*Extra long update to make up for my unexpected absence. Please find it in your hearts to forgive your wayward author. In case any of the family information gets too confusing when you come to it, there is vital information at the end of the chapter in the Author's Notes. I will be gone and without internet access for a week, so I thought I'd better update before I leave. BIG HUGS and THANK YOUS to all of my wonderful reviewers so far. Time and health haven't been on my side of things lately, but they are now, and as soon as I get back I promise to update more and keep up proper author/reader etiquette. Enjoy!*

Chapter Five – Tea and Ink

Principle.

Stubbornness.

Revenge.

…Take your pick.

The girl proved to be more devious than he gave her credit for, and his poor teeth were the unfortunate victims of that madness combined with a bout of his rare negligence. He thought his employer had merely jested when he spoke of the girl and her ways. But, having fallen prey to the craft of women before in his life, he set about to not take any chances. He inspected the tea every day, the soups, even the scones on one occasion, and had found no traces of ink or any other underhanded attempt to his person.

Briefly, on the scone occasion, he was reminded of Mrs. Hudson by a miniscule ache that came with the reconfiguration of the tea tray that the Collins girl brought up every day. He didn't miss the incorrigible woman…certainly not. What he missed was how things used to be. The stability. The security. The routine. The predictable nature that was the essence of his home. For all the unpredictability he encountered in his work, for all the thrill and excitement he derived from that, the predictable things about home, about Watson, …about his landlady were his comfort. And every man deserved his comforts in life.

Burned scones he could manage, but over steeped tea? That was insufferable in the world of Sherlock Holmes. The late hours had been wearing his character thin. He had, after all, been at this case for nearly the length of a month by now. Any closer to his goal? A painstakingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless. What he returned home to every night, however, was what he dreaded more than anything. Stagnation. Stubbornness. Woman.

Come hell or high water he would achieve their proposed arrangement, rather her proposed challenge, by the end of the week. And, after noting her obstinate moodiness at the declaration the next day, he resolved to take things further into his own hands. Carelessly slammed doors, heavy feet, the usual forgetfulness when it came to his experiments, and loud clearings of the nasal passages to expel any foul smells still stuck in his nose from the shipyards were how he decided to make his own objections of the situation known. He did still feel the absence of his Stradivarius, quite keenly some nights.

What he hadn't considered...and he would only admit to himself in private that she had been a clever girl…was the brandy. She was observant, that he would consent her. She wasn't entirely a lost cause, and, if he dared recognize it, was a welcome challenge in light of what he originally thought he would be facing.

It was dark in his room when he returned that night. It was normal. The fire cast some light over the flat, shadows shrouding some corners in darkness still. That too was normal. Everything in its proper place, nothing moved or disturbed since he left it hours prior. All normal, and reassuring. Noticing that the brandy was a shade darker completely passed his mind, until he had a filmy mouthful swirling between his lips. Promptly, he spit the mixture out and brought the decanter closer to the light to inspect it. Had he not known of the girl's pension for foolishness, he would have feared for his life. Instead he let out a loud string of curses, quickly followed by the breaking of a glass into the fire and a heavy silence afterwards.

He fumed and plotted for a good while before succumbing to a small fit of laughter. Nanny had always threatened with food, but never followed through with them. Her revenge crimes she reserved for things like the laundry or proper heating for the upper floors. …yes, he admitted to himself, he missed the wretched woman. Already.

But he had his work. That was his constant in the absence of his normalcies. And part of his work included the recuperation of this girl's vocal faculties. He'd known before the end of the first day spent with her that she wasn't a complete mute, and further investigation proved his theory. Stolen glances of moving lips. Silent words overflowing from a mouth that seemed too used to forming them. Lydia Collins was quite the vocal girl, even with her hands doing most of the talking. But the actual speaking, the voice with how she communicated on a daily basis, he discovered was reserved only for herself, when she thought no one else would see.

Despite himself, he smiled. As cunning as she could be, her weakness was her underestimating of his nature. Watson was no innocent in his company, and due to experience, his brother in bond was rightfully more cautious, even around the person he trusted with his life. Lydia, poor Lydia Collins, was but a child in this game of theirs, blissfully ignorant of the lengths to which he would go to prove a point. Although this instance required more of him than proving theories and emerging victorious, it made him no less determined, more so in fact. The reason why…well, it was more than the girl's voice that was on the line.

But he would wait. He would work tirelessly. He would be patient. It was the essence of his work, of all his accomplishments, and future endeavors.

Presently, as he stood by the window looking out, his thoughts turned to the only other woman in his life that had bested him. And this little…domestic war they were having…Irene wouldn't have resorted to such…self-indulgent skylarking. There was always a hidden motive. With her there was always a material gain. As far as Holmes could see, with Lydia Collins, her gain was personal, something above all the pretenses and immediate comforts the world had to offer. Not so unlike his own approach, perhaps. But, he recounted, far below his capabilities.

He would have mused further on the subject, further on his interim landlady and why, despite their conflict, he didn't seem to mind her company and daily antics. But Watson's arrival and sudden hilarity upon sight of Sherlock's black teeth certainly hadn't helped things. For a moment, a crucial moment that might have led him down a path of understanding sooner, Lydia Collins disappeared from his mind's eye.

The fork that sailed so beautifully through the air struck the shut front door with a thud. A second after it stuck in the wood, it clattered to the floor. She growled aloud to loose the frustration that built up in her over the past few days. First it had been her sleep, then it had been her pens, and now…now? Her nerves were nearly as frayed as the day she left London all that time ago. The loud noises, the smells, the general lack of courtesy. How that evil man infuriated her! He wanted to test her, did he? Well poor him for trifling with her to begin with. She had much more up her sleeve than slipping ink in his brandy. She only wished she could write to vindicate the feeling of poetic justice she felt inside of herself at her cleverness. He would, by God, rue the day…

But without a pen, those feelings wouldn't amount to much. Oh, that man. She scoffed and stomped her way back to the kitchen sink, loudly washing and replacing dry dishes. This turned into more than reading her like a book, into knowing her as a person. This was now an invasion of privacy. Had he read her journals? Of course he had. If he'd been eavesdropping on her at night and had the gall to take her pens away, then what prevented him from satisfying his curiosity and reading her personal thoughts?

Caroline had to admit that the very idea of someone reading her prose, her poetry and ideas unsettled her. When she opened her journals she wrote for no one else but herself, and had never considered that it would ever be any other way. She organized her thoughts and feelings between those lines, between the words and letters. And they were hers to call her own, the only thing she looked forward to every morning when she woke and every night before she closed the bed curtains.

To have that taken away, just for a few days time, was hell on earth. It wasn't her fault that the scones ended up burnt and the tea over steeped because she was too distracted to focus properly. She had worked out a routine for herself over the past few years. And that delicate routine had saved her from the horrible moments of being left to her body and mind's own whims. Without a routine she had suffered. And her beloved aunt had realized that the moment she saw it…God rest her soul. That woman had been an angel sent from heaven just for her, when she needed an angel most in her life.

She sighed, thinking how lovely it would be to return to her journal, if only for a short time. She clenched her teeth inside her closed mouth at the thought of it. It had been damn irritating how Sherlock Holmes found out when she had either purchased or nicked a pen off someone. And how he managed to get a hold of it before she had a moment's peace to use the damn thing was the worst part of it all! All the trouble she had been put through because of this man's insufferable nature seemed the product of a bloody Shelly nightmare.

Maybe she bit off a little more than she could chew taking on Mr. Holmes in this silent war of theirs. Mrs. Hudson had warned her of keeping a strong hand, and Caroline was beginning to see the sheer necessity of that. That man would learn to respect another person's will if it took her the rest of her employment to do it. Maybe it was only her character she had in mind in this endeavor, but there was nothing wrong with that, was there? The man had certainly won her respect within moments of their first meeting. And to have it thrown back in her face in this manner? Oh, he will rue the day like my brothers before me, this I promise.

Someone at the front door disturbed her murderous thoughts, pulling her willing feet into a stalk that echoed in the parlor. Caroline yanked the door open with a look of pure fury on her face, daring the poor visitor to try her patience. But recognition dawned within a second and her face melted into a look of shock.

"Sister?" a meek voice queried.

Said fury disappeared, as if in the finale of a magic act, and instead brought her to joyful weeping. Her arms snatched the teenage boy from the front step and enveloped him into a crushing embrace. He responded in kind, loosing some nervous laughter at her repeatedly signing his name on his back.

'Thomas-Thomas-Thomas-'

"Calm down, sister," Thomas whispered in her ear. "I take it you missed me?"

She choked on a burst of laughter and happiness. How long had it been since she had heard his voice? Too long, she decided, because it had changed in her absence. Reluctantly she drew away and took a long look at him through her tears. His face had thinned out a bit from the chubby face of youth she remembered. The messy mop of brown hair was tamed and longer, curling about his ears and falling down to obscure his shining eyes. He was nearly as tall as her, and every bit as dashing as William and Richard had been when they were Thomas' age.

She took a calming breath and signed with shaking hands. 'You-look at you my darling little brother! You're so big! You've gone and grown up without me.'

Thomas gave her a crooked smile and sheepishly lowered his head. "I didn't mean to, sis. I wanted to visit but father-"

She laid a gentle hand under his chin and cupped his cheek in her hands for a brief moment. 'They needed you, father and mother both, I know.'

"But you," he said with years of regret. "You needed someone too."

'I had Auntie, silly.'

"William wanted-"

Caroline stopped him when she noticed some bystanders staring. Quickly, she tried to usher him inside, but he refused.

"Father sent me to collect you for tea, and to guilt you if I have to. But I hope I won't have to?"

She smiled, bright and big. 'No, you won't.'

A moment later she was locking the front door to Baker Street and climbing into the cab that brought her little brother back to her. Despite the chill in the air she clutched to his arm during the ride instead of her thick shawl.

"William wanted to take a holiday, bring the family up to see you, but he said his practice would suffer. You remember how things were when you left?"

Caroline nodded, leaning her head on Thomas' shoulder and closing her eyes for a brief while, basking in the comfort she hadn't let herself feel in so long.

"Things were hard for us too. Richard had to take a second job. But he nearly quit once, just to have the chance to run up and see you. William would talk about you with father so often that it almost drew Richard mad. You'll be glad to know that father managed to knock some sense into him."

Caroline smirked.

"We all missed you, Caroline. Mother most of all. But the idea of seeing you has her cooking and cleaning a storm like she used to."

'That is a good thing.'

"Very good," Thomas said with a heavy undertone.

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, brother and sister clinging to each other like they used to during a loud storm. How their positions had switched in a matter of a few years. The brother who sought his sister's comfort was now the one giving his own when she needed it. Neither commented nor protested the newfound relationship, for to be in each other's company was more than enough. When the carriage came to a stop, Thomas exited and paid the cabbie, turning to extend a hand to his sister and help her out, but he found her still sitting with the sides of her satchel somewhere in her fists. She was staring straight ahead, as if looking aside to the front of their home would steal something precious from her once again.

"Sis? What are you waiting for?" Thomas asked with a laugh.

She knew what was holding her back, but what surprised her was Thomas' innocence. He couldn't have forgotten? Could he have? She turned her glassy eyes to him and asked with her eyes. He rewarded her with a falling face and glimpse of distant pain as he broke their conjoined sight.

"I know it's difficult," he whispered. "But please come in. We've just gotten mother up and around again. It won't do her any good if she sees you, any of us…thinking about Chris. Let's be happy today, please?"

Caroline nodded with tears in her eyes. Pushing them back was difficult but she managed after tearing her brief glance away from the front steps. She reached out with a determination that Thomas remembered when she grabbed his hand and exited the carriage. Though she put up a good front, she knew he felt her trembling. But it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would because she remembered something important. She wasn't alone in her mourning. A look was all either of them needed before Thomas pushed open the front door.

Caroline held her breath as she felt nostalgia rush through her entire body. But what bombarded her was nothing as dark and foreboding as she imagined. Instead, memories of happier times eased the tension away and brought a tentative smile to her face. After a brief glance at Thomas, she stepped into the house and raked her eyes over every inch and crevasse of the foyer and house that she could see. All the same. Some things moved or replaced, but nearly exactly the same.

Home.

After all the horror and difficulty that laced those horrible four years that she wished she could erase, she was finally home. She could let herself relax. She could let herself be the girl she used to, and without fear.

Caroline smiled broadly behind her hands as she looked around, turning, eventually, to the open double doors that led to the sitting room. In the doorway stood a man, only a few inches taller than she. He stood there with a smile much wider than hers, one that threatened to break into a grin. All she could do was reach out with one of her hands and beckon him forward. And he did, in two long and quick strides. She was lifted off her feet and wildly twirled around like she used to be when she was a little girl.

The sound of her laughter drew both of her parents from the kitchen at the back. But before they could disturb the moment she shared with Richard, he set her down, pressed a kiss to her cheek and whispered in her ear. "Welcome home, Caroline," he said. She pulled away and looked at her second older brother. Tears sprang to her eyes again because she felt the truth that had been spoken. The terrible thoughts that plagued her for all that lost time seemed to have been finally laid to rest.

She was safe. She was home. And she was Caroline Andrews once more.

Lestrade gaped with wide eyes at the ink stained teeth. But his mouth remained shut. No laughter or words escaped either the inspector or the detective. Silence filled the space between them. After an awkward few minutes, he gave the inspector a look that clearly said 'Your response, or lack thereof, is just as ridiculous, if not more so, as these damned teeth.'

Lestrade impatiently cleared his throat and returned his and their focus to the crime scene at hand. "That's all well and good but I don't see what you're saying has anything to do with these murders. Was a cut and closed murder-suicide, that one. Bloody gruesome and damn disappointing, but a solved one. Blackguard killed himself before we could give him the hangman's noose."

Holmes wiped his nose with a handkerchief and rose from his crouched position near the new body. His eyes raked the form of the drowned woman. Fair-haired, like the previous victim, bearing a wedding band despite her unmarried and uncommitted status, but the difference in this one was the method of murder. Drowning. Why such a difference from the first? Surely it was the same man. Holmes was certain of that fact. But what was the connection between electrocution and drowning?

"Holmes?"

"It's the same man."

"We know it's the same man-what we don't know is why he's acting like bloody Jack the ripper, announcing himself like he does."

Holmes frowned and shot the Inspector a funny look before walking away. "At least we know for certain it wasn't him."

"Of course we know…" Lestrade trailed off, gaping after Holmes before coming to his senses. "You said wasn't."

"Yes," Holmes drawled.

Lestrade followed, quick on the detective's tail. "How in hell do we know-"

"Aside from the lack of evisceration, this poor woman was, most certainly, not a prostitute. I would have thought that obvious enough even for the Yard to determine."

"Could be an admirer."

"Who just so happens to loathe women as much as he seems to? Might have chosen an easier target if that were the case."

"Fine, she's properly dressed. But that don't explain why this bloody fool's leading us on like some damned public scavenger hunt."

"Public?"

"Tacking the damn photograph to the door of Scotland Yard, dropping these girls in public squares for all to see-what's not so bloody public about it? Not public enough for you? Christ."

While the Inspector walked off, cursing and venting his frustration back along the bridge, Clarkie inched his way up to the detective. "So it's not a ripper murder, sir?"

"No, but it would seem our Inspector would like it to be."

"Can't right blame him though, sir," the policeman whispered. "Devil still has us all spooked."

"All such villains make mistakes at one point or another. It is only a matter of time before he makes a critical error and then you will have your demon."

"It'll be the grace of God that delivers him, sir."

"Capturing that jackal does not require a man of superior detective skills, only a man with superior patience."

"Well, you haven't found him yet, sir."

"And neither has the Yard," Sherlock bit back with a brief glare. "Do not be so quick to dismiss your fellow comrades. That villain will be caught, but not by me. Who knows, perhaps by his next 'victim.' That would certainly be poetic and effective justice, don't you think so?"

"Maybe, sir," Clarie relented, then tension from the conversation slowly ebbing away. "What's this other case you're on about? Something to do with these girls?"

"Perhaps. Nothing for certain yet. I need more data."

"If we can't find him soon there'll be another in a week."

"Yes, I know," Holmes placated. "Do us both a favor and remind Lestrade of that fact. The best any one of you can do is to keep open senses for another kidnapping, if it hasn't happened already."

Holmes climbed into the Hansom waiting to take him home to Baker Street and settled into the seat once the carriage began to move. His mind was abuzz with this new development. The mere possibility that these murders could be connected to the man he'd been seeking recently was something entirely and yet not entirely unexpected. One thing was for certain, this man was headstrong and determined. If this new theory of his was correct, then he was dealing with an all-together different kind of determination than he originally thought.

This looked and reeked of something much more disturbing. But he would not voice it, and not just for his sake, but for the one person this twisted scenario seemed to be centering around. Holmes sighed, coming out of his musings as they approached Baker Street. He sorely missed his poor violin.

Being smothered and mothered by your mother wasn't as bad a thing as Caroline thought it would have been by now. It was both welcome and sorely missed. In fact, her mother hadn't kept her hands off her since she got hold of her only daughter. Thus, after all proper greetings had been made, she'd been pulled away to the kitchen to help her mother prepare tea. They had just finished setting the tray when Caroline heard the front door open.

"Caroline," someone called. "Caroline? Is she here?"

Said person managed to steal away from her mother's side and search out the familiar voice. Caroline barely concealed her squeal of surprise and delight when she set eyes on her eldest brother. What she couldn't help was launching herself at him after crossing the distance of the hallway in a second. William laughed and wrapped his strong arms around her, kissing the side of her face and breathing in the scent of her free hair. She managed to open her eyes and give some greeting to Rachel, William's wife. At her side Caroline saw a darling two-year-old girl that she'd never seen before.

Once William was convinced to give Caroline opportunity for breath, thankfully by her sister-in-law, Caroline was introduced to her niece, Rebecca Anne Andrews. Although only two, it was incredible how energetic the little tike was. As soon as her little eyes caught sight of her grandmommy, she raced across the floor and barreled into the poor woman, yelling 'Gran-ma, Gran-ma, Gran-ma' all the way there. Moira Andrews silenced her son's rebuke and greeted the two year old properly.

"None of that for your dear old granddaddy, sweet pea" Elias Andrews asked, feigning hurt.

Rebecca detached from Moira and latched onto Elias' leg in response. He, in turn, patted her head and made to pick her up, but everyone in the parlor voiced a loud objection at which he frowned. Rebecca looked around, confused, and retreated to Caroline out of all of them. She raised her little arms and said "Auntie?" To say that Caroline was floored would have been an understatement. When she settled the two year old in her arms it was like a strange and new feeling that she'd never experienced before. And throughout tea they had in the sitting room, Rebecca clung happily to her new auntie and mother. Richard sat on Caroline's other side after much debate between the three brothers as to who would have the honor.

"Do we need to settle this the old-fashioned way, Richard," William asked with a warning tone, and puffing up his chest as the elder brother of the house.

"Why are you asking, Willie," Richard retorted. "Afraid you'll get whipped?"

"There will be NO BRAWLING in this house you two," their mother exclaimed. "Decide like the gentlemen you are and move on with it."

"But there's the problem, mother," Thomas interjected with a smirk. "Richard isn't a gentleman."

Richard responded in kind, by trapping a struggling Thomas into a headlock and wrestling him to the ground. "Sorry, didn't quite catch what you said there!"

"I said…I said," Thomas said, growing more frustrated by the moment.

"Still can't hear you!"

"Oh let him alone, Richard," Rachel said.

"I…said…you're a…bloody prat!"

"Why you," Richard started.

Moira strode across the room, past her hysterical eldest, and the group of daughter, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter, attentions all focused on the fire of the family matriarch. Deftly, Moira Andrews cuffed her second eldest on the back of the head, surprising him into releasing his little brother. Then, she promptly snatched a pinching hold onto both boys' ears. Out of the two, Richard protested the loudest.

"That's enough from both of you," she exclaimed. "Now, unless you want to be treated properly with, like children, you get up, act like the adults you are and stop misbehaving like common ruffians. When I say I want no brawling in my house, I mean it. Am I understood?"

Caroline turned to her brother sitting next to her and caught his gaze. She smirked at how chastised he looked. He gave her a withering look right back and continued to rub his poor ear. Noticing a patch of hair in his goatee that had been mussed in the scuffle, she reached over to smooth it out. A second later she found her hand the captive of his, but she didn't try to claim it back when he brought it over his heart. She smiled, forgetting her tea.

The afternoon passed quietly after that. Caroline learned that though she missed the birth of her niece, Rachel was pregnant again. This time she could be there for William when he welcomed another child into the family. She could be there to hold him or her, be there to comfort Rachel, just to be there and be part of a family again. This day gave her hope, something she had been missing for a very very long time. She'd gotten just a taste of it at Baker Street but soon forgot it with her errant tenant's antics. Here she remembered who she used to be and who she could be again.

No more floundering in the dark. No more bending to others wills and opinions. Her parents raised her to have an opinion of her own, to have a voice despite her disability. And she realized that she would do herself and her family best if she started to honor that again. …if she still could. Her other hand traveled up to her throat and began to massage it more out of comfort for her mind than for any physical needs.

"It's good to have you back, sweet pea," Elias said with a sincere gaze full of fatherly love and support.

Rebecca, thinking her granddaddy was speaking to her said, "But I haven't gone anywhere!"

Caroline smiled and signed back, 'I am glad to be.'

There was some argument on who would escort Caroline back to Baker Street, but due to William's obligations to Rachel and Rebecca, and since Thomas had come to fetch her earlier, Richard was granted the duty. Her mother, father, and two other brothers all promised to pop by for tea-which worried her. Their household was maddening enough without adding her family to the mix. The day they might all be under the same roof with Mr. Holmes brought quite a funny picture to mind. Once in the carriage her smug older brother turned to her to have the conversation she suspected he'd been wanting to have all evening.

"Now that you've got real time alone with your favorite brother, tell me about this Holmes fellow. What's he like?"

Instantly, Caroline was on alert. 'Why do you want to know?'

"I hear he's a detective," Richard shrugged, innocent. "Must be a recluse of sorts, keep odd hours does he?"

She thought for a moment. Describe Sherlock Holmes? 'He's…'

"Go on. I'm listening."

'He's quite different. Sometimes he keeps to himself. Other times he can't keep to himself-'

Richard's eyes gained a dark gleam. "What does that mean-"

Caroline frowned. 'Nothing you're thinking! You wanted to listen, so listen.'

"Alright," he relented.

'He does keep odd hours, but with his work I suppose I ought to have expected such things. There are times when he can be difficult, but not all-together unpleasant or unkind. He has a bit of a penchant for mischief. He's always concocting some experiment-I think he might have been a scientist.'

"Married?"

'No.'

"No children, then?"

'Of course not.'

"Any friends pop by?"

'Some Yardsmen. Mostly Dr. Watson.'

"John Watson you mean?"

'Yes, do you know him?'

"Willie does. He's a good sort of man from what I gather, but I haven't seen him in a long time."

'Why not in a long time?'

Richard smiled. "Tell me more about this Sherlock Holmes. Does he respect you? Bother you? Irritate the bloody blazes out of you? You know you could tell me if he does-because if he ever tried anything-anything Caroline-"

'Stop-stop-stop! Whether he does or not is up to me to deal with, Richard. I said he's not an unkind man. He's simply…a strange kind of gentleman…I think.'

"Be that as it may, you need to know-"

'I know where this is coming from and trust me because I would tell you if something were wrong.'

Richard's eyes bored into hers, betraying the true extent of his concern. "Promise?"

Caroline smiled. 'Promise. Don't you trust me?'

"Of course I do. I just don't trust a man I've never met. Have me over to tea sometime this week. I want to meet him."

'I am capable of many things, Richard.'

"Oh I know you are! And that helps ease my worries-but only a little. I'm serious, I want to meet him."

She rolled her eyes and thought briefly of the coming week. Perhaps this could work to her advantage. 'If you must, my overprotective brother.'

"You mean your favorite, overprotective, big, intelligent, dashing-"

Caroline giggled and punched him in the arm. 'I mean my brother! Normal and just mine.'

"I'll always be just yours," he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

She blushed, despite herself, and sadly noticed that they were almost at their destination. 'I have missed you all…so very much.'

"We know. We all know. I'm just happy you're here. With a house full of only boys it's damn hard to get yourself heard when you've got no sister pulling for you."

'Well you and Thomas won't have that to worry about anymore.'

Richard smiled. "Thank God for that!"

Convincing him to remain in the carriage and not walk her up to the door, because she didn't trust him to slip in despite her warnings, took a fair amount of effort, but she accomplished it with a kiss on the nose. Richard tried to remain discreet and keep himself hidden for her sake, but he couldn't help one last "I love you" as she started to pull away. It made her smile yet again, and she was thankful for that when she watched the carriage pull away. Keeping his gaze, she subtlety signed 'I love you too' from the nearly closed front door.

Once he was gone, she turned to greet her household, but with a much better disposition. Curiosity pulled her upstairs to Mr. Holmes' flat, and she found him on the tiger rug by the fire, dozing. She raised an eyebrow, not willing to fall for the trick a second time. But she was a calmer woman than she was this morning. So, for whatever reason there seemed to be in that moment, she crossed the room quietly and retrieved a blanket. Whether he was aware of it or not didn't matter to her. She justified to herself that the last thing she needed was a sick tenant on top of everything else.

So she laid the blanket over him almost as if she were doing it to her own child. Then, after sparing herself another glance at the sleeping figure, she descended downstairs to prepare dinner. She could be civil when she wanted to. And perhaps that was the key to everything, she thought. Kindness was a far better weapon than wrath, after all.

A/N: I wanted to go deeper into the family dynamics but I couldn't quite get that done this chapter. I will strive to get it done in the future though. Just to keep things straight with the family tree, in case I lost any of you, Caroline had four brothers. She has three now and is still the middle child. For a better understanding here's some vital information on birth order and ages:

William: 31, married to Rachel and has a daughter, Rebecca

Richard: 28

Caroline: 27

Christopher: died at 17. So he would be 20.

Thomas: 14

There isn't much of an age difference between the first three, but between the last two there are some big gaps. Rest assured they'll be explained later. Also, the nature of Christopher's death will be explained later also, I'm thinking in chapter ten or so, but we'll see. Holmes was a wee bit moody this chapter, maybe some reviews will cheer him up ;).

Next chapter, in a couple of weeks, seriously this time: Some fun with the Baker Street Irregulars :).

-Rainsaber