Even then, I wasn't completely over Jake. I found myself hoping that he'd contest the divorce, but he didn't. He even cheerfully helped me put the house up for sale. It was quick and easy, and I was a bit stunned that 10 years of marriage were dissolved so quickly. When the house sold, John helped me move into a flat near 221B. Jake took a little of our stuff, but I had to get rid of a lot, and John helped with that, too.

I continued my routine with John and Sherlock with a few additions. I found myself picking up more and more of Sherlock's techniques, much as John had. Like John, I would never be anywhere near as good as Sherlock, but I found I could be more and more helpful, beyond just blogging or sometimes acting as the errand girl I had promised to be when I first met Sherlock. Sherlock never commented on my help, but John assured me appreciated it.

John still refused to let me go along with Sherlock when he was positive the situation would be dangerous. The one time I protested, he pointed out that he had been a soldier, and I simply did not have the experience that he had. He did, however, start teaching me how to use a gun, training me on a muzzle-loading pistol. With two former employers as character witnesses and John's assertion that I needed the gun for work, I soon found myself in possession of a license to carry the muzzleloader. I think Inspector Lestrade and Mycroft may have pulled a few strings on my behalf

John was always very kind to me, but that was it. After losing my husband's love, it hurt doubly that John didn't seem to return my feelings, but I kept hoping that, with time, I'd come to think of him as just a good friend. In the meantime, I joined a running club and began training for a marathon. I wanted to have something separate from John and Sherlock. Even if John returned my feelings, my failed marriage had taught me one thing about relationships: it's a good thing to retain some friends and interests of your own. Sometimes I'd join a couple of women from the running club for a movie. Once one of the men asked me out to dinner. I was flattered, and I said, "Yes," but my heart wasn't in it. That was our only date.

After a long wait, I was able to see the counsellor at the surgery. By that time, I was much happier than I had been the day I first met John, so we only met a few times before she suggested I try going off the antidepressant. I did and found that I still happy, so we ended our sessions soon after that. I never once mentioned my feelings for John during my counselling sessions. I didn't want to complicate things by telling my counsellor I had a crush on her colleague.

###

Months passed, and I began to actually hope that perhaps John felt for me the way I felt for him. John had retained his habit of walking me to my door at night, but he began to linger longer when we said goodnight. I'd always been very sensitive to his touch, but now he seemed almost to be looking for excuses to touch me, placing his hand on my back and leaning over me if I was working on my laptop, or gently touching the top of my hand to get my attention, and then maintaining the contact a little longer than he would have when I first knew him. I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part. But my heart wouldn't listen to reason.

Then one day, when he walked me to my flat, he stopped me outside the door.

"Trina," he said... and then he placed both hands on the wall behind me, leaned in and kissed me. My knees actually buckled a little. He grabbed me to hold me up, and then laughed.

"Sherlock was right. Of course," he said.

"Did he tell you?" I asked, angry at Sherlock for betraying me to John, even if the result was delicious.

"Well, I am his friend," he said. "And, actually, Trina, you should know that he waited until he knew I felt the same way about you before he said anything to me. He really does like you, you know, even if he doesn't show it."

"So what exactly did he tell you?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"His exact words? They were something like, 'John, you're in love, so why don't you just go ahead and kiss her. I guarantee her knees will buckle.'" John rendered a fairly good imitation of Sherlock's voice, and I giggled.

"Did he really say that?" I asked.

"Honestly. Cross my heart!"

"Wow," I said and leaned back against the wall, stunned by everything.

"Well, I couldn't ask for a much better reaction than you've given me," he said with a smile, "but let's try it again."

This time I was ready.