"Who's this?" Sherlock says, hurt.
"Just someone giving me a lift home." I say to Sherlock, but mouth the word "brother" to the watching man. He nods in acceptance.
"Well, thanks for the lift." I give him a quick hug and I can feel Sherlock's glare on my back.
"Anytime!" He leaves with a slight wave and then gets into the car. I turn back to Sherlock.
"Well, that was interesting." I say and push past him.
"What? That you show up with a guy that you are obviously going to call because he gave you his number?" He says, defensively. "Trust me! You can do better."
"Oh really? Like who? You?" I scoff. "Come on, Sherlock, be real." His face falls.
"Because he's a doctor then? Or likes animals? I like animals."
"No, you don't and jealous much?"
"I am not jealous." He says.
"Oh, denial. Doesn't suit you, now does it?" I scurry down the stairs past him and into my flat. The comforting sights calm my heart rate. But there is some thing that just about makes my skin crawl. A single rose on the windowsill. The one with the shattered glass. Pure red, perfection. And one thorn. Poking out of the side. I grab the stem and throw it out the window.
"And good riddance!" I say aloud, but I know in my heart that I will be seeing more of Chase. Maybe he'll leave me alone for a little. I drop all my clothes on the living room floor and walk to the bathroom, naked. I stand under the warm stream, until the water turns icy. Then, I dry off and walk out to the piano. I do some basic scales and arpeggios, and then I start to play some songs. Not really anything specific, not even real songs. Everything just blends together. Some Bach here, some Mozart there, mostly just me making stuff up to clear my head. When I finally strike the last chord, it is dark out. I have literally played for the whole day. I hear the smallest little knock on my door; so quiet I even wonder if it's there. I crack open the door, and see Sherlock's startling gaze staring back at me.
"I just waited until you were done playing, until I came in."
"But I played for the entire day."
"Yes, I am aware. May I come in?" He says and we walk in and sit on the couch.
"So, you just waited around for the entire day? You could have just come in."
"No that would have been rude."
"Hm, John's taught you well."
"Yes, I suppose he has."
We sit there in silence for a few seconds, until Sherlock pips up.
"So, I see you tossed that man's phone number."
"Yes, I did."
"So, that means you are not interested."
"Not necessarily." I reply.
"How so?"
"I could have already put his number in my phone."
"Interesting."
"How so?" I mock. He raises an eyebrow, but goes on.
"Well, it would just be curious that you would do such a thing when you still have feelings for me."
"Sherlock," I grab his hand. "I have to protect you, I don't want to hurt you. Look, I know you can protect yourself. I know you're strong and brave and everything good. But I don't know what Chase will do. I don't know what he'll do to you. I don't want to risk that, Sherlock. I don't want to risk you. Your life is too precious. You are too important to too many people. John, Mrs. Hudson, your clients. They all need you."
"No, they don't and what about you? John and Mrs. Hudson love you!"
"No, they don't! Not the way they love you. And I don't have any family or anything." I press my fingers against his soft cheek. "I'm alone."
"No, you're not!" He stands up, and then sits down. "You have me."
"Yes, but you will find someone that loves you."
"No, I won't. I'm lucky that I have found you. You are everything to me."
I smile, in spite of the conversation.
"No, the work is everything. There will be other cases and other murders. You will get on with out me."
He just sits there and stares at me, his eyes piercing my heart against the wall. I know that he won't leave, so I stand.
"I'm going to bed."
"I'm coming with you." My brow crinkles, but I let him follow me anyways. I slip into the bathroom and change into a huge shirt. It comes to my knees and hides any figure I have. I slide into the bed next to Sherlock who has discarded all of his clothes, except his undergarments. I lay on my back, hands folded on my stomach, and think. Then, I snuggle down next to Sherlock's already sleeping body and fall into sleep.
When I wake in the morning, the sun isn't there. The rain is pattering on the window and Sherlock is gone. Probably up in his flat doing something interesting. I glance over at the clock: 9:55. I throw the covers off of me and stretch my arms. I walk out into my flat, where Sherlock sits at the piano, long fingers extended. He brushes a key, but doesn't make any sound. I stare at him curious, but silent so he doesn't recognize me.
"Sleep well?" he asks.
"Quite," I reply. "Tea?"
"Sure." I quickly brew up a pot and give a cup to Sherlock, who is still at the piano, and slowly sip mine.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." I say, a bit shocked at our monosyllable communication. He stares at the black and white keys, while I stare at the ceiling of the flat.
"Play." He said suddenly.
"Hm?" I inquire.
"Play the piano."
"Okay." He moves over on the piano bench and gives my cup of tea to him. I place my fingers on the keys and gently play the light bouncy song, An American In Paris. One of my favorite composers is George Gershwin. I play the first movement, then stop and grab my cup of tea from Sherlock and remove myself from the piano bench. I watch Sherlock gaze at the piano, then me.
"How do you do that?" He wonders aloud.
"The same way, you beautifully play that violin." I reply, sipping my tea. I lean into his warm body. "Practice." He glances back at me in a way that would make me jump out of my skin on a normal day, but not on this one. My heart remains thumping in the same tempo, my eyes stay focused on his. Nothing changes. At least that is until; Sherlock leans forward and presses his lips against mine. His arms wrap around my body so that there is no room between our bodies. We break apart and his lips brush my ear.
"I love you." He mummers. My heart splinters because I know that I can't love him. I can never love him as long as Chase wants to kill me. I abruptly stand up and rush to the bedroom, babbling something about a shower. I throw off all my clothes and turn on the hot tap. The warm water runs over my shaking body. The tears mix in with the comforting flow and all of it, together, disappears down the drain.