A/N: So begins The Blind Banker. The romance starts a little bit here. Had a lot of fun writing that part ^/^

Some notes on Reviews:

EdwardAnthonyMasenCullen1918: I'm just gonna shorten your name when I'm responding to your reviews. Probably just EAMC1918, if that's okay with you. As for whether or not you're right, I confirm nothing.

lostfeather1: You don't think Sherlock's a bit OOC when it comes to Kat? Anyway, I'm glad you like them so much. I have a feeling you're really going to love this chapter. Cheers!

loveinfinity: I'm glad I write them so well, and I'm glad you like it! It most definitely is not going to be awkward for Molly. She's going to try and play matchmaker. She'll be one of the first to see the chemistry. Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade are all going to see it before Kat does. Hell, even Sherlock will see it before Kat does. She's not looking for love right now. In fact she's actively not-looking. As in Not-hyphen-Looking.

Vedra9: I feel like the little cases between the ones the episodes are centered around helped deepen the friendship between John and Sherlock. I feel like they can help bring Kat and Sherlock closer, too. I'm glad you love it! It's nice to know my first fanfic is so good.

Here we go!

Money Troubles

It's March now. Molly and I finish our shopping for some spring outfits, hoping it gets warm soon. As we make our way back to Baker Street from the last small shop, Molly tells me all about the cute guy she met who works in IT. I'm slightly apprehensive as she describes him, but I keep it to myself.

"And he asked me if I wanted to have coffee," she gushes, waving her bags around. "With him! And he said my nose was cute." I laugh.

"That's great, Molls," I say. "It's nice to see you happy with someone." She sighs happily before turning to me.

"Hey!" she snaps, mock-glaring. "I'm not with anyone!" I laugh again, and she smiles dreamily. "But maybe I will be, one day." I smile at her.

"You will," I say. "But I don't think his name is Jim." She glares at me then looks thoughtful. She makes a sneaky grin.

"So…. When are we getting you a man?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. I snort and shake my head.

"After what happened with Sean?" I ask, saying his name with contempt.

"And you thought he was 'The One'," she says. I shake my head.

"Psychics can't see everything," I respond. She looks at me sadly, before lighting up.

"Maybe Sherlock is the guy you're looking for!" she suggests excitedly. I shake my head again. "No, hear me out. You said he'd be a detective and he'd live in London. And he'd be about the right age." She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Clearly Sean wasn't the guy you were looking for. Maybe it's time to start looking again?"

"No," I reply. "Maybe in time, but for now? I'm basking in the single light."

"Aww…" Molly whines, pouting. I laugh loudly and she moves all her bags to one hand and pokes me in the side.

"Anyway, I should get back," I say. She pouts again. "I have to get this stuff put away, and then have lunch."

"You could always have lunch with me," she mumbles, still pouting. I shake my head as we reach the steps to 221.

"Just a feeling I've got," I respond cryptically. She laughs and shakes her head. "See ya, Molls!"

"Yeah, see ya!" she calls back, trying to get a cab. I shift put the bags in my right hand down onto the porch, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I open the door, pick my bags back up and head up the stairs. I hear a lot of shuffling coming from Sherlock's flat, and I see why when I get to the landing. I drop my bags in surprise.

Sherlock is in his living room, dodging and ducking a sword being swung by a man in a robe and headscarves. The man quickly backs Sherlock toward the sofa, swinging his sword again. Sherlock ducks under the sword, only to fall back into the sitting position. The man lifts his sword above his head with both hands.

"Oi!" I shout, drawing his attention away from Sherlock. He turns to me, about to charge, when Sherlock lifts his leg and kicks the man hard in the chest, shoving him backwards. Sherlock gets to his feet, nods to me and straightens his jacket before charging the man. I run into the flat and watch the fight, preparing to jump in if I need to. The man pulls the curved blade in, taking the dull edge in his left hand before charging Sherlock. Sherlock catches the man's wrists, but the man is pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. I run to the closet, grabbing the cane I know John stores in there. I rush back to find the man leaning over Sherlock with his sword over Sherlock's throat. I run into the kitchen and start swinging the cane into the man's side repeatedly until Sherlock manages to push the man off him into the living room again. I try to dodge out of the way, but I hiss in pain as the man's sword nicks my arm. Sherlock follows the man, dodging underneath the sword. The man takes one last swing at Sherlock, who ducks. Sherlock quickly straightens up and points over the man's shoulder.

"Look!" Sherlock shouts. The man looks at where Sherlock is pointing. Sherlock takes advantage of the man's distraction and makes a swift uppercut into the man's chin as he turns back. The man drops unconscious into Sherlock's chair. Sherlock checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and dusting himself down, before looking at the man and then turning to me.

"Have a seat, Kat," he says, moving to the cupboards, trying to find something. I stare at him blankly. "We're going to have to bandage your arm up. It doesn't look like it needs stitches, but we should try to eliminate the possibility of infection." He turns around to face me with a first aid kit in his hand. "Sit." I pull a chair out from the table and sit in it. He sets the first aid kit on the table, opening it. He turns to the sink, grabs a cloth from a drawer and runs it under the sink. He comes back around the table and pulls another chair out and sits down in front of me. He takes me by the wrist and lifts my arm up. "Hold it there." He takes the cloth and starts wiping the blood from the cut, watching his work closely. His face is just inches from mine. I take the chance to really look at him. His eyes are a swirling mix of icy blue and burning gold.

"I'd kill to have your eyes," I say. He glances up at me in confusion, and I feel my pulse quicken slightly. Stop it! "Mine are just plain brown. You've got sectoral heterochromia." He turns to put the now-bloody cloth on the table, grabbing something else.

"Do I?" he asks, bored. I snort.

"How do you not know what color your eyes are?" I ask in disbelief. He shrugs slightly before cleaning the cut with an alcohol wipe. I wince slightly and Sherlock glances at me again.

"It's not important," he says. I roll my eyes and look past him at the robed man, checking to make sure he's still out cold. "What I find interesting though," Sherlock says, pulling my attention back to him, "is how tolerant to pain you are." I tilt my head at him and frown. "This cut is much deeper than I originally thought. Still not enough to need stitches, but certainly enough to cause pain. And yet, here you sit, making conversation." He leans away from me to open a large bandage. "As if you don't feel the pain." He sticks the bandage on my arm over the cut. "Why is that?" I shrug, turning away. I don't want to think about it.

"It's a part of my past you haven't figured out yet," I reply sadly. "Maybe you have some idea, some theory, but you don't have all the facts to come to a conclusion." I see Sherlock frowning at me from the corner of my eye. "It's something that happened years ago that I would rather forget."

"The reason you're not in contact with your family?" he asks. I nod.

"Like I said, I'd rather forget," I respond, looking up at him. We sit like that for a long, silent moment, until we hear groaning coming from the living room. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. "You take care of him," I gesture to the man, grinning, "while I take my shopping upstairs. I'll come back down and help you clean up a bit so John doesn't think you've done anything." Sherlock nods, standing up and moving towards the man. I get out of my chair and push it back to the table, doing the same for Sherlock's. Walking out the door, I grab my bags and head up the stairs to my flat.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The flat is clean. No sign of the robed man or the fight. Well, all but one or two. Sherlock explains that it was about a missing diamond. The man had come to the flat, thinking Sherlock had the diamond, when really Sherlock had been trying to find its location. I listen attentively until he finishes. He picks up a book from next to him and starts to read. Taking this as a signal that our conversation is over, I turn to my bag next to my new chair. It seems one of the boys wasn't too happy that I have to stand to the side when we interview clients, so they got me a wide armchair. I sit Indian-style and pull my laptop into my lap, pulling up the internet browser and checking my e-mail. I've got a few from some of my pagan friends, asking about me. I'm typing up my third response when John walks in.

"You took your time," Sherlock greets, not looking up from his book. John shifts nervously.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John replies. Sherlock looks up at him indignantly over the top of his book.

"What?" he asks. "Why not?"

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine," John answers tetchily. I chuckle softly as Sherlock lowers his book slightly.

"You…you had a row with a machine?" Sherlock asks.

"Sounds like your fights with Sherlock," I murmur just loud enough for them to hear.

"Sort of," John answers, ignoring me. "It sat there and I shouted abuse." I laugh.

"So exactly like your fights with Sherlock!" I tease. John makes a long-suffering sigh.

"Have you got cash?" he asks Sherlock. Sherlock holds back an amused smile and nods toward the kitchen.

"Take my card," he says. John starts walking into the kitchen and gets about halfway before turning back around.

"You could always go yourself, you know," he tells Sherlock indignantly. "You've been sitting there all morning. You've not moved since I left." Sherlock glances at me and I grin.

"Here John," I say, pulling my wallet out of my back pocket. "How much do you think you'll need?" John looks over to me, surprised, and starts to protest. I wave him off. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I'm hurting for cash. If you want, you can just pay me back whenever." John walks back towards me and takes the money I offer him, nodding in thanks. He looks at Sherlock again.

"And what happened about that case you were offered—the Jaria Diamond?" John asks, turning to count the cash.

"Not interested," Sherlock responds, taking a piece of paper and using it as a bookmark. He shuts the book with a loud snap and looks at me. I gaze pointedly down beneath his chair and he looks down to see the attacker's sword lying in plain view. He quickly slams his foot down onto the end and slides it further back and out of sight.

"He sent them a message," I tell John as he looks up, distracting him from the unexpected sound of clinking metal. John looks at Sherlock suspiciously before shaking his head and heading out the door. When we hear the front door of the building close, Sherlock and I turn to each other and grin.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

About an hour and a half later, John comes staggering up the stairs with several shopping bags.

"Don't worry about me," he grunts sarcastically. "I can manage." I close my laptop and lay it on the table next to me before getting up to help. Sherlock turns his head slightly towards John without taking his eyes off the laptop in front of him. I help John put food into the cupboards, working quickly. "Thanks," he says and I nod, smiling. John turns back to Sherlock to tell him off before stopping short. "Is that my computer?" Sherlock starts to type.

"Of course," he answers.

"What?!" John shouts.

"Mine was in the bedroom," Sherlock replies.

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?" John asks angrily, but Sherlock doesn't reply. "It's password protected!" Sherlock keeps typing.

"In a manner of speaking," he says, and I can't help but roll my eyes at him. "Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He glances up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you," John says, annoyed. He reaches over and slams the lid down as Sherlock pulls his fingers out of the way just in time. John walks across the room to sit in his armchair and puts the laptop down on the floor beside him. Sherlock steeples his hands in front of his mouth and props his elbows on the table. I walk back to my chair as John picks up a stack of mail from the table beside him. He frowns.

"Oh," he mutters, flicking through the letters. I can tell that some are bills. He shakes his head, resigned. "Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull," Sherlock says, and I glare at him. I turn to John.

"Try the surgery at Bart's," I tell him. He looks at me and I shrug. "Just a feeling. Ask for a Doctor Sawyer. She'll probably hire you."

"Thanks," he says, sighing in what I hope is relief.

"No problem," I respond, smiling. "That's what friends are for, right, Sherlock?" I turn to Sherlock, but he's not paying any attention.

"Sherlock, are you listening?" John asks him.

"I need to go to the bank," Sherlock replies without turning. He gets up and heads towards the door, taking his coat from its spot as he goes. John and I frown at each other before jumping up and hurrying after him.

A/N: Next chapter, Sebastian tries his hand at flirting, and Sherlock doesn't take to kindly to it.