A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay in posting, but this scene just did not want to be written. I've had a few questions come in, so I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability. First off, in regards to the question about the timeline of this piece. It's post Fall, but pre- empty hearse. Sherlock is very muchly alive. I didn't want to answer this before, because it would of given up the game. Secondly, in regards to the "wrong note" check back onto chapter 8. And Lastly, there have been a few typos, but my usual editor is busy with her life. The nerve. In any case, here is an embarrassingly short chapter, but I will be fighting to continue it. The next chapter will deal with Sherlock and his explanation of his faked suicide, how he did it, and so on. Trying to keep everyone in character, and make the story stay believable is not as easy as I'd hoped. But worry not, I'll struggle on! Enough of my rambling. On to better things!

The sound of a fist smacking into flesh echoed around the kitchen. It took me a second to register that my fist didn't collide with Sherlock's face, instead Billie had caught it in a lovely armblock. She narrowed her eyes at me and then pushed me back."John, why are you attacking Mycroft? Or more specifically why are you attacking the person that's been claiming to be Mycroft, that you just called Sherlock?" After pushing me back she turned to glare at Sherlock. I kept stumbling backwards until the backs of my knees slammed into the chair. As I sank down, Billie moved between us with a protective look on her face. She glared at Sherlock with a deadly look in her eyes. He made to step forward and stopped when Billie leveled the muzzle of her pistol at his chest. "John. Explain. Or Holmes. If you even are that. What else have you lied about?," their glares hit and sparked in the air. Sherlock was the first to look away, rare for him. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I didn't die. I faked it. I had to. You don't understand," Sherlock kept glancing between me and Billie, trying to connect with us. "You're right. I don't understand, you pose as your brother, lie to me, and I won't even start on what you've done to John. Damn you. You were supposed to be his friend, you were supposed to be someone he could trust, and this is what you do with that trust. If you ask me, you were better off dead, than coming back and proving what scum you truly are. You should've left a good memory for John," I blinked at this. I never expected someone to take stand up for me like this. Sherlock used to be my protector, but now, he was on the other side of the fight. He was facing off against someone who was prepared to go to the mat for me. "Billie, it's okay, just let him… let him explain," her defensive attitude was heartwarming. But I needed to know, I had to know why he had, why he had left me. She turned and glanced at me over her shoulder, then scowled and stepped to the side. She gestured shortly for Sherlock to continue. I just stared at him. His hair was longer, still wild and curly, his eyes were the same shifting colors, but instead of being narrowed in thought they were wide open, and vulnerable. He took a step forward, releasing the door and letting it fall back into its frame. Now the three of us were shut in together. Billie was hostile, Sherlock was frighteningly timid, and I was in shock. The silence and tension rose, growing thicker by the second until Billie shook us out of it. She grabbed her forgotten plate of food, gently set her weapon on the countertop, picked up her coffee cup and gracefully sat down crossed legged on the floor. Sherlock visibly relaxed with her pistol out of her hand, and he too sank down in a cross legged position. It struck me again just how alike they looked, it helped to cut through the fog that had formed in my brain since Sherlock had walked in the door. I was still waiting for the dream to end, or the nightmare, I wasn't sure which it was yet. The two sitting on the floor looked more like siblings than Sherlock and Mycroft did. Billie paused in her eating and let her hair down shaking it out so the partially dry strands fell into their natural curl. Dark curling hair, flashing incandescent eyes, high cheek bones, and both had an affinity for danger. Billie crunched through a piece of bacon, and Sherlock finally looked up at me. I stared back at him, his mask was back in place, hiding his emotions behind a porcelain shell. "Well?" We both jumped, Billie looked up at both of us, her eyes narrowed, "get on with it. Clear the air between yourselves, while I clear my plate yeah?" Sherlock cleared his throat, then sighed deeply. He was stalling, and I balled my hand up into a fist on my leg. The fine tremors that had plagued me before I had met Sherlock were starting up again. With him sitting in front of me, the memory of all the pain, the grief, the achingly deep loneliness, it all came back. Billie was staring into her coffee cup and swirling the contents slowly. With every second that dragged on, more and more of my sanity was slowly eroding away. The screaming of my mind was roaring higher and higher, and just when I felt like I was about to tear in two, Billie started humming. Instantly all of my brain focused in on the tune, sifting through our time together, trying to place the melody. Finally it clicked, it was a song she had been singing a month ago, shortly after we had reached an agreement about my PTSD. We had been in the local market picking up a few groceries, when an old rock and roll song had come on over the loudspeaker. It was the first time that she had sang in front of me, purely for the fun of it, there had been no danger of an attack for me, but she had belted out the lyrics anyway. She had turned it into a full performance in the cereal aisle, and I had ended up bent double laughing so hard tears ran down my face. The quiet humming of Carry on my Wayward son by Kansas, took me back to that carefree moment, and soothed my nerves. Sherlock was staring at her blankly, but as my hands relaxed, I watched the comprehension flow across his face. I knew in that second that my suspicions about his midnight violin playing had been right. A small smile flickered at the corners of his mouth as he watched her hum. "Sherlock, its time." I was back in control. Sherlock turned back to me and bowed his head slightly. "Yes. I suppose it is, isn't it?"