A/N: Hey guys! Wow, two updates, two days? What?

Because I love you guys and you're my Darlings. I'm callin' you my Darlings now, k? Kay.

This is more of a filler, with a shit ton of fluff. So be prepared.

Two months later

Isabel woke up to rolling thunder, her head pounding. She had been drinking the night before, and she knew it. She looked at the time: 4 in the morning. She groaned, sitting up. Her head spun, and she fell back against her pillows. She slowly sat back up, trying to stand on her feet. Her legs felt like jelly, her knees weak. She looked down and realized she only had on a cami. She threw on a pair of shorts and slipped a sweater on. She grabbed a ice cold bottle of water and a few pain killers, downing the pills in a single sip.

She heard the violin playing upstairs, the melody beautiful and soft. She swept her auburn hair over her shoulder, brushing it softly but quickly. She walked up the steps to the flat slowly, her head still aching. She knocked on the door, her heart starting to beat erratically. When the door opened, she was greeted with a small smile, plastered onto a beautiful face framed with messy dark curls.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock asked, his voice soft, like a whisper. She shook her head, an expression of awe upon her face as she pointed towards the violin he held in his hand.

"Do... do you play?" She asked, her voice quiet. He nodded, and let her come in. "But um, I woke up to the thunder. I didn't know it was supposed to rain today."

"It wasn't." He said, closing the door and sitting on the couch. Isabel sat on the arm, hesitant to get too close to him. He looked at her, his eyes red. "But, you know, even nature changes her mind randomly sometimes."

She looked at him, slowly getting up and walling over to him. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He said, turning away. She tentatively rested her hand against his cheek, making him look at her. She rested her forehead against his, making her heart race more than it was before. She rested her other hand on his cheek, both sides of his face now in control by her.

"Am I going to have to force it out of you?" She asked, her voice laced with seductiveness. Sherlock breathed in, his breath wispy and shallow. She smirked, closing her eyes. "Because I have no problem with that."

He took a breath quickly, pressing his lips against hers. Isabel was caught by surprise, not exactly expecting it. She kissed him back though, enjoying the time while she had the chance.

She realized she was still kneeling, and so she slowly stood up, pulling away for a second so she could sit on the couch. As soon as she sat down, their lips met once again. Sherlock turned slightly so his body was more towards her, leaning closer. Isabel did the same, her hands moving from his cheeks to his neck. His hands moved from their place at his side to her waist, pulling her closer. Her fingertips brushed against the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver in the slightest. She smiled into the kiss, the pads of her fingers slowly tracing his neck into his hair. Her fingers tangled in the curls.

Sherlock pulled away slightly, his lips brushing against Isabel's. His breathing was heavy, making her bite her lip in order to not laugh.

One moment, he's trying to catch his breath, the next... He's kissing her again, with a force that was soft but possessive at the same time. She was surprised, but gave away, loving every second. Minutes later, he pulled away again, snickering softly.

"Mm, I need you to do something for me." He said, his voice dark and deeper than usual.

Isabel looked confused as he pulled further away, watching him walk into his bedroom. She sat there, dumbstruck.

"What just happened?" She asked, her eyes threatening to close. When Sherlock walked back out, the white shirt he had on was gone, his chest chiseled into a perfect structure. She looked up at him, gazing in awe. He smirked, holding a hand out to her. She hesitantly took it, her expression never changing. He pulled her towards him, bringing her into a hug.

"What do I have to do?" She asked. He smiled, his eyes lighting up. He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face towards him. He closed his eyes and leaned in, but just let his lips brush hers as light as a feather. Every time she'd think he'd go to kiss her, she'd try to pull him in but he'd pull away a second before she could. Finally, as John opened his door and walked out, Sherlock kissed her.

He was gentle and soft, yet rough and possessive. His arms wound around her waist, pulling her tight against him. She laid her hands on his chest, her fingers tracing the muscle and the form of his abdomen lightly. He suddenly pulled away, brushing past her and stalking into his room.

"Someone's PMSing." John muttered, walking over to Isabel. " The hell was that about?"

Isabel shrugged, speechless. Sherlock came back into the living room with his purple shirt on.

"I can say that I was not..." Isabel said, not quite able to find the right word.

"Expecting that?" Sherlock suggested. "I can honestly say that I don't know why I did that."

Isabel walked over to him, giving him a quick hug. "Sure."

She smiled, looking up at Sherlock. He smiled back.

Isabel looked up at the sky, her eyes become clouded with black spots as she fought to keep conscious. The night sky was flurries with bright stars, not a single cloud in the atmosphere. The moon was a bright white, full in the midnight sky.

She looked down at her hand on her stomach, realizing she felt no pain though it was bloody. Her stomach felt like it'd been shot, and the bullet was sinking in her body. Her head spun, the stars in the sky looking like they were inches from her face. Her legs felt like they'd been set ablaze. Her whole body felt like it was going to collapse further not the ground any minute... Like it was about to sink six feet into the ground.

The snow below her iced her dying body slightly, just barely relieving the pain.

She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat felt like she just swallowed lava. Her mouth was dry and sore, her lips cracked to the point that if she moved them anymore they'd fall off. Her skin was barely covered, what with the pair of shorts and cami she was wearing. She felt frozen, like she was in a block of ice.

"Oh, Izabella, you insolent child. Your brother ran away. He escaped us. Because you said you'd pay him a good amount of money if he did so successfully. And now, he's not the only ne that has to pay the price." She heard a man say. She couldn't tell who it was. Her mind was far too fuzzy. She stayed in place, unable to move.

"You can't run away from us without dying. Without going through with your sentence. Yours just so happens to be death. Execution."

She wanted to tell him she hadn't done anything wrong. That she wasn't even in their circle. She wasn't born into it, her brother was. Because he was the oldest.

"We decided your execution will be by freezing to death. Hypothermia. We're trying to find your brother right now. He's so good at hiding."

She hear snickering. Laughing. Malicious, evil laughing. It reminded her of a mad man.

The crunch of boots digging into the packed snow flattered as the man walked away from her, leaving the woman to die. She felt completely numb.

The next thing she knew was that she was in a hospital. She was being treated for shock, hypothermia, dehydration... You name it, she was probably suffering from it. She didn't know who anyone was. She barely remembered herself.

Days after being released from the hospital she traveled to America, where she learned her father was killed in a hostage situation.

She was sure she knew who it was. But she didn't want it to be them.

Any one but them.

Sherlock laid down on his bed, checking the time. 11 at night. He hadn't slept for 4 days, so he finally gave in and decided to rest.

After what felt like minutes of being asleep, he woke up to the sound of bullets in the basement flat where Isabel lived.

"SHERLOCK!" She screamed, her voice ringing and echoing through each door and stair and wall.

Sherlock heard four bullets after she yelled his name and he sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He took his gun out, locking and loading it in case he needed to use it.

He walked into her flat, noticing her cowering on the floor in terror, while a tall figure loomed above her, standing to make his dominance known. The man turned around, and Sherlock saw his face.

Sherlock dropped his gun, a million emotions swiping across his face within moments. He knew the man that was standing above Isabel.

Sebastian Moran.

A/N: Well, I shall leave this chapter on the note of a cliff hanger. Not as much fluff as I thought there'd be, but, hey, at least there was some.

The area that is in all italics was a flashback memory of Isabel's, to kind of give you tiny hints as to what Isabel and her brother had to run away from. If you have any more ideas, let me know!

Please Follow/favorite and/or review!

Thanks, Darlings!