Jen sat in her chair staring at the wall while Mary and Mrs. Hudson talked about the future wedding. It was agonizing; these people in her flat were making her exhausted. Couldn't they just leave her be? Better yet, couldn't she just get a case already?

"Oi, that's my champagne," she argued watching Sherlock pour the glasses. "Don't touch my things."

"It's for the guests, Ginny. One must be a proper host," he mocked not caring one way or another what being a proper guest meant. They had been going at it all day putting Jen in a rather desolate mood while Sherlock, though stung by her cold behavior, was actually in quite a good humor being back on John's good side again. It was only a matter of time before Jen came around. It had to be; he was sure of it.

"You will be there Sherlock," Mary hoped talking of the wedding again trying to change topics seeing the tension between the two. Tension could be defused; she could defuse it, she was sure. Things would turn around; they would be friends at the very least. They had to be.

"Weddings… not really my thing," he told her.

"He'll be there," Jen assured her with a sigh disliking the idea of a wedding more and more. "If I get to sit through a dull wedding ceremony, so does he."

"Thanks, Jen," Mary grinned at her ignoring the dull insult placed in there. She waved her off slumping farther in her chair as if she was trying to gain someone's attention to tell them how very uninteresting this all was to her. She hated weddings; maybe it was the fact that she herself never wanted to get married or because every wedding she's ever been to forced her in some frilly dress only to be bored to tears with a slur of words having to do with love and all that fluffy nonsense she despised. "Are you bored?"

"She hasn't had a case since we got back," Averay informed her smirking at Jen, who gave her a distasteful look that clearly said get me a damn case or find me something to do. "With Sherlock Holmes back, she's sort of out of business." Jen rolled her eyes; in the end, Averay was right. Sherlock was better at case solving than she was leaving her without a job.

"I need a job," she told them though she sounded less than pleased with the idea. "Something to keep me busy."

"Try one of the theaters," Damon replied leaning back with his arm wrapped around Myra, who was currently sharing the flat downstairs with Damon and helping him run his business if it could be called that. How times change. "You've always wanted to perform on stage. Might as well try now that you are lacking in a job."

"Mm," she replied as the door opened to the growing blonde girl that always seemed to be smiling. It lifted her mood considerably as she sat up to smile at her, but Lucy ignored Jen going straight to Sherlock, who she hadn't seen in two years.

"Uncle Sherlock!" she said thrilled making Jen groan and slump back in her chair. Lucy immediately latched onto him happy to see him. He winced just for a moment before he looked down at the little girl, who was growing too fast for his liking.

"You've grown a good," he paused and put his hand on her head to take an estimate compared to last time, "12 and a half centimeters since I last saw you. A bit more than average for your age."

"Yes, well, it's been two years," she told him with a grin.

"Where's your father?" Jen asked finally standing before ruffling Lucy's hair. She grinned up at Jen happy to see the woman even if she did always mess up her hair.

"He-" she was cut off by the door being half thrown open in something of a struggle. Jen pulled it all the way open to allow Mark inside.

"Sorry, I had to fight the press down there. It's a madhouse," Mark grinned coming in with a paper bag in his arms. "Groceries," he told her.

"Ah," Mrs. Hudson said standing and taking the bag, "I'll take those." She headed in the kitchen to put the groceries away in the yet to be body filled fridge. Jen was hoping to keep it that way a little longer.

"How was the trip?" he asked when Jen finally turned to him.

"Good," she said giving him a quick kiss. "Boring." She paused. She really didn't want to have this conversation now, but if it wasn't now, it would never be done. "Can we talk?" she pointed out the door, and he nodded.

"Of course." They took a step outside the flat to the landing to speak alone as Jen shut the door. Mark leaned in to give her a more involved kiss as he put his hands around her waist, but she pulled away with a laugh.

"I didn't ask you out here for a quick snog," she told him with a grin, "though I appreciate the gesture. No, I wanted to tell you that Sherlock and I… will be..." How to tell your boyfriend you'll be sharing a flat with a man you had past feelings for. They should have a book for that. "...sharing the flat for a bit."

"What?" he asked flatly. He didn't like the idea; he wasn't ignorant to the past feelings she had for him, and he feared reigniting those feelings. Jen and him didn't break up. Hell, there was nothing to break up, or so she claimed. He 'died,' and now he was back. Somehow the chances for a rekindling of romantic feelings seemed higher than say an ex-boyfriend.

"I know," she replied with a sigh. "I don't like it either, but his name is still on the lease and so is mine. I could try and get out of it, but… I have a feeling Mrs. Hudson will purposely give me a hard time." Why must everyone be a road block for her? If she chose to ignore Sherlock Holmes's exists for the rest of her life, then so be it. But no. John wouldn't have it which means Mary wouldn't have it. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have it, and she wouldn't be surprised if some of the Holmes family wouldn't have it. "The lease ends in six months, and then, I'll just move out."

"It's your flat. Why do you have to move out?" he asked her in a low whisper aware that the door wasn't exactly soundproof. He didn't want to get on anyone's bad side especially Sherlock Holmes. He was a sociopath bordering on psychopath, who could likely have Mark thrown in prison with just a few words.

"Yes, well, technically his things are in the flat. It's not that big of a deal," she replied with a shrug. She paused as the door to 221 Baker Street opened two new visitors. "Molly, Tom," she greeted Molly and her fiancé.

"Hi," Molly smiled at her brightly making Jen fall flat. Molly watched her have a break done in the morgue, Jen finds out Sherlock is alive, and she replies with hi as if there was no problem. Maybe she was overreacting? Molly was just following Sherlock's words, and if he said to keep quiet, then there is no reason to doubt him. He was one of the most brilliant minds in the world. Maybe she shouldn't be so harsh with Molly?

"You and I are going to have a nice little chat about Sherlock's death later," she informed her making her smile fall. Just a small talk about it. Nothing harsh. She just wanted to know what happened.

"I-I didn't… I- Sherlock said-"

"Later," she replied flatly causing Molly to pause before she nodded and walked into the flat allowing Jen and Mark to continue their conversation.

"I have to admit that I'm really not looking forward to finding a new flat though. I'm very picky about where I live," she sighed. She had done a lot of work for the flat that Myra and Damon were now inhabiting. As for 221B, well, it had felt like home for a while now; it's been a while since she's had one of those.

"Yeah, you are," Mark agreed with a smile. He paused and rubbed the back of his head nervous with his suggestion not wishing to push her. "You could… you could always move in with Lucy and I," he offered. She paused to think about the prospect and if she was ready for such a commitment. Ready for it? No. Desperate to try anything new to keep her going? Yes.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" she said knowing that after almost two years perhaps she owed him to try and take the next step even though she was reluctant against it, but if she didn't try something new to get her spirits back, she would remain in the slump that she felt her life was in or beginning to sink into.

"You're going to come live with us!?" Lucy shouted making Jen jump as she turned to the flat to see Sherlock, John, and Lucy staring at them. Sherlock looked confused while John seemed to look mildly deflated though why when he was nagging her earlier for taking everything too slow was beyond her.

"Once the lease expires," she told her with a grin happy to at least be moving closer to the girl. How she missed her when she was gone, and Lucy did need a motherly figure in her life after the death of her own. Jen grew up without a mother and look how well that turned out. So, in the end, perhaps this was best at least for Lucy. "It's about time, eh?"

"Oh, I'm so excited," Lucy grinned before she threw her arms around Jen. She was only half a foot shorter than Jen now and would likely exceed her own height soon. Sometimes, Jen hated being so short.

"Luce, why don't you take your father in the flat?" John requested of Lucy, and she happily responded taking his hand and dragging him inside but not before he gave Jen a pleading look making her smile slightly before she looked to John. He sought to speak to Jen about what he was sure was a mistake on her part wishing only for the best for her.

"What is it this time, John?" Jen asked leaning on the railing of the landing turning away from him. She seemed to be worn down more than usual making John want to cringe. "First it's too slow, now it's too fast? You're getting married need I remind you?"

"You sure you want this?" he asked her wanting her to be absolutely positive with her decisions, and he knew she wasn't. He was sure this was because she was struggling to jump back from Sherlock's fake suicide, and she had turned desperate. "I know you."

"Yeah, sure," she said with a shrug as if it was the littlest decision to make and not one that could potentially change the way she lived. "I could try domestic; maybe it'll suit me." She didn't imagine it would suit her; she imagined it would be painfully dull.

"Jen, you-" John started, but she shook her head and stopped him.

"Please," she told him looking to him, "just leave it alone. I'm tired; I'm just so tired. Maybe it's time for me to settle down and be mum." Be mum. She hadn't had to be someone's mum since Irene and Peter, and look how well that turned out. Maybe it would be different this time; maybe she wouldn't be poison to Lucy as she was to them.

"You don't love him," John reminded her sure this was the case. She gave a slight laugh as her eyes looked back to the window above the door. She seemed to be reflecting on her life, on everything.

"Love has only hurt me," she informed him. "It's time to try something new."

"It won't work."

"Ah, how would you know unless an experiment is done?" she joked halfheartedly before Sherlock took several steps to her bringing him far too close to her. She stumbled back into the wall, but that didn't lessen the gap much. She pushed her hand out forcing him to stop with her hand over his heart. He looked her over quickly noting things he had missed since his return. He could still gauge her better than he could when they had first met.

"You've lost an alarming twenty pounds since I last saw you; you haven't slept in twelve days, and you're showing signs of disinterest and hopelessness," he observed before he took a step back finally reaching a conclusion. "You're clinically depressed," Sherlock noted finally understanding one of the things that had been nagging at him since he reunited with her. Something had seemed off; she wasn't her usual self, and it hadn't gotten passed him.

"What?" John asked looking back and forth between the two waiting for Jen's answer. Never better. John thought she was never better, that she had gotten over Sherlock's death with ease. She hadn't had any attacks; she formed a relationship; she seemed... happy. He thought she was happy.

"It happens," she shrugged. It had been a shallow happiness she chose to let people see.

"Medicated?"

"No," she replied. No, he didn't think she would be. She barely took her BPD medication and hated taking anything to help her sleep. She liked to try and fight it herself. She liked to endure, and she liked to fight. It was one of the things he liked about her.

"How long?" he asked. She looked at him incredulously not understanding why he didn't understand why she was depressed. He couldn't possibly be this dense. "Ginny, how long?" he asked again gripping both shoulders when she didn't answer him due to his own stupidity.

"How long do you think, you complete moron?" she asked hitting his hands away. She huffed and pushed her way passed him before she entered the flat slamming the door behind her.

"You didn't know?" Sherlock asked John. He shook his head.

"To be honest, I haven't seen Jen too much. She's usually out of the country," John informed him trying to recall the times he saw her; she always seemed happy. "I mean I've noticed that she seemed more tired than usual, but nothing completely alarming… has she really lost twenty pounds?"

"If she doesn't start gaining the weight back, she'll be alarmingly thin," he told him staring at the door she had gone through. He was worried; he wouldn't admit that, but he was. "I'll force feed her if I have to," he uttered still staring at the door.

"What made you suspect?" John asked.

"She punched me," Sherlock answered simply.

"That's not surprising; I've punched you," John reminded him. Sherlock smiled almost fondly.

"If she was healthy, she would have broken nose," Sherlock said almost amused by the memory of her hitting him. "Well, shall we get down there?" he asked speaking of the press just out the door.

"Yeah," John agreed going to follow him out the door.

Jen sat in her chair tired from the people in her flat; she wanted them gone, and Averay could see the pained expression on her face. Her landline began ringing making her groan; she was tired of people, noises, people, light, people, work, and oh yeah, people. Averay laughed before going to pick up the phone so that she didn't have to get up.

"This is Ginevra Lorraine's office. How can I help you?" Not her office, but that's what the landline was there for, for clients. There was a pause as the person on the other end replied. "Oh, alright. You don't have to be such a dick about everything." She made her way to Jen. "It's your brother. Said you won't answer your phone." No, that's because finding her charger seemed like a waste of effort and time even with her phone as dead as Sherlock was supposed to be.

"Which one?"

"Peter," she told her making her light up. Averay didn't understand it; the man was a complete psychopath, and yet, whenever he called her her face lit up like it was Christmas. He made her happier than anyone even if he was completely unhealthy for her.

"Hello, darling," she said into the phone happily. It was only a minute long conversation that allowed Jen's smile to slowly fall before she hung up the phone in utter shock and appall. She stared at the wall trying to find thoughts, words, anything of use.

"Jen?" Mary questioned seeing her face as Averay took the phone staring at her not sure what she was going to do. She had become unpredictable lately. Would you get fire, or would you get ice?

"Get out," she whispered quietly finding something to say as her brain scrambled her emotions and thoughts quickly turning them to frustration and rage. Something that hadn't happened for two years.

"I'm sorry?" Molly asked trying to remain bright despite the sudden tension that had fallen across the room.

"Get out," she said standing striding across the room and throwing the door open for them. "Get out! Everyone get out!" Everyone stared at her. "Get out, or so help me I throw you out the fucking window! Get out!" she shouted. Everyone began scrambling to leave; Damon paused on the doorstep trying to say something to her, but she quickly slammed the door closed trying to keep control of herself. She took deep breaths leaning on a chair. Everything from that day came crashing down around her. Unable to hold it in any longer, she threw the chair across the room; it created a domino effect that would eventual turn the room upside down.

By the time Sherlock and John went to check on her, she was leaning against the wall next to the fallen desk. Her jeans had somehow been ripped, her shirt was in disarray, her shoes were missing- likely out the now broken window-, and she was staring at the wall opposite as if it was most fascinating thing in the world.

"What uh…?" John began wanting to know what brought this on. To be honest, he was waiting for the attack since Sherlock got back, but something must have triggered it.

"My brother's parole hearing has been moved up," she told them as if it was that simple and didn't need anymore explaining.

"I um… I'm sorry?" John questioned.

"He won't get out," Sherlock told her obviously as he picked up his chair from the floor and sat down. "His crimes are too-"

"You don't know my brother," she snapped irritated with his input. "He'll convince them he's cured; he'll get out."

"But don't you want that?" John asked her. He was her family after all; shouldn't she be happy that he would be out in the world able to see her on their own terms and no one else's? She turned her eyes to him.

"Peter is sick," Jen replied viciously. "He needs help, and… it won't help him to be out of Rampton. My fear is that he'll relapse and start killing people; I can't go through that a second time. I can't; it'll break me." She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the wall trying to push aside those fears. She had watched her brother cave into his madness, and she had to watch him be taken away by police covered in blood and screaming about being a victim. Those days still haunted her dreams. She just couldn't do it again.

"Despite being absent from the psychology field for two years, your opinion is still valid especially as his sister," Sherlock reminded her. "Tell them that he isn't ready to be released; make them see sense."

"I," she paused for a moment to pull herself off the floor, "I suppose I could try," she muttered wrapping her arms around herself as her mind seemed a hundred miles away. Her eyes gazed at the wood floor. John cleared his throat.

"Well, I better go," he said pointing to the door. "Mary wanted to speak with you about something Sherlock. She's waiting for us both outside." Sherlock's eyes remained on Jen and her still body as she leaned into the wall. "Sherlock?"

"Hm? What? Yes," he replied leaving the flat with John to meet Mary, who was waiting for them just outside.

"How is she?" Mary asked getting to the point. She wanted to talk about him and Jen.

"Depressed," Sherlock said obviously making Mary shrugged.

"She'll be alright. I brought John around; she won't be that different," Mary smiled.

"You have to be kind to her," John offered, but Mary countered with a shake of her head.

"No, no, you have to be you," she told him with a smile. "She loves you for who you are, and that hasn't change. Just be no one but yourself, and don't push it. She'll come around; you have six months to change her mind. Oh," Mary smiled amused at the coincidence, "that should fall right around the wedding. That'll work perfectly."

"Well, I don't know what to do, and I don't like not knowing," Sherlock spat bitterly annoyed and agitated with his lack of knowledge. "I don't even know if it's safe to be around her; despite everything I did, I still don't know what Moriarty wanted with her." Mary's eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him as she put something together that no one else had besides Robert and Mycroft. It lit up her face.

"No," she said in surprise. "You didn't… Oh my God, you did."

"I'm sorry?" John asked watching as Sherlock seemed frozen to the spot watching her carefully. "Did what?"

"Don't you get it, John?" Mary asked grinning amused by him. "He burned his reputation, faked his suicide, left his home not to destroy Moriarty's web but to find out what Moriarty wanted with Jen. You did it all for her." They both stared at him, and he shifted slightly not liking being put on the spot like this especially when the subject was what he felt about Jen.

"Well… the…," he paused and seemed to find his thoughts after being accused of holding sentiment for Jen, "it was clearly obvious he had some sort of obsessive fascination with her," Sherlock informed them. "I didn't understand to what degree until she came back alive after he so eloquently took her dinner after threatening the lives of her patients. She shouldn't have come back alive; he should have shot her down as a warning to me, but instead, she came back not sporting a single injury from Moriarty. All he wished to do was talk to her not about me, but about her. It was outside of my calculations. I knew that he had become a danger to her far greater than I could conceive, and I had to find out why he was suddenly interested in her."

"Or risk losing her," Mary smiled at him.

"Oh shut up," he ordered giving her a dirty look, but she seemed smugly satisfied with her deduction.

"Well, you should tell her," Mary told him as she hailed a cab.

"I can't," Sherlock replied. "I still don't know what it is Moriarty did, and what he wanted. Coming back was even a risk I was hesitant to take."

"But Moriarty's men are dead," John reminded him. Sherlock looked at him.

"That doesn't mean that she's out of danger; he said the plans he had were already set in motion," Sherlock answered looking up to the window of 221B to where Jen would be sitting likely trying to keep her mind busy. "I just don't know what they are, and I don't like not knowing."

"Keep an eye on her then," John told him as he slide in the cab after Mary. The cab started down the road, and Sherlock turned toward the flat before changing his mind and heading off to the corner Chinese restaurant.

When he came back with takeaway, she was sitting in her chair reading another old paper. She looked at him briefly before turning back to her paper; her new favorite hobby was ignoring him.

"Eat something," he told her throwing the bag at her. She barely caught it.

"Not hungry," she replied setting the found onto the floor near her chair. Toby, who remained at her feet, nuzzled it with his nose. He had just been fed, but he wanted people food. She patted his head to stop him from nuzzling the bag. Sherlock threw himself in his chair before he leaned over to gaze at her intently. For a small period of time, she ignored him, but his intense gaze made her uneasy. "Stop it," she warned him before she returned to the paper and held it in front of her, so she didn't have to look at Sherlock's accusing stare. She slowly lowered the paper to see him still staring at her. "Would you stop that!?"

"Eat something first," he replied.

"Are you going to eat something?" she asked giving him a questionable look. She refused to eat if he wouldn't; why would she listen to a hypocrite?

"If you do, I will concede," he challenged her making her pause and stare at him. She didn't think he would actually agree to eating something.

"Fine, let's get this over with," she muttered standing to get a set of plates, forks, knives, and a glass of left over champagne, because lord knows she needed it. She threw herself in the chair at the kitchen table that was void of experiments so far. Sherlock sat across from her, and they began to eat in complete and utter silence while Toby begged at their feet.

He eyed her from across the table and noted the jacket she was wearing. He could easily spot that jacket anywhere. Westwood. There was no one else it could belong to. Why the hell was she wearing that jacket? She should have buried it, burnt it, tossed it; she shouldn't be wearing it.

"Are you wearing that jacket to annoy me?" he asked as he felt his body twitch from annoyance.

"Hm?" she questioned before her free hand found the edge of the jacket. It slid down the jacket carefully; it was involuntary. She didn't realize she was doing it as if her hand had a mind of its own.

"Moriarty's jacket? Westwood, why are you wearing it?" he ground out making her look down at the jacket.

"Oh… I… I just like it," she said before she quickly ripped her hand from the fabric. "I wear it quite a bit actually; I think I look... nice in it."

"You like his…," Sherlock bit his tongue trying to find a more elegant word than whore, "courtesan."

"Oh, glad you like it," she said with a mocking smile. She was trying to find every reason to annoy him, and it was working.

"Take it off," he demanded not wanting to see any reminder of Moriarty and therefore his lack of knowledge on the subject anywhere especially in his flat... eh... their flat.

"No," she said simply.

"If you don't take it off, I'll rip it off you," he threatened.

"If you try and rip off my clothes, I'll claim rape," she told him simply.

"No one would believe you," he replied, "so take it off."

"No."

"Ginny," he snapped standing now ready to be true to his word, "you are purposely being difficult."

"Oh, of course I am," she told him slowly standing to challenge him.

"Take off the jacket," he warned.

"Make. Me." She was unprepared when he tackled her to the floor just to take the jacket off her thinking he was bluffing. "Get off of me!" she shouted attempting to pry him off her but failing. What the hell happened? It used to be so easy. Had she become so weak? She still fought on a regular basis, but looking back, she had been loosing and getting more severely injured more and more.

"Take off the damn jacket!" he shouted at her pulling at the jacket.

"No!" she shouted before- "Rape! Rape! Rape!" all the while Sherlock manage to get the jacket off her and was standing holding it triumphantly. "You asshole!" She tackled him back to the ground giving up on the jacket ready to strangle the life out of him.

"I was pulled out of my office by a concerned neighbor claiming someone was shouting rape," Lestrade reprimanded the two as they stood in front of the house. He had taken the call due to the location of the complaint, but should have known that it was nothing of importance, just two adults acting like children. "Someone better start explaining."

"Sherlock tried to rape me," Jen told him quickly, "and then he tried to kill me. See this bruise," she said pointing out a slowly forming black and blue mark forming on her neck.

"I was defending myself when she was trying to asphyxiate me," Sherlock snapped.

"Because you tried to rape me," she said obviously.

"Right," Lestrade said shaking his head not believing he had to deal with this. "I'm going back to the Yard. Would you two please try and act like grown adults for once?" He made to go back to his police car.

"Aren't going to do something? I was just sexually assaulted!" she called.

"Yes, I'll give you my personal advice," Lestrade told her. "Do us a favor and have a go at it already." He slid in his car as Jen gave him an offended look at his 'personal advice.'

"Yeah, how about I have a go at your wife!? Everyone else already has!" she shouted as he drove away.

"Low blow, Ginny, even to me," Sherlock told her.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped at him before she turned on her heels to go back inside. "I'm going to bed!" she announced. "Leave me alone!"

"Only if you actually sleep," he called after her making her scoff in annoyance. He was driving her up a damn wall. How the hell was she going to deal with him for six months?

A/N: They're like children; it's ridiculous. Yup, there's that. I'll see you all hopefully Wednesday! Review please!

Thanks to reviewers: short-skirtbluescarf, .okumura, Dream01, hannahhobnob, smilin steph, MariaAquarius, and Camilla!