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CHAPTER 3 - Attraction & Tennis

Dimension wasn't the right word, was it? More of a 'world' or 'universe', maybe. She wondered if T.J. was still out there, only... with someone else. She felt her chest begun to get tight with sadness. It's been two years since his death, and she had moved on for the most part, but thinking of them never having their relationship was really sad to her.

"You're thinking about your dead husband," Sherlock commented softly. He took the seat again. "Wondering if he is here, in this… universe, out there with someone else, never having known you."

"You believe me?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. He waved his hand in disagreement.

"Of course not," he answered gruffly, a little too defensive for her to think he was completely honest. "I just know the look on your face. I saw it when John, Mrs. Hudson even, was standing over my grave over three years ago."

"Right. So I guess I'll be staying with you?" she asked hopefully. He blinked at her and gave her a confused look. "I can't just be let out into the world – if people knew I talked about universes and being sucked into television shows they'd haul my ass to the next mental institution. Lestrade isn't going to let me go without putting me into police custody of sorts. Why not with you, and you can figure me out? Maybe I am having a weird amnesia thing. It's possible, I suppose. You can help me remember, if the whole world I had wasn't real."

Which would be very sad. She had done some awesome stuff in her 27 years. She'd also done some rather dangerous stuff, but that's what you do when you're 19 and on your own, right? Meeting T.J. was the best thing that happened to her – his death had taken a toll on her. After a year of grieving and seeing a therapist, she found a letter he had sent her the day before he died. Like he knew he was going to be killed in action. She read the note with her therapist, and it had opened her mind and heart. He had left her with beautiful words, saying that she couldn't waste all the intelligence and beauty being cooped up in their apartment. After that, she had finally started to make her way to buying the house she had now and taking over the book store from old Mr. Dalton.

"How long do you plan to be in this 'universe', as you call it?" Sherlock asked. Tabitha knew he didn't believe, but he was also curious about the truth about her. It was easy to read a character who you have watched a hundred times.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Maybe a good whack on my head will send me back." He raised an eyebrow at that.

"No, don't even think about it," John said as he came into the room. They turned to him. "No whacking. You already have quite a concussion."

"Maybe in a few weeks, then you can try," Tabitha said, winking at Sherlock.

"Visiting hours are over, Sherlock, you need to go." John kept his eye on the chart in his hands as Sherlock stood up and walked out. He quickly ducked his head back into the room.

"I'll arrange it so you can stay with us." He left, and John looked up and around the room.

"What does he mean, stay with us?"

"I have nowhere else to go. I need clothes," Tabitha sighed. John mumbled under his breath as he checked up on her vital signs and such. It didn't take long for Tabitha to relax and sleep a little.

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The Doctor searched her home, finding out a few things about where he was. The lights turned back on – the storm must have knocked them out. Kearney, Nebraska, in America – that was odd, he rarely ever had been called to America! She lived alone, he noticed. He saw the small shrine to her late husband – a soldier who was killed in action. He suddenly felt a bit of sadness for the woman who disappeared. He could certainly relate to losing the one person who meant more to you than anything else.

He made his way through the small house, seeing that she had enough food to cook for herself, but it was easy to cook things. It was clean, with a few things thrown here or there. There was a lot of chocolate – she must have a sweet tooth! M&Ms were on the table, so he helped himself to a handful. He threw himself on the couch, and slouched, although he never seemed to relax. His foot was taping, his unknowingly tugged at his hair, and is hands trembled with the need to be doing something.

He saw the Wii console tucked into a small shelf next to the television, and grinned. He'd play a little bit of tennis!

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She knew about him. She knew about everything, even things that no one else was supposed to know. How could that be? Sherlock was frustrated. Of course her story about being in a 'television programme' was not real. It was impossible. What was possible, though, was that someone had put a life in her mind that wasn't real. He wasn't sure who it was – Moriarty and all his henchmen were gone or locked up. The idea of a new opponent was rather nice, though. So many dull cases, too much time to be bored.

When she spoke, all the signs pointed to her telling the truth, or rather, what she perceived as the truth. Her universe, as she called it, was the same, only he, and his life, were fiction. A story, than a television show. Why would his life be a television show? Too much attention, no need to do that. If he got one more useless gift for being brilliant, he was going grab the gun and shot the next wall he came to.

Tabitha Hunter was very interesting, at least. She was a mystery, and having her around would take his mind off the dull cases he was receiving. Her smiling face when she had complimented his deduction had caught his attention. Her mention of more appreciation had almost had him smiling. Even John hadn't said anything to that extent. Tabitha was attractive, in a curvy fairy-like way. Sherlock glared at the wall at the thought of John flirting with her. He'd have to watch that – it would only complicate things.

Mycroft would surely be coming around as soon as he could to chat with the woman. From what he knew of her, she'd even take the money to spy on him. It made him chuckle a bit to think that she'd be the only person who had taken the money to spy on him. Tabitha was obviously attracted to him in a sexual manner from the way she stared at him when he entered, but she didn't use that to her advantage. He didn't need that distraction. Sherlock only acted on those impulses when it became too much of a distraction to ignore. It wasn't often at all. He did find her attractive, though.

That thought made him jump up.

"Mrs. Hudson!" It took her a moment to hear him, and she came down the stairs leisurely.

"Sherlock, do stop yelling, it hurts my head," she mumbled, coming to the door. She looked up at him expectantly as he moved to his small desk and begun to look through some papers.

"We will be having a house guest. I am not sure how long," he stated.

"Oh?" Mrs. Hudson asked silently who it was as she came into the room, mumbling about how messy it was after she just cleaned it yesterday. Sherlock let a small smile slide over his mouth as she muttered about not being their housekeeper and if they were having a guest it needed to be tidy.

"She is under our custody at moment."

"She?" Mrs. Hudson asked, suddenly turning toward her tenant. "Does she have something to do with the police?" she asked wearily.

"Yes. She has amnesia. We are trying to figure out where she comes from, and why she's here," he answered, taking a moment to look up at the motherly figure in his flat. He sent her a smile and went back to work.

"Oh. Poor girl. I'll make you some tea, and then I'll tidy up the place for our new house guest."

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When she woke up early the next morning, she wasn't too surprised to see the one called Mycroft Holmes sitting in one of the chairs. Of course he'd come see her – something had tipped him off that Sherlock had arranged to look after her until they got to the bottom of her identity and weird illusion that was real but they didn't believe it. She stretched, and made sure her gown wasn't showing off too much skin.

"Morning, Mycroft," she sighed, stretching her legs a bit more in the bed. He seemed surprised that she knew who he was. She glanced at him, and then back to the ceiling. "Have you heard the real story, or what the police gave you?"

"You think you're in a television show, with my brother as the star," he stated confidently.

"You're good. Are you gay?" She had to ask. He ignored her.

"You know a lot about Sherlock. Along with John, Greg, and even Miss Adler. Who are you?" He seemed quite relaxed, and Tabitha pushed the button to make her set up in the bed. She looked at him.

"Everything I said about the television show is true. If it's not, I don't know any other way. Honestly. Maybe it's a good enough whack that the memories of my life is just a dream. Maybe this is my real life. I don't remember any of it though. It's a television show me."

"You are not lying, are you?"

"I have no reason to lie. I'm an honest person. I've done nothing wrong. I'll even take the money you'll give me to watch over Sherlock, feed you information," she said with a smile. He blinked at that. "As long as I can have my own bank card and cell phone. I need clothes. The police took mine." She looked down and grabbed at her gown. Mycroft hummed, and then stood up.

"I assume you have no identification."

"Nope," she answered, looking up at the man. Tabitha wanted to explore the city – she'd always wanted to go to London. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity while she could. Mycroft would give her identification easily, if she proved her worth. She wouldn't give him information that could hurt Sherlock – she respected him too much.

"You'll have what you need in five hours," he murmured. He seemed to slink out the door unnoticed. Tabitha raised an eyebrow. He was definitely not as scary as the show made him out to be. He really did care for Sherlock, cause of what was suspected of his past. It was never said on the show outright. Maybe she'd ask about it, hm?

Tabitha went to the bathroom, walked around her room for a little bit, got the package with her new phone and a bank card with $5,000 in the account, then finally the nurse came by, along with Lestrade and Sherlock. She grinned at Tabitha as she checked her head injuries and vitals one last time. Tabitha was giddy. She wanted to get out of here, to walk. She felt like she'd been lazy way too long. The library! She had to see the library. It had to be pretty epic.

"You are officially free to go," the nurse said with a smile. She winked at Tabitha, and then left. Lestrade handed her a bag as Sherlock sent her that small smirk of his. Must mean he tolerated her. Good enough.

"These should fit you for the time being. We'll wait outside for you to change." They left the room. She slipped out the clothing – a green tank top, black skinny jeans, and low-heeled black boots that went up to her knees. They had even brought a bra and underwear! Tabitha snorted at the thought of Lestrade having to pick them out. She still had a pony-tail in her strawberry blonde hair, so she redid that so she didn't look so disheveled. She blinked at herself in the mirror.

"Sherlock. John. Greg. Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson. I should ask her first name, hm?" she told herself. Tabitha coughed when she realized she was talking to her reflection. If she was crazy, this was the start, wasn't it? She had to be careful not to do that again. She turned and walked out the door with her little wallet that Mycroft had gotten her. Sherlock glanced at it, but didn't say a word. John was just coming out of a room when they past.

"She is in your custody for the time being. If we find anything negative, she immediately comes into my custody," Lestrade stated as they walked down the hallway. Tabitha had to walk a little faster to keep up with even John.

"Hey, I'm 5'2, my legs aren't that long, guys. Slow down a bit!" she mumbled, John looked back at her and gave her an apologetic look. They all slowed down, although Sherlock seemed to be a bit annoyed that he did.

"Of course," Sherlock answered, staring straight ahead. Suddenly, he turned around and looked at the three while walking backwards "Oh, first we need to go see Molly. She said my results were ready to look at." He turned back to walk forward. Tabitha didn't want to see Molly, but not because she didn't like her, but because she wanted to see the city. Not a morgue with dead bodies. She didn't want to see dead bodies.

Leave that to the professionals she'd be living with.

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