The blue eyes lit up and Lily could practically see the detective's mind racing.

"You act exactly the way it is expected in every situation." He started, locking eyes with his "prey" of deduction. "Almost as if you could read our thoughts. Your every step is carefully planned, and each plan is carried out with precision. You draw a veil around yourself, a wall so carefully constructed that it is hardly even there." As he carried on his lips slipped into his trademark knowing smile. "You play your part as you are supposed to. I am guessing they trained you to act like this at the CIA, although it could be a natural defense mechanism as well. Either way, it is perfect for what it is for: hiding." He finished, raising an eyebrow in question. "Hiding from what?" He asked, and after a pause he asked again. "Or hiding what?"

Lily at there on the wooden chair, legs crossed casually, face carefully set into a neutral expression. She answered without hesitation. "Nothing."

And Sherlock could somehow feel that she was telling the truth.

"You are the most predictable person." He said after a pause. "And at the same time you are the most unpredictable one." He cocked his head in a curious gesture, his voice careful and analytical. "You do what is most likely done in each situation, your personality, your little faults, likes, and hates, they do not determine your actions. You hide it so thoroughly it is almost impossible. And who knows what to expect when the wall explodes, and the real you makes a decision." He finished quietly.

The girl sat quietly, as tough deep in thought. She knew the detective had a gift for deduction, but she somehow hoped he would just dismiss her as unimportant fact. She was slightly bothered by his straightforward analysis on her.

"Who are you?" Asked the detective finally, searching Lily's distant brown eyes.

The girl smiled again, this time in challenge. This man was searching for her true personality behind the act. She thought about something she heard a while back at the agency. You can sometimes cause more confusion with the truth, than a perfectly constructed lie. So she answered again honestly. "I don't know."