Sherlock never really got excited about anything. (Except particularly bloody murders, that is.) He preferred to withhold judgement until he had the full story on what was happening: who was responsible, what had been done, who knew. But that didn't stop him from wanting to dance around the room like a nine year old girl when he heard Ainsley was going to help him.

This uncontrollable giddiness marked a big change in him. A couple of years ago he would be repulsed by the idea of teaming up with a degree-less redhead from Scotland. But, as he was so often reminded, John had changed things. It was possible for Sherlock to have friends, even if their minds were of a lower caliber than his. In all honesty, Ainsley obviously wasn't as smart as him and nothing was going to change that. It was just that he was finally realizing she still was quite clever, albeit in a very different way.

Even if she couldn't tell someone their life story at first glance, she possessed a sort of undeniable charm. She was good-looking, witty, brave, and unbelievably confident. Sherlock thought back to the articles dated before she was arrested. They were all stories about her being named class president or winning some type of speech and debate award. It was clear that people couldn't help but be drawn to her. If she wanted to, he had no doubt that she could manipulate the whole of London into committing suicide. Everyone trusted her, while she trusted no one. It was brilliant, really. You could tell her your whole life story without knowing a thing about her. And Sherlock was starting to think he could use that to his advantage.

"Remind me why you haven't just sent in a recording of me testifying that Moriarty was real?" the girl in question whined. It had been five days since they started working together, meeting every night at her flat (Ainsley claimed that she couldn't handle working in a room littered with chopped up body parts).

"Shall I give you the full list? One, they'll think I've brainwashed you; two, they'll find me and arrest me for corrupting you; three, they'll put you in a mental hospital," he rattled off. "That is, if Moriarty's puppets haven't killed us by then," he added as an afterthought.

"Don't you think if these 'puppets' were going to kill us, they would've done it already?" Ainsley pointed out, scratching Lucinda (her cat) behind the ears.

"If you ever listened to me, you'd know that they're luring us into a false sense of security. They want us to let our guard down," he explained impatiently. She groaned.

"But She- shhhhhall I give you the book when I'm finished?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" he spat, turning to face Ainsley. He stopped when he saw Elsa in the doorway, smiling widely.

"Hello, Arthur!" she chirped.

"Hello," Sherlock droned back. He and Ainsley had both agreed it would only cause trouble to get Elsa involved in any way, but it was a bit difficult to avoid her, considering the sisters lived together. Luckily, the pregnant woman was out more often than not, whether she was at the doctor or visiting her father. She was infuriatingly chipper at all times and astonishingly stupid. It baffled him that she was even related to Ainsley.

"You're back early, Elsie," Ainsley said sweetly, but Sherlock could plainly hear the irritation in her voice. He smiled to himself. It would appear that he was a bad influence on his new friend.

"I was just showing Daddy some of my ultrasound pictures and doing some shopping. It was a really long day."

"Obviously not long enough," Sherlock muttered. Ainsley whipped around to glare at him, but Elsa (thankfully) didn't notice.

"What were you shopping for?"

"Just some groceries. I just thought I'd make us all some good dinner. You, me, and Arthur. After all, I'm your big sister. I should know a little bit about your new boyfriend," she teased, much to Ainsley's mortification.

"Arthur is not, not, not my boyfriend," Ainsley sputtered. "No, no, no. Not at all."

"I'm afraid I don't date," Sherlock interjected.

"And even if he did, I'm definitely not interested," Ainsley finished, despite the fact that her flaming red cheeks pointed to the contrary.

"Oh," Elsa uttered awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Quite alright, Elsa," Sherlock assured her.

"Thanks. You, uh, can still stay for dinner if you like, Arthur," she invited. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ainsley frantically mouthing the word 'No.' Discreetly, he sent her a wink.

"I'd love that, thank you," he consented graciously.

Sherlock normally didn't have much of a stomach when he was working, but he decided to do the 'polite' thing and at least nibble at his meal. Honestly, Elsa's cooking was impressively good. The chicken was cooked to perfection and the seasonings were divine. Maybe if she got a job as a chef somewhere, the Boyd's wouldn't be so hopelessly poor.

"It's delicious, Elsie," Ainsley said before he could. "Really."

"Thanks, sweets," the cook beamed. "It did come out rather well, if I do say so myself." She sipped from her water glass then put it down with a start. "Shoot! I forgot to take my vitamins before dinner."

"I can go get them so you can take them now," Ainsley offered. Her sister shook her head.

"No, no, I'll go get them. You have a guest."

"Arthur's not my guest," Ainsley began, but her sister was already gone.

"Elsa really is a fantastic cook," Sherlock said.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed in response. He feigned surprise.

"I'm eating dinner; I was invited."

"You weren't supposed to say yes!"

"What's wrong with me eating dinner at your house?" he questioned.

"It's... It's just weird," she said shrilly. "Just because I'm helping you, it doesn't mean we're... We're not friends."

"Really? I thought we were friends," Sherlock confessed. Ainsley raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends. He has one friend. Doctor John Watson," she recited in an awful impression of a British man's voice.

"Then it's a shame Doctor John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes is dead," he sighed. Her mouth quirked into a smile.

"Isn't that what I'm trying to help you with?" she wondered. Sherlock didn't reply.

"Ainsley!" Elsa hollered from the kitchen. "Can you come help me reach the pill bottles?" Ainsley rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she slid out of her seat.

"Coming, Elsa!"

A/N: A little bit of a fluffy chapter. How cute is Sherlock? Review please!