A big thank you to everyone who reviewed - your comments are very much appreciated! I am writing this for pure enjoyment but I know I've improved thanks to you!

I apologize for this chapter taking so long - I left a job I loved for a new job, and consequently got fired from the new job! :)

Please remember that this is my personal take on an ACD story - I own absolutely nothing except the words they spout in this AU. And if Sherlock seems OOC it's because I need a little more love in my life right now and Sherlock is the perfect man to give it, even if it is via a story...

Chapter Six: The Surprising Agreement

"John, have you heard anything I've said?" demanded Sherlock.

"Sher - what?" stuttered John, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up to see the shadow of his friend perched on the side of the bed, his spine straight as he stared down at him.

"I have been speaking to you for the last ten minutes and I don't believe you've heard one word I've said," he replied indignantly and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"What the hell? It's 4:30 in the damn morning, Sherlock!" he nearly shouted as he glanced at his watch and immediately covered his eyes to shield them from the light.

"I know what time it is, John. I hardly need you to assist me in reading a clock. What I need is access to your vast expertise on this particular subject and, as much as it pains me to say this, I need you to tell me what I should do," he explained. For a brief moment, John was touched that his friend would come to him for advice. Then he remembered this was Sherlock: the world's only living heart donor.

"What you should…? Sherlock - what you should do is get off my bed before I break your nose," he threatened and flipped over on his side, pulling the covers up over his head. Sherlock waited a moment before continuing. John was clearly going to make this difficult; it was time to change tactics.

"Please," he said softly, hoping his voice portrayed the utter desperation he wanted; John had a weakness for those in need. "I need your help."

"Ohh - Kay. Now I get it," he said as pushed the blanket off his face. "I'm dreaming. This is a dream! The great Sherlock Holmes needs my help! Now if you'll excuse me, Henry the 8th is coming by to take my unicorn for a walk on the moon." John was nearly shouting now.

"John, you know this is… not my area," Sherlock pleaded. How he hated begging - so undignified, he thought.

"WHAT is not your area?"

Sherlock realized he was going to need to pull out the big guns. "Relationships. Sentiment. WOMEN!" he emphasized.

"Women? What women?"

"John!"

"Sherlock!"

"It's…Violet. She's - I'm -" he stopped to let John's imagination take over for a moment; the hook was dangling close, he just needed to wiggle the bait.

"Sorry - what about Violet?"

"I just left her bedroom," Sherlock offered as the final enticement.

"You. In a woman's bedroom." John was amazed and now fully awake; this was not the response he expected from his strange friend.

"John, again, I'm flattered but…"

"No, Sherlock. Just. No." asserted John. "But, hang on - are you telling me you slept with Violet?" Just the thought of Sherlock being alone with a woman shocked him but the idea it was Violet forced him upright.

"I… yes. No." Sherlock crossed the room to the large curtain-less window. He could see John in the reflection and it was clear he was hooked. Now all Sherlock had to do it play it cool and he'd get the information he wanted. John and his raging hormones, he chuckled to himself.

"Sherlock, either you slept with her or you didn't. There really isn't a grey area when it comes to sex."

"If you must be juvenile…" he rolled his eyes and turned away from the window, leaning up against the casing. "I slept in her bed. With her. But we did not engage in any… activities."

"You went to her room; slept in her bed; and did not have sex. I may be half asleep but - why…"

"EXACTLY, John. Why? Why did I go to her room at all?" he demanded and started to pace. "It doesn't make any sense. I am here because there's clearly a case to solve in this house; not to snuggle." He drew out the last word as if it was distasteful.

"You seriously need me to answer that?" Sherlock stared at his friend and crossed his arms. "You really haven't a clue?"

"I have three, actually, and I am quite surprised that none of them make me overly uncomfortable. Plus, number two does have research potential as well as some agreeable secondary benefits, but, as I as I said when I began this increasingly disappointing little chat, this is not my area," he explained for what he hope would be the last time. Accessing John's meager Mind Palace was tedious when he was awake; in the middle of the night it was downright exasperating.

"Sherlock, do us all a favor, yeah? Google 'puberty' and wherever it says 13-year-old boy, insert your name."

"I see you are incapable of reasonable conversation at this hour," Sherlock grumbled as he walked to the door.

"Look, Sherlock," John sighed and went to his brilliant friend who could also be mind-bogglingly clueless. "This is really very simple: you are infatuated with Violet." He received an incredibly blank stare for his efforts. "You have a crush on her."

"A crush? I've never had a crush. I refuse to have a crush," Sherlock frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure. I have a crush on her as well so I'm fairly certain I've deduced the situation correctly."

"YOU have a crush on Violet? How did I not know this?"

"Because your head is so far up your... Sherlock, I'm a man in my prime and she's a beautiful woman who actually pays attention to me. If I didn't have a crush on her I'd be very worried. Now go to bed - we can talk over breakfast if the Headmaster isn't around." With that, he opened the door and practically shoved Sherlock into the hall, slamming the door behind him. Sherlock retreated to his bedroom where he surprisingly fell into a dreamless sleep.

Quack! Quack! Quack! The obnoxiously loud alarm on Violet's iPhone interrupted and immediately erased what she was certain was a fantastic dream. She smacked at the phone to stop it making that awful noise and rubbed her eyes, recalling the events of last night. Where to start being embarrassed? Kissing John? Kissing Sherlock? Sherlock sleeping in her bed? She groaned audibly. Ok, she thought as she tossed back the covers, new strategy. First, find out what the hell is going on in this crazy house and most likely tell the police; second, go home before you make any more incredibly poor life choices.

She was making the bed when her phone played John's text alert. She hesitated before entering her passcode. Sherlock wouldn't say anything about last night to John, would he? she wondered. Nah - it was the middle of the night.

DOC: Awake yet?

V: Getting in the shower.

DOC: We need to talk - if you're not dressed in 15 minutes our relationship is going to change dramatically.

"Jeez - did Sherlock tweet from my damn bed?" she said aloud and went into the bathroom to get ready for what she was certain would be another fun-filled day in the roller coaster ride that was her life. After a lightning-fast shower she dried her hair as best she could and threw on some makeup. True to his word, John knocked 15 minutes later.

"Gooooooood morning," she said brightly as she opened the door. Much to her dismay, John did not look happy at all.

"Don't Good Morning me. He had me up at 4:30!" John exclaimed as he walked past her.

"NOTHING happened, John," she groaned and followed him into the room.

"Of course nothing happened - he's Sherlock," he muttered under his breath. He turned to face her and, with much seriousness, looked her straight in the eyes. "Violet - you're a beautiful woman who could clearly do much better than either of us, but if you are interested in having something with Sherlock you need to know he's never had a proper relationship. Not even with that Adler woman, which was just a massive mindfu… Sorry. Anyway. The way he's reacting to you is driving him spare, and because Sherlock behaves like a 5-year-old when he's not in control, he is in serious danger of getting sent to his room without dinner."

"This is seriously the last thing I wanted when I called you guys up here. John, I have no luck in relationships; it's usually best for everyone that I avoid them."

"Please - don't avoid this," he implored. "Sherlock; he talks a good game, yeah? But I know firsthand that he suffers from the same afflictions as us mortals. So... as much as I could easily fall for you - and I absolutely cannot believe I'm saying this! - but, if Sherlock has found something in you he could possibly 'love,' then I don't want to stand in the way."

"This is just so bizarre," she nearly whispered. "I'm never like this, really."

"So you are attracted to him?"

"Oh, hell yes," she replied, a little more energetically than she expected. "Why? I have absolutely no idea. On top of being an emotional infant, he's ridiculous and arrogant and completely unlikeable. Unfortunately, he's also brilliant, incredibly talented, and just the sexiest man I have ever seen in person."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to trust you on that last bit," he replied with a smile. "Look, I care about you both - and I'm so very, very tired. Please, you and he need to have a chat."

"OK, OK. As soon as this nightmare is…"

"No - NOW, Violet. I may be a doctor but I'm rubbish at sleep deprivation. He wakes me up before dawn tomorrow and there will be blood," he said and opened his arms to her. She smiled and accepted the hug, resting her cheek against his face. "See - we would never work. I don't date women taller than me," he joked.

"I trust I am not interrupting," came Sherlock's deep baritone from the doorway and it made her jump. She prayed he hadn't been standing there while she practically admitted to being head-over-heels in lust with him.

"No - not at all. Come in, Sherlock," she offered, clearing her throat and pulling away from John's embrace. Sherlock leaned up against the doorframe; she could literally feel his eyes on her and it made her shiver. She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to ward off the feeling.

"So. What's the plan for today then?" asked John to break the oppressive silence. Violet silently thanked him.

"Well, it's Sunday so the family will be going out at about nine - the weekly appearance at church for the neighbors' benefit. That means we have some time to kill before I can take you out to the garden," she explained.

"So we have a few minutes for coffee, yeah? I'm dead on my feet for some reason," John said with a pointed look in Sherlock's direction.

"There's breakfast in the dining room. Go grab your coats and I'll meet you there," she instructed, purposefully avoiding Sherlock's sharp gaze. When the two men had left she flopped back on the bed and covered her face with her hands. You're so out of your depth, she said to herself with a sigh.

After a quick breakfast, interrupted only by John's half-hearted attempts to engage them in conversation, they donned coats and, after Violet checked for the Toller's, they left the mansion through the kitchen door. With John on her left and Sherlock on her right, Violet was well aware of the tension all around her as they walked through the main garden. Being winter, it was mostly dead but one could tell when in bloom the sheer number of flower bushes would make quite a spectacular display.

She led them around the side of the house to where the North Wing stopped and moved off the gravel path. "There," she parted the greenery and pointed. The foliage was unusually high up against the building and it hid a small piece of wood quite effectively. Sherlock easily moved the panel aside to reveal a small broken window at ground level. He took out his collapsible magnifying glass and catalogued the scene: fragments of glass in the dirt (window broken from the inside); dried blood on the wooden pane (some time ago someone had been quite desperate to get out); haphazardly blocked off (comfortable there was no threat of a repeat); and why is she standing so close to John? Stop this. Just stop, he chided himself. He put away his magnifier and backed up to get a wider view of the area.

"That window there?" exclaimed John, his eyes wide. "You want us to shimmy through that very small window?" he continued, his voice getting higher as his disbelief at her suggestion increased exponentially.

"Well, the door is unlocked and all, but I thought you squeezing through a window would be way more fun to watch," she bantered.

"How did you find this, Violet?" asked Sherlock without looking at her, instead he focused on surveying the outside of the building.

"It's really weird. I'd been arguing with a particularly tricky measure so I went for a walk and I thought I heard piano music," she explained. "Just as I stepped off the path, the music stopped. In fact, I'm not entirely sure it wasn't all in my head.

"Could it have been the kid?" asked John. Violet shook her head.

"No, it was well beyond his ability," she explained.

"The window is large enough to accommodate us," Sherlock declared and John shot him a very nasty look.

"I am not shimmying through that window," he asserted and defiantly crossed his arms.

"Oh, come on, John! Where's your sense of adventure?" Violet asked as she stuffed her gloves in her pockets and unzipped her coat.

"Since when is being impaled by broken glass considered an 'adventure'?" he asked.

"Sissy!" she admonished and kicked in the remaining glass in the pane. "Better now?"

"You are not going, Violet," Sherlock stated unequivocally. She met his eyes and knew instantly he was not going to give in. She sighed and zipped up her coat.

"Fine; I'll keep watch. You and Agent 99 here go check it out."

"Agent 99?" asked Sherlock quizzically.

"Sorry - American cultural reference. How about James Bond? You've heard of him, yes?"

"Seriously - can we get this over, please? I heard the dog barking this morning and it sounded very hungry," implored John but before they could make a move, a loud bark echoed against the bricks.

"Dammit!" she cursed under her breath. Sherlock quickly replaced the board and they made their way back to the gravel path in time to see Mr. Toller and the biggest dog this side of a horse coming straight for them.

"Miss Hunter!"

"Mr. Toller! What are…"

"What is going on here?" the old man demanded while the dog pulled at his leash and snarled threateningly. Sherlock moved slightly in front of Violet, his hand outstretched to stop her from moving any closer to the animal. Not that she wanted to, but the expression was not lost on her. John put his hands in his pocket and gripped the pistol he had hidden there.

"Oh - I was just showing the boys around the garden. We thought we saw a - uh - a fox go this way."

"You've no business being out here. Now get inside, the lot of you!" spat Mr. Toller as he struggled to control the dog. "And be quick about it. Zeus hasn't had breakfast today."

Violet threaded her arms through the men's and they hustled silently back to the house. John started to speak but Sherlock stopped him and indicated they should go up to Violet's room. Once there with the door closed, Violet dropped her coat on the bed and sat down. Sherlock began to pace while John took off his coat sat on the bed next to Violet. She instinctively rested her head on his shoulder and his arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Nothing like meeting the hound from hell face-to-face to make you appreciate life. And cats," he said. "Think he believed you, Violet?"

"Of course he didn't. Violet is a terrible liar," answered Sherlock quietly from across the room. He picked up her perfume and smelled it. Then he picked up her lotion and did the same.

"Should we try again later, you think?" John asked.

"Violet's rather flimsy excuse has precluded that option, I imagine."

"You know, Violet can hear you and she's getting kind of pissed," she said softly, lifting her head.

"Alcohol this early? Tsk. Tsk," Sherlock admonished as he continued to work his way through her toiletries, his back to them.

"Alcohol? What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Erm - pissed can also mean drunk here," John explained sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. Sherlock was just being Sherlock and he wanted to hit him.

"Well, where I come from it means 'This lady's gonna snap!' so back the hell off! And just what are you doing with my stuff?" she jumped off the bed and grabbed her face powder out of his hand. He waved her away dismissively.

"I am missing something. But what? What?" he asked himself and gripped his head. "Get out. Both of you. I need to think and I can't when you're here." His eyes met hers and he was taken aback by the defiance he read on her face.

"This is MY room, Sherlock! If you want to think, YOU get out!"

"All right, kids. Let's not fight," John said, placing himself between them.

"Look, if you have something to say to me, Sherlock, just spit it out," she goaded.

"Rarely do people appreciate what I have to say; I'm sure John will attest to that fact," Sherlock said dismissively.

"Trust me, Violet. It's so much better when Sherlock keeps his big gob shut," John asserted.

"He's had a bug up his ass all day and I've had it," she challenged. "Get it out of your system, Sherlock." He paused and then launched into a typical Sherlock diatribe.

"You were a child prodigy - your parents had always known you were different from your siblings - very different - I'd imagine about 8 or 9 they discovered your ability to play just about any instrument put in front of you but since they hadn't the financial means to develop your talent they sent you to a rather posh boarding school where the other girls tormented you for being on scholarship."

"Sherlock…" cautioned John.

"I can take it, John. I'm a big girl," she assured. John threw up his arms in submission and moved out of range.

"From then on your life was a series of lessons, master classes, and performances, which left little time for friends much less romantic relationships yet you managed to work in a brief dalliance with an instructor in college, who was, unfortunately, married, and although it was never discovered you still feel ashamed about it. You broke it off, not him; in fact, he was quite taken with you and probably still is. You find solace from a rather lonely existence through music and although you do perform you'd much rather play alone because it lets you live in the world created by the composer, which you believe is far more interesting than a reality in which you travel to foreign countries in pursuit of financial freedom."

He leaned in close to her and continued; his words meant only for her. "In music you find the affection and attention you don't believe you deserve in real life. The plain and lonely girl who channeled her pain into practice becomes the subject of love letters; the object of desire. You think yourself to be completely undeserving; so totally unremarkable in any way when, in fact, Violet Hunter, you hold the distinction of being the only woman I…" he stopped suddenly. His eyes opened wide and his mouth went completely dry. He bit his lower lip and shook his head. "Nothing. No. Just - forget I said anything. Please."

Instead of railing against him, as any normal person who'd just been so thoroughly dissected would have done, she reached up to brush back the unruly curls that had fallen over his eyes. He grabbed her arm roughly and she caught her breath, expecting him to shove her aside. Instead, he held her wrist against his lips, drinking in the scent that was so uniquely her. The air in the room felt electrically charged while they silently communed. Finally, John reached his limit.

"Ok. Clearly there's some unresolved sexual tension between the two of you and frankly, I'm jealous; so I'm going back to my room now. See if I have any stray Xanax in the bottom of my bag and change all my passwords again."

"I agree that Violet and I have something to discuss but there's no sense in changing your passwords, John. It won't stop me," Sherlock retorted, never once breaking eye contact.

"I'm googling 'dick' in every language - at least I'll learn something even if it is how to curse at you in Swahili."

"It's dhakari."

"Go to hell," John shot back as he whipped the door closed behind him. For several moments, Sherlock and Violet were silent as they internally debated who would be the one to speak first.

"Violet, I am.. I am sorry. About what I said," he released her hand and she covered his mouth.

"Shut up, Sherlock. Please - just don't say anything for a minute," she stressed as she sat on the edge of the bed collecting her thoughts. "What you said - it's mostly true. I do escape in music; I didn't have a proper childhood; and I'm not anything like my family. In fact, here - look." She opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a family photo, which she held up for him to see. Even from several feet away Sherlock got her point immediately: Violet was surrounded by a large, laughing family... of African Americans.

"You're adopted," he muttered as she slid the photo back in the drawer.

"What gave it away?" she asked rhetorically. "One thing you have to know and I really want you to listen to what I'm saying, Sherlock. I may have been different, I may have had some rough times, and although I was alone a lot I was never lonely. I have many friends, Sherlock. They're wonderful, caring people who want the best for me and I cherish them - you know why? Because people are what it's all about, Sherlock. Not music, not 'cases,' not being brilliant or sexy or talented. Not that you are brilliant or sexy or - oh hell, I need to just shut up now." She closed her eyes and massaged her temples in an attempt to wipe everything she'd just said out of her mind. She could tell she was blushing, her face was hot and her heart was pounding.

"I'm not very good at people, Violet; I find relationships an unnecessary distraction," he said gently. She laughed.

"Agreed. The very last thing I need in my life right now is a man, much less a high-maintenance pain in the ass like you," she looked up at him and the helplessness in his piercing blue-gray eyes nearly brought her to tears. He stretched his hands out to her and suddenly touching him was as essential as oxygen. She practically leapt into his crushing embrace.

Their kiss was more complex than any they had shared: it was controlled but eager; tender but hungry. They ended it reluctantly, both out of breath and a little unnerved by the intensity of their connection. Violet buried her hand in his hair as they leaned into each other for support. He placed his lips over the pulse point in her neck and applied gentle suction. She gasped slightly and gripped the back of his head.

"So what is all this about, then?" she breathlessly murmured in his ear.

"That's just it - I don't know!" he cried and abruptly wrenched himself away. Now cold and empty, her arms fell to her sides; she nearly cried out in pain. If he felt the same sense of loss, he didn't outwardly show it.

"You don't know?" she managed to say despite the intense feeling of rejection that gripped her.

"Oh, don't you start," he spat. "I've heard quite enough on this subject from John. I am not a pre-pubescent boy salivating over a half-dressed shop window mannequin."

"I have… absolutely no idea what that is supposed to mean," she replied slowly. "But I do know you, Sherlock." He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

"You're blessed with the unfortunate combination of an addictive personality and an insatiable need to define and classify. Plus, as an adrenaline junkie, you live for the hunt, the game. But once the prey is caught and the experience cataloged, the thrill is gone and so are you. Those poor unfortunate souls who thought you cared discover they were just a means to an end. Used and discarded; never a second thought. Until…"

"Until?"

"Well, until you met me, of course."

"Ha! And what is so special about you?"

"Well, it's clear you're attracted to me physically," she unconsciously glanced at his belt and he shifted uncomfortably. "No worries - you have a similar affect on me."

"I won't deny there is… chemistry."

"Oh, but it's much more than just chemistry, Sherlock. See, I did something that no one else has ever been able to: I made you think with your heart, not your head. I dragged you into an alternate universe - one where the great detective is susceptible to the same emotional, irrational responses as everyone else - and you liked it. No, you loved it and you want even more. That's why you came here last night. That's why you kiss me, why you want me. What's making you absolutely crazy is that you can't figure out where to file all of this in your Brain Vault."

"Mind Palace," he corrected with a sigh.

"Right - Mind Palace. That's so much less weird," she muttered. "You don't have a file for Amorous Relations...Yet. So what do we do? We can't go on like this - I'm about ready to throw you down on this bed right now; I'd wager a guess that your nights are just as uncomfortable. And don't think I've missed the daggers in your eyes whenever I go near John," she scolded.

"Since meeting you my music has improved significantly so therefore, I would like to continue exploring our… relationship. Other than that, I really have nothing to offer you," he replied honestly.

"Oh, hey - I'm not looking for anything serious. Quite frankly, you'd be a crap boyfriend," she laughed and was rewarded with a slight smile from Sherlock. "How about we just see what happens?"

"As you pointed out earlier, I cannot control my reactions when you show affection towards anyone of the opposite sex," he said plainly.

"Ok - I'll stop. What do I get in return?"

"Sorry?"

"Quid pro quo, my dear," she said and approached him slowly. With the back of her hand she stroked his face, trailed down his slender neck, and lightly pressed her fingers to the hollow of his throat. "If I'm swearing off other men then you'll have to offer me something else to do with my hands," she whispered seductively. Sherlock swallowed hard and covered her hand with his; with his face mere inches from hers, he reveled in her presence. He was thinking with his heart and it felt good. Very, very good.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement," he purred.