A/N: Sorry again for the enormous gap in the updates, dearies. I've been suffering from writer's block in a big way – it seems that working a full time job and not reading as much as I used to tends to do that to me. But anyway, have a new chapter. Hopefully it can hold you over until I update again...who knows when that'll be, right?

It was truly amazing how fast Sherlock could dress himself when he had the mind to. John was no longer embarrassed by his flatmate's odd behaviour, but Nerys blushed and looked at the floor when the detective's clothes began to fly across the room.

"So, we're going to Wales then?" she mumbled.

"Oh yes," Sherlock said, buttoning up a dress-shirt he'd found flung over the sofa arm. "We're going to find Jared. You're going to talk to him, Nerys – then you can start writing again, and get your moping mind out of the clouds and back into your stories."

Nerys shuffled her feet. "But I came for John Watson's advice, not your detective help."

Sherlock and John both froze, Sherlock in the particularly compromising position of pulling up his trousers.

"What?" John spluttered, looking slightly pink.

"Mr Watson is the reason I came," Nerys went on, her voice gaining conviction, "and Mr Watson is the one that can help me. I really do appreciate your help, Mr Holmes, but I need writing motivation, not a therapy session."

"Therapy session – " Sherlock spluttered.

"You were treating me like you were some kind of psychologist, Mr Holmes, and to be perfectly honest I don't need to go hunting down my demons like you seem to think. I just need a few pointers, and I'll be fine."

John had sprouted a rather silly grin during this exchange. "I think I can give a few pointers, Miss Llewellyn – "

"No he can't," Sherlock muttered, yanking his trousers to his waist and violently zipping the fly. "The only reason he started writing was because of me and my astonishing field of work. Admit it, John, you wouldn't have started that blog like your therapist suggested if you hadn't met me."

John's face was a different sort of pink now. "How dare you – "

"No no, shut up. What I'm trying to say is that Nerys will be able to write well again when she has faced down Jared, just as you were able to begin blogging when you reentered the battlefield as my companion."

The nature of John's blush changed again as he turned to Nerys and spluttered, "Not his companion."

"So, as I was saying," Sherlock spat, "I believe a trip to Wales is in order, for all of our sakes. We can't have you coming in here again, blubbering at us in your pyjamas and badly knitted stockings."

Nerys opened her mouth to object, but then shut it again.

"Just let me get back to my flat," she said demurely. "I don't think I should show up on Jared's front stoop in liver-slimed pyjama bottoms and badly knitted stockings now, should I?"

John smiled at her in an apologetic fashion. "I'll come with you. I need some time away from this lunatic."

Sherlock only scoffed at them as they made their way down the stairs.

At the landing, John put a hand to Nerys' shoulder. She hesitated and looked back to him – his blush had subsided, leaving a look of relief in its place.

"I am really sorry about that, you know," he said quietly. "He can be an absolute prat sometimes."

She laughed. "I can see that. But honestly, don't worry about it. I've been meaning to come to terms with – " she motioned vaguely – "all this for a while. Jared, everything. I just needed a shove. And I'm sorry I came in my pyjamas and awful boots."

"Oh no, it's fine," John chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You've seen the beast I live with, he can look quite shocking. Oh! Not that...you look shocking. You look...excellent. Even in liver-slimed bottoms."

She laughed at his awkwardness, which seemed to make him look less uneasy. "My bottoms and jumper are horrible, but thanks."

He looked at her with a fading smile. He seemed about to say something else, but was interrupted by a rap on the front door that made them both jump.

"Don't bother, Mrs Hudson!" John called, hurrying past Nerys down the stairs, "We're heading out anyway."

Nerys looked on curiously as the door swung open, and was surprised to see a woman standing in the threshold. She was clicking away at a mobile phone.

"Anthea," John sighed exhaustedly. "What does Mycroft want now? We're busy."

She glanced up with a half smile. "Mycroft couldn't turn down a request from baby brother. You're on your way to Wales via private means."

John whipped around, his face like thunder. At first Nerys thought he was glaring at her, but then realised that his eyes were fixed at the top of the stairs.

"Just get in the car, John," Sherlock's voice rumbled from behind her. "We can pick up some clean clothes for Miss Nerys on our way."