Sherlock was lying on his side, facing away from the door, absolutely still, his breathing slow and steady, but then just as Kate had decided to leave him to sleep, he quietly said, 'I'm not asleep. I'm trying to work out whether to be angry with you or not.'

'And have you come to any conclusions?'

'I haven't decided yet,' he said, rolling over to look at her.

'How did you know?' Kate asked, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed.

'Noises, Kate, or rather the lack of them. I heard you shut the door to the kitchen, and then I didn't hear the sounds of pans and cooking. Just near silence, murmured voices, then just your voice; a telephone conversation to Mycroft I presume, then John talking and you sounding relieved. So - what did you say to Mycroft?'

'What do you think that I said?'

He rubbed his forehead, 'I'm too tired for guessing games, Kate, just tell me.'

'I appealed to his better nature.'

'He doesn't have one,' Sherlock retorted automatically.

'Yes he does, Sherlock, especially where you're concerned. The way I saw it, he was going to turn up here unless I did something to stop him, or send round some bogus delivery men or gas engineer to spy on us. You're paranoid enough as it is, and that's the last thing that you need, to jump every time the doorbell rings. So I phoned him and told him that he needed to trust John and I to do the right things to get you well, and that interfering would only make you worse.'

'Did he work it out?'

'I don't know,' Kate said honestly. 'I don't think so. He might suspect, but if he does then he's keeping those suspicions to himself. I think that he'll do what I asked, Sherlock, I think that he'll leave you alone to get well.'

'Then I'm not angry,' he said quietly.

'So how are you?'

He shook his head. 'Horrible,' he said, then looking away, 'it's not getting any better Kate. In fact its getting worse the longer that I'm awake.'

'Ed Harris is coming later. He'll help.'

'Maybe.'

'It will get better, its just going to take time for the medication to kick in properly.'

'Time,' he said softly, 'I remember that from before too. Always being told to give it time.'

'But it did get better last time.'

'It took the best part of four months, Kate,' he said fixing her with his unflinching gaze. 'I can't -' his voice broke and he closed his eyes, 'I can't cope with this for the next four months.' He was, Kate realised, trying very hard not to cry.

'Hey,' she whispered, putting her arms around him, until eventually he sat up and allowed himself to be held. 'It's just a bad day, thats all. I'll get you some more tablets and you can sleep, that will help.'

'What about Ed Harris?' he asked into her shoulder.

'I'll phone him and see if he can come later instead.'

He pulled away and nodded. 'Thank you,' he said, formally, remotely.

'You're not giving up on me are you?' Kate asked lightly.

He shrugged. 'I can't see a way out of this, Kate, not one, even without Mycroft's interference.'

'Bloody Mycroft,' Kate muttered as she headed for the kitchen to fetch Sherlock some tablets.

'Whats he done now? John asked. She had almost forgotten that he was there, sitting on the sofa in the living room, idly flicking through the television channels.

'Other than make things worse all over again? Nothing.' Kate said.

John looked at her and considered. 'You need a break, Kate; some time away from here.'

'How can I?'

'Fairly easily I would say,' John said, taking the pot of medication out of her hand. 'Judging by this lot he'll sleep for hours, I'll phone Ed and ask him to postpone his visit until this afternoon. In the meantime, I want you to go out and do something, anything to get out of this flat. Go and see Alice, better still go and do some shopping, go to a gallery, just - do something normal.'

Sherlock didn't question John's presence in his room with the tablets, just took them silently and lay down wearily.

'I sent Kate out for a few hours,' John told him.

'Good,' was Sherlock's only reply before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

...

Kate arrived back at 221b just as Ed Harris was ringing on the doorbell. For a horrible moment she had mistaken the tall, overcoated figure at the door to the flat for Mycroft, come to check up on his brother at all. Then she had recognised the greying hair and had felt her heart return to its correct position from where it had taken up temporary residence in her mouth.

Lunch with Alice and a few hours wandering round the National Gallery had done wonders, John was right. There was a whole world out there that she had almost forgotten existed, and Alice had been - forthright and honest and empathic without being overly sympathetic. She thought that Kate was mad, of course she did, to not have Sherlock admitted. 'You do realise that no sane nurse would ever have done what you've done, don't you?' she said. 'Only two doctors would be barmy enough to think that this was a good idea. We would have had him admitted as soon as he started talking to people who weren't there. Wouldn't catch a pair of nurses offering to provide twenty four-seven nursing and giving iv sedation in their own home.'

'Keep your voice down,' Kate muttered, looking round the gallery restaurant. 'It's meant to be a secret remember?'

Alice chuckled. 'You're catching his parnoia, Kate.'

Kate closed her eyes and sighed, 'You have no idea,' she said.

Alice touched her arm with a gentle hand. 'I'm sorry, you're right, I don't. I was just trying to joke you into a better mood in my useful blundering way. For what it's worth, I think that what you're doing is amazing, Kate. You just look - exhausted, and if I'm being brutally honest more than a little defeated, but I want to help, if I can. So go on, tell me what you're worried about.'

And so Kate did. She talked to Alice for hours; over pasta, and pudding, through rooms and rooms of paintings at the National, most of which she hardly registered, and then again over coffee before reluctantly heading home after hugging Alice hard at the tube station and thanking whatever variety of deity might be up there for friends like Alice. Closer than a sister, more understanding than a lover could ever be, even Sherlock, especially Sherlock who loved her unconditionally but who still found her emotions a strange mystery even when he was well.

...

'Bad day I hear,' Ed Harris said, as they walked up the stairs to the flat.

'Did John tell you?'

'A little. My office also had a phone call from Mycroft Holmes, indirectly of course. Don't worry, they're far too discrete to say anything, but it sounds as if his people have been calling round all of the offices on Harley Street, trying to dig for information. Not just psychiatrists, you'll be glad to hear. It would appear that he's aware that Sherlock is ill, but not the exact nature of his illness.'

'He's not a man to take no for an answer,' Kate muttered, wondering where all of this would lead.

'He has no control over what happens to Sherlock, you realise,' Ed said as she let him into the flat. 'That decision would still rest with me as his doctor, and with those who I consider to be most able to decide what is in his best interest, which is undoubtably you and John, not Mycroft.'

'You don't know Mycroft,' Kate said with a note of resignation in her voice.

'Oh but I do,' Ed Harris said, 'and I can assure you that I am more than prepared to take him on if it comes to it.'

John was coming out of the bedroom as they walked into the flat and shook Ed Harris' hand in greeting.

'Is he awake?' Ed Harris asked.

'Yes, but not talking much. Perhaps you'll have better luck.'