Ok guys... please don't hate me for jumping ahead in time, but it was the only way I was comfortable. I attempted three different scenes that took place the same day of the bombings and they just seemed anti-climactic. (I will post these attempts as 'out takes' at the end of the story) At least picking up from here gets you away from their 'firsts' so that the story has a little more flow to it.

There was also the problem of their first sexual encounter -They do have a sexual relationship, as you will see from this chapter, and I'm hoping you agree with how I've dealt with it is quite Sherlock-esque. There are certain things I've had in my head about my Sherlock: the idea of sex, his opinion of children and the declaration of love; which have been my inspiration for this piece.

I really am worried about your responses guys so please give me feedback; is he still in character? (Not so much the loyalty to the BBC show; but have I made him consistent in this piece) Are you still liking the story? Is there anything you'd like to see happen/ predictions?

The only chapter I'm more worried about you guys reading is the next one as it deals with his opinion of babies. What do you think he'll say?

Sorry about the ramblings tonight, but I am incredibly nervous about the reception of this chapter. It was the first one I wrote after have a day away from the piece I literally have butterflies.

Please, enjoy (and be kind) ...

Chapter Twenty-One- Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)

I now lived at Baker Street. We'd still taken the basement flat so that I had a space of my own where I could go to write. It was nice to be down there sometimes; Sherlock kept unpredictable hours that would disturb my thoughts.

He never disturbed me there once he'd helped me decorate and organise my workspace. I had a table for my laptop, a table to write at and the comfiest high backed chair I'd ever sat it. Sherlock had brought it home the day after I'd moved in. He claimed he'd seen it and thought it would inspire me.

Home! It was home; a place I ran to and not from. A place I felt warm, safe and protected. I still ventured out into the urban jungle; but it was from a want and not a need. Sherlock would sometimes walk with me; our discussions where varied and long. He'd become an open book to me and I adored his furious passion when he'd get Lestrade's call.

Three months had gone by and not a whisper was heard from Moriarty. Sherlock insisted that he was just licking in wounds and would be back once he'd formed a new, even more sadistic, plan. Sherlock's scar was still visible to only me and that insufferable Molly. I wasn't jealous; she just irritated me. The scar reminded me that he was human; Molly saw it as a heroic symbol. I'd met her once when a call had interrupted mine and John's lunch. She prickled at my presence, dropped lukewarm tea in my lap and blocked my view of the cadaver we were there to see; I instantly put her above Donovan on my hate list.

I'd not told Sherlock but his book was almost ready. John currently had the master manuscript with the intention of reading through it and giving me his insights; I wanted Sherlock to appear humble yet fully developed and this could only happen by hearing another person's perspective. John was currently in work; sneaking peaks at the manuscript between patients.

I on the other hand, was curled on the couch; book balanced on my lap and a large cup of tea clutch in my hand. I was having a day off from writing and had immersed my into a crime thriller while passing the time before meeting up with Sarah. Sherlock was out and this was the only time I could read it without him solving it for me. How he deduced the killer and motive from the blurb I'd never know. I swelled with pride as I thought about how he should be a consultant for some of these writers. I wouldn't admit it to Sherlock but I was relatively new to the crime genre. I was more a supernatural, science fiction or fantasy kind of person; but Sherlock's life had me curious.

I heard the front door open and my heart fluttered; I really liked that his presence could do that to me. Before I knew it he was before me; his coat discarded downstairs.

'Hello princess.' He smiled as I cringed. He approached the fire place to check the mail. As always, there was nothing of importance in the pile.

'Stop calling me that.' I hissed. Pet names did not suit him, or me, but he was making a point. He'd climbed over the coffee table and sat down on the lip of the table. I rested my hand on his knee; allowing myself to lose the page of the book.

'Well let me use your real name. You're not Sam to me anymore; that mask has slipped.' His legs curled under the table until his knees where on the floor. He leaned over me and planted a heavy kiss on my lips. 'That kind of happened when I saw-'

'Stop it Sherlock! Talking about sex to get your own way is cheap.' I push him away and notice he has his crooked, playful, smile hung on his face.

'But it's incredibly fun,' he winked. 'If I'd realised there was so much power in the act I would have used it long ago.' I quickly disposed of my read and book as clambered onto the couch and placed his body on mine. 'Shame the thought of all other women repulses me.'

He'd changed. Not to anyone else; just to me. I had helped him make a discovery; a craving he never realised he could ever have. Just like any of his addictions; he craved me more at times of heightened emotions. He'd devour me like a hungry animal; and I almost never denied him.

After being at Baker Street for two weeks John and I had a long conversation while Sherlock was out. His use of drugs did not surprise me as much as John was expecting it to. I asked many questions but remained positive. John breathed a sigh of relief. He had been worried that I'd run.

Sherlock had the buttons of both his and my own shirt undone, my hands pinned above my head and his lips exploring my tender collarbone when he ruined the passionate moment.

'Please, let me call you Catherine.' I have to admit it sounded amazing rolling off his tongue and vibrating off my neck as he kissed me ravenously. It had me wanting to beg an encore moan of my name; but what about when he wasn't there? I knew the monster's voice would impose once Sherlock had left.

'No!' I was off the couch and he was left sprawled; dishevelled, confused and hurt; he was still new to rejection. My heart broke slightly as he looked completely wounded; and I would have relented had I not have been so angry. 'I am Sam. Sam I am!' I shouted, pulling my shirt closed again.

'You're not Sam to 're Cath-' He began; sitting up on the couch.

'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet Sherlock. It does not matter what I'm called.' I insist from my stand off point beside the fireplace.

'Than I can call you-' He insisted; pushing me too far.

'Except that! Look if you have such a problem with Sam; call me Doyle like Lestrade does.' I suggested. He didn't answer; he was sulking. When I turned round, he was facing the back of the couch in his slouched foetal position. 'You're such a child at timed.' I laughed. I understood why he wanted to call me Catherine; he wanted to have fixed everything that had gone wrong for me. He wanted a tangible sign that Moriarty was no longer the controlling force in my life. I'd spoken about it at great length with my therapist. We both agreed that in time I would change my name back; just not yet.

'Do you have plans for the weekend?' He disturbed my thoughts.

'Writing,' I replied. Mycroft had gotten me a job at the local paper; a column of random musings. I half suspected that Mycroft made the position up just so that I had a job; I needed the money so I wasn't going to complain.

'How do you fancy getting away?' He asked; sat in a more open position on the couch.

'A case? Where we going; Spain, New York, China?' I asked; my imagination going wild.

'Wales.' He replied.

'Wales? What's in Wales?'

'It's not for a case; I just want to get away.' He insisted, I smiled but shook my head. It sounded like heaven for me but I couldn't do it to him. I thought about all the writing I could get done in such a peaceful environment before is dissolved into an image of all the writing I wouldn't get done because Sherlock would need constant entertainment and attention; or at the very least a distraction.

'It's the middle of nowhere; you're going to be bored out of your high functioning mind.' I insist. It was such a nice thought; that was enough to make me happy. I walked away and into the kitchen to hide the disappointment that would not leave my face. I didn't want him thinking I considered it an empty offer. I knew he wanted to take me; I just also knew he wouldn't cope.

'I'll get lost in your beauty.' He joined me in the kitchen. 'Please-' he paused. '-Sam.' He threw his arms around my waist.

'Ok.' I giggled. 'Our first weekend away; what should I pack?' I mused turning to face him.

'Oh nothing will do.' He claimed my lips.

'Right,' I planted a final kiss on his lips. What I had intended to be a soft kiss, he turned into a battle of the sense that left me breathless. 'I have to go meet Sarah at the bottom of the street; we have self defence class.'

'Stay and pin me between your legs instead.' He kissed my neck and my resolve was almost gone; his appetite was vivacious.

'You're like a fifteen-year-old boy who's discovered his penis for the first time.' I groaned weakly as he continued to kiss my collarbone; unbuttoning my shirt with his exploring hand.

'No, just one who's discovered it works better with an attachment.' He kissed me deeply to distract me from the fact that he was picking me up to sit me on the kitchen table. I did not deny him. Sarah was going to kill me; but I was not going to be able to leave now; not unless an intervention was made.

'Miss Doyle,' I heard a soft knock at the door and I was able to remove myself from the table and fix my shirt before Mrs Hudson shuffled into the living room. 'Miss Telfod's downstairs looking for you.'

'Thank you Mrs Hudson.' I mutter, embarrassed that we'd almost been caught and that I'd almost let him win. I saw the twinkle in his eye that let me know that it had been his plan all along. I collected my things before returning to Sherlock. 'Behave yourself.' I warned before giving him a soft, lingering kiss.

Sarah and I had joined the self defence class near her apartment at the request of John and Lestrade. Sherlock, of course, saw it as pointless. It had come about because we had an 'aftermath' meeting with the team at Scotland Yard. I'd asked John if he would show me how to use a gun. He said he would if I completed a self defence course first. Lestrade agreed that it was a good idea and gave me a few names. Sarah came along more as company than anything else; not that John was complaining.

We were now sat in the cafe below her apartment, sipping coffee, after the class. Sarah had chosen to sit out for today; watching instead as I gained praise from the instructor. I was determined to pass so I could handle a gun in time for Moriarty's return.

'How are things?' She asked. 'I don't mean for you to take this the wrong way but I thought that maybe he would have-'

'Gotten bored by now?' I laughed.

'No! I thought he would have irritated the hell out of you by now. You don't seem to be the type of person to put up with the crap that John does.' She explained.

'Well I offer him something that John can't and it seems to be keeping him in line.' I wink.

'And you didn't think that interested him?' She smiled. 'What about the rest? Have you decided if you want it?'

'What; Marriage, baby and the quiet life?' I asked and she nodded. 'I haven't thought about it.' My attempt at nonchalance didn't work on her. 'Except that I have and I do!' I blushed. 'Well, marriage I can do without. The quite life; I can give up because I love how excited he gets when he gets the call for a new case.'

'The baby?' She asked me.

'I want the baby. Not right now but some day.' I chewed my lip 'he can't have an intelligent conversation with anything prepubescent.' I groaned my head falling to the table in frustration. 'He hot footed it all the way to Japan when I told him about my connection to Moriarty; imagine what he'd do with this information?' I mused for a moment. 'But what about you?' I watched a bashful, excited blush creep onto her face. 'Nooooo?'

'I don't know yet.' She hushed me. 'I'm about three weeks late. Sam, I'm going to ask John to move in with me. How do you think Sherlock will react?'

'He's got me.' I repeated my declaration that I told her months ago.