Hello! This chapter switches between scenes. When you see this: o0O0o, that means it is a new scene. Thank you to everyone who have who has followed and favourited this story. I love yo faces!

Ch 7

Bowie had never experienced something as dull as her new school in her life. The students were lifeless servants, sitting still in their chairs while the professor droned on monotonously. She spent the day fidgeting in one seat or another, sitting alone at a lunch table, and them fidgeting in several more seats. When the bell rang ages later, she all but ran home to collapse on the couch and complain to John.

"It couldn't have been that bad." He called from the kitchen, where he was throwing out various experiments of Sherlock's. Bowie rolled on to her stomach and breathed in the smell of dust from the couch. John entered and sat on his armchair.

"Why was it so bad?" he asked, leaning back with a sigh.

"It is the same thing for 10 hours straight!" she exclaimed, pulling her hair from it's ponytail.

"Bowie, school was not 10 hours long." He said, giving her a stern look.

"Okay. Eight hours. But still! I knew all the material by heart, and there is nothing to do. It's like being stuck in cell."

"Did you try, oh, I don't know, try talking to people? At lunch? Or just in general?"

"Of course not."

"Right. I think I know someone who could relate better. Sherlock!" John yelled down the hall, stood up, and left the room. "And please don't shoot the wall." He added, poking his head around the door. Bowie couldn't help but smile; she enjoyed this dysfunctional family they had going. A crash was heard from Sherlock's room, and just as she opened her mouth to see what happened, a cry of "Fine!" echoed down the hall. He emerged a minute later carrying his violin.

"You know, Sherlock, I realized something yesterday evening." Bowie said to him as he began to play softly.

"What is that, miss?"

"How did you 'buy' that gun for me? I thought there was a law about civilians owning guns."

"I stole it from Lestrade."

"Figured."

Weeks passed with similar days. Bowie returning from school angry and bored, John trying to be reasonable with her, and Sherlock being Sherlock. The three would sit by the fireplace every night, even if there wasn't a blaze. Bowie felt at home with them. Sherlock would drag her along to cases every chance he got, explaining his deductions. The murdered policemen were piling up at a disturbing rate, and he would stay up all night, pacing across the flat with his eyebrows knitted.

o0O0o

One morning before John and Sherlock had woken up, Bowie went downstairs to fix herself breakfast. The fingertips of dawn were just peeking through the window when she noticed a note from John on the counter. It reminded her that she had an appointment with him after school and to come directly to his office once she was let out. She stuffed it in her pocket and made a mental note.

School was a lull as always, and she was almost positive she could not stand one more day of her history teacher's nasally whine. Bowie left as quickly as she could, stuffing her bag hastily. Baker street was a little out of her way, but she felt uneasy for some reason. She popped in to grab her gun, feeling stupid the whole time. Making sure it was tucked underneath her books, she took off at a run for John's office.

o0O0o

"Well this is promising." John said with a smile, looking at the paper he held in his hand. "The medication seems to be working, and the disease is in remission. You'll have to stay on the medicine your entire life though. That's the only downside right now."

"Thank you. For everything, really." She said "I owe you a lot."

"No need to thank me." He laughed. "Can you get milk on the way home? I forgot to get it yesterday."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"That's it. See you later."

"Bye!" The paper rustled as she hopped off the examination table, grabbed her bag, and left.

o0O0o

With milk in hand, Bowie headed towards the flat. Something still seemed off to her, and her stomach was tying itself in knots. She tried to be logical, and just to assure herself she was safe she turned around. That was when Bowie noticed a man behind her. He was tall, with a wrinkled leather jacket wrapped tightly around him. He stopped walking and turned his head at her scrutiny. One thought went through Bowie's mind: shit.

Frantically, she turned down an alley and ran. Only twenty feet down, a brick wall blocked her path. She knew it was a bad decision the minute a white cloth went over her mouth and everything went black.

o0O0o

When John walked through the flat door he and Sherlock began speaking simultaneously.

"Where's Bowie?"

"I thought she was with you."

"If she's not with you then where-"

One thought went through John's mind: shit.

Many thoughts were racing through Sherlock's, however, I will elaborate on one: shit.