A/N: Here we are Sherlock fans. The long waited sequel. I hope that you are will enjoy the sequel as much as you enjoyed a new game. Do enjoy. I have this chapter done in the second one.

The game is on

The soft violin music filled 221B as a woman with short black hair played, entranced with the soothing music. Her eyes was closed as she suede back and forth. From an outside observer it looked as if she was lost in the music. Yes, she was lost in the music, but she was also lost in her own thoughts. So lost in fact, she had actually forgotten the man who sat in her friends chair for a moment.

When people say they want peace and quiet, what the fuck are they thinking? peace and quiet was so fucking dull. Vienna Ivy Walker had been living at 221B for two years now, and all was good, accept she was bored most of the time. Yes, the greatest detective that she had ever had the chance to know would allow her to come with him on cases with him once in a while, but not as often as she would like. John was just as bad. Always wanted to go with her if she chose to go out by herself. And don't get her started on the man who was in Sherlock's chair sipping tea that Mrs H made him.

She was running for her life for 16 years, and she noticed when she was being followed. Mycroft had told some of his men to follow her and keep an eye on things. When asked about it, he flat out denied it, It amused her that he thought she was an idiot. And he says that he doesn't care for sentiment.

Mycroft had came by asking to see his brother, Vie had told him he and John was out on a case that they thought was too dangerous for her to accompany them on. Like going head to head with a mob boss who so happened to be her father wasn't dangerous. Seriously, these three men in her life was being overprotective, and she about had it. The only one Who wasn't treating her like a fragile doll was Lestrade.

Mycroft had sighed and calmly sat in the chair, where he had been ever since. Vie had picked up her violin and started to play, something she does when she's feeling restless.

Out of the corner of her eyes she noted Mycroft listening to her play, she knew he was listening because he had a small smile on his face. She didn't mind the company, She would get lonely when she was the only one home.

She had tried going out to find a job, but everything she found bored her so much she would rather watch pint dry. She had went back to painting and drawing, because she could. She found if the violin didn't relax her, then painting or drawing something did. She remembered at one time she wanted to be an artist and a concert violinist, and was even accepted into juilliard, but Tom had another thing in mind for her.

When she was home alone she would often wonder what her life would have been like if she had a normal mother and father. Yet, if she had a normal family she would have never met Sherlock John or Mycroft.

She had not gone to see her brother. Victor had asked for her several times, but she had declined every time. She knew it was childish, she just simply couldn't look him in the eyes knowing what he had done. Mycroft had made arrangements for her brother in the same place his sister was, which she was thankful. She just had not found her strength to go see him. And it's possible that she never would. But it's nice to have the option.

Sherlock was stronger than her, he would go visit his sister every month, as she would prefer to pretend that her brother don't exist.

"You play beautifully." Mycroft said suddenly breaking her out of her thoughts.

She stopped playing moonlight, her violin and turned to him. "I've been playing since I was six." She lowered the violin and placed it down on the desk along with the bow.

"Yes. You and my brother are similar."

"So I've been told."

"He is fond of you."

"His also fond of John and Mrs H."

"Not like you."

This wasn't the first time he brought something like this up to her. She had no idea what was going around in that big brain of his, she did know, whatever it was she wanna know part of it.

Normally she would disregard the comment and return to whatever she was doing that day, but this time she was curious of his motives behind it. With Mycroft, there was always a motive. And he had made a habit to come around more. And it wasn't always about a case.

"And what does that mean?" She asked.

"You do not see it?"

"The hell with it. I'll bite. I don't see what?"

Like Sherlock, Mycroft had away of looking at you that made you feel completely naked underneath his gaze. Now was no different. But spending two years under that intense calculating gaze she grew used to it. She was beginning to understand each little look or jesture that either brother would give. She could tell when Sherlock was irritated, she could even tell when he was frustrated with a case.

It went the same for Mycroft. Right now, Mycroft was giving her the, 'I know something that you don't,' look.

Sometimes spending time with the Holmes brothers would leave one with a killer headache trying to figure out what was going on in there big brains. Trying to read their movements was like trying to run in water. It could be done, but it was difficult, It took effort.

"He cares about you." Mycroft said finally.

"Right. And?" She allowed her southern draw to slip into her voice. "What are ya talkin' about? I know he cares about me. And I care about him. You're makin' less sense than usual." She teesed as she went to the kitchen, paying no mind to the foot In the jar in the fridge as she opened it. "Are you stayin' for dinner?"

"No thank you."

"I'm makin' my meatloaf."

"If it's not to much trouble."

"No trouble at all. If it wasn't for me those boys would never eat. Eatin' take out food all the time is not healthy." She said as she pulled out everything she needed for her meatloaf. "And Sherlie seems to like my cookin'." She smiled.

"Does he now?"

"Yeah? So?"

Mycroft sighed. "My brother is a very complicated person."

"No kiddin', you ain't tellin' me anythin' new. I know who he is. What game are ya tryin to play?"

"He doesn't do romantic or sexual relationships."

"Mycroft!" She huffed, walking back to the other room. "What are ya gettin' at?" She was honestly flabbergasted. And definitely not for the first time. Doesn't do romantic or sexual relationships. No shit. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. She had no idea what the older Holmes was getting at.

"I am concerned."

"You're always concerned when it comes to your brother. Why?"

"I've never seen him Interested in anyone like he is in you."

Vie couldn't help it. She started laughing. The thought of Sherlock Holmes being interested in her other than friendship was laughable. Especially since he had never seemed like that around her. He was the same inconsiderate rude jerk as always. She took in a deep breath after collecting herself. "I'm sorry. I think you're seein' it wron. We're friends. That's all that there is to it."

Mycroft shook his head. "I believe it is you who is not seeing."

"Spare me your riddles." She said allowing her accent to draft away like the autumn leaves in the wind. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She thought back on the last two years. Yeah, okay. Sherlock had been overprotective. But that was only because he was concerned about a friend. Not because his feelings went deeper than that.

"You like him." Mycroft said, with that calculating look in his eyes like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.

"As a friend." She did right?

Okay he was attractive. Very attractive. Black hair and blue eyes. And cheekbones that you can cut your hand on. Tall and thin. Sherlock gave off the aparents of being weak, but he was far from it. Most of his power was in his head. Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. His action spoke louder than his words. Like when he demanded her to take his bed when she had that nasty cold. He practically forced her to take his bed. And even threatened to tie her to the damn bed.

Or when she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle, he refused to allow her to walk anywhere, Instead he carried her. Or the late nights when she would help him with his cases. Or the one time Sherlock and John came home with Sherlock's arm bleeding from being shot. She had called the police and immediately grabbed the first aid kit and did what she could. She scolded him the entire time.

Or there were nights when there was no cases at all. They would play their violins together. Not talking just playing. Or there were nights when there was no cases at all, they would just sit on the couch, not talking just enjoying each other's company. She convinced Sherlock to go out to a movie with her. He spend the entire time picking the movie apart. But she didn't mind because the movie wasn't that good, and it was kind of funny how he said how he would have done it. She couldn't remember the last time she laughed that hard.

But that doesn't mean that her feelings went any deeper. She doesn't like that big brain idiot. There was no way. She looked back at Mycroft, realizing that her gaze had drifted outside the window. He had the, 'I just figured something out that you haven't figured out yet,' all over his face.

"You may even love him. And he you." He said, his voice low and even.

But before she could tell the nosy older Homes brother to keep his big nose out of people's business the door opened.

Sherlock came in with his usual flair with John not far behind. Even though she tried not to her eyes immediately went to his tall frame. He looked over her like always before his eyes met hers. Against her well her heart started pounding. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't break the spell of his eyes. It was only for a moment, he looked away quickly.

Sherlock paused when he noticed his brother. Vie rolled her eyes and got ready for the bickering that was coming any moment now.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked with suspicion.

"To have lovely tea that was prepared by your housekeeper. And I wanted to check on the security."

"Security I never asked for." Vie stated casually, knowing that it was going to fall on death ears.

"It's for your own safety." Sherlock said sharply with no heat to it.

Mycroft nodded. "I agree."

John sighed and closed the door. "Good evening Vie, Mycroft."

She smiled. "Good evening."

Mycroft smirked. "Good evening John."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, taking off his jacket and scarf, hanging both up On the coat rack. Vie couldn't help but watch his every movement. It was like everything he did he did with perfection. He did it with flare. Sometimes the way he moved reminded her of a dancer on a stage. Beautiful like a swan.

But he was far from being perfect. He had a past, like everyone does. She had read Johns blog. Including the past ones. But she never judged. Who was she to judge?

Deciding that she needed to continue dinner in that moment she went back to the kitchen. What the hell was wrong with her? She let Mycroft get into her head. That had to be it. Because he was seeing something that wasn't there. Like he said, Sherlock wasn't interested in romantic or sexual relationships. He wasn't that kind of person. At least she didn't think so.

She had just put her pot roast in the oven and turned, Jumping slightly. Sherlock was standing there watching her. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"I came for Tea."

"You're a big boy, I'm sure you're perfectly capable of making your tea."

He huffed and rolled his eyes, walking over, reaching around her. She looked up at him, wondering why he was making eye contact. He could have walked around. She was slightly confused to the reason why he didn't. He landed in closer, she backed up a few paces, her lower back colliding with the stove. But like before she couldn't break eye contact even if she wanted to. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face, could see how blue his eyes were. Those intelligent blue eyes. Having him this close made her nervous. Partly because the guy could read every damn thing about a person.

He placed both hands on the stove behind her. She had to lean against him slightly so she wouldn't burn herself on the stove. It was like his eyes was searching hers for something. But what? What was he looking for? Why was he so close? He normally never stood this close to anyone, he seemed to like his personal space. What was going on in his mind? What was he thinking?

Clearing her throat, she swallowed. "How Did it go today?"

"Just like I expected, It was the mistress." He replied moving away.

She sighed a breath of relief. But immediately missed his warmth and having him that close. "Of course. Just like you expected." She noted that there was nothing in his hand. Why was he reaching around her if he doesn't have anything?

Without a word he walked out of the kitchen, leaving her more confused then ever.