Hi everyone! I have a few days left before I start classes again, so I thought I'd try to upload another chapter or two before break was officially over. Thank you so much for your reviews and support, I really hope you guys like this chapter! And I hope to hear from you again in the reviews. Have a great weekend!

-lightinside

05.

The night passed fitfully, as it often did, and it seemed that just when I had managed to fall entirely asleep, suddenly it was time to wake again. My cell rang, the sound scraping at my sleep-stuffed ears like nails on a chalkboard as I reached for it. The tips of my fingers brushed the edge of it right before I landed in a heap on the floor. Apparently, I'd misjudged the distance between my bed and the chair that sat near it and reached too far.

I was scowling again when I sat up. I muttered unhappily under my breath as I snatched it off the chair. I tried to be civil when I answered it, but I wasn't sure that I managed completely. "Yes?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The scowl hadn't gone away yet.

"Katherine Watson?" A woman's voice floated through the line, sounding wary. "This is Sarah Sawyer. We received your application for the opening here at the clinic last night and I was wondering if you would mind coming in this morning."

Oh. I had done that, hadn't I? I sat in the floor, trying to remember what had pushed me to apply for the opening John had left at the clinic. In the end, I decided that I'd done it on a whim. It had been late and I was tired and desperate to get away and be of use and I'd known that this was the only clinic near Baker Street with a job to offer me should they like my application.

Apparently, they did. Or at least the name that went with it.

"Right. My application." I said, resting my forehead on my knees. This was insane. I regretted this now; it was Ella's fault with her little speech about not having to live in John's shadow. She'd made me lose my head. This was ridiculous.

"Yes, you see, we have a position open here. Your brother talked about you often. I'm sure you would be a wonderful addition to the staff here, even though it is a small office. I believe that it would be a good fit."

A good fit. A logical fit. It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. I closed them instead and thought about what Sarah Sawyer was saying to me. "Honestly, Sarah, I'm not sure that I could -"

"Please, consider it. Out of all the candidates, you're the one that we want here. I can hold the spot for another day or two to give you some time."

I hesitated. Normally, I wouldn't have second thoughts over letting someone down, but this was different because it was something I associated with John. The clinic had been his life before he'd gone back to war. I couldn't just abandon something he'd cared for so much without thought. So, I agreed to consider it and, after thanking me, Sarah Sawyer released me from conversation. I sighed and leaned back against my bed, checking the time with disinterest.

I'd told Sherlock ten, but it was already nine and I hadn't packed or even started to get ready for the day. I dragged myself to my feet and went off to shower, which I rushed, and then grabbed a protein bar for a pathetic excuse of a breakfast before running back upstairs to gather my things. My dad was already gone somewhere for the day, I saw the note on the outside of my door as I munched my breakfast.

Be back later. Sorry if I missed you. Call you later. - Dad

I grabbed the note and stuffed it in my pocket. I was glad that he'd thought to give me some warning this time, even though I wouldn't be here when he got back. It was nine-fifty by the time I rushed out onto the street to call a cab. And by the time I arrived at Baker Street, it was fifteen past ten. I cringed as I hauled my suitcase out of the trunk and paid the driver.

Here went nothing. I walked up to the stoop and used the crooked knocker and waited. Mrs. Hudson was the one to let me in, I wasn't surprised by that. She was beaming from head to toe when she opened the door.

"Katherine!" She greeted me with a hug, fussing over my bags which I refused to let her carry. "Sherlock told me you were coming today. I'll bring up some tea in a bit. You just make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you." I said, trying to smile back. "Is he upstairs?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "That man has been acting half-mad since you left yesterday, cleaning up a storm."

I stopped on my way up the stairs to look back at her. "Cleaning?'

Mrs. Hudson nodded again. "Yes, can you imagine? Maybe he was finally embarrassed about his mess. I don't know what's gotten into him, truthfully. It's like he was possessed."

"Possessed." I murmured, fighting back a smirk. "Right. I'll go see what he's up to, then." I started back up the stairs, suitcase trailing behind me loudly as it caught and bumped on the edge of every stair. When I reached Sherlock's door, it was already cracked. I pushed it open and walked inside and despite Mrs. Hudson's warning; I still was shocked at what I saw.

I felt like my jaw dropped clear to the floor. The kitchen was almost spotless, clear of the science equipment that I'd seen on my first visit here, but bags were lying about which made me think that Sherlock had gone to the shop. Books, instead of stacked in tilting piles, had been better organized and stacked in the bookshelves and against walls where overflow couldn't really be helped. There was no dust coating the tables, the dishes were stacked in the rack next to the sink where they could dry which meant that Sherlock had washed them. The red plaid chair had been brought back to life, the laptop and patient files cleared away.

And right by the front door were two boxes with a single name written across them. John.

"Sherlock?" I called, dropping my bag on the couch. I still had a hold on my suitcase. "Are you up here?"

He appeared almost immediately from the hallway that lead to the bedrooms. "Here. I see you've finally made it. You said ten."

"I know I'm late." I said, voice apologetic. "I overslept. It looks like you've been..." I looked around the flat once more before I finished my sentence. "You've been busy."

He raised an eyebrow. "This is what you wanted." Sherlock said, but it hovered somewhere between a statement and a question. As if he suddenly was unsure if he'd done the right thing.

I smiled without having to force it. "How long did this take you?"

Sherlock relaxed almost immediately when he saw the smile on my face. He shrugged. "All night."

I started looking around again. The transformation of the flat was astonishing. He stood there, watching me while I studied the space as if I were seeing it for the first time. I could see myself here, I realized. I hadn't been able to before. But now that John wasn't lingering here in the dust and the shadows, I could see a little bit of new life creeping in through the windows. It made it easier to breathe. I took in a deep breath to test out the new sensation and when I discovered that my lungs seemed more willing to accept oxygen than they had as of late, I nearly burst into tears.

This was good, I told myself. It was good to start again. Even if I didn't want to. I couldn't sit in the dark and allow myself to be stuck in the past with a person that would never come home. Sherlock was still watching me. I could feel his eyes, glued to my face as if he feared I might collapse in the floor. I wondered what I looked like to him right now. I tried to keep most of the emotion off of my face, for his sake if not my own. I didn't want to frighten him so soon into our new arrangement. I hadn't even unpacked my things yet.

I tore my eyes away from the flat and looked at Sherlock. "Thank you." I said. My voice was quiet, so subdued that it would have been drowned out had there been anyone else around to make any noise. "This is wonderful. I am sorry, though. I know this will be... different."

"For both of us." Sherlock said. He lifted one of his shoulders in a half-shrug, as if he were trying to act disinterested but couldn't quite manage it. "I have heard that change is good, though I have never been particularly fond of it myself. It will be interesting, I believe, to try something new."

"I suppose so." I said and I realized that I was smiling again. "So." I gestured toward my suitcase. "Where should I put this?"

He beckoned me to him, down the hall. I followed without another word. He led me to the room opposite his at the left end, next to the only bathroom. I tried not to think about that. It would be difficult to share a bathroom with someone again. I hadn't shared since I'd lived at home as a teenager. But Sherlock didn't strike me as the kind of person to waste much time sticking around the flat during the day.

"I cleared out some things." Sherlock said, moving out of the doorway so that I could walk through. The bed was stripped down to the mattress and most of the furniture was gone, save a dresser that was pushed up against one wall.

"Some?"

"Hm. A few." He said, frowning as if realizing for the first time how empty the room was. "I assumed that you might want... different things than were originally placed here."

"There's that word again." I said, sighing.

"Indeed."

"Is this a mistake?"

Sherlock hesitated, as if he'd wondered the same thing. "That is very likely."

I nodded and turned back to face the naked room. "I thought so, too." I said. I liked that Sherlock wasn't afraid to be honest with me, at least about this. I would have to see how long it would take before I was tired of his candor. "Thank you, Sherlock. Really. For putting so much thought into this."

"I didn't." The words erupted from him immediately, as if he were uncomfortable with all the niceties that had been exchanged in the last five minutes. It was proving to be too much for him. "I had nothing else to do."

"Oh." I said. There it was again, the sinking feeling of not knowing what to say. I nodded, still trying to search my suddenly quiet brain for a way to respond. "Still." I said finally. I rolled my eyes with my back turned. This was almost physically painful. I walked over to the bed and lifted my suitcase off the ground before dropping it on the mattress, the weight of it pitching my body forward uncomfortably. I sighed and looked around the room again.

"I think I should unpack my clothes." I said, not even glancing back at Sherlock. He still stood in the doorway, transfixed as he watched me move about John's old room. It was like he couldn't seem to get used to the sight. "And then, if you're up for it, I think I would like you to come with me to look at a few things for the room."

Sherlock sputtered. "Me." He said.

I turned to him, arms folded over my chest. "It isn't a marriage proposal, Sherlock. It's a shopping trip. You might want to close your mouth."

His mouth, which had been hanging open, snapped shut audibly. He frowned at me for a long time, choosing his next words carefully. "I don't do shopping."

And then, just as quickly as the exchange had begun, it was over. Sherlock nodded his head and excused himself rather abruptly, leaving me to unpack. I did so in silence, listening to him move around in his own small world that seemed to exclude this room and therefore me as well. I felt alone. But I needed the time; I needed to wrap my mind around reality. It seemed very much like a dream to me, even as I began making the small room look more like home. It would need pictures. Some flowers too, maybe. I would need to bring some things over from my old flat, blankets and some of my books. And then, I would sell the rest.

I worried somewhere in the back of my mind about letting my flat go. What if this didn't work? What if all my doubts proved true and I didn't last the month? What would I do? Where would I go? I shook my head and sat down on the bed, trying to ignore the emptiness of the room. I would make it. Baker Street would become my home; running from this wasn't an option anymore. What was done was done. I would have to make it work.

I couldn't feel guilty about living my life. Ella had been right about that. I didn't like to think about it – the empty space. And maybe I was losing my mind. My decisions didn't exactly reflect any degree of collectiveness, everything was erratic and so very unlike me. But that was good – I was taking chances with my time now, instead of hoarding it and keeping it tucked tightly away behind the illusion that I had a hundred years ahead of me to do what I wanted at my leisure.

I was living like it might be stolen away at any moment. And that isn't a bad way to be, I decided, as long as it wasn't fear that was driving you. No, I'd just… woken up. I'd spent my whole life sleeping and now I was awake.

And that was okay. It was okay for me to keep moving forward. Was this the way I should do it? I didn't know. But it was something unexplored and more than a little terrifying and I didn't have the wish to look back and have a life full of 'what ifs.' I'd rather crash and burn than never take the chance. Who knew, really? I could do more than be okay at Baker Street. But there was only one way to find out.