A/N: I will only be able to post once every week or every couple weeks, so PLEASE don't expect updates like I've been doing, please expect a little hiatus between them. I'll have to write them out on paper, hand 'em to her, have her type it (she'll do updates for me when I can't).

Thank you so much for understanding, and, trust me... I hate being in this situation so much.

Thank you, though, Darlings. I really appreciate you guys so much, I really do.

Enjoy the chapter (some fluff cometh your way!)

Sherlock sighed, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. Isabel sat in John's chair, staring into space, her eyes glassy.

She reminded him of a porcelain doll sometimes; her skin was so pale, though her cheeks always had a slight tint of pink to them. Her eyes were big and round, though they were in perfect proportion to the rest of her face. She was quite thin, though she had muscle like a runner. Her lips made a perfect cupid's bow, curving softly. Her skin was so soft; it felt like silk when you ran a hand down her arm. Her hair framed her cheeks perfectly, the light auburn color making her seem less pale. The freckles that spotted below her eyes forming constellations.

He snapped out of his trance when he heard her voice calling his name.

"Sherlock?" She asked, slightly laughing. He looked at her with a questioning look on his face. "You're staring. At me."

"You're finally picking up the accent." He acknowledged, realizing she was starting to pick up the London accent. She smiled, slightly shaking her head.

"You just realized that?" She questioned, giggling softly. She stood up, tying her long hair into a messy ponytail. "I want to show you something."

Sherlock took her hand, confused. He gladly followed her downstairs though, and she told him to sit on the couch while she went to fetch something. She walked out of her room a few minutes later with a notebook, although it wasn't your typical spiral-bound pack of paper. He hesitantly took it from her hands, looking up to meet her excited and hopeful smile. She gestured for him to look at.

It was leather-bound, and had the words 'Musical Compositions' on the front in a silver script. He flipped through the pages, to see hand-written musical pieces written on the aged paper. He looked up at her, shocked, and she smiled, plopping down next to him.

"I wrote them. You play your violin a bit often, and it's always the same pieces of music. I thought you might like to change it up a bit." She murmured, tracing the pad of her finger against the yellow-tinted pages. She looked at him again, smiling. "I just used this old trick my mum taught me a while ago. You use tea and a lighter to make the pages look really old. Then I had someone bind them in the leather for me. I also had them paint the script that's on the front cover."

He looked back at her, gazing at her with blank eyes. He closed the book, setting it down on the coffee table. He took her face in his hand, softly kissing her. She rested her hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb along his cheek bone, her pinkie tracing his jawline. He used his other hand to pull her hair from the elastic, his fingers lacing through her hair. She ran the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip, slipping it into his mouth. He moaned quietly, making her smile.

He pulled away slightly, their lips barely touching. He was breathing hard and heavy, smiling softly.

"Do you forgive me?" He asked, his voice wispy. Isabel chuckled, nodding.

"My way of forgiving you was giving you the compositions. I forgive you even more now, though, Darling." She murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. He gently kissed her again, pulling away before she could make it last longer.

"What would you consider us as of now?" He asked, his voice husky. She pretended to think about it for a minute, though to be honest, she wasn't quite sure.

"Not exactly friends... Or friends with benefits. Not acquaintances or colleagues... Dating?" She suggested, and Sherlock agreed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He left a trail of kisses from her lips to her jawline, making her sign, content. He smiled softly.

They stayed there for a while, cuddling and kissing, until John came home and Sherlock went to go help him with something.

Isabel woke up on her couch to the sound of something banging in her bedroom. She jumped up, grabbing her gun off the coffee table. She barged into her room, not caring who was there. She ran in to see Sherlock standing by her bed, with a box in his hand. She dropped her gun, walking over to him, punching him in the chest.

"Why did you break in?" She yelled, pushing him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I was going to... Give you something... But I believe now isn't the time." He murmured. He looked down at the ground, huffing out a sigh. "I'll just... Go. Goodnight, Isabel."

He started walking away, but something in Isabel's mind made her stop him,

"Sherlock... You just... You scared me. Besides, it's.. What...?" She checked the time on her phone. "It's eleven at night, Sherlock. What would be so important that you'd have to give it to me now?"

He scratched the back of his neck, turning back to her. He handed her the small box. She turned it around in her hand, feeling the fake white leather rub on her skin. She looked at him incredulously.

"This is a ring box." She stated, looking at him with a puzzled look. He gestured for her to open it.

"Open it." He muttered, putting a hand over his mouth.

"I feel a bit scared." She said, chuckling to herself. She opened it, taking the piece of jewelry out of the box. She dropped the box, bringing the ring closer to her eye so she could better see it. "Sherlock..."

He walked over to her, sliding the promise ring off her left ring finger, slipping the new ring on in its place. He put the promise ring on her right ring finger.

"Please don't tell me it's an engagement ring." She said sarcastically, a joking smile on her lips. She looked at the ring again, getting a better look on it.

On the band, two gems sat on either side of a small aquamarine. Looking at the two stones, she decided they must've been opals.

"They're not. That's the last thing to ever expect from me." He whispered, looking into her eyes.

"What about being stupid just once... Not counting any time that you're drunk." She murmured, trying to hold back a laugh.

"Other than that." He said, brushing his finger over the ring. "But... I wanted you to stay safe. There's a tiny chip in the ring. If you're ever in trouble for some reason... All you have to do is tap the middle gem a few times. It'll activate, and you'll be safe."

"How'd you manage to get that done?" She asked, knowing that this would've taken so long to get done. He shrugged.

"I know a few people." He said, making Isabel roll her eyes.

"I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep for good now, okay? You can go upstairs if you want. Unless you feel that, for some reason, you need to stay down here." She said, walking over to her bed, pulling the covers back. "Because, to be quite honest, I could care less about whatever you ultimately decide to do."

"I'm going to go upstairs. Goodnight, Isabel." He said, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She gave him one on his forehead, laying back down.

She was asleep before he had even left her room.

Isabel stepped into her car, glad she was able to drive. She closed the door, putting her keys into the ignition. She smiled when she heard the purr of the engine, leaning back into her seat. She turned the radio on, turning the volume up slightly.

She didn't bother trying to concentrate on the voice that was singing and the instruments that filled the vehicle. She just thought of what had happened hours before.

He'll end up dead because of you. So will John... Mrs. Hudson... Lestrade...

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles a ghostly pale. She clenched her jaw, taking a deep, shaky breath. She exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on the wheel.

And then you'll be running again. Because you thought you could run from your past... Fall in love... You'll end up worse than you were before.

"He'll make me a better person, won't he?" She murmured, her arms and shoulders tensing. She still had no clue where she was driving to. She was driving aimlessly, but eventually found herself in front of an abandoned warehouse. She saw a nice black sports car parked out in front of it, confused. She stepped out, watching the door of the warehouse as it opened, a tall man stepping out, a sly smile playing on his lips. He wore a a nice blue pinstripe suit with a red tie, his hair starting to fall out.

She stood straight up, a serious expression on her face. "Mycroft," She stated, walking over to him, holding her hand out. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes, quite..." He said, a look of disgust on his face. He rejected her still open hand, sticking his chin out at her. "Why would my brother want to be with such a... Criminal." He spat, smirking. Isabel walked closer to him, slapping him in the face.

"I may have killed people, Mycroft, but I am nothing near a damn criminal. I did what I had to do to stay alive. I had to murder. I was in a life or death scenario. Not that you would know, since you work in a nice big palace in a nice office." She retorted, her fingers gripping his chin, keeping his gaze locked with hers. "I don't have bodyguards because I don't need them. Unlike you, you bastard."

Mycroft pulled her hand away, grinning maliciously. "You shouldn't insult a man who works for the British government."

"I'm sure they could do without a bigot like you. You don't do anything. All you do is run on a treadmill, hopelessly wishing to lose that goddamned weight. Although you can't stay away from the cake, can you? Mm, you've gained weight, Mycroft. You haven't lost any. I'd stop bothering at this point." Isabel yelled, walking back towards her car.

"I can get every person to turn on you." He threatened, his voice dark and low. Isabel stopped, frozen on the street, feet away from her car.

"You say that like you can have too many." She shouted, her chest heaving. "I have all of Russia against me because of Moriarty! You think I couldn't deal with a tiny country such as yours? Or may I say, such as the Queen's? Since you do nothing for it but waste away in a tiny room?" She yelled, walking back towards him quickly.

Mycroft glared at her. "But I don't think President Putin would be glad to know that Great Britain also knows of your involvement in the Russian Mafia." He murmured. She stared at him, her eyes glassy. Mycroft called for Anthea, whispering something in her ear when she walked over to him.

"It's not like I was going to get out alive, anyways." She whispered, walking back to her car and driving off.