Alright y'all, here's the next chapter! I hope you enjoy :o)

The next morning, I woke up alone and unsettled. I vaguely recalled my dream from last night, and willed myself to remember what my subconscious had told me, to no avail. My hand passed over what used to be Richard's side. No warmth emanated from it. Slowly, I rolled out of bed, taking my time in sitting up. He wouldn't just leave me all alone in his house, would he? A voice came from down the hall, probably from his office. No, he wouldn't, I supposed. He seemed to be much too private for that. After all, two months had passed, and despite all the good times that we'd had, a thought planted itself in my mind that I didn't really know him at all.

Now that I was sober, I allowed myself a third look at his room. It was the same as I thought earlier, even though the moulding was just as exquisite as before. Minimalist to the point of being sterile. I'll have to fix that. I stretched and yawned, slowly bringing myself to my feet. I began to tug at the corners of the blankets, hoping that the bed would be made to his standards. It was the very least I could do for him, after the lavish gifts and dinner. "Ah!" I sucked in air in response to stubbing my toe on one of my heels, which had then, of course, been kicked under the bed. I crouched on my knees and let my hand slide under the frame.

On my first try, I didn't find my shoe, but rather a…full suitcase? I released the handle like it was iron-hot, and found my shoe after another few pat-downs of the floor. Why on earth would he have a ready-to-go suitcase under his bed? The only people I ever knew to do that were those in films who needed to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. The kind who were on the run. I looked under the bed once more to confirm with my eyes what my hands had felt. That was a suitcase if I ever saw one.

Questions were slowly bubbling up to my tired brain. If he was planning on leaving soon, he'd tell me, right? Or maybe we just hadn't gotten to that stage yet? I could have been completely wrong, anyways—maybe he wasn't on the run, and that was filled with old memories, like a classier sort of shoebox. But still, that didn't make sense. Maybe he really was doing something, and maybe he really did need to go on the run. What position would that put me in? And, I ran my hand down my face and sighed, slightly disgusted with myself, would he want me to come with him?

Okay, Sherry. You're just jumping to conclusions. I took one last peek at it. Maybe I'd ask Richard straightaway, to calm my nerves. But then again…maybe I wouldn't. We were all alone, in a house I wasn't familiar with, and at an address that I didn't know. While I trusted Richard him, I also trusted my own mind. Sure, this strange discovery might mean nothing, but what if it meant something instead? And that something was something I wasn't supposed to know about?

After straightening his undershirt out and putting my hair up in an I-just-woke-up bun, I left the room to find my boyfriend. I willed my heart to slow down from its rabbit-like pace. Chances were that I was worried over nothing. The air in the hall was brisk, a perfect change from my bed warmth. I paused before stepping in front of the office, checking to make sure that he was finishing up the phone call I heard him start a few minutes prior.

In a hushed tone, "You will get me those files by four o' clock tomorrow. No excuses. Can you even comprehend what we're doing? If you fail, you will never see the daylight again, I can assure you. … Good. Very good. I'm counting on it." An annoyed sigh from behind the door. Who was he talking to? And what files could be that important? And on a Sunday? He had said that he was in the business of helping people and making the world go round, and that didn't quite sound like helping people. Maybe I'd go see Sherlock once I got home, and see what he had to say on the topic of our mutual friend.

I knocked on the door a few moments later, trying to make it seem that I hadn't heard what I'd just heard. "Richard?"

"Come in."

I opened the door and stood in the doorway. I opened my mouth, and all of my questions nearly came tumbling out. I took a deep breath, shoving them back down my throat, instead saying, "You look hard at work. I was thinking about making some coffee. Would you like some?" In truth, I couldn't remember if he had a coffee maker, or French press, or anything of the sort, but any question was better than the ones tumbling around in my head.

He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't a harsh or cold expression, but a more…calculating one. A moment later, he released a breath of air and smiled with a renewed warmth to his face. "That would be nice. I'll join you at the table in a minute, Sherry-like-the-drink."

I nodded, taking my leave. He had looked at me as though he was contemplating his next move. Maybe he had heard me walk up to his office, after all. But—another thought raced through my mind—if he was trying to keep something a secret, he wouldn't have spoken about it only two doors down the hall from me, in a tone that was so near a stage whisper. Could it have been possible that he wanted me to hear it, so that he could gauge my reaction? A wave of uneasiness washed over my body. This was what—the second or third time that I'd had doubts about Richard's authenticity? I found a French press and began heating some water. If he gave me any more uneasy feelings, then I'd ask him about it. Maybe I would go to Sherlock after all…

My thoughts clouded my brain as my natural coffee-making instinct took over. I pilfered through cabinets to find mugs, and made my way over to the dining table with the two full cups of coffee, and made a second trip to bring over a small bowl of sugar cubes I'd spotted. I sat in the same spot as the previous night, partially waiting to start on my coffee for Richard, partially waiting because it was too hot. My eyes closed as I allowed myself to think of what I was now going to consider clues: The Tempest comment, the Hamlet comment, that bizarre Measure for Measure comment, the suitcase under his bed, the phone call… You know, maybe I really was overthinking things. Maybe he really was just trying to get to know my interests better, and I was just making him out to be this secretive, scary person? But maybe he was a secretive, scary person…?

My dream came to me in bits and pieces until I could finally make out the whole. It wasn't a dream, actually, and it wasn't quite a nightmare. There was a statue of me, as though I'd looked at Medusa herself. And there was blood. A lot of blood. Beware the Ides of March. Well, I had been scouring the pages of Julius Caesar recently. I guess it was to be expected that my dreams would be Shakespearian, too.

His footsteps, bare feet on hardwood floors, brought me out of my trance. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I lied. Then, as an afterthought, I added, "Well, I mean, not nothing. Nothing important. It's no longer my birthday and it's Sunday, which means that I have no excuses to procrastinate my work any more."

"Do you have a lot to do?"

I shrugged. "No more than the usual. How about you? You were in your office." I picked up the mug and looked at him over its rim, trying to act casual when I was really trying to gauge his response.

He sipped on his coffee. "Also the usual. Work never stops in my business, but such is life. I'd be bored, otherwise." We allowed the morning silence to wash over us. I sat, trying to analyze him, wondering if he was analyzing me at this very moment. He broke the silence between us. "How much farther do you have on your paper?"

I let out a heavy sigh. "Well, I've written my entire rough draft. And that was the easy part. Now, you know, I have to go in and clarify everything, revise things—which is hard in its own right, because I wrote it, therefore everything makes sense to me; but I also have to take an axe to it and cut out all the parts that have no point being in there. And that's hard. I may detest this paper with every fiber of my being, but it's still my baby."

Richard nodded, listening. "Cutting it will make it stronger. You make your paper sound like a weed in the rosebush of academia, but it's always the weeds that come back with a vengeance."

A bemused smile formed on my face thanks to his strange analogy. "Which play was that from, again?"

He let out a soft laugh. Maybe it was how he looked in the morning light, or maybe it was the tousled bedhead and pajamas, but something tugged at my heartstrings. I had a few reasons to be wary of him at the moment, but I had quite a few reasons to trust him, too.

"Hey, Richard."

"Hmm?"

"I know it's not my birthday anymore, but…I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" He murmured, leaning forward, eyebrows furrowing.

I held up a finger as I walked to where I sat my purse last night. I dug around a bit, and found my phone, which thankfully still had a charge. My phone rested gingerly in my hands, as I worked up the courage to ask my question. "Will you take a selfie with me?"

Richard's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Want something to show on Facebook?"

I scoffed, pretending to be offended. "You know I don't use Facebook that much. C'mon." I settled myself in his lap, and opened the camera app. "This is just for me…and my mom," I confessed. "She wanted to know what you looked like and wouldn't rest until I told her that I'd send her a picture. Okay. Ready?" I waited until we both had our most darling smiles on before capturing the moment. I kissed his temple, preparing to stand up to go back to my coffee.

To my surprise, he wrapped his arms around me, and I came tumbling back down to his lap. He gave me a kiss straight on the lips and pulled away with a smug grin on his face before releasing me.

We chatted about small things for a few more minutes over our coffees. I tried to ask about his business a little more, to see if I could get any other information or reactions out of him, to no avail. Which was probably a good thing, as it helped calm my nerves. Finally, I admitted to myself and to Richard that I'd probably have to get going soon, that those papers weren't exactly going to grade themselves. I didn't want to leave, but I also wanted to ask Sherlock about what he knew of Richard.

And so, with a businessman's ability to manage situations, he provided me with a pair of sweatpants to travel with instead of the dress ("Keep them, they look good on you"), said he'd get my dress dry-cleaned and necklace polished, and helped me out the door. We spent the car ride discussing what we'd seen on the news and in newspapers, making small talk for the short ride back to my apartment. And, just like that, I was back to normal, boring, ordinary life. I'd been treated and adorned as a queen, and now I was standing in front of my apartment with my keys out, watching Richard walk away.

Would someone with something to hide really walk his girlfriend to her door every time he dropped her off? If he was a good actor, maybe. I glanced up at 221B. The chimney had no smoke, and the lights were off. Detective life was a no-go. Sherlock and John were probably out on a case, which meant that I'd have to call upon them later. I could only hope that I wouldn't be forced to sit in the client's chair and be scrutinized. Regular life it was, then.

Two more weeks had passed, and Richard and I had resumed our "normal" way of communicating via text, how-are-you-doing-calls, and him somehow knowing where I was and bringing me an espresso. That being said, I didn't exactly know how he knew where I was a lot of the times, which reminded me that I'd yet to see Sherlock about him. Then again, I was only ever in my own apartment and on campus, so I supposed it wouldn't have been too hard to figure out where I was…

Either way, today was a special day. It was our three-monthiversary. Normally, I wouldn't make a big deal about month anniversaries, but he'd been so gracious to me in terms of gifts that I felt the need to repay him somehow. So here I sat, putting the final touches on the wrapping of the gifts I'd gotten for him.

Richard, I soon discovered, was a difficult man to shop for. He was a private person, and even his own home reflected that. He was truly a minimalist at heart. Despite having told me that he's traveled often for work before, he had no sorts of souvenirs, and the lack of décor on his walls made it difficult to decipher what his interests were. So, I did what anybody else would do, and tried to play it cool, pretending to practice my deduction skills on him when really, I was just trying to get a sense for his taste (I needed better ideas other than upper-class and fancy-looking).

I shot Richard a text: 'Coffee today? Nothing important, just wanted to see you :) – ST'

A few minutes later, and I had my response: 'Monocle at 5? -RB'

It was two o' clock now, which meant that I had a couple hours to get ready and work on some grading. I didn't know what I wanted more: the time to go by quickly, or for me to grade a bunch in the allotted time slot. Only time would tell though, so I dove right in.

Before I knew it, I found myself waiting in the downstairs portion of The Monocle Café, glad to be rid of my cell service for once. It was busy, as expected, but the hum and drum of passer-bys relaxed me. It was nice to not be cooped up in my apartment, for once. I spotted Richard coming down the stairs with a cup of tea and waved so that he'd know where I was. He joined me a few moments later, making himself comfortable.

We exchanged pleasantries for a few moments as I worked up the nerve to give him my gifts. They weren't much compared to his, but I hoped that he liked them all the same. "So, I actually have something for you."

His eyebrows shot up, and he brought a hand to his heart. "Me? For me?"

His feigning of being overly-shocked and acting silly calmed my nerves a bit, so I brought out the first of the two gifts, which I had wrapped to the best of my abilities. It was obviously a book—even an ordinary person could have guessed that. "Well, it's our three month anniversary, and I don't normally celebrate those…but you've done a lot for me in those months, so I just wanted to show you that I appreciated everything you've done.

Richard took the gift from my hands and slowly began unwrapping it, gently pulling at the tape. It was almost painstakingly slow, and watching him pull off the wrapping was near torture.

I opened my mouth, as I felt the need to explain it. "Um, so, you're always asking me about my paper, and you've been brushing up on your Shakespeare, so I thought you might appreciate it. It's one of the main sources for my thesis, and I thought it might be something that we could…" I searched for the word, "…share. Or, at the very least, the spine's a good color, and it wouldn't look out of place next to your Shakespeare anthology."

"You noticed that." A statement, not a question.

"Bookshelves are telling of a person," I offered. "They're one of the things I take great notice of."

He smiled, placed the book down next to his tea, and grabbed my hand. "Thank you. It's like a little piece of you will always be with me."

I laughed. "Well, about that…" I was pretty sure that he knew I had something else for him, but was trying to play it cool. I brought out my second gift and handed it to him. "There's this, too." This was the one that I was most nervous about. It was sentimental, so my heart pounded at the thought of his reaction.

This one he also took time to unwrap, and it was more annoying than the last time. He slid it out, revealing a photo frame and a small smile on his face.

"So, I noticed that you didn't really have a lot of decoration in your house, and you mentioned that you liked playing house, so I thought that you might like this… Um, so you can hang it, but if you don't want to put a hole in your wall, you can also just prop it up on a side table. So when you're feeling domestic, you can have it up, and if when you don't, you can just place it face down or hide it in a drawer, and nobody will be the wiser…"

"You put a lot of thought into these," he commented, placing his hand back on top of mine. "Thank you."

"Well," I smiled, pleased that he liked my gifts, "like I said, you're always doing things for me. It's the least I can do." He began rubbing my hand with his thumb, and my heart skipped a beat. And just like that, another rule of mine had been broken without my even trying. I thought that I'd been doing a fairly steady job of keeping my emotions in check, especially with a man who I thought wanted something more out of me than I was necessarily willing to give. But as we sat here, in the middle of this busy café, I looked at him with apparent admiration. My heart found its way to my sleeve.

Even with all the doubts that I'd had about him recently, he had also given me more than anybody else would have been able to. He'd given me material things, heated moments, and a hope for the future. He had everything that I wanted, and he had me, too. I hoped that this would never end, whatever it was between him and me. I was in much, much deeper than I thought I would be. And as I looked at him, I felt butterflies in my stomach and a four-lettered word on the tip of my tongue.

Ahh! And there's the next bit. The pieces are being laid out, the doubt's creeping in...as well as other emotions ;)

I hope you enjoyed this one-let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear them!