A/N: Sorry guys, was working the fair for 10 days doing 12-14 hour shifts everyday. And now I'm back!

Irene didn't know how she stood in the shadows. She was unsure even how to proceed. Nothing seemed to be going her way lately. She'd achieved the two of them having some level of sex, even wrestled a confession out of John Watson, and yet the two still seemed set on not being together. Playing cupid apparently wasn't so easy as she'd initially thought.

All she knew now was that it was time to run again. She had little doubt her cover was blown. And as much as she wanted to keep playing matchmaker, dying wouldn't serve her purpose…or at least not really dying.

She pulled out her phone and hesitated over Kate's name. There was still a chance…but at the same time…

After some consideration she lowered the phone, tucking it away again. No. Not now. She had to not let sentiment get the better of her. Her heart couldn't direct what her brain needed to.

Irene sighed and stalked off to the door. She paused only a moment, before heading out to face the reality that awaited her.

It felt as though he was floating. Sherlock for once felt like he couldn't connect with his brain. He kept trying to actually process, but all he could do was let those words repeat over and over.

"I love Sherlock Holmes."

Four words. None of which had any real significance separated. But together in that exact order… perfect.

The ride back to 221 B passed in a blur. He stared out the window and thought of John. Pictured those lips forming those words, and those eyes lighting with passion. Could it really be true? Was he dreaming perhaps?

Stepping out of the cab, he had to consider the real possibilities here. John's tone had been one of concern. He'd been doing his best to solve the dilemma with Irene Adler himself. Had that been enough to motivate him to lie?

However, Sherlock's brief consideration of the facts was interrupted as he noticed something alarming. His eyes caught on the door where there were obvious signs someone had forced it open. A scowl crossed his face as he pushed the door open, scanning for other signs and quickly finding ones that alarmed him.

Mrs. Hudson had evidently been forced up the stairs.

He stood still, staring up at the landing where he knew three men were waiting for him. They'd picked the wrong day. Of course, he could deal with them most any time he chose, but today of all days they were not going to have any mercy.

After a moment he started up, taking the stairs gradually as he continued to gather the data he needed. In other circumstances he might have rushed, but he didn't trust his mind under such circumstances. Not when he was still rejoicing over the possibility of John loving him.

He opened the door to find the Americans holding Mrs. Hudson. He eyed the gun to her head, and decided to continue to react slowly, for fear any quick movements might set them off. He couldn't allow Mrs. Hudson to be harmed. He'd never forgive himself.

There was a snap of bitterness in his voice as he addressed her. Tried to tell her not to cry. But he left any emotion out of it. Did his best to conceal the worry building beneath the surface. He couldn't make it apparent to these men that he cared.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes."

He eyed the man. "Then why don't you ask for it."

His attention was still diverted to Mrs. Hudson, especially the realization that the men had hurt her in the process of interrogation. She wasn't only crying out of fear. God, he could hardly stand the thought of it. His blood was beginning to boil the longer he stood there.

As he calculated it became quite easy to figure out. All he needed was to get the leader alone. Getting rid of the cronies would provide him easy enough odds. And as with most men with guns, it was obvious the American was overconfident with his weapon.

Once they were alone it was easy. He summoned up his anger, his disgust over the fact that Mrs. Hudson had been harmed by such brutes. And with everything he had he sprayed the man in the eyes and then slammed his forehead into the bastard.

"Moron," he muttered, giving the disgusting man one last glance before going to examine Mrs. Hudson.

He knelt before her and ensured himself that she was relatively unharmed, mostly just shaken. Her sobs wracked him though. She could have been killed. His jaw clenched at the thought.

After feeling satisfied that Mrs. Hudson was all right, even if she did continue crying, he went over to haul the American up onto one of the chairs. He proceeded to find the duct tape and strap him to the chair.

It was just as he was ripping off a piece for the mouth that the man came to.

"You sneaky bastard," he muttered, cracking his eyes open. "Well, you do what you want, but let me tell you my men have orders to go after John Watson if anything happens to me."

Sherlock scowled and scanned the man's face. He shook his head.

"You're bluffing. You should know better," he muttered as he quickly slapped the last piece of tape over the man's mouth, effectively gagging him.

He stalked over to the other side of the room, picking up the gun and pointing it at his captive. A tremor shook his hand as he thought about John…about the threat just made to the man he loved. But he couldn't lose control. With that in mind he grabbed for his phone as well.

Lestrade was apparently busy. He waited on the line, wondering how long he should hold before just giving up and taking action himself. Not that he wasn't going to do something. The disgusting pig deserved to know that he wouldn't sit idle after seeing Mrs. Hudson injured, or his best friend threatened.

However, just as he was thinking of hanging up to take care of Mrs. Hudson the door opened and John strode in.

"What's going on?" he asked, glancing anxiously around the room.

"Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, my god. Are you all right?" John asked as he rushed over to see to her. Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, admiring the way the man fussed over their landlady. Something about John's concern made him all the more appealing. That was John…so caring. He made Sherlock feel…god…

Though he wanted to sit and admire John's virtues a little longer, he had to recognize it was necessary to have no witnesses if he wanted to extract a little revenge. His mind was still reeling but he'd come up with his decision.

"Downstairs," he said. "Take her downstairs and look after her."

John only hesitated a moment before pulling Mrs. Hudson up and leading her to the door. Their eyes met momentarily, and Sherlock swallowed, doing his best to retain some semblance of control when all he wanted was to move forward and pull John into a kiss.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" John asked, brow furrowing.

Sherlock wanted to murmur some kind of soft reassurance, but instead he kept his face neutral. "I expect so," he said. He did his best to keep the gun pointed and the phone up, even though he wished he had a free hand. Some means of touching John… "Now go."

He disappeared into the stairway, and Sherlock was left alone. He eyed the American with distaste.

"Hello? Sherlock?"

Finally, Lestrade had answered and Sherlock was unable to hold back a smile as he examined his prey.

"Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance."

"Oh my god, what have you done? Are you all right?" Lestrade demanded.

Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar. He's got himself rather badly injured."

He set the gun down.

"What's happened?" Lestrade said. "How's he injured?"

"Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung," Sherlock said clenching one hand into a fist.

"Cor, what'd you do to that man?"

"He fell out a window," Sherlock said before hanging up.

He watched the man stiffen, took a moment to enjoy the fact that he'd struck fear into him.

After just a moment to let the information sink in, he leaned forward and stared into his captive's eyes.

"You never touch Mrs. Hudson again," he hissed. "And don't you even think about touching John Watson. If you do I'll know. And trust me when I say the next window will be a few more stories up."

It took a bit of effort, but with his mind still flashing to the injuries on Mrs. Hudson and the threat on John, it didn't take too much extra effort for him to find the strength to give the man several well placed blows. Enough to incapacitate him. Enough for him to wind up in a hospital and remember and know that Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to back down.

And when the man's head was lolling to the side, he finally pulled off the tape and dragged him to the window, and without a second thought, pushed him through, listening in satisfaction as the body made contact with some of the bins below.

With that done he moved away from the window and stood back to take another deep breath. Too much for one day, honestly. It was exciting, of course, but on a day where the word love had escaped John's mouth in relation to him…he needed time to recover.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the memory wash over him.

"I love Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes flashing, his gaze fixed on Irene Adler. The way his lips had curled as he'd spoken each word with such obvious purpose. Sherlock smiled at the thought, quickly saving the memory and tucking it away.

But of course, within a few minutes it became apparent he couldn't stay there acting like a besotted fool over John. No, he needed to move.

Sherlock headed down the stairs slowly. He glanced towards 221 A, but he decided it was better to leave John to tend Mrs. Hudson in peace. Besides, his heart was still racing and he wasn't sure he could approach his flatmate right now without giving in to his desire to show his affection…

So instead he headed out to the sidewalk, doing his best to appear concerned as he glanced over the American's comatose form. By his calculations it would only be a few more minutes, but there was nothing wrong with giving the appearance that he was worried and vigilant and had called an ambulance for the poor misguided burglar.

It took Lestrade only a few more minutes to arrive. Apparently he'd deemed himself the least annoying of his officers. Sherlock was inclined to agree. And of course an ambulance was there as well, paramedics rushing over to pick the American up and strap him to a gurney. Sherlock did his best to appear worried, even as a small smirk crept onto his face.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" Lestrade said with a sigh. Sherlock didn't dare look at him, but he could see the familiar expression. Lestrade saw through him far too easily now adays.

"It's all a bit of a blur, inspector. I lost count," Sherlock muttered with a smile.

"Yeah," Lestrade said with a huff, shaking his head. "So you're all right? All of you? No one harmed other than him?"

"We're fine," Sherlock agreed.

Lestrade was still looking at him with a peculiar expression. "You seem more…yourself today."

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"Well…you were acting a bit… queer… on Christmas Eve."

Sherlock did his best not to snort at Lestrade's mistaken accuracy. He'd never realize how close he was to hitting the nail on the head.

"Oh, you know how the holidays get to me," Sherlock said. "All the cheer and festivities…bah humbug."

Lestrade shook his head. "Aw, you pulled through all right. You take care of yourself, you hear me Sherlock? I'm glad you're doing better but…just…I'm here for you if you ever need, right mate?"

"Hmm, wish a happy New Year to Mycroft for me," Sherlock muttered with an eye roll before stalking off towards his residence. He could picture Lestrade's shocked expression, but he didn't particularly care. John wouldn't have said anything, so it wasn't too hard of a deduction to make.

In 221 A, he watched as John fussed a little more of Mrs. Hudson. He listened calmly to the suggestion that she come stay upstairs with them, though he chastised John for thinking of sending her away. It was best she was where Sherlock could keep an eye on her. In case the Americans decided to make any more stupid decisions.

Sherlock waited patiently for Mrs. Hudson to ask for a few minutes alone. His eyes were on John as the other man nodded and promised to give her a bit. And he had a hard time resisting reaching for John's hand as they walked out into the hallway together.

"Sherlock," John murmured when they were alone at last. "About….today…"

He froze. Though he'd been anticipating needing to "discuss" things, the moment still surprised him. He faced John, stared into those familiar eyes and did his best to utter a relatively neutral response.

"Yes, John?"

"I…" John hesitated a moment, looked at the floor as one of his hands ran through his hair. "I just…wanted to make sure she told you…so you weren't so depressed. I thought if I went with what she was asking maybe things would work out all right. So in the moment I just sort of…lied…I'm really sorry if it offended you or anything of the like, but I had to make sure you knew and I was just so angry with her…"

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. Those words were not what he'd expected to hear. And for a moment, the surprise almost caught him off guard. But in another moment he was back on his feet, working his deductions.

Hand in the hair…nervousness. Unable to make eye contact. Rambling. Adding details. He knew that well enough.

"So you…told her what she wanted to hear?" Sherlock said, eyes narrowing.

"Er…yeah," John said. "I did not really mean it. Just…wanted to make sure everything was all right. Just thought it would smooth things out."

He stared into John's eyes and pondered those words attached to the body language he was easily deciphering. The tenseness in his shoulders. The way he was fidgeting ever so slightly.

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "It's all fine."

He headed to the stairs in favor of not having to look at John any further. Not give away the fact that he was certain John was lying. A small voice in the back of his head whispered it was sentiment getting the better of him. But there were too many signs. Every bit of the way John had said that had seemed like an invention…his nervousness and his inability to keep it simple. All he'd needed to say to Sherlock's question was yes. Instead he'd rambled. Created. Done his best to keep a story going.

Upstairs Sherlock went straight for his violin. Something to distract him. Anything. He didn't understand John's motives, and he likely wouldn't any time soon with the man's presence so close. No, he'd need to wait until he had some actual space to think before he worked on breaking apart those lies.

He removed his coat and picked up his instrument, just in time to see John coming in with another drink in his hand. He shook his head, wondering why John was still choosing to abuse alcohol after their Christmas fiasco.

"Where is it now?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at him. Eyed him. Took in the way his face looked drawn now. The way his hand curled tight around the glass.

"Where no-one will look," he replied.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures," John stated.

His mood was poor enough he was tempted to comment on how pathetic a remark it was. John's lack of basic reasoning sometimes… but still…this was the man he'd fallen for. And Sherlock didn't have the heart to see a look of hurt on his face right now.

"Yes, it is," he said calmly.

"So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?" John asked.

Sherlock had to maintain strong concentration to not flinch. You deny you love me and all you can ask is about her? he thought to himself. But instead he turned with his violin in hand, fiddling with it, even as his eyes closed for a moment. Everything in him wanted to know why John had lied. He wanted to ask why John was so fascinated with Adler when all they should be talking about were the words he'd spoken earlier. But Sherlock knew now wasn't the time and instead changed the subject.

"Happy New Year, John."

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John asked.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned with the violin. He locked eyes with John as he raised to his shoulder and easily glided the bow across the strings, beginning the simple familiar melody of Auld Lang Syne. A fitting tune for today, that was certain.

John shifted a bit under his stare, and finally settled in his chair. Satisfied that he'd efficiently stopped the conversation, Sherlock turned back to the window and continued to play. His eyes caught his own reflection in the glass, and he recognized how good it was he'd turned when he had. A single tear was glistening in the corner of his eye.

He swallowed, difficult against the wood of the violin against his throat, but not impossible. His eyes closed, and he felt that single drop of saline glide down one cheek and drip onto the instrument. In his mind he sang the words to the song, and reflected on how much more he wanted to have the truth than ever before in his life.

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup!
and surely I'll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

His gaze didn't waver as he stared at the image. This was becoming a bit absurd, he knew, but without any other clues this was where he had to turn. And this was the key. If he solved the puzzle of the phone, he'd have Adler out of his life. And with her gone he could focus his attention on John…

He found his mind wandering even as he continued to stare. John…the mere thought of him. It sent him into some place where he was incapable of reason. He almost smiled but had to stop when he noticed Molly staring at him,

"Is that a phone?" she asked, peering at the screen with a puzzled smile.

"It's a camera phone," Sherlock corrected her. He went back to staring at it.

"And you're x-raying it?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. "I am."

"Whose is it?" Molly asked.

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. All day he'd been trying to stop Molly from chatting at him. He'd been brusque with her. Kept his replies clipped. And yet somehow she still continued to try to make conversation, even with all of the ways he'd attempted to get her to leave off.

"A woman's," he said, thinking that would be the end of it.

"Your girlfriend's?" Molly asked with a playful smile Sherlock caught out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure why, but something about her behavior set him on edge. She'd been so eager to flirt with him the other night, but now she appeared perfectly calm as she asked if he had a girlfriend. How was such a thing possible? Human emotions. Those would always confound him. Reasons to not have them he supposed.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" Sherlock asked, blinking a few times to let the idea settle. Good god, did people in love really act so absurdly?

"Well, we all do silly things sometimes," Molly said with almost a giggle in her voice.

He straightened at her words. We all do silly things. No, she was right. It was just as he'd said. People in love did silly things. People did…

"They do, don't they," he whispered, turning to actually look at Molly, who appeared somewhat puzzled. "Very silly…"

He thought about that, about John in that moment. His lies. Silly…yes perhaps. Not quite so silly as x-raying a camera phone…but then again Sherlock had gone through John's emails and personal things on his computer. Why couldn't John be the same, doing silly things? Playing games?

"Molly," Sherlock said quickly. "Have you ever…lied about your feelings to someone?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Well, it's a matter of…you…have you ever had feelings for them, but pretended you didn't?" Sherlock asked. "As in, had the opportunity to say how you felt and flat out lied?"

Molly's brow furrowed. "Oh. Er…usually it's more the other way around, you know? Not really liking someone but saying you do for their sake…but I guess…you know if you're maybe scared of driving them away or something. It's possible." She sighed and gave a frown. "There was a guy in uni I really liked. And we dated for a bit. But he was…he wasn't good for me. My friend Meena kept telling me how horrid it was how he was treating me…how I wasn't really myself after being around him. Even though…even though I really loved him, when it came time for the next step I told him no."

Sherlock froze at that. Molly had presented two real possibilities. And both had him terrified. Either John really did love him but was worried his feelings might scare Sherlock off. Or, the alternative was that John really did love him…but felt that they wouldn't really be a good couple together. And with their history together, that was certainly probable. That John was happy living with him, but thought that Sherlock was too…Sherlock to possibly merit anything more. After all, it wasn't implausible for someone to find him attractive. Molly herself was evidence of that. But even she seemed to have moved on by now. He glanced her over and saw more than one sign that she'd had sex in the last week.

"I believe it's likely a case of the latter," Sherlock said. "He—Her treatment of me has led me to believe that's probably…probably what's going on."

Molly's eyes had softened some. She reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's. "She's an idiot. An utter and complete fool if she thinks you're somehow not good enough. You're lovely, Sherlock. So smart. So talented. You can be a bit…silly sometimes. But we all are. Nobody's perfect. I bet if you told her how you really felt she might come round."

He offered a half smile at her words. That was his Molly. Always so hopeful. It was quite foolish, but somehow he was unable to stop himself from having a little hope. Perhaps Molly had a point.

"What…what should I do to make my feelings apparent? Beyond actually saying them aloud," Sherlock said. "I want…I want to show her I care about her. I want to show her I can change if that's what she wants."

Her smile brightened a little more. "I'm sure she'd love it if you tried not to say some of the horrible things you do sometimes. You know…keeping your deductions to yourself a bit more. Er…she might like it if you actually say some nice things too you know, like…er…well complimenting her appearance or something nice she's done for you or something she's making an effort on. I always love presents too, you know. Love it when a guy thinks of me and picks up something special…doesn't even have to be chocolate or flowers or anything."

Sherlock nodded. "So being…kinder? And trying a little flattery and some bribes?"

Molly laughed. "Oh god you're terrible at this. It's just…little things. I don't know. Maybe you could write her a song on your violin and play it. Or I don't know…do something she needs done around the house. I'm sure you'll figure something out." She stared into his eyes. "Take her out to dinner maybe?"

He nodded, though all of it still seemed quite silly to him. But that was what one was supposed to do. And if in fact John had been lying for the reasons Molly had suggested, perhaps such silly things would convince him to change his mind.

"She's a very lucky girl," Molly said, smile still bright as ever. "To have someone like you."

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said.

He stood up and went over to snatch the phone out of the case. Molly was still staring at him. He gave her one last glance and a nod before reaching for his coat and going to the door before he even fully had it on.

Back at Baker street he found John lounging in his chair with his laptop and a drink in his hand. Sherlock stepped forward and offered his best smile when John looked up.

"Hullo, er…what's going on?" John asked.

"Just happy to be home after a long day," Sherlock said, pausing as he realized this was perhaps a bit much. On seeing John's puzzled expression he added, "Dinner?"

"Sure," John said. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Angelo's all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah fine," John said. "Could use a night on someone else."

Sherlock hesitated, wondering if he could offer to pay for John's meal without appearing too conspicuous. But Angelo's was an easy way to do so, he supposed.

As they headed down the stairs together Sherlock took a moment to scan John.

"You look nice tonight," he tried.

John shot him a look, eyebrows furrowed. "Er…thanks? If you're going to mention my clumsiness at work you might as well do it."

"Oh, not at all," Sherlock said. He had noticed of course. Seen the signs John had changed and had spotted the shirt in the kitchen sink with ink stains on it. "Is that a new jumper?"

John continued to gape at him. "What? No."

"Oh, my mistake," Sherlock said. "The color suits you."

And it did. That at least was not a lie. He tried his best to think more on what Molly had said. He hadn't been given a chance to purchase any kind of gift. But he'd have to think on that some.

"You all right, Sherlock?" John asked as they got into a cab.

"Hmm, fine."

Their ride over was mostly silent, but when they arrived at Angelo's, Sherlock did his best to put on his best manners.

He pulled John's chair out for him, helped him with his coat (and earned another look for it). He sat down and looked into John's eyes and asked him how his day was. There was a touch of incredulity in John's face as he simply settled for saying it was fine. Sherlock was about to press for more details when the owner ambled over to their table.

"Sherlock, so good to see you back," Angelo said, setting a candle on the table without even asking. "What can I get you two tonight?"

Sherlock smiled. "It's good to see you as well. I think we might want a moment to decide though."

"Ah, take your time."

The man wandered off, leaving Sherlock a chance to look at John again, admire his eyes and his slight smile.

"Some wine perhaps?" he suggested. "Something to share. What are you having?"

"Oh…er…might just settle for the fettucine again. Was quite good last time," John said.

"Then I'll have the same," Sherlock said. "And we can split a bottle of whatever Angelo recommends."

John's mouth dropped open. "You're eating? Thought you were on a case."

Sherlock floundered for a moment, thinking of the phone still tucked in his coat pocket. He did indeed have a case. But tonight was special. This wasn't just an average dinner with John. This was…a date? He wanted it to be a date. And when one was on a date they typically ate. He frowned and looked down at the table before coming up with a suitable answer.

"I need a little break," he admitted. "I've been puzzling over the phone for a good month now. And I need…time…to figure out its inner-workings. So instead, I'd love to enjoy dinner with you. Just…not think for a little bit."

John chuckled. "All right, fine. You're being strange today, but if that's what helps you, I can't argue."

Sherlock did his best to smile. "Then let's enjoy an evening, shall we?"

Irene jerked awake to a jarring noise. She pulled herself half off the sofa to look around the room, eyeing the various corners of the tiny hotel room, only to become satisfied that she was indeed alone. After a long moment she realized it was her phone.

With a groan she reached over to grab it off the desk, pulling it close enough to read the name before finally answering.

"Hello?"

"Hello…er…Miss Adler. I did as you asked."

"Did you, darling?" Irene said with a smirk, reaching up to rub one of her eyes. "And how did it go."

"Oh…fine. He…you were right he clearly is interested. I gave him some advice too. About being a good boyfriend."

"And he took it?" Irene said.

"Yes." There was a pause. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do? I really do want to help. Anything to make him happy."

"You've done well enough for now, darling. Keep an eye on him and do call me if anything changes, am I understood?"

She could hear Molly shuffling some in the background. "Yes, Miss Adler. He really loves him. I could tell just listening to him talk about it. We're doing the right thing."

"Of course we are," Irene said in a purr. "Goodnight, Molly. Do look into that dating advice I gave you. I think it will prove quite beneficial."

"Yes, thanks," Molly said.

Irene sighed and hung up. Such a delicious little thing. But such a disappointment. She eyed the phone one last time before pushing it away. Molly was a lovely woman, but her inclinations were just too tame to be of any use. Thankfully, they'd made themselves quite handy in terms of roping someone in to doing a little dirtywork on setting Sherlock and John up. But really…the whole romancing was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

She looked at her computer, eyeing the website she hadn't been able to stop looking at in the last few days. John Watson's ridiculous blog and her name splashed across it with the fact that she was alive. The idiot.

A quick trip over to her tech savvy masochist might have helped, but she already knew it was too late. Thousands had already seen the information. Removing it would do nothing.

As she was pondering there was suddenly another noise from the desk. She looked at her phone again and sighed. Molly Hooper calling back? Perhaps the precious thing had changed her mind on her offer.

Irene smiled and reached for it, only to make out the name and reel back.

She was frozen. She couldn't move as she stared at that familiar name, feeling like she'd somehow slipped into a dream. Should she pick up? Should she ignore it? If Kate was calling she knew… her innocence could no longer protect her.

After a long moment, she finally picked up the phone. Irene raised it to her lips, hardly trusting her voice.

"Hello," she managed to whisper.

"You bitch," Kate's voice came through the other line. "You utter bitch."

Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to think of an explanation. She had none.

"You let me grieve," Kate whispered. "You let me bury you. And all this time….I thought we were in this together. God, I was such an idiot."

"Kate—"

"No." Kate's voice is a snarl. "I was right all those years ago. I knew… I knew someone like you could never truly love someone like me. And all my friends…they all said you were dangerous. They said to steer clear of you. God, they were right…."

Irene thought her heart might have stopped beating for real. There were so many words in her mind, yet none would work on her tongue. My darling, oh please. Please my beautiful lovely Kate.

"I don't want to see you again," Kate said. "Not after having you put in the grave. God how could you do that to me? How…" she broke off, and the choked sound of her voice became hard again. "I don't care. No. I'm through. You go back to living our little risky game of a life. But you can count me out."

Irene felt her lower lip tremble, but again she couldn't speak. She waited, feeling a few tears already leaking down her face and knowing full well she would not be able to contain them no matter what she did.

There was no goodbye. No formal ending to the call. Merely the dial tone. Merely emptiness on the other end and Irene well aware that her phone would tell her the call was finished…much like she and Kate were.

After what felt like ages, she finally pulled the device from her face. Her shoulders began to shake as she sank back onto the sofa again. Her eyes closed, and she simply gave in. For once in her life, she allowed herself to be beaten.

A/N: Thanks to ChuYumeAkirameru, InsaneWhovianswithlegacies (sorry couldn't get the periods in without post taking them out) , MycroftTheGingerCat, and alexis for reviewing! Love the positive feedback, it really keeps me going! I estimate 3 or 4 more chapters (no promises)...so we're getting close to the end!