A/n: So sorry for the long delay. The original plan was to have this up before I left for vacation, but I fell behind with other things and since getting back, life has been non-stop. So I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Like last time, I'd like to thank both of my betas, Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado1. They have been giving me great feedback and its really helping to shape this story! I'd like to also thank Nocturnias for giving me a shout out in their story!

I own nothing. Period.

Someone I Used to Know

Chapter 4

The week passed by relatively quietly, the most exciting thing being Sherlock and I falling into a routine of sorts. He would go hours without saying a word and at times, without even moving. I took to making my own plans for the day, enjoying the first stretch of time off I had had in years. By the third day I had gone through the few books I had grabbed for the week and found myself reading random books I found lying around the cottage.

Much of the time we spent together was in public where Sherlock worked on honing his character of Paul. He could easily fool people who had only seen his face in the tabloids, but the real test would be in London. No one could mistake Paul for Sherlock or it could prove fatal for either or both of us, not to mention John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. The physical appearance was just the start; he had also pitched his voice several octaves higher and added a slouch in his shoulders and even a slight shuffle in his step.

There are differences in our relationship, too, and in more ways than just the fake one we are doing our best to keep up. You could say that any relationship was better than the nonexistent one we used to have, and even more than the one in which I was the one that counted. I suppose you could now say that we were just good friends who were good at pretending to be together when in public. It was the only sane way I could see it.

I certainly couldn't stop myself from noticing the little things and thinking about them for hours after. How he'd hold my hand for a few moments longer that strictly needed. He would look at me, stare really, from time to time as though it was the first time he had ever really looked at me. While he hadn't been anywhere near as harsh to me since that Christmas two years ago, now it seemed he had learned when certain things didn't need to be said. It was...well, to be honest, it was quite nice.

The pub owner, whose name was George Jameson, always commented on what a good couple we made and it excited me to know that others saw something between us, but there other times I worried how much of this was just part of the act and if any of it was real.

Much of our interactions happen in public, but there were also times in private that Sherlock would surprise me by sitting beside me while we both read a book. Normally different books, but from time to time he'd lean on the back of my chair and read over my shoulder before making his own thoughts on the material known, whether it was Shakespeare or recent research study on sleep; he had an opinion and always shared it.

Maybe Sherlock was just acting this way towards me in public and private because it really was just part of his cover. I didn't dare try to ask him where his feelings lay. Just the idea of asking him about his feelings had me imagining the annoyed look I would receive, not to mention the return of the snide comments.

After leaving the cottage at the end of the week, I returned to my life in London. After three days of not so much as a peep from Sherlock, I did my best to go about my life and not be too disappointed. Two days after that, I came home to find a note sitting on my table.

Mycroft finished my new identity. He's sent me out of the country to give it a test. I'll stop by when I get back. Keep an eye on John and Mrs. Hudson for me. I'll see you soon. Burn this after you read it. - SH

"Keeping an eye" on Mrs. Hudson and John meant that I called and made plans to meet them both for dinner one night after work.

We went at an Indian restaurant within walking distance of the hospital. According to Mrs. Hudson it had been a push to get John to join us.

I was looking forward to seeing him, no matter how guilty I still felt, and would always feel, about keep the truth about Sherlock's fall a secret. Mrs. Hudson and John arrived together moments after I had taken a seat near the middle of the restaurant.

As the time passed, John mostly sat observing the world around him. He had taken the seat that allowed him to see into the kitchen and out the front windows with just a slight turn of his head either way. For the most part, the press had left him alone, with just the occasional photo of him running in the paper and very rarely on the front page. I suppose the media was fickle that way. The few tabloids I saw while at the cottage had Sherlock on the cover each edition, until they didn't. Some new scandal broke and then another one and soon, the fall of Sherlock, just weeks later, was old news.

Despite how fickle the press was, the fall of Sherlock Holmes, no matter how figurative that statement was to me, was still very newsworthy to the three of us. However, regardless of how much Sherlock was on our minds, we avoided directly talking about him. Mrs. Hudson shared news about her sister's grandchildren and how the renovations of Baker Street we going.

"You're leasing doesn't end soon on your flat is it, Molly?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She had finally decided to start work on fixing the basement flat that had stood empty for so long.

"It isn't, no," I replied as the thought of living there crossed my mind. It wouldn't, couldn't work for me. Not when it was a battle each time I saw them to keep the secret of Sherlock to myself.

John revealed very little about what he was up to, but I had learned from a colleague at Bart's that he had taken a post at the A&E in Whitechapel.

"How is your new position?" I asked as we passed dishes of spicy smelling food around the table.

"It's a job," he replied not really looking up from the Tikka Masala he was spooning onto his plate. I could tell from his tone that it could never compare to chasing clues and suspects with Sherlock. My heart ached for him.

The rest of dinner's conversation was mostly carried by Mrs. Hudson.

"How are things with your friend?" she asked as we finished eating. I was slightly surprised she hadn't asked sooner. "You seem to be doing better than the last time we saw you."

"He's fine. The week in the country was what I needed, I think. Obviously I'm not…" I stumbled with what to say. Did I tell them about Paul? Did I tell them that I was dating this friend I had never mentioned prior to Sherlock's death?

"I hope he is treating you well," she said.

"We're good," I said after a pause hoping Mrs. Hudson understood I didn't feel completely comfortable with the conversation.

"Good for you dear, you deserve some happiness in your life," she replied, patting my hand.

Once our bill arrived, we paid and walked out of the restaurant. Mrs. Hudson hailed a cab before giving each of us a hug good-bye.

John and I were left standing awkwardly beside each other taking in the sights and sounds of the busy intersection in front of us.

"Are you not headed back to Baker Street as well?" I asked after a few moments.

"I've moved out," John said softly, almost too softly for me to hear over the traffic beside us.

"Oh, you and Mrs. Hudson didn't say during dinner… I didn't… didn't know," I said as I looked away from John and towards the pub across the street. I watched as a group went inside and a man walked out. I soon realized I recognized the sandy colored hair and something in me slightly panicked.

"How much do you know about this man you are seeing?" John asked, pulling me away from watching "Paul" across the street. Sherlock had taken out his mobile and to any passerby he was simply checking his messages, while I assumed he was watching the interaction between John and I.

"Enough," I replied. "I've known him for years, longer than I've known you," I replied glancing back to where Sherlock was standing.

It wasn't a complete lie. I had known Sherlock longer than I knew John. Looking back at John, I continued.

"We've always been friends, but I went to visit him as you know after, well after…, and we just connected." I paused before continuing. Sherlock and I hadn't discussed what we would tell John. "We had been texting and such on and off for a while before that. In fact, he was the person I was going to meet for lunch the day before… well anyway I'm safe. He's safe."

"It's just you don't really have the best track record and I know that Sherlock, in his own way, would want me to look out for you. But I'm not like him and I can't get an instant read off of someone just by looking at a person, and even Sherlock wasn't perfect at that all the time," John said.

In the back of my mind I knew this was more about me getting fooled by Jim than anything else and I also knew John was looking out for my best interest and well-being. It was touching in a way that I hadn't had the opportunity to realize before.

"John, I won't get fooled like that again," I said. "This isn't… it won't be… Paul is different and I know," I paused and held up my hand to stop John from interrupting. "I know you are my friend and you're concerned and I thank you for it. It is interesting timing I'll admit, but… Paul and I are… I think he's the one."

I hope this conversation doesn't come back to haunt me.

"If anything seems off, anything at all… even if it's just because his socks are the wrong color, I will call you," I said, reaching my hand out to put in on John's arm. He nearly cracked a smile, but it faded away like a ghost and maybe I didn't see it after all.

"How are you really?" I asked after a pause.

"Fine, I'm fine Molly," he said without feeling.

We both knew I didn't believe him.

"If you need anything, please return the favor and let me know," I said, giving his arm a squeeze. I then quickly pulled him into a hug. He returned it with more feeling than I had seen him display all night, his hands warm on my back.

"Take care of yourself," I added as we pulled away.

"You too," he replied as we smiled softly at each other. "Are you taking a cab back to your flat?"

"No, I was going to walk. I only live a few blocks from here," I said knowing I wouldn't be alone on the walk.

"I'll walk with you," he said. It was another way John was trying to be the caring man I knew he was by nature. He wasn't one to ignore someone.

I was intrigued by Sherlock's appearance across the street. I hadn't even known he was back. The last I had heard from him was the note and that had been nearly a week ago.

"I'll be fine," I said with a soft smile. "I'm the opposite direction of the nearest tube."

"If you're certain?" he asked and I nodded my head. "Well, alright. Just text me when you get home, yeah?" He gave me a tight smile before turning to walk in the direction of Barbican station.

After a I moment or two I turned to walk in the direction of my own flat and it was only a minute later that Sherlock crossed the street to join me.

"He doesn't look good. The limp is starting to return," he said in greeting.

"He isn't. Of course he isn't!" I said with a sigh. "He misses you terribly."

"But he is alive," Sherlock replied while taking my hand. It felt natural, and while he was talking as Sherlock he looked like Paul and I was once again struck with the complexities of the situation. I had always had feelings for Sherlock. Feelings that had begun from who knows where and had no reason for staying around. After four years I had simply accepted that Sherlock would always have a special place in my heart and after the Christmas incident I resolved to move on. But now with his performance as Paul I was having a hard time telling the feelings for both apart. I enjoyed the attention I received when Sherlock was in character and when in private some of his Paul-ness seemed the slip through. It was confusing at best, since I was beginning to think of them as two separate people. Maybe it was the only way I could sanely cope with the utter joy I felt when Paul or Sherlock took my hand.

We were silent during the rest of the short walk back to my flat.

As we walked in, Toby came sulking over from my bed and while I thought he was coming over to me, he went straight for Sherlock.

"I'll never understand the two of you. Toby always seems so annoyed with you when you're here and then you leave he sulks for the rest of the day."

"Maybe you should bring him to the cottage next time. He'd like the extra space."

"I'm that bad of company?"

"No, he would just be another distraction is all."

"Mmmm," I said as I pulled my light coat off and slipped my shoes into their place. I slowly made my way around my small flat, trying to set things in their place before going to the kitchen area to check Toby's food and water.

As I turned around towards where Sherlock had been standing I noticed he had moved further into the flat and having removed his jumper and shoes, was in the process of going through a bag I hadn't noticed sitting at the foot of my bed. It looked like an overnight bag.

I'm not sure what to think.

"Are… you staying?" I asked with a slight blush as I realized my stammer had decided to reappear.

"I'm not going to Mycroft's," he replied not looking up from his search.

"Oh… okay," I said before going into the bathroom, the part of the flat that was closed off from the rest so that I could remember to breathe again.

After I changed and removed my contacts and my minimal make up from the day I walked out of the bathroom, I stopped abruptly when I saw that Sherlock had also changed and was lying nearly in the middle of my bed already asleep, Toby curled up near his feet.

I considered waking him, and once again wished for a slightly bigger flat that could fit a couch. But it had been a long day, and the thought of the soft mattress was too strong for me. I took a deep breath before I shook my head and moved to turn off the lights and then nudge Sherlock over to give me some room.

As I lay on the edge of my own bed, I was struck by the situation I found myself in. I was in a bed with Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it wasn't how I had imagined it, but it certainly was something I'd allow a small part of myself to get excited over.

And, sure, I was very close to falling out of my bed due to the lack of room, but this certainly wasn't somewhere I had imagined myself being a few months ago. But like so many things with Sherlock, sharing a bed with him was nothing like I could have expected. He moved in his sleep, pulled the covers away and all but pushed me out of bed twice throughout the night.

As the early sunlight came in through a crack in the blinds I took a few moments to watch him sleep. By this point he was sleeping on his back, almost completely to one side of the bed, leaving me the most room I had had all night. He certainly looked calmer when sleeping, and I couldn't help but decide that I preferred him like this: quiet and staying to his side of the bed.

His side of the bed. That was a new thought.