Hi everyone! So, just a little heads up - I have changed the name of Dana's brother. Instead of Jon, he is now Charlie. I'm trying to go back through and really restructure this story so that things flow a little better than before, so there are some differences in every chapter. I won't be able to name them all, but if I make changes to a character that are specific and that could be confusing when read, I'll do my best to let you know ahead of time.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for your reviews! I was so happy to see some response to the last chapter, it really makes my week to read your reviews. I hope to hear from you again this week and, as always, you guys are free to e-mail me at any time.

I hope you all enjoy chapter 3 and have a great and SAFE spring break!

- lightinside

03.

The next morning came a bit too soon for my liking. I could hear rain again, pounding down on the roof and pavement outside so angrily that I couldn't begin to guess when it had begun or when it might stop. No one in the whole house was stirring. I kept waiting for my dad to start moving about, to go downstairs to watch the news like he did every morning. My ears strained, listening for my mum's voice, telling him to cut the television down while she made coffee.

But there was nothing, not even the birds chirping outside. If the downpour ever stopped, I suspected that might change. For now, however, the silence was just that. Flat and empty. I closed my eyes against the gray light that filtered in from outside and rolled over to go back to sleep. I would have managed it, had someone not started knocking on the front door. I sat up, listening again, but no one moved to answer it. The knocking came again, a little louder this time as if whoever it was thought we hadn't heard.

I sighed and dragged myself out of bed, too weary to bother worrying about what I looked like, and down the stairs. When I opened the door, I felt my mouth drop to the floor.

"Dana?"

Dana Kendall, my best friend of many long years, stared back at me sheepishly and held up a suitcase in her left hand and a bottle of wine in her right. "I came in peace. I didn't bring a casserole."

I remembered now. Dana's mother had been at the funeral. The longer I stood there thinking about it, the more I thought she must have spoken to me. But I couldn't remember if I'd said anything back. I blinked, closed my mouth, and stepped back and away from the door to let her in.

"Kat, I'm so sorry." She murmured as we drifted into the kitchen. I noticed that there was definitely no coffee made and wondered if I shouldn't check on my parents soon. "There were storms and they kept delaying my flight. I didn't get here until just a few hours ago."

I shrugged. "You're here now." I looked at the wine, trying to smile. "At least it isn't another casserole."

Dana laughed. "I figured if I showed up with one, you would have every right to leave me out on the street." She looked around, noticing the silence for the first time. "Is anyone home?"

"I thought so." I said, running a hand over my weary face. "But there's no coffee and I haven't heard anyone for hours. They might just be in hiding. They could have gone out before I woke up, I'm not sure."

Dana, always at home in my house, started rummaging through the fridge for something to eat. There was no shortage of food, which I was sure of. It seemed to be the thing most universally thought to cure a broken heart, or at the very least help it along toward mending. I hadn't touched a single plate of food yet. Dana, however, had her arms full when she emerged.

"Sorry." She said. "I'm starving. I haven't eaten since Seattle." She cut herself a piece of lasagna and put it in the microwave, watching it impatiently as it warmed. "You know, that place is really beautiful. It rains as much there as it does here. It made me feel like I was home."

"California isn't making you all warm and fuzzy like it used to?" I asked, dragging myself up so that I perched on the counter. The microwave seemed too loud to me now, after having spent my morning in silence. I winced as the beeping began, signaling to Dana that her food was ready. Before it had reached the third, she yanked the door open and dragged the food out. I made a face. I knew it wasn't warmed all the way through, but she didn't seem to care.

"It's warm." She said between bites of semi-cold lasagna. "Just... you know me, Kat. I never stick around in one place for too long. I'm getting restless there. I feel like I've done everything with my job that I can and I really would like to go somewhere that I can advance."

Dana was a lawyer, so it confused me that she thought she had reached the top of the corporate ladder. Unless... "You didn't make partner." I said. I surprised myself in realizing that I sounded a lot like Sherlock, but quickly shoved the thought away. I didn't want to ruin my morning with thoughts of him.

Dana sighed, dropping her fork dejectedly onto the now empty plate. "No. I had some issues lately here. Charlie came to 'visit' a few months back. He said he was quitting school and moving in with me and I admit, I missed a few important meetings while I was dragging him back here by his ear."

I started. "Quitting school?"

"He wants to move out. Away from my mum. You know how she gets, Katherine, she's absolutely insufferable. Especially when she's drinking. Charlie had enough and I told him that I understood and that he could come and live with me when he had a diploma. He didn't like that very much." She admitted, grimacing. "But my little brother doesn't think too far ahead. He would have hated himself later for letting her drive him off like that." She sighed and directed herself back to the main point. "Anyway. When I met with the partners, they said I was distracted. They said I could talk to them about advancement in another year or two, when things 'settled down'."

I watched quietly as she began to wash the dishes she'd used and put the containers of food back in the fridge. It was nice to be able to see her after so long, but I felt sorry that things were just as upside down for her and Charlie as they were for me. Her mother, while decent enough in the public eye, was a terror in the privacy of her own home. I knew that, I'd seen it for myself many times before.

"So, what do you think you'll do?' I asked.

Dana only laughed, shrugging with an easy lift of her shoulders that made it seem like it didn't bother her that she didn't have a plan. I knew better. "Stay here, I guess. I quit. Charlie needs me here anyway, I think. So, for a few more months at least, I might try to find a job locally."

"I think that's a good start." I said with a nod. I glanced at the plate she was in the process of drying. "How was the lasagna?"

Dana shook her head in disgust. "I should have let it warm all the way through. But it was almost like it was undercooked anyway. It wasn't very nice at all. Who brought that?"

I laughed then, realizing that she'd gotten ahold of her mother's gift to us. "Your mum, actually. I didn't realize until now."

"God." She groaned. "My brother is probably starving as we speak. That woman can't cook to save her life." Dana glanced down at her watch and seemed to be considering something. When she looked back up at me, I recognized the look on her face very well. She was about to make me do something I didn't want to do.

I sighed, already shaking my head. "Whatever it is, you can forget it. I really need to go back to bed."

"No, you don't." She said. "You need a shower and a good breakfast. You need to get out for a few hours. You don't need more sleep, I know you've had plenty or you would have made coffee yourself."

"Dana, seriously." I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I hoped it emphasized the 'seriously' because I didn't really want to have to put much more effort into making the point that I wasn't moving. "I don't want to see anyone, okay?"

"Well, I'm here." She reminded me, mirroring my tone.

"I can't very well kick you out onto the stoop now, can I?" I snapped. "I want to go back to sleep. Stay here, make yourself comfortable. I just need a few more hours of sleep."

Dana hesitated and for a moment I thought that I might have won. But Dana was a professional at arguing her case and also at compromising and it took me a minute to realize that I didn't have a prayer. "Shower and breakfast first." She said. "And then, if you're still tired and feeling averse to the company of other people, I'll bring you back here to do what you want."

"Fine." I grumbled, hopping down off the counter. I brushed past her, muttering to myself, and continued this way all the way up the stairs. She was probably right, but I didn't want her to be. I wasn't thinking clearly and she could see that. Dana could see a lot of things that I wished she couldn't. She was also probably the only one who could steal me away from my grief for a few hours. Didn't I want that? Wouldn't it be nice to have some peace, if only for the morning?

I did as she demanded and showered and dressed in something other than pajamas, but I took my time going downstairs. I was starving, but I was still in no hurry to get out the door. The rain was still pouring down outside and I wasn't excited about getting out in it. It was exactly the excuse I needed to stay inside all day, and Dana had robbed me of that. Twenty minutes went by and I decided that it was time to go downstairs and face my fate. Just as I opened my bedroom door, my cell chimed in my hand. I glanced down at it and saw that it was Sherlock. With a sigh, I opened the message.

Awake? - SH

I stared at the question, wondering why it mattered. I had already made up my mind that if he asked me to go to Baker Street again, I would tell him no. Why should I go? I had no obligation to Sherlock Holmes and I had decided that I would leave John's things as they were for the time being. It was too soon to try to collect them. I could barely even stand to be in my parents' house for any lengthy period of time unless I was unconscious.

Only just.

It was a lie, but it would give me a little room to maneuver if he summoned me like he had the day before.

Wondering when you would like that apology. -SH

I rolled my eyes. A person who had to be told when to apologize. I had certainly hit the jackpot, hadn't I? As far as acquaintances went. Did he really not understand these things? It seemed impossible. Then again, after meeting him, I wouldn't have been surprised if that were indeed the case.

In lieu of your silence, I assume I still am not forgiven. -SH

I stood in the hall, chewing on my lip for what felt like an age. He was still trying to get me to engage. This must have been his idea of extraordinary effort, I thought. Perhaps at first, he had thought me to be nothing more than a mildly interesting subject who breezed through his door attached to John's last name. Now, I wondered if my display yesterday hadn't made him more curious than before. It certainly seemed that way.

Unsure. You're surprisingly persistent.

He didn't respond right away. Suddenly, I felt ridiculous and was almost convinced that I should turn around and go back to bed as I had originally planned. Dana had called for me twice already, growing more impatient each time. I half expected her to come marching up the stairs at any moment, ready to drag me down and out the door. I was putting my cell in my pocket when the chime came again.

Shall I continue to prove myself? -SH

I was definitely considering it, but Dana had called for me again, and this time I heard her start up the stairs. I typed back quickly, feeling the time slipping away as she drew closer.

Up to you.

I slipped my phone into my pocket just as Dana appeared at the top of the stairs, hand on her hip. "Katherine, have you conveniently lost your hearing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I certainly wish." I said, hoisting my bag higher up on my shoulder in preparation for our outing. "I'm nearly ready, I'm just going to pop my head in to check on my parents." I was already moving toward their door when she nodded and started back downstairs to make herself scarce.

I knocked on their door, but there was no answer. When I gathered the courage needed to open it a crack and peer inside, I found it empty. I wondered why they would leave without waking me, or at least leaving a note to tell me where they'd gone. I flicked the light on to make sure that there wasn't a note and took a step inside the room to look around. What I saw absolutely stole the breath from my lungs.

There were pictures of our family everywhere, more than I knew they ever had framed. And standing out prominently on their bedside table, next to their wedding photo, was a picture of me and John at my graduation from secondary school. The look of pride, of absolute happiness on his face as he stared out at me from the frame filled my heart until I thought it might burst. I was filled with such a fierce longing for things that had once been that I had the vague thought that it was becoming harder to breathe. I felt cheated, angry, ready to scream at God and the universe for the loss that was eating away at me from the inside out.

It was then that I saw the book. Crazy Time: Surviving Divorce. I decided that I'd seen enough and turned to leave, turning the light out and closing the door with a little more force than necessary before I rushed downstairs. Dana stood up from her seat on the couch and looked at me with a fair degree of alarm when I suddenly appeared next to the door, my movements full of so much rage that it rivaled the tempest howling outside.

"I'm starving." I said flatly. "Are you ready to go?"

But she wasn't looking at me. I turned around and saw my dad standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking like he hadn't slept a wink. His hair was still beaded with the rain, he hadn't even had time to take his raincoat off. Dana muttered something about calling a cab and was out the door before I could acknowledge what she'd said.

"I didn't know where you'd gone." I said to him, trying to bleed some of the upset from my tone. "I was looking around for a note."

"It was sudden." He said tiredly. "I took your mother to the station and put her on a train. She's going to stay with Sylvia for a little while."

I didn't have time to control the emotions that played out across my face, like actors who knew they owned their stage. "She hates Aunt Sylvia. Why did Mum want to go stay with her?" I asked, even though I had caught enough of the conversation yesterday to know most of the reasons why. Well, one reason.

"Katherine, she couldn't stay here." He said. "I don't blame her."

"I saw the book, Dad." After I said it, I wished I hadn't because it still wasn't my business, but I felt like I had to know. Not that I was owed anything. Just that I had to know. "Are you separating?"

It took him a moment to say something, but I saw proof enough of my answer in his eyes after I asked my question. He looked defeated, like it was the last thing in the world he wanted. "I don't know yet." He said, but I could tell that wasn't true.

I had to force myself to breathe, to give him room to work through whatever business he had to deal with without me sticking my nose in the middle of it. I nodded despite all of the questions that sat on the tip of my tongue and looked toward the door. "Dana and I are going for breakfast. Can I bring you back something?"

"Not a thing, darling." He said, trying to smile. "It's raining. Take an umbrella."

I don't know that I said anything to him at all, just that I was out on the street with an umbrella one second and crawling into the back of a cab with Dana the next. She knew me well enough to know not to ask and for a moment, I had time to be grateful. But only for a moment.

"Blandford's?" I groused, scowling at the establishment from the sidewalk. I looked at Dana and crossed my arms. "I'm starving and you bring me to a place that takes three-thousand bloody years to serve an entrée."

Dana refused to let my mood bring her down and tsked, shaking her head. "No, no. I'll have none of that out of you. This is the place for breakfast. You know this, Katherine. The wait is worth it."

"I hope you have granola or a horse or something stashed in that bag of yours because I won't make it much longer without something to eat." I watched sourly as Dana all but danced to the door and held it open for me to pass through. I did, grumbling the entire way.

"You'll make it and so will I." Dana said, following me inside. "If I can stand you being this grouchy, I can stand to wait for a really good breakfast."

She began chattering away about the new additions to the menu, my stomach growling too fiercely for me to be able to pay too much attention, and I began scanning the restaurant for empty tables. It was just like our usual waiter to put off seating us just for the sake of making me antsy. He didn't like me and I didn't like him, it was irrational but mutual. It was the sort of surly service that made you wonder how a restaurant ever stayed in business. Every time I saw the notorious fiend, known only as Freddy, I had to bite my tongue to keep from commenting on his outfit out of spite. It had to be the uniform. It had to have been forced on him, otherwise why else would he wear it?

He always was wearing faded jeans so tight that I wondered if he didn't spray them on in the morning. Or maybe he put them on when he was twelve and realized they were irremovable and was therefore doomed to wear them the rest of his adult life. The white shirt, equally as hugging and no less fetching, was just as horrible as the pants. Maybe that was why he was so surly. Maybe tightness of clothes was directly proportional to grumpiness.

Thankfully, I didn't see Freddy. But I couldn't be sure, so I kept looking. Something certainly caught my eye; a vaguely familiar mop of curly brown hair that peeked over the top of one of the front booths. I kept trying to place it, feeling sure after a moment that I was losing my mind. It was only when a waitress sauntered over with a phony smile on her face that I saw the hand – the one with the long, lean fingers that could only belong to one person. One arrogant enough to be gesturing to this poor girl in obvious explanation of something he thought she didn't understand.

I swore under my breath and turned to Dana. "You don't really want to eat here, do you?"

"Katherine, do you not have any patience?" She asked, sighing heavily. "They're about to seat us."

"Joy." I muttered, eyes shifting back to the booth where I knew he was sitting. He'd hunched over now and I could no longer see the top of his head. That made me nervous. I'd have preferred being able to keep an eye on him to make sure he stayed put and didn't startle me by suddenly appearing out of thin air next to me. Just as someone arrived to seat us, Dana's cell began to ring.

She apologized, promising to hurry back, and disappeared out the front door with her cell to her ear. I could detect only a hint of distress in her voice before the door closed on its own, taking her out of earshot. With a sigh, I realized that I would have to pass Sherlock to be seated at the empty booth in the corner. Just as I was about to agree to take the walk to the booth alone, Dana rushed back in.

"I'm so sorry. Charlie needs me, I have to go." She said, hugging my neck quickly. "I'll call you later to get my suitcase. I'm sorry!" She ran out the door without giving me time to say a word. I sighed and turned back to the waiter, beginning the trek to my seat.

In the middle of praying that he would be looking down or out the window instead of at me when I walked past, I heard my name. "Katherine Watson?"

I winced, but turned around. "Sherlock Holmes." I said, without expanding the conversation. The waiter looked between the two of us and I heard him ask if we'd like to be seated at the same table. I opened my mouth to protest, but Sherlock answered before I could.

"That's just fine." He said, and gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit down, Katherine."

I tried not to scowl. My mother had told me often enough how unbecoming it was to scowl at someone and it seemed like her words had stuck with me. "So you do eat." I said after the waiter had disappeared.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Did I seem like I might be wasting away?" He asked sarcastically, lacing his fingers together under his chin. He scrutinized me rather obviously while I desperately kept my eyes glued on the menu in my hand. It didn't matter that I ordered the same thing every time I came. I needed somewhere to look other than his face. I didn't know what excuse I would have when the waiter returned to ask me what I wanted and took my safe haven away from me.

"You just don't seem like you cook. I can't say that I'm surprised to see you here." I said, ignoring his comment entirely. I hadn't realized how close to Baker Street I was. "But Blandford's? I didn't realize that you had that kind of patience."

"I could say the same about you." He said thoughtfully, like he was seeing something in me that wasn't obvious to anyone but him. I looked up from the menu and dared to look him in the eye. Sherlock seemed to me to exist in a separate realm from the rest of the world. He saw the things that other people couldn't. Maybe he didn't understand them completely, but he saw the things that other people ignored. I wondered what it was that he was seeing now.

"Do I not seem like a patient person, Sherlock?" I asked.

Sherlock hummed in the back of his throat, like he was on the precipice of revealing something to me, but then thought better of it. "Patience is irrelevant."

"Well, you can sit there staring at me as long as you like, or you can ask me something." I said, turning back to the menu. "You know. Have an actual conversation."

"I already know everything I need to know." He said. I noticed that he had this way of starting off his sentences incredibly fast, but then he would slow right at the end to emphasize certain words. The effect was dizzying, but it held my interest in a way that nothing had before. It was new and intriguing and different, even if he was impossible.

I was still looking at the menu, feigning indecision, when I spoke again. "All you know are the facts. Have you ever thought about asking me about the rest?"

"What more is there?" Sherlock leaned back in the booth self-assuredly, as if he were sure that there could really be nothing else outside of fact. I copied his movement, finally putting down the menu. The waiter would come back soon, I hoped.

"Plenty. Childhood pets, middle name, favorite movies, preferred reading material." I rattled off a few of the things that came immediately to mind, hoping that one topic would stick.

"Middle name." He said, a smile curling his lips at the edges the same way it had yesterday. Lingering for a moment and then disappearing. "Your parents obviously had a habit of picking very unfortunate ones." Something, a humorous recollection it seemed, made his eyes light up in a way that I hadn't yet seen. "Hamish?"

I laughed, really laughed, surprising myself. "Oh, God. John went through life denying that to every means possible." Then, I stopped to study Sherlock, suddenly unsure. "How did you know his middle name was Hamish?"

Sherlock hummed again, sipping his water. "Made a copy of his birth certificate."

I stared at him, mouth hanging open in a rather unceremonious way. "Isn't that... illegal?"

He waved his hand through the air between us in a gesture of clear dismissal. "It was necessary." And then his eyes fixed on my face again. "Now. I believe it's your turn."

"If I don't tell you, are you going to steal classified information?" I asked, still floored from his previous admission.

"It isn't stealing." He replied hurriedly. "Just a step that I am feeling rather too idle to take."

I paused, studying him for a moment to make sure that he was actually serious. And he was. I shook my head, feeling foolish. "Linnet." I said. "Katherine Linnet Watson."

Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment. "That... isn't bad."

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Now you decide to tiptoe around my feelings."

Before he could say anything, the waiter returned and requested my order, which I gave him with a bit too much enthusiasm. I was so eager to have some sort of food that I couldn't hide it. Sherlock saw this. It seemed to amuse him to some degree, which only made me bashful. I sipped my water and thanked the waiter before he left before turning to Sherlock.

"Do you have any more questions for me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A few."

There in Blandford's, waiting for the breakfast I had been reluctant to even venture out for, I had my first real conversation with Sherlock Holmes. And I had the strange thought afterward that it had been one of the nicest conversations that I had been a part of in a very long time.