Andy slept on the sofa in 221B that night. John was unwilling to let his cousin drift too far away, despite the fact that the killer had made no indication that he or she would be targeting the young author. Still, John's protectiveness of her was running strong, and he had essentially commanded her to spend the night in their flat.

Sherlock came into the living room the next morning to find that John was seated in his armchair, laptop open before him. But he wasn't even looking at the computer's screen. Rather, he was placing his full attention on the sleeping form of his cousin sprawled across the couch.

John heard Sherlock enter the room but made no acknowledgement of his presence. John knew that his friend wasn't exactly used to his duties-as-best-mate, but at that moment, he needed a confidant, so he said, "This reminds me of when we were kids."

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond to that. He slowly—silently—walked over to his own chair and sat down, leaning forward to indicate his interest.

John tore his eyes away from Andy and faced Sherlock. "When we were younger," he began, "our families would spend summers together. Sometimes my parents and me and Harry would go over to America to stay with Andy and Uncle Derek, and sometimes they would come here to stay with us. Harry would usually go off and do her own thing, and I was always left in charge of Andy. It's not that she was a bad kid…she was just really curious, especially about very morbid stuff. There was this one time where a neighbor of hers had committed suicide. She was about twelve at the time, and I was seventeen, and when I stopped watching her for a minute, she went to the neighbor's house and tried to break in. I caught her before she did anything, but she would have gone through with it. I asked her why she would try something like that, and—I still remember her exact words—she said, 'I just wanted to see why he did it.' " John shook his head and ran his hand over his face. "She just wanted to see why he did it…she's always been that kind of curious, and that's a very dangerous kind of curious to be. She always went off doing stuff like that. 'Having adventures' is what she would call it. But, even as a kid, you could tell that she didn't really think about the consequences during those kinds of situations. When something intrigued her, she would pursue it, no matter where it took her. She sought out adventure, and I'm worried that she's still like that. Especially now, with a killer running around, using her book as inspiration, I'm worried that she'll do something stupid in pursuit of adventure, just like she did when we were kids."

John rested his head in his hands, shielding his eyes from the rest of the room. Sherlock glanced over to where Andy was sleeping.

Except she wasn't sleeping. She cracked on eye open, and, upon noticing that John couldn't see her, she opened her eyes completely and glanced at Sherlock. Her expression was apologetic and pleading.

I won't do anything stupid, she was trying to communicate. This is serious and I won't get myself into trouble.

Sherlock, despite his usual ineptitude at reading social clues, seemed to get her message. "John," he said. "I really don't think she'll act too idiotic with this situation. I mean, even with her adventurous and dangerous side, she's not stupid. She knows how grave the matter is, and she's not going to risk her life over something like this."

John finally lifted his head. Andy's eyes snapped shut, unbeknownst to him. "How do you know?" he asked. "You don't even know her."

"I…do know her…a bit," Sherlock replied slowly. "We're…friends—of a sort. From what you were describing earlier, she sounds quite a bit like me, especially in my younger years. Mycroft had to run around, chasing after me to make sure that I didn't get myself into serious trouble, and you had to do that with her. But I think the difference is that she grew out of the childish carelessness which allowed her to pursue every curious thing that crossed her path—I never did. I don't think about consequences often enough, and I don't know when to stop. But she's smart—she's learned over the years to consider these things. She doesn't have to risk her life to prove she's clever, because she's perfectly fine with people thinking she's just as clever as she seems. I always want people to think I'm more brilliant or more intelligent than their last impression of me. I have to prove myself, even if it's just to myself. She doesn't have that issue. She won't do anything stupid—trust me. She understands the gravity of what's going on, and she won't allow her own curiosity to put her into danger."

John allowed these words to sink in. He almost believed them. But, then again, the idea that Sherlock had take such care analyzing his cousin seemed slightly odd, and he wasn't exactly sure if he could truly accept this speech as legitimate. Still, it did ease some of his immediate tension, so he didn't question the validity of what his friend had just told him. "Thanks. I needed to hear that." John stood, stretching. "I've been sitting down here for hours doing nothing. I really need to get out of this flat." He grabbed his coat. "I'm going for a walk. Make sure she gets breakfast when she wakes up."

Sherlock nodded, and John left. As the door shut behind the doctor, Andy opened her eyes once more. She was almost afraid to actually speak, fearing that it would disturb the silence that had been established on her part.

She mouthed the word, "Thanks," to demonstrate her appreciation for what Sherlock had said on her behalf.

He nodded once, giving a small smile. You're welcome.

She continued to lie there, and he eventually grabbed the case file to look over. Neither spoke a word, and, Sherlock mused, that had to be one of the most incredible displays of friendship he'd ever been a part of. They were able to sit there quietly and not feel awkward or obligated to speak. Even in this total silence, they were able to demonstrate their compatibility on at least some level—they could remain comfortable with one another without saying a word.

This is nice, Sherlock thought before delving into the case file once more.