First of all, I want to thank Littlebirdd, PrincessxXxDarkness, MKW, Lady Gisborne 15, Fuchsia. Grasshopper, NicBarnes, and Sah for their reviews! You guys, seriously, you made my month. Knowing how much you enjoy the story just makes it so much more worth writing. It's an absolutely phenomenal feeling, reading all of your opinions. I just... wow. Thank you.

And thank you Lady Gisborne 15 for all of your proofreading help! You've really helped me smooth out the rough edges on this chapter and I appreciate it SO MUCH!

{Warning for the songs: if language offends you, then 'Shakespeare' is to be considered before listening to it. It only has one curse word, but still. Just letting you guys know. If any of you happen to listen to my mini-lists.}

Anyway, I hope you all like chapter 11 and I look forward to reading your reviews!

-lightinside

{Chapter 11 Mini-List}

About Today - The National

Shakespeare - Fink

Bulletproof Weeks - Matt Nathanson

When we got back to the flat later that evening after spending what seemed like an eternity riding home in a very heavy, implicative silence, I still wasn't sure what to say to Sherlock to try and make up for my family and their blatant disregard for what normal people called 'manners'. And my mum, dear God, my mum. I was absolutely humiliated by her conduct and had no idea where to start apologizing for that.

Sherlock, upon reaching the living room, tossed his coat and scarf toward the rack and hardly noticed when they fell to the floor. He was completely lost in thought, which made me slightly apprehensive, as in normal circumstances, he would have at least said something by now. Was he angry with me?

The thought that Sherlock could be upset prompted me to give him an awkward and somewhat lame apology. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea… well, I did. I suspected. But, it wasn't definite, so…" I was babbling, I realized. Shit. I took a deep breath and decided to start over. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh." I couldn't hide my confusion. If he wasn't upset with me, then what in the world was he upset about? He was brooding so there must have been something… oh. "Sherlock, tell me something."

"What?"

"Why did you want to tag along tonight?" I could feel my left eyebrow climbing to a ridiculously high altitude on my forehead (a trait that I shared with John), conveying my skepticism to a T. "It wasn't just because you 'didn't want to owe me anything', was it?"

Sherlock cleared his throat softly, refusing to meet my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a horrible liar, Sherlock."

"I… took a case." He admitted, mumbling under his breath. His long fingers fiddled with the sheet music on the coffee table as he pretended to busy himself in the hopes that I wouldn't ask more questions. As if.

"You took a case? Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "It never came up."

"So, why did you want to tag along then? What does a night with my family have to do with anything?"

"There was a threat of some sort. Nothing serious. Just wanted to make sure nothing happened while you were out."

"A threat…" I looked around the room, searching for something out of the ordinary that I might have missed in my anticipation of the visit with my family. "How did you get a threat? Actually, no. First of all, who threatened you?"

"Moriarty. James Moriarty, to be exact."

"Well, if you know who it is, why haven't you called Lestrade?"

Sherlock scoffed. "And have half-wit detectives assigned to me as a protective detail? Please. They can hardly tie their own shoelaces."

"Sherlock…" It dawned on me then. The reason why Sherlock had insisted upon following me to my parents'. "Were you… protecting me or something? Did Moriarty threaten me?"

"I worried, yes. But as for threatening you, I hardly know. I received a message in the post, Christmas Day I think it was, that read simply, 'I.O.U'." He said. "I've been over and over it in my mind… I can't think of what he could possibly want. But… with Moriarty, nothing is certain. Honestly, I'm not even certain that it is a threat… though I do get the feeling…" Sherlock's voice trailed off and I watched as he settled into an almost meditative silence.

This whole situation was boggling me. Sherlock was clueless as to why this 'Moriarty' would have left him a message and I was still stuck on the fact that Sherlock had worried for me enough to make sure I was safe. "Have you dealt with him before?"

"Once. With John." Sherlock told me, but I could tell that he wasn't invested in the conversation anymore. My mind was wandering, too. I thought I recognized Moriarty's name from somewhere… maybe from John's blog. I would have to look tonight, when Sherlock was asleep. He was the only one with a laptop. One that he never used, but even so. I would have to be cautious. If he followed me to my parents' flat, that meant that he was desperate. And it also meant that he was out of his depth. I'd never seen him worry like this.

"Uh… about tonight, again, I'm…"

"Sorry. Yes. You said that already."

"Okay, then." I ran a hand through my hair, not knowing what else to do. I didn't know what to say. What to think. All of this was just… suddenly wrong. I had thought that I would find a friend in Sherlock, but all I had found so far was myself getting lost in a labyrinth of mystery and mayhem. Not including Sherlock's job, which he had apparently resumed and had consequently decided to keep that fact from me. And even though I felt utterly alone at times, as I did in this moment, I couldn't fathom how I would feel now if I hadn't chosen to move in to 221 B.

I didn't even know if I would have survived the last few months if Sherlock hadn't been around to keep me distracted. But the fact was that I had, and that I was moving forward. Slowly, of course. Sometimes, almost indiscernibly… but I was moving. And that was better than nothing.

And what was more, I found that I could still feel. That had come as both a surprise and a relief. I had thought that I would be numb for the rest of my life. But that wasn't the case. Not with Sherlock. Lately, I'd found myself consumed by his every move. Being amused by the way he rolled his eyes when I would ask him a question he deemed idiotic instead of being aggravated. Watching the way he fiddled with his violin even when he wasn't playing, seeing how he gazed at it with an affection that only a musician can have for their instrument. And even though I knew that there was no way he would ever look at another human being with anything other than barely disguised disdain, there was something endearing about it. Then, there were the days he would ignore me. Or be absolutely intolerable just for the hell of it.

And instead of all of these things separating me from him, instead of being stuck behind the wall that Sherlock was trying to build to keep me out, I found myself connecting with him even more than I already had. Of course, he would notice this soon enough and try better, more brutal strategies to drive me away. But until then… until then…

Who knew?

Later on in the night, after much tossing and turning, I gave up trying to sleep and sat up in my bed with an aggravated sigh. I really did despise nights like this. When I was absolutely dying to close my eyes and drown in unconsciousness, my body decided to dash my hopes and refused to settle down. I groped blindly for my bedside table, searching for my latest read, but only got as far as turning on the lamp before there was a soft knock at my door. Of course, before I could ask who it was, the door creaked open a ways and there stood Sherlock.

"Ah, good. You're awake."

My eyebrows crinkled, giving away my confusion and I sat up to face him more directly. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"Too quiet." He said simply, hesitating in my doorway.

What had caught my attention wasn't the fact that Sherlock was tapping on my bedroom door at who knew what hour of the night, as I hadn't checked, but the fact that he'd mentioned that it was too quiet. Too quiet. For Sherlock Holmes, the brooder. But I didn't ask him any questions, other than this:

"Do you want to come in?"

Sherlock gave me the briefest flash of a smile, or what would have been a smile should it have lasted longer than it did, and gave me a nod. Without waiting for me to say anything else, he rushed in and walked over to the opposite side of my bed, the one that was bare and unoccupied. Surprisingly, he flounced down on top of the covers and tucked his arms neatly behind his head when he was comfortable without even glancing in my direction to see how I would react to any of it.

After a few seconds, I cleared my throat.

"I thought you wanted to talk." I half stated, half asked.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "This is enough."

A smile began to form on my lips, one that I refused to fight. He found comfort in my company. Why shouldn't I be happy about that?

"Okay."

He laid there for a very long time in silence while I, on the other hand, tried to pretend to read my book. I know I must have scanned the same paragraph at least six consecutive times, as I was too distracted to bring myself to try and extract any information out of the page. Sherlock gave me the excuse I needed to stop 'reading' when his voice broke the silence.

"Where are you going? With your life." He murmured. "Do you know?"

I put my book down. "Sometimes. Sometimes not."

Sherlock turned his head toward me, eyes observing my every move as he asked his next question. "What changes?"

"I do." I told him. "I change. What makes me satisfied with my life may differ from one day to the next. Books. Songs. People. It doesn't matter how small it seems. Sometimes it changes everything."

"People." Sherlock murmured, turning away from me. "Interesting."

And it was… I thought. Even though I didn't know what he was referring to, I knew what I was relating it to. People were interesting and none more so than Sherlock Holmes. When I first moved in with him, I had thought him an enigma. And maybe he still was. Maybe I just couldn't see it anymore. It was the moments like this that allowed me a little insight into the man behind the mask. But I figured that wouldn't last long. Considering he was so observant, I calculated that I had about… ten seconds more to enjoy the moment.

He looked over at me. Unfortunately, I hadn't the good sense to look away so when he caught my gaze, he hurriedly looked toward the ceiling. And that's where he stayed for several seconds, obviously thoughtful.

Sighing suddenly, he jumped up from the bed and began to make his way to my door. "Goodnight, Katherine."

"Goodnight."

Without another word, Sherlock disappeared around the corner and I fell back on my pillows with an aggravated sigh.

My time was up.

The next morning, I awoke to the buzzing of a phone. Blinking heavily to ward off sleep, I reached toward the origin of the sound that had so rudely pulled me from unconsciousness. When I found it, I swiped my index finger across the screen to answer without checking the Caller ID.

Voice heavy with sleep, what came out sounded less like me and more like a junkie coming out of a drug induced haze. "Hello?"

"Kat!" Dana's shrill voice squealed from the other end of the line, sending me recoiling from the receiver so fast that I nearly dropped it. "Kat, you'll never believe what just happened!"

I recovered quickly, trying to act invested in the conversation. "What?" I asked, propping myself halfheartedly on my elbows so I didn't collapse back into the beckoning fluff of my pillows.

"A few weeks ago, I applied for this job in Seattle, you know at a really huge law firm. I did it on a whim, just because. I mean, what could it hurt, right? Well, I just checked my e-mail and I GOT IT!" She shouted, "I got the job!"

"Wow!" I did my best to sound excited. "That's great, Dana. Really."

She hardly took a breath before she launched into another sentence. "Isn't it!? And, well, see, I just got back into town from Seattle and I'm calling because while I was looking around for apartments in the area, I-"

"Wait," Suddenly, I felt very awake. "You're already looking for an apartment?" The word felt foreign on my lips, sitting there uncomfortably for a few moments before Dana spoke again.

"Of course! I'm leaving for Seattle in three weeks."

"Three weeks? Have you told anyone?"

"Yes." She assured me quickly. "You. Anyway, I was looking for apartments and ran across this guy, this med student that was doing his residency at Providence Regional and he said that there was an opening there. That they needed an experienced M.D. who had training in the more 'clinical' aspect of things. See, all of the doctors are pulling double shifts trying to keep the clinic running and they would really appreciate the help."

"Wait, Dana. Hold on. You talked to them already?"

"Well, yes." She said hesitantly. "And I also…kind of put in an application for you?"

"Dana!" I shouted, bolting upright in my bed. "What the hell!?"

"Don't overreact!" Dana shot back. "It's just an application. I mean, you're working at that shoebox of a medical center in London when you could be somewhere huge like Providence and I just thought…"

"What? What did you think? Dana, you falsified an application for me at Providence Regional which happens to be located in Seattle." My pulse was too fast. Much too fast. "Seattle, Dana!"

"Yes, I know. But I thought that it would give you an option. And on the other hand, you and I could be roommates. Like we always wanted, remember?"

"But, Seattle?"

"Oh, my God, will you stop with that!?" Dana groaned, the sound rumbling across the line. "Yes, it's Seattle. But you used to want to do things like this, Katherine. You used to want to take a job that required you to move away from England. Even after…" She stopped herself for a few beats. "Look, as far as I knew, you still wanted it! What changed?"

Everything.

"I don't know." I lied. "I just… God, I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting."

"Really?" Dana asked flatly. "What could possibly give you that idea?"

"Shut up. You sprang that on me. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Say 'Thank you Dana!' and move on. Or… tell me that you'll move to Seattle if you get the job?"

A startled laugh broke free from my parted lips before I could stop it. When she didn't join in, I froze. "You're serious."

"Yeah, I am."

"Sorry, Dana." I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn out of remorse for being so rude. "I mean… I'll think on it, but I'm not sure…"

"You don't have to be sure." She reminded me. "Not yet. If they offer it to you, you could fly out and check out the hospital and the apartment and just… explore if you wanted. Nobody's pressuring you to say yes right away."

Nobody except you.

"I know. And maybe I will. But I do have one question."

"What?"

"When did you get to be so American? 'Apartment'." I mocked her, grinning as she faked a laugh on the other end of the phone.

"You're hilarious, Kat. Really." Dana muttered. "Look, I'll talk to you later, okay? I'm meeting a guy for lunch."

Lunch? I whipped around to look at my alarm clock and saw that it was indeed almost lunchtime. Throwing back my covers, I hopped out of bed with alarming speed and raced toward my window, noticing for the first time that someone had drawn the curtains.

"O-okay." I stammered. "Fine. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

Without waiting for her answer, I hung up the phone and tossed it back on my bed. Who in the world would have drawn my curtains? Tiptoeing cautiously to the door, I opened it and peeked outside into the hall as I had seen Sherlock do so often.

"Sherlock?" I called softly. "Are you home?"

I heard muffled voices coming from the living room and found myself walking toward the sound. Peering around the wall, I saw Sherlock sitting in his usual spot, facing someone with flaming red hair. Realizing who it was, I no longer felt the need to hide.

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock's older brother turned to me with a sarcastic and flat smile. "Katherine." He greeted me coolly. "Come in. Sit."

Sherlock cut his gaze sharply to Mycroft in a way that made me suddenly suspicious. "Mycroft, what are you doing?" He asked.

Mycroft shot the same emotionless smile at his brother. "Having a chat with your flat mate, Sherlock. Isn't it obvious?"

I pointed over my shoulder. "I can just go if that's better…"

"No." Mycroft said at the exact moment Sherlock barked out: "Yes!"

Torn between my curiosity and my overwhelming urge to run, I found myself sitting down in the red armchair that sat across the coffee table from Sherlock. Mycroft sat on the couch, so I felt that I had the distance required to be a little safer.

The silence stretched on for a few moments longer than was necessary, Sherlock glaring at Mycroft and Mycroft, in turn, ignoring him and instead focusing his attention on me.

Deciding that there was no need for the situation to be even more unbearably awkward than it already was, I cleared my throat. "You wouldn't know who closed my curtains would you?"

"I did." Sherlock said breezily. "It's Saturday. You should sleep in when you can."

"You were in my room?" I asked, alarmed more on the terms that he'd more than likely been witness to my completely unattractive tendency to snore (very deeply, and very loudly).

"Only for a moment." He assured me, still staring at Mycroft.

With a nod in Sherlock's direction, I found the nerve to face his brother. "So… er… what brings you here, Mycroft?"

"You, Doctor Watson."

I saw Sherlock bristle in my peripheral vision and I bit my tongue, trying to keep from biting my lip and making it obvious how uncomfortable I was in that moment. Doctor Watson. I knew who Sherlock was thinking of.

"Oh?" I made sure there wasn't a shake in my voice before I went on. "Why?"

"Did I or did I not make it clear that you were to contact me should anything unusual arise?" Mycroft asked coldly, his cordial demeanor gone in an instant.

My mind wandered back to the Christmas party, when Mycroft had pulled me aside and asked me to… how did he put it? To… 'Keep an eye on things'. Which, of course, I had assured him that I would with the knowledge that there was no way in hell that I would ever report back to him as if Sherlock were some naughty child in primary school and I the principal that kept Mycroft apprised of his behavior.

"You did." I answered back, calm and collected as one could be in a situation like mine.

"This isn't necessary." Sherlock interrupted. "I'm not a child, Mycroft."

"Quiet, brother mine." Mycroft hushed him swiftly. "I'm talking to the kind Doctor." When Mycroft looked back at me, he pressed his lips together in a way that made me think he was more than disappointed in me. And for some reason, that affected me more than it should have. "Now. Didn't you think that a note in the post from a Mr. James Moriarty was more than unusual?"

"I might have. But I only just found out myself. Last night, in fact."

"And yet, I didn't hear from you."

"It was late."

"And you thought that time mattered?" Mycroft chuckled humorlessly. "You obviously don't know me, Doctor. I am everywhere. Why else do you think I am here? Did you think that Sherlock told me?"

A quick glance at Sherlock confirmed that he hadn't told Mycroft a thing. My skin began to crawl. Who in the world was this man?

"No." I said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Hmm." Mycroft leaned back in his seat. "You don't seem very frightened, Doctor Watson."

"And you don't seem very frightening."

Liar, liar, liar….

Mycroft seemed to have found the answer he was looking for, as he cast Sherlock one last look, one of bewildering amusement, and stood from his seat. Walking slowly toward the door, umbrella swinging, he finally answered my statement with two words of his own.

"We'll see."