*Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay. The chapter turned out to be a bit longer than I expected. I ~really~ can't wait to write the next chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying and I'm trying my best to write longer chapters for you guys, just in case I can't update frequently. Have a wonderful week and I will talk to you lovelies in the next chapter!*

Chapter 8: Family Reunion

Nearly a month ago I'd received a phone call from my mother. Now I was on my way to go visit her, Sherlock and John by my side as they had both insisted that they come with. I was sandwiched between them on the train, Sherlock staring out the window and John texting away on his phone.

I had been wrong when I'd told Sherlock that my mother still lived in London. I hadn't known that she'd moved to Radlett, or that she'd gotten remarried and had two step-children with the man. I couldn't help but feel a bit of anger at the idea that someone had entrusted their children with her, although while on the phone with her, she'd sworn to me that she'd cleaned herself up and gotten sober.

"How's Mary?" I asked John, wanting to break the silence. "I haven't heard you talk about her in a while."

"Good. She's preparing for the wedding. She's so excited about it. Actually, she wanted me to ask you if you'd like to come dress shopping with her on Saturday. It'll be later on in the day, as she and I will be going out to eat for Valentine's day and we'll more than likely sleep in that morning." He gave me a wink and I blushed. "But she said that she'd love it if you came with her."

"Of course. Actually, I'll text her and let her know." I reached into my pocket, grabbing the phone that I'd been given a month ago. Had it really been that long? "Let's see...ah, here she is. So around eleven thirty would be good for you both?"

"Perfect."

I typed away on the keyboard before sending it. "And done. I wanted to thank you both for coming with me, even though I didn't need an escort.

"Must you always thank people for doing simple things? Neither John nor I was doing anything important today." Sherlock sounded impatient and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

"I need to stretch my legs," he said brusquely, getting to his feet. "You two have fun chatting about nothing important."

He got up, walking down the aisle before going into the next compartment. I looked to John who shrugged. "He has been off all day. I'm not sure why."

"Probably because he's still healing," I replied, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. I slid it open, reading the message from Mary. "Mary said that that was fine and that I had to promise not to send you any pictures of her in her gown. And she said I should ask you about the clinic. What's she talking about?"

"Well, I figured that since you'll be staying with us for another month or so, I could offer you a job at the clinic. It would only be part-time, but you'd be answering phones, scheduling appointments. Our front desk clerk quit and I thought that you would be perfect for the job." John gave me a small smile. "Mary and I would both be very happy if you did and I'll put in the good word for you so you get hired."

"Would you…really? John that would be wonderful! Of course I will!" I was excited. I hadn't had an actual job in nearly four years. "When do I start?"

John laughed. "Well, first you have to interview. But I can schedule that for tomorrow morning if you'd like. Now I will say, if you take this job, you'll have to be certified in CPR and basic first-aid in case someone comes in very hurt or collapses in the waiting room, but that shouldn't take too long."

"Wait, does that happen?" I felt my eyes go wide. "I'd have to deal with dying people?"

"It has before. Not at the clinic I work at, but I've heard stories."

"Oh great," I muttered. "Fine. Will you teach me?"

"I can't certify you, but I can teach you some tricks I've picked up over the years."

I felt my phone vibrate in my hand. I opened it. Strange. It was from Sherlock.

Third car from the front. Come quick, be quiet.

Bring John and weapon. Hurry.

Could be dangerous.

SH

I nudged John's arm, flashing him the message. We both got to our feet and began to move quietly through the car. I opened the door, motioning for John to go in. I followed him, keeping low. I could see Sherlock two cars ahead of us through the glass, standing in front of someone. I also noted that there was no one else on the train. I could have sworn that I'd seen a few other people get on after us though. How odd.

We made it to the outside of the car that Sherlock was occupying and I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans, making a mental note that I needed to invest in a holster if I was going to carry the pistol around with me. I nodded to John and he opened the door, going through to train his weapon on the person Sherlock was speaking to. I stepped through, freezing as I saw who was sitting calmly in front of us.

"Hello sister. Going to visit dear old mummy for the day?" Olivia asked me coolly. "It's a shame you didn't invite me along. I wanted to meet her new husband and adorable little children."

"What are you doing here Olivia?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, I came to remind you that you have a month to answer my question. That's all." She rolled her eyes. "Could you please call off your guard dog? Having guns in my face is not conducive to an open and honest discussion."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not lowering my weapon," John growled and I watched out of the corner of my eye as his grip tightened.

"That's a shame. Tell me Dr. Watson, do you enjoy having meningitis?"

"What?"

"She rigged the train," Sherlock murmured. "That's why there's no one here except for us. That's why you let me see you."

"Very good Sherlock. I'm surprised it took you this long. Looks like I lost my bet with Aling. Damn. Now, if you three would be kind enough to lower your weapons, I will not press the button that will release the gas into the car."

I slowly lowered my gun, tucking it into my waistband once more. "Do as she says. Both of you. She's not bluffing."

Both Sherlock and John lowered their guns, John still glaring at Olivia. My sister clapped with glee. "Oh good, you've got them trained already. Now, why don't we sit and chat for a bit? We've still got about twenty minutes before we arrive. We can get to know one another."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, sitting down across from her. "Why are you making yourself so known to us?"

"She wants to get under your skin Delilah. Don't let her," Sherlock explained and my sister smiled, green eyes glittering with glee.

"You picked a smart one. About time. I thought you'd be a virgin forever." I felt my face heat up. "Oh, did he not know? Silly me, I forgot that you'd made me promise to keep that secret. So, aren't you going to ask how I managed to make it airborne so quickly?" I kept quiet. "Well? Not curious at all? Not even you Sherlock? John, your medical mind must be wanting answer. Nobody wants an explanation?"

"How did you manage it?" I said through gritted teeth, knowing that she would keep pestering us if we didn't ask.

"Quite simple really. You made the mistake of giving the memory stick to a very slow-witted man. I followed him, bashed him over the head a couple of times, and swapped the memory stick with a blank copy once he was unconscious. When they couldn't find the information on it, they assumed it was because you'd gotten it wet. We managed to recover all of the data and assembled a prototype of the machine. Actually, we assembled two prototypes, one that I put onto this train," she pulled up a video on her phone, showing a live feed to us, "and one that I put into a train heading for Paris. Now I'm giving you all a choice. Either I pump this car full of vapor that contains meningitis or I pump that entire train full of malaria. Your call. Either way I'm protected and people will die."

"You fucking cunt," I snarled. "How could you do this?"

"Quite simple. Install it and the canisters into the ventilation system and make it so that I have remote access from my phone." She laughed maniacally and I felt the panic begin to rise in my chest, twisting its way around my heart. "So, what's it going to be? You? Or the couple hundred people on that train?"

"John…which one is worse?" I asked, feeling the tears coming.

"Well, meningitis is more likely to kill us, but malaria will spread faster from person to person. And depending on who's on that train will also depend on the death count. I…I'm not sure. Sherlock?"

I looked to him, seeing his face cold, his eyes calculating. What could he be thinking? "We choose the other train."

"Sherlock! You can't be serious! All those people?" John asked. "No, choose us. Choose us!"

"Too late," my sister replied, smirking. "Now, I'm done talking with you all. Go back to your own car. We'll talk soon Del."

I felt sick to my stomach. All those people were going to become very ill, perhaps even die now. I walked on shaky legs back to where we'd been sitting early. I sat down, putting my head in my hands. "Sherlock, how could you choose those other people? If we got treatment right away-"

"They rigged it wrong."

"What?" I looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. "But, how could you possible know that?"

"I'll tell you when we're off this train. I would rather she not hear my explanation. I will be calling Lestrade and informing him about it so that the proper containment procedures can be taken in Paris." Sherlock grabbed his phone from his pocket. "Oh and Molly just text me. The results came back on that fluid."

"And?" John and I both asked in unison.

"It was water."

"Are you serious? Well that's bloody fantastic," John groaned, sitting down next to me.

"Yes, there was no virus in there. But, you did say that they knew we were coming Delilah, so they more than likely wouldn't bring a vial that we could study. False alarm."

I looked at John, who was shaking his head incredulously. "Are you doing alright?"

"No, I'm not. Either Sherlock's right or we sentenced an entire train to what could possibly be a miserable death. I'm hoping it's the first thing because I doubt I could live with myself if it was the second." John shook his head. "I want off of this damn train."

John got his wish about five minutes later when the train finally pulled into the station. My sister stepped off before us, blending in with the people waiting for their own train. I wanted to go after her, but John grabbed my arm. "Not a good idea."

Sherlock was on the phone, no doubt speaking with Lestrade about what we'd found. It was a brief phone call, but it gave me enough time to glance at myself in a window and make certain that I looked presentable when we met my mother. Sherlock hung up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "The authorities and hazmat team should be here in the next ten minutes to disassemble the vaporizing system. Lestrade said that I could study it back in London and that Molly would be getting a sample of the serum to analyze."

"And the people heading to Paris?" John asked.

"Yes, Sherlock, are the people heading to Paris going to be alright? Please tell me they'll be okay." I could hear the fear in my voice and I cursed myself for it.

"Lestrade is putting in a call to the Parisian authorities. A hazmat team will be waiting at the station. But I promise you, based on the illustrations from the documents, they hooked up the wires wrong. Her signal wouldn't be able to go through to the transmitter, so the canisters shouldn't release." Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear now and I could tell that he was very pleased with himself.

I shook my head. "I hope you're right. But let's go and find my mother. It's starting to rain and she'll be waiting for us."

The three of us began to walk through the station, Sherlock's gaze scanning every face, John looking around worriedly as they followed me. I spotted a woman standing by the bicycle racks who looked vaguely like my mother if she had dyed her hair blonde. The woman looked healthy, happy even. The thing that threw me the most was the fact that while she looked nervous standing there by herself, she looked sober, something that I hadn't seen in nearly twenty years.

"Mum?" I called, watching as she turned to look at me, a smile blossoming on her face.

"Delilah dear! Oh, I'm so glad that you could make it!" She pulled me in for an embrace and I awkwardly accepted the hug, patting her back. "Who's this? I didn't know you were bringing company."

"These are my friends, the ones I've been staying with. This gentleman is Doctor John Watson."

"How do you do?" John asked.

"Very well, thank you," my mother replied and I was surprised to hear her voice sound clear, no slurred speech or stumbling over her words. "And yourself?"

"Bit of a long ride, but we're very excited to meet you," John said, giving her a warm smile.

"And this is Sherlock Holmes." Without thinking, I took his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. He didn't pull away, which I took as a good sign, although he did seem a bit preoccupied with his thoughts.

"Wait...the Sherlock Holmes? The famous consulting detective? He's your friend?"

"Yes Mother. He's my friend. He and John have been most kind to me for the past couple of months, even taking me in from the streets." I felt the urge to be spiteful and before I could stop myself I said, "You know, since some people didn't care what happened to me."

I immediately regretted my words when I saw my mother's green eyes fill with tears. "I know I did wrong by you. And I am so sorry for that. It's why I asked you to come and see me. The children are with their father right now. He wanted to take them out so that you and I could have a bit of bonding time. I didn't realize that you were bringing people. Perhaps they'd like to take a tour of Radlett while we chat."

My hand tightened on Sherlock's and he glanced down at me but said nothing. "They're coming with me. I'm not trying to be rude, but these are my friends and I don't trust you."

"I understand that. I was only hoping that we could speak of these matters privately," my mother said, beginning to walk down the sidewalk. We all followed, my hand never leaving Sherlock's, John going to flank my other side. "I hurt you in more ways than one and I understand why you don't trust me. But...can't we put that in the past? At least until I explain my side of things?"

"Fine. But that means that you'll have to hear my opinion on everything as well."

"Whatever you wish. You look beautiful by the way. So much like your father. Except for the eyes. Don't know where those dark beauties in your head came from, but they suit you." She glanced back, giving me a small smile. "We're almost to the house. I put the kettle on right before I left to come get you, so no doubt it's whistling away unless Alicia grabbed it."

The rest of the walk was silent and we arrived in front of a sprawling estate with a long driveway,and a gigantic cottage style brick house that had ivy creeping up the front. I stood in awe of the home. "How in the hell did you afford something like this?"

"Donald is a lawyer," my mother said matter-of-factly. "He has gotten me all the help I need, as well as providing for me and the children. He has been a Godsend and I love him very dearly. I wish you could have come to the wedding. It was a beautiful sight."

We walked up the gravel driveway and I couldn't help but feel envious of my mother's new lavish lifestyle. There were two cars parked out front and I had no doubt that Donald had taken a third to take the children out for the day. We walked into the house and I shrugged out of my jacket, surprised by the appearance of a maid, whose hands were out to take my coat. I slowly handed it over to her, pulling my shirt out of the waistband of my pants to cover the butt of my gun.

"Shoes off at the door please," my mother called, bustling ahead of us down the hall. "I don't want Alicia having to do more work than she needs to. She'll take your coats from you and then she'll bring you to the kitchen."

"Did you know that your mother's husband was rich?" John asked and I shook my head.

"I had no idea. She said that they were doing well, but I didn't know it was this well." I looked around, taking in the scenery.

"They're not doing as well as you'd think," Sherlock murmured in my ear and I looked up at him in surprise. "One of those cars out front was a rental. And the maid only seems to come once or twice a week, given how dusty some of the furniture is. Plus, why would your mother be serving us tea if she has people to do it for her? Also, your mother's hair is about five weeks overdue for a touch up, as her roots are showing. But there doesn't seem to be any reason preventing her from going to the salon. A natural brunette judging from the root color. Am I wrong?"

I couldn't help but giggle. "No, you're absolutely right. It's part of why I didn't recognize her at the train station. I wasn't expecting her to be so...blonde. Are you two ready?"

I looked at John and Sherlock, who both nodded. I became all too aware of how tight Sherlock's button down shirt fit him and I blushed, looking away. John began to walk ahead, following Alicia, leaving Sherlock and I to trail behind.

"You're embarrassed."

"How could you tell?" I couldn't contain the sarcasm.

Sherlock smiled. "I hope it's not because of my shirt."

My eyes widened. "What are you, some kind of mind reader?"

"When it comes to you? Only sometimes. I can't help but think of your sister's words on the train. Are you really a virgin?"

My cheeks were beginning to burn now. "Could we please not talk about this right now? I'm trying to prepare myself for a heart to heart discussion with my mother."

"Would you rather discuss this back at the flat then in my bedroom?" Sherlock chuckled even as I felt as though my entire face was going to burst into flames. "We'll talk about it later."

We entered the kitchen and I thanked God silently that John had my mother distracted, regaling her with stories of the cases that he and Sherlock had been on. My mother seemed enthralled by his storytelling. I took one of the mugs from the countertop, taking a sip, trying to calm my nerves. Sherlock leaned up against the doorway, watching me.

Why? Why did I have to be so aware of him all the time? Why did I have to know when those blue-green eyes were on me, watching my every move? Why did I have to sense the heat between us, the jolt I got whenever he touched me or held my hand? I shook my head, sitting on one of the barstools, listening to John, trying my best to ignore Sherlock.

"So, what all were we going to talk about? May as well get this family reunion out of the way as I need to get back to London as soon as possible," Sherlock drawled. "I mean, John's stories can't be all that interesting, can they?"

John shot Sherlock a dirty look. "Just because you're bored doesn't mean you have to force us to stop talking and enjoying ourselves."

"No, he's right. My daughter and I need to talk. Although I am definitely enjoying your stories John. It must be so exciting living with Sherlock Holmes."

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Sherlock rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. I took another sip of tea to prevent myself from giggling. "Mother, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I wanted to apologize for the way that I've treated you in the past. My therapist thinks that it would help with completing my therapy for my alcoholism. When you text me your phone number and asked me to call you, I was overjoyed."

"Wait...when did I text you that? I didn't even remember your phone number. Unless…" I whipped around to look at John and Sherlock. "Which one of you two text her?"

John threw his hands into the air, seemingly surprised by my anger. "It wasn't me."

I turned to glare at Sherlock. "So when did you do it?"

"When our surprise guest came for a visit. Your phone was on the table and I'd found your mother's phone and address that morning. I sent her a text message before you turned around," Sherlock replied calmly. "I figured that since your mother's life was in danger, you should talk to her."

"Wait, what do you mean?" My mother looked at the three of us confused and frightened. "My life-"

"Is in danger, yes. We need for you to go into hiding. I found that your husband has a house in Marseille, is that correct?"

"Yes, b-but I don't-"

"You don't need to understand," Sherlock interrupted again, stepping away from the wall. "You, your husband, and the two children need to head for Marseille and don't come back until I or Delilah contacts you. Your other daughter, Olivia, isn't dead. Instead she is the head of a terrorist organization and is planning on using you to gain information."

My mother's face went deathly pale. "O-Olivia...she's...she's alive?"

I was already moving to catch her even as she fainted. "Sherlock, how could you?!"

"She needs to know the truth as to why we're here."

"You mean as to why you're here. You were planning this all along!" I shouted, brushing the hair out of my mother's face even as John checked her pulse. "Are you trying to give her a heart attack?"

"I was doing this so that your sister couldn't use your mother as bait. If we can get rid of most of the outside factors, the final face-off between you and your sister will be that much easier." Sherlock refused to move from his spot, watching us as we tried to rouse my mother. "She'll be fine. When she wakes, she'll need to call her husband and get him to come home so that they can leave."

"Delilah, calm down. Your mother is going to be fine," John said, trying to soothe me. "We'll get her up and then we'll talk."

"So you're siding with him on this one? Did you know this was going to happen?"

"No, but it does make sense. Don't you want to keep your mother safe?"

"Of course John. But I'd rather she not faint because we tell her her other daughter is alive." I watched as my mother's eyelids fluttered. "Mother? Mother, can you hear me?"

"What happened? Del? What's going on?"

"You fainted," I answered, helping her to sit up. "Here, drink some tea."

I handed her her mug, watching as she took a sip before coughing. She set the mug down before looking at me. I could see the pain in her eyes. "Is what he says true?"

I only nodded, feeling the lump forming in my throat. I didn't want to admit that she was alive, but my mother needed to know the truth if we were going to get her to cooperate. I watched as the tears appeared in her eyes, slipping down her face.

"My baby girl. My poor baby girl working with terrorists. This has to be against her will. My Livvy would never do something so atrocious."

I gritted my teeth, biting back a retort. Instead, I asked, "Haven't you watched the news?"

My mother shook her head. "No, not recently. I haven't had time between yoga classes, acupuncture, and taking care of the children. Why?"

Sherlock turned the small television on the counter on, flipping through the channels until he landed on a news station. We watched and I knew that they would be showing my sister's face, as they had every hour on the hour for the past month. Sure enough, five minutes later, Olivia's face from our last family photo together appeared on the screen.

"And this morning, London police are still asking for help in finding Olivia McKinley, a 29 year old female suspected of domestic terrorism. She was last seen at Tower Bridge on the night of January the first. She is wanted for questioning in regards to the attack on the Bridge. Workers are still trying to repair the damage from the explosions and authorities are still trolling the Thames for bodies." A number flashed on the bottom of the screen and I glanced at my mother, seeing the horror on her face. "If you have any tips that may lead to her being apprehended, you are encouraged to call the number on the bottom of the screen. You will remain anonymous. If you see this woman, do not try to detain her as she is most likely armed and considered extremely dangerous."

Sherlock turned the television off and I looked at my mother, taking her hand. "We weren't lying when we said that she had become the head of a terrorist organization. I know that she's your baby and that you always preferred her over me, but I am asking you to please go to Marseille and stay there. I…" my voice cracked and I had to clear my throat before continuing. "I may not have spoken to you since our argument, but I want both you and your new family to be safe. Please call your husband and tell him to come home. We'll explain everything when he gets here."

My mother slowly nodded her head. "Alright. I'll call him. Now help me up off of this floor."

Five hours later and we were standing outside in the freezing rain as my mother began to pack the trunk. I helped her as best I could. Her husband had taken the news surprisingly well and had even offered to drive us to London, as the train had been shut down for the day. John and I had graciously accepted, not giving Sherlock enough time to object to riding in a van with four other people.

They had managed to get the soonest flight out to Marseille with a layover in Paris. I still felt nervous for them, as I didn't know if Olivia had someone watching the house. But I had to hope that she could care very little about our mother's whereabouts and would assume that she would stay put.

I refused to look at Sherlock. I was angry with him for having done something so underhanded as taking my phone and contacting my mother without my knowledge of it. I saw out of the corner of my eye, one of the children run up to him, tugging at the sleeve of his coat. I turned, going to issue a warning to him about behaving when he knelt down in front of the little girl.

"What's this?" He asked, taking the white flowers that the girl had picked for him.

"A present for you. They're called snowdrops. Mummy says that I should thank you." The little girl looked down at her shoes shyly.

"Well, thank you. But what are you thanking me for?" I could hear the confusion in his voice and I looked to my mother who was smiling gently.

"Because you saved my life. Mummy says you're a good man. Thank you." To all of our surprise, she threw her arms around his neck, giving him a hug before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You deserve all the flowers for being a good man."

She ran off back into the house and my mother leaned over to me to whisper in my ear, "He is a good man you know. You should keep him."

"Mother, you don't understand, he's-"

"A bit brusque and rough around the edges? So I've noticed. But so was your father and he was a great man too." My mother frowned and I could see the tears in her eyes. "I never wanted to divorce him you know. I was so sick. I...I'm sorry I hurt you that day. And I'm sorry that I hurt you when you received their ashes. They were your family more than they were mine. I love you Del. And I know that an apology doesn't fix things, but maybe it can be a start."

I gave my mother a small smile before ducking my head down so that she couldn't see the tears forming in my eyes. "I, erm, I'd like that. Very much in fact. Maybe coffee or something? Catch up?"

"That'd be lovely." She closed the trunk, turning and putting her hands on her hips. "Madeleine! Maximus! Come on you two, we've got a long trip ahead of us!"

The two children came running out of the house and I couldn't help but smile at their energy. Behind them came their father and I could see why my mother had married him. He seemed to be a kind and gentle soul, soft-spoken and a good listener. That was at least what I had gathered. I was certain that Sherlock had gathered more from him.

We all got into the van, Sherlock, John, and I sitting in the back seat, Madeleine and Maximus sitting in the middle, and my mother and her husband Donald up front. Donald was driving and we were going down the road at a reasonable pace. I felt very tired and I realized that it had been a long day for all of us. Maximus and Madeleine were preoccupied with a movie on the miniature televis and John was texting away on his phone. I looked at Sherlock, once again finding myself in-between the two men.

"We need to have a serious discussion when we get back to the flat," I murmured in his ear.

"Fine by me. Would you care to discuss it in the living room or in the bedroom?" He purred back and I felt my face flush even as I pulled away from him.

"Living room is fine." I did my best to keep my voice hushed, but I saw John glance in our direction. "I'm still cross with you."

"I noticed," was all he said before he leaned back in the seat, eyes closed. "If you'll excuse me, I need to meditate on a few things."

I sighed, sitting there in the silence of the van. I could see my mother looking up in the rear view mirror every once in a while, worry in her eyes. I decided to rest my eyes. I promised myself I'd only close them for a bit.

When I woke up it was to the sound of city traffic moving around us. I found myself curled up against Sherlock, his arm draped across my waist, my head resting against his shoulder. He glanced down at me, a small smile on his face.

"Good. You're awake. I didn't want to have to try and rouse you, seeing as I wasn't able to get your gun."

Maximus turned around in the seat, staring at me with wide eyes before he excitedly asked, "You have a gun? Can I see it?"

I sighed. "Have you ever held a gun before?"

He shook his head and my mother turned in her seat, a warning look in her eye. "Now now, do you think that letting an eleven year old hold a loaded gun in a vehicle full of people is a good idea?"

I rolled my eyes, popping the magazine out before pulling the slide back, ejecting the bullet from the chamber. "I wasn't going to give him a loaded weapon mother. Do you truly think I'm that foolish?"

My mother's face turned red and she pursed her lips, but said nothing, turning back to the front. I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaning forward between the two seats. Madeleine seemed interested as well, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look.

"Now. Before I hand this to you, there are three rules that you have to know about handling a gun. I'm going to tell them to you and then you're going to recite them back to me. If you do that, I'll let you hold the gun. Do you understand?" Maximus nodded, eyes solemn. "Good. The first rule is always make sure that the gun is unloaded. The way you do this, with my gun anyway, is you push this button on the side. That releases the magazine," I held it up to show him, "and it will drop out. Then you pull the slide back and look in the top here to see if there are any bullets in there. If there are, you can dump it out like I did."

"The second rule of gun safety is this. Never ever put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to fire. Your finger always goes alongside the gun like this." I demonstrated, showing him where my finger was. "Where my finger is means that I can move it quickly to the trigger if I need to, but I'm not going to hurt someone if I get spooked while I have my gun drawn. The third rule, although it's not the final one, is that you never ever point the gun at someone if you don't plan on shooting them. You always keep the barrel pointed down at the ground. You don't wave it around, you don't jokingly point it at someone. It always stays to the ground until you're ready to fire and not a moment sooner."

"So, what are the rules Maximus?"

"Always make sure the gun is unloaded, never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire, and never point the gun at someone if you don't plan on shooting them." He said this quickly and I couldn't help but smile.

"Very good. Now I'll let you see my gun. Show me how you check to make sure it's unloaded."

He pushed the button on the side, finger resting against the side of the gun nowhere near the trigger. Maximus struggled to pull the slide back and I covered his hand with mine, helping him. He glanced into the chamber before we let it slide closed. He pointed it at the floor of the van, closing one eye as if he was aiming. I placed one hand on his right arm, the other on his left.

"Here. This is how you hold a gun. What's your dominant hand?"

"Right, miss."

"Then curl these three fingers around the grip, place your finger along the side of the gun, and place your thumb here." I fixed his hands for him before taking his left hand and cupping it under the right. "Relax your shoulders a bit. You should always be at ease holding the gun. It's not going to hurt anyone unless you want it to. Think of it as a part of your arm, an extension of it."

"O-okay," he stammered out and I could tell he was nervous. The lights of London whizzed by outside and I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I taught him how to hold the gun. "Now what?"

"Put your finger on the trigger but don't pull it."

He shakily placed a finger on the trigger. "There's no bullets in it right? I don't want to hurt someone."

"You won't. We checked the chamber, remember?" I reassured him, ignoring the angry scowl my mother was giving me. "Relax, Maximus. Focus on your breathing. Now, I want you to slowly pull the trigger until you hear it click."

"Are you sure that thing isn't loaded?" My mother snapped. "There are other people in the car."

"Unless a bullet grew legs and climbed its way into the chamber, no, there is no bullet in the gun." I kept my voice calm, fixing my brown-eyed gaze onto her. "Now, let me teach him."

I could see his finger shaking against the trigger and I gripped his shoulders gently. "Easily pull the trigger. I promise you it won't go off. That's it. A little more." There was a click and I felt the tension in the car immediately dissipate. "See? That wasn't so bad. You're a real natural. Maybe once you're back from holiday I can take you to a shooting range and we can see how you do with bullets in there."

"Really?" He sounded so excited and I smiled.

"Really. So long as your father and step-mother don't mind."

"I don't at all," Donald said and I could see by his reflection in the windshield that he was smiling. "You seem to know what you're doing with a weapon."

My mother's face told an entirely different story. "We'll see. I'm not sure that an eleven year old should know how to handle a weapon."

"The younger the better," I replied, staring at her in the rear view mirror. "The world is changing and people of all ages should know how to defend themselves."

I watched as we pulled up to the curb outside of the flat. Maximus and his sister clambered out of the van and I followed after them, watching as Donald got out of the van as well. John and Sherlock headed inside, leaving me to stand out on the curb with my step-family.

"Children, get back in the van. We'll be going to the airport very shortly."

"But I want to stay with Delilah!" Maximus protested. "She's brilliant!"

"Yes papa, please can we stay with Delilah and Sherlock while you and mummy go on holiday?" Madeleine pleaded.

"Maybe next time," I said to them, crouching down in front of them. "We'll go and take a tour of London. We can even stop at Scotland Yard and visit the officers there. But for now, you two have a plane to catch to France. So off into the car with you."

They both let out a groan, but got back into the van. I closed the door, turning to look at Donald. "So."

"So," he replied. "I should thank you for warning us. You didn't have to do it and yet you did anyway. Why?"

"I can't stand to see innocent people get hurt. Especially if I can prevent it. Promise me…promise me you'll take care of my mother? She's the last bit of family that I have and I…I can't lose her too. Despite everything that has happened between us, she's my Mum. Can you do that for me?"

"I'll do the best that I can." The man surprised me with a hug and I accepted it. "You're a good woman Delilah. Your father would be proud of you I'm sure."

With that, he got into the van, merging back in with the many cars going up and down Baker Street. I sighed, going up the steps, taking the stairs two at a time up to 221b. I nearly knocked into John as I entered the flat.

"Where are you going?" I asked curiously.

"Down to the pub with Mary. We're going to get some drinks with friends of ours. Do you want to come?"

I shook my head. "Sherlock and I have some things that we need to talk about. I may come down later if it isn't too late. Will you wake me tomorrow to come with you to the clinic?"

"Of course. I nearly forgot. Thank you for the reminder. I'll see you two soon." John was nearly all the way down the stairs when he stopped to look up at me. "Try not to be too upset with him."

He left the building and I entered the flat, hearing the music of a violin floating down the hallway. I did my best to keep quiet as I padded down the hallway. I poked my head into Sherlock's room, seeing him standing by the window as he played. The song was slow, sorrowful, and I could feel the loneliness radiating off of Sherlock as he played. Was this how he felt all the time? Lonely because he was so intelligent? Did he feel like an outcast?

I spotted the snowdrop flower in a small glass cup on his bookcase shelf and I felt a rush of joy at seeing the small flower. It was the confirmation that I needed that perhaps he wasn't as cold and calculating as I thought. I knocked on the door, watching as he turned, lowering the bow and violin.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to listen to your song," I answered, going to sit on the side of his bed. "Did you compose that?"

"There was something you wished to talk about."

"Answer my question first and then we'll talk."

"Why?" I could hear him getting defensive and I knew that I would have to tread lightly.

"Because the music speaks to me and I want to know if that came from you or some other musician." I stared at him, studying his face, trying to gauge his emotions and whether or not that wall was going to come up. "It's a beautiful song either way."

Sherlock set the violin and bow down, going to sit next to me on the bed. "I composed it when I was fifteen. It came to me one day as I was playing and when I realized that it wasn't going to get out of my head after I finished playing, I wrote it down."

"It's beautiful. You have quite the ear for music. Do you think you'd ever quit being a consulting detective to become a musician?"

"No. Never."

"Why not?" I questioned, laying back on the bed, looking over at him. "You have talent and you clearly enjoy it. Why not give up this chasing criminals business and bring joy to people?"

"Because if I don't do this, who will? Do you think that Moriarty would have been stopped if I hadn't been there? Do you think that half of the cases that I've solved would have been if I hadn't been working on them? You'd still have cabbies killing innocent people, Moriarty still growing in power, and many more crimes. So no, I won't ever stop solving crimes. I'm good at it." Sherlock sighed. "I suppose you wouldn't know what it's like to be good at something, would you?"

I brushed off the rude comment. "I am good at quite a few things. You haven't seen some of them yet."

"Some of them? Try all of them."

"Not true. I'm good at surprising you. My reflexes are much faster than yours. I could probably put you on your back in a fight before you even knew what hit you. I'm a good shot, not as great as Watson, but decent enough to where I won't miss when it counts. And I'm good at judging people's character."

Sherlock snorted. "Please. You could hardly judge your sister's character."

"But I judged yours quite well, didn't I?" I fired back, watching as, for the first time since I'd met him, he grew quiet. "I was right about you. I could tell by how you interacted with Madeleine. They always say that animals and children know when someone is a good person."

"Stop calling me that!" Sherlock shouted, getting up from the bed. "I am not a good person. I have never been a devil, but I'm not on the side of the angels either!"

"You're not an angel, Sherlock, far from it." I was sitting up on the bed now, getting to my feet. "You're you. You're black and white, light and dark battling each other constantly. You are easily seen so long as someone wishes to take the time to actually look and see. You are cold, calculating, selfish, extraordinarily irritating, and a know-it-all." I watched the wall come up almost immediately, his back straightening, fire in his eyes that someone would dare be so rude to him. "But, on the other hand, you are passionate, kind, straightforward, loyal, intelligent, and creative. Most of all, you are misunderstood. And I think that's why you composed that song. You hoped that one day, someone would come along and they would at least try to understand you and your madness. That someone would be willing to dive headfirst into a case with you, no matter the cost and also be willing to dive headfirst into your mind to try and grasp who Sherlock Holmes truly is."

I finished speaking, the air heavy between the two of us. It felt as though time had stood still as we stared at one another. I could tell that he was trying to come up with some sort of retort, trying to find some sort of flaw in my argument. But how could he combat feelings with logic? It never worked.

"I'll be going now. We'll talk some other time. Right now I think-"

Before I knew it, Sherlock was grabbing my face with both his hands, his lips descending onto mine. Instinctively my arms snaked under his, wrapping around his neck. He backed me up to the bed and I sat down, falling backwards onto the mattress with Sherlock following close behind. One of his hands entangled itself into my hair even as the other brushed against my cheek. He traced my jawline with his slender fingers before stroking my neck, causing me to gasp at his touch. The consulting detective smiled against my lips even as his hand travelled lower, caressing my collarbone before going to lightly cup my breast.

I played with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying the feel of those dark colored curls between my fingers. I hadn't thought that his hair would be so soft, but it was like silk. I broke away from his lips, leaning up to press a kiss from his jaw to his earlobe. I felt him shudder on top of me even as I took his earlobe between my teeth, gently sucking on it. He groaned, burying his face into my neck, and I ran the hand that had been playing with his hair down his back, letting my nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Delilah, you are playing a dangerous game with my self-control."

"Does that bother you? The idea of losing control?" I purred, giving him a slow smile. "Sherlock, given the position that we're in, there's no denying that we both want each other."

"Yes, but this isn't how I imagined it. I don't want you losing your virginity to me in this atmosphere." Sherlock was pulling away from me, going to lay next to me on the bed. "I want…well, I suppose I want it to be special. Do you think that you could wait until Friday?"

"You mean Valentine's Day?" I felt the blush creeping up into my cheeks once more. "The most romantic day of the year and you want to do what exactly?"

"I want to give you the time I think you deserve," he replied, propping himself up on one elbow. "If you don't mind that is. If you do then I'm completely alright with abstaining from sex. I've done it for years now."

"I…I would like that I think. Valentine's Day. I'm holding you to that Mr. Holmes." I got up from the bed, going to exit the room when he grabbed my hand. "What is it Sherlock?"

"Would you mind sharing my bed with me tonight? No intimacy, no messing about. I…would like your company is all." He seemed embarrassed to be saying it and I rested my hand against his cheek, my thumb brushing against his cheekbone.

"Of course. I'll get changed and then we can fall asleep. Together."

That sounded foreign to me. I'd never shared my bed with a man before. But today and tonight was the night of firsts. What was one more?

A half hour later, I found myself drifting off to sleep in the arms of Sherlock Holmes, my face buried against his chest, our legs intertwined. He stroked my hair, humming softly in my ear even as I began to dream of him and his kiss and his promise of Valentine's Day.