Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Also, song lyrics belong to Rough Cut Music, it's a Savage Garden song, not my own lyrics. So, rights go to respectable owners.

"So, what happened again?" DI Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Well, we were all just sitting here when the three men walked in, clearly they had no idea what they were doing because they just walked in."

"And…" Gregory Lestrade was struggling to get any information out of Sherlock. It was like this a lot, but today he seemed more mysterious and vague than ever.

"And then John knocked them all out."

"Alright, then how did one of them get shot in the head? And another outside, on the ground?"

"I tried to help by shooting one of the men in the arm, but my aim is awful and I ended up shooting him in the head." Sherlock seemed like a hopeless liar. But he wasn't really. He was putting on an act, and Lestrade was buying it.

"And the man on the ground."

"He tripped and fell out the window."

"Mhmm… And the girl, what's her name?"

"Lara."

"Yeah, what does she have to do with all of this?"

"She's a friend. She's simply visiting a while."

"Yeah, 'visiting a while' my ass, Sherlock. What's she really doing here?"

"Let's just say John and I are alive right now because of her." Sherlock's voice was low, he clearly didn't want anyone else to hear; especially Lara.

"Sherlock, you need to tell me what's going on."

"No I don't."

"Fine, whatever, I'm leaving."

DI Lestrade turned and walked away, but paused briefly by the door to run a hand over his face and let out a sigh. He then continued down the stairs and out of 221B. As soon as Sherlock heard the door shut, he picked up his violin and started playing. For him, music was not just music. It was equations, it was chemistry. If you mixed things just right, then you could get something beautiful. Sherlock's music, however sad or mysterious it may sound, is always beautiful, in its own way. When Sherlock stopped playing, perhaps an hour or two later, he turned around to see Lara sitting on the couch, staring at him intently. Her legs were tucked beneath her and her chin was resting in her palm; she appeared to be studying him. He put his violin down next to the window, its usual resting place, and sank into his chair, facing the girl he had yet to understand fully.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"An hour, maybe two," she said, still staring intently.

"Mmm… You like music?"

"Very much." She moved her head from its resting place on her palm and sat up a little straighter. Music was something she could easily talk about, it had been her escape in those awful years at home.

"Do you play?"

"I used to play piano, and violin as well. Neither worked for me like… Never mind." She almost revealed too much, she didn't want to embarrass herself.

"Singing." Sherlock stated this as if he had known her forever.

"How did you know?" She looked confused, and slightly flustered. No one knew about her singing, not even Irene.

He smirked. "Sing something for me."

"What? No, sorry." Her cheeks were getting redder by the second. Sherlock looked at her, to his violin, then back at her.

"I played for you for almost two hours."

"You didn't know I was here."

"Then pretend I'm not here."

She glared at him, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She began to sing:

"And she takes another step,

Slowly she opens the door,

Check that he is sleeping, pick up all the broken glass

And furniture on the floor.

Been up half the night screaming

Now it's time to get away, pack up the kids in the car.

Another bruise to try and hide,

Another alibi to write.

Another ditch in the road, keep moving,

Another stop sign, you keep moving on.

And the years go by so fast,

Wonder how I ever made it through.*"

She finishes, but waits a few moments before opening her eyes. When she does, Sherlock is practically staring at her, a small smile on his face.

"That was quite gratifying," he says, completely sincerely.

"Really? That's odd coming from you. I was honestly scared to stop singing for fear you'd lecture me on how to achieve the right pitch or something. But… thank you." She smiled at him, a twinkle in her eye. Sherlock looked deep into those eyes and found something else. A sadness. Buried deep, covered with her laughter and her tough attitude.

"Interesting song choice," he added.

The way Sherlock spoke to her, she wanted to tell him everything. How she was treated, how she felt, what she wanted, what she needed. She was only with him for a day so far, and she was getting closer to him than she wanted to be. She had never been open with anyone before, never had a friend or good parent to simply sit and listen. But it was not time for all her secrets to be revealed. Not yet.

"Just like John keeps you alive, that song kept me alive," she said, then abruptly stood up and walked to Sherlock's bedroom, closing the door behind her. She left Sherlock sitting silently in his chair, staring at the door, the light seeping under the crack. He went onto John's computer and checked the news for any new cases, and every few minutes he would look to his bedroom door. He stayed up into ungodly hours of the night, but the light in his bedroom never went off. Lara had left him wondering how she could be almost as mysterious as her sister.