A Christmas party?" Sherlock had looked up from his test tubes and his microscope, the kitchen dimly lit by the light upon the slide he had been examining. John curiously peeked over at the woman, settled in the detective's chair while he was busy being distracted by his study of human hair follicles after death. The rosette did not even ask where he had gotten a patch of scalp from, for she already knew the answer. Sheepish, she adjusted in the leather seat, legs curled inward as she held her phone in one hand, her tea steaming upon the window sill, fogging it's surface. Snow fell fervorously outside. The doctor twisted around to exchange a look with his flatmate.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she picked at her thumbnail. "Well, Elliot mentioned something along the lines of a dinner somewhere downtown, and he invited you and John along," she explained carefully, trying to tread lightly around the subject of her significant other. Her eyes drifted off to the side, her attention travelling to her pinky, which she bent at an awkward angle. "It will be a formal event: we'll all be dressing up nicely, although I'm sure neither of you will have trouble with that. Molly will be there, and he even mentioned that John could bring Sarah with him, if he wanted to. He wants to try and get to know you guys better..."

Julia tucked some hair behind her ear and glanced off toward the two men, taking note of Sherlock's wrinkled nose and John's arched brow. Perhaps they hadn't understood her point? Suddenly, the detective turned and went back to examining his follicles. Whatever he found interesting about them was beyond her. Sherlock had a strange mind. "How dull. Here I thought you would actually be inviting us to something more fun, Julia."

"Well, that's the thing. After the dinner, they wanted somewhere big enough to host a little gathering sort of thing behind closed doors. You know, for presents and that sort of thing..." she continued, growing nervous. Laughing softly, she attempted to lighten the mood, although couldn't deny how she was beginning to grow bothered beneath John's gaze. "And when we were talking about it over lunch with Molly and Elliot, I may... have..."

"You offered up our flat?" the detective finished, glancing over his shoulder. Sherlock's words hung in the air, a cold drop of fear crawling down her spine. She swallowed thick within her throat, preparing to be scorned for doing such a thing without Sherlock's permission. She was ready for whatever he had to throw at her, about how dumb she was, or whatever he felt like spewing; however, Julia found that John was the one to respond.

"Well, I don't see why not," he piped up, both she and Sherlock both simultaneously uttering the word 'what?' in response. Her hopes grew high and she straightened up from where she had sank back into her friend's seat, staring at John with gleaming turquoise eyes. "When was the last time we dressed up and went out, Sherlock?"

"For me, that is every day, John," muttered the detective, adjusting the scope as he picked up the tweezers settled at his side.

"You know what I mean. Besides, it would be good for us to liven our holidays up instead of sitting around eating three-day-old pie and then going to bed."

"I thought you enjoyed it."

"Changing things up will definitely not kill you."

"It could," Sherlock pointed out, eyes slanting in their direction for a moment.

Julia pulled herself out of her sleep when she felt a hand upon her shoulder, nudging her awake. As she came-to, she realized just how exhausted she had been lately, this admittedly being the first time she had gotten proper rest since the evening at the fish factory. The flat was chilly, the man hanging over her a beacon of warmth as she felt his thick coat being laid over her. Nestling in, she sighed into the fabric, breathing Sherlock's familiar scent. She could see why the gentleman wore the coat so often; it was heavy and well-insulated, engulfing her slender body completely. Who needed a blanket? She slowly began to drift back into a drowsy stupor, sighing the gentleman's name. The flat was dreary without the lamp light or the glow from the fireplace, the blue light of day drifting in through the windows. The sun was slowly rising. "Sherlock," she murmured softly, eyes remaining glued shut.

"Yes?" His voice was low, the deep bass tone resounding within the cool flat's dusty air. He sounded tired.

"Thank you." There was a gentle beat as she was unsure whether he had answered or not, sinking deeper into her own dreamscape. Her small form curled into itself, feeling safe while wrapped in the wool and satin of his coat. Within the span of an hour, the dreary english light eventually cross-faded, the room that had once been washed in a very faint greyish blue tint now bathed in rays of soft tangerine and honey. Particles of dust danced within its watery shafts the brighter it grew, becoming as dazzling as lightning bugs, slowly but surely drifting within the still air of 221B. Julia was not aware of her surroundings, enjoying the delicious comfort of her own sleep until suddenly she was jolted awake by the sound of the phone ringing. She bolted upright and blindly looked around the room, finding that she was the only being residing there at the time. Had Sherlock gone to bed? Quickly bunching the coat as if it were a towel she had grabbed while stepping out of the shower, she snatched the receiver and picked it up.

What was she supposed to say? What was it that Sherlock always said?

"Holmes residence," she spoke softly into the phone.

There was the sound of a hitching sob, and then, "Julia? Is that you, darling?"

The rosette froze, dropping the coat to the floor. "M-Mother?" she stammered. She had so many questions. Who had given her this number? How was she calling her all the way from Glasgow? Was she aware of the charge? Her head felt light as she glanced around the flat, searching for some sort of sign that she was alone. The young woman brought her fingers to her lips, now coming to stand in the middle of the carpet. Her feet were bare, her socks and boots at the door. Her hair was an absolute mess, although she knew her mother could not see her.

"Oh, thank goodness," her mother breathed through the speaker. "You just suddenly disappeared. We were so worried because Max wouldn't answer our calls. She kept telling us that you had made it to London, however, she never explain to us where. You have no idea how much sleep we've all lost. Even Velvet is missing you."

Julia tried to imagine their irish setter mix waiting at the door of the spare bedroom, crying and scratching for her. Her arms slowly wrapped around herself, suddenly aware of how cold the apartment was. "I-I meant to call, but... things got a bit busy here." No, she had meant to completely isolate herself from her family for as long as possible. Guilt began to chew her up. "I have a job, sort of, and aunt Martha has been nothing but hospitable."

Her mother sniffled. "Oh, that's good to hear," she murmured softly. She could see her as plain as day, her blonde hair swept up in its typical brown clip, her robe dangling open and her pajamas a wrinkled mess. "So, you... enjoy living there?"

Swallowing gently, she glanced to the side, fiddling with one of her aunt's smooth pearl earrings. "It's... been touch and go. I mean, the neighbours are a little... odd. I'm not necessarily getting paid either."

"Do you need us to send you some money?" her mother suddenly offered, her voice strained with worry. It was totally different in comparison to how dry and bitter she had been last she had spoken to her. Crossing the floor, she rounded the little sitting area and her feet met the hardwood floor between the kitchen and the den.

"Oh, no mum. It's alright, really! I'm doing just fine... my supervisor keeps me busy," Julia quickly explained. "It's a taxing job, but I've adjusted and I'm finding it quite to my liking. The people I'm working with are the best." She was lying through her teeth. Sherlock could be quite the royal prick. "You really shouldn't worry. Auntie is very hospitable."

Her mother hummed in thought on the other end. She clearly wasn't very inclined to accept that her sister was a force of good. "Well, so long as you are comfortable, I suppose..."

"Mum, don't start," she warned, frowning. There was a moment of wordless tension before a deep sigh escaped both of them.

"You sound different."

Those three words caused her heart to flutter. She sounded different? "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked, studying the wood floors beneath her. Pacing back toward the living room, she peered out the window, coming to unpin her hair and allow it to fall in a mass of auburn tangles.

"You just sound more confident, my dear," her mother answered softly, the sound of more oncoming tears creeping up within the woman's throat. Julia pent over to pick up Sherlock's coat, allowing it to drape over her folded arm.

A yawn passed her lips. "Is pa awake?" the rosette inquired.

"He's still asleep... I suppose that I did not mind the time. Did I wake you?"

"It's okay mum, you don't have to worry," Julia dismissed, shaking her head. "I needed to get up anyway. I usually start my days early." Brushing the fleece off, she raised her shoulder, sandwiched the phone between it and her cheek. "How has he been?"

"Your father has only just recently been able to rest," her mother replied sullenly. "He's been worrying about you and Blair both, what with her off to University and all."

Right, her younger sister had just started her schooling. She hadn't even thought about Blair, if she were being honest. The poor girl had been so nervous and Julia had promised to keep in touch with her, yet she had just completely up and disappeared without another thought. "Is she home for the holidays?" Julia inquired once more, asking more questions than answering.

"She has been since the beginning of this week, actually." Her mother now sounded a bit more relaxed, the familiar sound of tea cups clinking signifying that she was making herself a cuppa.

"How is she fairing?"

"She was happy to be home," her mother remarked, "and was gushing with stories to tell. It's too bad you weren't around to see her... she told me how she missed you." Julia felt her throat tighten at the thought of her sister's disappointment. Her guilt grew legs and began to crawl up her back. "We did not tell her of your absence until recently. She surely would have come home if she had found out."

Fidgeting with the button upon her shirt, the rosette switched the phone over to a different ear. "Did she meet anybody while she was there?" asked the ginger, chewing at her bottom lip.

"None that she has mentioned," the woman sighed. She could hear her shaking her head. Blair had always been the prettier of the two, which gave the nineteen-year-old a fighting chance at being married before her. Although she had, at times, found herself to be jealous, she had always encouraged her to speak to men and show interest. "How about yourself? You've made friends, have you not? Do you work in an office?"

"Oh, I..." Julia trailed off, eyes drifting toward the now scantily dressed wall and the ugly yellow smiley face that Sherlock had spray painted long before she had arrived. They really needed to cover that up. "Sort of, I suppose. I-I actually work with... the neighbours."

"Your neighbours?" echoed her mother, perplexed.

"Yes.." she intoned. Julia frowned gently. "How did you get this number?"

"You were in the paper, darling!" Her mind reeled, forgetting that she had completely dismissed her question. The paper? What exactly had she read? Judging by how she wasn't demanding she come home, it must have been something light that hadn't mentioned the explosion or the near-drowning. "I would have thought they would at least pay you though. I never would have guessed that my eldest daughter, too squeamish to even have her shots at times, would be working in forensics!"

The rosette laughed nervously. "Well, I sort of just fell into the thing... I never thought of myself as the type of person either, but, it's been quite interesting I suppose. I don't hate it."

"Just... promise your mother that you'll be careful? It isn't the safest occupation, dear."

"Oh mum. I promise, I'm okay. Dr Watson and Mr. Holmes are taking good care of me."

"I would hope so," she sighed. "Your father and I were dreadfully mortified to hear that you had been working in that field. We had thought you had perhaps gone mad! I mean, dealing with criminals and, not to mention, other men, is difficult for such a young woman like yourself. I mean, wouldn't you rather to work in fashion or photojournalism? You could have even tried to make your mark in piano-"

Julia sighed into the phone and paced back around, attempting to wander into the kitchen, when suddenly someone emerged from the dim hallway. Sherlock's hair was perfect and ruggedly curly as always, his pale skin reflecting the light like fresh now. His form was smartly clothed in dark colours, as always, his black button-up tied together with his simple black blazer. His eyes cut into her with a look of question. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

"My mother," she whispered, trying to be as quiet as she could so as not to have the woman grow hysterical. She did not need her mother knowing that she had spent the night next door rather than in her respective bed. Her mother would go insane, and Julia really did not want to have to deal with answering her series of questions.

"Your mother? Could she not have called your cell phone?"

"Who is that?" Her mother asked almost seconds later. Julia was baffled. She could hear them? She was suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place.

Her eyes shut and she bit back a groan. "Sherlock Holmes, mother..."

"Good morning, Mrs. Fuller," the detective piped up, the two of them stepping into the kitchen in order to start some tea. He brushed by her in order to get to the cupboard, easily reaching what he needed from above her head. She began to fill the kettle.

"The man from the papers, you mean?" her mother quizzed, gasping softly. She was beginning to think, and assume, and that was a bad sign. The rosette cringed as she set the object down upon the burner and allowed it to light. "He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?"

Julia's ears burned, knowing fully well that the detective would be able to hear her voice through the speaker pressed to her ear, regardless of how low the volume was. "Mum, please-"

"What is he doing at your aunt's this early?"

Sighing, she pulled out the raisin bread from its usual spot within its box, and quietly placed the cinnamon-swirled goodness into the toaster. She placed the lever at number four, the numeral painted in grey paint upon the plastic, and then paused. "I'm... not at aunt Martha's," Julia finally admitted, turning and leaning against the counter. She heard silence on the other end of the phone for a moment before her mother spoke once again.

"You slept overnight?"

"Yes mother," she replied pointedly. "I merely dozed off and ended up falling asleep in one of their chairs. Sherlock does not mind."

The detective was filling a bowl full of cereal. "Dozed off is an understatement."

Julia hissed for him to be quiet. "Julia, is there something you wish to tell me?" She froze. Her mother's question hung in the air. "You seem mighty friendly toward this Sherlock Holmes fellow. Is there something more you wish to share?"

"What? Sherlock and I-" she sputtered. She watched as his head turned, glancing up from where he sat at the small sitting table in the middle of the kitchen. Her bread popped up behind her and she turned, shooting him a dirty look. "No, mum. That's ridiculous: Sherlock and I merely work together. It's strictly professional and it's nothing more." As she spoke these words, she felt her spine prickle under his arctic gaze. Julia took a deep breath and finally retrieved her toast, reaching up in order to grab herself a plate. Sliding up onto her tiptoes, she placed the bread upon the china before crossing her arms. "But... I am in a relationship."

"Julia!" her mother chirruped. "My goodness girl, well then, tell me about him! What's he like?"

A smile laced her lips as she recalled Elliot's boyish charm, although attempting to avoid certain topics, such as how they met in a morgue. "His name is Elliot Francis. He works as a scientist, and he's the sweetest man you will ever meet. I'm sure you'd love him."

"Who introduced you two?"

She hummed, glancing up toward the ceiling. "I suppose Sherlock did, in a way. We were just leaving the lab when I ran into him. Of course, Mr. Holmes yelled at him and called him an idiot because he spilled coffee everywhere, including on me... He's clumsy, and sort of dorky, but in a cute way."

Her mother was choked up by the end of her short little monologue about her boyfriend. "Oh, I'm so proud! My dove finally found someone to make her happy."

Julia wanted to tell her mother that she had been happy before she had gotten with Elliot. She had been happy because she had been solving crimes, because she had been given somewhere to call home, where she could be herself, because she could fit in somewhere where she felt content. Picking up her plate, she drifted over to the table. "Don't run up the bill," muttered Sherlock. She offered a look of apology.

"Well mum, I really should get going. John is still asleep, so I don't want to be waking him up."

There was a pause. "Okay honey," her mother responded, the tone in her voice clawing Julia's heart to shreds. Despite how her mother drove her up the walls with how arrogant and set-in-her-ways she could be, she truly adored her. "I love you."

"I love you too. Tell Blair and pa that I miss them," Julia requested, smiling solemnly against the receiver. "And give Velvet a biscuit for me."

"I intend to," Mother Fuller confirmed. "Have a good day darling."

"You too, mum. Bye."

Click. Beep. The young woman fell silent, listening to the sound of Sherlock eating his cereal so calmly as he sat across from her. Standing up, she pushed her chair out behind herself and wandered out into the den, although only managing to make it halfway. Her mother's crestfallen tone still rang within her ear and suddenly she found that her eyes were welling with tears. A sob lurched from her throat and she covered her mouth.

"Julie?" Sherlock's voice was laced with concern, drifting toward her ears.

"Oh, I'm.. I'm sorry," she hiccuped, unable to stop the tears. Julia was surprised when she heard the man follow in her footsteps, coming to stand just a little ways away and stopping himself there. "I just... I haven't spoken to her for more than a month now. My family has been afraid that I wouldn't come back, and..." The man was as silent as the grave, allowing her to speak. Wiping her eyes, she refused to cry any longer, sniffling. "I'm such a mess."

"You are a mess, correct. It is not attractive in the slightest," Sherlock pointed out bluntly. One of his hands found her back and she turned herself toward him, her rheumy eyes refusing to meet his clear blue set. Despite his barbed honesty, his words were gentle and comforting. Julia could not make sense of how it helped her relax, but so far he was successful. Perhaps it was how carefully he had placed his hands on her shoulders, or the way he stood there in front of her like a barrier, blocking out all the what-ifs with his presence, demanding that she see him instead of the anxiety-inducing troubles knocking about in her skull. "Which is why I want you to stop crying."

"I love you" was what her mouth wanted to utter, but "I love you" was such a dangerous mouthful of words in this moment. It was so dangerous that it could shatter the glass floor beneath them, so dangerous in the fact that it would give Sherlock the power to smite Julia to the ground, until she was nothing but a hollow husk; it was so dangerous that it could destroy her bond with Elliot, as well as the relationship that the detective and she had worked so hard on; it could destroy what they had so carefully built. To Sherlock, Julia knew, that she was not like Molly. He saw her as not only useful, but as a companion, similarly to how he saw John or her aunt. Some part of her wanted to say that it could be more, but that was the foolish girl that had chased after the man in those letters, and not the woman that now stood before the sociopath she knew today. Julia shut her eyes and wiped away the last of her tears, breaking from the detective's grasp. The words "I love you" were impulsive and foolish to be said among friends. Sherlock did not have to tell her this in order for her to realize the truth.

Besides, she had Elliot. Sherlock was her friend and business partner, just as she told her mother. Nothing more.

"Thank you," she murmured, breaking from the detective's grip. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her lungs to expand and then sighed, returning the phone to its receiver. In a way, she was glad that she was going to be able to spend time over the holidays with other people, rather than simply sitting around, alone. "It's just hard, being away from my family during the holidays."

"I cannot relate. Besides, I've never understood the whole family aspect of the holidays. You saw how Mycroft was the day you met him," Sherlock replied, turning and disappearing back into the kitchen. "Would you like to just leave your toast out for John?"

Julia slumped into the detective's chair. "Sure, I don't see why not," she muttered, waving a hand. The sound of dishes being moved toward the sink genuinely surprised her. Sherlock was tidying up? The detective stepped into view, dusting his hands off in a vigorous fashion, before reaching down to her level and latching onto her wrists. She groaned in complaint as he forced her to her feet.

"Come, Miss Fuller," he coaxed sternly. "Go get yourself changed. We're going out." The detective stepped up behind her and pushed her forward, straight in the direction of the door. Out she went, stumbling into the landing and glancing over her shoulder as the egress was shut behind her. Julia frowned.

Oh peachy, another one of Sherlock Holmes' great adventures!