Hi everyone! Thank you so very much for your reviews, guys! Specifically my best friend Lady Gisborne 15 and my incredibly loyal readers Jess Marilyn, Witty Lady, and AmeliaRoseOswald! You are all amazing and continue to make my week each time that I post a new chapter! And thank you Monarchslayer! I found those websites by accident, but had a lot of fun with them and decided to make them a part of the story.

This is a short chapter, as it is the intro to the second part of the book which is meant to sort of introduce you to the current situation and will lead into a new era for Sherlock and Katherine's already complicated friendship/relationship (It's not very good, but oh well). I have chapter 22 written and ready to post so you WILL get it on Saturday if not sooner! Thank you all so much for your patience!

-lightinside

PART TWO:

731 Days Later

Date night. The concept was still fairly new to me, but I found that it was becoming a little more than slightly enjoyable. Having something to do, having someone to dress up for, it was nice, I admitted it freely. I could see now why Dana had been so eager to set me up.

And of course, at first, I had whined and moaned and complained like I always did and then, for a while, she left me alone. Well… actually, it only bought me about three weeks, but that seemed like an accomplishment where my best friend was concerned.

The first time I met Andrew Reynolds had been at Dana's brother's flat. I had gone there, expecting to see her while she was home for a visit, and had instead run into Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. Of course, I made up an excuse to go home.

Several days later, apparently having found out that my meeting him was unplanned, Andrew called tripping over himself apologizing. Saying that he had no idea how to make it up to me. But I told him, quite bluntly, that he would make it up to me by simply leaving me alone. And that was that. Until Dana heard about the exchange of course.

Which is how I was here now, making myself beautiful on a Friday night, when I would otherwise be piled up on the sofa with a book or watching reruns of The Golden Girls on Hallmark until the early hours of the morning. This was the eighteenth Friday in a row that he had called, requesting to take me out to dinner. And so, officially, this was the eighteenth Friday to date that I hadn't stayed in all night.

Dana called it progress. And I guess she was right; in some ways, it was progress. It meant that I wasn't inside moping or writing letters that no one would ever read. It meant that I was taking a step away from the figurative ledge that everyone around me thought I had finally reached.

And while Andrew was a lovely person, I knew that there was something missing between us. Something that I'm sure everyone needed in order to carry on toward having a relationship. An actual connection. Of course, while Dana claimed that Andrew was on his way to being smitten, I was not. Sure, I liked him, but Andrew was… a distraction. One that I sorely needed.

Everyone, at this point I think, expected me to be alright – expected that I would be taking steps in my life so that I could move on. And I was trying, but it never seemed to be enough. Not for Dana, not for my mother and her insatiable need to outdo her sister, not even for my father. Though I think that his urgings stemmed from worry more than anything else.

But I couldn't take it. They were all absolutely smothering me. Making me feel like it was wrong to still miss him. To still need him.

Didn't they know that I was as tired of dealing with my own grief as they were? Could they not see?

It had always baffled me. The people who were supposed to know me the best hardly knew me at all. My parents, my best friend, even my brother hadn't the first clue as to who I was. The only person who had understood me properly was John. And he was gone, too, just like Sherlock.

There were nights that I woke up screaming. And some nights that I sat in bed, awake, or out in the living room, watching the door – half expecting him to come waltzing through the door at any given moment. Sometimes the want for him was so out of control that it physically hurt.

And how could I tell them that? How could I confess my innermost thoughts for them to scrutinize? For them to judge.

There was nothing to be done and there was certainly nothing they could do. So what would be the point? Telling them all of this so that they could bully me into seeing a therapist? No. No, thank you. I already thought I was losing my mind, I didn't need to pay someone by the hour to state the obvious. No point in it.

So, I would carry on as I had been. Faking laughs and forcing smiles to give everyone what I knew they wanted. To carry on denying myself what I needed most. Closure. However, since I was almost certain that such a thing didn't exist, not for me, I didn't know how to proceed.

The one thing, the one person, I'd ever needed was gone and he was never coming back.

How was I supposed to deal with that?

I've asked those questions over and over, hoping that someone would tell me the truth. That someone would look me in the eye and tell me that it wouldn't get better, not for a long time. A lot longer than this. Hoping that they wouldn't offer me empty apologies and pretend to know how I was feeling. And so far, everyone had been a disappointment.

Subconsciously, I knew what I was looking for. I didn't want answers. I just wanted to know that someone could hear me. In this loud, ceaseless wonder of a world, I wanted to be heard. I wanted to be seen. And I did want to be understood… but there was something strange about finding comfort in your own grief. Finding comfort in the fact that there was at least one person in the world you didn't have to explain your feelings to. Yourself.

But I would have to explain them to Andrew if I couldn't pull it together. So, I took a breath and checked my reflection in the mirror. Practiced smiling. Checked the time. Glanced toward the door. Adjusted my necklace. Closed my eyes.

Seven-hundred and thirty-one days and counting.