Hi guys! I just wanted to thank you all for your support. Since I posted this in July, things have been nothing but wonderful. I am so glad that I overcame my doubts and decided to publish this story almost six months ago. I can't believe how much time has passed and the amount of encouragement that I continue to receive from you guys is absolutely astonishing. Thank you Anna B, Grace, Jess Marilyn, and Witty Lady for your reviews! You guys never cease to make my day.

IMPORTANT!

I've been working on something this week that I thought would be a fun little project for both me and my readers - a blog for Katherine.

In the preceding chapters, I may have mentioned once or twice that Katherine wrote letters to Sherlock that no one ever read. So, I decided to turn those unpublished letters into blog entries dedicated to Sherlock. I'm putting the link in my profile if any of you want to check it out. There is also a page where you may contact me personally with suggestions or ideas for the letters if you wish, as I would love as much participation in this project as possible.

As for the amount of letters, I'm not sure about that yet. It depends on how much response I receive from the blog I suppose. However, I am SO very excited to be doing this and I hope you enjoy it as well!

Until next week!

-lightinside

Two years before…

I bounced through the flat, singing quietly along to the music that was blaring in my headphones as I made my way to the kitchen. It was lunchtime and I knew that there was no way that Sherlock would ever leave his microscope long enough to realize that he was probably as hungry as I was.

Even though he didn't have a case, I knew that he would be busy experimenting on something odd to keep his restlessness at bay. And that meant that I wouldn't see very much of him. I never did, really, even on the weekends. Not when he was like this.

But halfway through the second song on my playlist that could now be heard aloud as I cooked, I felt him in the doorway and turned to look.

"I didn't expect to see you anytime soon." I told him, turning back to the stove.

"You shouldn't spend so much time alone." Sherlock said suddenly, breezing past all pleasantries. "You never go out. You should. Don't you have friends?"

I stood there for a minute or so, completely silent. I wanted to tell him that yes, I did have friends once. I wanted to tell him that ever since John's death that none of them really wanted to be around me. I think it was because no one knew what to say. And how can you be close to someone if that's the case? It had been months since I had seen anyone, excluding my parents and Dana. And I realized that I much preferred it that way, at least right now. I didn't want to put on airs for people and have to pretend that I was alright just because they were much too fragile to deal with me being any less than exuberant.

"Is this your way of telling me that you want to be left alone?" I asked finally, voice quiet.

"If I wanted to be left alone, Katherine, I would tell you." Sherlock remarked dryly. "I assumed that you had a life outside of this flat."

"I do."

"Well, you certainly aren't living it."

My eyes wandered back over to his tall form, leaning on the doorframe with ease until he caught my eye. I watched the muscles in his jaw tense and I watched as he slowly righted himself so that he was standing as straight as an arrow. The thought that I made him uncomfortable could have been funny, I supposed, if I had realized it any other time. But now, it was during a serious and fairly personal conversation. This wasn't the time to find him funny.

In answer to his question, I reached over and cut off the stove before retrieving my phone and silencing the music that had been playing.

"I'll be back later." I told him as I exited the kitchen. "I'm going to get something to eat."

Sherlock's brows furrowed, but he pushed me no further. And as I grabbed my things and made my way out the door, I said nothing and heard nothing from him – no protest, no goodbye. And I supposed that it was just as well.

After all, that was what we were to each other at the time.

Nothing.

Present...

In the back of my mind, I knew I must have looked like a fool. There I was, standing on his doorstep, hand clasping the crooked knocker on the door and not moving an inch. When I exited the cab only a few seconds before, I had been determined to get the whole ordeal over with. But now, as I stood there, I wondered if this was what I really wanted.

Thinking back on the many things that I had gone through with Sherlock, there was no denying we had a history. We had helped each other grieve for a brother and for a friend without realizing it until later and had, in turn, restored a little bit of life to the other in the process. Sherlock had unwittingly given me a way to make it through the haze of my despair and reach a place in which things had been better. And I wanted to go there again.

I didn't want things to continue as they were. Being in such a state of confusion and upset wasn't ideal and I was desperate for someone to talk to other than Dana. If I could just find the will to knock on his door, pride be damned, then I had a feeling that things would end up alright.

So, after allowing myself a total of five seconds to succumb to my anxiety, I braced myself and knocked on the door. When I took my hand away, I made sure not to straighten the brass knocker. Sherlock liked it slightly crooked to the right. I always found it funny that he wasn't very particular about anything, but he seemed to unconsciously have a need to leave everything askew. Stacks of papers, books, everything. Mycroft, I'd noticed, was the complete opposite. Everything had to be just so or it drove him mad. He could hardly stand to be in Sherlock's flat for a second longer than he had to. The mess drove him to distraction.

I was pulled from my thoughts as the door opened, revealing a surprised Mrs. Hudson standing behind it.

"Katherine?" She asked. "Dear, what are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Sherlock." I confessed quietly, wringing my hands. I didn't know how to calm my nerves, but it was too late to get back in the car and leave. "Is he home?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced up at the stairs, listening for a moment to the anguished music floating from Sherlock's flat that obviously gave me the answer I was searching for, and then back at me. "Katherine… I'm not sure…"

"Please." The word was out of my mouth before I could think twice. "Please. I need to see him."

In answer, Mrs. Hudson stepped out on the stoop and closed the door behind her. "I'm going to be honest, dear. Sherlock isn't doing well. I haven't heard his violin sound that way in a very long time. And if you go up there, it needs to be in peace. I won't have you agitating him further."

"I understand." I promised. "And… I'm sorry for not coming to see you sooner."

Her eyes softened a bit. "Darling, you don't have to explain. Everyone was grieving. But… I would have appreciated a call. I did worry about you quite often."

"I know." My eyes wandered to the upstairs window and lingered there for a moment. "Do you think that you could let me have some time with him? I need to… we need to talk about everything. But after everything I said…"

"He'll talk to you, dear. He isn't angry – not with you. He's disappointed in himself, though he'd never admit it." She told me quietly, and then opened the door so that I could step inside. "Go on."

I didn't hesitate for long. And I found myself climbing the stairs eagerly, even though I was apprehensive at the melancholy sound of his music. He obviously was in one of his moods and I knew that even though I may not get much out of him regarding us, he would at least listen.

When I reached the landing, I saw the door to the living room was cracked and from it, I could just make out Sherlock's form standing close to the window, eyes closed as his fingers floated over the neck of his violin, pressing on the strings in the right way so that it created the most heartbreaking sound I could remember hearing in a very long time.

And I found myself shying away from the door with the thought that I might be the cause of his agony. But before I could back away completely, the music stopped and Sherlock's eyes opened.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

My whole body shaking as I took a step forward to answer him, I reached out and pushed the door open enough so that he would be able to see me.

"No. It's not Mrs. Hudson." I told him quietly, voice almost failing me. I was so bloody nervous that I could hardly stand up.

"Katherine?" Sherlock seemed surprised for a moment before he regained his composure. "Why are you here?" He asked coldly. "It was my understanding that you never wanted to speak to me again."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth seemed to have gone dry. So, I motioned instead to the couch. "Um… do you mind if we… sit?"

Sherlock watched me warily for a moment, trying to figure out what he was walking into if he allowed me to sit instead of sending me away. Thankfully, he put his violin down on the coffee table next to a stack of sheet music that I could see was in the process of being written. And I saw that it was his handwriting.

"You're writing again?" I asked, eyes glued to the procession of notes that stained the white paper. "I thought…"

"It seems that I've found new inspiration." He murmured, sinking down in his armchair as he looked at me. "So… you wanted to talk, then?"

"Yes." I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear in an attempt to buy myself some time. There was so much that I wanted to ask. So much that I needed to ask. But how could I even begin? How was I going to look at him and say all of the things that I had forced myself to ignore for so long?

"Then tell me what it is you want to know." Sherlock said, bringing his hands together under his chin in thought. I could only stare at him for a moment, stunned by the realization that I had missed that one small gesture so much. Seeing him sit there, studying me, it was almost a relief.

And since he wasn't protesting my obviously wanting to ask him questions, then I decided that I should just cut to the chase.

"Who did you tell?" I asked. "Your parents weren't at the funeral, so I assume they knew."

"They knew." He told me quietly. "And…"

"And?" I prodded him as gently as I could. "There had to be more, Sherlock. You couldn't have done all of this alone. I still don't know how you did it…"

"Molly Hooper." Sherlock admitted coolly. "My brother. Some of the network. No one of consequence."

"You…" Hearing that he'd told Molly of all people instead of me was a shock. I had gone to see Molly on several occasions, just to talk. Even Mycroft had visited me once or twice in an attempt, I suspected, to keep an eye on me. "Why didn't you tell me, Sherlock? I wouldn't have told anyone. You know that."

"It was necessary to keep you in the dark. Despite what you think, Katherine, you were being watched. You had to believe that I was dead."

"Necessary…"

I remembered how many times in the past I had heard him use that word before. So much, in fact, that I sometimes thought of it as his favorite. Looking at him now, so calm when everything in me was threatening to tear apart as I heard the truth, I began to wonder if Mycroft's visits were necessary. Sherlock's older brother was nothing if not painfully polite to me, but it was always clear that I meant nothing more to him than the dirt under his shoes.

When Sherlock didn't speak, I decided to go on. "Do you know what that did to me? Really. You weren't here, so I suspect that you don't."

"Of course I knew." Sherlock scoffed. "Your attachment to me before I left was… nothing if not the result of human error."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "My attachment to you?"

"It had to be eradicated." Sherlock continued. "There is not room in my life, nor will there ever be, for anything other than my work. I thought I had made that clear."

I was desperate for something, anything that would make what he was saying a lie. Something that would force him to stop hiding behind his calculations and face me like a human being.

"Then why did you have Mycroft check on me? You say you knew what I was going through. Did you have me watched while you were away?" I asked him, unflinching under his gaze. "Forgive me if I was confused as to how you felt, Sherlock, but it seems that having your brother check up on me isn't something that you would do if you didn't care."

For the first time in a very long time, the detective was speechless. I could see him trying to come up with something to say, something that would wound me beyond comprehension so that I would leave him be.

"I suppose we're all subject to human error." He murmured finally, no longer looking at me. "Katherine… why did you come here?"

"You know why I came." I told him quietly. "You know exactly why."

"It wasn't just to put your mind at ease." He shot back, eyes flashing with some emotion that I didn't quite recognize.

"I…" A sigh escaped my lips, as heavy as my heart. "Sherlock, I'm so tired. I'm tired of everything being so strained. I'm tired of being alone. And I'm –"

"You aren't alone." Sherlock reminded me cruelly. "You have… Andrew, is it? The prat who took a swing at me the night I saw you at the restaurant?"

"Is that seriously all you got out of what I just said?" I shouted, standing up from the couch in one swift movement that left me slightly dizzy. "You're unbelievable, Sherlock!"

"You moved on!" He shouted back, rising from his chair. "You said that you were doing fine without me! So why are you here?"

"The hell if I know!" I lied as I grabbed my bag and pushed my hair out of my face so that I could glare at him properly. "It was obviously a mistake."

Sherlock huffed an angry sigh as his nimble fingers wrapped around the neck of his violin again. "Obviously!"

I groaned aloud and made my way to the door, almost tripping over a stack of books in the process. I noticed as I walked past that my chair was back in its original place, the small table beside it clear as if he had left it that way just for me. And as my hand grasped the knob, I heard him mutter something under his breath just before his hand closed around my arm.

Indignant, I turned around to tell him to let go, but came face to face with him, our noses almost touching. The nearness of him stole every thought out of my head and eliminated the anger burning in my heart so quickly that I almost forgot why I was even leaving.

"Let go." I almost whispered, not even bothering to pull away from him. My eyes were glued on his, on the fire burning in them. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I wasn't even sure that I wanted to know.

The only thing that was registering in my brain was the way that the air around me felt – like it was almost buzzing. This was the first time we had been so close. Even the day I had left for Seattle… it hadn't felt like this.

"Where are you going?" He asked lowly, his grip on my arm still not loosening.

I had to get out of there. I couldn't think. And if I didn't get some fresh air soon, then I was going to end up doing something stupid. "Sherlock, I said let go."

I felt some of the pressure he was exerting on my arm lessen, but his fingers stayed where they were. "Are you coming back?"

NO, absolutely not, not after this, my brain was screaming at me. You're going to walk out of here and you're not going to look back. You're going to get to know Andrew and move on. You're going to live a life – drama free and content. Drama free and content…

"I don't know." I said, looking at the floor when I could no longer find the strength to keep looking at him.

"No, you idiot." He snarled, making my eyes snap up to his in shock. "Here. Are you coming back here? To live."

My mouth fell open. "You expect me to –"

"Well, you're not doing me a favor by moving back!" He insisted, dropping my arm finally. "I need to know so that Mrs. Hudson can lease the other bedroom."

And while every sensible bone in my body was screaming at me to say no and just leave before things could get any worse, I realized that I couldn't. No matter how much he seemed to hate me now, Mrs. Hudson's words echoed in my mind.

I realized that no matter what had happened in the past that I was up to the challenge. I could face him and get out unscathed if I wished. I could do everything but walk away. Even now… he was everything.

"I'll let you know." I said and bolted through the door before he could stop me again.

On my way down the stairs, I could feel his eyes on me and for some reason, I didn't care. I wanted him to take a good, long look at me and realize exactly what it was that he had lost. And even if he didn't now, he certainly would in a few months. If he was acting so childish over Andrew simply being on the outer circle of my life, I couldn't wait to see what would happen when he became a permanent fixture in the center of it.

Two could play at this game. And I was determined to win.