Kay ya'll I'm posting this chap also cuz I don't think I'll be getting much time until, like two months from now, if I play my cards right.  I just tried out for my High School's award-winning marching band (ummm flags and stuff, I can play a piano…which is the extent of my musical playing abilities [ask my elementary school music teacher…I sucked at the freakin recorder!]and I'm not gonna get a call back until the 28th.. and then it'll be a month of strenuous practice to figure out what SQUAD I'm on… and then exactly half of my summer (I counted grumble) will be sent sweating, bleeding, and crying while practicing…this is gonna be sooo hard…oh shit, and my AP French.. and Bio…uhmmm…oookay, I'm telling you now, I'm gonna try REALLY hard to update…..

            Sherlock laced his fingers through Olivia's, she smiled up at him.

            "Yeah, it is beautiful out."

            "Actually, I was thinking about how lucky I am to be in love with you, love."

            It had been three weeks since her mother's murder, as well as three weeks since the mutual acknowledgement of affection.  As blissful as she felt, she had to admit that there was a part of her that kept growing every day, a part of her that said that things needed to be done.

            Sherlock seemed content as they walked through Central Park, the spring renewing the park's atmosphere.  Their relationship had gone at its own pace, each seeming to know where boundaries and lines where.  Not only that, they both seemed to know what each other was thinking; words where unnecessary. 

            "It's fate, Liv.  Not only that, it's creepy," Krysten had said the day before, stopping in for early coffee with Olivia.  She looked at Krysten incredulously.

            "What's creepy?"

            Holmes padded out of his room, still groggy from sleep.  His sleeping habits had changed so that he could meet Olivia at the kitchen, and today was no exception.

            "Left," she said simply, and Sherlock opened the cabinet on the left side of the refrigerator and grabbed the box of pop tarts, a treat he had grown to love.  He grinned and pecked her on the cheek.

            Krysten was openly amazed.  "That's what's weird, hon."

            "Sherlock?"

            "Yes, love?"

            "We need to sit down and discuss so-"

            Holmes led Olivia to a bench and nodded.  "You're thinking about going back to work?"

            "Well," she leaned her head against his shoulder, and he looped his arm around her.  "Not exactly.  I've already gone back to work, but I'm thinking of going back to my fellow Feebs."

            "So?"

            She turned around, and faced him.  "So, it may require going to D.C., for a little while everyday."

            He looked down and Olivia saw his jaw set itself.  "I see."

            "Oh, Sherlock, stop.  You know I love you, it's just-"

            "You want revenge.  I can see it.  I can feel it.  Olivia, don't let that consume you."

            She threw her hands up.  "I can't help it, and if I have to become Batman or something, so be it."

            "Batman?"

            "Yes, Batman," she grinned and leaned back.  "I'm thinking of a stop at the video store, love."

            Video in hand, Sherlock and Olivia made their way to the apartment, stopping only for the occasional kiss.  The rush of being with Sherlock was amazing, creating butterflies in her stomach like nothing before.

            It had been at least three minutes outside the apartment before Olivia was able to finally turn and open the door, both falling through the doorway.  Falling on the couch, Olivia, giggling, Holmes sat up.

            "You know, we'd probably be arrested for being so obscene in public if we were back on Baker's Street."

            "Nah, we'd wheedle our way out of it.  You must have something on Lestrade."

            "Very true, Liv-my-luv."

            She grinned, "Okay, who's up for movie and kissing?"

            He raised his hand.

            The movie had probably ended a while ago, but Sherlock and Olivia were to busy to realize it.  Sherlock breathed and sat up, looking at the clock. 

            "Don't you have work tomorrow?"

            "Yes, so?"

            "As much as I'm enjoying our" he cleared his throat, "time together, I believe that you should be getting to bed, as should I, I've got some errands to do."

            She sighed, and got up.  "Fine, spoil our fun, you party pooper."  She paused to give him on last kiss. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning."

            Holmes rolled over, unable to sleep, and looked in his doorway to see Olivia standing there.

            "Something wrong, pet?"  She nodded, and he climbed out of bed to stand next to her. She laced her fingers behind his head, giving him a firm, needy kiss.

            The look in her eyes spoke volumes before she opened her mouth. 

            "I don't want to be alone tonight."

            With one last kiss, he scooped her up and placed her on his bed.

            And that was the last thing said that night.

            Olivia opened her eyes sleepily, and then smiled recalling what had gone on last night.  She rolled over to see Sherlock watching her.

            "Good morning," she whispered, giving him a kiss.  "How long have you been up?"

            He smiled.  "Not really long at all.  Fifteen minutes at the most."

            She sat up and stretched, clutching the sheets around her chest with one hand and extending the other.  He placed a kiss on her neck.

            "How are you feeling?" he asked as she turned around, hands behind his head, maneuvering herself to sit on his lap.  The motion caused him to blush profusely.

            "Like a million bucks…and you?"

            He smiled, and dipped in for a kiss.  "Never better. Words cannot explain how I feel.  What do you want for breakfast?"

            She groaned, laying her head on his chest.  "You just had to remind me about work, didn't you?"

            "Sorry love."

            He got out of bed and Olivia grabbed his shirt from the day before, buttoning it up quickly and padding out of his bedroom to the kitchen, Sherlock behind her.

            "Oh-my-God!"

            Olivia's eyes met Krysten, and her husband in the kitchen.

            "I cannot believe what I'm seeing!" he said between bites of bacon.

            Sherlock took Olivia's hand and squeezed it as they walked into the kitchen, going about their routine like the two weren't there."

            "About time, you two," Krys said, pausing to take a sip of coffee, "seriously, it was getting to be rather nagging, you two always looking at each other like that."

            "Oh sod off, Krysten!" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he went back to his room to get more suitable.

            "Ah, I think it did him good, dear, seems already to have loosened up," Erik commented, and Olivia flicked juice at him.

            "Listen, I was nothing but sweet when you two eloped and-"

            Erik cleared his throat and Krysten looked down at her plate.

            "What's the matter?"

            "Well, you see," Erik started.  "The minister in Las Vegas wasn't actually allowed to marry people-"

            "And alcohol really impairs you judgment of others-" Krysten said slowly, receiving a look from Erik.

            "Oh come on, you were attracted to me…weren't you?"

            Krysten fiddled with a piece of egg on her plate.  "Like I said, alcohol really impairs your judgment."

            Erik's shoulders slumped.  "So, we're just friends."

            "Ah, alright."  Olivia stood up and excused herself.  Coming back a few minutes later, she grabbed her helmet out of the closet.  "Sherlock, I'm leaving for work."

            He came out, tucking his shirt into his pants.  Olivia fixed his collar.  "Do you have to?"

            She kissed him.  "I know, I know, but I have to."

            He smiled, and then held her to him for a moment.  "I love you, remember that."

            She nodded and headed for the door.  "Come on Krys!"

            "Oh, can we take my car?"

            "No.  You can take the car, I'm taking my baby.  I'll meet you there."

            "Fine."

            "Sooo, what do we have on the menu?" Krys rubbed her palms together, anxious to get back to work.

            "Well," said Olivia, "we've got a corpse-"

            "Say no more.  I'm getting ma' gloves on!" she jogged off to her desk, Olivia following.  Krys was one of those girls you'd never think was morbid.. but she was, in a strange, perky sort of way. 

            Olivia sipped the mocha Marshal had handed her as she walked in, plopping down in her chair to survey the paperwork.  Focusing, she looked down and steeled herself for the 'fun' ahead.

            Instead, she found a typed letter.

Jamila-

            Sorry about your mother.  Too bad.  You don't have to worry about any more of that. Just remember, though, that I'm always watching you.

"Who the put this on my desk?" Olivia hollered as her heart rate quickened, eyes sweeping the room. 

            No one answered.

            "That's it," Olivia muttered as she threw items in her bag.  She grabbed her cell phone as she went through the morgue, angrily punching in numbers.

            "Hello?" said the voice on the other end.

            "It's Watson, I'll meet you at the cemetery."

            "What for?"

            She started the motorcycle, her jaw set.  "Time for that little favor."

            "Watson, what's the matter?" Agent Sprawling walked with her as she took off her gloves. 

            "I want to get him."

            "Who?"

            "My father."  He looked at her oddly.  "Listen, I know this sounds weird, I know, but I received this." She handed him the paper.

            "'Jamila'?"

            "It's one of my many middle names.  It means 'princess' in Egyptian, and my father called me that.  Even though my father didn't like that I was named like that…he liked it's meaning."

            He scanned it over.  "Is there anyone else who could've written this?"

            She shook her head, and then shrugged.  "I really don't think so."

            He wiped his face and messaged the peak of his nose.  "Ms. Watson, this isn't really evidence that your father is alive-"

            She crossed her arms.  "There's surveillance."

            "You know about that stuff?"

            She shrugged, leaning against a tree and staring out across the field, dotted by gray stones.  "Yeah, have my connections."

            "So you know we've recently received confirmed accounts that he's alive?"

            She straightened up.  "No."

            "Well, there you have it.  But what does this have to do with the favor?"

            She took a breath.  "Train me.  Let me get this guy."

            His eyes widened and turned, staring off. "There's no way in hell I could allow that.  You don't have-"

            "I already filled out the papers.  I have all the credentials, please!" she grabbed his arm.  "If you give me permission, I will take them down, all of them… If you don't, I will do it on my own."

            He turned, his face aloof.  "I'll discuss it with the recruiters…in the mean time, start getting yourself back in shape."

            "Hey!"

            "You panted as you ran after just before…don't try to hide it."

            "I had on my back-pack!  It weighs a ton! What do you expect?!?"

            "Well, if you actually want in, I expect you to be able to haul your own wait-physically and emotionally. I'll call you in a few days."

            "So why are we jogging?" Sherlock leaned against a bench as she jogged in place.

            Olivia shook her head.  "Because you and I have to get into shape.  We're looking like old farts compared to them."  She gestured to the some people who had passed them.

            "Alright," he panted, now working out a kink in his back.  "As long as we don't end up looking like them."  He pointed at something behind her back.

            Turning, she saw a couple walking towards them.  Both of them looked to be in their eighties, and smokers at one point, the way they were breathing…

            She gulped.  "I assure you, we won't look like that."

            The 'few days' Sprawling said it would take for him to contact her passed quickly.  Work was boring, a love-triangle gone sour.  Their were new purchases being seen around Olivia's and Sherlock's apartment-a punching bag for Olivia's new rigorous (and baffling) daily routine….a dart board for Sherlock to help with the occasional need to fling things at the wall (which had caused the prideful bullet holes of the initials of the Queen back at Bakers Street).  Everything was perfect.

            "This is so screwed up," Olivia muttered to herself as she looked at her bedroom, which was now being used a storage room.  She hated how she had organized things, and the sudden urge to re-arrange things had taken a hold on her.  Thus, she was leaning on the door-jam, biting her nails, and wondering if she could get to an IKEA, Wal-Mart, and a dollar store in time for what would be needed. 

            "What's the matter, hon?" his arms went around her waist and he looked into the room over her shoulder. 

            "Look at it.  It looks horrible!" she leaned her head back and looked at his face.  Instead of the completely agreeing look of disgust, he squinted at the room.

            She growled and started into the room, marching into the heart of the room and started to go through boxes.  Sherlock grabbed her from behind and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her into the living room and letting go over the couch. 

            "I need to clean, please!"

            Sherlock looked at her, raising an eyebrow.  "Are you addicted to cleaning?"
            She crossed her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue.  "No, I'm a social cleaner.  I clean just enough to keep me from being diagnosed with OCD and to get a buzz.  No, honey, I just felt like it."

            "I tell you why, you're nervous."

            "Why would I be nervous?"

            "I wouldn't know.  You don't tell me things like that."

            Sherlock gave her a deep analytical glare, the kind he'd give someone who he was meeting for the first time.  It made her squirm.

            "Honey, it's nothing really."

            His eyebrow went up and the glare became a look of worry.  "Then what is it?"

            She swallowed and looked down at her hand, she took a deep breath. "I-I decided to become active again."

            He blushed, scratching the back of his head.  "I thought what we've done was considered… 'active'….."

            "Of course it is!" she said quickly, and then shook her head.  "I'm putting myself on active in the F.B.I."  Olivia took his hands, and then kissed his cheek.  "It just means that I'll be spending a little more time at work, and I'll be a little stressed," she smiled giving him a cryptic look, "but I'm hoping that you can help me with that part."

            "And what will you be gaining?"

            "Well," she sighed, a hand automatically putting itself through her hair without much thought.  "I'm not too sure, exactly, I just need to."

            He smiled.  "I know how that is, love.  With my parents and all."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Left home and my father disowned me."

            She gave him a huge hug.  "Vent.  I'm here."

            "Nope, not going to."

            As she was about to open her mouth, the phone rang, and she jumped up to get it.  "'Lo?"

            "Watson," it was Sprawling.

            "Hello," she leaned against the counter, waiting for him to go on.

            "I just called to let you know that we'd like you to start training here," he continued quickly, his monotone voice not really changing.  "Now, this doesn't mean you're in, it just means you're a candidate."

            "Thank you," she breathed. 

            Olivia woke up at six at looked at the alarm clock on the other side of Sherlock, a nervous feeling in her stomach.  She hadn't told him because she knew he wouldn't take the news too well. And now, with the excuse that she had to get some of her items she had left at the office she worked at, she was going to D.C…to meet with Sprawling and to start a week of examination.

            "Honey," she whispered, sitting up.  "I have to go."

            His hand instantaneously tightened its grip on her waist, and he opened his eyes sleepily.  "Where?"

            She kissed him with a laugh.  "You know, when we were at Baker Street, you never were this out of it."

            He gave her a smile, a small one as he wasn't awake enough to give her a full one.  "You're right.  But then again, I wasn't well…um…fla…we weren't getting rock n' roll."

            She gave him a confused look and then fell forward on his chest laughing.

            "I love you, you crazy, Irish-slang using Tan, you."

            He let out a small laugh and sat up, a hand going through her hair.  "And I love you like crazy." He kissed the top of her head and sighed.  "Do you really have to go get your mother's things and sort all that rot?  I thought that that was all taken care of."

            "Stop whining, firstly.  And secondly I have to.  There's no way around it."  Olivia felt her stomach twist into a knot; she was lying to Sherlock, the only man she had ever really loved.  Giving him a smile, she sat up, "How about breakfast before we start doing something that will make me be extremely late."

            He gave her a lopsided grin.  "Wish I had thought about that before you did…well, I did…but…"

            "Oh, be quite you," she rolled over, "and get out of bed.  We're going to breakfast."

            Today was blood tests, hearing tests, every sort of test imaginable to make sure she would be able to then take more test in the following days.  By the end of everything, she was emotionally drained.  Sprawling met her in the hallway afterwards, and asked if she wanted to go to a bar and get a drink.

            "Nah," she shook her head.  "Although a beer or something sounds really good about now, I have to get home."

            He nodded.  "Tomorrow, right?"

            She hesitated, suddenly thinking of how she was going to be able to lie to Sherlock about tomorrow.

            "Yeah."

            Sherlock was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine waiting for her.  Olivia gave him an appreciative smile and dropped the box of papers she had brought to make it look like she had started to clear her mother's items.  She dropped it onto chair and walked over to him. 

            "I missed you," she said simply before kissing him.  It was true.  And now, enveloped in his taste and smell, his arms holding her, she realized how much she loved him.

            He handed her the glass and kissed her again.  There was a light in his eyes, the sort she recognized from when she first met him.  It was the look of being in his element, either surrounded by a crime scene or by books and music.  He reached behind the couch and took out a violin case.

            "Stradivars, right?"

            He nodded, taking it out and putting it to his chin.  He looked over at her for a moment and then closed his eyes.

            Olivia leaned back, forgetting all that had happened as the sound of the violin and the feel of the velvet couch swept her away.