"Well, here we are," Jen said with a smile looking at Sherlock's grave. "It's sort of dull. Your headstone, I mean. So I brought something to plant," she said holding up the pot in her hands. "Don't worry. It's Belladonna. I thought you know I wanted to plant something pretty, and you would appreciate something deadly. It's a nice mix." She kneeled down and gently dug up the dirty planting the Belladonna before she stood and brushed herself off. "Well there," she smiled, "now you have something nice at your grave." Jen sighed. "Look, I've never been good at this sort of thing. I hate goodbyes, you know? But I thought… for you… I'd try. I don't know if you saw the papers, or if you saw the graffiti around town, but uh… yeah. It was me trying to tell you that I… you know… I care... and stuff…" Why was it so awkward to talk about this even now? He was... "…and you know that just really sucks since your dead. I thought… I thought just this once I would be able to hold on to something I love. I thought maybe if I didn't admit to myself that I cared for you then you wouldn't leave, but you did, and I don't blame you. I know… well… I know that you did this for John and I." She ran her fingers through her hair. "But anyway, um… I just… thank you. Really, thank you for being Sherlock Holmes. You were a real asshole sometimes, but sometimes, sometimes you were not the kindest person nor the best, but you were what I needed. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. I'll see you around." Ginny kissed her hand before pressing it to the headstone lingering for a minute before she turned on her heels.

As her car roared to life and rolled out of the cemetery, Sherlock Holmes stepped out from behind the tree near his gravestone. He stared at the Belladonna thoughtfully having heard every word she had said.

"I, Sherlock Holmes, still owe my life to Ginevra Lorraine," he muttered before turning away to leave the cemetery.

Jen slowly packed away Sherlock's papers and anything that would be of no use to her that belonged to him. She didn't have the heart to throw anything out. It was decided she couldn't see Sherlock's flat changed. So Damon would live in the flat downstairs, and she would live in the flat upstairs. She would be moving into John's old room since he had moved out. Sherlock's room would go untouched except for the boxes that she slowly moved in there stacking one on top of the other. She paused and looked around the room.

She realized that she had never been in Sherlock's room. She took a brief moment to look around. It was surprisingly neat with an ivory patterned wallpaper and a window that let in plenty of natural light. He had a picture of a periodic table hanging up as well as a picture that was written in some sort of kanji; it was a martial arts certification. There was also a picture of a labeled skeleton and several other small pictures hanging. The furniture all matched with a pleasing wood being made of most of it including the headboard, dresser, and mirror. There were three shelves stalked with numerous items of numerous subjects.

All in all, the room was very Sherlock, and she casually strolled around the room not filled with sadness, but with curiosity at a man she thought she knew but really didn't. It was by sheer accident or perhaps by fate, that she accidentally hit a standing lamp which then hit a metal box in the closet causing it to fall off and smack Jen right in the head.

She whined holding her head in pain and kicking the stupid box before she realized it was a fire proof box. She picked up the shoebox size container and stared at it before sitting on Sherlock's bed. It had a dial on it waiting for a set of four numbers. She assumed Sherlock would pick something random, but she just felt that this wasn't the case… not with this box. This was like Irene's phone or the box in Jen's room that remained locked at all times: this box was his heart. What lied in Sherlock's heart, she wondered.

Well, she pondered, the box was old, so it had to be something significant to Sherlock for a long time now. She thought about what she knew about Sherlock and knew she was no Sherlock. So she sent a single text to Mycroft.

Sherlock's. Passcode. Four Numbers. His heart. –Jen

8- the age Enola died at. 6- the age he solved his first case. 15- the age he decided to become a consulting detective. –Mycroft

Jen dialed in the code, and the box popped open revealing a much more interesting collection of things she would have thought. On the very top of the pile was a picture- to be more exact the picture that Sherlock hated- of him in John as Hatman and Robin. Maybe he didn't hate it after all. Underneath was a photo of her and Sherlock that she wasn't aware he had or even existed. It was the night they had fallen in the fountain; they had gotten out and stopped to sit on the edge to ring out the water causing them to fall into a fit of laugher. She wondered who took it. She smiled at the photo before she flipped it over and read his neat handwriting.

Doctor Ginevra Lorraine (Ginny)

She continued rifling through the box to discover several photos and clipping of both her and John in various scenarios with and without Sherlock. There was even a photo of Mrs. Hudson and Molly as well as a news clipping announcing Lestrade a DI. He found a few pictures of his family even. There was the one of him and Mycroft with Sherlock holding onto his big brother dressed as a pirate when he was little; the one Jen had teased him for. Jen laughed. There was one of Sherrinford teaching him to swordplay, and another of Mrs. Holmes trying to teach him violin. There was a picture of Mr. Holmes reading at a chair, and another of his uncle Alston and him sitting at a chemistry lab. She spotted a picture of him mixing chemicals while Enola looked on with wonder. She continued to riffle through the box and found a bound collection of play bills. She quickly flipped through them to find them having one thing in common: Ginny starred in them in school. The last piece she discovered was a letter from Mycroft to Sherlock that was getting up there in age. It was anywhere from five to ten years old.

Sherlock,

I don't know why you don't just call. You have a phone for God's sakes. I looked into your friend- or perhaps obsession is a better word- Ginevra Lorraine. She has done very well for herself these last few years and even managed to find her way into Scotland Yard as I'm sure you know. However, your concern for her being targeted is slightly confusing. The girl holds no significant value, at least not enough for you to be concerned. However, I understand this isn't something that you will give up easily. I've recently had one of my people offer her a job in profiling as a way to monitor her and keep her safe. Don't say I never did you any favors.

Mycroft

Jen stared at the letter with a frown before her frown turned into a laugh, a hysterical laugh. Sherlock Holmes was responsible for her initially dealing with the government that caused her to be thrown in Chris's and eventually Shadow's path. He was trying to protect her from something. What she was unsure of, but one thing was for sure.

"I," she started, "Ginevra Lorraine, still owe Sherlock Holmes my life."

A/N: Boom! End of Story One. I'm early; I was bored. Also, I'm gonna go out on a limb and recommend a Sherlock fanfiction: Beloved Blight by ahiddenbanshee. I rather like it, and it's a shame that it doesn't get much reads!

Thanks to reviewers: TinkerbellxO, knetterzak (eh! You're not Anon any more! ^.^), hannahhobnob, ImGrac3fulButFi3rc3, kawaiixkisses, Ducky the Insomniac Panda, and Flute Domination, and thank you to all my wonderful followers and all past reviewers! And! The prologue is up, so see you in two seconds! ;D

The sequel will be M rated! I will tell you if and why a chapter would be heavily rated M! If there is an objection, I suggest letting me know and telling me why!