Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind

A/N: New chapters up. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)

Chapter 11: Almost

For once I look up seeing a single lantern set on a nightstand near a large bed with soft pastel green linens and look around finding a wardrobe, trunk and dresser of the same rich wood. Glancing down I observe the heavily ornate green rub with gold pattern before looking up at an ivy pattern on the walls. It isn't home but it will do, though I didn't really know where home was anymore. Not thinking was the motivation for me and in doing so I don't remember what I did do, all I know is the bed felt good despite everything that felt so wrong.

Other POV

Mrs. Hudson paused inside the room staring at the strange woman that had aided Sherlock in his way home. She had no idea why anyone would do so, she didn't fully understand the adventure that the pair had but she did know that the girl had been very upset. Standing there she lay out a rich indigo colored dress and left the girl to rest.

Original POV

I feel the bed give way as if someone is sitting on it before hearing the shuffle of paper and soft muttering. "These cases a child could master, why did Watson have to insist that Lestrade fill up my days?" I groan not wanting to deal with Sherlock and feeling wretched due to a pounding headache.

"Holmes go away." I manage remembering why I felt so low and rolling away pulling the blankets around my shoulders.

"I've solved these and then Clarkie, the dear brings me another slew." I somehow get the impression he won't go away. "This man ran away with his own sons fiancé and the family is oblivious."

"Can't you bother someone else?" I say feeling stung and not wishing to deal with him.

"It's morning dear girl, when are you going to aid me in my investigation?"

"When you apologize for being so callous." I counter fed up with his serious neglect of the human condition.

He pauses the ruffling of papers stopping and I can feel the tension in the air. I dare to roll over and see him sitting stiffly dressed in trousers and a shirt that has yet to be considered presentable. I wait for a response, any response would be nice and slowly I see him move gratning me his full attention. Sitting there I see his dark eyes searching my face, clearly the abandon of the human condition startles him enough where for once he cant respond. Emotion, he didn't have a clue on how it worked but he did in fact know that a woman scorned was a dangerous person to deal with. I think he figured I may have been worse due to the idea that I came from another time.

"I'm sorry?" I face plant in the bed moaning annoyed with the question.

"It isn't supposed to be a inquiry, it isn't difficult to apologize but yet in your case I see the problem." I supposed my muffled reply sounded similar to what was heavy metal in my time-noise, something that may give an idea of words but nothing really there but noise.

I feel a hand gently on my back and look up seeing he's again trying to inspect what he's supposed to say, scrutinizing me for answers which I am tired of spelling out for him. Slowly I consider my options, any sort of tender or romantic idea might completely befuddle Sherlock, I doubt though he's innocent-somehow though his easy practical nature made it idealistic to be ignorant when it meant something.

"Forget it, what do you need me to do?" hesitant he watches me with that same sort of rational thought process before I see a flicker of that excitement he gets when solving a mystery.

"The game is a foot, I need you to cover for me when Clark brings me another case load." I sit up never minding the fact he's in my room.

"What?" His gaze flickers downward for the longest minute before he clears his throat and turns sharply away. "I have to lie to Clark?"

"No, just let him know that I've locked myself in Watson's former office out of irritation. You're a woman, he will believe you." I laugh humorlessly at that watching him leave the room swiftly before starting to climb from the bed.

I stop looking down when I feel the blanket leave my arms and blink startled. I was wearing an oversized shirt and the majority of it revealed much more than I would have liked. Swearing I adjust the shirt remembering the sudden motions of Sherlock and blush. I cover my face wondering why I was letting myself be punished by whatever he could come up with. It didn't take me long to answer that myself.

Four days

I wake again to Sherlock's voice though he seems troubled now, in fact when I look up I see the room is still quite dark. "For my sake Sherlock let me sleep. I've been dodging Clark and Lestrade for you for the past four days, yesterday being the day that Lestrade proved to be much better at his job than you claim. I was lucky you snuck back in when you did." I reluctantly look up finding Sherlock frighteningly close and can feel his breath on my face-I smell something chemical on his breath, maybe it's more alcohol but I didn't know what I would be smelling. "Drinking again, what this time?" his eyes are unfocused-not uncommon-he tilts his head at the question.

"Absinthe." I stare at him hard lifting my head allowing more closeness than usual.

"You're drunk." He shakes his head calmly watching me. "Why are you here?"

"Research of the human condition you keep saying I don't understand." I watch him throw back something with a green tint in his hand before hearing it being set on the surface of the nightstand behind him. "I need to conduct tests for this."

"At…three in the morning? Just a guess." He watches me closely looking uncertain before trying to sort his clearly inebriated thoughts. "Sherlock go to bed."

"I'm trying to understand why you are so angry at me all the time Is-Is…Bella." I know he's hammered, he's so darn sloshed he can't even say my name. "I like Bella," I groan shaking my head finding his normal patient attitude missing just a bit unnerving.

"You're not going to experiment on me, I'm not dealing with you smashed and so in this case go to bed." I roll away ignoring the now intoxicated detective and try to sleep.

I go back to sleep purposely ignoring him, it is always easier to disregard him when he's like this. I learned this at least once in the past four days, this would be the second time. I wasn't on the receiving end of that drunken action, in fact the only thing that happened was he passed out in his study and crawled away from the windows as Mrs. Hudson opened them. I was fondly reminded of when John had done it in the first movie, this time though Sherlock charmingly left a mess for her to clean up in his aftermath.

I slowly wake up now well aware that it's morning, I can hear sounds from the street below and slowly roll to my side. I jerk startled to find Sherlock snoring soundly beside me on the bed-not the best of wake up calls-though I find it not bother me. I pay no heed to him and slowly wriggle from the blankets stretching, I feel a hand flop across my lap and look down seeing Sherlock moved and shifted much closer than I would have expected in his current condition.

"Wake up." I hiss hearing him snort but nothing happens. "If you puke on me I swear I will mangle your manhood Holmes." Still no response, I sigh rubbing my temples finding it much easier to get exasperated by him the longer I got to know him.

I lean down seeing for once his eyes aren't dark around the edges and he looks less bothered in sleep than he does in his waking hours. Gently I run a finger down his cheek smirking feeling the stubble on his face and can detect the briefest hints of his office. I smell tobacco, his choice of whatever drinks and hints of other things. His lack of hygene didn't bother me so much as his determination to prove Moriarty alive. I would think he wanted the man out of his life, instead it would appear Sherlock felt better seeking a ghost until a real case came calling.

"Sherlock?" I say in a soft voice gently brushing my finger down his cheek again.

He doesn't even stir, I sigh wondering again why I felt the need to care for someone so complicated. There had to be someone out there that I could like that wasn't this difficult to work with, this hard to explain a human condition of romance to. Who was I kidding, I swore not to fall for him and did so.

"Go away Nanny," I smile despite the disgruntled tone and gently lean down near his ear.

In a low voice I remind him of where he kindly passed out. "I'm not Mrs. Hudson Sherlock and you've passed out in my bed." I hear a sharp intake of breath, slowly dark eyes open glancing up at me before he sits up quickly moving away from me. "Morning."

Sherlock's POV

He sits there for a few minutes taking in the fact he was in the guest room before feeling a sudden sharp pounding compromise his thought process. Moaning he reaches up cupping his head and leans forward. He hears her soft laugh though it is carefully placed to not irritate his hangover, clearly she did have some sympathy despite his lack of such.

"You will be alright eventually Sherlock." She moves forward cupping his head and allows him to lean in her shoulder her fingers gently ruffling his dark hair. "You came in here last night drunk and explained you wished to understand the concept of human theory. You needed to experiment and came seeking me out. I don't think you were exactly thinking clearly." He finds her fingers soothing despite her explanation and vaguely remembers what happened last night-early this morning-he finds the soft scent of perfume comforting.

"Lilacs," He feels her fingers stop smoothing over the back of his head.

"Mrs. Hudson, along with the clothing," He nods feeling the light fabric of one of his shirts slide on her shoulder. "She seems to have loaned me one of your shirts."

"I loaned them, she did the shopping." He uttered daring to sit up and hissing at the return of the headache. "What did I drink?"

"I have no idea, you only mentioned absinthe…although not a great choice." He nodded looking around the room before glancing up at the jade eyes pensively gazing at him.

He rubs his face directing his eyes on the woman staring at him as if actually concerned. The selfless act of her trying to make him feel better reflected what he came to know as her human condition-her need to care despite his lack of need-rubbing his temples he found it only seemed to make the throbbing worse. He grunted softly before again trying to sort his thoughts.

"You didn't take advantage of my offer?" He looked up seeing her eyes narrowed in a familiar fashion. "I'm not thinking clearly." He defended knowing her ability of striking.

"I am not like that Sherlock…though if I hit you now I would feel bad for it." Grateful for that much he turns reaching for the glass he must have sat on her nightstand last night, sniffing at the contents and moving a finger around the edge he gauged what he had.

"I shouldn't have mixed." She blinks staring at him in disbelief.

"Mixed? You are insane, far from obsessive. You just like to test the limit of poisons." He found the lecture annoying at best. "What the hell brought you to mix things?"

"Theory, tests and questions," He saw her cover her face muttering about his stupidity.

Original POV

"You should have just asked…not tried to drink yourself into oblivion." Sherlock pensive tilt his head watching my reactions, I could see him thinking over my reactions and wondered why it was so difficult to read him-no visible emotion-is my answer.

"You wouldn't have given the answer to the questions." He pointed out sounding superior another of his traits that got on my nerves.

"You never asked a question." I should have stopped while I was ahead, he had been fishing and like an idiot I took the bait.

"Do you like me in a romantic sense?" It is too early in the morning to be playing head games with Sherlock Holmes-indirectly I invited this on myself.

I set there moodily watching him tilt his head, his dark eyes focused on me intently and waiting for an answer. A direct question that despite my brooding I couldn't ignore and was now put in a position-of my own doing-to answer him without thinking of what is going to happen if I speak truthfully.

"Define romantic."

"Romantic the idea of loving someone, showing tenderness and a sexual desire of human emotion-passion, the feeling of putting someone ahead of ones own personal desires."

I see that he has no trouble giving me the meaning of it, but the thing is he still doesn't get it. Defining and feeling are separate concepts-ones he clearly can't quite get-this is the equivalent of a platonic relationship despite the fact that I like him.

"It was rhetorical Sherlock, I do like you. The problem is you only understand platonic. Your interest in any woman to my knowledge is just because she outsmarted you. You were fascinated yet again by a puzzle." I could see by his pensive state that this didn't settle well with him. "To test the idea of the human condition you need to learn emotion. I'm not a brainteaser or a case, I'm a girl that has sincere feelings for a self-absorbed detective with far too much intelligence and a need to satisfy his brain more than his male urges." He sat there looking truly bewildered by what I just said.

He went to say more but the sound of Mrs. Hudson calling to him for his morning meeting with Clark stopped him. Instead he stood walking from my room cradling his head with one hand before peering over his shoulder and leaving. I sat there for a little while stunned by how the conversation had ended. Now being confused by what happened I wonder why I even admitted to anything, he still didn't get it.

Two days

I hadn't seen Sherlock in two days, except for the covering for him and being told when to do so. It felt like he was just some strange presence hovering to order me around. John and Mary would be back soon and I had failed in reigning in Sherlock's tendencies. I had taken to picking up after him, a feat that I didn't envy Mrs. Hudson. Clutter is what defined the man; everything had a place among an assortment of chaos. I had wisely just chosen to take out the things that would likely decompose and make him sick, the last of empty glass bottles I set outside the door for the kindly land lady and after reading the labels I wondered if the man had immunity to most poisons.

"Good morning Ms. Gracen." I look up seeing Clarke standing there looking weary even though his eyes were sharp and he seemed in good spirits.

"Morning Clark, what is it this time?" He looks over at the office curiously before focusing on me.

"I thought it best to bring him here before Lestrade found out." I stand from a chair where I had just finished sorting some stray papers that seemed of little use to Sherlock. "He's in better care here than a jail cell." Clark leaves the office and a few minutes' later drags in Sherlock who is unsteady on his feet and looks like he took a couple rounds with the giant man that had nearly killed him in the first movie.

"Oh hell Holmes," Clark smiles though my un-lady like comment clearly astonishes him. "Clark would you mind helping him down the hall?" he nods following my lead, I dart out into the hall and point to the only room I'm aware has a bed in it and call to Mrs. Hudson to get me some hot water and first aid supplies. "Thank you so much Clarke."

"You're welcome Ms. Gracen. I will take the case load with me and leave you to tend to Mr. Holmes." He bows out politely leaving me to wait on Mrs. Hudson.

She comes into my room after clearly looking in the study first and stops in the doorway. I thank her taking the items on a tray she has offered before asking her to fetch some tea and leave it on the dresser. I walk slowly over to the bed where Clark had propped him up against the headboard and see him reluctantly look up at me. This is far too familiar, though this time it isn't a dive off tall falls and lucky to survive.

I reach over to the warm water placing the cloth gently against the huge gash on his forehead and shake my head all the while cursing him for such unwise actions. John wouldn't have been any kinder, I get the feeling my lecture is nothing compared to the good Dr. Watson's accomplishments. Mrs. Hudson returns with the tea and agrees to leave us until I call for anything needed. Grateful to her method of avoiding knowing what Sherlock does I smile slightly before tending to the cut on his head and watch him wince when my hand grazes his side.

"Would you care to assess your injuries and fill me in since you're conscious this time?" he frowns at my frank tone and sighs.

"Broken ribs, bruised back, cut head and knife blade removed from my shoulder." He lists off looking wrathful in his present state. "Wounded pride." He added remarkably sounding humble which took me by surprise.

"What happened?" He looked cross but instead of acting offended winced at my gentle prodding of his wounded ribs.

"I got too close to finding out where possibly Moran's base is." I got it now; he went off on his own with no one to watch his back and ended up paying for it.

"Since when did you do something so uncalculated?" He now seemed insulted and refused to say anymore to me. "I wish John were here, you look terrible." I had already with much difficulty finally got him to remove his arm from his shirt and saw the knife wound in his shoulder.

Sherlock said nothing as I did my best to tend to these wounds. John would know and fix him up better when he returned the next afternoon. I doubted he would be happy with Sherlock or my covering for him, but I had made no promises and he had kindly refused to speak to me for the past two days. I stood after doctoring his wounds and returned the medical supplies to Mrs. Hudson before she left once again and went over retrieving us both some tea. Sitting down on the edge of the bed I stare into the white china cup for a while, tracing swirls in the tan liquid before daring to meet those transfixed dark eyes. He had been staring silently for a while at me and I just let it be, let him stew over what I may be thinking.

"I should have expected more people there. Moran isn't stupid, especially if given the right guides." I nod in agreement still not wishing to say anything. "I took a risk, didn't need anyone else getting hurt in my search." I set aside my cup and glare at him hostility seeping into my very being.

"You left me out of the loop, you bloody fool. Emotion isn't a crippling weakness; I could have at least watched your back. What you did was test your limits because you assumed instead of asked."

Sherlock's POV

She was again letting what she defined the human condition win over her senses. "You would have run to my aid without looking first."

"I would have had a damn weapon and bashed the guy's head in!" I rasped my patience gone. "You learned nothing did you? I am not a weak woman of this time; I can handle a lot more than you credit me with." He found her insults far easier to deal with than reason.

Clearing his throat he put aside the cup wincing when he covered his ribs to shift on the bed. "I knew someone that let emotion get to her and now she's gone. My 'condition' is that I don't need another death on my hands because of folly, of an idealized romantic disposition that is only brought on by some fangirlism from their own time."

Isabella stared at him hard, her eyes moving across his face before she found herself once again feeling embittered and cheated by his lack of true understanding. She seemed frozen lost in thought daring to watch him even though he had thrown harshness into her face.

Original POV

I lean forward watching his eyes dart across mine before looking calmly at me expecting his injured state to keep him safe. "Bravo Sherlock, you know everything and called it down the middle. There is one difference; I wasn't in love with you until I got to know you. I idealized the idea of your brilliance, not you as a human being, you as just some character. Being around you I began to find that admiration turning into something I knew you didn't understand. Now that you've made your point here's mine." I slap him across the face ignoring his bruised ego and stand from the bed.

Later the day John Arrives Home

I sit there at the bottom of the stairs being a true coward. I hadn't spoken to Sherlock since the incident in my room and hadn't even bothered to go to his study. Clark had come and gone though saying nothing of Sherlock's state that particular day he saved him from Lestrade's wrath. Hearing the carriage pull up to the doors I stand going out the door and see a very happy John Watson exiting the carriage however minus his bride. He's cheerful and seems far more relaxed than I was used to-at least until he looks my way.

"What did he do while I was away?" His smile faded and his whole demeanor coming down.

I study his dark suit seeing it's a hunter green in color and he has a box under his arm. I smile though I know it looks fake and allow his stern look to convince me to drop the façade.

"Do you want the short list or the long one?"

I lead the way up the stairs explaining the majority of the misadventures while John had been gone. In turn he tells me of a wonderful trip, Mary and he had been quite happy to come home and she was sorting things back at their own home for the impending trip she would have to make to Mycroft Holmes's estate. She had been unhappy about it but understood the dangers and knew she would not be left in the dark. I on the other hand would have preferred to change fates with her at the moment.

I took a seat on the top of the stairs allowing John to go in a deal with Sherlock in his own fashion and seen Mrs. Hudson offer me a sympathetic look. If she only knew the half the resentment I felt toward the man right now she would be cheering me on. I remain there staring off into space contemplating how to express the ideals of feelings to Sherlock despite the hopelessness of it. I don't know how long I sit there but it isn't long before John exits into the main hall and I hear a defined slam of the study door. Looking up I see him standing there his whole demeanor dark before he joins me on the stairs and leans against he wall.

His cranky state evidently brought on by the same person who turned me into an irrational, cranky, petulant child as of late. "He's simply become impossible. There is no place in that blasted room to sit let alone walk." I wondered what the sounds had been that I had heard since out fight. "He's destroyed his rooms."

"Why?"

John looked like he had just thrown a tantrum; everything was ruffled down to his neat suit where he was gripping his knees irritably. "I don't know Isabella, he doesn't even look like he's slept and I have no idea what he's mixed this time. The man is impossible."

"Mixed?" John nodded crossing his arms clearly upset. "Go spend some time with Mary, I'll try and drag him out of his state of mind."

"I will meet you at the fighting arena."

"Mary?" he smiled slightly before standing.

"She's visiting her parents giving me some time to reign in Sherlock." I smile at that watching him leave before glancing up at the office.

I stand walking slowly to the door and wait. I've never felt such foreboding toward entering Sherlock's study before. We had gotten along fairly decently until recent events, now I wonder if I can handle him at all and lightly tap on the door before slowly opening it. I look down wise to what John had told me and stare at the assorted piles scattered around the room. It really isn't much different than any other time, though in this case it looks like he purposely set up items like landmines. Sherlock seemed to be directing attention to anyone visiting the room. I slowly shut the door and stop in my tracks-he's shut all the blinds-I hesitate to move further in the room. I don't know exactly what is going on and knowing his tenacity for experimentation and what can come of them I don't dare move any further.

I listen intensely for some sign that he's in the room. I hear nothing and wonder if maybe his confrontation with Watson left him someplace in the room sitting in thought. I rely on other senses; I smell an assortment of chemicals which is common when he's in one of these moods where he's bouncing high on whatever he has chosen to put into his system. Among the varying smells in the room-including the lingering scent of cleaners-which Mrs. Hudson had used trying to get the animal smell from his previous jungle out; I find the underlying scent of his tobacco, spicy-the one he bought when we began the journey on the ship to England.

My eyes have adjusted to the dark but it's still a field of noise that will let him know one of us come seeking him out. I stand there crossing my arms before daring to step a couple of paces in the room-relieved I had yet to hit anything-I continue to move and just when I think I'm in the clear I feel something catch my ankle and yelp.

"Ah, thought it was you." I breathe in relief at his voice remembering that first encounter before daring to look down. "John had a rather long list of things to be upset with me over."

"I didn't tell him everything; your injuries would be the hardest to hide." My voice is tight but with irritation or uncertainty I'm not sure. "Why the landmines?"

"Why did you come?"

"John was frustrated; I offered to drag you out of your comatose state. I gather by the darkness you did this the night before?" it's easy to see the bottles around though I don't bother to read the labels. "You're going to mix the wrong thing one of these times and end up sick." His hand lowers from my ankle finally though he seems like he has little need to move.

He shifts in the darkness but I hear little out of him. Leaving him there I navigate around him seeing for the most part only by the doorway is set up to alert him to entries. I go slowly over to the far corner of the room familiar with the study and find the curtains. I'm in no mood to be pleasant and choose to go about John Watson's methods. I yank the curtains open hearing him let out a startled cry before watching him roll away from the source of light and smile-I'm not vindictive-though it is reassuring to tick him off when if fits. I move on to the next window ignoring his grumbling and open it.

"Sadist." I find the reference stinging in familiar territory but instead ignore my personal feelings on this and pause in my attack on his senses.

Instead of continuing the onslaught I feel bad for him for reasons I don't understand myself. I instead make my way over to his side and flop down on the floor reaching out lifting his head into my lap and lean over him blocking him from the light for the moment. I feel him tense before he relaxes soothed by the darkness and takes a sharp breath.

"I'm not vengeful by choice; you tend to bring out the worst in me Sherlock." I rub his temples hearing just a mutter of words that make little sense. "John wants me to drag you to the fights," I feel him move hesitantly and look down seeing his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Mary's visiting her parents."

"I feel little need to fight." I laugh softly looking down seeing his eyes are bloodshot, though I believe he's had worse things happen. "I fail to see the humor."

"You've done nothing but fight…with me, take out some of the frustration on idiots in the ring and give us both a break." He huffs grumpily before I rub his forehead gaining his attention. "Get yourself presentable, I'll see what I can come up with for the headache." He looks up at me unconvinced of the sincerity of my commitment to helping him, nevertheless he sits up groaning cradling his head and blocking his view of the direct light.

I exit wisely going downstairs and see Mrs. Hudson busily cleaning in the entryway, I had yet to explore the rest of the house and found this part of little interest at the moment. I wished to keep my word to Sherlock even though I didn't feel he needed any sympathy for his own idiocy. I explain to her that I need something for headache relief and ask her to please bring it to his room. I go back up the stairs looking at my present attire and know that this wouldn't please anyone but myself.

I go into my room and begin to search through the items that Mrs. Hudson had been leaving in the closet and trunks. I settle on a deep burgundy colored dress and twist my hair up as best as I can on my own. I stand there for a long time wondering why I can't get through to him-answer is he's so smart he doesn't get the simplistic of things-affection being the one that I for some reason had for him. I go to the doorway and see Mrs. Hudson staring at the door to Sherlock's study, smiling I ask her to please set the tray outside and I will handle it. She clearly had no idea what she would find in there and was hesitant to enter. She comes down the hall much to my relief and helps me complete my dressing process.

I watch her move swiftly down the stairs to tend to her other duties and enter his office. I see him sitting in a chair with his hands cover his face rubbing the back of his head. I set the tray down and hand Sherlock whatever Mrs. Hudson deemed appropriate. He sips at the tea watching me with his hand shilding his eyes. I can see again I'm a source of consideration for him and do my best to ignore it. I go about attempting to move things out of the doorway at the very least so someone doesn't hurt themselves. It isn't more than a half hour later when he seems content to move.

Walking down to meet the carriage I still falter when entering one. The memory of one time of a chemical induced issue still very real in my mind. Sherlock sensing my indecisiveness puts his hands firmly on my waist and guides me into the carriage before joining me and staring out the window. I look him over trying to decide what is troubling him, it seems that his headache has eased though I see him rubbing the side of his head on occasion. Glancing out as the scenery goes by I begin to note familiarities and can see we're getting close to the place where he fights, the smell alone of the less than cleanly neighborhoods leading the way. I finally can't stand the silence and go to say something but instead pause-he's looking outside the door intensely. I know the look, it means that whatever is going on I won't like what he's seeing.

Sherlock reaches up forcing the carriage to stop. "We should walk from here." I sigh knowing I wouldn't like the look.

I follow him from the carriage stepping down on wet cobblestone and listen to the swift movement of Sherlock behind me. He grips my arm with his and begins to speedily disappear down alleyways. This is becoming common, however I don't argue knowing that he most likely avoiding confrontation with familiar adversaries. After a maze of assorted turns, crosses and alleys he stops near a familiar building. I can already hear the sounds of laughter and the crowd which means there's a fight already in action. We both stop short gathering out breath while I look around for signs of John-I didn't have to look far seeing him alert to our presence and already coming down the alley.

"What happened to you two?" I look sideways seeing Sherlock stand straight before going off into a complicated explanation and theory that we were being followed by some of Moran's men, or indirectly Moriarty's men. "They know you're alive?"

"Most likely." I turn sharply at his unworried tone.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed hidden for one week? It wasn't that much to ask of you Holmes." I guiltily lower my gaze to the grimy street unable to meet his gaze listening to him scolding Sherlock. "I don't expect anyone to keep him in line Isabella." I look up hearing his soften tone and pointedly look at Sherlock who seems unbothered by the lecture.