Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. School is stressful and I'm at the point in my story where I have to take things slow so I can plan it correctly. This is mostly a filler chapter but I'll post the next chapter very soon. I'm practically already finished with it. Tell me what you think. Also, I would like to point out an error in my story. So far I have been referring to Grady as an officer when his official title is Sergeant. I have fixed the mistake.

Estella Jean

Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews!

On the drive back from the prison John quietly smiled at the mountain range outside the window. Although it was very warm outside with the noon sun beating down on the land, the snow still remained on the upper peaks. It was unreal to see them towering so high, so natural and untouched. It reminded John of Sherlock playing Clair de Lune on his violin on a calm afternoon, soothing and subtly beautiful. He could imagine coming home to the sound after work and standing frozen in the doorway, afraid that the slightest sound would ruin the moment. Sherlock usually only plays like that when he's alone. It was such an honest and freeing song, a manifestation of all the things he does not wish to, or can't, express with words. Those moments were as indescribable to John as the stillness of their surroundings when passing through that larger than life valley. It was so sweet and gentle compared to the sinister scenery of the day before. The gray clouds had moved on for now, and revealed a soft shade of blue.

"And that was the time that I caught my heaviest trout," Grady proudly concluded one of his never ending fishing stories as he turned around a bend in the road, revealing a new set of cliffs.

"Very fascinating," Sherlock said in monotone from the back seat. He appeared incredibly relieved that Grady had finally finished, no longer tapping his hand on his knee to control his patience.

Grady, as usual, didn't take notice that his stories were brain numbingly dull and immediately started into his next story, "But then there was the time when Constable Timberly and I caught one of the heaviest catfish in Northern Italy, of course we had to throw it back afterwards. It was quite an interesting story actually..."

Just then, John felt his phone buzzing with a call. He pulled it from his pocket and the screen glared back at him with an unknown number. He looked at it with a puzzled expression, debating whether to answer it or not.

"Those catfish aren't actually edible because of the toxic matter they consume from the river-"

"Sorry, Grady, I have to take this," John told the driver, resolving that it was better to answer the call, if only to use it as an excuse to interrupt Grady from the next drawn out tale he was burdening them with. Sherlock looked visibly relieved again, giving John a look of thankfulness. He leaned forward in his seat to hear the phone conversation between his partner and the unknown second party.

"Hello?" the doctor greeted hesitantly, sharing a look of uncertainty with Sherlock.

"John!"

"Penelope? What's the emergency? Oh god, there's not another fire is there?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide at the thought, instantly concerned about the safety of his violin, which was lying vulnerably on his bed. The men heard laughter filter through the other side of the phone and let out a breath of relief.

"Of course not," she said cheerily, as if the possibility was much more ridiculous than it actually was, "I'm just calling to see how the case is going. Where are you? Have you found any new suspects?"

Sherlock and John shared a look of surprise and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Such a child," he muttered, "Is that her definition of an emergency?"

John laughed at his hypocritical judgement, especially when he saw how serious Sherlock was.

"Are you kidding Sherlock? You've texted me at work to say there's an emergency and all you wanted was someone to get you take out. Talk about a child," he scoffed.

Sherlock gave him a defensive expression and stammered to rebut the statement, "That was...different. Mrs. Hudson was out and-"

"Shh!" John shushed him and returned the phone to his ear. He smiled as he responded to Penelope.

"We're just crossing the mountains right now. On our way back into town to get a quick lunch. And no, we haven't found any new suspects I'm afraid."

He could almost picture her pout at the other end, which was then followed by a sigh of disappointment.

"That's too bad. I was hoping to hear about a car chase or something over lunch," she told him disheartedly.

Sherlock's forehead wrinkled with concern at the prospect of her meeting them. He shook his head severely at John.

"No," he said sternly. John frowned in response and Sherlock gave him a very critical look. John took the expression as a dare and of course invited her along.

"Great! I'll meet you at the park in fifteen minutes. I'll make us all sandwiches and we can have a picnic!"

John smiled at the idea and the look of desperation on Sherlock's horrified face.

"Sounds lovely Penny. See you in fifteen."

The blonde ended the call and looked to his partner smugly for having defied him. Sherlock flopped back into his seat and glared at John in the side mirror. Grady chuckled at his frustration.

"I don't know how you two manage to stay together with the way you argue. My wife and I split up after only three years, and we didn't fight nearly as much as you do," the Sergeant teased.

Sherlock groaned so loudly that John was too amused to correct Grady on the subject, finding pleasure in Sherlock's exasperation. The doctor was disappointed however when they began their descent back down the mountain range. Minutes later they came to the Welcome to Cresmere sign, marking the end of the beautiful journey.

The park Penelope had told them to meet at was located in the center of town, and it almost stretched the whole length of it from where the bridge ended, to the edge bordering the forest. It seemed impossible to miss, but when the partners entered the town the day before, they hadn't even noticed it. Perhaps they were too focused on finding Penelope's bookshop, or maybe it was simply hidden by the gloom of the overcast sky.

It was a rectangular shape, lined with main roads on either side, decorated with trees, trellises, and budding spring flowers in landscaped mini gardens. It was more like a botanical garden than a public park. Grady parked the car in one of the visitor spaces parallel to the park and the main road.

"You two go ahead without me," Grady told them as he exited the car, "I have to go check in about something. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Wait," Sherlock stopped him before he left, pulling him to the side of the car to talk with him privately. John furrowed his brow as he watched, but decided it must be important, and occupied himself with gazing around the park. At last, Grady disappeared across the street, leaving John and Sherlock to find the nearest acceptable picnic table.

Sherlock broodingly followed John as he picked out a nice spot to eat under a grove of trees beginning to blossom. The boughs were mostly skeletally bare, except for a few green sprouts, which would become flowers in a matter of weeks. He stood over the table and looked to Sherlock who was notably sulking still for being forced to endure Penelope's company. His posture was stiff and he showed no intention of sitting down.

"Was this truly necessary John?" he growled. John shrugged and sat down at the picnic table, expecting his friend to finally cave and join him. Eventually he did, but he jiggled his leg impatiently.

"I don't understand what the problem is Sherlock. We are having lunch! You said you were hungry."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at what he clearly thought was a dumb statement.

"It has been enough of a trial of my patience to deal with Grady's senseless ramblings this whole morning but now I have to listen to that detestably annoying woman as well?" he scoffed and looked away from John in frustration.

"Who's detestably annoying?" Penelope asked with a grin, approaching the table innocently in a lilac colored dress. Sherlock glared up at her and opened his mouth to respond but John sent him a look stern enough to halt him in his tracks. It was his 'don't forget I could break all of your bones if you dare push me into my military mode' expression. Even Sherlock wouldn't cross that line. He'd seen what John was capable of. He closed his mouth and only stared at her with an unpleased expression on his features.

"Srgt. Donovan. A woman we work with back in London," John replied, smiling at the woman, and then gave a solid glare to his arrogant friend. Sherlock gave Penelope a sarcastic smile, accepting agreement with John's answer.

"Oh, I see," she smiled, setting down the picnic basket on the table and sitting on the side opposite the two men. She sat there grinning at them as if reuniting with her long lost friends. She appeared so bright and delighted in the spring surroundings, that she was practically one of the flowers in the park herself.

Sherlock was uncomfortable with the way she kept staring between them with a grin, and tried to ignore her, examining a squirrel in the tree behind her, then a group of teenage girls giggling about something loudly as they passed. His blue eyes darted anywhere for something to deduce. He focused his observations on people walking around the park, couples, dog walkers, readers, lunch breakers. Everyone seemed to be out on the warm spring day, enchanted by the rebirth of nature after the winter season.

Meanwhile, Penelope also looked around the area searchingly, her green eyes wandering. She came full circle until she was back to the two men.

"Where's the Sergeant you said you were with?" she asked in confusion, "I made him sandwiches too."

"Oh, he's walking over to the police department to finish up some business. He'll be back soon," John explained.

Sherlock ended up scowling at a garden of flowers, categorizing them by genus and species in his mind. However, Penelope's attentive senses picked up easily on his focused gaze, and traced it to a particular flower.

"Iris unguicularis. The Algerian iris. It's a favorite of mine," she commented warmly.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her quickly, looking her up and down calculatingly, as if he had never seen her before.

"How did you know that?" he asked in an accusatory tone. John chuckled as he looked between the two, sensing that Sherlock's stubbornness to dislike their new landlady was beginning to falter. Penelope scooted over the bench in front of him more, taking advantage of the small amount of closeness she was slowly gaining.

"I've learned all kinds of things from reading. You'd be surprised," she told him, leaning forward with her hands clasped in front of her. She nodded to the flower again.

"You know these flowers are rare around here, and they are some of the only flowers to bloom so early in the spring."

"Yes," he said simply, looking at her critically, and reevaluating his deductions of her. She gave John a secretive wink, proud of her accomplishment, and John responded with an encouraging smile.

"Well Penelope, what have you been up to today?" he asked her conversationally while she unpacked the basket of sandwiches and passed them around with paper plates and napkins.

"Origami. I'm afraid it just isn't working out though," she sighed at the thought, "I thought it would be a good transitional hobby from cooking."

John took a bite of his sandwich, watching as Penelope picked at hers absentmindedly. Then the flavor hit him and he struggled to swallow. The woman had used a ridiculous quantity of mustard on the bread and he shuddered as it overpowered all of the other ingredients, taking over his palate completely. He tried not to make a face of disgust and set the sandwich down without raising suspicion. Sherlock must have noticed however, because he didn't even touch the sandwiches at all. Although, since the day before he had formed a low sense of faith in Penelope's cooking skills.

"I'm sure your origami couldn't have been that bad. You're probably too hard on yourself," John tried to be reassuring.

She smiled at the kind words and they watched as she rummaged around in her purse to produce a sample of her work. She found a small paper creature and set it on the wooden table in front of the two men. John and Sherlock both examined it and gave each other confused side glances.

"Uh, it's a cow?" John tried. Sherlock shook his head.

"A cow? No, clearly in a rhinoceros or something. It has a horn," Sherlock pointed out. Penelope frowned and picked up the folded paper, turning it around sadly in her hands.

"That's a beak. It was supposed to be a crane," she mumbled, dejectedly, "See what I mean? I can't do anything right."

John shook his head at the statement, "Of course that's not true, you probably do many things well. You own a bookstore after all. I'm sure you give wonderful book recommendations."

Penelope lit up at the mentioning of this, a light blush forming on her cheeks. John gave her one of his special half smiles and took another bite of his sandwich, forgetting how awful it was until after it was too late. Sherlock smirked at his fake attempt to hide his disgust.

"Yes. I suppose I am good at that. I play this sort of game...I guess which books would fit people based on what I can tell about them," she admitted excitedly.

Sherlock hummed in thought, his interest uncharacteristically peaked. In some ways, Penelope had a lot in common with Sherlock, although their personalities strongly contrasted. Both of them were intuitive, observant, and knowledgeable. John noticed the similarity between them, as an outsider, but the deductive Sherlock Holmes himself saw them only as opposites on the spectrum.

"Tell me about this game," he requested. He put his elbows on the table and rested his steepled hands against his lips and chin as he often does when he's thinking.

"Well, I don't know how to describe it really," she laughed.

"What if I show you instead?" She suggested. Sherlock gave her a single nod. She looked around the park, turning around on the seat to examine the passers by. Her eyes found an old man feeding a huddled group of pigeons, his cane leaned up against the bench as if it were his companion. She gestured to him and Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he observed the man.

"Some would say that he would like a book on bird watching but that's not true. He's content enough with his pigeons. The old man can't go very far from home with his cane. He would want to read foreign stories, not adventure stories, but travel guides, nonfiction, or fiction written from foreign writers. He would want to get an actual feel for the places that he's never been from people who have lived there and experienced it first hand. Adventure stories would make him sad. They're too fantastic and they would make him feel old, like he's missed something that's only for the youthful."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Penelope and hummed again.

The old man has heart disease and signs of stroke. There's a medical bracelet around his wrist. He couldn't have left the country, so he is trying to find fulfillment in small hobbies like bird feeding, that don't require exertion. She's probably quite correct in her conclusions. Interesting. She's more perceptive than I assumed..

He was silent for awhile, expression unreadable. She waited for his approval, fidgeting under his gaze, looking down self consciously at her hands in her lap. He finally sat back again, moving his steepled hands from the table and sitting up straight.

"Not bad," he concluded, both of her deduction and Penelope herself. John looked between them proudly, and then back to his sandwich, now scrapped clean of excess mustard with a plastic knife.

"That's one of the biggest compliments he'll ever give Penelope. That's something you must be pretty good at," he told her. She glowed with happiness at the information, satisfied with winning the cold hearted consulting detective over.

"I knew I'd win him over eventually," she grinned and began eating her own sandwich. Sherlock smirked at her, starting to find her an acceptable acquaintance but not admitting it of course. Soon after that, Grady appeared into view, crossing the street to reach the park and nearly getting hit by a car in the process. He seemed out of breath from only the short distance of walking.

"I'm back," he heaved as he caught his breath and sat down next to Penelope.

"Ah, so there's our Sergeant! I almost thought you weren't coming. I'm Penelope," she greeted, reaching for a handshake. Grady took her hand and grinned at her widely, revealing his dimples as usual.

"It's very nice to meet you Penelope! John's told me about you. Thank you for the sandwiches. How thoughtful."

She kindly served him up the rest of the sandwiches and as he ate, he and Penelope hit it off. Apparently Penelope found fishing fascinating, a fact which began a whole new round of Grady's never ending fishing stories. That alone put Sherlock in a sour mood again, but he also had to watch the Sergeant eat with incredible slowness which infuriated him to new levels. The consulting detective was eager for him to finish and reveal what he had learned from his visit to the police station. He was just finishing off his last few bites when Sherlock could no longer stand it.

"Well Grady?" He snapped rudely, cutting him off mid sentence. John told him to calm down but Sherlock was past that point. He had lost all sense of patience.

"What?" he asked a little dumbly.

"The papers! The papers Grady!," he shouted. A look of understanding hit Grady's features and he quickly fished around in his pocket to look for them. He set two folded papers and a small leaflet map on the table.

"I got your address Sherlock, for Leo Christanza, and the directions to Cresmere lake."

Sherlock snatched the map first and examined it. Then his forehead wrinkled at the information.

"The nearest carpark with trail access to the lake is really that far away from it?" He asked disbelievingly. Grady blinked at him dumbly like he didn't understand.

"Yes," he said plainly and blinked again.

This puzzled Sherlock greatly and he became even more stressed at the realization.

"That can't be true," he growled.

"The bodies couldn't have been carried that far in that kind of terrain. Especially in late September when it would have been muddy," he explained to them, "They didn't have mud on them when I examined them in the art gallery. The murderer must have been able to transport them with ease."

Penelope looked around the men as if it were obvious.

"Have you been to the lake Grady?" She asked curiously.

He shook his head and nervously reddened from all of Sherlock aggression, "No. I- I don't enjoy pike."

"Well there's a clearing off the forest road where locales sometimes park during the busy season when the carpark is full," she turned to Sherlock.

"It's a bit remote but I could probably draw it on the map for you," she offered.

Sherlock was hesitant at first, battling between his ego and his desire to solve the case, but eventually conceded and handed it to her. John gave him a look of surprise. It was a significant sign of trust on Sherlock's part. He hated it when anyone tried to contribute to a case. He would rather struggle along stubbornly than receive anything that could be considered as help.

After finding a pen in her bag, she began writing on the map. Sherlock watched with observant eyes as she circled an area of the forest land and then drew lines connecting it to the main forest road. She handed it back to him with a smile and he examined it.

"That seems...much more probable," he stated awkwardly. John smiled at Sherlock's unusual moment of swallowing his ego.

"He means thank you," the doctor explained to Penelope.

"You're welcome Sherlock," she told him with a smile. Sherlock grunted absentmindedly in response as he committed both the map and the artist's address to memory.

"Tomorrow we'll have to investigate the lake, John," he told the blonde, "I think it would be best to do it before talking to Leo."

John nodded in approval of the plan.

"Sounds good."

Sherlock noticed Penelope's eyes light up and her mouth open in question. He looked at her straight faced.

"No," he said with finality. She sighed wistfully and rested her chin in her hand.