A/N at end of this chapter.
* S *
"Did you just—"
Rose stopped. She was just about to ask about the motorbike. But there was something about Sherlock's expression—a glazed look…. No…. Clouded. Fuzzy. Not focussed on her. He was looking at her, but not looking at her. Not in the way he usually did, anyway. But there was an underlying sorrow, and she'd seen that expression before.
"Mind if I come in?" Sherlock asked. Rose stepped back, opening the door wider to allow Sherlock to stride in. He suddenly stopped short a couple of metres into the entrance to look around as if the space seemed unfamiliar. He didn't shrug off his coat, nor unwind his scarf. He hadn't greeted her with his customary, "Hello, Rose," in his deliciously low register.
None of that.
Well, they'd just been together only minutes ago, but still…
"What's wrong?" she asked, closing the door to the street.
"Nothing's wrong," he said, turning to her. "It's just that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they keep their entranceway."
He certainly sounded like himself.
"Sherlock, what's going on? What did you mean, 'Not him,' and what have you done with your hair?"
Rose knew there was something. Did he just get the sides trimmed a bit? And when… how? She'd only left him 15 minutes ago.
And if he'd followed her here, he would've had to leave Baker Street soon after she'd left. When did he have a chance to get a haircut? And even if he did it himself, how'd he manage that on a motorbike?
As was his custom, Sherlock raked his fingers through his curls. "What's wrong with my hair?" He patted the top down again, then gestured towards the reception room door.
"Sitting room's through here, is it?" He strode towards it and grasped the doorknob. Looking back at Rose, he said, "I'm another Sherlock from an alternate reality. We're going to need tea. Lots of it. You don't mind, do you?"
Rose gasped, then stared at the gap in the door through which 'Sherlock' had disappeared.
Was he high?
No, of course not.
Rose knew how that version of Sherlock looked and behaved.
…another Sherlock from an alternate universe.
What an odd thing to say, and it wasn't even funny.
But the thing with Sherlock, when he had a train of thought and decided to bring Rose on board, she would invariably get left at the station. Obviously, this was where they were situated now.
Standing taller, Rose adjusted her shirt.
Above her on the first floor, a door clicked shut.
Justine!
Rose reached forward and pulled the sitting room door shut just as the nanny-bodyguard-assassin appeared at the top of the staircase. After a brief daily report and a peck on the cheek, Rose dismissed the nanny as quickly as she could.
And now to deal with the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes. But how? Like she always did, she supposed. With patient, probing questions, and the space for him to traipse around his Mind Palace.
Entering the reception room, she found him at the window, peering through a slit in the curtain.
"Who was that?" he asked, without turning to face her. She noted the way his fingers twitched by his side. Rose took a moment to slowly exhale. Best counter his agitation with calmness.
"The nanny," she replied. "Our nanny."
Sherlock drew back from the window. He regarded Rose through narrow, searching eyes, eventually dropping his gaze to the baby monitor she now held in her hand.
"You have an infant?"
Rose quirked an eyebrow.
He couldn't have received a knock on the head and a haircut, all in the space of 15 minutes, could he?
"Yes."
Sherlock gazed up as if he could see through the ceiling and into Grace's bedroom.
Rose took that moment to really look at him. He was also slightly more tanned than earlier, and the creases around his eyes seemed deeper. How was this possible? She'd only just left him, pale and... and... breathless.
When her skin began to prickle at the nape, she had a thought.
Another sibling!
Don't be ridiculous.
Another secret psychotic sibling.
That's really too much.
Is that what he was? A twin? An identical twin?
Her insides began to churn, and she could feel each dull thud of her heart.
An identical twin so obsessed with the detective that he was assuming his sibling's identify and—more disturbingly—believing he came from an alternate universe.
Rose's mind reeled with all that this could mean and all that had already happened in the past with the last crazed sibling.
Really, Rose. Crazed? That's not very professional of you.
But she had to remain calm and focussed. She was trained for this now… surely?
But, dammit, she had just dismissed her security detail.
"How old?" Sherlock asked.
Mentally, Rose snapped to attention, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.
Assess him, came the voice in her head, which sounded oddly like her brother-in-law, Mycroft.
"Ah… 18 months now," she replied.
Her free hand involuntarily stole to her abdomen, a gesture that wasn't lost on the detective-imposter. His expression softened, in fact, his whole demeanour appeared slightly calmer than it had been only moments ago.
"And you're expecting again."
A warm smile grew from one corner of his mouth, which Rose found both comforting and disturbing.
"D-do you have any children?" she asked. Ground him in reality, she thought.
He cocked his head to one side and said, "I must say, you're taking this very well."
"Taking what?"
"The news that I'm from another dimension."
Another spike of adrenalin hit her.
"Well, like you said," she responded, forcing a smile to her face. "We're going to need a pot of tea. Why don't I take your coat and s-scarf first?" It was at that moment she realised, his scarf isn't even the right colour!
Rose placed the baby monitor onto a side table as twin-Sherlock began tugging at his scarf in exactly the same way her husband often did.
"One," he said, handing her the foreign scarf.
"I'm sorry?"
"One child. I've… we've… that is, my wife and I… have one child, a son and, like you, we've got another on the way." He gave her a tight little smile. "Not exactly the ten I once suggested… bit of a dicey moment at the time though, I'd have said anything to be honest. But, I'm now quite partial to four."
He shrugged out of his coat and handed that to her as well.
"Four. Wow. Sherlock's always wanted four," she found herself gabbing on. "I thought two would be a handful. I tried to compromise with three, but Sherlock said,
'W—"
"Why do people always give up after three," the man in front of her finished for her. And he punctuated his statement with a broad smile.
Rose felt a fierce heat beginning to spread across her cheeks. She quickly turned from him to deposit his clothing onto an armchair in the corner of the room.
"Exactly," she said, forcing laughter into her voice.
How the fuck did he get access to a private conversation!
The same way Eurus did, the Mycroft-voice told her.
Rose cleared her throat.
"Why don't we go through," she said, gesturing towards the doors that led through to the formal dining room and, beyond that, the kitchen.
"After you," the Sherlock-doppelganger said, traces of his amiable smile still remnant.
Rose's limbs felt wooden as she led the way to the kitchen.
"So he has a wife, a child and another on the way," he said behind her. "Would you say he's happy?"
He had no right to ask her that, not using his voice!
"Only he can really tell you that," she replied, "but I believe so."
As she grabbed the kettle, the imposter asked, "How about you? Are you happy?"
Rose paused for a second to ponder the oddity of these questions. "Yes," she replied, a smile at the ready. She threw a glance in his direction and found that he was now examining a family portrait on the sideboard, his hands carefully folded behind his back. Another mannerism that didn't belong to him.
Just how close a study had this psychotic twin made of Sherlock?
Rose opened the canister full of teabags and attempted to steady her nerves through a drawn-out exhale.
"My apologies," came Sherlock's voice in closer proximity, startling Rose. "I haven't even asked your name."
"Oh... it's... Katherine," she replied.
"Nice to meet you, Katherine."
When he proferred his hand, Rose quickly wiped her damp palm, wet from filling the kettle, on her trousers before returning the shake. "I prefer Rose, actually. My second name."
"Rose?"
"Yes, my friends and family all call… Well… it's not every day you get to meet Sherlock Holmes a second time," she added. She was babbling now.
"No, I suppose not. Can I ask… How did you meet your Sherlock?"
Rose turned back to her tea preparations and tried to project a casual air.
"Oh, just at Scotland Yard. The Met. Detective Inspector Lestrade introduced us. We were on a case together. I was the forensic psychologist and Sherlock was the Consulting Detective. But you'd know that, of course. We had to work as a team. Can you imagine that? Sherlock, a team player? So the D.I.'s responsible for us meeting. Do you know him? Greg?"
"Graham," the twin said, simultaneously.
A ripple ran through Rose. So he knew about Sherlock's propensity for calling Lestrade by an incorrect first name? But if he'd researched all of that, then why didn't he at least know Rose's name? Or was that an act, too?
But she smiled and said, "Yes, Sherlock calls him by the wrong name, too."
"It's a detail that often eluded me in the past, and lately also it would seem," his twin said, "but I gather it was a detail necessary for your lie to ring true."
A buzzing sounded in Rose's head and she chanced a glance at the man.
He was leaning back against the island counter now, facing her, his arms folded in front of him, brows raised in expectation.
"Would you care to try again?" he asked.
Rose huffed out a laugh. Of course, in the real world, they had been prepared for this eventuality."Well, obviously, that's what the public officially know. They haven't found out yet that we met abroad. I worked for MI6 at the time, and Sherlock was on a secret mission."
"But not so secret that you couldn't readily divulge that information to someone you've only known for all of five minutes."
Rose felt her hackles rise. If he knew so bloody much, then why was he pretending to be interested in their lives? She set her jaw, her muscles tensing as he pushed off from the counter and slowly approached her.
"I don't understand why you're lying," he said, his brow furrowed. "All I want to know, to understand, is why you love him, and why he loves you. Today I found my wife—or at least a version of my wife—happily married to somebody else in this universe. I want to know why that's even a possibility! And for me – him – too! I want to know how it is that another Sherlock found happiness with someone who isn't…her."
His voice was beginning to run ragged, the first unguarded emotion he'd displayed to her. But he stood so close now, Rose could smell his aftershave. And that was when she saw it, and she gasped.
The mole. The beauty spot, or whatever you call it. Right there, to the left—her left—of his larynx. It was Sherlock's mole. Her Sherlock's.
How dare this imposter copy Sherlock's beauty mark! A mark she'd brushed her lips against countless times. A mark that beckoned for her touch. A mark that belonged to her only!
She reached up, prepared to smudge his stupid fake mark.
"Woah!" he said, ducking his head away reflexively when her finger hit its mark. "What are you do—"
Rose felt that the spot was raised, and even as she dragged her finger away to find that the mark was still there, she realised.…
"It's real," she murmured.
"What's real?"
"Your... your mole."
"Of course it's real."
"But…" Her mind raced. The buzzing she'd heard earlier grew louder. The imposter was looking at her, a curious expression on his face. "But..." she began again. "I-identical twins don't share identical beauty marks."
"What?"
Rose backed away feeling light-headed.
"Oh!" he exclaimed on a slow exhale. Then he tutted and gave a half eye-roll. "Surely your Sherlock would've told you it's never twins."
It was at that moment that the world swam and darkness closed in at the edges. She felt arms support her as her legs gave way.
"Aye, that's the reaction I expected to happen at some stage," a warm baritone said. "Here, have a seat."
He guided her to one of the barstools that edged the island counter. Rose's breath came in short bursts. The buzzing about her head had amplified. She could barely hear Sherlock… Sherlock? Yes, because that was the only explanation left – whenever you eliminate the impossible.
"It's all right. Just take a moment."
Rose propped her head up on the counter as the world continued to sway.
"Don't worry," he added. "I'll finish making the tea. I really didn't think your heart was in it."
She kept her eyes closed as she cradled her head, waiting for the world to right itself again. Please don't vomit, she thought. The only sounds now were the tinkling of the teaspoon and the pouring of water into teacups. Finally, a cup was set in front of her, and she lifted her head.
"I think you'll find it's the best cup of tea you've ever had. I had a great teacher. We do have tea where I come from, you know. And, don't tell anyone, we have loose leaf tea!"
Rose choked out a laugh. "You're almost as funny..." She trailed off. She couldn't admit it just yet—that there were two Sherlocks in the world. Instead, she took a sip of tea, cradling the cup in both hands. It warmed her immediately.
She looked up into his eyes. Warm and kind. But it wasn't the same as her Sherlock's expression. His eyes, during moments like these, were full of tender, loving concern. This was different. He was different. This was the kindness of a… stranger.
"Your wife," she said after a second sip of tea. "What's her name?"
His eyes grew almost imperceptibly rounder, and he blinked a couple of times as if he needed to stem a tide of emotion. Rose recognised the signs.
"Kyrie."
Rose listened to how Sherlock had uttered her name. It was a combination of reverence and hopelessness if that was at all possible.
"Kyrie," she repeated. "That's a beautiful name."
Sherlock gave a tiny nod in acknowledgement and took a sip of his tea.
"If what you say is true… oh my god, what am I even saying." Rose bowed her head and rubbed at her temple. Although it pained her to continue with that train of thought, she finished with, "Then what brings you here?"
"In your kitchen or in this universe?"
"Both, I guess."
He placed his teacup down. Leaning heavily against the counter, he blew out a breath. "Well, I did just tell you… my wife… Kyrie…"
"I wasn't really listening before, to be honest. In that moment, I thought you were…"
Sherlock tilted his head, waiting for Rose's response.
"… a bit… delusional."
"Only a bit?"
Rose straightened up and met his smile with one of her own. "That's my expert opinion. But, I'm sorry… you were saying… about Kyrie."
"Yes…" He paused to fold in his upper lip in that same way her Sherlock did when he was about to say something uncomfortable. "She disappeared into an unknown universe. I'm trying to find her."
"But… how did…?"
Sherlock heaved out another sigh, and he lowered his gaze as if to contemplate his answer. "A mad scientist. She was… she shouldn't even have been there. I was late because I was… boasting. She came in to find me and… he wanted to escape but Kyrie got in the way and… he pushed her through the Bridge. It's a kind of… portal."
Bridge. Portal. Mad scientist. Rose knew this sounded far-fetched. But so did the dozens of other things that had happened to her over the past few years.
Since meeting Sherlock Holmes.
"It was my fault," he added, his voice raking over gravel.
"I'm sorry," she said. She'd heard this edge in her Sherlock's voice once before, when he thought he'd been responsible for Mary's death. "This… this is obviously taking its toll on you," she added. Sherlock's eyes remained downcast. "How can I help?"
Sherlock straightened up, dragged a hand through his curls and turned from her. He placed a light hand on one hip and said, "In every universe I've encountered so far, Sherlock Holmes is an arsehole. Except in the one where I'm married to Kyrie and…"
He turned to meet her gaze. "… now there's you." His eyes darted to her wedding ring. "Married to Sherlock Holmes? You're obviously intelligent, enough to not get on his nerves anyway, and he… he seems happy. In conclusion… not an arsehole."
Rose gave a tentative smile. "Sherlock Holmes is an arsehole," she said. "In every universe. At least, I'm sure that's the image he likes to portray to the rest of the world. But underneath, he's the most kindest, thoughtful, gentle man you could ever meet. And I've met two of them."
Sherlock smiled ruefully. "Well, that's where you're wrong. I've encountered close to fifty, and most of them have lived a lonely life, hell-bent on self-destruction. So your Sherlock and I are quite unique in this respect. At least I think so. I'm still not convinced I've been the best choice for…" He cleared his throat as if to dismiss that thought and added, "So, I'd really appreciate it, if you could tell me how you met. The truth, this time."
Rose exhaled slowly and fiddled with the handle on her teacup. "You're so similar," she began. "You and Sherlock. Why is that? Have you had the same experiences? Do you have the same background?"
"From what I've seen, I would assume so. The Sherlocks who have been wildly different from us would have made other decisions, however infinitesimal, or have had experiences early in their timeline which would've caused a wide variance in our paths."
"So… you and my Sherlock… your family background was probably the same then," Rose said cautiously.
"Yes."
Rose bit her lip. "Do you have any siblings?"
"Yes. A brother Mycroft…" He paused, narrowing his eyes at her a little.
"And?"
"I don't want to spoil—"
"We know about Eurus."
"Oh, thank God." He gave her an uneasy smile. "The person I am today, or at least the one I was before I met Kyrie… well, and John and Molly and…"
"…is because of Eurus," Rose finished. "Yes, Sherlock told me that. Or at least, that's what your brother said to him…. or… you."
"Correct."
"Okay, then," Rose said. "So… did you ever…" She knew she was stalling telling her own story, but she had to find out how close this Sherlock was to her own. "Did you ever fake your own suicide?"
Sherlock's brows shot up. "A popular idea, it seems," he said.
"So that means James Moriarty was in your life."
"Yes. My nemesis, apparently, and a gift that keeps on giving."
"He is dead, though?"
"Yes. Quite."
Rose heaved out a sigh of relief. "Okay, then." She felt she now had to tread carefully. "And… did you have a case involving… a… a dominatrix?"
Sherlock almost gave one of his customary eyerolls.
"Irene Adler. Yes."
"So…" And here they were, about to skirt around the edge of delicacy. The last time Rose had admitted this to anyone… Well, she never thought she'd have this conversation ever again in her life.
"Well… John and I theorised," she began, her heart rate beginning to accelerate. "I mean… after Irene Adler…"
Rose's chest grew tight, and she could feel an enormous pressure in her sinuses.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, his voice lowered. "This is obviously causing you some distress."
"No… I'm fine… really. I just haven't thought—"
"Don't feel as though you need to continue. I understand. Kyrie and I didn't… well, we didn't meet under the best of circumstances. Because of me she was, almost, I mean... I'm not really in a position to tell anyone about it either."
Through tear-glazed eyes, Rose met his gaze. He looked truly sorrowful—the same expression of regret her Sherlock had once given her when he'd realised the enormity of his actions.
"But as someone very wise once said to me," he went on, a particular fondness glazing his eyes. "… we never would have met otherwise."
Rose smiled, his words warming her. "Yes. I know what you mean."
There was a moment of quiet while they both sipped their tea.
Rose glanced over at the family portrait her visitor had studied earlier: Rose, her Sherlock, and Grace, who was just over six months old and sitting up all by herself when the picture was taken. A selfie. They were lying on the rug in front of the fireplace in their house in Edinburgh.
It was all for Grace in the end.
The lies, the deceit, the sacrifice.
Out of all their hardships a beautiful baby girl was born. If that could culminate in a life of unbridled joy for them, then had the same also proven possible for Sherlock and Kyrie? This Sherlock was so close to her own; what had he and Kyrie experienced in order to find the same kind of dizzying heights to their happiness?
Rose had to find out how close their lives had been.
"Did you ever… did Irene Adler ever give you the impetus to want to experience… sex… for yourself?"
He blinked once. "No."
"Not even the fleeting idea?"
"A fleeting idea? Possibly. Fleeting ideas are never written to my hard-drive."
Rose nodded. It could've been at that point, then, that their timelines diverged.
"Well, not for my Sherlock." Rose felt her cheeks flush, but she continued on. "The idea became a plan, and the plan became a reality. And that's how… we… met."
Rose could see this scenario being played out in the mind of the detective-genius who stood in front of her. And kudos to him, his expression remained impassive.
"Oh," he said after a fashion. "So you were a—"
"Please don't say it."
"I was going to say 'psychology student'."
"You were?"
"Yes, well you're a forensic psychologist now, so you must've studied at some point. And you don't fit the demographic of a —" He cleared his throat and continued, almost rapid-fire. "You're not an illegal immigrant, a drug user or on the poverty line. You're obviously well-educated, and I do remember reading in the press some time ago that there had been a dramatic increase in students turning to… that… to meet the costs of their tuition."
Rose's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. That's almost exactly what Sherlock said to me back then."
"I don't doubt it. Given the evidence presented to us, having the same education, a whole host of similar experiences, and the data we choose to store in our hard-drives, it's no wonder we made the same deduction."
"You and Kyrie then," Rose went on, "I guess you've both been through a lot of… challenges."
"Yes."
"With lows and secrets buried so deep you didn't think you'll ever be able to climb out of them."
He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying with a barely audible, "Yes."
"But the highs…" Rose continued.
Sherlock gave an almost embarrassed smile.
"I'm not talking about drugs." She quickly added.
"Yes, well, there was a bit of that too."
"Oh, come on," Rose said. "I'm sure there was a lot of that."
"It was all for a case."
"I've heard that before."
A heavy silence enveloped them. In that moment, Rose was reliving some of their most difficult times, so no doubt, this Sherlock was, too.
He blinked, cleared his throat, and drained the rest of his tea, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken."Well," he said, straightening up as if to recompose himself. Rose knew that sign—an attempt to shrug off sentiment. He was becoming 'Sherlock Holmes' again. "I think I've taken up enough of your time."
"Yes, of course." Rose indicated the kitchen door that led to the passageway through to the front. As Sherlock led the way, Rose said, "I'm sure you'll find her."
"I hope so."
He turned to face her as they stopped in the entranceway.
"I guess my Sherlock was lucky," Rose added. "He only had to travel to Scotland to find me."
"Scotland? Well, that's sort of like another universe, isn't it?"
Rose chuckled.
"Ah, my coat?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the hooks by the door. "Is it through—"
"I'll get it."
Rose left him for the sitting room. When she grabbed the coat and scarf from the armchair in the corner, the baby monitor she'd left on the side table earlier coughed into life.
She swiftly turned if off and left the sitting room to find Sherlock gazing upwards to the first floor, where the unmistakeable sounds of Madam, as Justine the nanny called her, floated down from above.
Rose had a curious thought.
As she handed Sherlock his scarf and coat, she asked, "Would you like to see her?"
His lips parted, but no words accompanied whatever thoughts were now tumbling through his mind. Rose made for the stairs.
"Don't leave," she said, giving him an urgent look. "Just… stay. For a minute."
Her gave her a tiny nod, so Rose dashed up the stairs, glancing down just once to check that Sherlock wasn't making moves to leave. He was slowly shrugging on his coat.
It was the quickest nappy change Rose had ever made. Pit crews would never have changed tyres as fast. Even her aimless chatting to her toddler came in short, rapid-fire sentences.
"Come and see who's here," Rose finally bid her daughter. She snapped closed the last button of the one-piece sleepsuit and gathered her up in her arms.
"Ti-guh," Grace replied, hitting Rose's chest with a cuddly version.
"Not a tiger," Rose said as they descended.
She was sure the colour leached from Sherlock's face when they came into view.
"This is Grace," Rose told him as his eyes followed their progress down the staircase.
"Dad-dee!" Grace squealed upon seeing the man in the entranceway. Straining in Sherlock's direction, the 18-month-old stretched out her arms, one hand clasping the tiger cub.
In response, Sherlock stood a little taller, hands firmly clasped behind his back. What did he think of her, Rose thought, this miniature version of himself: the dark hair with soft curls about her face, the almond-shaped, verdigris-tinted eyes.
Rose stood back a little, so Grace couldn't quite reach the man she believed was her daddy. To Rose's relief, Sherlock's rigid expression began to soften.
"Dad-dee!"
"Would you mind?" Rose asked, light laughter in her tone.
Sherlock cleared his throat.
"Dad-dee!"
The infant waved the tiger in the air as if to signal her presence to her father.
His eyes appeared to moisten as he finally took the squirming infant from Rose.
"And what do we have here?" he asked warmly.
"Ti-guh!"
Grace smacked Sherlock's cheek with the toy.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Rose.
"S'okay. Not the first time I've been battered about the head with a soft toy, or worse. Mycroft's silver rattle was a particular favourite of St John's." To Grace he said, "I've never seen a pink tiger before."
"St John?" Rose asked. "Is he your son?"
"Ah… yes."
"Uh fye…" Grace interrupted. "Uh fye!"
She raised both arms, holding the tiger aloft.
"Uh fye!"
"She wants to fly," Rose told him. "Sherlock throws her into the air and catches her. She loves it."
"Oh," Sherlock remarked.
"Uh fye, Dad-dee!" Grace persisted.
"Is that okay?" Rose asked. "You don't have to."
"Oh. Right. Okay." He blinked uncomfortably, then cleared his throat. Rearranging the toddler so that he held her underneath both her armpits, he said, "Ready?"
Grace squealed in anticipation, positioning arms and legs out like a starfish.
"Three… two… one…" Sherlock effortlessly launched Grace into the air, just above his head. She cackled in delight, free falling, until he caught her once more. And again, twice, three-times, her cherubic chuckle echoing throughout the entranceway. Sherlock's own eyes were shining.
He's done this before, Rose thought.
"And one more time," he said, puffing lightly. 'Why give up after three? ', her own Sherlock would've said. On catching Grace, the fourth and last time, he swiftly passed her to Rose with a, "Here's Mummy!"
"Oh!" Rose said. She was both surprised at the sudden hand-off, but also caught by the startled look in Sherlock's eyes. He quickly composed himself. Rose wondered if he had expected to see his wife Kyrie in her place.
"We should let you go," Rose scrambled to say. "We won't say… B - Y - E," she spelled. "It's too close to dinnertime to deal with a tantrum right now."
Sherlock gave her a nod in acknowledgement.
"All the best, though," she said, and without thinking, she took a step closer and gave Sherlock a peck on one corner of his mouth. Eyes widening, she quickly apologised.
"I don't know why I did that!"
His lips curling into a smile, Sherlock quipped, "I've got one of those faces."
Rose mouthed another apology, then turned in the direction of the kitchen.
"Let's have some yoghurt!" she said with great enthusiasm to Grace. As they turned the corner of the passageway, she heard the front door click shut.
* S *
A/N
Surprise! This chapter was written by the ever excellent Elbafo. If you haven't read her amazing work '15 minutes', please do so! You'll thank me later. It's Elbafo's character Rose that had a cameo in this story.
I hope you guys enjoyed this extra long chapter just as much as I did. I've actually read it quite a few times… Just because it's so good!
So, please, leave a bit of praise for this amazing writer!