Hi, guys! I know it's Thursday, but I figured that none of you would mind actually getting a chapter earlier than usual so I just decided to go ahead and post. I'm going out of town this weekend and I'll be busy all through the holidays, so I'm not sure if I'll be posting next week or not. Since all of you will most likely be busy with family as well, I thought about taking a week off. Nothing is certain yet, however, and I doubt I'll make it through the week without writing.

And thank you all for your reviews! They always mean so much to me and they're always the highlight of my week. When I check my e-mail and see those notifications there may or may not be squealing and/or jumping around involved. *cough* You can't judge me.

If you're wondering why I'm so chipper, I've had a fantastic day! I GOT MY PERMIT! Being fifteen feels so great. It's just... wow. I can driveeeeee! So happy. Just... yes.}

I also didn't really have time to edit (whoops) so please excuse any mistakes you may find, as I'm sure there may be a few. If I see them after I post, I'll try to go back and fix it, but I'm packing for my trip. Which is exactly the reason that I'm sitting around on my computer right now. This counts, right?

Until... probably next week!

-lightinside

It had been almost a week since my conversation with Sherlock. A week of ignoring Andrew's calls, avoiding Dana, and mulling over exactly what it was that I had gotten myself into. And I knew that it was time to face everyone – including the consulting detective that never seemed to stop being at the center of all of my predicaments. He made me so crazy! I had gone to see him in the hopes that we could talk everything over and finally be alright, not knowing that we would end up arguing and that I would be such a fool as to even consider moving back in just to spite him.

As if the universe was determined to make things even worse, my phone buzzed on the coffee table where it had been sitting since the night before when I had fallen asleep on the couch reading a book. I sighed and picked it up, heart in my throat as I saw that it was from Andrew.

I'm starting to worry. Please call me. – A

Groaning, I tossed my phone back down and buried my face in one of the sofa cushions.

"Dammit!" I shouted, the sound muffled by the cushion.

Things were now even more complicated than they had been at the start of this mess, as if that was even possible. I caught myself wondering what my life would have been like if I had never gotten those first text messages from Sherlock after the funeral three years ago. I wondered where I would be now. If I would be married and settled down, happy, almost drama free, and content like I wished for almost every day now. And then I banished the concept from my mind as quickly as it had come. There was no way that would ever happen. Not when things were like this. I seemed to be a magnet for trouble, heartache, and grief, but by now I found that I was slowly becoming able to handle it.

I knew that somewhere deep down, I was addicted to a certain type of lifestyle and that this course that I found myself on… it was just who I was. There was no changing that.

And so, I lifted my head from the cushion and reached for my phone.

I'm alright. Explain over lunch today?

As soon as I sent the text to Andrew, my heart clenched in my chest. For a moment or two, the notion that he could be upset with me was bothersome and I wondered why that was. Before I could ponder over it too much, an answer came.

Of course. Pick you up at eleven. – A

As I glanced at my clock, I saw that eleven o'clock was less than thirty minutes away. Either he was eager to see me or I was making him very nervous. Possibly both. I didn't waste any time getting ready, however, and by the time I was through, I could hear my bell ringing just as I began slipping my arms in my coat.

The moment I opened the door, I could tell that something was wrong.

"Hey." I offered shyly, stepping outside. "I'm sorry that I haven't been around the last few days. Things have gotten…"

"Are you really alright, Katherine? That's all I need to know right now." Andrew said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he stared sheepishly at me. "I've been trying to give you your space since everything happened with Sherlock, but that didn't stop me from worrying."

"I'm fine now, Andrew." I promised as we began to walk, looping my arm through his. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

"It's just…" Andrew stopped walking and sighed heavily before continuing. "Damn it, I like you. This is the worst time to say something like that and I know it, but I really like you, Katherine. And I… I want to know you. Really know you."

I stood there for a second, not sure of what to say about the sudden turn of events. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I wanted the same.

"I want that, too." I said after we began walking again. "But… if you still want that after what I have to tell you, then I'll be surprised."

Andrew snorted. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

I raised an eyebrow and pursed my lips, hiding my face with my hair so that he couldn't see the skepticism written all over my expression. "Well… I'm thinking about having a flat-share with Sherlock."

Andrew pulled me to a stop, eyes wide. "You what?"

"I'm out of a job and rent is expensive. I don't know how much longer I can stay in this flat without having to dip into my savings. It's economical… and we have history, Andrew." I confessed. "I can't deny that. But things between us don't go beyond friendship, they never really have. And I don't quite know if we're even friends at the moment."

"Then why on earth would you move back in with him?" Andrew asked me. "I honestly don't get it."

"He doesn't affect me anymore." I said, partially ignoring his question as I lied and pushed the thought of my closeness with Sherlock during his outburst from my mind. "Things will never be the way they were. It's been two years. I'm fine."

Andrew sighed, shaking his head. "Have you told anyone else?"

"No." I admitted. "And I'm only thinking about it. Nothing is certain yet."

"It seems pretty certain to me, hearing you talk about it." Andrew remarked, avoiding my eye. "And I can't tell you not to, but I think it's a mistake."

"Where else would I go?" I asked him. "I can't move in with Dana because she doesn't live here anymore. Her brother is out of the question. I'm certainly not going to live with one of my parents. What do you suggest I do?"

"I could help you with your rent." Andrew offered. "It's not ideal, I know, but I could."

"Absolutely not!" I insisted, immediately in opposition to the idea. "I would never take your money. I couldn't. I know you want to help and that's… I'm flattered, but I couldn't."

"Well, I would say that you could move in with me," he teased, "but you haven't even let me kiss you yet."

"Andrew." I scolded, smacking his arm lightly. "That's not funny."

He laughed anyway, lightening the mood considerably. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself." And then his laughter stopped as he faced me seriously, but the mischievous glint was still there in his eyes. "Seriously, though."

"Andrew!" I groaned, but this time, I was laughing too. "God, I honestly don't know what to do with you sometimes. This is supposed to be serious."

"I know. I'm sorry." He said, still chuckling to himself. "But you needed to laugh."

"I suppose I did." I returned gratefully. For a moment, I could almost see us together, Andrew and I. He did know how to make me laugh when it seemed almost impossible. And he had defended me the night Sherlock had come home and had made no judgments against me when I had told him of my thoughts on taking a flat share with Sherlock again. He seemed to care for me. These were some of the small things that love was built on, I realized. I may not have loved him then, but I knew that I could grow to love him.

"So, what are you – "

Before Andrew could finish his question, my phone began to ring. I pulled it out, apologizing for the interruption, and saw on the screen a number that I didn't recognize. After another second of hesitation, I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Katherine Watson?" A woman's voice inquired on the other end of the line.

Dread shot through me. I knew in my heart what kind of call this was. I had made these calls before. "This is she." I croaked, suddenly sick to my stomach.

"This is Julia Crawley, from St. Bart's Hospital. I'm calling in regard to your father."

"What happened to him?" I demanded, trying to ignore the way the world was spinning. The hospital was calling me. This was not a good thing, not at all. "Is he alright?"

"He's been in an accident. I'm afraid he isn't doing too well, but –"

I hung up the phone, not caring to hear the rest of what she had to say. I could faintly hear Andrew saying my name and I could feel his hands on my arms, trying to get me to stop long enough to tell him what happened but I couldn't. I had to find a cab. I had to get to my father.

"Katherine!" Andrew yanked me to a stop, but I continued to frantically scan the street with my eyes for any sign of a cab that could take me to the hospital.

"My dad was in an accident!" I was almost shouting. "Just help me find a cab, for God's sake!"

Somehow, he did and by the time we arrived at Bart's, I had alerted my mother, Dana, and my brother Harry to the fact that Dad had been in an accident. I didn't know how I managed to make the calls without bursting into tears, but I had to stay as calm as possible. I certainly didn't want to frighten my mother beyond necessary. The moment the words were from my mouth, she was hysterical. And I knew without a doubt that she would be there when I walked through the doors.

But as I got out of the car, I stopped. My eyes wandered over to the spot a few yards away where…

…

"This phone call, it's, uh…" Sherlock sniffed and fell silent for what felt like forever. "It's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

…

"Katherine?" Andrew put his hand on my elbow, startling me. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." I managed, tearing my eyes away from the walkway. There was no reason for it to upset me so. Sherlock wasn't dead. He was absolutely fine. Everything was okay. "I'm fine."

I gently pulled my arm away so that I could walk ahead and into the hospital without being slowed down. The moment I rounded the corner, I saw my mother sitting in one of the chairs by the nurse's station, head in her hands.

"Mum." I rushed to her side and into her arms as she stood up, still crying. "Have they told you anything?"

"He's in surgery." She told me, swiping at her eyes. "There's a lot of… internal bleeding. He was driving to the shop and he couldn't see the light… I told him he shouldn't drive, Katherine. I told him he needed new glasses. I told him!"

"Mum, it's alright." I told her softly, crying myself now. "He'll be fine. It's Dad. He'll be absolutely fine."

My mum regained her composure after another moment and seemed to notice Andrew for the first time. "Darling, who is this?"

I glanced at Andrew who smiled as best as he could and waited for me to introduce him. "This is…" And it was in that moment that I caught sight of the most peculiar thing coming through the front doors of the hospital. "Sherlock…" I breathed.

"What?" My mother asked, but I wasn't listening.

"Excuse me for a moment." I murmured and brushed past my mother and then Andrew as Sherlock came closer. As I approached him, the only thought running through my mind was how strange it would be that he was here so soon after the accident. Especially when I hadn't called him. And when I found out who had… well, that still didn't explain the reason why he had decided to take it upon himself to actually come here.

"Dana called the flat." He murmured, as if reading my mind. "Said she was stuck in traffic and couldn't get here as quickly as she would have liked and wondered if I would… well, I came."

The tears that I had been holding back seemed to defy my wishes and spilled over my cheeks in an instant. "Um…" I glanced toward the ceiling as I wiped them away swiftly. "Thank you. So much, Sherlock."

"You shouldn't be alone." Sherlock told me gently, which seemed completely out of character, and motioned to my mother, who was staring at the both of us as if we'd grown extra limbs. "And neither should your mum. I'm not going anywhere."

I wondered if he'd just decided to ignore the fact that Andrew was there also, but he never did say. I cast him one last grateful glance and walked back over to my mum.

"What is he doing here?" She murmured none too discreetly as she continued to stare at Sherlock, who was now lingering at the edge of the room.

"Sherlock is here for me." I told her. "Dana knew that I would need someone with me until she could get here and she called him."

"What about Andrew?" She asked. "He seems like a nice young man."

"A nice young man that you've known all of five seconds, mother." I reminded her, glancing around to see just where Andrew had wandered off to. "Speaking of, where did he go?"

"He excused himself when he saw Sherlock." Her voice was accusatory, as if it was my fault that there was tension between the two men. And after another pause, she sighed. "I'm going to see if I can find out anything more from the nurses. You can… clean up this mess."

I resented that more that I would ever say aloud at the moment and allowed her to walk away from me without another word. Sherlock, seeing there was no one with me, walked over and stood by my side without a word until I turned to him.

"I'm glad you're here." I confessed quietly, damning decency to hell. "I… I came by the flat last week to tell you that I wanted us to be friends again. I didn't admit it because I'm… I don't know."

Sherlock watched me for a few seconds, eyes wide as if he was surprised by my words. "I thought… Katherine, you hated me."

"Oh, no, Sherlock." I was trying to keep my emotions in check; trying with all of my heart to say the words I needed to without blubbering. The moment I did would be the moment he thought that the stress of having my father on an operating table was what was motivating me to say all of these things when really, it was the fact that I realized finally that he was here. Sherlock was alive and standing in front of me and I would be a fool to waste any more time than had already been lost. "No, I… I wanted to, desperately, when you came back. I thought that if I could just hate you that it wouldn't hurt so much. But I couldn't hate you." I sniffed, pausing for a moment. "I don't have it in me. Never have. Never will."

Sherlock rocked on his heels in thought for a moment before responding. "I apologize. For shouting at you when you came to see me. I…" He cleared his throat. "That was unnecessary."

"I'm sorry for everything." My voice cracked and I stopped speaking until I was sure wasn't going to cry. "For what I said on the street that night. For hitting you. For refusing to listen to you. For trying to hate you. I'm so sorry."

When he didn't say anything in return, I sighed shakily and leaned with my back against the wall, looking down at my feet so he couldn't see that I had finally lost my composure. So that he couldn't see that I was crying because of my worry for my father and because of everything that we had put each other through.

And after another minute, I heard him sigh. I felt something brush against my arm and I realized that it was him, leaning on the wall next to me. He didn't say anything. He didn't offer an apology or try to comfort me in any way. But having him there with me… well, for the moment, it was enough.

It was more than enough.