CHAPTER XI: Even Now

Even now when I have come so far
I wonder where you are
I wonder why it's still so hard without you
Even now when I come shining through
I swear I think of you
And how I wish you knew
Even now

"Wait," I retorted exasperatedly at the turned back of Detective Inspector Lestrade, "what do you mean this is a drugs bust?" I was unfortunately ignored as he started yelling out orders.

"He means exactly what he means, sweetie," said the familiar and nasally voice of Anderson as he casually walked over. "And you know who's under suspicion? Your favorite little psychopath," he sneered.

I grumbled, "It's nice to see you too." You know, it's bad enough I had a horrible first date with Sherlock. Now I have to deal with this guy. Again. Can anyone not sense that I'm not in the mood? "Do us all a favor, Anderson: before you go off on anything else, stuff your head into the microwave."

But before going back to his work, he only grinned even more. "Well look who's acting all feisty today! Let's see how many cases of crack your boyfriend's harboring now, eh?"

Instead of shouting some verbal abuse, I settled on telepathically communicating my agitation to his back. Making a big scene isn't what I wanted to do, especially in front of the police, when they're in arresting-distance. Not to mention that Anderson IS a policeman. Five minutes later, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson! Is anyone in? Lights are on-" said the voice of John. Thank God it wasn't Sherlock. I probably wouldn't be able to handle seeing him seeing me and the whole squad of Scotland Yard at his flat. "-What the bloody hell is THIS?" He hollered when he finally came in.

"John," I said in a small voice, "it's a drugs bust."

"A drugs bust… and what are YOU doing here? Where's Sherlock?" he yelled at me when he realized that I'm the only other flat mate here.

"I ditched him."

He looked at me exasperatedly. "You did WHAT?"

"I ditched him… Now don't look at me like that! He ditched me first!" I explained, completely forgetting that we aren't the only ones at the flat any more. "He ran off on the cab that he thought was driving the murderer to his next destination and left me behind at the restaurant. What other choice did I have? I mean, I regret it, but he didn't look like he was coming back for me!"

John heaved and lowered his voice. "And what do you want me to do now?"

"Nothing, John," I whispered. "You've helped me enough by getting him to ask me out, and that's all I needed. I owe you one. But when he comes back here, what goes down between us, whatever he has to say to me… stay out of it, alright?"

"Alright, fine. And thank you because I'm starting to think getting into this was a bad idea."

"It was a bad idea, and I apologize for it. My main concern right now is how I'm going to deal with him when he gets back," I groaned.

"I can't help you there," John replied. "But maybe you should wait for him outside? Making a scene in here probably isn't the best idea. Anderson and Donovan would never let you forget it."

"Assuming, of course, that Sherlock still lets me live here, and that I'm still involved in his cases as his second pair of eyes… And I have no idea how having a public street fight or yelling contest with him is a much better scene than having it indoors in front of the police. At least they can restrain him. But fine! I'll go down," I mumbled, before dashing down the stairs.

I could have sworn I heard Donovan say loudly, "Good luck? She'll need it…" before I opened the door outside.

I have been standing outside for thirty minutes. I have been shivering to death for thirty minutes. I have been thinking about how to apologize to Sherlock for thirty minutes. I have been regretting my choice to ditch him for thirty minutes. I have been thinking about just him in general, for thirty minutes. Because you know what? He might have come back for me. He might have returned. But then again, he might have not. He's a "consulting detective". He's completely engrossed into his job. For all I know, I could have been a mere distraction to him, and maybe that's why he ditched me. Regardless of the fact that he told me that I have "10% higher intelligence than the average man" (which I'm starting to doubt considering everything that's happened today), he must have seen me as too normal and too bland. And I've only been too inconsiderate to think until now that with Sherlock Holmes, dates wouldn't be normal.

As you can tell, for the past thirty minutes I have done a lot of contradictory thinking.

I was about to give up and I had already opened the door back to the flat when I heard a loud voice down the street yell "Selena!" It didn't take me long to figure out who it was, since there wouldn't be anyone else who would call out my name and run straight through the door, not caring that passersby will stare.

"Sherlock? What the hell?"

"Lock… the door!" he gasped hanging his coat, and sliding down the wall in exhaustion. Whilst doing so, Sherlock continued, "That taxi cab… the one I chased… not the murderer…"

"Not the murderer?"

"No."

I resisted the urge to tell him I told him so. "So if he wasn't," I asked, "why did you need me to lock the door?"

"His fare… was from Los Angeles… said I was the police…" Sherlock puffed. "When I left… he asked a real policeman about me… I ran… could have followed me…" he muttered as he plopped on the floor. I joined him in an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out loud. "Sherlock? I'm sorry," I repeated again when he didn't answer me. When I looked at him, he seemed to have gone into some sort of a deep trance. I continued talking, because this would probably be my only chance to tell him I'm sorry when he's at a calmer state than usual. "I knew you were using me as a second pairs of eyes. I knew you were taking me out on a stakeout, and not a date. I wanted to believe that you were interested in me, but it seemed like you're not. In fact, the only time you actually would listen to me was when I talked about the dead woman. That's why you left me behind and ran for the cab, and that's why I ditched. Now I'm sorry for doing that to you, Sherlock, but you make me feel like a fifth wheel sometimes. I know you say you think I'm smart and clever and all that, but you're not helping me at all by unintentionally making me feel clueless and confused around you all the time."

It was probably five minutes before Sherlock finally looked back at me, albeit somewhat blankly, and replied, "Don't worry about it Selena. You're not the first one."

"Sherlock, I have no idea how that should make me feel better. And what do you mean I'm not the first? What? So you just randomly stage up girls for a date and then run off willy-"

"-No! I didn't mean it like that! I meant you're not the first girl to leave-"

We would have continued the argument had we not heard a loud crash, like glass breaking, coming from upstairs. I instantly remembered that I forgot to tell Sherlock about Inspector Lestrade's drugs bust upstairs. He looked at me accusingly for one second, like he already knew that I knew, before footsteps were heard and John came down the stairs with Mrs. Hudson popping out of her apartment.

"What the hell was that?"

"It's the police, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes bulged for a second as she called up to Sherlock while he ran up the stairs, "Sherlock! What have you done?"

"What are you doing?" Sherlock growled at Lestrade. Trying to keep ourselves out of the ensuing cat-fight, John and I proceeded to make ourselves invisible by lurking in the background.

The D.I. retorted, "Well I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid."

"You can't just break into my flat."

"Well, you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat!"

"Well what do you call this, then?" Sherlock yelled exasperatedly.

"It's a drugs bust!"

"Seriously?" John interrupted. "This guy? A junkie? Have you met him?"

"John…"

He continued, "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, and you wouldn't find anything you could call 'recreational'."

Sherlock walked over and glared at him. "John, I think you might want to shut up."

"Yeah, but come on!" I defended, only to have Sherlock stare me down. Then it occurred to me why he would want me to shut up. "No…"

"What?"

"You?" John asked.

"Shut up!" Sherlock muttered, and then turned to Lestrade, "I'm not your sniffer-dog."

"No. Anderson's my sniffer-dog," he replied back, obviously enjoying this.

Anderson, who made himself patrolman of the kitchen since my absence, opened the door and did a little wave at us. "Anderson! What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh I volunteered."

"They all did," Lestrade interjected. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Donovan yelled from the kitchen, "Are these human eyes?"

"Put those back!" Sherlock yelled angrily.

"But they were in the microwave?"

"It's an experiment!"

Christ, this must be incredibly stressful for him.

Ohmigod! I'm so sorry for not updating in nearly a month! So sorry! Don't worry, though. I think I have about one chapter left before I start on the sequel.

Last time I asked if you guys had any suspicions of Selena's "family empire." We got the following: assasins, the mafia, drugs, prostitution. Thanks to Moonspun Dragon and Superdani for participating. :) If you still have any guesses, feel free to mention them when you review.