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.

Sebastian lunged at Sherlock, pushing him to the ground. He punched Sherlock in the jaw, making it crack a bit. Sherlock grabbed the collar of the man's shirt, shoving him off his body, slamming Moran's head against the coffee table. Isabel struggled to stand up, shaken with shock and fear, a terrified expression on her face. She scrambled to the gun beside the two men fighting, realizing it was full and locked. She rested her finger against the trigger. She aimed it at Sebastian's abdomen, just above his naval.

Sebastian stopped and looked at her with a surprised look on his face, realizing what she was about to do. Sherlock noticed and looked at the girl too, his eyes switching from the gun to her face every few seconds. Her arms and hands shook very noticeably, almost convulsing. Her chest shook hard with every breath, tears running down her face and her lip bleeding. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip.

Sherlock moved out of the way just seconds before she pulled the trigger. She dropped the gun, realizing what she had just done.

She looked at Sebastian, who was slowly starting to look down at his stomach, his green shirt deepened with the burgundy color of the fresh blood. He laid his shaking hand on top of the wound, closing his eyes and groaning in agony. He threw his head back, hitting it harshly against the wood of the table. Sherlock picked the gun up, aiming at Sebastian with a look of fury on his face.

"Why are you here? Why are you here for her?" He yelled, not caring that it was almost the middle of the night. He grabbed Isabel's arm softly, pulling her more towards him, slightly behind his body, just in case. Sebastian glared at both of them, his jaw clenched tightly. "Tell me, goddamn it!"

"I was told too, Sherly. I was told to. Now shut up and call a freaking ambulance. This hurts like hell." He said through his teeth. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Isabel moved from his grasp. She swiped the gun from him, walking towards Sebastian.

"You were told to, obviously Sebastian. And I know the reason why you're here and I do have the opportunity to kill you like I should have all those damn years ago. I had the opportunity then, but this is a better time. Now tell me where the hell Moriarty is because I know you work for him. I know he wants me dead." She walked closer, the gun against his rib cage. "You better tell me right now, because I will not hesitate to shoot you again."

Sebastian glanced at her, then at Sherlock, who still looked furious, though slightly calmer.

"If I'm here, he's obviously with everyone else. They got him, Isabel. They got him. They're going to carry out his execution within the next few months. Unless he somehow gets away." He grinned, looking back at the girl.

"You liar, they don't have him. He's still here in the UK. He's not in Russia. Not quite yet. But, if I don't get him myself, he will be." She murmured in his ear, pressing the trigger further into his skin. She pulled away, stepping backwards, still aiming the gun at his rib.

"You wouldn't shoot me." He muttered, purposely annoying her. She aimed lower, below his naval, where it would hurt the most, but most likely wouldn't be fatal.

"Not fatally. But enough to get my point across." She said, stepping a little closer. She fired the gun, making Sebastian scream in pain. His hand shot from his stomach to where the bullet hit him. He couldn't double over, considering he still had a bullet in his abdomen. She smirked, smug, and walked closer to him. She slammed the gun onto his head, knocking him out. She turned around, noticing Sherlock's expression was confused and utterly shocked.

"H-how... Did you... Why..." He couldn't finish his sentence; he was pretty much speechless. He brought a hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb lightly against her barely-bleeding lip. She froze, the action making the cut sting. "How did you get hurt?"

"He punched me." She murmured, closing her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, nuzzling her head against his hand. She laid her hand on his, his skin warm against her cold flesh. She let his hand go, opening her eyes. "But I'm fine."

"Should we call an ambulance?" She asked, looking back at the man who was pooling blood. Sherlock thought for a moment, nodding after a while. She pulled her phone out, explaining that it was self-defense. Minutes later a few police cars were there, along with a couple ambulances.

Isabel was sitting on the edge of one, her legs dangling above the ground, Sherlock sitting next to her. They saw John walking out in a pair of pajamas, looking confused.

"What happened?" He asked, looking around at the vehicles.

"I'll explain later." Isabel promised. John shrugged, not bothering to go further. They put a shock blanket on Isabel, who gladly took it. She was still in nothing but a cami and a pair of shorts, even though it was the middle of January.

"How long do you think it'll take him to heal?" She asked Sherlock, who was gazing off into the distance, staring at someone or something. He jumped slightly, looking at her.

"A few months. Possibly a few years, considering where you shot him." He said. John looked at him then at Isabel, who looked at John.

"I shot him in the crotch and the stomach." She explained, looking a little tense.

"Ah." John murmured, looking at Sherlock. "Ay, mate, you alright?"

"Yeah. Fine." Sherlock muttered, waving him off. John gave a small wave to Isabel, then walked back into his flat. "Why would Moriarty be in Russia?"

"If we ever have to go I'll tell you." She murmured, looking at the ground. Sherlock tolerated the answer, not very happy with it.

If only she could tell him without getting killed.

Isabel stayed home the next few days by order of Lestrade. She didn't understand why though, since she'd done worse to people. Not that she was a criminal.

It was just the people she was around. Not that she liked them whatsoever.

She would stay with Sherlock upstairs most of the time, helping him with whatever he needed help with. He wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed it greatly.

Not that he knew why.

"Sherlock?" Isabel asked one day, knowing he was working with an experiment. He turned her way.

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you something..." She said cautiously, needing to word her thoughts and emotions carefully. He gestured as if to say 'What is it?'

"Do you know what it feels like to be..." She trailed off, looking for the right word. "Do you know what it feels like to be in love?"

He froze, processing the question. She bit her lip, nervous, and looked at the floor towards his feet. His eyes locked with hers moments later.

"No. I don't believe I do." He murmured, feeling an odd sensation in his stomach. His heart raced, and he felt flustered. His eyes widened. He licked his lips, unsure of what to say. "Though it may feel like the scariest thing in the world while it feels like the most perfect thing in the world. At the same time. It probably feels like..."

He trailed off again, not knowing what to say.

Isabel looked at him, a small smile on her face, then back at the book she was reading. The glasses she wore fit her perfectly, not looking out of place. She only wore them for reading, though occasionally she'd have them on when she wasn't. She had been reading the Harry Potter series since she'd went on leave, but she was about halfway through the seventh book. She enjoyed them very much.

He looked through the lens in his microscope again, not sure if his reaction to her question was rational.

She stood up and walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder softly. He looked at her, curiosity taking over his face. She took his hand, pulling him to the couch. She pushed him down onto it gently, sitting down next to him, her side pressed against his. She rested her other hand on his cheek, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. She intertwined their fingers together, looking at him. She smirked, biting her lip softly.

"What are you doing?" He asked, realizing she was slowly inching her face towards his. "Again?"

"Why not? 'It releases dopamine'." She said, repeating the words he'd said to her when he kissed her while she was working. He sighed, leaning towards her too. Their lips met seconds later, both of them sitting straight. Isabel moved to kneel so Sherlock wouldn't have to bend down. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer. His hands knotted themselves in her hair, making her kiss him harder. He pulled her down so she was hovering over him. She pulled away, her lips brushing against his. "Needy, aren't we, Sherly?"

"Perhaps." He murmured, pulling her back in for another kiss. She smiled against his lips, deepening the kiss. The two of them heard the door downstairs open, but they didn't move, they just stayed there, laying on the couch, kissing.

John opened the door, stopping in the doorway, his jaw slacking. Isabel pulled her face from Sherlock's, looking up at John with a sheepish grin on her face.

"Uh, h-hi, John... Wh-what're you doing here?" She stammered, still on top of Sherlock, who was now looking at John with a guilty look on his face.

"I live here." John muttered, closing the door. Isabel was still on top of Sherlock. "Was I... Interrupting something?"

"Goddamn it, Watson.." Sherlock muttered, throwing his head back onto the arm of the couch. He groaned, making Isabel giggle.

"I'll just... Go, then..." John said awkwardly, walking back out the door. Isabel smiled, looking down at Sherlock. He looked at her, confused. She chuckled, pressing her lips to his again.

Sherlock's hands tangled in her hair again, deepening the kiss. He sat up, moving so Isabel was under him now. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, intensifying the kiss. He quietly moaned, pulling her closer to him. He moved his hands from her hair to her back, slowly moving them down. Isabel slowly and reluctantly pulled away, her lips just a millimeter from his.

"Mm, not now, Detective. Weren't you busy?" Isabel inquired, her voice innocent. She sat up, still straddling him. She stood up, smiling. He stayed on the couch, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. She shook her head slightly, nodding her head towards the door. "I have to go downstairs for a little bit."

"Why? You're perfectly fine staying up here." He argued, standing up and walking towards her slowly. His hands were suddenly on her waist, pulling her against his body tightly. "You have no need to enter your own flat."

"Except for the fact that I haven't been down there all day and I want to go lay down on my own bed for a little bit and relax." She countered, her hands resting on the nape of his neck.

She felt his hair tickle her cheek, his lips lightly pressed to her neck. She gasped, surprised. He kissed her neck softly, smiling against the soft skin.

"Oh my God, Sherlock..." She murmured. Her hands tangled in his hair, but pushed him away slowly. He looked confused, but pulled away completely. He stepped back, sitting down in his chair. "I'm going to go downstairs for a little bit. If you need me I'll be down there."

Sherlock nodded, watching her walk out the door. He slapped himself in the face, making himself wake up from this damn daydream he was living. He kicked the table, wondering why the hell he messed his chance up.

Isabel sat on her couch, wondering what had just happened.

She kissed Sherlock. She ended up on top of him. John walked in. Then he was on top of her. They kept kissing. She stood up. He was kissing her neck.

"What the fuck?" She yelled, her voice ringing throughout the walls. She heard a bang upstairs, and grabbed the gun she kept hidden in her drawer. She ran up the stairs, slamming the door open. She saw Sherlock aiming his gun at the wall, shooting it. She threw her gun down, making it go off. She realized she forgot to turn on the safety. Sherlock glared at her, his eyes an icy silver. He dropped his gun, but he knew his had the safety on. He grabbed her arm harshly, making her wince.

"What the hell are you doing up here?" He yelled, his voice making her ears ring. She winced again, the pain in her arm and ears somewhat bearable.

"I'm sorry you decided to shoot your goddamned gun!" She shouted, her voice raised in a way Sherlock had never heard from her before. He grimaced, his face holding an expression of utter disgust. Isabel glared at him, her eyes glassy from the tears threatening to spill. "I could have fucking stayed downstairs but I wasn't sure if you would be okay or not. I thought that, somehow, someone had broken in like Moran a few days ago."

He let go of her wrist then, moving his hand to her neck slowly and gingerly. She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. A few tears rolled down her cheeks and Sherlock kissed them away softly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hurt you." He murmured, his cheek against hers. She rested her forehead against his. holding his hand.

"I don't feel like I should forgive you." She stated, her voice husky and low. "But I do, Sherlock. I forgive you. Just don't you dare scare me like that ever again."

"I won't. I promise." He said, kissing her cheek. She tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling. She looked back at Sherlock, and he wound his arms around her waist. He leaned in to kiss her, but she stepped back.

"Just because I forgave you doesn't mean I'll just jump right back in." She murmured, turning to leave once again. She opened the door, looking back at Sherlock. He walked over to her quickly, turning her around and crashing his lips against hers, puling her into a passionate kiss. She stayed still, her arms at her sides, her hands clenched into fists. He gripped her waist, pulling her closer. She jumped slightly, shocked. But she couldn't move much. She loosened her fists, placing her hands on Sherlock's chest. She pushed him away, furious. He looked somewhat shocked. "No. Don't you dare hurt me and then kiss me like it'll make everything alright. That's not how it works, Sherlock."

She walked out, running down the steps and walking into her flat, slamming the door.

"You've probably ruined you're only chance at getting her back" He said to himself, slamming his own door shut and stalking into his bedroom.