TRIGGER WARNING: Miscarriage and mentions of suicide.

Break

The dynamic of our relationship really changed after that. Not that it shouldn't. Sherlock took a big step forward when it came to opening up to people and trusting people. Well, person, I suppose I should say. Things were a little rocky for a few weeks after that, trying to get things back in order and work out where we stood in this little relationship of ours. Because I'd inadvertently admitted to him that I loved him. It was a profound love that, I think, surpassed titles, however, I do admit that part of this love consisted of romantic attraction toward him. And that's probably what made our relationship so rocky after that late afternoon.

I could tell he was wary of this. He was wary of a lot of kind of love. I mean, he'd spent practically our whole time together telling me that love was a chemical defect, something that got in the way of functioning. So to have this chemical defect affect me and be directed toward him was upsetting. It took a lot of discussion and a lot of promises on my part to convince him that he didn't need to love me romantically back. I'd still be his best friend and trusted confidant, no matter what.

Then things seemed to going okay. They quieted down and we slowly fell back into step with each other as well as our usual routine. The end of the year started to roll around and we had started to discuss universities and future plans, just as something to pass the time with, really. I knew Sherlock hated that kind of idle banter, but he'd do it for me once in a while. I think he indulged me more this year to make up for his absence and my palpable fear of losing touch with him when we went off to pursue careers and such.

Like I said the end of the year rolled around… but that's when things took a turn for the worst. I can remember the events that took place that day like it happened just moments ago. It's been ingrained into my memory and will probably stay there until the day I die. It was the tipping point for everything, for my life. It was like I'd been riding the rollercoaster up and now we'd finally reached the top, and were slowly coming forward, getting ready to plunge into unknown depths.

I was sitting in my afternoon class, taking notes during a lecture. One of the teacher's last lectures, for A-level examinations were coming up soon. This would be the last lecture he gave us. I don't remember the time, nor do I remember the exact day, but in the middle of class, another adult burst through the door. Her eyes were a bit frantic and her chest heaved like she'd just been running. It was alarming and my heart shot into my throat when she called my name.

"Elizabeth Hallows?" she asked, panting, hand holding the door open. It was because of her state, did I immediately stand up and make my way through the maze of desks and chairs to her, the pen I'd been holding still in my grip.

"What-what is it? What's wrong?" I asked as I came up to her. Behind me the class had fallen silent, the atmosphere thick as everyone waited with baited breath to hear what was going on and why it involved me.

"You're mother. She's… she's had an accident. Please, come with me." she replied in a low voice, making sure that only I would be able to hear her.

The pen dropped from my numb hand, echoing through the room before she turned and ran out, me hot on her heels. Something had happened to Mum? But… what kind of accident. A car accident? Or maybe she tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. Was she possibly attacked by someone? How badly hurt was she? Clearly they wouldn't be calling me in the middle of class if she wasn't badly hurt. So what had happened?

The main office was surprisingly calm when we got back to it. Nothing stirred. Phones rang in the background, papers were being filed or shuffled, there weren't any students waiting to be picked up by parents or somesuch.

It was quiet.

It was unnerving.

As soon as I entered, breathing just as heavily as the woman before me, I heard my name being called once again.

"Dad!" I exclaimed going up to him and wrapping my arms around his waist, his arms coming around me and squeezing me to him tightly. Some of my nerves calmed, being in his warm embrace and knowing that at least he was all right. I pulled away and looked up at him questioningly. "What's going on? I was only told Mum was in an accident—" I broke off seeing tears in my father's eyes, which were also rimmed red, like he'd been crying before this.

He put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a comforting smile, as best he could through his tears, anyway.

"Sweetie," he started, his voice shaking, "remember you baby sister we mentioned a few weeks ago?" My heart dropped. Had she had a miscarriage, is that what happened? But it wasn't like miscarriages were life-threatening. So why—

"Dad, I don't understand—"

"Your mother had a miscarriage a few days ago. She was so upset, she tried to—" He broke off unable to finish, tears streaming down his face. His whole body was shaking as he tried to keep his sobs to a minimum, seeing as we were in the middle of my school's office still.

I, however, didn't want to comprehend what was happening. My mind had put together what had happened today, but my heart was breaking at the mere thought that this was happening at all. At what my mom had done to herself. I couldn't bear to ask if she was still alive, I was afraid of the answer.

For a time there, I thought I finally knew what Lucifer was talking about in John Milton's Paradise Lost. The flames of hell burning his body, the glow of its violent red flames roasting his eyes, yet the suffocating darkness and the unrelenting cold that surrounded him at the same time. What was all consuming and constant, though, was the pain that I felt.

I stepped away from my father, letting his hands fall off my shoulders. He lifted his gaze to meet my own stricken one.

"Lizzy?" he asked, his breathing broke and ragged. Before I gave my body conscious command to, I was out the door, down the hall, and on the pavement. I vaguely remember my dad calling my name, but I didn't stop.

I ran back to our house. The lights were still on, like my dad had left in a rush when he got the news. I paused as I got through the front door, looking around, wondering what I was doing here, wondering why my body had brought me here. They'd certainly find me here. This was the first place they'd look and I didn't want them to find me. Not yet. I needed to be alone. I needed the quiet. I needing think. I grabbed a few things before I dashed out of the house, just barely managing to close the door before I was off running again.

From there, I just kept running and running. I didn't stop running when my lungs caught fire, I didn't stop running when my muscles screamed for oxygen; I just didn't stop running.

That was until…

…

I slowly walked over to the tree specified by Sherlock's note, looking around the park. It was surprisingly sunny today. A breeze blew through the trees, making the leaves rustle. Everyone seemed to be out and about, trying to soak up the sun they got to see so little of. And it seemed a lot had come to this park. It wasn't too far from London. I'd come here when I was younger with my parents for strolls. I hadn't been here in ages, but this park held fond memories for me.

Anyhow, like I said, I was looking for Sherlock because he'd left me a note a day ago, but it was some kind of weird coded message and it had taken me right up until now to figure out this park was what he meant, and this specific tree—the only oak in the whole of the park—was where I was supposed to meet him at noon exactly.

I stood under the tree, looking around, feeling like an idiot, before I looked down at the note, made sure I decoded it correctly then looked at my watch. It was noon. So where was Sherlock?

"Look up." Came an all too familiar baritone from above me, as if he'd read my mind. My gaze went heavenward just in time to see Sherlock jump down from the branch he'd been sitting on. I had about a millisecond to process this and step out of the way as he landed next to me. This, however, caused me to lose my balance and I started to fall away from him with a very embarrassing squeak. But instead of hitting grass, I was suddenly being pulled toward him and fell into him instead, his scent washing over me.

A blush stained my cheeks and I quickly pulled away, making sure to not lose my balance.

"Sherlock," I exclaimed in greeting. I would've tried to hide my blushing face, but this was Sherlock Holmes, he was way too observant for his own good sometimes. There was no use. "I… I-I… I got your message." I stuttered, holding out the piece of paper to show him.

He smiled. "I knew you'd figure it out. I've been waiting for you." This made my face turn even redder, if that was possible.

"Well I hope you haven't been waiting for too long…" I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. Then my head snapped up as indignation rushed through me. "Why make it so obscure and secret anyway?" I asked, holding up the paper again. "It took me so long to figure this out. I was up all night trying to decode this stupid message of yours."

"That's why I gave it to you a day in advance." Sherlock commented, his smile never fading.

I puffed. "Now you listen here, Mr William Sherlock Scott Holmes," I started. "You did not just insult my intelligence!"

"I didn't, your intelligence is that of the average person, Miss Elizabeth Rosalie Hallows." he responded, smirking before adding a wink at the end.

I hated him sometimes. Well, I suppose I should say I hated me sometimes because I couldn't stay mad at him. I didn't know whether it was because I'd fallen head over heels in love with him or because I'd been used to him insulting my intelligence, subtly and then not-so-subtly as we grew older, all the time. It could've been both.

I took a deep breath, my cheeks still feeling a bit warm, and stood up straighter.

"What did you want to show me?" I asked in a calmer voice. Sherlock gave me one of his infuriating-but-cute half smiles before going back over to the tree and without a word started to climb up. I quickly followed and a few branches up, he stopped and propped himself on a branch, leaning back against the trunk, waiting for me to get to his height. When I did, I pulled myself up onto a branch opposite of his.

"Okay," I was getting a bit suspicious now, but kind of excited, because when it came to surprises, Sherlock never disappointed, whether it was showing me a cool chemistry trick or simply showing me something that he thought I'd like (though to him it was boring).

As it turns out, it was something he thought was boring, but I thought was sweet, and anyone else would think as a date. We had a picnic, in a tree. I pushed my feet against the branch Sherlock was sitting on, making a make-shift table with my legs. There was a sandwich for each of us, including bottles of water and bottles of juice.

In the middle of a comfortable silence, I couldn't help but ask, "Why'd you do this, Sherlock?" Because I knew how much mundane things basically killed him. He hated them, and that was putting it mildly. So, why he would endure such a thing as a picnic with me was puzzling to me.

Sherlock looked out across the park, his eyes distant and thoughtful as he slowly chewed. He was silent for a few more moments after he swallowed and then suddenly he turned to look at me, his startlingly grey eyes shocking me back to when we'd first met and I'd looked up from the newspaper he was reading to meet the same pair of intelligent grey eyes.

"You could say I'm… repaying a favour." he answered and leaving it at that. I had a feeling he was talking about the first time we met and I'd given him half my sandwich even though I hadn't even known his name at the time. It could have also been all the times I ever shared my lunch, but… that particular moment, the first time we met seemed more like what he was talking about.

"Thank you," I mumbled, looking down at my half-eaten sandwich.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, voice concerned. "You're crying. Are you hurt?"

My eyes widened and I quickly reached up to rub my tears away. "No, no, I'm fine." I gasped. "Just… just something in my eye." I sniffled and made sure there were no stray tears before I looked back at Sherlock and gave him a reassuring smile.

We finished our little lunch and settled into another comfortable silence. After the sandwiches, Sherlock pulled out two chocolate cupcakes with no frosting (I'd told him I don't know how long ago I hated frosting). Instead, he'd brought of a can of whipped cream and attempted to make a swirled pile of the stuff on top of the cupcakes.

It was as we were finishing and throwing our garbage into the plastic bag that Sherlock had brought everything in did I first hear it. It was soft and pitiful. So soft that I wasn't even sure if I'd heard it or it had just been my imagination.

"Did you hear that?" I asked quietly, looking over at Sherlock. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly and listened. Another little cry sounded. "I think it might be hurt!" I gasped, pushing away from the branch Sherlock was sitting on and slipping off of the one I was sitting on before making my way down the tree. My feet hit the ground and I heard the animal's soft wail coming from somewhere in the bushes near the tree we'd been sitting in. I stared toward them, straining my ears. Behind me I heard Sherlock land on the ground.

"Elizabeth—" he started but I cut him off by holding up a hand and "shh-ing" him as the noise sounded again, more to my right. I took a few steps right before kneeling down near the bushes and trying to see the dense greenery for what was making the noise. At first, all I could see were leaves and darkness, a branch here and there because they blended in so well with the darkness. Then, suddenly I noticed a spot of what looked like silver fur of some sort. It was odd because I couldn't think of any animal that had silver fur.

"Sherlock, come help me get it out." I said, looking at him over my shoulder.

"Elizabeth—" he tried again but I cut him off again.

"Just come help me…. Please. I think its hurt." I pleaded. Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes but came over to kneel next to me. Together we pushed the branches away and Sherlock held them back as I reached into the gap we'd made and pulled out the tiniest kitten you ever saw. It fit snuggly in both my hands. One of its paws looks swollen and its eyes were tightly shut. Now that it was fully in the light it looked more grey-blue than silver.

"It's a Russian Blue," Sherlock commented.

"Hm?"

"A Russian Blue cat," he clarified.

"I didn't know you knew cat breeds." Though, to be honest, I really should've known.

He smirked, his eyes never leaving the kitten in my hands. "They're one of the first breeds I learned. They're supposed to be intelligent."

…

"Oh, Arthur," I sighed, scratching the place on the top of his head, right between his ears. I had been waiting for the tears to come, but they hadn't and I was wondering why. I was glad I hadn't broken down (yet), but it felt odd to not being crying. I mean, I was an emotional person, I cried for a lot of things that most people probably wouldn't, yet something like this happens and I hadn't even shed a tear.

Maybe it was because I'd become numb. After I'd ran and found the place, our little place, numbness slowly engulfed me. I felt listless, almost paralyzed.

I was sitting beneath the great oak where Sherlock had set up a picnic for the both of us on the uncharacteristically sunny day. Arthur was in my lap, nuzzling his face into mine, giving me little kisses with his wet nose. He wouldn't stop shifting in my lap, but I figured that was because he was picking up on the unrest in my mind.

Arthur, that was the name of the Russian Blue cat that we'd found in the bushes that day. We'd later come to find out that he'd only been two weeks old, was severely sick, nearly starved and had a sprained ankle. He wasn't expected to make it, but as soon as I heard that, Arthur became my personal responsibility and I slowly nursed him back to health.

Suddenly he paused in his shifting, his head popping up like a meerkat, eyes going wide, ears perked. With a meow he dashed off my lap.

"Arthur—!" I gasped, turning, ready to stand up and chase after him. I had him on a leash, but I hadn't had a good hold of it before he dashed off. However, when I looked up—for I hadn't even had the time to get off the ground—I realised I didn't need to worry about that.

"…Sherlock…" I said quietly as he walked forward, Arthur in his arms, and kneeled down next to me, gently putting Arthur back into my lap. Arthur was purring even louder now and meowing more than usual.

Sherlock smiled a bit.

"It's good to see you, too, Arthur." he said, scratching the cat behind his ears and under his chin. There was a moment of brief happiness—which I took to secure Arthur's leash around my wrist—before I could feel Sherlock's eyes on me. His hand dropped away from Arthur and I slowly lifted my gaze from the leash around my wrist to meet Sherlock's concerned blue eyes.

Our eyes locked and the dam broke. All the pain that the numbness had been keeping it at bay hit me like an anvil but surrounded me and choked me like the fog of London. My eyes filled with tears that blurred my vision and I let out a harsh sob. I looked away from Sherlock, then, bringing my hands up to grab fistfuls of my hair, sobbing in the crooks of my elbows, concealing my face. I felt Arthur's fur brush against my arms and heard him meowing, worried about me, but I couldn't pry my arms away from my face. I wanted the earth to just swallow me up and make me disappear.

I wanted this gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, head-splitting pain to go away.

The sensation of being enveloped by something other than the poisoned fog made me falter in my sobs and I peeked out from my arms to see that Sherlock had taken hold of me and set me in his lap. I sniffled, another sob escaping my lips as I looked up at him.

"Sherlock…?" I asked breathless. He reached up with his free hand (for his other arm was holding me to his chest—to wipe some of my tears away with his thumb before leaning forward and kissing my forehead.

"I'm here for you," he promised quietly, tightening his hold on me. I looked back down, holding a worried Arthur to me, his purring and soft fur comforting, as well as Sherlock's arms around me and the warmth coming from his body, as more tears streamed down my face and I continued to sob.

I apologise immensely and infinitely for making you wait so long for this chapter. I had an idea, but hit a writer's block, and when I thought I'd gotten over it, the third series of Sherlock came out confirming theories and epiphanies I'd had previous about his character, which made me re-think my idea. Then I hit another writer's block.

If you're confused, that bit in the middle is a flashback. I don't like putting the word "flashback" in the middle of my stories; just a personal preference. Hope you enjoyed!

I'm back for the most part. I do have to re-think my original idea, but hopefully I'll be able to get you the next chapter before this next week is out.

Thank you for reading,
TheBrightestNight