Hi guys! This might be my favorite chapter yet, it was so much fun to write. I have finals in the next two weeks, so I don't know when I'll update again, but I hope this will hold you over for now! Enjoy and please tell me what you think in the reviews!

-lightinside

08.

Weeks went by. Life was picking up pace again, but I couldn't lie and say that it was getting any easier. So, I smiled and nodded and said that I was fine, that things were better. Sarah Sawyer had called and given me my new schedule. I'd had my first week at my new job – I was slowly rejoining the masses. But this morning was mine, I didn't have to share it with any patients who coughed in my face or went diving for pharmaceuticals when my back was turned.

No, it was me, my coffee, and an incredibly grumpy consulting detective. I sipped a little too loudly just to bother him as he muttered to himself, bent over his makeshift lab in the kitchen. He was nearly incoherent. I had tried to stop listening, but it was a curious sight and I was his captive audience.

I wondered as he worked if Dana were still in town. She'd never called since that day she'd rushed from Blandford's. I didn't know how she was or if Charlie had turned out okay. Dana had a way of doing that – keeping in touch and then dropping off the face of the earth. I tried not to let it get to me, as she'd always been that kind of person. Here one day, gone the next, only to show up months later and pick up where she'd left off.

That was one of the reasons her mother worried for her so much. And it was also partly the cause of Charlie's many publicity stunts that were too often close calls. But there had always been more to their situation than most people knew.

I did. So, I kept sipping my coffee and made the decision not to call. Dana would, when she had a moment to breathe.

After swearing under his breath, Sherlock snapped to attention and whirled on me. I recognized that look on his face. He used me as an outlet to take out all his frustrations. I sighed and took a very long sip of coffee in preparation for what was to come, one which drained my cup.

"Are you going to sit there all morning or are you going to be a productive member of society?" He called, glancing pointedly at my empty cup.

I scowled and got up to refill it, pushing pointedly past him on my way to the coffee pot. "Depends." I said. "Are you?"

Cup renewed, I took another obnoxious slurp. I found that I enjoyed the way annoyance flashed across his face. I bit my lip to keep from smirking just as his mouth flattened into a grim, unappreciative line. It was very early in the day, maybe I should have been nicer. But this was too fun.

"I am being productive." He snapped and turned back to his lab. He started shuffling papers around trying to look busy.

"Really? And just what are you doing?"

He refused to answer me. Instead, he walked straight to the coffee pot, turned so that he was looking straight at me, and dumped the whole thing down the sink.

My mouth fell open, I couldn't stop it.

Without a word, he stalked past me and out of the kitchen. I stumbled to my feet, grabbed my coffee, and followed him. Sherlock was already situated in his armchair, tapping away on his phone. He wouldn't look up when I walked in.

I look one last infuriatingly loud gulp of my coffee. From the way his eyes flew to mine, full of loathing, I knew the sound was like nails on chalkboard to him. I waved my fingers at him coyly and turned on my heels, rushing to my bedroom while I still had the upper hand.

"Heathen!" He yelled down the hall.

"Jackass!" I yelled back and slammed the door.

Just another sunny day on Baker Street.

I somehow managed to beat him to the shower and I took my precious time in the bathroom. He'd wasted a perfectly good pot of coffee, I was out to get him now. When I came out, hair in a towel, Sherlock was once again hunched over, but this time he was studying paperwork.

"What's that?" I asked, squinting as I tried to make out what it might be.

"Oh. Have you decided to behave decently?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, fighting the urge to be petulant. "Don't even start."

He looked up then. With an eye roll and a heavy sigh, he put down whatever he was reading. "I assume you realize how ridiculous you look with that thing on your head."

"My hair is wet." I retorted. "What excuse do you have for the things you wear? Turning your collar up?"

"Please." He scoffed.

"You think it looks cool. At least I don't wear this," I gestured to the towel, "out of the flat."

"Is there a point to this, Katherine? And will you reach it before I have aged an additional thirty years?" He asked blandly, voice monotone. It infuriated me. I hated it when he used that voice on me. I huffed and ripped the towel from my hair, ignoring the way the curls roared to life even under the weight of residual water.

"You're being especially rude this morning. Any reason why?"

He mimicked my huff and scowled resentfully up at me from where he sat. "Don't you have work today?"

"It's one of my days off." I reminded him. "Sorry to disappoint, but you'll have me around all day." In answer, he groaned and snagged a paper off the coffee table. Fanning it out with a most dramatic flair, he proceeded to hide his face behind it and dutifully ignore me. I rolled my eyes and threw myself down in John's chair. The longer I lived here, I could feel myself falling back in time. Our interactions were childish at best, we couldn't seem to stay off each other's last nerve. I felt sixteen again. And it was terrible.

As I sulked, I looked at my cell for the first time all morning and felt my stomach leap to my throat. I had three missed calls from my mother. I tapped her name, putting the phone to my ear as it rang though she'd called easily an hour before.

She answered on the first ring. "Darling?"

"Mum?" I asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, dear. Of course. I'm back in town." She said, speaking nonchalantly as if this wasn't the first conversation we'd had since she left. "Sylvia drove me up the wall – it was leave or commit myself, so here I am."

"Oh. I thought you wouldn't last very long, I even told Dad." I said, ignoring the way Sherlock was peeking at me over his newspaper. For someone who seemed so disinterested, he really was a snoop. "No, Katherine, I mean that I'm here."

"Here. In London." I sounded almost robotic. "I know, Mum. I'm not totally ridiculous." At this, Sherlock scoffed. I shot him the most withering glare I could manage.

"Outside your flat, darling." She said. "I couldn't go back to your father, we're figuring out some things. Dana told me where you were living now, I'm sorry I missed the move. But it is rather cold out and I would, please, like to be let in."

"You – you're – I thought – you didn't say you were coming."

Sherlock put down his paper.

"I tried calling several times earlier, but you never do have your phone." She sighed. "Please, Katherine. Can we have this talk when I've settled in?"

Settled in. She had her suitcase, she had to – she'd come straight from the train station. She really was staying here. I stood up, frozen in horror as I looked pleadingly at Sherlock. He was wary, shifting as though he was readying himself to leap up and bolt for the street. I dropped the phone from my ear and muted the call.

"My mum is here." I said.

Sherlock immediately began shaking his head. "No, no." He insisted. "I don't do mothers. I very much dislike them. She can't stay here."

"She's here already, Sherlock. Outside." I pointed to the window. "Go and have a look if you don't believe me."

Indeed, he rushed to the window and peered cautiously through the drapes. He flinched away from them as if he'd been bitten. Eyes wide, he turned on me. "No."

"What can I do about it now?" I asked, ignoring the sound of my mother's voice demanding my attention through the receiver. "Send her away?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes. Exactly. Do that."

"No." I echoed his early sentiment, shaking my head at him.

"She can't stay here."

I unmuted the call and put the cell pack to my ear. "Just a second, mum. I'm working something out for you." Before she could answer, I'd muted it again. "Sherlock, this is ridiculous. What would you do if it were your mum?"

"My mum wouldn't show up without a phone call." He snapped.

"She did call." I said. "And I can't send her to a hotel. My parents are divorcing. She won't go back home. Until she finds a flat of her own, and that won't take more than a few days." I cut him off just as his eyes bugged and he opened his mouth to protest. "Breathe, Sherlock. You're pink in the face."

Sherlock realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a puff. He breathed in and let it out again a few times before he spoke again. "Three days." He said. "That's it. You promise."

"Three days."

"Three days." Sherlock repeated, stabbing a finger in my direction.

"Alright, grumpy, I said I promised." I rolled my eyes and unmuted the call. "Mum, you can come up."

"Well," she said. "I'm so very glad that you aren't going to leave your mother standing out here in the elements. How generous of you." I heard her suitcase start rolling across the pavement as she muttered to herself. I closed my eyes, fighting annoyance. I was very glad that Sherlock couldn't hear what she was saying. It was an invitation for some snarky comment that I couldn't handle at present.

"Generous." I murmured, almost inaudibly. "Right."

I waited until I heard her trudging up the stairs to start for the door. I had needed the few extra seconds to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught ahead. If she didn't start cleaning straight out of the gate, she'd at least start digging through the cupboards or washing dishes. My mum was insufferable when she was avoiding something. The something in this case was clearly my father.

I opened the door and plastered a smile on my face just as she cleared the stairs and dropped her suitcase at her feet. "Hi, Mum." I greeted her as cheerily as possible. "Can I –" she handed me her suitcase and pushed past me and into the flat, "take this for you?" I finished in a whisper. Bracing myself, I closed the door and set down her suitcase.

"How was your trip?" I asked, noticing that Sherlock had fled to his bedroom. My mum sat down on the sofa with an exaggerated sigh and shrugged off her coat.

"Awful." She said. "Your father suggested it. I never should have let him talk me into it."

"I'm sure he was trying to help."

"Yes. Always trying to help." She muttered. Her coat ended up in a wad over the arm of the sofa. It was then that she took at look around the flat. "What is all of this?" She gestured to the living room, at Sherlock's papers and his violin. "It's a mess, Katherine, absolutely disgraceful."

I scowled.

"Wipe that look off your face, you'll give yourself lines."

I wiped the look off my face and gritted my teeth instead. "It's fine, mother." I said calmly. "Everything is clean. Organized. Just where it should be. So, don't get any ideas. We like it this way."

My mum frowned skeptically. "It's dusty."

"We like dust. Dust gives character to the furniture."

She swiped her fingers over Sherlock's side of the coffee table and they came up thick with character. Her eyebrows knitted together, her lips pursed. I wouldn't show it, but I was just as displeased as she was. Right now, in front of my mum, it was all about solidarity – the virtue she preached so proudly at home. I had to have Sherlock's back, there was no other way to go about it. As long as she was here, I would be the picture of health and happiness. It was what would keep her from worrying – it would make her happy.

"You keep saying 'we'." My mum noted. "Where is your other half?"

I blinked. "Alright, well, never put it like that again." I said. "And I don't know. Out, probably. Somewhere." Somewhere that isn't here, I added silently.

"Wasn't he here?" She asked. "A moment ago, someone looked out the window while I was begging you to bring me in out of the cold."

I tried not to roll my eyes. What could I say to that? Sherlock was here, he did look out the window, but he's deathly afraid of anyone with a shred of maternal instinct and was probably hidden away in his room? Of course not, because it was all about solidarity. If he'd decided to hide, I had to go with it.

The bastard.

"Did they?" I asked, turning to pick up her suitcase again. "I didn't notice. Let me drag this to my room for you, and I'll be right back." I hurried off before my mum could comment and nearly tripped over the volume of her belongings on my way to the hall. She'd packed for France like she had no intention of ever coming back to London. I pretended not to notice that, filed it away under the Things Never Ever to Mention to Dad, and walked it dutifully to my bedroom door.

After sitting the thing down, I sighed and leaned up against the door, eyes closed. I had maybe a minute before she started calling for me. Two before she ventured into the hallway to retrieve me herself. I took a deep breath and was just about to stand up when my door opened from the inside and I tumbled over the threshold and onto someone's shoes with a yelp.

"Katherine?" My mum called. "Are you alright?"

I looked up from the shoes to find Sherlock attached to them. He reached over me and grabbed her suitcase, bringing it inside with a flick of his wrist. He was much stronger than he looked. I gaped at him for another second before he gestured impatiently toward the door. Answer, he was telling me.

"Fine! I just tripped. I'll be out in a minute." I said, but Sherlock held up two fingers. "Two minutes!" I corrected myself and he shut the door.

I glared up at him from where I lay in a heap on the floor. "What in the world do you think you're doing?"

"I knew you were more likely to come here than go looking for me." He said, eyeing me for what I imagined could have wound up being gaping wounds. As it was, I would have maybe two bruises and sore wrists from trying to catch myself as I fell. "Are you hurt?"

"Brilliant deduction, Holmes." I hissed. "What has gotten into you? This is ridiculous. It's my Mum. You can't hide in here forever."

He hummed. "Might just, actually."

I bit my tongue to restrain myself from shouting at him. "Alright." I forced the word out, making a point of looking anywhere but at Sherlock. If I had, I would have strangled him. "You gave me the okay to bring her in out of the cold. Now you won't even go and greet her. What would you have me do?"

"Your nostrils flare when you're in a temper. It's your tell." Sherlock said. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Once or twice." I replied, repeating his own words. This caught him off guard so much that he froze. For a second or two, I thought he might even smile. The emotion faded and his face once again seemed as though it were carved from stone.

I felt disappointment dance along the lines of my ribs before I pushed it away. I wondered why he felt the need to hide his good humor from me. He kept himself at arm's length – never quite my friend, never quite someone I could ever truly dislike. It was obvious, as little as I knew him, that I held him in a higher regard than he was willing to hold me.

A friend. I needed one of those. It was wonderful that I'd found Molly. And Dana, I imagined, would always be a fixture in my life. But was it asking too much of fortune that I also be friends with my flatmate? It was selfish to have so many good things going and wish for one more. I knew that. And yet, every time Sherlock almost laughed, I wished for it. Each time he woke me playing the violin before the sun rose, I would listen and wish.

And yet…

"Getting back to the matter at hand, I didn't have time to rush the door, Katherine." He sighed. "This was the next alternative."

"Lurking in my bedroom." I said. "How very psycho-killer of you." In answer, Sherlock rolled his eyes and helped himself to a seat on my bed. I nodded, "Please do sit down."

He looked down his nose at me, facial expression neutral. "I find myself wondering how your tongue doesn't cut you, as sharp as it is."

"And I wonder how you aren't carved from stone, as reserved as you are." I snapped back, glaring. "So full of judgment, so few words. It's unbelievable."

"About that." He said, ignoring everything else I'd said. "Words. You seem to attach a great deal of importance to those, so I thought you might be rather unforgiving if I had none for your mother."

I arched a brow at him and sat up straighter, looking at him from the floor. "And you suddenly care?"

"Attempting to." Sherlock stated. "Will you help me, or must I become a recluse and remain here while she takes over the flat?"

"Stop being so dramatic." Now I was the one rolling my eyes. "You just… I don't know, speak when spoken to."

"What wonderful advice." He said drily. "I wasn't aware we were in the eighteenth century."

"You're impossible." I said, standing. I grabbed a pillow from my bed and flopped down beside Sherlock, lying so that I stared at the ceiling. "I don't know what to tell you, really. Just don't look her directly in the eye."

He glanced down at me, curious.

"She turns men to stone with the bat of an eyelash." I explained, fighting back a laugh.

Sherlock scoffed and rose from where he sat, straightening his shirt. "Now who is being impossible."

I stopped resisting then and let loose a laugh I was sure my mother could hear. "You just wait until Christmas. Then you'll really be in for an experience. This is just… the prelude. An initiation, if you will."

"Living with John was much less complicated." Sherlock let the words fall from his mouth without thinking, something that I considered to be very unlike him. And then I got my answer. He never let himself laugh because he was always on his guard against what we'd both lost. I was perhaps too much like my brother for Sherlock's own good – too much of a reminder. He could never really be himself around me, the way he was with John.

He blinked in surprise at himself, and I chewed my lip, as I always did when anxiety gripped my heart with its iron claws. Sherlock didn't move for a moment that seemed to last forever.

"He was less complicated." I agreed finally. "I'm much more unforgiving than my brother."

Sherlock hesitated. "And much louder."

I laughed again, and he seemed to relax. I knew that, eventually, John's name wouldn't result in tongues of flame licking at the hole where my heart had been. My ribs wouldn't feel as if they were being wrenched apart. I would be able to breathe. And if Sherlock and I worked on it enough, my brother's absence would be the thing that brought us together instead of the thing we stayed quiet to avoid.

"Katherine?" My mother called, sounding closer than before. I sighed, imagining that she'd drifted closer to the hallway when she heard me laughing. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." I tried to respond without sounding put out. I stood up from the bed and brushed myself off. I looked at Sherlock, catching his eye with the barest hint of a smile. "Come on." I said. "I won't throw you to the wolves alone."

He sighed and walked to the door, sweeping past me and wrenching it open before he could change his mind. I followed him out into the hall, but it was Sherlock my mother spotted first. "Ah!" She exclaimed. "Katherine's elusive other half."

Sherlock threw a particularly nasty look over his shoulder, aimed at me, before I nudged him forward and into the living room.

Let the initiation begin.