Every morning Regan would wake up to Sherlock's wonderful music, she'd go downstairs and make Sherlock and herself breakfast, she'd go to work or be out through lunch, and come home and make dinner for them. Sherlock was always busy tracking down the assassins but he always made time for Regan's cooking, he enjoyed the service and thanked her after every meal. But Regan, she enjoyed Sherlock staying there more than she thought she would. She had someone that was quiet but still chatted with her on occasions, she enjoyed living alone for as long as she did but she did miss having people around, even if it was just Sherlock.
2 Months Later
It was 1:27 in the morning when Sherlock stumbled into Regan's pitch dark room.
Regan awoke with a start, she says still half asleep, "Sherlock, what's wrong?"
He doesn't reply, he stands there in the dark for a moment before he collapses on her floor. Regan darts out of bed and to his side, as she tries to help him up she feels the wetness on his chest, blood seeping through his coat and jacket. She helps him onto her bed where she lays him down on his back. She turns on her bed side lamp and runs into the bathroom to get the first aid kit she kept under the sink. She strips off his jacket and coat and unbuttons his button down revealing a bullet wound right below the left side of his collar bone. She went and grabbed a wet wash cloth and sat at the edge of her bed while she cleaned his wound. Sherlock reawakened by the pain as Regan dug out the bullet, he tensed up.
"Sorry" she winced, "How in god's name did you get shot?"
His jaw is clenched from the pain, through his teeth he says, "Mrs. Hudson is safe".
"What?" she asks, "What did you say".
Sherlock is now straining himself by speaking, "The gunman… watching Mrs. Hudson….He's dead".
"Sherlock" she says concerned, "You need to be more careful. You're no use dead".
Sherlock chuckles.
"This is going to hurt a bit" she says as she threads the needle. As she starts sewing him up he tries his hardest to hold back the pain. "It was really idiotic of you to go and try killing someone unarmed".
"I wasn't, I took your gun" she says blankly.
"What!?" she stops sewing, "Which one?"
"The one you almost shot me with".
"I didn't almost shoot you" she corrects him, "They can trace that back to me".
"Mycroft took take of it" he reassures her.
She huffs relieved, "Okay". She ties the end off, "You're done".
He moves to get up but she quickly pushes him back down, "You need to rest. I'll take the couch tonight".
He stays put knowing that she wouldn't change her mind.
"If you need anything just yell" she says as she rubs his forearm.
Regan walks down the stairs and throws herself onto the couch, her robe pocket buzzes and she pulls out her phone and reads her text:
Thank you. –SH
She smiles and replies:
I know, I have caller ID. And you're welcome.
A second later there is a reply:
Who is this?
She laughs:
Whomever you texted I presume. –RM
There is no reply, she falls asleep shortly after.
The next morning she doesn't wake up to Sherlock's violin, she finds him passed out on the kitchen table, there are case files everywhere. She knows he didn't sleep upstairs last night and instead continued his search for another one of the gunmen. She knows that Sherlock wants to get back to Baker Street with John but she realizes that when he does she will be alone once again.