This chapter is dedicated to kind and friendly ElementaryFan who helps me with my English and wanted this story to continue. Thank you very much for everything and I hope you'll enjoy it.

"I think even though we might draw further or nearer from each other, depending on circumstance, you and I are bound... somehow." - Sherlock, 3x4, Bella

Watson knew Sherlock was selfish, eccentric, and critical, and there would be situations she had to fight with his uncontrollable nature.

But their last encounter four days ago had sucked all her energy.

I don't want you to dictate me.

A memory of Sherlock's words caught her during one of the few quiet evenings while she didn't spend her time with materials relating to her own cases. She was lying on the couch in her apartment and listening the rain tapping gently on the window, as she was trying to concentrate on the book she had in her lap.

But her thoughts remained in the brownstone, chasing her.

Watson frowned, took off her glasses with one single hand move and looked into the darkness on the other side of the window.

It had been raining for two days in a row.

When will it finally stop?

She reached to the table for a cup of hot tea and brought it to her lips.

That reminded her of disheveled Sherlock, leaning against the doorjamb and holding a cup of scented coffee.

Then Watson remembered his scent when he had stepped closer to her and searched her face with his burning gaze.

...you used lipstick. I mean ... this seductive shade specifically.

Features on Watson's face froze as she clenched her jaw.

Don't think about it.

Not now.

She laid the mug quickly back down on the table along with her glasses and was about to get up when an incoming message made her cell phone beep.

It was from Kitty.

"Finally solved the case. Thanx 4 your visit, Sherlock slept 2 days after it. Will be in contact."

Surprised, Watson read the text again.

The last thing she had waited from him, after her acrimonious leave was that he had actually taken her advice and finally gone to sleep.

She smiled.

He will never stop surprising me...

Watson heard a knock on the door at the moment.

She put down her book, stood up and walked over to it.

A slightly deformed human eye appeared in the peephole.

Watson sighed and regretted for a moment that the door couldn't be open into the hall. It would have been the perfect opportunity to give him the bump he deserved.

She opened the door and greeted him with a curious gaze, her head slightly inclined.

Sherlock was wearing a dark double-breasted coat and holding a wet umbrella in his hand. He has also a shoulder bag which she had never seen before.

He grinned at her.

"Watson, you look tired."

Sherlock's sharp British accent resonated in her ears.

She rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for the compliment," she murmured, turned around and walked to the kitchen counter.

Sherlock followed her inside and closed the door. He put the wet umbrella in the corner of the foyer and turned to her. Watson was pouring water into a pot from the tap. She was wearing a plaid shirt with a tank top and home pants. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail which swayed with each move along her shoulders.

How is it to touch?

"Coffee or tea?" Watson asked.

"Tea, please." She turned on the kettle and reached into the cupboard for a mug.

He noticed she wanted to take the one that formed the color-matching pair with her cup on the table, but then reached for another.

She's still upset.

Watson reached to another cupboard and took out a new, unopened can of his favorite English tea.

Or is she not?

He took off his coat along with the shoulder bag and hung it on a rack.

Watson looked at him. Sherlock was wearing a white shirt buttoned all way up to the top, and a dark vest. He stood stiffly at first, but then - in his habitual inattention – he slowly began to rock on the balls of his feet and started to clench his fingers.

He smiled at her.

"So... to what do I owe the pleasure for your rare visit?" she asked, her question almost lost in the sound of rapidly boiling water.

"I ... I just went ..."

"Hold on," Watson interrupted him and finished preparing the tea. She placed his mug on the kitchen counter and brought hers from the desk.

"Should I believe you have just been walking around?" she asked.

"I solved the case," Sherlock said instead of answering.

She didn't look surprised.

"I heard."

"Kitty?"

She nodded.

There was a weird silence.

"I must say that she learns very quickly," Sherlock said breaking the quiet moment.

"She seems capable, yes."

"But ... she's not you."

Watson raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"She's not so disciplined."

"Are you trying to bribe me with a compliment rather than apologize for your behavior last time?"

Sherlock looked away and took a sip of his tea.

He smacked contentedly.

"Perfectly prepared," he said.

"And you are doing it again."

"What? I taught you how to make tea; it's more my merit than yours."

Honest as always.

"Why did you come?" Watson asked with a little annoyance.

"Because of gratitude. Thanks to you I was able to see the case from a different angle which led to its successful resolution. And that all despite the fact that your last visit was a bit... frustrating. I owe you."

"A little frustrating?" she repeated.

He smiled and took another sip.

Watson grinned at him, walked over to the couch and sat down.

"I don't want to banish you, but I want to..."

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

She looked up and their eyes met.

Typical movements of his body intensified with increasing nervousness.

"You were right ... before. I acted like an idiot. You didn't deserve it."

She nodded slowly.

"I'm glad you realized it. The excuse is acce ..."

"Good. I have something for you," Sherlock interrupted her with such enthusiasm in his voice that she couldn't ignore it, despite his obvious disinterest to talk more about their last discussion.

He went to the rack to get his bag and pulled out a small, but a little heavy black box.

He handed it to her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, as if he was the one who was getting the gift.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to..."

"Just open it."

She obeyed.

"Are you kidding me?" she breathed out.

There were several massive old padlocks in the box.

"I told you last time that you should improve the skills I've been so long trying to teach you," he said innocently.

Watson looked at him and not knowing if he was serious.

But Sherlock's deadpan expression convinced her that he really was.

What is he doing? He always pushes away, pulls closer, and pushes away again.

As if it had been some sort of a strange GAME for him.

She was tired of it.

"I think you should go," she whispered.

A shadow of hurt ran across Sherlock's face.

Watson expected him to protest and she was surprised when he didn't. Instead, he shrugged, gathered his things and headed out. He turned around at the door.

He took a breath to say something but Watson silenced him as he did to her last time.

"Go," she said simply without standing up from the couch, the lock box still in her hands.

When he quietly closed the door behind him, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Go to hell, Sherlock.

With an irresistible desire to throw his "gift" to the trash, she stood up and headed straight towards the rubbish bin. But then she saw something in the bottom of the box.

She frowned and reached to pick up several locks into her hand.

There it lied, wrapped in the foil.

An old, shabby and familiar key.

And with it, there was a message scribbled with a familiar handwriting.

"You're always welcomed to the brownstone. S."

Watson's eyes softened.

She smiled.

Subconsciously, she reached to the kitchen counter and touched Sherlock's still warm tea cup.

Locks and keys.

Pushing away and pulling closer.

An unexpected thought passed her mind.

I actually quite like this game he has started to play...