"You look... very nice today," complimented John awkwardly. The day following their discovery of her self-abuse, John and Sherlock took Gwen out to have lunch with them. Only John showed remnants of the tension amongst the trio: Gwen and Sherlock had, as always, masked their emotions or entirely gotten over them.

"Thank you John," she replied sweetly. Sherlock looked briefly between the two before picking up a menu and flapping it up in front of his face. Clearing his throat, John followed suit.

Soon enough a waiter, about twenty years old, approached.

"Yes, just water for me," said Sherlock, before the waiter had even uttered a word. The waiter looked a bit put off, but he nodded and turned to John.

"Anything to drink for you sir?"

"Water is fine for me as well, thank you."

"And how is the lovely lady doing today?" he asked flirtatiously, directing his gaze at Gwen. Gwen looked up at him with a start. Shifting a bit in her seat she said,

"Yes, um, fine. I'll just be having a sprite."

"Have you come here before?" the waiter asked, smiling kindly at her. Gwen seemed rather unsure how to respond, so awkwardly remained silent, seeming to be struggling for words.

Absorbing this new fact, Sherlock turned to the waiter.

"No, she hasn't," he answered for her, smirking slightly when the waiter glanced at him in annoyance. Not bothering to keep trying, the man walked away from the table. Gwen visibly relaxed when he did so.

"That's interesting..." commented Sherlock tauntingly. Rolling her eyes, Gwen asked,

"What, the fact that I'm awkward around strangers? So I'm a bit socially awkward, that's not a big deal."

"No. No that's not it," he replied with a sarcastic tone. "Because you aren't socially awkward. As a matter of fact, you act very smoothly around everyone else: John, myself, Lestrade, Sally... and yet with this boy you felt extremely uncomfortable. It's more than that however... you genuinely didn't know how to communicate with him."

"What are you getting at Sherlock?" asked John curiously.

"You've never had friends your own age," concluded Sherlock triumphantly. "You feel at ease with people older than you, but you can't make friends your own age. Why is that? Why don't you have any younger friends?"

Though her expression was a bit stiff, Gwen smiled amusedly. She had prepared herself for this. The risk in living with someone like Sherlock Holmes was that you never knew what he would discover about you, or what painful subjects he would drudge up.

"He wouldn't let me," she answered honestly, realizing the futility of remaining silent.

"Who? Your father?" pressed Sherlock.

"No."

"Who then?"

"My brother."

The two men were struck silent by this new piece of information. They hadn't even known that she had a brother, much less that he was obviously quite important in her life.

"Oh..." breathed Sherlock. "Not your father, your brother. Was he that one that abused you?"

"Yes," she said, struggling to keep all of her emotions on the inside. "My brother has been the only constant in my life. He would hurt me, but he was always there. When I was younger at least... My brother was possessive, so he wouldn't let me socialize with anyone my own age. Although, they may not have wanted to befriend me anyways- he never was very popular, so I'm sure he would have deterred them regardless. Either way, being around my brother all the time has made me more comfortable with people older than myself while I never learned to connect with people of my age."

"Why are you telling us all this now?" asked John. Gwen smiled weakly.

"He would only find out later. I figured that I'd save him the trouble," she told him, referring to Sherlock.

"Wise choice," said Sherlock simply, directing his gaze back to the menu. Though his attention was directed downwards, Sherlock felt as though he could feel the girl across from him staring at him.

What is she thinking? he found himself wondering. What does she think when she looks at me, as she does so often?

Sherlock's brow crinkled as he realized that he was allowing thoughts of this girl to invade his mind. What did it matter? It didn't.

Somehow he didn't believe what he was telling himself. Realizing that her gaze was no longer on him, Sherlock glanced up to see her smiling brightly at John, who was laughing heartily. They were apparently having a very nice conversation.

A sick, twisted feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach. Confused, Sherlock quickly turned back to his menu. What was that feeling he was experiencing? It was rather unpleasant. Was he feeling annoyed at being ignored? No, that couldn't be it; such things had never bothered him before. Was he sad? No, it didn't feel the same as being sad. He knew that feeling. This feeling was something new.

Was this what people described as jealousy? But what on earth did he have to be jealous of?

His thoughts whirling, Sherlock made the only conclusion he could allow himself to make. He was jealous of how much time this girl was spending with John, his best friend. He'd never had friends before, which explained why he'd never felt such things. That must be it. He was jealous that John was spending so much time with someone else. The reason why he'd never felt it when John was still dating Sarah was because she wasn't around as much. That was it.

Everything made sense. Feeling once more at ease, Sherlock blocked any remaining thoughts from his mind, convincing himself that he truly did care what he ordered to eat.