The day after next was a bad day, and it was not such an uncommon occurrence, but It was the first time Sherlock had witnessed it. She was placed alone in a room she couldn't hurt herself or other inmates. She stared at the small barred window that let a sliver of silver moonlight into the cell. She let out a sigh as the door opened, so the orderlies could give her dinner. She glanced up to see Sherlock as he shut the door. She was surprised to see him, but she really shouldn't have been.

"How… oh nevermind," she rolled her eyes turning her attention back to the window. She was slightly ashamed he was seeing her in the state she was in. If she had it her way, he wouldn't even be there. He would be somewhere moving on with his life forgetting the ghost that manage to slip into his life.

"What happened?" he asked her as he slowly sat down across from her against the door. She sighed again not wanting to talk about it. "Ginny?" he questioned after several minutes of silent contemplation.

"I had a nightmare," she told him finally. "They tried to drug me when I woke up screaming, and… I fought back. Hurt them pretty bad. Sent two to the hospital."

"What was the dream about?" he questioned. She opened her mouth and closed it for a moment while she considered what to tell him. To tell him the truth would be letting him in, letting him know her fears. She glanced at him. She didn't want to burden him, but at the same time, it was agreed upon: mutual support.

"James," she started talking a breath to continue. "I dreamt he came back, and I collapsed again."

"You don't care for him?" he wondered aloud. He was surprised and pleased by the revelation.

"My feelings are… conflicting," she admitted slowly. "Raine adores him, so in some aspect, so do I, but he also is the reason I relapsed, the reason my brother and I started killing people, and the reason you had to fake your death, and yet, he is my poison. I would still going back to him despite what I know it would do to me. However, I'm not sure what I feel. It's hard."

Sherlock stood and sat down next to her not sure how to feel about this information. He was stung that even now she would go back to him. "Cigarette?" he asked shaking a pack of Sobranie Black. She laughed and took them from him before he lit it for her. She took a deep drag on it before blowing the smoke in his face. He inhaled the fumes before she shifted and put her head on his lap. He leaned over and took in the smoke as his hand entangled in the curls that had reset since her time as Ursa. "Even now... you would go to him if he called?" he asked her quietly.

"He's dead, Sherlock," she replied taking another drag on the cigarette.

"But if you wasn't?" he asked.

"Hypotheticals are not like you," she reminded him. "Are you jealous?"

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed.

"Oh my God," she laughed. "You are!" He scowled shoving her off him making her laugh. "Sherlock!" But he blatantly ignored her. "Sherlock," she purred cupping one cheek with one of her hands, so he was forced to look at her. "I won't go back to him," he grunted in reply as her hand slid to the back of his heck, "because I don't know how I feel about him, but I know I love you. I really do."

She wasn't sure how it happened. She really wasn't, but within what seemed like the span of a few seconds, her cigarette was abandoned on the ground burning into the floor, and her lips became as preoccupied as her hands were as Sherlock kissed her and pulled at her clothes. She honestly didn't think he had it in him, lust that is, but apparently, she was wrong, very wrong, and she was very pleased with that. She ripped off his suit jacket annoyed that he had to wear so many layers before she started on the buttons, so many buttons.

"Ginny," he panted as his hands traveled up dragging her shirt with him and over her head. It was discarded to the side allowing him to focus on her bare skin with not just his hands that slid their way up her spine pulling her, so that she was straddling him, but with his lips as he focused on her collar bone and inhaled the lavender that was intoxicating him.

"Sherlock," she moaned in a strangled breath when one of his hands began exploring the soft tissue of her breast. She pulled him back into a kiss as her hand reached for the button on his trousers. There was a moment of realization, and Sherlock pushed her back hard enough that she fell off him and onto her back banging her head on the floor. "Ow!" she shouted at him rubbing her head in agitation.

"No," he told her as he began to buttoning his shirt.

"What?" she asked him flatly sitting up just enough to look at him. "Sherlock Holmes, I'm already half way there, and I know for a fact you are, too."

"We've talked about this," he reminded her as he tucked his shirt back in and ignoring her own deduction. Sometimes being male came with an unfair disadvantage to the deduction of arousal, he mused in annoyance.

"No, I really don't think we have," she snorted sitting up all the way now.

"I told you we can discuss this when you come home," he growled pulling on his jacket. He wasn't breaking on this subject. He wasn't an idiot. He knew when it comes to his own desires he did seek to have her, but he wouldn't budge on the subject. He refused to entertain the notion of sex until she agreed to come home; it gave her an incentive, and any cards he had that would convince her to come home was worth keeping.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" she shouted looking like she debating between trying to kill him and giving up. She chose the latter throwing herself on the ground with a sigh. "I hate you."

"Well, there's a simple solution, isn't there? Come home," he begged leaning over her to look down at her.

"I can't," she told him annoyed with both his persistence, and his methods to get what he wants.

"Ginny, everyone misses you," he whispered as she avoided looking at him, "but none of those idiots really matter. I miss you, and that matters."

"Sherlock, it's too soon," she replied finally looking to him despite still being displeased with the turn of events.

"But that doesn't mean no. That means at a later time," he smiled.

"Maybe," she uttered, "we'll see." She leaned up and gently kissed him before laying back down. She curled her hand around his shirt and pulled him down giving him no choice but to lie with her. "If it wouldn't be too much to ask, will you stay with me just for a little while? I just want to sleep."

"What does my presence do?"

"It makes me feel safe, stay?"

"I'll stay," he assured her.

"Thank you," she murmured before shutting her eyes and falling into a deep sleep void of any dreams. Sherlock allowed himself to watch her for a substantial amount of time before he himself had fallen asleep.

The door to the locked room opened allowing a sliver of artificial light to fall on the pair waking Sherlock, but not Ginny, who was still wrapped up against him. Doctor Walker stood in the doorway waiting for Sherlock to acknowledge him. Sherlock looked up to him.

"What?" he asked as if he shouldn't have been surprised with the scene in front of him, and honestly, Walker wasn't.

"Bring Ginevra to her room, and come up to my office," he told him before leaving. Sherlock stood picking Ginny up and cradling her against him careful not to jostle her in fear of waking her.

After her putting her to bed, Sherlock turned and went up to Doctor Walker's office. The man was sitting, waiting for him to appear. Sherlock was unimpressed from what he observed of the man and didn't trust him to help Ginevra.

"Mr. Holmes, sit," he told him pointing to the chair across from him. He really didn't want to comply, but his mind was still foggy from sleeping, so he did as he was told. "My job is to help Ginevra," he began, but Sherlock quickly cut him off.

"We'll you've failed, haven't you?" Sherlock retorted. "You cured her, threw her back in the world, and look what happened. She relapsed; she went mental."

"I am aware of that," Doctor Walker told him calmly, "and I was aware that could happen when I released her. Ginevra is one of my most interesting patients. I treated her mother when she was younger as well as her father. I've treated both of her brothers and even had a couple sessions with her sister. Ginevra seeks acceptance of her character… of what she can give. Her illness stems from the idea that she is simply not enough for anyone."

"I'm quite aware. What's your point?"

"I have watched you and Ginevra interact over the past few days. You are reckless, arrogant, and stubborn. I have no doubt you are riddled with your own problems that you should probably see a psychiatrist for-"

"I've seen twelve over the span of my life, but they are all far too stupid and far too boring to be of use," he told him offhandedly. "High-functioning sociopath, if you're wondering."

"I'm not so sure about the prognosis," Doctor Walker admitted before he let out a sigh.

"If you're trying to get me to stay away-"

"The exact opposite actually," he replied surprising Sherlock, a rare feat. "You are all those things, but you are also good for her. The days she sees you are always good days. The days she doesn't are always bad days. She speaks fondly of you, and you give her what she desires. You give her someone who doesn't seek to change, someone who loves her for the way she is. In a couple weeks, I'm going to try and suggest that she be released under your care. She may not agree with me; she may fight me, but I can't do anything for her. I can't give her that feeling of acceptance. I can't heal her, and I can't watch her spend the rest of her life in here. I care for that girl; I feel for her more than any other patient. She was made not born. Will you be seeing her tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Good. She's rather pleasant on good days. You can go," he waved Sherlock off.

"You're still incompetent," Sherlock assured him before he left. He just had to have the last word.

"Morning." Sherlock held out a cup of coffee in front of her. She looked up to see him in a stark white patient's outfit.

"Where did you go last night?" she asked curiously not bothering to question the outfit as she reached up and took the coffee from him.

"Doctor Walker wanted a word," he replied sitting next to her under the tree on the grounds.

"Was he telling you to stay away?" she asked marking the page of the book she was reading before setting it to the side.

"Threatened me rather poorly," he lied to her as he sipped his own coffee.

"M," she uttered looking at him. "I would lay on you, but public affection is not something I desire."

"Glad we're on the same page," he answered as she breathed in her coffee before taking a sip of the hot liquid. It seeped down her throat making her sigh.

"Enjoy the little things," she sighed. "Thank you for staying last night." She said it was a little edge still annoyed with what had happened. She'll get him back one these days.

"It appears I was in need of rest as well," he answered casually choosing to ignore the tone.

"Yes, because I am so very exhausting," she rolled her eyes.

"You can be," he told her. "Most women are."

"Misogynist," she grumbled.

"You particularly are exhausting," he admitted.

"Why's that?"

"I…," he paused and muttered something she didn't hear.

"I'm sorry?" she asked hoping for a repeat.

"I said I worry," he told her, "and it's exhausting. I don't know how you people do this all the time."

"What? Worry? Its part of being human, Sherlock," she laughed. "It means you care."

"Maybe I don't want to care," he shot back venomously, but she didn't take offense.

"No one wants to. It sets you up for too much damage, but in the end, we can't help it," she uttered. "If I could stop caring about people, my life would be easier. I wouldn't be the way I am."

"I prefer the way you are," he admitted.

"And I prefer you the way you are," she smiled. "People don't change unless they actively seek to change, and that's a common mistake people make. Everyone always wants to fix the flaws of those around them, but they don't bother to fix their own."

"But you don't seek to fix me then?"

"What is there to fix?" she asked him curiously before she smiled and rested her head on her knees that had been huddled to her chest.

"Many people have not been so polite in telling me I'm a rude, arrogant, all around arsehole."

"You are," she agreed with a laugh, "but I like that about you." She paused for a moment as she considered what to tell him. "There are two types of people. There are those that don't see the flaws in people until it's too late, and they reject them, and there are those that see the faults right away and embrace them, adore them, and the other type always seems to think that seeing the flaws in another person means that they love them less, but I don't think that's true. I think seeing those faults and loving them for it makes that love stronger, because it's not blind. So you don't need to be fixed, I love the way you are even when you are being an all around areshole."

"I would give you some sentimental drabble back about not needing to fixed, but well, you really do." She laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, I do need to be fixed. Maybe not the whole thing, but I certainly need to find the pieces I'm missing."

"Keep some cracks. It makes the view interesting," he remarked.

"If cracks keep the view interesting, I must be enormously interesting," she laughed.

"Incredibly so," he admitted, "but don't let it inflat your ego. It's unbecoming."

"Inflat my ego?" she asked outraged. "Says the man who survived a fall from St. Bart's by- a theory which I am sticking to- being cushioned by his massive ego!"

"It's rightfully deserved," he defended. "I'm much more clever than you or anyone else for that matter."

"You're an arsehole," she growled standing and marching away but not before Sherlock could have the last word.

"You like that about me," he called out causing her to give him a rather vulgar gesture as she walked away.

Sherlock wasn't expecting to find Ginny fighting with orderlies, nurses, and patients when he came to visit her two weeks later. He had visited her every day, and she always seemed to be doing well but not this time. She was screaming something vulgar, managing to get out of the orderlies grips.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked. The head nurse looked to him. She had given up trying to keep him out and decided he was good for the quiet girl, who kept herself away from others.

"Wouldn't come out of her room this morning for her session," she told him. "When I sent a nurse to check on her, she just threw a fit screaming about being left alone."

"I recall a technique used by Damon O'Hera. Do you mind?"

"If you can get a hold on her," the nurse gestured as Ginny threw a lamp at an orderly. Sherlock waited for the ideal moment before he tackled her to the ground and held her in a vice. She was still shouting.

"Get off of me! Get off! I just want to be left alone!" She struggled against him, but he had her pinned.

"What happened?" he demanded. She fought him. "What happened?" he said trying to be gentle with her. She took a deep breath.

"It's Victoria's birthday," she whispered.

"I see," he uttered not sure what to say or how to do deal with something like that. He was never good with things of a sentimental nature. "Well, we could always have a child if you'd like," he told her successfully making her pause to stare at him like he was an idiot before she started to laugh to the point she was nearly crying.

"You're an idiot," she told him.

"Come on," he said getting off her and pulling her off the floor.

"Back to work," the nurse called at the orderlies. "You can kick him out later."

"Thanks Greta," Ginny smiled at her, but it was a half smile. She looked worn down to the point of breaking.

"Here," he told her holding out her mother's fairy tale book he had refurbished for her several Christmas's ago. "I thought you might like it."

"Thank you," she muttered before kissing his cheek gently. "Will you read it to me?" she asked him quietly.

"Who said I know French?" he asked her. She gave him a teasing smile before heading to her room. She took a peek to ensure there were no orderlies around. Sherlock wasn't technically allowed in her room. No funny business. She slipped in, and he followed, but she pulled him to the bed and handed him the book. He took it from her as she curled herself at his side wrapped up in a blanket.

"What makes you think I speak French?" he asked again.

"Because you do," she replied taking two pills out from under her pillow. "Now start reading."

"What's this?" he asked her grabbing her wrist before she could pop the pill into her mouth.

"It's a sleeping pill, Sherlock. I traded a pack of cigarettes for them, an unfair trade if you ask me, but Doctor Walker insists if I don't take any psychosis medication, I don't get sleeping medication."

"Causing trouble," he tisked her. "Is that safe?"

"Yes, it's safe," she rolled her eyes pulling her wrist from him before she dry swallowed the pills. "You should know that, Holmes. Now," she rested her head on his thigh, "read."

He opened the book, and he could guess which story was her favorite easily and which one she wanted him to read to her.

"Let me guess: Little Red Riding Hood," he mocked.

"Actually, as you can clearly read, Le Petit Chaperon Rouge," she replied. "And yes." He questioned to himself why he was reading a children's tale to her. It was completely pointless, yet he knew he would never hear the end to it if he didn't, so he began.

"You're French is lousy," she muttered half asleep. "You speak it through your nose."

"Furmer la bouche," he ordered making her grin before she settled in. Her eyes fell shut, and by the time he had finished the story, she was fast asleep.

The door to the room opened, and he looked up to see the head nurse Greta gesturing for him to come out of the room. So, he carefully moved Ginny from his lap and left her allowing him to be escorted out.

Ginny smiled at the table nervously as she fiddled with the edge of the white shirt.

"Hello," she told them blinking a little more than necessary. She was nervous, and Sherlock could see it so easily. This was the first time John and Mary would be meeting her as Ginny.

"Hello, Ginevra," Mary grinned hugging the woman. Ginny seemed unsure what to do about that.

"Hello," she squeaked again not returning the hug.

"Sherlock's just been going on about you, so it's nice to meet you," Mary told her pulling away.

"He has?" she asked sending him a teasing glance.

"I've been telling them of your progress nothing more," he argued.

"Oh, but it's obvious how much he cares about you," Mary replied rolling her eyes. She gestured to a chair, and Ginny sat down next to Sherlock in the visitation room. She was scratching at her hand nervously under the table causing Sherlock to encircle her wrist with his hand.

"Is it?" she asked looking at him before uttering her assessment. "He's still static."

"Static?" Mary asked with a frown.

"She's empathic," Sherlock told them. "It means she can feel the state of emotion other people are in except for me."

"He's static," she finished, "and I hate it."

"Does that really exist?" Mary questioned looking between the two of them.

"Think of emotions like magnets," he told her. "The closer they get to each other the more they are affected. Our bodies run on electricity. We have sensors everywhere: in our skin, in our organs: everywhere. Emotions are nothing more than biological responses to a situation, so when an empath gets close to another person, the energy one person is feeling will transfer to the receptors on the empath and trigger the brain to have the same response. Hormone levels will drop and/or increase making the empath feel the same as the person originally exhibiting the emotion."

"Brilliant,"Ginny uttered staring at him. Sherlock looked at her and did a double take seeing her dilated pupils. The hand on her wrist checked her pulse to find it elevated. He gave a slight smile pleased that he elicited such a response in her.

"I'm," John started but had to clear his throat when interrupting the obvious sexual tension between the two. "I'm glad you decided to take visitors," John told her shifting. She watched him wearily.

"I didn't want to, but Sherlock's teamed up with Doctor Walker to make my life hell," she replied.

"I have not," he rebutted.

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock Holmes," she told him giving him a sideglance. "I've noticed that the orderlies and nurses are much nicer to you, and how you've been spouting similar words as Doctor Walker even if you veil it behind arrogance and pretentious wording."

"We aren't trying to make you miserable," he rolled his eyes.

"It feels like it," she told him, "but in this case, I suppose I'm inclined to agree with you… even if I don't like it, and I slightly resent you for it."

"Strange because on more than one occasion I've been told you love me," he mused causing her to roll her eyes before with a hard kick to his chair he went flying to the ground ripping his hand from her wrist.

"Completely unbearable, that man," she told Mary and John as she put her folded hands on the table to prevent her from scratching at herself.

"Agreed," John laughed holding out his hand making her laugh as they shook.

"Yes, well now that you've have great fun at my expense can we move on," Sherlock grumbled throwing himself back in the chair next to Ginny.

"So do you find yourself going back to Baker Street anytime soon?" Mary asked Ginny causing Sherlock to snap his full undivided attention to her as he too was curious about that very same question.

"I… I'm not sure," she admitted picking at her nails. "Doctor Walker thinks I will improve enough to um… go back to Baker Street and get a job and do boring things, but he said, in the end, it's up to me, and I'm not sure… I have to see."

"Well, you don't want to spend the rest of your life in here, do you?" Mary asked.

"Sometimes I think it's for the better," she admitted looking out the window avoiding the gaze of the three. "How's Damon? Is he still drinking?"

"No," John told her. "He quit when he and Myra became in engaged. Neither of them are occupying Baker Street. They found a nice house, in a nice neighborhood."

"He's think about leaving the criminal life behind," Sherlock informed her, "though he has yet to say it aloud. With a child on the way, he fears bringing her into that life."

"Did you deduce that?" Ginny asked him.

"Yes."

"Is he angry with me?"

"No," Sherlock told her, "at least from what I've seen. He's more saddened than he was angry. He worries that he will lash out in anger at you."

"He should be angry with me," she mumbled looking down at the table.

"You could not help it any more than Missy could help being mentally ill, and he understands that," Sherlock assured her.

"Just because he understands that doesn't mean that it's easily forgiven," she replied looking suddenly sullen. "How's the baby?" Ginny asked Mary changing the subject.

"Well," Mary said brightly patting her still unrevealing stomach, "but it is still the first trimester." Mary seemed hesitant on her next sentence, but Sherlock assured her all things can be talked about. "I heard you had a baby… Victoria? Any tips for a new mother?" Ginny smiled gently.

"Hope for the best, be ready for the worst," she answered.

"What was she like?" Mary asked. "Victoria, that is."

"She… joyful. She laughed a lot… smart, too. Smarter than me and beautiful. Completely and utterly beautiful and kind." She took a deep breath. "I'm… tired," she told them standing. "I'm going to rest." Sherlock's hand grabbed her wrist again and a silent conversation passed between the two as he tried to ask if she was alright. She have him a small reassuring smile telling him that she wasn't, not really, but she didn't want him to know that. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sherlock," she mumbled.

"Tomorrow," he agreed before she walked off.

"I didn't mean to upset her," Mary told him as they began to leave the hospital walking down the blank hallway passed orderlies, patients, and nurses.

"You didn't," Sherlock assured her. "Ginny is sensitive right now and being around people exhausts her. I'll go talk to her." Sherlock turned on his heels and went after her. He found her lying in bed curled up in a ball hiding under her blankets "Ginny?" he questioned taking a handful of her blanket, but he didn't get much farther as her own hand shot out and pulled him under the blanket rather clumsily with her. He rearranged the blanket as she buried her head against his chest.

"Don't make me go out there," she whispered.

"I won't," he assured her, but he sounded pained with the promise. It was only a matter of time before he would push her to go out, to leave the place she could be left in peace. It was only a matter of time before he had to press her to move on, and he hated having to take this peace, even a false one, from her.

A/N: Thanks to reviewers: TinkerbellxO, zare . downey . okumura, Dream01, and hannahhobnob. I'll see you all next Saturday.