So, with series 3, there seem to be a new wave of readers directed towards the fandom. With that, I decided on a sequel, of sorts. The yet-unnamed piece will be roughly 8 chapters, starting around The Sign of Three and ending with His Last Vow, though I should not extend much further past that point, in case I should decided to continue with series 4 later on. The Empty Hearse just makes translating what occurred in Silhouettes too messy, so I'm going to let your imaginations fill in the gaps. We shall assume that the Viola-Sherlock reunion occurred following Empty Hearse, and that the whole Viola-John-potential-romance never happened, eh?

This is partially my reaction to the two-year wait (though hopefully we'll get a Christmas episode? Maybe? Eh?), and also wanting to carry the story on. I love Silhouettes. Being very spur-of-the-moment and in the midst of several on-going projects, it shall be short, sweet, and to the point.

Because I believe the terms of service do not simply allow for announcements such as this, I will leave you with some content….

-XXX-

"Why," I ask as we stride down the street (and by "stride" I am referring to Sherlock's long-legged pace, while I am practically jogging to keep up). "Did no one tell me John is engaged? Has been engaged, for months?"

"Didn't come up," Sherlock answers distractedly. His coat billows behind him as we continue, turning a corner, finding ourselves on the precise street. As the weather was so nice, I'd insisted we walk – something I missed, as most of my travels throughout London-town call for distances too wide to reasonably think about walking. Sherlock had not protested, but merely sighed.

"He's your best mate."

"Yes, and it never came up."

"But the decomposition of ears in peat did?" I shake my head. "I feel so stupid, not knowing."

"Should have deducted it," he murmurs. A hand goes to the small of my back, guiding me as a bicyclist on the street beside us moves past, a little too close for our comfort. "Relatively easy. I mean, the mustache –"

"Wasn't around for that," I remind him. "I was still under the impression you were a certain Benjamin Holly, enigma who left mysteriously after solving my town's only cold case."

"Right." Sherlock's eyes haven't crossed mine for a gaze yet; he's been entirely distracted this entire walk, which is not out of the ordinary in the least. However, what is unusual is the way he suddenly catches my waist, the hand that had been on my back curling to pull me against him.

I look up, frowning. "What's happening?"

The detective glances down at me, an out-of-character tenderness in his eyes and smile. "We're going to meet the future Mrs. Watson."

That's when he looks up. I follow his gaze to see John standing on the patio of the restaurant where we'd agreed to have lunch. Beside him, holding his hand, is a pretty woman with short blonde hair and huge blue eyes, wearing a blue cardigan over a grey blouse, holding a red jacket against her stomach. A round, open face holds a friendliness I should like to know, while something about the pull of her lips suggest a sharper nature. She appears only touch nervous, and the way she leans into John is more than enough to assure me of their comfortability; it's Mary.

We approach, Sherlock keeping up the smile. It's unsettling, but I say nothing. I'm preoccupied with Mary.

John steps up when he sees us, drawing his fiancé along with him. "You're late."

Sherlock sighs. "Five minutes. She demanded we walk."

"I demand nothing," I protest, attempting to pull away. "It's a lovely day, why shouldn't we enjoy it? Besides, it wasn't me who made us late – I had to practically drag this one away from his microscope."

Another useless tug, my hand going atop his in the most discreet way possible in an attempt to pry his fingers off of me. This public proximity simply is not us. Sherlock keeps a tight grip about me, though, I can see John's eyes scanning over us, the slight crinkle of confusion about his brow. Then, as though remembering the reason for this luncheon, John seems to shake himself, gesturing for the pretty woman that stands just behind him.

"Viola, this is Mary. Mary Morstan. My fiancé." The note of pride in the doctor's voice is endearing.

Mary moves forward, extending a hand. "It is good to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"From John, no doubt," I reply, smiling warmly. Her grip is strong. A good sign, as my father always says. "This one is shoddy about giving any kind of details."

She laughs. "You might be surprised. Though, he didn't say anything until about two weeks ago, when John asked him about lunch. Told us to avoid Italian places as you had a bit of gluten allergy around –" She stops herself, a little embarrassed.

I round on Sherlock, brows raised. "I was not aware that you were aware of this."

"It wasn't too difficult to realize," he says impassively. "Simply monitored the frequency of your reactions along with your cycle, connect the dots, really."

Turning back to Mary and John, a little embarrassed, I say airily. "Well, two of us here are health professionals. No need to feel awkward. Shall we find a table?"

As we shuffle inside, Sherlock leans down to whisper, "I would say you're feeling all kinds of awkward, if that hair flip is any indication. One of your biggest tells, really, my dear."

Before we're seated, I make a point to step heavily on his foot, smiling as I take my seat. He visibly winces. All is right in the universe.

"So, you're a student?" Mary inquires after our order is taken. She's one hand curled along her jaw, leaning in interestedly. I lower my glass of water to answer. So far, a good deal of the attention has been placed on me - the young outsider. They all know one another quite well by now. I'm the new little object of interest. Except, I'm not all the interesting.

"Yes," I say, folding my hands in my lap. "Studying music. I was going for literature, but I decided to transfer to here. There is better work for musicians in London. And it's a good distance from home."

"Sussex, right!" Mary says. "John told me your parents run a hotel?"

"Cottage rentals. It's big with the summer vacationers. It's how I met Sherlock, actually."

Both John and Mary's eyes flicker over to the man in question. John's eyes, a little accusatory, Mary's more curious.

"Yes, he mentioned that. You spent all summer together, then happened upon one another here this fall, right?"

"Yeah. It was," I pause, searching for the right word. I turn to Sherlock. His brows raise as he waits for me to finish. "A weird accident."

He snorts. "Not an accident."

"You did not know I worked there."

"I might have easily avoided you. I chose not to."

"Of course -"

"Where do you work?" Mary interrupts, smiling a too-bright smile. I have no doubt, judging from her and John's expression, that our bickering is quite amusing.

I tell her about Pinstripes, and my work as a pianist. This does strike them as interesting, and I am given a series of questions - what sort of music do I play, do I ever sing, do I take on any side-gigs, etc. Being already swamped with school work, I explain, makes it difficult to work much beyond my usual hours at the bistro. But it was good work, and I was learning a lot.

"What do you hope do you with your music degree?"

Truth be told, it was not something I'd given much thought. My father had suggested teaching, which did not hold much appeal for me. And while I would love to simply be a musician, it is not exactly the most stable of careers. I give them some kind of loose answer, claiming to be unsure, but willing to take whatever is offered. The conversation turns to the medical field, then to how John and Mary met, and before long the food has arrived and we're sharing Sherlock anecdotes - a standard feature of any meeting between friends of the detective, I am sure.

Sherlock remains rather quiet throughout, listening rather than speaking. When the meal is over, he pays our share of the bill (with a little protest from me) and then hails us a cab. While we're waiting, Mary and I spend a little time promising to meet again, perhaps just the two of us. I think we rather like one another. She puts her number on my phone, promising to try to get together sometime in the next week. Sherlock waits, impatiently, by the open door of the cab. I pull away, and we settle inside, silent.

"She was nice," I finally say. "A good match for John."

Sherlock grunts. I nudge him when no other response is forthcoming. "What? You were awfully...grabby?"

"Simply hoping to assure Mary of the legitimacy of our relation," he says, staring straight ahead. "According to John, she was quite certain you were some kind of cohort...paid actress, or something of that nature."

I stare. "What would give her that impression?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I suppose she would be given cause to think me unable to maintaining any kind of normal relationship...no doubt something John put in her head..."

I consider this. "Well, then I suppose I cannot blame her."

"Simply because I've never shown an interest before or displayed any kind of willingness to engage in the messy complications of any kind of traditional romantic relationship does not mean that I cannot function within one," he snaps.

Taken aback, I move to observe him. "You're offended. You're truly upset that she and John thought you couldn't...oh, that is hilarious. You could never do 'traditional' if you wanted to, Sherlock. It isn't in your nature."

"Even so," he murmurs. "I loathe to think that they might doubt - It does not matter."

"It doesn't," I agree. "Stop being pig-headed. And no more...public displays, eh? I am sure that was uncomfortable for both of us."

"Indeed," he sighs. With that, I lean contentedly against the window, drowsy after a long lunch. When we reach 221 B, Sherlock walks behind me to ensure that in my sleepy state I do not fall neither up nor down the stairs. The coat goes to the armchair, my shoes are disregarded to the rug. I leave him to his experiments in the kitchen, moving to the couch for a long afternoon nap. Not quite routine, but perfectly us.

-XXX-

This will not be a part of the story, but is just a bit of a preview. I did want to at least give myself and you a peek at Mary. One thing I will be dealing with in this story will be the significant generation-gap, which Mary definitely works on filling.

Please, keep an eye out for this piece within the coming weeks. Should I manage to produce a significant number of chapters, I will begin posting before April.