I know. I know. Two years. It's been two years since I have updated this fic.

More on the reason why later. But for now, the next chapter :)

Sherlock finally found her out on the balcony overlooking the grounds, a glass of champagne in her hand. The train of her long black dress swayed slightly. Simply the sight of her made him feel anxious, eager, and afraid all at once.

When they were younger, his overprotectiveness never felt out of place; she was so kind, so angelic that he felt she needed his protection from the world. For years after she left, he would routinely track her location. Arranging a water pipe to burst in her Istanbul hotel to keep her from a bad part of a city, arranging for a Kenyan local to follow her while she explored… it was needed. He needed to know she was safe.

The past few years had so demanding that he hadn't kept up with Charlotte as much would of liked. While he was well aware she was returning to London, he had felt slightly disconnected when she had arrived. He was eager to talk, really talk, about what she had planned next.

He needed her to see that she needed to stop running. That it was finally time to come back home.

1 week earlier

The room smelled like a mixture of lemon and newspaper. While modest in the size, the space held a certain kind of coziness that can only be achieved with age. It boasted in Mrs. Hudson's personal style; pink, frilly bedding, several corgi figurines on the mantel, and a rug that needed replaced.

It was the closest to home Charlotte had felt in years.

Living her life out of a suitcase is came naturally to Charlotte; with a seemingly positive outlook on life, she could make any part of the world a place that she could enjoy. Even so, the knots that grew in her stomach when she had boarded the plane back to England surprised her; it's as if her entire body was aware that something bid was to come.

"How are you settling in?"

Charlotte turned to see Mrs. Hudson in the doorway, a warm smile on her face.

"Lovely. Absolutely lovely. Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson, for allowing me to stay."

Mrs. Hudson smiled even brighter, lifting up a tray of tea in a welcoming gesture.

"Well, it's not the Ritz, but I hope you feel at home. Bringing this upstairs to the boys. We could always enjoy this here, their flat has only increased in dinginess unfortunately…"

"Upstairs sounds fine. And I learned my lesson last night: I'll check my seat before I sit down."

John watched Charlotte carefully, taking sips of the bleak tea Mrs. Hudson had brought up. Surely, she was beautiful: bright eyes, a cheerful laugh… but there was something about her. It was as if under all that poise, there was something sad.

John shook his head and shifted his eyes to Sherlock. If anything, one thing was obvious: He had never seen Sherlock so utterly content in the time he had known him.

Sherlock sat in his leather armchair, his body faced in Charlotte's direction. He spoke quietly, quickly, laughing deeply as Charlotte kept him entertained with stories from her most recent destination. For someone who was just given a case concerning the highest power in the country, Sherlock seemed incredibly distracted.

"What do you think, John?"

Taken out of thought, John looked back to Charlotte. "I'm sorry?"

"I think Charlotte could provide excellent insight on the case," Sherlock finished for her, taking a quick sip of his tea.

"Right," John answered, clearing his throat. "And when exactly are we going to start on this?"

"I'm not exactly feeling a sense of urgency from Mycroft," Sherlock responded, a smirk on his face. "I already have my homeless network looking into Herbert Rowling. I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind all of this, and we find the files by morning."

"I'll do what I can to help," Charlotte added, smiling at them both. "If it gives me a chance to end up on your blog, John, then I would love to help solve the case."

John nodded. Sherlock had already turned his attention back to Charlotte, continuing the conversation where they had left off.

With the mood in the room lightening, John sunk back in his chair in thought. It was a great improvement to see Sherlock in great spirits, but couldn't get what Mycroft had said back in the palace out of his head. "Business, not pleasure."

The idea of something romantic happening between Sherlock and another person made him feel uneasy, but he pushed the feelings aside. If Sherlock felt confident in the arrangement, then he would have to as well.

So... yes. Two years.

I so loved writing this story. And for that reason, I was devastated when my laptop was stolen and I lost everything. I hadn't written the story in its entirety, but I did have the ending down.

Just a few weeks ago, I was coming through an old email when I realized that I had sent myself the story, way back when. Since then, I've filled in some of the holes, and come up with something that I think is even better than before.

I hope you enjoy it, and promise to see it through the end!

-Marissa