Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of its brilliant characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a true literary genius. However OC characters that will appear here do belong to me, but as to whom they are, I will leave that to be revealed with the story.

Author's Note: I'm working on this whole, uploading more often than once every couple months thing haha. Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. I promise that things are going to get rolling more now that all the "setting the stage" stuff is done. As Holmes would say, the game is afoot! Shall we see where he takes us?

Chapter Five

John Watson sat in his chair by the fire dosing fitfully. In his mind he was reliving that horrible day he first realized Mary was ill. Only it had warped as only dreams can. One second she is pouring tea into a cup, the next she is collapsing to the ground, blood trickling down from her lips across deathly pale skin. He holds her in his arms, trying to wake her, but when her eyes open they are entirely bloodshot.

"Why, John? Why didn't you save me?" the dream Mary demands. He tries to tell her that it's not his fault. He did everything he could. He tried to save her.

"You should have known. You should have seen it. I thought you were a doctor," she accuses. His heart twists in his chest and he knows she's right. He tells her he's sorry.

"Sorry isn't enough, John. I'm dead."

John snapped awake drenched in a light sheen of sweat. He let out a low moan, hiding his face behind his hand. This nightmare had haunted him for over a year now. Those accusing eyes. They haunted him every breath of every day. The hole in his chest seared and his stomach twisted. For a moment John was sure he was going to be sick.

"Watson?" Holmes's voice called in concern. "Watson, what's wrong?" Sherlock moved over beside the doctor, touching his shoulder. When Watson didn't respond, Sherlock shook his shoulder a little more fiercely.

"I'm alright, Holmes." Watson sighed and lowered his shaking hand from his face. "I'm fine."

"It never ceases to amaze me that people attempt to lie to me," Holmes replied, clearly annoyed.

"And you of all people. You realize I can see right through it don't you?"

John just looked up at him. The raw pain shocked Sherlock into silence. Whatever snide or clipped remark he was going to make fell on silent lips. He sighed at patted the doctor's shoulder before going over to the window and looking out, clasping his hands behind his back. John watched him in equal silence.

"You were dreaming." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"I was." Even to Watson his voice sounded dry and hoarse.

"About Mary."

"…."

"You can't keep beating yourself up about it, you know."

"Holmes, do we have to talk about this?"

"Your cousin has arrived." The statement was such a sudden topic change that it took Watson a few minutes to even understand what Holmes had said. After he processed what was said he stood. The words "are you sure" were on his lips before he could think about what he was saying, but he managed to pull them back in time. Of course he was sure. It was Sherlock bloody Holmes after all. If there was a day where the detective was ever not sure, Watson would pay good money to see it.

Downstairs the doorbell rang followed by the sound of Lily opening the door. Muffled conversation followed as complete silence filled the room between the doctor and the detective. John pushed himself up out of his chair when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock turned in time to face the door as someone knocked.

"Come in."

The door sprang open and in walked a beautiful young woman bursting with so much life the room seemed to brighten a little just with her entrance.

"Oh John it's so good to see you," she said sweetly, going over to him and hugging him without a moment's pause. He faltered and then returned the gesture.

"You as well, Rachel. Would you like to sit down?" he offered.

Rachel sat in the chair Watson gestured to and took in the room with wide, green eyes.

"My, what an interesting room," she complimented.

"My study," Sherlock said simply, walking over to the mantle top to collect his clay pipe.

"And you must be Mr. Holmes. I've heard so much about you," Rachel said with a smile. Holmes looked at Watson with a cocked eyebrow. He merely shrugged his response.

"And what have you heard?" Holmes asked.

"Well you are a consulting detective. The only one of your kind."

"That is because I created the job."

"You have quite a gift for it too unless I am mistaken."

"I do my best."

"You have a knack for making grand deductions from little things and spotting the most marvelous details."

Sherlock merely looked over her as his response, taking what he needed with his eyes.

"And you are quite a character to live with," she finished with a giggle. Watson couldn't hold back a chuckle. Sherlock looked bemused and lit his pipe.

"And you got all this information from Watson?" he asked.

"And the papers. I've been reading up since I got here," she replied.

Sherlock looked ready to respond but was interrupted by Lily walking in with a tray of tea. She set it down on a little coffee table beside Rachel and poured three cups.

"Thank you Lily," Watson said, giving her a small smile. She smiled back warmly.

"No trouble at all, Doctor. Just call if I can do anything else," she replied before walking out. He watched the door swing slowly shut behind her before moving to serve the tea. He handed a cup to Rachel and picked up the other two. One he held to Holmes, who took it after a moment, and kept the other as he settled back into his chair.

"So how is the family?" he asked, taking a sip of tea.

Rachel poured a spoonful of sugar into her cup and stirred it delicately. "They're fine. All worried about you of course. They send their love."

"You'll have to send them my thanks." John nodded.

Sherlock watched the two with hawk-like eyes, particularly focusing on their new guest. His tea sat forgotten, resting on the mantle beside his arm as he leaned against the wall. He puffed small clouds of smoke almost unaware that he was smoking at all.

"How have you been?" Rachel asked, a little more delicate now.

John sighed.

"I've been better…but I've been worse too."

Rachel gave him another kind smile. "I'm glad to hear that. We've all been worried."

"Your hair is not naturally blonde, is it?" Sherlock asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Holmes," Watson warned. How many times had they been down this road?

"Pardon?" Rachel tucked a small curl of blonde hair behind her ear, the rest piled atop her head.

"Your eyebrows are a different shade than your hair. They are darker. This leads me to believe you are not naturally blonde," Holmes explained. Rachel flushed.

"I…" she fumbled for her words.

"That is none of your business." John came to her rescue giving Sherlock a warning look. Sherlock remained unfazed. Like a predatory bird, his eyes remained fixed on the woman squirming slightly in her seat. Watson got to his feet in a huff.

"Rachel, perhaps you would like to accompany me on a stroll through the park? It's quite lovely this time of year and I could use the exercise and fresh air."

"Oh….of course…." Rachel got to her feet, avoiding the detective's eye. She placed her hand on John's arm when he offered it to her.

"I'll be back" was John's goodbye to the detective before leading Rachel out of the room. She glanced back at Sherlock as she was making her way through the door.

Holmes lowered himself into his chair trying to ponder the correct word to describe the gleam in her eye. Playful? No. Laughing? Not quite. Lively? That wasn't it either. And then it struck him. He knew exactly how to categorize the look gleaming from those green eyes at him. Mischievous.