Hello, hello, and welcome back to Sherlock hiatus. Are we good, members of the fandom who've seen it? Do we all need hugs, cause I sure do!

Any who, doing Sherlock's POV again, but don't worry I'll get back to Elfie soon :) I guess I sort of got a kick out of writing it for now.

Thanks as always for the support and I have to say a very, very, very special thank you to May2306 for those kind and inspiring words. Hope you got my PM, dearie, and honestly I'm very touched.

As always I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's canon.

Much love and many thanks

Chapter 11: All Alone in My Own Little Corner

We continue our walk in silence. The tension has died down but it feels as though there's something between us. Of course there is; it's my drug habit. Stupid. I want to apologize, say I'm sorry until I'm blue in the face, but I know that won't do any good. As John would say, I've truly messed up. There's no simple way to get over this and I can't tell how long this uncomfortable feeling will remain between Elfie and I. My only hope is that it will end and we can carry on with our life…despite the fact that it will never be the same again.

After about a fifteen-minute walk, the sun begins to set giving the sky a beautiful pinkish color. The town in which I had once called my home finally came into view and the confused look on my wife's face makes me chuckle. I don't blame her, really; I know that I'm don't come off as the type of person who comes from the countryside. But, unfortunately, I am and there's no point in hiding from it now. As we pass by old shops and houses, memories that have long since been forgotten start to creep back into my mind. Some I welcome, others I wish would stay away. This place has too many emotions tied to it for me.

"So, when we walk into this pub, who am I?" Elfie asks as we head toward a large, worn down, brown building at the end of the main road.

"Hmm?" I sigh, breaking out of my melancholy reminiscing.

"You know, who am I?" she asks again, "To the press I'm just the woman often seen with you; some of them still think I'm just your girlfriend. Who am I to these people: your girlfriend, your assistant, a friendly acquaintance or are we going to be bold and say that I'm your wife?"

I furrow my brow and stop mid-step: "…Elfie, I honestly can not tell if you're being sly or genuinely asking me this?"

My wife lets out a sweet laugh (one that I am thankful to hear) and stands directly in front of me; "I'm genuinely asking you," she says, taking hold of my hands, "I know how much it means to you to keep our relationship private, so if you want to go in there and act like we don't know each other I'm completely fine with that."

"No, no, it's alright." I stammer, taken a bit off guard by this statement, "Um, these people- now, mind you, I haven't been here since I was a teen- they won't pay any attention to me. They don't really pay attention to papers and such, either; if something happens outside of their borders, then they don't care."

"Except we already know that someone here has paid keen attention to your career," Elfie points out.

"True," I say with a nod, "Still, I think it will be alright if we say the truth. Our messenger, if he or she is that in tune with my life, most likely already knows about you. If someone asks, you are more than welcome to say your Mrs. Holmes."

"Odd that I have to ask your permission," Elfie teases.

"Well, we have an odd relationship to say the least." I say in return. I look into her bright emerald eyes and am relieved to see that warm, happy glow that I have come to love so deeply; Her anger is gone for now then. We laugh like we always do and simply smile at one another. Elfie chews her bottom lip for a moment then gently cups my face in her hands. She leans in close and we share a soft kiss on the lips. Having the sudden urge to hold her, I wrap my arms around Elfie and pull her into an embrace. She holds me in return and nuzzles her head under my chin.

"I can't stay mad at you," she quietly says, hiding her face on my chest, "but that doesn't mean all is forgiven,"

"I know, my darling, I know." I reply, stroking her hair, "and…and I accept that."

"Do you?"

"Of course. It would be idiotic of me to think otherwise."

"It was idiotic of you to shoot up in the first place, Sherlock Holmes."

With really nothing I could say in response to that, I tighten my hold on her and gently rock her in my arms, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. She holds me in return and I swear that I can begin to hear a soft muffled cry coming from her. Sure enough, a damp spot starts to form on black button up shirt as my wife's shoulders shake slightly. A sharp pain fills my gut; of course I've made her cry, this wouldn't be the first time. Well done, Holmes, well done indeed.

"Shh, it's alright, love." I coo, rubbing my hands up and down her back, "I'm here. I'm here."

She doesn't reply, but just holds me close and tight. In a way, this comforts me but her tears keep me from showing it. All I can do is just hold her and comfort her; that's my job as husband isn't it? To take care of this woman, no matter what…and I haven't been doing that since I've come back. No, since I've come home I have been a rubbish excuse of a husband. I've lied to her, broke my promises, rarely even been there for our son…and yet she's still here.

She's still at my side.

Just like she's always been: just like she always will be.

"Sorry, sorry," She says when we finally part, "I…I sort of lost it there for a moment. I'm back now, don't worry."

"Quite alright," I reply, "I think it was needed."

Elfie wipes her eyes then sighs heavily; "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," She says as if affirming a well-studied fact, "and I need you to that I will never leave you, no matter how drugged out you may become-no, sorry, that's not very, um…I meant that if you ever, no, um…"

"Elfie," I softly say, taking her hands into mine, "no more words, please?"

"Good idea," she replies, gently squeezing my hands and blushing, "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing, love."

"Okay. Sorr-"

"Fee."

"…Shall we go in?"

I smile at her then place a kiss on her forehead; "Let's." I reply and then we walk toward the front door of the pub.

As soon as we step through the front door, an enormous wave of memories hit my mind that I'm taken a bit back. This pub still looks as it did all those years ago when I would spend my time in that booth in the far back corner, studying my chemistry books or waiting for my ever busy mind to come down off my latest high. The bar is still set up against the back wall and there are still hardwood tables with matching stools set up all around in no particular fashion. People are huddled about in their own groups at the tables or scattered about near the bar.

Like a fixed point in time, this place hasn't changed a bit.

A thick, heavy lump develops in my throat and I start to feel a bit dizzy; it's too much, too many memories in this place.

The loud hooting and laughing of adolescent boys at a table near the door, who should very well be heading home before it gets too dark on a school night, remind me of the reckless teenager that I use to be. The smell of cigarette smoke and sounds of pint glasses hitting the hard wood bar bring back drunken moments of despair and (frankly idiotic) beginnings of fights that were just my excuse to let out my anger. Then there's that corner, my corner as it were, still in the dark and still unoccupied…as if to call me back to whom I once was.

"Shall we grab a table?" Elfie suggests, taking my hand into hers and clearly sensing my discomfort. I can only just nod in agreement. It feels like my legs seem to be controlled by some phantom power as I guide my wife through the crowd to that table, almost like the table itself is drawing me too it. Old habit, I guess. Elfie slides into the booth first as I remove my coat and start to look around, taking in the faces of the patrons of the evening. No one seems familiar, but then I again I have blocked this place out of my mind for many years.

"You should take that jacket off too," Elfie says, breaking me out of my observations for a moment.

"Pardon?" I ask, facing her with a furrowed brow

"The front has a bunch of dirt blotches on it, as does your coat." she goes on, "You'll look better if you take the jacket off…and roll your sleeves up to your elbows, that's always a nice look for you. After all, you were the one who said that we had to look a certain way while we're here, hence why I'm wearing this ridiculous dress."

"As you wish, Mrs. Holmes," I tease, giving her a wink as I do what I'm told. Elfie merely smiles back and I slide into the booth beside her, dropping my coat and jacket on the spot beside me, "and for the record, that dress is far from ridiculous."

"Well I feel ridiculous in it," she replies, "Bare shoulders and dropping neck line; hardly my usual type of clothing."

"True, but that doesn't you don't look absolutely stunning."

"You flatter me, Mr. Holmes."

"That's my job, Mrs. Holmes."

We exchange a small laugh and my nerves seemed to have melted away. Elfie could always do that for me; make me feel comfortable at all times. Part of her mysterious affect on me, I believe. Or perhaps it's just love: God, how cliché.

To my surprise, Elfie moves her body as close to mine as possible and sets a hand treacherously close to the inside of my thigh. She then leans forward just a tad to give me a clear view down the front of her dress. Naturally, I don't look (I am an Englishmen after all.) but there is a sort of glint in hers eyes, almost as if she's inviting me to look. Well, this is a change in behavior certainly, but not one that I want to dismiss so quickly.

"What's this now?" I whisper, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and gently brushing my fingers against her shoulder, "You are going through quite the mood swings this evening, my darling."

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd hit you for that statement." She replies, gazing lovingly into my eyes, "I'm playing a part."

"Ah, you want us to blend in." I say, slowly nodding in agreement, "Don't want to give the game away, now do we?"

"Exactly," she coos, nuzzling her forehead against mine, "we are a married couple out on a dinner date, not a detective and his make-do assistant looking for suspects."

"Make-do assistant? Hardly," I reply, setting my free hand on her waist, "You're doing a wonderful job, darling."

"Am I?" she murmurs sweetly, rubbing her hand up and down my thigh, "I'm no John." Elfie then softly nips the side of my neck, causing unnatural shivers to run up my spine.

"No, erm, you certainly are not," I reply, trying to focus but obviously failing, "John…John, would...he wouldn't have thought to, how do you say, 'play the part' right now."

"Well, I'd hope he wouldn't." she teases, kissing my cheek now, "I know you and John are close but I think if you and he were to play the couple-going-out-on-a-date part, people would definitely talk, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mmm," I hum contently as I really start to enjoy this closeness with my wife, "people do little else."

Giving in to the moment, I close my eyes and go in for a deep kiss on her lips. She kisses me back and for now, we've forgotten that we are in a public place. Normally, public display of affection is below the both of us; we've never been that type of couple. However, we seem to be breaking our rule at this moment and neither of us cares. It's all for the sake of the case, of course, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. I hardly expected Elfie to kiss me like this after what's just transpired between us.

"Is it alright if I take your order now," comes the rather unpleasant sound of the barmaid's voice, "Or shall I come back when you're finished?" We bashfully part and straighten ourselves out however, I keep my arm tightly around Elfie's shoulders.

"Um, ah-apologizes," I say, clearing my throat, "We were just…"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." The barmaid suddenly breathes out, "I don't believe it. Little Sherlock Holmes, can it really be you?"

The nervous, uncomfortable lump returns to my throat. Who is this woman and why does she of all people recognize me? I narrow my gaze a bit and look her over: Short, stout, elderly but not exceptionally old, clearly Irish going by that nearly unintelligible accent and the bright red hair. She's lived here for quite some time, possibly her whole life. Going by how she's dressed and the stature she gives off, she is in fact the long time owner of this pub, which means she would know me from my youth making her…

"Hello, Kate." I say with a proud (but fake) smile, "You're looking well."

"Bless my soul, it is Sherlock Holmes! I could never forget that smirk of yours." She exclaims, clasping her hands together, "My goodness, look at you; still skinny as ever, but quite the handsome gentleman if you don't mind my saying so. How are you, young man? It's been ages!"

"Thank you for the complement and I am well," I reply with a nod, pulling Elfie in close for my own comfort, "Kate, this is my wife Elfie."

"Pleasure to meet you," Elfie steps in, holding her hand out to the baffled barmaid (her left one is still resting comfortably on my thigh).

"Oh my, a pleasure to meet you as well Mrs. Holmes." Kate says, shaking Elfie's hand, "Why, Sherlock, who would have guessed? You're a married man? And to an American, no less…oh! No offense, Mrs. Holmes."

"None taken," Elfie replies, taking her hand back, "I don't mind."

"Goodness, you are a beautiful woman." Kate goes on, "How did this scrawny, little boy manage to win your heart?" She lets out a loud laugh and gives me a hearty pat on the shoulder. I chuckle only to act like the comment didn't affect me: 'scrawny little boy', hardly. Thank God Elfie can see my discomfort and she covers for me.

"It actually wasn't that difficult," she says, leaning her body back against my side, "Sherlock blew me away. I was hooked the moment I saw him; Love at first sight, I guess." I look into her eyes and she gives me an affirming nod as if to wordlessly say 'I'll try and make this as easy for you as possible.'

"We met through work," I explain, facing Kate again and putting on my best mature adult male façade, "Elfie's a historian at the Antiquities Museum in London. I bummed into her during one of my visits there and we…well, I'm sure you can fill in the rest."

"By the way you two were acting just moments ago, I sure as hell can." Kate replies with another laugh, "Oh, Sherlock it is good to see you. Your brother's been around a few times and of course I see your mother all the time at the market, but it really is so nice to see you back in your old booth. First round is on the house. Consider it a welcome home gift, eh?"

"You're too kind," I say, "You wouldn't happen to remember my usual, would you?"
"A half-pint of the house brew and a plate of chips," Kate recites proudly, "and for you, Mrs. Holmes?"
"I'll have the same," Elfie replies, "Thank you."

"Anything for this boy," she says, heading to the bar, "Sherlock Holmes, back in his booth. Good Lord."

Elfie and I watch her go, then my wife turns to me with a raised eyebrow look: "Care to elaborate." She says, nudging my side.

"Old family friend," I explain, "Kate and her family have owned and ran this pub for as long as I can remember. After my mother left, I would come and sit in this booth for hours on end. Kate would look after me until I needed to go home; I was a regular by the time I was fourteen."

"Kind of a chilling thought." Elfie says, "A teenage boy becoming a bar regular."

"Not if you were me," I reply, staring off in the distance, "this was where I would come when I felt the need to escape my father's home or when I needed to wait off my high before showing up at…"
"Oh, so this was one of your drug spots?" Elfie suddenly asks, "How lovely."

The icy undertone of her voice makes the lump in my throat even more uncomfortable; Probably not the best thing to tell her right now, Holmes; "No, no, I…I would get high elsewhere," I try to recover, "Kate would see me wander in here and sit me down at this booth with a glass of water until I sobered up."

Elfie looks down at her lap and chews her lower lip for a moment: "Is that suppose to make me feel better?" she asks.

"Not really," I admit, "Look, I want you to know that just because we're sitting here, it's not triggering anything. I..."

"Look just…just forget about it," she whispers, I sigh heavily and then nod in agreement. Elfie then cups the side of face and gently turns my head so that we are eye to eye again. A small, quaint smile is on her lips and it makes my heart skip a beat. I'll never be able to explain this woman's affects on me, never. I take her hand into my free one and place a soft kiss on her knuckles; "I adore you, Elfie Marie." I coo, intertwining her fingers with mine.

"Calm down, Sherlock Holmes," she teases, kissing my cheek, "We're on the case, remember? Aren't we supposed to be looking for a suspect?"

"You're the one who suggested playing a façade," I point out, stroking her shoulder again, "but if we must work, then we must." We exchange a quick look and then laugh just like we always do.

"Here we are then," Kate cheerfully says as she sets our drinks and basket of chips down on the table, "Now, you two just let me know if you need anything, alright? Don't be shy; it may have been years since you were here, Sherlock, but you're always an honored guest here." I give her a nod and a smile then she returns to serving her other costumers.

"So, what about her then?" Elfie asks, taking a sip from her very full glass, "This Kate woman; could she be our messenger? She's a local, knows your family: fits the bill doesn't she?"

"Hmm, yes in away, but I doubt its her. No motive," I reply, taking a hold of my drink, "Her family owns this place thus she has a steady source of income, no need to threaten someone for money. Besides she doesn't read John's blog."

"How can you tell?"

"She didn't ask me the one question all of his readers do."

"Which is?"
"How did I do it," I answer with a smirk and Elfie nods her head in agreement. John never shared with his loyal followers the course of events in which I successfully faked my own suicide and naturally there is a keen interest into the topic. Those 'fans', I guess one could call them, are always asking about it and I simply ignore it; Old news, I think, time to move on.

"I don't know how I feel about that," Elfie says, motioning her head toward my drink, "You, drinking a beer while still recovering from...you know."

"All apart of blending in, my darling," I assure her, taking a bite of our food, "I'm at a pub, thus I'll order a beer; there's no harm in it." I pause for a moment and think about why this would be upsetting to my wife then continue; "I…I should've asked if it was alright with you."
"You're a grown man, you don't need my permission to drink," Elfie replies, sipping her own beer, "I guess I'm just being paranoid. I trust you, Sherlock."

"Do you?" We look at one another in deep though for a moment but then wordlessly decide to drop the subject. Neither of us wants to start a domestic in public, that's for certain.

As I continue to drink, something or rather someone catches the corner of my eye. Suddenly, my blood runs cold and I all but loose my grip on my glass as I bring it back down to the table with a thud. Elfie jumps a bit and looks at me with a furrowed brow, but my gaze is fixed on the figure merely three tables away from us. He's an extremely muscular man, dressed in black slacks with a skin tight, pale blue button up tucked in at the waist and fitted black vest atop it. His short, light brown hair is combed ever so neatly and his facial hair is perfectly trimmed. And those eyes, still as sharp and piercing as ever. Yes, I know that face; how could I ever forget it?

"Sherlock, what is it?" my wife asks, setting a hand on my thigh again, "Love, you look frightened."

Unable to speak, I take a deep breath and just keep my eyes glued onto the man and his group of mates all gathered around and discussing nothing unparticular. Sweat is starting to bead my brown and I tap my fingers nervously against the table. Darker memories begin to stir and the lump in my throat begins to taste more like bile. He then turns his head and our eyes lock. A fake smile grows across his lips and he immediately starts walking toward us.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he calls out, "Can it really be true? Has the prodigal son actually returned?" My body stiffens up as he sets the glass he has in his hand on our table and opens his arms to me: "What? No welcoming embrace?"

"As if we were ever that close," I snip back, rising up to be eye level with him. We just stare at one another for a few moments; my wife, looking on in utter confusion, sitting on the edge of hear seat. Despite the uncomfortable feeling in my gut, I actually clasp his hand with mine and allow him to bring my thin body into a tight, almost brotherly embrace.

"Sherlock Holmes, you bastard." He exclaims, patting my back, "Still the stubborn ass."

"And you are still the egotistical cock," I reply, pulling back a bit and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. We look at one another and then both let out a deep laugh, acting as if we are dear old friends. Oh, but we go much further than that…much further indeed.

We finally part and I notice his eyes then drift toward the table and land on my wife; "Hello, who have we here?" he says with a sly tone to his voice that almost causes me to gag, "Is this man bothering you, miss?"
"No," Elfie snaps, glaring him down, "but your starting to." I chuckle slightly as I slide back into the booth and wrap my arm around her again. Her gaze meets mine and I can see all of the questions buzzing around in her mind just by looking in her eyes

"My apologizes, miss." He says, putting his hands up playfully in defense, "I was just concerned that Sherlock here was bothering a beautiful woman. Don't tell me this woman is with you, 'Lock?"

"Actually, yes she is." I reply, cringing at the sound of that horrible old nickname of mine. I hold Elfie close for both protection and comfort then go on with the dreaded introduction: "Elfie, darling, this…this is an old friend of the family's. This is Victor, Victor Trevor."