a/n: So this is about four days later than I planned, but between work and getting ready to relocate at the end of the summer, things have been a little crazy. Anyway, Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted the last chapter! I'd also like to thank my betas, they are both super lovely and a huge help!

While this chapter advances the plot a little and is full of fluff, it wasn't part of my original plan but it basically wrote it's self so I won't complain! Enjoy!

Someone I Used to Know

Chapter 7.5

The flat I picked was still slightly bigger than I needed for myself. However, I refused to continue to put up with finding random experiments sitting around when Sherlock was and wasn't there, and so an extra room was needed to house them all. If I had learned anything from reading John's blog and talking to Mrs. Hudson, it was that Sherlock's experiments needed to be contained, lest I need to explain to someone why random body parts were stored in my fridge. Thus, the room at the end of the hall was a Sherlock-only space. The second bedroom in the flat, which shared an attached bathroom with Sherlock's space, was his bedroom. While we often slept in the same bed when he was at my flat, I mostly had assumed it was from lack of room and not really because it was Sherlock's preference. So, the third and final bedroom was my own, closest to the living room. I didn't want my room to be located past Sherlock's down the hallway. It would odd having to walk by his closed door on a daily basis. And in all honesty, I wanted those emotions left to the side as often as possible.

The decision for the extra two rooms had been my own. With Sherlock's constant complaining about my previous flat and from seeing how he preferred to spread out at 221B, I knew I couldn't just rent a one bedroom. In addition, Mycroft, through his suggested places, had implied that a larger place was needed. I just didn't think I, we, needed a full house no matter how posh its location or if I could afford it (thanks mostly to the money Mycroft put into my account monthly). Through his lack of comment, I was left to assume Sherlock approved of my final decision.

I arrived at the new flat, after a day of paperwork and Lestrade calling to ask questions about two bodies that had arrived in the morgue the night before. Mycroft had arranged for movers to actually move everything from my tiny flat into this new, bigger space that was now mine, and occasionally, Sherlock's.

One of the elements that had drawn me to the flat originally was the built-in bookcase that lined two of the walls in the living room. Upon entering the flat, a small entryway with just enough room for a small table and shoe rack under it greeted you before you turned to walk into the living area. The opposite wall had two windows allowing sunlight in during the afternoon. The walls on either side had the bookcases with the outer wall having a fireplace. The building dated back to the mid-1800s and the Victorian influences on the property were well preserved while overall everything had been updated. Books had already been placed on the shelves, by category and by author. Looking at them now filling the shelves, I hadn't realized I owned so many books.

"You don't," Sherlock said walking up the hallway from where the bedrooms were. He had stayed at my flat the night of our date with John and Mary before disappearing before I woke up the next morning. I hadn't seen him since and quickly noticed a small cut above his left eyebrow.

"Did you have that looked at yet?" I asked, not being able to keep the doctor inside of me quiet. His response was a shrug before he sat down on the newly acquired sofa.

My favorite part of the move so far had been buying new living room furniture. I hadn't bothered to buy anything new for the old flat due to its size and my lack of company. I shook my head before walking towards my bathroom, dropping my bag and coat onto the dining room table (also new) on my way. My bathroom could be accessed from the hall or my room. I quickly located the box sitting against the wall that I needed and carried my first-aid kit back with me into the living room.

"The movers will be back tomorrow to finish unpacking everything," Sherlock said as I took a seat beside him and turned his face towards me. While he wrinkled his features in agitation, he didn't stop me as I inspected the cut.

"It'll take me ages to find everything," I sighed as I released his face and pulled out the few things I needed from the kit. "I guess I can't really complain though. The books alone would have taken me ages. They aren't all of the ones you had at 221, are they?"

"About half. The rest are in my 'lair' as you seem to be calling it," Sherlock replied as I cleaned the cut and applied a small bandage before inspecting the rest of his face.

"Anything else I need to look at?" I asked, satisfied that there were no other cuts on his face.

"It would have been fine on its own, doctor," he replied before slowly leaning back on the couch. His movements were slow and stiff. Without a word and more bravery than I could have imagined having mere months ago, I reached for his side and ran my hand up and down his rib cage, pressing lightly as I went. When I saw a slight wince, I knew I had found the cause of his cautious movements. Without a word, I quickly pulled up his T-shirt so I could see his ribcage. He had a large bruise on his right side.

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed as I leaned over him for a closer look. "I really hope you weren't planning on ignoring this!"

"They're only bruised; in a few days they will be healed," he said.

"Was this from one of your brother's assignments? I thought those were usually more hands off than this!"

I couldn't believe my reaction, not that I expected myself to not be concerned if Sherlock was ever hurt, but I was acting as though I was… an overly concerned girlfriend. Did I even have the right to scold him? I decided to save those thoughts for later.

"I can assure you that the man who caused this ended up far worse. I believe he would have been brought into your morgue around three last night, long after I had left," he said as I continued to examine the rest of him.

"The body Lestrade was so interested in today?" I asked, stopping my examination.

"I didn't kill him," he replied.

"You just said he ended up worse! And he is currently in my morgue!" I said, moving to stand. Sherlock stood up quickly, or as quickly as he could with three bruised ribs while lying on his side on the couch, wrapped an arm around me and pulled me back into a sitting position beside him.

When I continued to refuse to meet his gaze he pulled me closer to him, leaving me in an awkward position of leaning over him so that we could be face to face.

"He was formally part of Moriarty's network. I've been following him for a few days and had to reveal myself to him, in order to trap him. However, I wasn't the person who put a bullet into his heart," he said, mere centimeters from me.

"You dropped a man from a window because he threatened Mrs. Hudson," I said, not pulling away. I knew he lived a dangerous life, but no woman wanted to hear that the man she… cared deeply for had just killed another.

"When I left him, he was fairly battered but alive. His remaining g alive would have been better for this case. As a member of Moriarty's network, he could have helped proved his real existence. Moran made sure the police wouldn't find him alive. While Moriarty was the type to think things through and was truly the brains of every part of the network, Moran was always the muscle, the shoot-first type. Obviously the man would have been able to reveal far too much in custody."

Somehow we were now even closer to each other.

"But if I had to, I would have killed him myself," Sherlock added as he closed the distance between us. The kiss was short and over before I could fully realize it had happened. "But this time I didn't and I'm fine."

A few hours later, I was lying awake wondering what bothered me more, knowing that Sherlock could be a killer if he needed to be or that he truly was in danger every step of the way towards proving his innocence.

Or at least I was trying to focus on the important things while my head occasionally wondered to the oh-so-brief kiss on my new couch. While it wasn't the first kiss between us and far from my first kiss ever, this one stood out. It was different in so many ways. We didn't have an audience; he hadn't been "Paul." But had he done it to distract me from what he had just said? Or was it truly a perfect moment to kiss me? Did he even mean anything by it or was it just something to do?

My thoughts were interrupted by my door softly opening and a tall figure slowly moving into the room.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I sat up.

"I haven't slept in a few days," Sherlock replied, not really answering me. "And you are on my side."

His side?

I was silent as he lightly nudged me out of his way a bit, as much as he could without straining his bruises too much, before getting into the bed beside me.

"You have two rooms to yourself now," I said not completely sure why I was protesting having Sherlock Holmes in my bed.

"I'm aware," he replied before lying on his good side and pulling me back into a lying position beside him. "Good night."