Moving On

Several days following Mrs. Jones' funeral, Sherlock returned to the hotel room to find Allison in relatively the same place she had been since: sitting on the couch, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall. He sighed as he placed the grocery bags on the counter and began putting the food away. Fifteen: that was the number of times he had attempted to engage her in conversation over the past few days. It was also the number of times she had merely given a one or two word answer and returned to staring at the wall. She had not eaten more than a nibble, and, as far as Sherlock could tell, she had not slept more than an hour or two. Although he knew all too well the pain she was feeling, he also knew that enough was enough.

"Allison, I am making tea, and you are having some," he told her firmly, not waiting for a response. "It will be sitting here, and you will come over here to get it."

"No," came Allison's cracked voice from the couch.

"Oh I'm not asking anymore," Sherlock replied simply. "I have allowed you three days of solitude, and that is more than sufficient."

"How dare you?!" Allison cried, jumping to her feet suddenly and clenching her fists in anger as she glared at him across the room. "I just lost my mother, Sherlock!"

"Yes, and starving yourself mentally and physically is not going to bring her back!" Sherlock yelled back, finally having enough. "It will only send you to join her!"

"Well maybe that's what I want! Did you ever think of that, Super-Genius?"

"If it is, then you are a fool!" Sherlock roared, now very red in the face. "Your mother is dead, and that is a tragedy, but your life must go on! You are too intelligent to throw your life away, and I will not allow it."

Allison positively shook with anger. "You heartless bastard," she hissed. "You can't feel anything, so how could you possibly understand?!" Before Sherlock could reply, she turned on her heel and slammed the door to the bedroom.

Sherlock stood for a long while in the kitchen with his hands clenched at his sides, breathing heavily through his nose as he struggled to rein in his anger. He wasn't angry with her for being upset; that he understood. No, he was angry with her for not taking care of herself. Shortly after her mother's death, Sherlock had been forced to acknowledge just how much her pain was affecting him, which meant that he cared for her. Then, he had spent three days watching her deteriorate further and further without a care, but he cared immensely.

His anger slowly dissipated to be replaced by disappointment: this time, in himself. If he admitted that he cared about this woman, yelling at her and driving her into her room was certainly not a way to show it. Perhaps he should have been more supportive of her – sat there and talked to her about her pain.

No! she needed to begin recovery.

He could not expect her to be over the pain, but he could expect her to perform the basic functions for living. He had every right to push her to eat and sleep, though not, perhaps, to the extreme he had. Still, going in after her at this moment was probably not the best idea, so he would have to wait to discuss things further until she emerged.

While he waited, he continued to brew the tea he had bought and left a cup sitting for Allison, just as he had promised. Much sooner than he expected, the enticing smell brought her from her room.

"How did you know to buy that kind?" she asked, her face still deadpan but her voice showing a small amount of interest.

"Each time we went to the store together, you looked at one shelf in particular and then walked away without buying anything. This time, when I went alone, I looked at the same shelf and saw a packaging that was new to me. I merely deduced that had been what you were searching for and bought some. I take it this is your favorite?"

"It always has been," Allison sighed. "My…my mom used to make it for me."

Sherlock gestured wordlessly to the cup on the counter. He sipped his own tea and watched over the rim as Allison walked slowly across the room as though she was being pulled. She finally clasped her hands around the steaming cup and brought it to her lips.

The first taste had her eyes closing in the bliss that only comes from nostalgia. The second sip had her clinging desperately to the memories by closing her eyes tighter and gripping the cup so hard her knuckles turned white. The third sip had the cup crashing to the floor as tears finally fell from her eyes again, and Sherlock finally stepped forward.

He pulled her away from the smashed china and carefully guided her to the floor as she sobbed into his shoulder. Adjusting his legs to a sitting position, he pulled Allison further onto his lap and unconsciously began to rock gently while stroking her hair. It was an unconscious movement that stemmed, no doubt, from his own desires for comfort when he had learned the fate of his own mother many years before.

His grip tightened around her, and he felt her tears begin to leak through his shirt as she cried harder than ever. She had held in her tears for so long, it was a wonder she hadn't gone mad. After a few long moments of nothing but racking sobs, Allison finally began to breathe normally enough for words to form.

"I'm s-sorry," she whimpered into his shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes just yet. "I hate being this much of a mess."

"Nonsense," Sherlock whispered. "You just lost your mother. I would be more concerned if you had no reaction at all."

"I'm also s-sorry I called you a…a…well, you remember," she finished sheepishly.

"I believe the term was 'heartless bastard' – a term which I well deserved in that moment," he added when Allison made to hide her face again. "I should not have been so harsh on you. You did just lose your only family, after all."

"N-no I n-needed to hear it," she argued. "Y-you've been s-so good to me, and I repay that by flying off the handle at you. I'm s-so sorry!"

Sherlock tightened his grip again and couldn't resist pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her head. "I hold no anger for the comment, so please don't worry yourself about it. I can assure you, I've been called far worse in my time…most of it well deserved."

Allison laughed weakly but managed to look up at him again. "How are you not furious with me for the way I've been acting?"

"The only reason I am angry with you is because you have allowed yourself to stop living. When you cease taking care of yourself, I can no longer tolerate your behavior; I believe we established this after you were kidnapped. As for your being upset, well, that I understand completely. I would be quite the hypocrite if I got angry with you for that."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock shifted and groaned. "Could we perhaps move this discussion to the couch? While I do not mind comforting you, my legs are going to protest sitting here much longer."

Allison practically leapt to her feet and reached a hand out to aid Sherlock up as well. She dragged him over to the couch. "I don't want you to change your mind about telling me," she explained when he raised an eyebrow at her.

He chuckled quietly and sat down. "The reason I understand how you feel right now is because I went through it myself as a child."

"You lost your mother that young?"

"She was murdered," Sherlock replied stiffly, his eyes taking on a distant and hard look. "My father threw her out of our house and sent her to live in this shabby, useless apartment. The complex caught on fire. We, uh, we believe she died from the smoke before the flames got to her but…there was nothing to bury when it was over."

Allison sat in shock, so Sherlock continued.

"My brother and I had been away at boarding school when he threw her out. I had often wondered why he sent me early, but I realized when I came home and she was gone. They had been fighting, of course, so I should have predicted it, but I was still furious with my father. The only person I ever considered family was my mother – I hated my father and loathed my brother – so losing her was like losing everything."

"And no one took care of you afterwards?" Allison asked. "No one offered you any sort of comfort at all?"

"No. My brother tried, of course…thought her death might bring us together, but I wanted nothing to do with him: he reminded me too much of my father. And my father…well, I blamed my father for her death, so no he wasn't really offering me hugs at the end of the day."

"I'm sorry," Allison said softly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Sherlock replied. "I just thought it might be good for you to know I do understand what you are feeling."

"It is… it helps," Allison insisted. "Thank you," she added after a moment of silence.

"For what?"

"For telling me. I know you prefer your privacy, so I know how hard it must have been to tell me something like that."

Sherlock paused for a moment. "Actually, it wasn't hard at all," he admitted, more than a hint of shock in his voice.

Allison turned to look at him in confusion.

"I was thinking more of helping you, and you being yourself again is worth it to me."

Allison felt her skin flush and couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at his words.

"There you are," Sherlock grinned.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Not at all," Sherlock sighed, tugging her closer. "You do need to begin moving on, though. And I have the perfect suggestion!"

"What's that?" Allison asked warily as she sensed the excitement beginning to rise in her partner.

"We are going to investigate the murder of your mother," he announced, leaping to his feet. "You will be able to deal with your memories at the same time as giving your brain something to do. This will be good for you."

"Sherlock, I'm not so sure-"

"No arguments!" Sherlock called, already digging through her clothes in the bedroom. "I don't know the city well enough to go alone, and you are the first person I would talk with normally on a case like this, so…"

He trailed off, but his tone left no room for discussion on Allison's part. Sighing, she pulled herself off the couch and padded to the room after Sherlock.

"Do you really think we can solve this?" she asked from the doorway.

Sherlock paused then turned and crossed the room, taking her hands and staring her in the eyes. "You have my word I will do everything in my power to investigate this case and put the one responsible behind bars where they belong. I cannot promise a result, but I can promise you everything I have."

Allison stared at him for a few seconds before she grabbed his face and kissed him square on the lips. Pulling away just as suddenly, they both stood breathing hard for a few seconds before Allison blinked and broke the spell.

"Thank you," she gasped. "I'll…um…I'll just change now."

"O-of course," Sherlock forced. He shook his head and hurried from the room.

Sherlock stood off to the side as Allison approached the policeman guarding her mother's house. He had observed her behavior in the taxi following their surprising kiss, but she had merely stared out the window after giving the cabbie the address. He could not be sure if this was in response to said kiss or further grief manifesting itself through silence…he wasn't entirely certain which answer he was hoping for.

"He says we can go in now, and he's calling some of the officers who came to the scene that night for us to talk to," Allison explained as she returned to his side. "Also…how do you want me to introduce you? I mean, people could know you here I suppose, but the odds aren't as high as they are in London, and I'm not sure how the idea will be received, so-"

"Allison!" Sherlock cut across her. "Just tell them I'm a private detective you hired for the case. You are correct; my name is not as known here as it is in London, and throwing out the title of 'Consulting Detective' might produce more problems than results."

"Do you want a false name?" Allison checked.

"I will defer to your experience on this matter," Sherlock replied with a half-smile. "You, after all, are the actress."

Allison couldn't help the smile that crept across her face at the compliment. "I think we can get away with using 'Holmes' – that's not too unusual. But 'Sherlock' stands out more than your accent, so I would suggest a change. Any ideas?"

"Sean…" Sherlock muttered quietly. "I've used it before."

"How?" Allison asked, narrowing her eyes. "I have to be sure no one will recognize you."

"I only used it through letters. I had a correspondence when I was a teenager."

"In that case, you should be alright to use it again, but this is the last time! You'll need to be a different name next time, and you should probably think about starting an address book."

"A what?" Sherlock asked quietly as they moved towards the now beckoning police officer.

"An address book for all your aliases," Allison muttered back. "I have one just so I don't use the same one twice."

Sherlock didn't get a chance to reply; they were too close to the officer.

"You can go in now, Ms. Jones," he said. "The officers who responded are on their way. Who's this?"

"This is Mr. Sean Holmes: a private detective I met in London," Allison replied smoothly. "He and I were working together on a case when I got the call, and he graciously offered to look into Mom's case for me. You can never have too many eyes on a crime scene."

The officer didn't reply but allowed Sherlock to follow behind Allison into the foyer of the house.

"It was never anything spectacular," Allison sighed, "but it was always home."

"Do you know where your mother was when the shot was fired?" Sherlock asked, his eyes everywhere at once.

"The officer outside said she was in the kitchen…doesn't surprise me, really. The kitchen window faces the street, and Mom was always in the kitchen."

Sherlock nodded once and began to move towards the aforementioned room when…

"Hey Ally-Cat!"

Sherlock's neck snapped as he turned to see the man who had spoken pulling Allison into a tight, and apparently welcome, embrace.

"Marky! It's so good to see you again! I didn't know you had been a responder that night!"

"I wasn't, but when I heard it was you asking, I decided to stop by and see if I could help. I know somethin' about how these cases get handled."

"I'd love your help," Allison smiled, pecking the officer on the cheek. "Thanks Marky! Sean, this is Marcus Bell from the NYPD. We grew up together!"

Sherlock simply glared.

I sincerely apologize for the wait…it was a rough summer. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back as soon as I can with more.

Just a fair warning, I'm not as good at writing cases as I am the interactions between, so I don't know how much detail I'll go into with the cases they take. If you're interested in the cases, I can try my best, so let me know in your reviews. If I don't see anything, I'll just keep writing how I have been meaning more conversation and less mystery.

Hope to see you all soon!