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: Surprise! Another chapter! Things are finally getting rolling for me in this story. Get ready for some fun! Thanks to everyone who has been favoriting and reviewing my story – it means a whole lot. After all, what's a writer without readers? But enough about me, you don't come to hear me rant. On with the story!

Chapter Six

Dr. Watson sighed as he walked out of the hotel Rachel was staying at. After leaving Holmes the two had strolled together for a while catching up on old times before parting ways back at her hotel. He made his way down the street, mostly ignoring the hustle and bustle around him. He hadn't ventured to this area of town yet. It was closer to where Mary had lived. When he and Holmes went on strolls to the park, they stuck closer to home. For as much as he wanted to hit the detective, he knew that Sherlock was looking out for him. His friend was strange, but loyal. John was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize someone had fallen in step with him at first.

"You're looking rather melancholy today," a familiar female voice finally broke through his thoughts.

Watson turned to meet with a pair of blue eyes.

"Ah…Mirela." It took him a moment to remember her name, but he nodded his head respectfully to her all the same.

She smiled. "You remembered me."

"We only spoke yesterday," John replied with a small smile of his own.

"May I walk with you?" she asked.

"If you wish," he replied as courteously as he could. She studied him as they continued walking.

"Lovely weather today," she stated after a moment, turning to look ahead instead of watching him.

"It is rather nice, as far as London goes," he said with a nod.

"So you've travelled," she surmised.

"You're correct."

"Where to?"

"I've recently returned from America."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Neither."

Mirela looked at him then, confused by his answer. He glanced at her, aware that his answer would be confusing and not really wanting to answer the questions his response was sure to produce. But something about the gypsy girl brought it out of him. There was something kind about her face that caused him to naturally answer her honestly. If he were a younger version of himself, he might even be in danger of coming to care for her. But that was a long time ago, he reminded himself, before his heart stopped.

"So if you were in America for neither business nor pleasure then you must have had a reason. If it wasn't for enjoyment, then you didn't go willingly. But you didn't go for business so…family?" Mirela took a wild stab in the dark.

John sighed, knowing he would answer before he did. "Yes."

"Do you stroll out here often?" Her drastic change of subject caught him off-guard.

"Not normally…" he replied slowly.

"That's too bad," she answered simply.

"May I ask why?" he asked.

"No reason." She looked at him with a twinkle in his eye that told him the exact opposite. She had a reason; she just wasn't going to tell him. She smiled and looked back ahead, taking in the crowd and their surroundings. Her vibrant red skirt rustled with every step accented by the faint tingling of bells that looped around her ankle. All around them people turned to look at her, some in distain, and others in appreciation. Aesthetically speaking, Watson admitted to himself that the red was a nice color against her olive skin-tone, accentuated by the starkness of the white of her top and the simplicity of her brown vest. He mentally shook himself then. There was no direction that sort of thinking could lead that would be a benefit to him and it was better to stop while he was ahead.

"You certainly couldn't sneak up on someone," he offered a new source of conversation after a moment's silence.

"Hm?"

"Your bells."

"Oh. No, I suppose I couldn't," she answered with a laugh.

"All a part of the job I suppose," he added with a small shrug.

"I suppose," she replied, smiling. After another moment she turned to him.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Perhaps I'll see you around again," she said, giving him a wink and a smile before disappearing into the crowd.

John listened to the sound of her bells tinkling away into the chaos of a busy London street. Somehow John suspected dancing wasn't the only "job" she did. He felt his pocket for his wallet and was surprised to find it still there. Whatever her reason for strolling with him was, it wasn't to pick his pocket. Deciding not to press his luck, he turned and continued on his way back to Baker Street.

Much to Holmes's advantage, by the time Watson returned to 221B, their previous quarrel was long forgotten. Lily took John's coat and hat at the door and hung them up in the closet.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Doctor Watson? It's a cool day and I'd hate for you to catch cold," she offered, looking over him with concern.

He gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Lily, that would be very nice."

"My pleasure. I'm just glad to see back here at Baker Street. My aunt told me so many stories about you and Mr. Holmes. I know he missed you while you were gone," she said with a warm smile. Watson looked at her surprised. He might use that later to accuse Holmes of feeling sentiment, something he deeply deplored.

"He's up in his study now I believe. Last I checked he was playing with his chemicals again," she added with a small look of disdain.

John laughed. "What is he trying to create this time?"

"I haven't the foggiest. He is fascinating to watch though, isn't he? My aunt said he was a lunatic. I think he's a genius," she replied, a faint glimmer in her eyes.

"Careful he hears you or his already swollen ego with expand," Watson warned with a smile.

"As a matter of fact I can hear you both very well!" Holmes's voice echoed down from upstairs. The doctor and Lily exchanged a look before they both burst into laughter. A disgruntled Holmes appeared at the top of the stairs. He watched the two attempt to stifle their laughter, Lily covering her mouth with her hand, Watson merely bending slightly over his cane. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's lips. He hadn't seen John laugh like that since before Mary passed. It was a little glimmer of his old friend back. Perhaps this once he'd allow them to enjoy themselves at his expense. But only this once. Next time there would be repercussions.

"Well, are you coming or aren't you?" Holmes asked, turning back to his study and disappearing again.

"Coming Holmes," Watson replied, making his way up the stairs.

"I'll bring up your tea in a minute," Lily called after him.

He nodded to show her he heard her and made his way into the study. Holmes was over at one of the tables he'd converted into his lab, covered in tubes and bottles and papers and the like. The detective was currently bent over a tube as he slowly poured two liquids together. Watson sighed as he lowered into his chair and watched him.

"Do I want to know what you're making?" he asked.

"No." Holmes lifted a small bottle to his lips and took a swig before setting it aside again. John frowned.

"Do I want to know what you are drinking?"

"No."

"Is it from my supply again?"

"That would be most inconvenient for your medical practice."

"Yes it would. And dangerous to your health."

"Hm" was Holmes's only response as he continued his work. "Speaking of your medical practice, do you intend to start taking on patients again? We do have a rent to pay you know."

"Oh…yes…I suppose I should." In all honestly John had forgotten about that. He hadn't taken a patient since Mary fell ill. He wasn't even sure he could anymore.

"You know what they say about falling off the horse old boy."

"Kill the horse?"

Sherlock gave his morbid friend a look. "Morbidity is my area of expertise thank you very much. No as a matter of fact. They say you get back on it."

"I thought you didn't like horses."

"Beside the point. And this one is metaphorical."

"So metaphorical horses are alright?" John was enjoying messing with his friend.

"No, they are still nasty devils."

"So…" Watson grinned, knowing he was pushing Holmes's buttons.

"Confound it Watson that is beside the point! You know what I meant!" Holmes was properly flustered now and downed the rest of his bottle before tossing it across the room for emphasis. He returned to his work in a surly silence. John chuckled and picked up his paper, snapping it open to break the heavy silence.

"I understand," he said quietly after a minute, "thank you old chap."

Holmes merely nodded. Lily walked in then and set down the tray of tea before glance around the room. She found an old tea tray abandoned on the floor across the room and went over to pick it up.

"Leave it! I'm performing an experiment in one of those cups," Holmes commanded, leaping over a pile of books beside him to block her off. Lily giggled and raised her hands.

"Alright but if you spoil my china I'll make you replace it," she replied. He studied her for a moment, as if sizing her up. She held her chin high and met his gaze.

"Very well," he replied simply and returned to his work. John glanced over his paper at her and the two shared a smile.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me," Lily said before exiting the room. Comfortable silence followed.

"Your cousin return safely to her hotel?" Sherlock asked after a while. John sighed. Here it was, Sherlock's retaliation. He turned the page of his paper and debating on ignoring him.

"Yes," he finally answered curtly, hoping to end the conversation.

"Interesting girl," Sherlock mused.

"She and I were close when we were younger."

"So you're sure it's her then?"

John snapped his paper down and turned to look and the detective. Holmes kept his back to him as he worked.

"Yes I am! Are you sure she isn't?" he demanded in frustration.

"Yes," Holmes answered quietly but in a firm voice.

"And who, pray tell, do you think it is then?" Watson asked.

"Do you remember the case three years ago? The one I technically solved too late?" The silence between them was heavy. Oh yes, John remembered it like it was yesterday…