*Hello lovelies! Sorry for the delay! Work has been insanely busy lately. I will say, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It's a lot longer than the others, but I wanted to give you guys a little bit more to read, as it may take me a while to write the next chapter. Again, reviews are always welcome. I'm so thankful to everyone who has read it up to this point. I'm having so much fun writing this! Enjoy and thank you again!*

Week of Surprises

Day 1

"Delilah! Would you please stop trying to do things on your own? I said that I would care for you, that way John wouldn't have to worry."

"Sherlock, I was only going to the bathroom. It's maybe twenty steps."

"Yes, but you are still running a high fever. Come on, back to the couch with you."

"But I'm bored." Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my whining voice. "There's nothing to do except watch the telly. And there's never anything good to watch in the middle of the day."

"Well…hmmm…"

"Exactly. You don't suppose you could paint another smiley face on the wall and we could have target practice, do you?"

"No. I'm not scaring Mrs. Hudson and you need to rest. You took your pill this morning, correct?"

"Aye. John woke me to make certain that I took it before he left for work. Then I fell asleep and now I'm making my way back to the couch." I frowned when Sherlock's arm wrapped around my waist. "What are you doing?"

"You're not putting any weight on that leg. I have orders from Watson that you are not to put any pressure on it and that when you woke this morning, I was to change the bandaging and clean it."

"I'd rather do it myself," I grumbled even as Sherlock helped me to the couch. "Yesterday's experience wasn't pleasant. Plus, I believe you stated that you wouldn't be helping me out like that again."

"Well, I volunteered to help this time. There's a difference."

"Is there now?"

"If you'd like, you can bandage your own leg. But I know that the sight of your own blood makes you lightheaded."

"And you'd be right," I replied, pulling the blankets up around my neck, shivering. "Is it cold in here?"

"It's the fever. Now flip over. John was kind enough to grab alcohol pads from work yesterday, as well as gloves for me to wear."

I sighed, rolling over onto my stomach, shaking the blanket off of my leg, propping it up on the arm of the couch. "Does that work for you?"

"Perfect," Sherlock muttered, not even bothering to look up as he searched for the materials he'd need. "Now hold still and don't move."

I did as I was told, trying to relax even as he probed the wound with his fingers, wiping at the wound with the alcohol pads. I buried my face into the pillow, trying to keep from shouting as he probed an especially tender spot. After what seemed like hours, he began to wrap the wound, leaving it pulsing and sore. When he finished, I rolled over onto my back, leaving my leg propped up.

Sherlock took the gloves off, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and pressing it to his ear. He left the room to go to the kitchen. Curiosity got the better of me and I swung my legs off the couch, hobbling as quietly as I could to the kitchen doorway.

"Yes, John, I'm positive that she needs a debridement. Well, why can't you do that here? I'll go to the store and get some liquor then if she needs to be sedated. If need be I will hold Delilah. Yes, John, I understand that she'll be in pain, but it's better than her becoming septic. Research obviously. She's not going to the hospital." There was a long pause. "Fine, I'll ask her."

His head poked around the corner and I stumbled backwards in surprise. "Are you opposed to the idea of cutting out the dead tissue in your leg if we give you alcohol?"

"Will I heal faster?"

"Will she heal faster?" There was a pause before he looked at me. "Yes, you'll heal faster and it may not scar as bad."

"Do it."

"She said do it. Alright, well, I'll head down to the store as soon as I can. Yes, I'll prep everything before you come home. No, she hasn't been fed yet. I will. Good-bye." Sherlock hung up the phone, turning his attention to me. "What are you doing up from the couch? I told you to stay there."

"I was curious. Am I not allowed to be?"

"No."

I shook my head with incredulity. "So you can be, but I'm not allowed? I would think that you would be happy that someone would want to investigate something."

"If you were good at sneaking about then yes, I would encourage it. But as it is, I can hear you shuffling around like an old woman." Sherlock didn't even give me the chance to hobble to the couch as he lifted me into his arms.

"Do you always carry women around?"

"Only when they shouldn't be walking on an injured leg. Don't get used to it." Sherlock set me down on the couch. "Now, do you need anything or will I be able to run down to the market and pick up a few things?"

"I wouldn't mind a notebook and a pencil or pen. If you don't have it, don't worry about it."

"Why do you need it?"

"I was planning on sketching a few of their faces and writing down all of the information I know about them. Are you leaving the memory stick?"

"For what purpose?" Sherlock asked even as he left the room.

"I wanted to look through it, see if I could find anything. I'm bored, Sherlock. Give me something to do and I'll be right as rain. If not, I'll be bothering you all day long. And I highly doubt you want that," I called, leaning over the edge of the couch. "If that's what you'd like though, I'd be more than happy to irritate you with my rendition of Phantom of the Opera."

Sherlock returned. "Here you are. One pad of paper and a pen. I had to search through John's things. There is no singing in this flat. Now, I'm going to be heading out. No getting up while I'm gone and believe me when I say, I will know."

"Thank you."

"Why do you thank people so much? It's irritating."

"Because it's the polite thing to do. Why don't you do it?" I countered even as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Because it is a waste of my time and people don't deserve to be thanked for doing their jobs."

"So you view me as a job then?"

"I view the case that we are working on as a job. You are merely a tool that I need to solve the case."

I nodded. "Well now I know where I stand with you. Thank you again for the paper and pen. I'll start sketching right away. You'll leave your laptop in reach?"

He set it on the coffee table, dragging it closer to me. "I am leaving. If you need anything, call me. Your gun is behind the laptop. Shoot anyone that comes in that you don't recognize. I should be back in an hour or so."

Sherlock swept out of the door and I sighed, leaning my head back against the arm of the couch. Why did I have to be trapped in a flat with him? I shifted, propping myself up so that the pillows were underneath my back, but my leg was still elevated. I reached over to grab the laptop, staring at the little blinking red light of the memory stick. I still couldn't understand how something so small could cause me so much grief.

I began to read the document. It was 394 pages ranging from transcripts of conversations to building instructions of the machine to an outline of the plans after London had fallen. After they had attacked London, the terrorists had a plan to slowly but surely begin to take over the surrounding countries, putting the slower moving diseases on airplanes, pumping them into the air system, spreading it throughout the world. I was on page 97 when a particular conversation caught my eye.

I began to read, writing down certain things that I found interesting. When I reached the bottom, I found the date. The odd thing was, it was dated in the future, January the 1st, 2014. I highlighted the date before looking over the document piece by piece. January 1st was two weeks away and it seemed that this transcript was of significance.

Present for this meeting is T. Oeur, F. Aling, M. Downs, and B. Redge. Transcribing is Ess.

T. Oeur: We simply must get together for a party some time.

F. Aling: Agreed. It has been much too long since we went out and had a good time.

M. Downs: Well, I believe that L. had plans for all of us sometime soon.

F. Aling: Oh? And what was that?

T. Oeur: Yes, what was that?

M. Downs: I believe they were in the mood for some fireworks if I'm not mistaken. A real surprise. Wanted to give London a show, one last hoorah before we begin to build the machine.

B. Redge: Sorry I'm late. Got held up in traffic.

T. Oeur: What happened to your face?

B. Redge: That red-headed bitch is what happened. I found her in one of the tunnels sleeping and she attacked me and ran off.

M. Downs: Did you see where she ran off to? Perhaps we can catch her?

T. Oeur: I have a score to settle with that girl. We'll leave now if it means killing her.

B. Redge: I didn't see where she went. Now, what were you all talking about?

F. Aling: L. apparently has a plan for us to get together sometime soon that involves fireworks.

B. Redge: Wonderful! Does anyone know what we'll need? Do you think it will get that little cunt out of hiding long enough for us to kill her?

T. Oeur: Maybe. But I believe L. had another plan for her. You see, her mother is still alive.

M. Downs: That girl hasn't spoken to her mother in years now. What makes you think that she'll start any time soon?

F. Aling: Because when-

Waitress: Can I get you gentlemen anything to eat or drink?

T. Oeur: No thank you dear, I think we'll be fine with what we have.

M. Downs: Ah shit. Sorry guys, I've got to take this. The little one has been ill lately and the wife's been on my back. Could we reschedule this?

B. Redge: Certainly. Sorry about your little one.

M. Downs: Have a good night gentlemen.

14/1/1

I re-read it a few times, feeling the hair on the back of my neck standing up. There was something off-putting about this one transcript, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I sighed, closing the laptop, leaning back into the pillows. I'd think about it after I rested my eyes for a bit.

"Wake up."

I opened my eyes to find Sherlock setting up a plate for me with Chinese takeaway. I sat up, my stomach growling. "When did you get back?"

"Half an hour ago. You were asleep. I read over your notes. Why did that one transcript intrigue you? Was it because it had your mother in it?"

"No. It's because it was dated for January the 1st of 2014, which as you know-"

"Is two weeks away. Yes, I know. What page was that on?"

"97 to 98. I'm surprised you didn't see it."

"I skimmed over most of the transcriptions as those would take me the shortest amount of time to analyze. I was looking at the scanned in documents of the machines. One of them had yesterday's date and a time scribbled on it, as well as the name of the man and the pub." He handed me the plate. "Now, eat. You need to regain your strength and John doesn't want you to get sick from the alcohol. His last appointment is at three this afternoon, so you can start drinking after you eat."

"Will you drink with me?"

"Why?"

"It makes me feel like less of an alcoholic."

"I don't drink."

I sighed. "Sherlock, loosen up a little bit. I'm not going to hurt you or John. If I was going to I would have the first day I was here. One shot, that's all I'm asking for. Please."

"Eat your food," he said simply, sitting in the chair with the laptop in hand.

I did, finishing my food quickly. I took a few gulps of the water that had been left in the cup for me before sitting back, grabbing the paper and pen. I began to sketch and had been half-way finished with the first gentleman, the man I'd known as Agent Cormack, when Sherlock set the bottle of vodka down in front of me. I wrinkled my nose.

"Really? You couldn't get a bottle of whisky?"

"This was the cheapest thing that they had and it will get you drunk the fastest." Sherlock left the room for the kitchen, coming back with two glasses. "Now, we will each do one shot. That's it for me."

"Why did you change your mind?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I enjoy vodka."

"Well, this will be interesting then." I watched as Sherlock poured a little bit into each glass. I took the one closest to me. "To us solving this case."

"To me solving this case you mean."

I tossed back the alcohol, coughing at the burn, eyes watering. "Jesus, what is this, rocket fuel?"

Sherlock's face was bright red even as he swallowed his. "I don't know, but I think I made a terrible mistake."

"How much is this procedure going to hurt?"

"It will depend on how much you drink. If you do three more shots I've no doubt that you'll barely remember a thing. But John doesn't want you unconscious for the procedure, as he has no equipment to keep track of your pulse and oxygen saturation."

I frowned. "I suppose I'll need another shot then."

"I believe I'll have another with you."

"What are you two doing?" Two hours later, John's voice cut through our laughter and we both looked at him. I knew there was a huge grin on my face. I also knew that I was drunk.

"Come John, come 'n' have a drink with us!" Sherlock's words were slurred and I couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day where Sherlock Holmes was drunk. What a lightweight!" I crowed, slapping my knee.

"You're still a shot behind Delilah. Come on John, join us!"

"No. You're both behaving like idiots. Delilah, we need to work on your leg."

"I don't want to," I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I'm having fun with Sherlock and this bottle of vodka."

John snatched the bottle off the table and Sherlock and I both started up from the couch. We would have gone for the bottle if I hadn't toppled into Sherlock and Sherlock had fallen onto the couch, trying to grab me for stability. I fell back onto him and struggled to get off, laughing uncontrollably. Sherlock was surprisingly gentle in helping me up, sitting me on the couch.

"Are you alright?"

I laughed. "I'm fine Sherlock. I know you're drunk when you ask me if I'm alright."

"Mary's on her way over. She's going to help me with debriding the wound since you're too drunk to help me. Honestly, Holmes, I told you to take care of her, not get plastered."

"She asked me to drink with her."

"I thought you had more sense than that!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, I'm not that drunk."

"Are you being serious right now? You are absolutely that drunk. You were laughing with the girl that you've despised since she came here!"

"But that was before I found out about her and the truth," Sherlock protested.

John shook his head, a look of impatience in his eyes. "Would you at least help me set up so we can take care of her leg?"

"Hold on. Hold on. C'n I go to the bathroom first?" I asked, feeling my head spinning. "I really need to go."

John helped me to my feet. "Wrap your arm around my neck. I knew I should have grabbed crutches before I left. Come on. That's it." We made it to the bathroom door and I gave him a grin. "Will you be alright going to the toilet by yourself?"

I nodded. "I'll be perfectly fine. You worry too much."

John sighed. "I need to worry, especially if you both are going to be getting drunk together. You're both messes."

"Yes, but we're your messes John. Admit it, you enjoy having Sherlock around me. It's fun to watch."

I could see John's lips twitch with a smile. "You do keep things interesting around here, that's for certain. Now, go use the bathroom. Mary should be here any minute."

As I finished using the bathroom, I heard the door open and close. I washed my hands, looking into the mirror as I did so. My cheeks were a rosy red and my eyes were glittering in my face. My skin was paler than normal, but I had no doubt that that was from the infection and fever. Amazingly, despite being ill, I felt better than I had in ages. I tied my un-brushed hair into a ponytail with the rubber band I still had before I exited into the living room.

John was by my side immediately and while I protested him helping me, my drunkenness couldn't match his sobriety. I found Mary and Sherlock talking around what looked suspiciously like the kitchen table draped in a drop cloth. John patted the table and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you serious? You're going to cut my leg open on the kitchen table?"

"Would you prefer somewhere else? Like the hospital?"

I shook my head, easing myself onto the table. "This is fine. One more shot before we do this. I don't want to feel a thing."

Sherlock handed me a glass. He still had the flushed look of being drunk, but the cheer was definitely gone. I took the shot and Mary began to prepare the supplies. I looked at her, worried about what was going to happen. I'd never had this done before, not even when I'd been shot.

"Would you mind stripping down to your underwear? We'll cover you with a blanket," Mary asked, offering me a soft smile. "If you'd like, I can have Sherlock and John turn around until I get you covered."

I unbuttoned my pants, stripping out of them to reveal the men's boxers I'd swiped a few weeks prior when I'd broken into someone's house. "I came prepared. Don't know why more women don't wear them."

Mary chuckled. "They are quite comfy. I like to sleep in them from time to time."

I giggled. "They are! I don't understand why women aren't wearing them more. Why is it that men always get the nicer clothes? These are so comfortable I hardly even notice them."

"I couldn't agree with you more. Now, would you mind laying down on your stomach for me Delilah?" Mary asked and I obliged. "There you go. I won't lie to you, this is going to hurt. I managed to get some numbing medicine to use, but it will still hurt. Try not to struggle and bite down on this if it becomes unbearable."

She produced a leather belt, doubled over. I knew that it would keep me from crying out and scaring Mrs. Hudson. I looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I know this is asking for a lot, but would you mind holding my hand?"

"What? Why on earth would I do that?"

I could tell that the alcohol was wearing off. "Because I'm asking you to nicely and human contact will help me."

"Fine. But I'm going to be looking at the laptop the entire time, so don't expect any kind words from me." He sat down in front of me on the floor, gripping my hand loosely in his. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Perfect," I replied, feeling John's fingers probing my leg wound. "So when's the sh-son of a bitch!"

"Now," John replied. "It should be numb in about five minutes or so. Then we'll get to cutting out the infected tissue and cleaning it. How're you feeling?"

"A bit nervous. I'm worried about how much this is going to hurt."

"Would you like to hear about the procedure?" Sherlock asked.

"No!" All three of us snapped.

Sherlock ignored us, beginning to read off the step-by-step procedure. I gagged when he got to the part about cutting away necrotic tissue. My heart was racing in my chest and I laid my head down on my arms. "I don't feel so good."

"I'm sure you don't," John said, crossing to Sherlock, slapping the laptop lid down. "Don't make her ill before I cut into her please."

"I was merely educating her about the procedure that she was about to undergo."

"I don't think I want to do this anymore."

Mary's face appeared in front of me, kind and calming. "You're going to be alright. It's a few quick spots to cut, a little flush of saline solution and rubbing alcohol, and then you'll be bandaged up and right as rain. Keep calm for me, okay? I promise it will be over soon."

"Okay," I said shakily, feeling my stomach doing flip-flops. "Could I have a bowl or something in case I become ill?"

Mary put it down next to Sherlock. "Give this to her if she starts feeling sick. I don't think you'll have a problem with that though as I doubt you want vomit on you."

"I would prefer to not have that happen," Sherlock replied, wrinkling his nose. "Try not to get sick on me."

I only nodded, closing my eyes. I felt John poke my leg, but surprisingly there was no pain. "Can you feel that?"

"No."

"Good. Well then, let's get started, shall we? This will only hurt for a little bit."

I felt the first incision, but it was a dull ache, almost like a sunburn. I kept my breathing steady, deciding that this wasn't the worst pain I'd ever felt. The pair worked in silence for a few minutes and when I opened my eyes again, I realized almost twenty minutes had gone by. There was a sharp pain and I squeezed Sherlock's hand tight, doing my best to not jerk my leg away. Without looking at me, Sherlock forced the piece of leather between my teeth. I clamped down hard to keep myself from crying out as I felt the next incision.

"I'm sorry, I know this is uncomfortable, but I'm almost done. We're getting down to the center of the wound. You really should have gotten stitches for this and had it properly cleaned."

I only rolled my eyes, resting my head on my arms once more. Sherlock, despite his aloof attitude, was helping me. The feeling of his hand in mine was comforting. I only wished that it was John's hand instead as I liked John. Or Mary even. They were both kind people and a very lovely couple. I felt the pain again and my grip on Sherlock's hand tightened. He set the laptop down, going to kneel in front of me.

"Can you hear my voice?" He asked and I nodded quickly, the tears streaming down my face.

"Good. I'm going to ask you a series of yes or no questions. Please answer them and focus only on the sound of my voice. Can you do that for me?" When I didn't respond, he turned my head, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Answer my question with a nod or a shake of your head."

I nodded and he smiled. "Good. First question. Is your mother still living in London?" I nodded. "Is she still a drunk?" Again I nodded. "Would she be coherent enough to speak with?" I shook my head. "Would you be willing to talk to her?" I shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I ask because there is another section in the documents talking about your mother and how they were going to torture information out of her. I doubt they've done it yet, but I think that's how they were going to get to you. Do you want to stop it or do you hate her so much that you wouldn't care if she were tortured?"

I lay there, thinking about it. I hadn't seen my mother since I'd received my father and sister's ashes, if that's what they even were. She and I had gotten into a huge argument over who would get the ashes and ultimately, I got to keep them. I'd scattered the ashes in Ireland and she had left me a very nasty voicemail when she was drunk about how she wished that I had died instead of my sister. But could I let her be tortured, perhaps even killed? I may not like the woman, but she didn't deserve to die. She was the last of my direct family after all.

I ended up shrugging before biting down on the leather. It felt as if John were scooping out the flesh in my calf and it was not pleasant. Sherlock, for some strange reason, brushed the hair off of my sweaty forehead, forcing me to look at him. "I know it's painful for you, but it's almost done. John got the last of the tissue and he's going to start cleaning now. Are you doing alright?"

I nodded slowly, taking the leather out from between my teeth. "Bowl please."

Sherlock handed it to me quickly and I became violently ill. He held my hair, rubbing my back. I felt embarrassed and my head was swimming. Sherlock's fingers grabbed my wrist, taking my pulse. He frowned. "Her heart rate is 188."

"Given the stress we're putting her under, plus the alcohol, it's not surprising."

Sherlock took the bowl from me, going into the kitchen. I watched as he unceremoniously dumped its contents down the drain. He grabbed something from one of the drawers and as he was coming back, I realized it was a damp rag. He wiped at my face before placing it on the back of my neck.

"Be easy, Delilah. Focus on your breathing for me. Can you do that?" I nodded, my eyelids growing heavy. I hadn't realized how tired I was. "Good. Now, listen to my voice and focus on your breathing. Take a deep breath in for me." There was a pause. "And out. Now in…and out. And again. You're doing great. John's almost done. He-"

I was unconscious before he could finish his sentence.

Day 4

"THE PHAAAAAANTOM OF THE OPERA IS HERE INSIDE MY MIND!" I sang loudly as I sat on the couch. Once again I was bored and Sherlock had locked himself away in his room as I was too much of a distraction.

My leg was healing better than I thought it would and I was getting to annoy Sherlock, which was actually quite easy to do I was finding. He normally gave in once I started the first few lines, but I'd nearly gotten through two songs and he wasn't even moving to stop me. I took a deep breath to belt out the next line.

"Would you stop your God awful crowing? I can't concentrate."

"Well then let's do something Sherlock. I'm tired of being cooped up in this flat on the couch."

"Do you want to go and visit Mrs. Hudson then? I'm sure she would love your company and whatever that is that you call singing."

"Mrs. Hudson said that she had a doctor's appointment today and then she would be going to the market afterwards. Sherlock, please can we go somewhere? I promise I'll be quiet the entire trip."

"John said for you to take it easy on your leg."

"And I have been. I've been asking the both of you to help me everywhere, including to the bathroom and back. It's so degrading. Please. Even a quick cab ride would be nice."

Sherlock sighed. I could tell he was losing his patience with me. "Fine. But you have to answer my question first."

"Aye? And what question might that be?"

"How did you get the burn to your leg?"

"Why do you care so much? It's an old injury, happened when I was fourteen. It's nothing major."

Sherlock stepped into the living room. "Your mother burned you, didn't she? It's the reason why your father divorced her."

I could feel my face flush. "How did you-?"

"Know? Your father had to have motivation outside of her being a drunk to divorce her. From what I learned during my short time researching him, he was an honorable man, hence why you were angry with me when I suggested he was anything less than that. Which means he wouldn't leave your mother without good reason. You said the divorce happened when you were fifteen, so if she burned you at fourteen, it would have been the cause of their divorce." Sherlock looked pleased with himself and I rolled my eyes, irritated.

"Bravo Mr. Holmes. I can tell you've been stewing over that since you saw the scar. Yes, my mother burned me. She'd been making tea for my sister and I for after school. I was home first as my sister had wanted to stop by a friend's house on the way home. I told her I thought it would be okay because our mother was normally passed out drunk on the couch."

"But when you came home she was awake. I'm assuming she grew angry with you?"

"Aye that she did. Said I was undermining her authority as a mother by letting my sister go gallivanting around London with the underbelly of society. I tried to explain myself and that's when she threw the hot water from the stove on me." I pulled up the legs of the sweatpants, revealing the scars on the top and inner thigh. "It caught me all across here. I stripped out of my pants and ran to the bedroom where the phone was. My mother had lost her mind, came after me with a knife. I called the police and then my sister, telling her to stay at her friend's place because mother had gone mad."

I pulled the pant legs down. "Now you know about all of my scars. Can we please go and do something?"

"How about we do some target practice?"

"That was fun! It was a shame that we ran out of bullets though," I said, a smile on my face even as Sherlock helped me out to the cab. "Do you think we can go again the week after next?"

"Perhaps. I'll have to speak with Lestrade and make sure that we can use their range. This was short notice and he made it a point to mention that." Sherlock gave me a small sideways grin as he helped me into the back seat of the cab. "Where did you learn to shoot?"

"My father taught me. I began practicing with him at sixteen. We would go to the range whenever we could. I really enjoyed it." I moved over to the other side so that Sherlock could get in. "Do you want to grab something to eat?"

"I could do with some food. But then it's back to the flat with you. You need to rest."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. You and John need to stop worrying so much."

"I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about angering John. It's quite annoying having him shout at me."

I laughed. "He does seem to do that often. Well, there's a fish and chip shop we could stop at on the way back, if you don't mind. My treat."

"How did you get money?" Sherlock asked even as I told the cabbie the address.

"From when I was panhandling. I've been saving some cash for a rainy day." In truth I'd swiped it from the officer in the lane next to us when I'd asked him about his firearm. "Do you mind my paying?"

"Feel free."

The trip to the shop was quiet and we entered, Sherlock wrapping his arm around my waist. To an outsider, it would have looked as if he were a partner keeping his significant other warm. But the fact was, that couldn't be farther from the truth. After our night of getting drunk, Sherlock had been quite distant, minus when he'd had to help me around the flat. We'd barely spoken unless I annoyed him enough to start a conversation. Normally it ended in fighting between the two of us.

But, today was a peaceful day and while he seemed to be lost in thought, he wasn't behaving like a complete ass. We waited in line quietly and as we did, I became increasingly aware of how close our bodies were. I shifted uncomfortably and he looked down at me.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just remembering how my father and I would always come in here."

"Ah. I was wondering why you'd chosen this little hole in the wall."

"I've been coming in here since I was a child. Whenever we visited London for the holidays my father would take me and when we moved here, it became one of our hangouts. He'd take me here and he'd take my sister to Tower Bridge. She loved walking it with him." I smiled as my eyes fell on the small booth in the corner. "We'd come early, beat the lunch crowds on a weekend and we'd sit in that booth over there and talk about whatever. School, life, politics. As I got older it became mom, my sister, school, and future plans. One of the last times I saw him alive was in that corner booth."

Sherlock was quiet as we shuffled forward and now I was the one lost in thought. When we reached the front of the line, I was greeted by the wizened old face of the owner, a man I had fondly come to know as Ted. He gave me a wide-smile.

"What c'n I get yeh two lovebirds?"

"Two orders of beer battered filets and chips. Could you put extra salt on one order please?"

His grin widened. "O' course I c'n! Fer here or t'go?"

"To go please Ted." My eyes widened as I realized I'd said his name and his eyes began to sparkle with mischief.

"I thought that was you little lassie. Beautiful lil' Del, I haven't seen yeh since yer papa passed away. Thought maybe yeh'd forgotten about dear ol' Ted. Meal's on me dear. I've missed seein' yeh. Promise me yeh'll come by a bit more?"

"Of course Ted," I said softly, watching as he slid two containers towards me. "We'll go down to the pub sometime, have a drink together."

"Sounds like a lovely plan. You two have a wonderful time an' I'll be seein' yeh soon."

We left the shop and I was leaning on Sherlock heavily, not because of the pain in my leg, but because of the pain in my heart. I hadn't wanted to be recognized, but Ted had known me for years. Even if I hadn't slipped, he more than likely would have recognized me. I threw out my hand, watching as three cabs whizzed by before a fourth finally stopped. Sherlock opened the door, not saying a word. I slid in, holding the boxes tightly in my hand.

"I'm assuming by your not talking and your dejected demeanor, you didn't want him to recognize you."

"Not now, Sherlock. Please."

He thankfully remained silent the entire ride back to the flat, lost in thought once more. He helped me out of the cab and we made it slowly up the stairs to 221B. I sat down on the couch, setting Sherlock's box on the other side of the table as I opened my own. The detective surprised me by sitting next to me on the couch.

"How does your leg feel?"

"Fine. Why are you asking?"

"You've been putting a lot of strain on it today. You shouldn't be doing so much so soon. John said it would be at least a week."

I raised an eyebrow. "In the past four days I've learned that you don't ask a question without a purpose. Why are you asking? And don't lie."

Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised by my statement. "You noticed?"

"Of course I did. Not everyone is stupid, Sherlock, something that you seem to not be able to comprehend. I certainly didn't survive the streets or these people for as long as I have by being a complete imbecile." I took a bite of the fish, enjoying the taste. "You seem to think that people are worthless, blind. And yes, you would be right to say that most of them are. But not all of them. I see you, Sherlock Holmes, whether you like to acknowledge that fact or not."

He stared at me. "Tell me what you see then."

"You sure you want to know? Because as you did with me, I won't hold back."

"I'm asking you to prove yourself because I highly doubt that you know that much."

I couldn't help but smile. "You're so sure of yourself, but underneath that confidence is someone who worries about whether or not he's correct. You show off not because you are so smart, but because you always have to be the center of attention, perhaps from years of being ignored. But why would you have been ignored? Your brother's position in the government says it all. You both attended boarding school and unlike a regular school, you weren't able to be the focus of attention to the authority figures. So you discovered that by using your talents to anger the other boys, to get into fights, you would get the attention you so desperately craved. Even bad attention was better than none."

I paused to take another bite, feeling Sherlock's eyes locked onto me. "You were bullied mercilessly and with that you developed a hatred for those that were your supposed colleagues. It's why you were rude to every officer when we were shooting, including Lestrade when he came down to watch. You loathe authority figures as well, Mrs. Hudson being the exception to that rule. I still haven't figured out why you're so attached to John yet though, although I could always ask him to find out."

"But, my last point is this. You're not a bad man, Sherlock, despite the fact that you shove nearly every single person away from you. You're not as cold and cruel as you seem to be. For you, everything is compartmentalized. Emotions and empathy happen to be in a very small compartment that you rarely open. You have no time for it, which, in your line of work, is a good thing. But, when you're not working you need to learn to turn the deduction side of your brain off and the empathetic side of your brain on. Life can't be one hundred percent work one hundred percent of the time. You have to live a little Sherlock."

"You know nothing of me. I am a high-functioning sociopath."

I shook my head. "You're not. If you were, you wouldn't be able to care about Mrs. Hudson, John, and Molly. I see the differences of how you act with them versus other people. Yes, most of the time you are cold and distant, but you wouldn't have helped me the other night while John was working on my leg if you didn't have the ability to empathize with someone."

Sherlock got up from the couch, shaking his head. "You know nothing. Nothing!"

"Keep telling yourself that Mr. Holmes if it makes you feel better. I know what I know and I know to trust my instincts about people." I met his confused and panicked gaze. "You are a good man Sherlock."

Sherlock swept out of the room, slamming his bedroom door. I sat on the couch, eating the rest of my fish and chips, wondering what else I could find out about Sherlock's personality on John's blog.

Day 7

"Fuck!" I hissed even as my leg gave out and I fell to the floor on my way back to the bathroom. "Son of a bitch."

"What are you doing?" I heard Sherlock call from his bedroom. He'd been doing his best to avoid me since I'd done my own analysis of his personality. He came around the corner, eyes wide. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to bother you," I grumbled even as he helped me off the floor. "I thought I could do it myself."

Sherlock sighed. "Stop being so stubborn and call me next time, please. I don't need to be scooping you off of the floor."

"I'm fine. Truly, I'm fine. I would've gotten up on my own."

"Yes, as you would have made it back to the living room without falling. Wrap your arm around my waist please."

I did as he asked, gripping to him tight as we made our way slowly to the couch. He set me down and I gave him a small smile. "Thank you Sherlock."

"Didn't we have this discussion about thanking people earlier in the week?"

"Aye, but I'll still do it. It's a habit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We have a week before the fireworks are set to go off. But we still don't have a place. You wouldn't happen to have any ideas, would you?"

"G'morning." Both of us turned, surprised, to see John standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "What was all that thumping about?"

"I fell. What are you doing here John?"

"It's Christmas. What wouldn't I be doing here?"

My eyes widened with surprise. "It's Christmas? I must have lost track of the days. Goodness and I didn't get either of you a present or a tree. I didn't even attempt to decorate."

"How were you going to do any of that? You can hardly walk to the bathroom and back," Sherlock said pointedly. "And since when do we celebrate Christmas in the flat?"

"Since Mary is going to bring over Christmas dinner and Mrs. Hudson is coming up to join us. I don't understand the fuss when we did the same thing last year with more people." John frowned before turning to me. "Don't worry Delilah, I bought decorations for the flat. I meant to ask you if you'd like to decorate yesterday, but you were asleep for most of the day and I didn't want to wake you."

"We can decorate now!" I said excitedly. I hadn't had a proper Christmas since before my father had died.

"Again. Since when do we do Christmas in this flat?" Sherlock's voice was a bit louder than it had been before and I glanced up at him, rolling my eyes.

"Stop being such a spoilsport and help us decorate. It's the holidays, Sherlock."

He looked at me as if I had two heads. "You two feel free to decorate. I will be hiding in my room."

Sherlock left both of us standing there and I shrugged. "Guess we'll be decorating ourselves. I'll take a break if my leg starts to hurt, I promise."

"Let's get started then."

We spent nearly four hours decorating. I had to take a couple of breaks here and there to rest my leg, but we got all of the garland and ornaments up. We'd even hung some mistletoe in the doorway to the kitchen. I sighed, collapsing on the couch, looking around.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!" I began to sing and John chuckled as Sherlock shouted from the back bedroom.

"What'd you say Sherlock?" I called back.

He poked his head around the corner, glaring. "I said no singing."

I stuck my tongue out at him, causing John to break out into a fit of giggles. "And I said stop being such a spoilsport. Sherlock, it's supposed to be a nice day. At least go and get ready for dinner."

Sherlock looked to John. "I despise you for this."

John grinned. "Of course you do. Now go and get dressed. Mary should be here in an hour or so with Christmas dinner."

I went to the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth. I dressed as best I could, stumbling as I tried to tug my pants on. My leg had been healing very well since the debridement. It still hurt, but there was no sign of infection. John had been very thorough and between him and Sherlock cleaning the wound, it was healing nicely. I had to be careful about overexerting myself, as it would give out occasionally, but by the next week, I should be moving as I used to.

'Just in time for the fireworks show,' I thought to myself as I tugged at the hem of my sweater. 'Hopefully we can figure out in time. Sherlock and I have both been pondering it since we discovered it. I need to sit down and speak with him at some point about it.'

I heard someone knocking at the front door and I exited the bathroom, limping down the hall to the living room where Mary was standing, arms full of groceries. I grabbed a bag from her, as did John, and we carried it into the kitchen. As we set everything down, Mary was embracing me.

"It's so good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," I replied, returning her hug. "Sherlock and John have been taking very good care of me."

"As they should," she replied and I smiled. "I knew John would take care of you, but I was worried about how Sherlock would treat you."

The consulting detective in question had slunk into the living room, trying to make himself invisible in his chair and failing miserably. I chuckled. "He was actually very well-behaved. We even went out shooting one day. That was...interesting."

Mary raised an eyebrow even as she put the half-cooked turkey into the oven to continue cooking. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Well, I don't know," I replied, taking out a bag of brussel sprouts. "I thought he and I had gotten closer after we went to the fish and chip shop I used to go to as a child, but then we got into a bit of an argument."

"That's sort of his thing, arguing with people," Mary replied. "He and John used to have horrendous arguments when they first began living together. Sherlock would bring all sorts of experiments into the flat, including body parts." Mary shuddered. "But, they're the best of friends now. They do fight on occasion, but I think losing Sherlock really changed some things between them, made them closer somehow."

I looked at the two of them sitting in the living room, John trying to coax Sherlock. I could see, just from the way that John looked at Sherlock, that he enjoyed the man's company. And maybe their relationship would never be something that Mary or I could understand. But the fact that two completely polar opposite people could get along as well as they did, despite the ups and downs, made my heart happy for some reason.

I helped Mary prep the side dishes and an hour later, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. She took my place in the kitchen, forcing me to go and sit despite my protests. I joined John on the couch and we talked even as Mary and Mrs. Hudson finished Christmas dinner. Sherlock continued staring at the laptop, going through the documents.

"Supper's ready!" Mrs. Hudson called and John helped me up off the couch before going to Mary under the misteltoe, giving her a kiss.

I touched Sherlock's shoulder. "Come on, let's go and get some supper."

He sighed. "I don't want to participate. I need to focus on this case."

Despite my leg, I knelt down beside him, not taking my hand off his shoulder. "Come and have a bit of supper. I promise you, it'll still be here when we're finished. And I promise, you and I will spend every night and day working on it figuring it out. Think of it as my Christmas present."

"So, you'll help me. You'll even answer any question that I may have about you between now and the first?"

"Yes. I will. Now, will you come have supper with us?"

"I'll be in in a minute. I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," I replied, struggling to get to my feet. Sherlock helped me up and I gave him a smile. "See you at the table."

I limped into the kitchen where Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and John were already sitting. I sat between Mrs. Hudson and Mary. Mrs. Hudson looked at me apprehensively. "Well, is he coming or should we eat without him?"

Before I could reply, Sherlock strolled in, a forced grin on his face. He sat down across from me at the table. "Shall we eat then?"

The food was delicious and I ate more than I probably should have. But we were all laughing and talking, sharing stories. Even Sherlock seemed to relax a bit and he told us about a couple of minor cases he had worked on before he'd met John. I kept catching him staring at me from across the table. I raised my glass of wine, watching as everyone's eyes turned to me.

"A week and two days ago, I showed up on this doorstep, unable to breathe with people trying to kill me. I was taken in by a kind doctor and a kind yet brusque consulting detective. I wasn't expecting to stay here, nor was I expecting to find a friendship with these two men, the doctor's fiancé, and their landlady. But here I am, for the first time in four years, sitting and enjoying a wonderful Christmas dinner with wonderful people. So I propose a toast. To these wonderful people at this table who I feel I can call friend and to their kindness and kind hearts. May this next year bring us closer and make us happier and better people."

"To new friendships and new adventures!" John cheered, raising his glass.

"To love and marriage!" Mary said, raising her own glass. "May this year prosper with it."

"To having friends, both old and new." Mrs. Hudson cheered, a smile on her face.

I looked at Sherlock, watching in surprise as he raised his glass. "To learning new things and solving new cases."

We all clinked our glasses together and I drank deeply from my glass. I could see Sherlock watching me from across the table and I felt the flush rising up in my cheeks. We all set our glasses down and John and Mrs. Hudson got up, heading to the living room.

"Who wants to open presents now?" John asked.

"Oh no!" I cried, frowning. "I didn't get presents for anyone."

"It's fine," Mary reassured me, going to join John on the couch. "We didn't expect you to get us anything. I mean, you've been laid up for the past week and you don't have any money."

I got up from the table, staring at them with tears in my eyes as I realized that they had brought presents. Presents for me. I wanted to cry right then and there. I was surprised to see Sherlock by my side, his arm wrapped around my waist.

"Still want to do this whole Christmas celebration or have you changed your mind?" He murmured in my ear and I looked up at him, laughing despite the tears.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Let's go and join them then."

We slowly began to hobble out of the kitchen when Mrs. Hudson's face lit up, pointing above us. "Oh, look who's under the mistletoe! Guess what that means?"

"What?" I looked up and realized in horror that because of his helping me, we had ended up under the mistletoe together.

"Come on! You're both under the mistletoe and it's Christmas," Mrs. Hudson urged.

"I don't think that's such a-"

Before I could finish, Sherlock was spinning me to face him. "You wanted Christmas to happen. Why not this?"

"Are you drunk?" I hissed, feeling the flush rising in my cheeks.

"No. Only in the Christmas spirit and I want to put on a show. I like to be the center of attention, remember?" He pulled me close to him and I became painfully aware of him, of his body and the heat between us.

He brushed a stray curl out of my face and I heard Mary's small gasp as Sherlock began to lean down to kiss me. My heart was racing and I was terrified. Was I supposed to turn my head? Reciprocate? As our lips met, my eyes fluttered closed, one hand going to the back of his neck, the other gripping his shoulder. His hands rested on my hips, but he pulled me a bit closer even as I tilted my head, allowing him a deeper kiss.

Sherlock slowly pulled away and I looked up at him, feeling my entire body trembling. He smirked. "Merry Christmas thief."

"Merry Christmas Mr. Holmes," I replied breathlessly, pulling away from him, limping to the armchair. "Merry Christmas everyone."

Had that truly happened? Had I just kissed Sherlock Holmes? By the stares I was getting from the other three in the room, yes, it had happened and yes, I had kiss him. Oh God. What had I gotten myself into?