Somewhere on Autumn Woods Drive

By Rikku Minouke

Disclaimer: I don't own YYH or Sherlock Holmes

AN: I haven't received a review in a while... what's up with that? I'm sad that I feel like I'm begging for reviews. I understand that I am writing this for me, but your guys feed back makes me WANT to continue. I'm honestly starting to question this fandom. And that depresses me. I have been a part of the YYH fandom for over ten years. I am really disappointed right now.

Chapter forty five

It's taken me a while to realize that really is the little things in life that I should cherish. While a decent percentage of the big things in my life have not been the most pleasant, the little things that people do make everything worthwhile. The little tid bits that people give me make the bad situations worth dealing with.

"You seriously want me to read Sherlock Holmes to him?" Kurama took the book from my hands. His lips were parted and his eyes were suspicious. "Where did you even get this book?"

"What? Can I not own Sherlock Holmes?" I felt slightly offended. Pushing a few blue strands behind my ear, I felt the muscles in my jaw tighten.

"That's not what I meant to imply," his lips fell to a frown as he crawled up the bed to sit next to me. "I just thought that it seemed out of place with your usual collection of books. It's not a smut romance novel."

I puffed my cheeks at that comment. "I do own classic novels as well. I read The Canterbury Tales, Alice in Wonderland, The Outsiders, The Yearling, and many others. Have you looked at my bookshelf?"

He laughed at my defensive tone. "You also told me your dad grounded you for a whole summer and forced you to read The Yearling and The Outsiders and then write papers about them. I really don't think those count in this discussion."

I paused and tried to think of something smart to say. Shaking my head, all I could come up with was, "Touche." Reaching my hand over, I attempted to take the book from his hands but he held it barely out of my grasp.

"But if this is what you would like, I will read this," he met my eyes with a serious gaze. "I do enjoy a good mystery, after all. I'll even read Edgar Allen Poe if you would like. I know how much you like those old Vincent Price movies."

I stayed silent, but watching him carefully. Sometimes I was amazed that this wonderful man was in my life. "Thank you," I mumbled quietly as his smile warmed my insides, chipping away at the ice still encasing my thawing heart.

Kurama looked down at the book in his hand, before situating himself so that his head as against the side of my breast and my arm as around his shoulder. "Is this alright for you?" I knew he positioned himself there so when he read, his voice would be closer to my stomach. Nodding, I let my fingers run through the red locks. He opened the hardcover novel flipped to the first chapter.

"In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties."

As I continued to play with his hair, my other hand rubbed tenderly against my stomach. Kurama's voice was smooth and calming. If someone told me last year this is where I would be, I'd have laughed and told them they were crazy. But here I was with this perfect man and a baby on the way. Life was strange, but I honestly felt like I was in the right spot. For the first time in my life I felt like this was home to me. I'm almost positive I had never felt like this.

Part of me wondered if this would eventually end because that's what I was used to. But another part hoped that this was the long haul situation. And as I listened to Kurama read about how Watson and Sherlock met, I felt an ache in my heart. I didn't want this to end.

I didn't want his gentle touch to go away or to say good bye to his sweet kisses. It would be too hard to not have that playful banter with secret smiles being traded. Deep down, I wanted him to always be present and I wanted my son to grow up like the man next to me.

Blinking, I tried to focus in on the words Kurama was reading,

" 'Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, 'Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished.' "

I loved that he changed the tone in his voice when he read dialogue. I loved the excitement in that came with every word like he was thoroughly enjoying himself while reading to my child.

…I loved him…

Taking a shallow breath I let that thought sink in.

Oh my god, I really loved this man. And after the first initial thought, I let it sink and then it wasn't as surprising. A small satisfied smile crossed my face. Of course I did. He was practically perfect, how could I not.

The real issue though, was how did he feel towards me?