Returning The Love

by endlesscosmicqueen

Summary:

Sherlock and Katrina established a friendship (and then some) whilst he was pronounced legally dead. That evolves into something more when he comes back to London, and their friendship with John Watson is tested. But there are much more important issues at hand: a wedding, Magnussen, and one big mistake for Sherlock and Katrina. Thus, the game of favours takes pause. Sherlock/OC. Slowburn of actual romance, but Sherlock does indulge in other ways that's still in character.

Part two of a trilogy. Year 2 Post-Reichenbach Fall. Plenty of changes to series 3. Rated M for discussion of mental health issues, alcoholism, drug use, and some sexual content.

Chapter 1: Regrettably Easy To Read

Mycroft Holmes was normally a difficult man to read to anyone that didn’t know him.

Unfortunately for him, Katrina Ann Jenkins had a knack for reading difficult people because intuition was her strong suit and ninety five percent of the time it was never wrong. Plus, as stoic as Mycroft may be, there were tell tale signs that he was doing his best to not betray himself. The slight chewing of the inside of one of his cheeks. A twitch in his right eye. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arm of the plush chair he was currently sitting in.

Meanwhile, Katrina observed him from the sofa she was lying on holding an ice pack to her forehead whilst a paramedic checked her over for signs of concussion and internal bleeding. Sensing that Mycroft wasn’t going to say anything any time soon, her gaze drifted over to Sherlock, who was at the other end of the sofa with her feet in his lap. He looked about as awful as she felt, minus the concussion.

He also resembled a petulant child that had gotten into trouble with the head teacher at school.

“This could have been a lot worse,” Katrina mumbled, hissing as the cut on her lip stretched with every word she spoke.

“It is sheer luck that I was here on business,” Mycroft replied in a tetchy, low voice. “The moment you mentioned Shanghai, I should have known better than to let you come.”

“Let her come?” Sherlock scoffed, wincing and clutching at his side. “You don’t own Katrina.”

“He does run my paycheck though,” she pointed out. “So I do actually need his permission to leave work for things like this.”

The ex-detective raised a brow in his older brother’s direction.

“She’s not wrong, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, and with a sigh he added: “And neither are you… regrettably.”

Katrina groaned. “Regrettably? Is this the time for the ego contest? I have a concussion, Mycroft.”

The paramedic said something in Mandarin which made Mycroft sigh and Sherlock roll his eyes at the reaction. Katrina was none the wiser, but was concerned anyway.

“What?” she asked, her tone clipped.

“You were close to fracturing a rib,” Sherlock informed her. “Instead you’ll have a better alternative of some nasty bruising, which will take at least two weeks to heal. Longer if you don’t rest properly.”

“Brilliant…” she muttered sarcastically. “Anyway, how much are we paying the paramedics to not disclose the fact that Sherlock is here? He was a world famous detective, you know.”

Mycroft looked like he wanted to kill her, no matter how hard he tried to remain impassive. “They’re already paid off. Besides - that’s the least of our problems: what I want to know is who were the other members of your little party?”

Sherlock and Katrina remained silent. Just as the former was about to speak, Mycroft cut across him.

“Don’t act as if I’m stupid, brother mine, I am the smart one after all. It would have taken more than just the two of you to cause the amount of disruption that you did. Who else assisted you?”

“Truth be told, boss of mine ,” Katrina started off, earning a light chuckle from Sherlock who quickly shut up when Mycroft glared at him. “I have kinda caused that level of disruption on my own. With - with material provided by Moriarty… it’s… kinda why we’re here in the first place…” She tried so hard to make a joke about it, but it fell horrifically flat.

Mycroft was still incredibly unimpressed, but at the same time ushered for the paramedics to leave them now that it was confirmed neither Sherlock or Katrina were in such atrocious states that they’d need intense medical care.

“Then I’ll find out for myself whose identity you’re keeping a secret. And then you two and whoever else was part of this whole operation can tell me the full story.”

“You don’t suppose you could also bring back some stronger painkillers?” Sherlock surveyed the bottles that had been left next to him. “I expect Katrina will be in considerably more pain than me.”

His older brother sighed, but nodded all the same.

“I could easily tell you no , but I need Katrina in working condition sooner rather than later.”

“How sweet of you to be so concerned…” she said dryly. “I thought we were friends?”

He scowled at her and stood up from his armchair.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we not admitting that out loud?” she added. “Christ. You really are angry at us.”

“Astute observation, Miss Jenkins, please don’t quit your day job…”

With those final words, Mycroft left the two of them be.

“What are the chances he’ll find out who we partnered up with?” she then asked Sherlock, who sighed at first in response.

“It’s Mycroft. He’ll know by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“So we’re fucked?”

“Quite. As is our ally - them more so than us.”

Katrina sighed. “Our bad.”

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’ as he did so. “Need help getting to bed?”

“Oh darling , you don’t need to ask me twice,” she said to him with a wink. Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved her feet out of his lap so he could get up and then help her up. “Christ…” she hissed, barely able to even stand straight.

Sherlock stood behind Katrina but as close to her as possible - one arm gently around her waist in an effort to help keep her upright, and holding her hand with his free one. “I know… I know… I’ve got you.”

They started to make a slow shuffle towards the bedroom.

“Don’t you hurt too?” she murmured.

“Yes, but you broke my fall - I’m in much better shape than you despite what my face actually looks like,” he said.

“Well, you took most of the punches,” she replied. “We’re even, I guess.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock scoffed, as they finally got into the bedroom. He flipped the switch before carrying on helping Katrina make her way to the bed. “Might have to sleep propped up.”

She sighed. “Yeah. Seems like the best call.”

Whilst Katrina lowered herself carefully to sit on the edge of the bed, she allowed Sherlock to sort out the pillow so that she’d be comfortable enough having to sleep upright.

“Fuck sake… I need to get out of these clothes…”

“Need a hand?” Sherlock offered.

“Yeah. Probably.” Her cheeks flushed pink on realising what that meant. “My pyjamas are on the chair.”

Sherlock nodded and went to fetch the aforementioned tank top and joggers.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked him.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I… just mean you’re going to be undressing me…? We haven’t really talked about Rome, so…”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought you were more grown up than that. I don’t think we need to talk about Rome. From my understanding, friends can do that can’t they? It’s not like it went any further than kissing so I don’t see why we need to talk about it. Arms up.”

Katrina did as he said and lifted her arms as far as they could go without absolutely straining her ribs in the process. Sherlock peeled her t-shirt off before reaching around to unclip her bra. Katrina removed that herself in the end, avoiding looking him in the eye whilst she was half naked.

“Some people do talk about it even without sex being involved,” she finally said as he was pulling the tank top over her head. “Clear line in the sand, you know?”

He hummed in agreement, waiting for Katrina to put her arms through the holes, helping her where she was clearly finding it difficult.

“Alright. Clear line in the sand: we’re friends, so you being any form of naked in front of me isn’t a bother, even after a rather heated snogging session. Perhaps we shouldn’t do that again.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees and removed Katrina’s socks, before reaching up to unbutton and unzip her jeans. She beat him to the punch on that one, though.

“This bit I can manage myself,” she mumbled, finally risking a glance in his eyes. “And you’re right - perhaps we shouldn’t do that again. Heat of the moment, right?”

“It was part of the game.”

“Okay, that means you can’t flirt with me over text then,” she added. Katrina then shifted off the bed ever so slightly so that Sherlock could peel off her jeans in one go.

“Was I flirting with you?” He started sliding her joggers up her legs, and she shifted once more so he could get them on properly.

Even when that was done, Sherlock didn’t move from his position on the floor in front of her, and Katrina stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re fucking with me.”

He smirked and stood up. “Fine. No more flirting. No more heat of the moment kisses. If I end up in a state like you and you need to take my clothes off, seeing me naked won’t be a problem, will it darling ?”

Arsehole.

“Definitely not.” Katrina started shuffling into bed and leaning against the pillows he’d so kindly set up for her comfort. That was when she realised how much room was left in the double bed and that he’d used all the pillows available for her. “Wait - Sherlock, where are you going to sleep?”

“Sofa. You need the space tonight.”

“Yeah, but what if I need something in the night? Or you do?” The latter question was a lame attempt at trying to be there for Sherlock, even though she was in far worse shape than he was and was more likely to need the assistance.

“Shout for me.”

“Sherlock… please stay in here with me?” she pleaded, going so far as to awkwardly remove one of the pillows from behind her and set it down in the gap that had been left on the bed. “Please?”

He sighed, reluctantly flicking on Katrina’s bedside lamp before switching off the main light and going to get into bed beside her. “Insufferable menace,” he told her, rolling onto his side to face her.

“Aw, I’m both words today?” She cooed at him, mockingly.

“Mostly insufferable.”

“That makes you a menace then.”

“Quite.” Sherlock then sighed. “I don’t know what to expect from Mycroft tomorrow.”

Katrina turned ever so slightly towards him in a way that didn’t aggravate her injury. “Me neither. He’s either going to be angry or disappointed or both. I hope he doesn’t find… you know…”

“We should agree on something now - we don’t tell him who it was we were rescuing.”

She faltered for a moment. “But… won’t he find out eventually?”

“No,” Sherlock was firm in his response. “No, he won’t. You had a look at the records before arriving - you’ll understand why he won’t find out.”

Katrina wasn’t at all convinced, but sank down into the pillows as best as she could. “Fine. We’ll see how it plays out tomorrow.” She shifted again to try and get comfortable, ultimately sighing when she did so. “Fuck this.”

In a move that Katrina wasn’t expecting, Sherlock reached for her hand under the duvet and squeezed it gently. “It’s alright,” he told her softly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but squeezed his hand back, grateful for the comfort. “Try and sleep if you can. I’ll be here.” He let go of her and rolled over swift as anything and turned off the lamp.

It took some time for Katrina to finally fall asleep, but she was grateful for the fact that she didn’t wake up in the middle of the night in pain - but that was made up for in the morning, as the bruises had developed and dear god it felt near on impossible to move without feeling like her whole body was about to give up.

Sherlock - despite deserting the bed some time earlier without her realising - at least had had some decency to leave her the painkillers and a glass of water, so she knocked a couple back and struggled to get out of bed.

It was coming up to midday, but they had gotten in rather late so the lie in was warranted. She hobbled through to the living room to find Sherlock with a cup of tea in hand, another on the coffee table for her too.

His facial bruising looked far worse in daylight, and on seeing her reaction to it he waved her off.

“I’m fine. It could be worse. I could be you,” was all he said before setting down his mug. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours.”

Katrina stopped next to him, frowning down at him before rolling her eyes and lifting her tank top just enough for Sherlock to see the large, yellow and blue bruise on the side of her ribs. He winced when seeing it.

“It is genuinely impressive that you didn’t fracture your ribs,” he remarked as she pulled down her top again. “You took quite the fall.”

“Says you,” she replied before carefully seating herself next to him with a hiss of pain. “I should have stayed in bed.”

“Probably,” Sherlock agreed, handing Katrina the cup of tea. “Don’t forget, make sure you’re perky for Big Brother when he stops by…”

She groaned in frustration. “I’m really not in the mood for an interrogation… I mean - I get why he’s doing it now, but he grilled me about Rome when I got back. I wish it could wait.” Katrina had a sip of her tea and frowned at Sherlock. “You… remembered how I take my tea? It’s been well over a year-”

“You forget how I store information,” Sherlock told her coolly.

“Surely remembering my tea order is something you would have deleted by now, as you so crudely put it?”

Sherlock turned his attention to his own tea cup, falling silent for a few moments. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Katrina’s gaze on him softened, and she shuffled closer. “Yeah. Obviously. I just didn’t think that… never mind.”

“What?” He looked at her properly again. “Go on,” he smirked, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow - not gentle enough apparently, as she let out a restrained whine of pain when her body jostled. “Shit.”

She set her cup down on the table. “I really should have stayed in bed…” she murmured, electing to lie down on the sofa instead. Sherlock rose to his feet so that she could stretch out fully.

“If Mycroft shows up without stronger drugs later, he can come back tomorrow,” Sherlock said bluntly. “He may not have a heart but he would understand. Besides, he does like you as much as he hates to admit it.”

Katrina chuckled, even though it blatantly hurt her. “I’ve tried to get him to admit it. He won’t. Not yet, anyway.” She paused. “Can you get me something warm to put on this, please? And a blanket? I’m not moving for the rest of the day.”

He nodded and made his way over to the kitchen to put the kettle on again. “You never finished the sentence, by the way,” he called back over to her.

“Hmm? Oh. Well. I didn’t think I was actually worth you remembering things about at this rate. That’s all.” Katrina spoke with such nonchalance from her that it made Sherlock pause in his hunt for a hot water bottle in one of the cupboards.

He had no clue how to respond, and Katrina felt the heat rise in her cheeks when she realised that.

“Sorry,” she carried on. “That was depressing as anything…”

“I think there’s more depressing thoughts you have about yourself,” Sherlock replied as he found what he was looking for. “Some of which we’ve been over before, and are also committed to my memory. As I said: we’re friends, Katrina, I’m going to remember every piece of information about you that you divulge to me.”

“Why are you being so nice to me today?” She couldn’t see him from the way she was lying on the sofa, and was glad that he couldn’t see her as the kettle switch finally flipped off as the water finished boiling. She was red as anything now, which was odd all things considered - they had had these conversations before, and it had been perfectly fine.

He sighed. “I’m not being nice, I’m being pragmatic.” Sherlock got to filling up the bottle with the freshly boiled water, screwing the top on and heading back over to Katrina.

“Unusual for a man of drama such as yourself,” she quipped as he handed it to her. “Thanks.”

Sherlock said nothing, merely leaving Katrina to appropriately get comfortable with the hot water bottle on her bruised ribs, which mostly just consisted of her cuddling it. A minute later, Sherlock came back with the blanket that had been in her room but she’d thrown off the bed in the night, apparently. He remained silent as he covered her with it before sitting on the floor next to her.

“Has the concussion affected your ability to think highly of yourself?” he then asked, his tone a little biting. “You’re much more confident than this, don’t stop now.”

“Ah, there he is - the arsehole I appreciate. Now that’s the bedside manner I want,” she smiled.

“Maybe the concussion hasn’t affected you as much as I initially thought…” Sherlock paused. “I haven’t heard from our… mutual friend since last night. But the other friend, whom we had to help? Safe.”

“Great. Okay. Does that mean our mutual friend might have-?”

“I don’t know. I sincerely hope they managed to escape before Mycroft got his hands on-”

At that point, someone knocked on the door.

Sherlock and Katrina stared at each other, startled. The former went to peer through the eyehole, turning back to the latter in dismay.

“I thought he’d be here later.”

“Oh… for fuck’s sake…” Katrina didn’t even bother attempting to sit up and decided to stay where she was, as Sherlock opened the door.

“Well then, brother mine, Miss Jenkins…” Mycroft strode in without so much as a ‘hello.’ “Isn’t this quite the situation?”

Brought in handcuffed by two secret service members and dumped rather crudely on the floor at Sherlock’s feet, was in fact:

“Notes!” Katrina gasped.

The woman in question on the floor lifted her head, blowing a stray piece of dark hair out of her eyes. She appeared mildly pissed off, but more apologetic than anything. “Sorry, Jak, I couldn’t quite get away fast enough.”

Sherlock kicked the door closed, helping Notes up and depositing her into the armchair.

“Drugs for Jak. Then we might answer your questions,” he held out his hand towards Mycroft.

The elder Holmes rather pettily reached into his pocket, pulled out the pill box and decided to toss it onto the sofa next to Katrina.

“Now talk.”

Chapter 2: Silver Strike: Business

Katrina deliberated in taking what she assumed to be either co-codamol or codeine. It didn’t matter - well, maybe it did. Both were strong - it just so happened that codeine was stronger. If it was co-codamol, she’d have to wait a few more hours because she’d popped a five hundred milligram paracetamol beforehand, and she didn’t exactly want to accidentally overdose. She wanted to kill a bit of time before getting to the ins and outs of what happened with Mycroft. Just before she even took the damn thing, Sherlock spoke up.

“Codeine,” was all he murmured before settling back on the floor where he had been previously - by her feet.

“Thank you…” Katrina said, safely taking the pill with the tea he’d made her.

“Got an ice pack?” Notes asked, rubbing the back of her head.

Sherlock shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Mycroft did pull this apartment out of nowhere for us quite last minute so it wasn't exactly as fully stocked as he would have liked. Isn’t that right, big bro? ”

Mycroft didn’t say anything.

“Tough crowd,” Katrina muttered, lying back flat on the sofa and cosy with the hot water bottle again. “Where shall I start with this drab tale?”

Notes rolled her eyes and slouched in the chair. “Drab? Jak, darling, it was anything but. I’ve got some details on hand, should you need them…” She fished inside her jacket for a tiny notebook and tossed it over to Sherlock, who then handed it over to Katrina. “I expect you won’t though.”

“Anything you don’t have written down, I’ll fill in for Jak anyway,” Sherlock said with a wry smile. Katrina nudged him with her foot as if to say ‘stop being such a child.’ Notes wasn’t too fussed anyway, and Mycroft motioned for Katrina to get on with it.

“So, Sherlock text me about Shanghai, and then something a little too funny happened a week or so later…”

---

“One final thing before you head off - I’ve got to cancel our slot next Monday. I’ll be heading to Shanghai on business,” Mycroft said, as Katrina was just about ready to leave after their usual tea and catch up. She stopped short of the door and turned back.

“Oh!” she replied, a little surprised. “Well, in that case… I do have something to ask you now then.”

“Go on?”

“Oddly enough, your brother’s invited me to Shanghai. The plan is for me to go out next Tuesday and return a week later, if that’s alright with you?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to sit down again. Katrina sighed and did so, aware that this conversation was probably not going to go in a direction that she was going to like. She neatly crossed one leg over the other and sat patiently for his actual response, which he took some time to mull over.

“Sherlock has already been to Shanghai. What reason could he have for returning?”

“I… didn’t ask. Not yet anyway. I expect it’s important or he wouldn’t have requested I come along,” she said carefully. Then an idea struck her. “I guess - if anything goes wrong - at least you’ll be out there too? If you’re there on business. Actually, why are you going? What reason could you have for being in Shanghai?”

Mycroft’s jaw twitched, and Katrina was certain she’d never seen that before in her life. Was that one of his tells that he’d been caught out for whatever reason?

“Conflict of interest.”

“Tell me.”

“Miss Jenkins…”

“Don’t ‘Miss Jenkins’ me, buddy, and tell me what the conflict of interest is.”

“And don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he spat back. “It would be better for you if you did not go to Shanghai.”

“Sherlock needs my help-”

“He has done plenty fine without you before,” Mycroft waved off her worry. “He can do it again.”

“Clearly he has a reason for asking me to go to Shanghai. So can I go?”

“No,” he told her, firmly.

“Mycroft. Come on. You and I both know it would be very stupid if you didn’t let me go… because knowing me, I’m intrigued enough to just come out there and pester you.” There was a weird, sickly sweetness to Katrina’s voice that made Mycroft sigh.

His head dropped into his hand for a moment, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If our paths cross whilst we’re both out there doing our respective business, then this will not end well.”

Katrina frowned. “What are you hiding?”

“Conflict of interest,” he repeated. “But you may go to Shanghai, against my better judgement.”

“Didn’t you say that about Rome?”

“I truly mean it this time. And you may only reach out to me if you are in a pinch. We do not interfere with each other’s work out there, do you understand?”

She gulped, wondering what Mycroft could possibly be up to in order for him to try and warn her off of seeing his brother again.

“Yes sir,” Katrina gave him a little salute, and headed back towards the door. “I expect I’ll be Tuesday to Sunday”

“Monday to Saturday for me,” he said, with that strange smile of his.

---

“Katrina…” Sherlock sighed, deeply, with a facepalm to boot. “Did it ever occur to you… that perhaps Mycroft was out looking for Notes?”

An incredibly awkward silence befell the room. Even the two secret service members on the door shifted uncomfortably on their feet. Katrina thought she saw one of them holding back a smirk, and then she groaned.

“Sometimes I am like a normal person…” she lamented rather dramatically.

Notes wasn’t at all happy. “You’re telling me you technically knew that the fucking British government had picked up on the fact I was active again and you didn’t tell us?!”

Katrina sat upright in an effort to defend herself with more conviction, but the agitation of her injury combined with the fact the codeine hadn’t kicked in made her inhale far too sharply. Sherlock forgot his disappointment for a moment, near enough jumping to action to help her sit up.

“I. Didn’t. Realise,” she told her old friend through gritted teeth, suddenly aware of the fact one of Sherlock’s hands was holding hers, the other on the small of her back. “And don’t you start either,” she hissed back at him as he lowered her back down again.

“So long as you don’t say or do anything stupid again, I won’t,” he told her, now electing to stay by her head as he sat back on the floor.

“Insufferable.”

“Menace.”

“If the married couple could please shut the fuck up now and get back to the matter at hand?” Notes crossed her arms in a bit of a sulk. “Fair enough you didn’t realise, Jak. But come on. The way you retold that made it obvious…”

“I didn’t even know you were involved at that point,” Katrina hit back. “Besides, it’s only obvious to you because Sherlock had been in touch with you… and it was that evening he told me.”

“And yet you still didn’t put two and two together…” Sherlock muttered.

“If my darling husband could please shut up and be thankful I’m in too much pain to smack him upside the head, I’d be grateful.”

“My apologies, dear wife.”

Both of their voices were poisoned with sarcasm, and none of it entertained anyone else in the room.

“I regret my analogy,” Notes said.

“Yeah, I regret it too,” Katrina agreed. “So Sherlock and I had a little video call later that same day…”

---

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought in an additional pair of hands for this,” Sherlock told Katrina. He was still in Europe somewhere, so timezones weren’t tricky again just yet.

“Do go on?” Katrina was halfway through eating dinner up in her room. She’d had some leftovers from a mini Sunday roast in the fridge that she’d forgotten to take into work that day, and was clearly far more interested in eating a reheated roast potato instead of actually talking.

“Your old friend Notes has been active in East Asia recently. Since TB had her information, I thought I’d get in touch,” he carried on. “She might be useful.”

Katrina almost choked on the potatoes. “Be careful. She’ll chat. Why else do you think she keeps a record of everything? Not just to see what can be done better if a similar situation arose, but it means she can get out of a sticky situation by selling that information.”

Sherlock winced. “Yes, well, not all of your old crowd will be like TB, will they?”

She sighed. “No. No, of course. What’s the case?”

“We have a proper client who’s in a spot of trouble. Details are currently vague, but it involves a horse race and a betting ring. But it’s all out here in Shanghai. Potentially quite nasty business with some local gangs if we’re not careful.”

“Is there any legwork I need to do beforehand?”

Sherlock was typing away.

“If I send you the client’s details, you can go looking into their current activity. Not that they’ve done anything wrong - besides the illegal gambling under the eyes of the Chinese law - but even the most minor of inconveniences to any of the gangs can spell trouble.”

A ping told her that it has been sent over, as did the fact Sherlock has finally stopped typing.

“Perfect. When do you head out?”

“Monday.”

“Be careful. That’s when Mycroft is heading over.”

“Oh good! If we get into terrible trouble we can call on him for a favour.”

Now it was her turn to wince. “I don’t want to add Mycroft to our game. We need to start keeping a list of the ones we owe each other.”

“You can start a tally or a list after Shanghai. I believe I may owe you two.”

---

There was an off atmosphere in the room after that.

Sherlock and Katrina were both making fierce eye contact with Notes, in a desperate attempt to communicate with her to stay quiet. He even gave the most minute shake of the head, and she understood.

That meant, of course, Mycroft was ultimately aware of what was going on.

“You’re missing information,” the government official said, suspicious as he strode over to the window and stared out over the city. “Katrina, you have a tell. You exhibited the exact same one when you returned from Rome before you proceeded to tell me how you and Sherlock shared a few drinks on your last night there.”

Sherlock stiffened, and Katrina lightly whacked him on the shoulder. Mycroft turned back to face them.

“Nervous again, are we?” he asked her, staring her down with a look that would make anyone not in the room squirm. “What are you not telling me?”

Katrina held fast.

Sherlock too.

Notes was growing impatient.

“The client’s name,” she said. “Jak’s keeping to client confidentiality. Good on her. If Mr and Mrs over there hadn’t practically eye fucked me into it, I would have already said.”

“But you keep a record of everything,” Mycroft pointed out. “I could simply take your notebook and find out for myself.”

Katrina was already a step ahead and flicking through the book.

“You could,” she said. “But Notes is clever enough not to write it down. I’m in there as Jak, Sherlock as Lock, and our client is known as The Client.” She stopped and frowned. “At least for the first few pages…”

“And then what is The Client referred to?”

“Silver Strike.”

“Colloquially in town known as Miss Strike,” Sherlock added.

“So your client was a woman…” Mycroft concluded. “Is this all I’ll be privy to?”

“Her occupation is a big part of the story,” Katrina said. “Because it’s why she managed to get in touch with Sherlock in the first place.”

---

A knock on the door followed by Daniel entering without waiting for Katrina’s permission was becoming a highly amusing habit of his.

“A pleasure as always,” Katrina said as he settled down in the chair opposite her. “What’s up?”

“Saw that you’re taking a few days off next week - and it’s my birthday then as well!”

“Ah, shit,” she did actually feel bad. Daniel had become a very good friend to her, and missing his birthday was not very ‘good friend’ of her to him. “Well, I was going to fly out Tuesday, but I’m having to fly out Monday evening now because of the time difference. What if we got dinner before my flight? Would that be okay? Since I won’t be able to be there on Wednesday?”

“Aw, Kat. Yeah, we can do that. I’ll drive you to the airport after as well.”

She waved off the offer. “Don’t be silly. You won’t be able to have a celebratory drink otherwise!”

“I can do that on my actual birthday,” he pointed out to her. “Besides - when we go for dinner, you can tell me all about what you’re going to be up to! Or at least - in the car. You know - secrecy and all.”

“We have codenames, by the way.”

“Oh! That makes sense. What are they?”

“How about over dinner, I’ll just start telling you what's what and you can try and guess? Consider it a birthday present. That and the fact I’ll pay.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Kat!”

---

“What on earth does Daniel have to do with any of this?” Sherlock asked on behalf of the room. “This is becoming anecdotal - stick to the main facts.”

Katrina rolled her eyes. “Daniel’s my contingency. Sort of. Basically, if I get injured he’s able to try and cover for me at work so I don’t have to show face too much. Considering what I was about to get into, I thought I’d at least provide the detail that Mycroft and Anthea weren’t the only ones who knew what I was up to. Realistically, Daniel can help out at work better than Mycroft can.”

Sherlock looked to his older brother for confirmation.

“Daniel is privy to yours and Miss Jenkins’ side quests, as it were,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock sighed. “I suppose that does make sense. You need a better friend than Mycroft back home.”

“He also drove me to the airport,” Katrina added with a small yawn. “I didn’t even know he could drive until that point. And he drives like a teenage boy. He’s also picking me up when I land back home.”

“Teenage boy or your piece on the side?” Notes suggested with a giggle.

Katrina angled her head awkwardly to look at Sherlock. “If we’re theoretically married, how would you feel about Daniel being my piece on the side?”

“I know he did ask you out that one time, but I’m certain he’s gay.”

“I take it that means Sherlock would be fine with Daniel as a side piece,” she said, dryly. “But yes - it’s more anecdotal than anything. We don’t need to go into the conversation where I explained what the loose plan was for out here.”

“Skip to when you got here, then,” Notes suggested.

“Right. Sure.” Katrina was beginning to get itchy eyes, but the pain in ribs was fading away now, slow as anything.

---

It was early evening by the time she arrived on Tuesday in Shanghai.

Katrina wandered through the airport to arrivals, looking out for a curly crop of hair. Confused when she couldn’t spot Sherlock, someone tapped on her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Turning, her momentary fright was allayed when she set eyes on someone she had not seen in a long time: Notes, with her short, dark hair, deep brown skin, and an attitude that everyone would get pissed off with but miss at the end of the day. Katrina dropped her duffel bag and pulled the woman into a hug.

“Lock mentioned you’d be here. It’s been a while. Glad you’re alright,” she murmured into her ear.

“You know, Jak, I’ve actually missed you,” Notes replied, and the pair broke apart with a laugh. “Lock’s outside with the car. He would have come in with me, but he had to keep it running. I might have stolen it.”

Katrina picked up her bag and followed Notes out into the airport drop off/pick up zone. “Why did you steal a car?”

“There wasn’t a good enough of an excuse to rent one,” she replied with a shrug. “Besides, Lock managed to hotwire it. So we’re good!”

The car itself was a nice one too. A bit flashy, sure, but Katrina figured they’d need something fast if things were totally south and they needed to make a quick getaway. She chucked her bag in the back seat next to Notes and got into the passenger seat besides Sherlock.

“I’m very proud of you for hotwiring a car,” was the first thing she said to him.

“A skill I have acquired in the past year, and I’m ashamed I didn’t know it sooner,” he replied, setting off far too quickly for Katrina’s liking, considering she had barely gotten her seatbelt on. “By the way, where I’m holed up is much nicer than where I stayed in Rome. Miss Strike had the courtesy to sort something out for us.”

“It’s lavish. But if things fuck up, we have to move out of there. Immediately,” Notes added.

“And that’s where you and Lock have been staying for the past week then?” she was curious - a lavish flat didn’t seem like where Sherlock had called her from.

“Yup. We’ve got our own rooms - there’s another one for you.”

“Great.”

The rest of the car journey was undertaken in silence, until they arrived at the rather insane, glittering tower block where they were supposed to be staying.

“Wow,” Katrina was in awe as they went to go and park the car. “I see Miss Strike has some wealth.”

“That’s what happens when you help run underground gambling rings of all kinds,” Sherlock said as they got out and headed into the block. “I did mention that gambling was illegal in China, right?”

She nodded. “So why wouldn’t she go set up in Macau?”

Sherlock smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?” They headed through the concierge area and to the elevator, where they set off at top speed to five floors below the very top of the building.

Once inside the flat, there were plenty of locks on the inside to ensure their safety.

“We’ll order in food,” Notes said, whilst Katrina took in the space that she was going to be living in for  the next few days. “Get comfy. You’ll need the rest because we’re hitting the ground running straight away tomorrow.”

“Miss Strike is meeting us here at nine o’clock sharp to discuss the matters of her horse: Silver Strike. She’s two floors above us.”

“Hmm. I see where she got her moniker from,” Katrina remarked, following Sherlock as he led her to the last empty bedroom. Notes remained behind in the living room.

“I’m just next door,” he said to her. “Knock if you need anything.”

“Yeah. Uh - thanks.”

They stood in the doorway for a few more moments.

“You… still need a haircut,” Katrina told him.

“You’re beginning to need one yourself. So many split ends,” he quipped. “I’ll see you at dinner. Chinese food?” he added as a joke. “I know, I know… insufferable, aren’t I?”

“I guess that makes me the menace for now.”

---

“Kat?” Sherlock snapped his fingers in front of her face, bringing her out of whatever stupor she was in. She shook herself back to reality, but her eyelids were drooping and she was struggling to fight it off. “Hmm. Codeine seems to have kicked in.”

“You’re telling me,” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t that sleepy but it was enough to be inconvenient. “I need something to eat as well.”

“Me too,” Notes agreed. Sherlock was very indifferent, but was ready to at least back the two women all the same.

He rose from the floor and wandered towards his brother. “Perhaps you can give us three some time to gather our thoughts some more? Kat clearly needs rest.”

Mycroft’s jaw went taut, and he shot his brother a sly half smile. “Kat?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, that is her name.”

“Are you getting senti-”

“Boys!” Katrina called out to them. “Please,” she sighed. “Mycroft… if you can leave Notes with us and give us an hour or so, that’d be great. I need to doze off for a bit…”

“And whilst you’re gone, you could pick up some food as well,” Notes grinned at him, and he wasn’t impressed. “I’m aware I’m not really in the position to be making demands, but Jak’s hungry too. And aren’t you two friends?”

Patience wearing thin enough, Mycroft relented. “Fine. Considering how much exposition that Kat wanted to lead with, we weren’t going to get very far with the details today. But if any of you make a move out of this flat, just know you will be forcefully returned.”

Katrina snorted, then made a face due to the action hurting her chest. “Yeah. Like I’m moving from here in this state.”

Before Mycroft could say anything else to them, Sherlock swiftly went to open the door and gesture for him to leave. He left, the two agents in tow.

Sherlock shut the door and made sure it was properly locked, the three of them sighing in relief.

“She was right about you,” he jabbed a finger in Notes’ direction. “You were ready to give up the name.”

Notes merely shrugged. “I’ve done worse for less, and Jak probably has too.”

“To be fair, the Moriarty thing did pay me less than the two thousand and four thing,” Katrina agreed.

“Really?” Sherlock was actually surprised for once. When Katrina nodded, he shot her a sarcastic smile. “Well, don’t I have a committed wife? I think we should divorce!”

“Fine by me, you’re only a semi-decent husband anyway…” her voice was getting more and more tired as the minutes passed by. “Are we done with this joke now?”

“Please,” Notes begged. “I really wish I hadn’t started it.”

“You didn’t start it, though,” Sherlock mused.

“Yes, I did,” Notes gave him an odd look.

“Hmm, no you didn’t. You think you did, if only because you were remarking on the banter between myself and Kat. The joke started elsewhere about two days ago. It was less of a joke and more of a misunderstanding…”

Katrina made a strange whining noise. “Don’t tell me that somewhere through all the cocktails the other night we accidentally got married?”

“Yes we did, without anyone knowing I might add - and Miss Strike made enough of a remark to plant the idea of making the joke in Notes’ brain - I know you’ve just popped some codeine, Kat, but do keep up,” Sherlock said a little too scathingly for her liking, whilst whipping out his phone.

“Are you texting Mycroft to sort it out?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Brilliant. Are we actually going to have to sign divorce papers? Or an annulment?”

“Annulment. We were drunk,” Sherlock put his phone away. “Moving back to the actual conversation.”

“Right, well, bottom line is: I’ve got a fuck ton of savings due to Moriarty and our government mishap. Could probably buy a flat in Hampstead Heath if I wanted to!”

“And yet you choose to rent off of Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock asked.

“You can’t deny that living right in central London is useful. But I wouldn’t buy a flat in central, you know?” Katrina yawned and started to snuggle down again. “Give me an hour, please?”

“Do you want the-”

Katrina’s phone started ringing loudly from the bedroom.

Not her normal phone - the other one.

She groaned in frustration. “Can you get that?”

Sherlock obliged and disappeared for a moment, whilst Notes sat up with curiosity.

He hadn’t answered, but in fact brought it back to show that the caller ID was Silver Strike.

“Fuck,” Notes breathed. “Let it ring out.”

“No - we can’t,” Sherlock countered.

“We said we would check in and we didn’t…” Katrina sighed. “Put it on speaker.”

He nodded and did as she requested, placing the phone on the coffee table.

“Good afternoon,” he started off formally. “Apologies none of us got in touch. We had to send Notes off, Katrina and I got in a tight spot, and now the three of us are reunited thanks to Mycroft.”

“Oh gosh. He’s not there right now, is he?” came the female voice on the other end of the line.

“No. We sent him off for lunch. He’s making Katrina recap what happened, and Notes was close to selling you out.”

“I expected that.”

“And you’re on speaker.”

“Ah! Hello ladies. How are we faring?”

“Jak’s about to drop off to sleep thanks to some fucking strong codeine, and I’m unscathed, thankfully,” Notes told her.

“Katrina’s on codeine?”

“She and I toppled out of a window. Fell two floors. Katrina took most of the fall damage,” Sherlock informed her. “Mycroft brought her codeine - highest possible dosage in tablet form.”

“Well don’t you go messing around with it,” she warned him. “I know what you can be like - remember what happened the last time you were here?”

Now that brought Katrina back to reality.

“I’m sorry - what?” Pure adrenaline allowed her to actually sit up without making a fuss. “He messed around with drugs the last time he was here?”

“Kat…” Sherlock murmured.

“No - no, you told me in Rome you weren’t using-”

“In Rome I wasn’t! Technically not a lie!”

“Technically still a lie,” Katrina stood up, the notebook, blanket and hot water bottle dropping to the floor as she did so. She picked up the phone. “I think we’re done here for now, Miss Adler, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I quite agree. Call me when you’re done with Mycroft.”

Irene Adler hung up the phone after that, leaving the three of them to sit in the awkward silence that followed.

“When I was with you in Rome, you told me that you’d been with Irene six months previous. And you told me that the gift you got me would have arrived by the time you were in Shanghai. Was that a ‘sorry in advance?’” Whilst bitter, Katrina looked more sad than anything as she rounded on Sherlock. “You could have just said when I asked you. Or you could have just told me what was going on from the get go! I know it’s hard, but fuck me, Sherlock, we’re friends! I’d - I’d do anything for you.”

He didn’t say anything - he couldn’t say anything.

“I’m gonna go sleep in bed. Call Irene back if you need to give her a proper update…” Katrina slammed the phone into his chest, making him grab for it before shuffling back to the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her.

The brief stint of adrenaline wearing off, Katrina collapsed onto the bed and against her better judgement curled up, allowing the side effects of codeine take her off into a dreamless sleep. It went by all too quickly, as she eventually found herself being roused an hour later by a very forlorn Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed. She rolled away from him, not caring around her screaming ribcage in the process.

“You’re annoying,” she grumbled.

“I’m aware. By the way, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I know what you’re like.”

She softened, but still stubbornly didn’t face him. “I still wish you would have said…”

“It was a one off. Promise. It was… when I realised my gift to you would have arrived,” he admittedly quietly.

Curious, Katrina carefully rolled back to face him.

“I don’t… I don’t get it.”

“I was using different methods of distraction,” he said to her, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Irene was a distraction alongside a one off hit of… an available recreational drug at the time?”

“From you? Yes.”

She sat up. “Are you saying that you… missed me?”

His lack of response was enough for her.

“Right… well. Sorry for the outburst earlier. That wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t…” Sherlock agreed. “However, there was some merit to it. We are friends. And… at this point in time I’m certain I would do anything for you. But let’s not get too carried away with that one, eh?”

“That sounds good to me. When’s Mycroft due back?”

“You’ve been asleep for a good hour. He’ll be another half an hour. With food.” He rose from the bed and held out his hands to help Katrina stand up too. “Come on. Notes will be grateful for your presence again. As would I. She’s writing out what’s happened since Mycroft left and I’ve peeked over her shoulder - not keen on how she’s portraying the both of us.”

“Oh god. Yeah. It’s never flattering.”

Chapter 3: Silver Strike: The Casino

Notes stopped in her scribbling and threw the book back onto the sofa where Katrina had been the moment she and Sherlock entered the living room.

“If you’ve made up and she’s going to complain about what I’m writing, I’m not having it!” Notes protested, folding her arms in a sulk.

Katrina laughed and waved it off as Sherlock guided her to the sofa and deposited her there. “We’ve made up, yes, not that we really fell out. You’d know if we’d fallen out.”

“I think anyone would know if they fell out with you…” she murmured dryly. “When’s Mycroft getting back?”

“Just under half an hour,” Sherlock said, taking his place on the floor by Katrina once more as she laid down again.

“Finally,” Notes was delighted at the prospect of getting some food in her system.

Considering her nap and the fact she wasn’t in nearly as much as before, Katrina was ultimately looking more perky. There was more of a brightness to her eyes, and she just appeared to be permanently amused by the tone of conversation.

“And yet, Mr ‘Digestion Slows Me Down’ won’t be eating,” she then added. “But he’ll have coffee. Mycroft will bring coffee.” Katrina paused. “And he best have some for me, otherwise he’s a terrible friend.”

“I thought we established that he’s a terrible friend?” Sherlock countered with a smirk. Katrina ignored him and merely rolled her eyes - for once, he was pointing out the obvious. He didn’t need to remind everyone that Mycroft was not the greatest friend in the world.

“At least he’s bringing us food,” was all she ended up saying.

Nobody wanted to partake in idle conversation after that.

Not when they knew what was on the way, and what would happen next.

Eventually when Mycroft waltzed in with the two agents in tow - one carrying a bag of food, the other a briefcase - Notes was the first one to jump up and immediately go for the food. The agent was more than happy to pass it off and let her hand it out.

“Damn. There’s coffee in there!” She was surprised that Katrina was right on the mark with that one, and pulled out two to-go cups in a holder, gingerly passing it to Sherlock. He immediately gave one to Katrina, who sat up and sipped on it gratefully.

“May we continue with where we left off? More or less?” Mycroft asked impatiently. “Ideally I’d like to get the full story out of you by the end of the day.”

---

Irene Adler was exactly as Katrina expected, which was never a bad thing - it just meant that she didn’t feel the need to get so worked up over it, thankfully. Although for some reason, there was the thought of her being with Sherlock those months ago playing at the back of her mind.

She took a few minutes after breakfast to try and push it from her brain. Her and Sherlock had only kissed once. They hadn’t even discussed it. But why was the idea of him sleeping with someone not her making her feel… mildly irate? They were just friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, it had clearly been something for Sherlock to do just to do it. He wasn’t averse to practical experiences, she knew that much. She shouldn’t have been sitting on her very lovely bed fretting over it.

At nine o’clock, Irene knocked on their front door and Notes went to answer, bringing the woman into the living room where Sherlock was waiting. Katrina joined a few moments later.

“Ah, Katrina,” Irene extended a hand in greeting. “Or do I call you Jak?”

“Jak on the streets, Katrina in the sheets,” she replied coolly, shaking the other woman’s hand. “Excuse the analogy.”

Irene only laughed. “Well then, Katrina, it’s lovely to meet you, finally.”

“You too.”

They sat down in the respective empty spots left on the sofa and armchair.

“Sherlock tells me you’re potentially in a bit of a tight spot with some local gangs?” Katrina led the conversation. “And apparently I’m a good pair of extra hands for it?”

“Yes. You’re aware of how gambling is illegal here in China - I know I could have set up something in Macau, but I owed someone a favour. I said I’d take over her casino and race course,” Irene explained. “The gangs here keep the status quo in the criminal underworld. Everyone has a share to pay to keep things… tidy, on their own grounds.”

“And why have you asked us for help?”

“Two of my horses keep consistently falling ill despite being well looked after. I wasn’t sure why I was a target until other people’s horses started to fall ill too.”

“And there’s a race tomorrow, correct?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. So ideally I’d like to find out what’s going on before then.”

“You want us to come to the casino tonight? Scout out who could possibly have a problem or see if it’s simply coincidence.”

“You’re not a fan of coincidences though, are you, Mr Holmes?” Irene asked slyly.

“No. I’m not. But unfortunately, one can’t be ruled out in this case.”

Notes was scribbling away in the corner quietly. “Then let’s rule it out, then. How dolled up are we getting tonight?”

Katrina’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. “Of course that’s the first thing you’d ask about. I expect we can figure out what’s going on by the end of the night - whether or not a few drinks are involved. Reconvene here tomorrow?”

“A simple plan. I like it.”

Sherlock wasn’t the happiest and grumbled from his spot: “Simple plans never go well. But fine. We’ll see what we can find out without arousing suspicion tonight. Hopefully it’ll be enough to postpone the race.”

---

They were done with lunch by that point, the women much happier. Mycroft was mulling over what Katrina had told him, one leg crossed over the other, his jacket now draped over the back of his chair, and gently tapping his chin with one long, Holmesian finger.

“Miss Strike seems to be well connected… but rather stupid for being in the business she’s in whilst over here,” he concluded.

“I think she’s brave,” Notes said. “She’s done a bloody good job of not being found out by the government so far.”

“And she never will be found out,” Katrina added, shooting a pointed glance towards her old friend. “Besides, even if Mycroft wanted to know, she’s long gone by now. That was actually Notes’ job to sort out, should everything that happened go wrong - which it did - and that’s why you were after Notes, right?”

Mycroft was silent, but Sherlock turned to Katrina, a slightly proud look on his face. He gestured for her to keep going.

“You didn’t know Notes was going to be working with Sherlock, but since she’s on a very special list - you knew when she would be active again. Last week you were being pretty… weird… weirder than normal at any rate when we had tea,” she carried on. “You didn’t want me finding out what you were up to, which is why when you did tell me you were coming here, you said it was none of my business. But Notes was here, actually quite innocently helping Miss Strike with an exit plan whilst Sherlock prepped for my arrival to actually investigate what was going on. Am I wrong?”

“How was I to know that’s all Notes was doing?” Mycroft sighed, his head dropping into his palms for a moment before he looked over at Katrina again.

“The government man has a point,” Notes piped up. “I could have been doing anything -”

“Do us a favour and shut up,” Katrina grumbled, lying back down.

---

Katrina was glad for the fact that Irene had something else other than tight cocktail dresses in her wardrobe. If she’d known she’d be going somewhere relatively high class, she would have packed her suit. Either way, at least she was in a dress with a bell skirt that dropped to just below her knees. It was all black too, with thin straps.

It was the plainest thing that Irene owned, truth be told.

She hated dresses but this one was growing on her, which was good considering they were going to have to be wandering around an underground illegal casino with a cocktail bar all night - she needed to be comfortable. There was a pair of flat shoes for her too, so at least she didn’t have to deal with the pain that came with the heels that Irene wore.

She’d actually done something with her hair for once - the curls weren’t exactly tamed, but she did style it in a half up-half down do. Minimal makeup, just the way she liked. She was offered red lipstick but she chose a taupe one in favour.

A knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called out, and Sherlock sauntered inside wearing a three piece suit.

Katrina had to stop herself from laughing at the way his hair was slicked back too, and turned her back to him so she could pop her phone, some cash and the lipstick into the clutch bag that had been provided for her (by Irene, once again).

“Stop it,” Sherlock growled. “Notes is ready to go. She’s in one of Irene’s finest…”

“I’m sure she is,” Katrina replied brightly, spinning around to face him properly, bag in hand. “Are you my arm candy for the night?”

He made a gruff sort of noise, but gestured for her to exit the room anyway.

They met Notes by the front door, who was absolutely dressed to the nines (makeup and all) and in perhaps the tightest dress and most devastating heels Katrina had ever seen.

“No, Jak, we’re not shagging again,” Notes said with a smirk, opening the door and allowing the other two to head out first.

“I’ve mostly given up on that life,” Katrina said, as the three of them walked down the hallway towards the elevator.

“The bi life?”

“No. Shagging for no reason,” she said, pressing the button to call the elevator, and earning a chuckle from Sherlock in response. “Felt a bit pointless in the end.”

The elevator dinged, and once the doors opened they stepped in.

“For you, maybe…” Notes muttered, pressing for the ground floor.

“You should ask Sherlock what he thinks of sex.”

The detective sighed in disappointment. “I have no opinion on the matter. I have no desire for sex. I’m married to my work.”

“You don’t have to be married to partake,” Notes told him. “You can just… indulge without attachment.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I have no interest.”

They reached the ground floor, and instead of going towards the car park like expected, Sherlock led the two women out the front entrance.

Irene was waiting for them with a stretch hummer.

She looked effortlessly gorgeous. Ethereal. She was still wearing black like the rest of them, but Katrina couldn’t help but notice she was wearing it differently - as if she owned the colour, just like she owned the exact shade of red she was wearing on her lips. Katrina felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment wondered if she needed to rethink the whole ‘stop shagging for no reason’ thing.

“Don’t you all look dashing?” Irene gave all three of them the once over before allowing them into the hummer, following in behind. She sat up by the window where she could communicate with the driver more easily.

Notes took one of the long side seats, whilst Sherlock and Katrina remained next to each other, right at the back and closest to the doors.

Irene muttered something to the driver and off they went.

“Are we clear on the plan? You’re just here to observe tonight, that’s all,” she reminded them. “No funny business,” she aimed that one at Katrina, who raised an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she replied with a smile.

Irene shrugged demurely. Katrina glanced at Sherlock who was busy adjusting his cufflinks. He kept adjusting them in the same way over and over again, like a pattern.

C-H-E-S-T

He was trying to communicate with Katrina that he knew what she’d slipped into her strapless bra. Bloody detective and his powers of deduction.

“Fuck you,” she hissed, and he flashed her a smirk. For appearance’s sake, he did the other cufflinks too.

“Aren’t you an old married couple?” Irene quipped, amused by the subtle interaction. “My Morse code’s a little rusty, but it’s sweet that you two can communicate in various ways. Did you pick it up at MI5?” she directed that last remark to Katrina, who nodded. “I’m sure Mycroft would be proud.”

“Possibly. But he never expresses sentiment,” Katrina replied. “I won’t be doing any funny business tonight. Just looking pretty, drinking cocktails, and observing - not usually my area, but I’m happy to expand my skills.”

“That’s the ticket.”

The rest of the drive passed by in silence after that.

Nobody questioning why they pulled up to what looked like an abandoned building - an illegal casino needed to be hidden. Although it did unsettle Katrina seeing the kind of area they were in. It was somehow worse than London’s worst areas. Dilapidated, dimly lit, and the creeping feeling that someone or something was lurking in the shadows.

Sherlock and Katrina were the first ones out of the hummer, but followed behind Irene and Notes. He offered her his arm, which she gladly took hold of.

“Are you my arm candy or am I yours?” Katrina whispered to Sherlock as they entered the inconspicuous building.

“Which way around would you like it to be?” he replied. “Besides, didn’t you imply you were going to be the pretty one on the way here?”

“One day you’ll get to be the pretty arm candy then…” Katrina sighed.

They were all stopped by security at the doors to the casino itself, where the gentle thrum of music and chatter could be heard.

Katrina sent one of the guards a sweet smile before opening up her clutch as if to say she had nothing to hide, whilst Sherlock was patted down. Irene and Notes had already made their way in.

Thankfully, they were allowed in without a hitch.

It was a burst of colour and noise and Katrina suddenly gripped onto Sherlock in a moment of feeling overwhelmed by it all.

“Easy…” he muttered. “At least our job tonight is simply to observe.”

“I’m glad Irene and Notes have the talking covered…” she said.

“Very unlike yourself,” Sherlock started guiding them towards the bar, and ordered two martinis.

Katrina raised an eyebrow as she slid onto one of the bar stools. “You’re drinking?”

“I need to blend in. They’re aware we arrived with a driver, so it would be silly for me to not look as if I’m indulging in something. I refuse to gamble.”

“That makes sense,” Katrina glanced around the room, her eyes falling on Irene. “Was she a good fuck?”

Sherlock sighed. “Really?”

“I’m just curious,” she shrugged, and they were handed their martinis. Vodka ones, by the smell of it. Garnished with an olive. They both picked up their respective glasses and clinked them together. “Am I not allowed to be curious?” she asked after a sip.

“You are. She was good. I have no other parameters. I know she prefers women over men, but she’ll go for anyone. She’s got her eye on you,” Sherlock told her.

“Go on, tell me how you figured that out?” she grinned.

Sherlock toyed with his glass, running his finger around the rim of it. “She offered you her best dress and red lipstick earlier, both of which you declined purely out of your own tastes. She wasn’t offended at all, which is why she then found something that was more suited to you. She gave Notes the dress she initially offered you, but not the lipstick - a clear sign of favouritism, but I can guarantee by the end of the night those two will be about two drinks away from sleeping together.” He paused. “Oh, and she told me as much that she wanted to sleep with you. Asked me if that was alright.”

Katrina almost choked on her drink. “She asked you permission to sleep with me? Why?”

“Because we’re friends. She didn’t want to… upset me by doing it so wantonly.”

“Would you have been upset?”

Sherlock pondered the question for a moment. “No. You’re your own woman. However if Miss Strike - yes, we must call her that here - did hurt your feelings, rest assured I would allow you to complain to me for the appropriate amount of time before telling you to pull yourself together.”

Satisfied with that answer, Katrina grinned at him again. “You know me so well.”

“I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t.” Sherlock necked the rest of his drink and shuddered. “Come on,” he hopped down off his stool, “let’s do a circuit. I can understand a good portion of what they’re saying.”

Katrina grabbed her clutch and drink and began to follow Sherlock like a little puppy around the room. Every now and then, Sherlock would slyly whisper translations of what was being said, and from there she started to put pieces of what was going on together.

The entire casino was made up of local gangs, all of whom had at least one race horse ready to go on the ring that was in the extensively large underground of this particular building. Katrina wondered how well the horses were actually treated, but all of them were curious as to who was going around intentionally harming the horses in small ways in an effort to slow them down.

Of course, Irene’s horse was the one that was more consistently targeted in comparison to the others, meaning that someone was lying about their sympathies.

What was more interesting to Katrina - and what pricked her ears up - was about Irene’s accounts. Her accountant was by her side for a majority of the first hour they were there, but would periodically disappear every half an hour after the fact.

Sherlock and Katrina were at least three martinis deep by that point.

“Do you mind escorting me to the ladies room?” she asked Sherlock very suddenly, every word carefully picked to hide the fact she was absolutely pissed.

He nodded, offering his arm to her once again.

They had taken up a spot at the bar, so left their empty glasses there as Sherlock walked Katrina towards the bathrooms. He leaned against the wall next to the door in wait, keeping an eye out to make sure they weren’t being too closely watched.

Katrina was more alert than before on exiting the bathroom, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and power walking back the way they came.

“Slow down, Kat…”

“Yes. Well. I may have done a bit of ‘funny business,’ like Irene said I shouldn’t…”

“Slow down - they’ll get suspicious,” he said, pulling her to a stop just before they entered the casino again. “What did you do?” he hissed.

She opened her clutch to show him that there was an additional phone in there.

“Kat!”

“It’s the accountant’s phone. We need to find her office. I think Irene’s stolen some money, that’s why she’s in hot water and that’s why her horses keep getting ill. Keep up, Holmes!”

Sherlock dropped her hand, not entirely sure what he wanted to do, and seemed as if he was about to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her.

That was when one of the guards suddenly appeared.

Instead, Sherlock took hold of Katrina’s shoulders and pushed her against the wall, making it look like he was kissing her - but he wasn’t really. Their faces were dangerously close to each other’s, though, each of them inhaling the other’s vodka breath. Katrina’s hands immediately went to Sherlock’s back in surprise.

Whilst waiting for the guard to stop being suspicious, she started tapping on his back, communicating to him in the same way he did to her on the way there.

He sighed. “Are you serious? Now?”

“Might make it look more realistic…”

“Fine,” he grumbled, reaching into her cleavage and pulling out a memory stick before putting it in his jacket pocket. “You’re a bad girl, Kat.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” she very teasingly pressed herself against him before lightly pecking him on the cheek and getting out of his grasp. “Guard’s gone. Come on.”

The pair of them sauntered back into the casino, Katrina taking lead this time. She went over to the bar first and ordered two shots of tequila.

“What was that all about?” he asked her. “Out there.”

“Playing the game, Lock. Now chin up.”

They did their shots.

“I take it you’ve seen which door the accountant has been utilising?” she asked him.

“Naturally. I’m holding my liquor better than you.” Sherlock took Katrina’s hand as they started heading towards where the accountant had been disappearing to. “Theoretical whore.”

“Practising virgin.”

They held their heads high, proud of the exchange, and completely ignoring the fact that Irene and Notes were staring at them and speaking in hushed whispers.

Once through the door without arising any suspicion, they hurried down the corridors and checked in each door they passed until they came across an office. It was an absolute tip, with files upon files strewn everywhere but the pristine desk whereupon which sat a computer.

“The stick will be able to get into anything and download what we need,” Katrina told him, blinking rapidly. “How are you doing?”

“Just about fine. You?” Sherlock did as she requested, for some reason surprised that he was actually able to get into the computer with just that silly little USB drive.

“I’m fucked. Feeling like doing something stupid.” She flicked through various files, taking out her phone and photographing the relevant pages.

“There’s an officiator playing roulette,” he replied, searching through the computer and downloading everything relevant. “Feel like getting married?”

Katrina stood straight and glanced over at Sherlock. “Seriously?”

“Might be funny.”

“You have a strange sense of humour.”

“I don’t see you disagreeing.”

“Imagine Mycroft’s face if he heard we got married at an illegal casino in Shanghai!” she laughed. “It’s too good. Find anything useful?”

“Irene’s been skimming money. You were right. I was thinking it too - more accurately, that she’s been skimming off her payments to the locals…”

“Were you?”

“Yes, but I was going to bide my time until you stole the accountant’s phone. Good job on drunkenly putting together everything I translated for you.”

“How would the gangs know they’re short on their pay?” Katrina asked with a frown.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the accountant doesn’t work for just Miss Strike.” He looked at his watch. “We have five minutes until the accountant comes back.”

“Let’s go then.”

They ended up making a beeline for the bar once again and ordering two more cocktails - not martinis this time, something a little more fruity like a cosmopolitan. Not Sherlock’s first choice, but only had one at Katrina’s insistence.

“I’ll need the morning to recover,” she said after two sips of the cocktail. “Terrible idea, us two being the observers. Well - me, anyway. You’re good at it.”

“Hmm. I wonder why?” he quipped with a wink. “Miss Strike is in deeper trouble than we anticipated. They’re all after her. The race is tomorrow evening - it’ll come to a head then.”

“What do we do?”

“Talk to her tomorrow with clearer heads. Find out why she’s clearly in such a tight spot to be skimming her monthly payments. We can’t postpone the race - she’ll look suspicious.” Sherlock shuffled his stool closer to Katrina’s. “I’d say we’ve done our job for the night. Shall we have some fun now?”

---

“Let me get this straight,” Mycroft said, rubbing his temples with his fingertips in frustration. “All of this was over stolen money so they targeted her horses? Plural?”

Silence.

“When you put it that way, it does seem rather stupid, doesn’t it?” Katrina realised. “It’s oversimplifying the situation. I’m simplifying the story because I’m going to need to take another codeine in an hour or two.”

“Use the notebook…” Notes told her in a sing-song voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed it back to her.

“Unnecessary. Mycroft asked Katrina for her account, after all,” he told her with a scowl.

“Yet you spent the latter of it taking over,” Mycroft pointed out.

“I was sober for a year,” Katrina said. “So two cocktails was enough to tip me over the edge and apparently get married to Sherlock.”

“Ah! That reminds me: the annulment,” Mycroft said. One of the agents with him came over with the briefcase, handing it to him so he could root around in it and present a document to Sherlock and Katrina. “Thank you for the reminder. The idea of you two being married - in any capacity - I could hardly think of what the world would be coming to.” He shuddered, dropping the document onto the coffee table.

“Pen?” Sherlock asked.

Notes tossed one over to him, and he started scanning through the document.

“It’s a standard annulment,” Mycroft mentioned. “I’ve looked through it myself. Trust me on this one. We’re better off with you two not being a couple.”

“Fucking hell, Mycroft…” Katrina murmured. “Just because you can’t experience an ounce of human emotion, doesn’t mean your brother isn’t incapable of it.”

The Holmes brothers looked at her oddly, and she started trying to dig herself out of the hole she was in.

“What I mean is - uh - Sherlock and I are close. That’s all. Sentiment… and all that…” she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and cheeks, grateful that she was lying flat so it was difficult for anyone to accurately see her features. She didn’t need to attempt to hide. “Moving on,” she added, taking the documents and pen from Sherlock so she could sign them too.

“Yes. Do, pray tell, what ultimately led to you two ending up in the state that I collected you in?”

“Well, big brother… we jumped out of a window.”

Chapter 4: Silver Strike: A Tight Spot

Notes looked like she actually felt bad for them.

“Jesus, did me and Strike really leave you in that tight of a spot?” she asked.

Katrina halfway sat up, leaning on her elbows as she did so. “Do you really think me and Sherlock wanted to go out of a window? Do you think we had another option?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Katrina sighed and lay back down. “Without sounding too much like Sherlock, but when can I have drugs again?”

She just about heard him mutter a ‘fuck you’ before he spoke at a more normal volume. “Not for another hour. I can sort you out another hot water bottle to help in the meantime?”

“Please,” her voice had started to strain two sentences ago, but that singular word had been particularly rough for no specific reason. She avoided looking towards Mycroft or Notes when Sherlock got up and took the hot water bottle from her, heading over to the kitchen to refill it.

It seemed like nobody in the room wanted to address the fact that Sherlock was being weirdly nurturing towards Katrina, but at the same time it made sense - they were a close pair, and she wasn’t exactly in top notch condition at that moment. Nobody wanted to speak. Instead, whilst Katrina lay back in building agony, the other four occupants of the room watched the pair of them like hawks.

Katrina knew that Sherlock felt at fault for what had happened to her. He had thrown them out of the window, after all, and had landed on her. So of course he was going to be extra attentive, of course he was going to be careful when peeling back her blanket and giving her the hot water bottle.

“Thank you…” she murmured. “Now. Where were we?”

“Angry Strike paying us a visit?” Notes offered.

“Oh god, yeah…”

---

“What the fuck did you do?” Irene had come storming into the flat the next morning a little too early for Katrina’s liking, and her voice echoed down the hallway as did the clack of her heeled, stomping footsteps.

Granted it was ten thirty, but she had been fast asleep in Sherlock’s room with him curled up around her - had they been spooning all night? - and the hangover was thrust upon them both by the rude entrance. She groaned and rolled onto her back, Sherlock’s arm still around her. They were both still in the previous night’s clothing, only he had gotten rid of the blazer and tie.

“Does anybody start conversations with ‘hello’ anymore?” Katrina whispered, her voice hoarse.

Irene then stormed into their room, Notes hot on her tail.

“Apparently not…” Sherlock murmured, his voice equally as dead as Katrina’s.

Meanwhile, Irene was highly amused by what was before her.

“Well… this is a twist of events…” she smirked.

Katrina pulled back the covers to show they were still fully clothed. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I could get my hopes up for me in that case.” Had Irene really gone from being pissed off to flirting? This woman was truly insane. “But back to the point at hand…” At least she was somewhat self aware that she had been giving Katrina the once over. “What did you and Sherlock do last night to piss off my accountant?”

“She’s not just your accountant,” Sherlock pulled the covers back over him and Katrina. “She works with all the gangs - of course she was going to tip them off about you skimming money. Kat stole her phone.”

“Ah. Now that would do it,” Irene said. “Where is it?”

“In the clutch,” Katrina said, glancing over to it on the floor by the foot of the bed. “We had a look last night - Sherlock translated - and it’s not looking good for you. You’re either going to have to talk it out and explain yourself or go on the run. Might wanna let the horses go in the process, to be honest. They’re not gonna recover by the sounds of things.”

Irene had grabbed the phone by this point and appeared to be half paying attention as she scrolled through the messages, but Katrina knew better by this point. She was fully listening.

“Hmm. It looks like they’ve all figured out that you lot know,” Irene sighed. “What did I say about no funny business?”

Sherlock leaned off the side of the bed to grab his jacket and fish the memory stick out of one of its pockets. He tossed it to Irene who caught it in one swift motion. “You were far too late for that. Katrina had this in her cleavage the whole night. We broke into the accountant’s office and collected all the proof that would have really implicated you.”

“And how is this useful to me?”

“I nicked the stick from work,” Katrina finally sat up in bed and stretched, her shoulders clicking in the process. Ouch. What a hangover. Her head felt mildly full of cotton wool. “I neglected to mention to Sherlock that it had the ability to delete anything from the original source. Then again, I was drunk enough to steal your accountant’s phone in the bathroom.”

Irene almost seemed impressed. “Perhaps next time I won’t have you observing - you’re terrible at it.”

“Yet it worked in your favour,” Sherlock pointed out as he got out of bed. “They don’t have proof that you did anything. It’s all in your hands - you can destroy it.”

“Fuck…” Notes breathed. “I forgot how good you were, Jak.”

“The race was meant to be tonight,” Irene ignored Notes completely. “And you expect me to run?”

“It’s all you can do, Irene,” Sherlock stood across from her, half a foot’s distance between them as he stared her down intently. “Why did you take the money?”

“Are you in more trouble beyond this?” Katrina asked.

“No - no, I’m not. I took the money because I’m planning on moving on to someplace else. I was hoping nobody would notice my takings once this race was over.”

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid!” Katrina exclaimed with a laugh. “You’re clever but you have no common sense! You tried to be sneaky and clever instead of doing the simple thing of - I don’t know - selling the horses?!”

Sherlock smirked when Irene’s face dropped. “This is like your phone password all over again.” He gestured for Katrina to get out of bed. “Set up a meeting with them, Miss Strike. Talk to them. Negotiate. And then you can leave. We’re done here until tonight.” He turned to Katrina. “Breakfast?”

“Please.”

She and Notes followed him out of the room, leaving behind a mildly seething Irene.

---

Mycroft was acting as if he had aged ten years.

“You had no reasonable plan other than to negotiate?” he queried.

“Hey! We were hungover!” Notes protested. “And Lock said the word ‘cleavage’ so in all honesty there was a lot going on…”

“Not the worst word he’s said…” Katrina added. “Look - all you need to know is that it went wrong. Like really wrong. They thought Sherlock was behind the whole thing with the accountant so tried to beat him to a bloody pulp whilst I hid.”

The rest of the room stared at her in mild confusion.

“What?” she sighed. “I’m tired. Can’t we skip to the good bits?”

“I need to know the full story,” Mycroft said. “That’s why I’m here, after all.”

Sherlock made the face that would only come from being a petulant younger brother.  “No, you’re here because you needed to arrest Notes and because we called you to help us. Don’t act like it’s for anything else. Kat wants to skip to the ‘good bits’ because she can’t speak Mandarin.”

“You can explain the rest then…” Katrina mumbled.

---

The plan was simple, really.

Sherlock, Katrina, and Irene would confront each gang leader, whilst Notes did what she did best and hid and kept minutes of everything that was going on.

Everyone was to run at the first sign of danger, with the priorities of Irene and Notes getting out.

“It’s regrettable that there is no easy solve for this. You shot yourself in the foot, Miss Strike,” Sherlock remarked dryly as they headed back to the building from the previous night - only a few more floors higher than where they were previously.

“Yeah, I’m not actually sure what you really expected us to do?” Katrina asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the sweet little thing who can hack into computers and oh - I don’t know - give people new identities if they needed?” Irene retorted.

Katrina huffed as they ascended the stairs. “I’m not Sherlock, I didn’t observe. Just ask next time, okay? Bitch…” she added under her breath.

Irene caught the insult but it didn’t phase her one bit at all. “So you do have a bite… I was beginning to worry you were all bark.”

“We can flirt later.”

“If there’s a chance for that,” Sherlock shot an irritated look towards Katrina, who quickly flipped him the bird. “Is Notes in position?” At least he was good at bringing things back on topic.

“Of course. If anything goes wrong she’ll be the first one out of here.”

“Good. She can take all the evidence of Miss Strike’s crimes with her.”

“What a shame, indeed!” Irene said sarcastically as they finally came to a stop on the floor they needed to be on.

From there it was supposed to be straightforward.

Except, of course, it never was.

It didn’t help matters that Katrina could not speak the local language, and had to rely on the odd translation that Sherlock would give every now and then. It was obvious there was a negotiation going on and that Irene was trying to cover her tracks, but when Sherlock very pointedly glanced over at Katrina-

“What did you say?” she hissed at him, aware that a few of the leaders had guns trained on all of them. There were ten of them in total.

“That you were our witness - specifically that I had brought you along as a witness…” Sherlock gulped in response, more nervous about her reaction than the possibility of getting shot.

That’s when things really went south, and he ended up taking a beating right in front of them.

Neither Katrina or Irene could do anything about it, and the former thought it was rather random that they would pummel Sherlock’s face in just for that…

“Wait…” she whispered to Irene. “No - we can’t just-”

“We have to.”

“No we don’t,” Katrina couldn’t look as she heard the distinctive crunch of Sherlock’s nose breaking. “Give it to them.”

“What?”

“Give them the fucking stick!” she shouted at Irene.

“I don’t have it on me,” there was panic in Irene’s voice, as she was also beginning to worry for Sherlock.

“Tell them that.”

“I have.”

“Fuck this.”

In a bold move, Katrina shoved Irene to the ground and managed to grab the attention of everyone on the floor, and Sherlock was cruelly tossed aside. Whilst Irene was in the process of trying to get up, Katrina yanked the heels off of her feet and threw them aimlessly, hitting at least one target as she did so.

Shots fired out, and amongst the flurry of confusion and accidental friendly fire, Notes revealed herself from a darkened corner, having gone previously unnoticed.

“Fucking run,” Katrina helped Irene up and got her going in the direction of the exit. When one of the men tried to go after her, Sherlock just about managed to trip him up, grab his gun and shoot him in the leg along with two of the others.

Seven remaining. Katrina panicked and kicked the one she had managed to throw Irene’s shoe at and brought him down to his knees too. Six.

Three of them had taken chase after Notes, but not before she had slid a small clutch bag across the room that had landed by Katrina. Inside it: the memory stick.

Before the rest of them could attempt to make any more moves, Katrina held it up just as Sherlock got back to his feet and hobbled over next to her.

“Tell them that everything against Silver Strike - also known as Irene Adler - is on this drive, and they can have it if they want, but she and our associate will be long gone. We’re the only ones left.”

Sherlock did as she asked, his translation a little more clumsy that before due to the fact his jaw was turning yellow. The three that had been in chase after Notes had decided to come back when they realised that Katrina had the memory stick.

“They’ll let us walk away if we hand it over.”

“No they won’t. I don’t believe that,” she told him.

He translated again, but didn’t tell Katrina what they’d said in response. Sherlock’s shoulders were sagging and he dropped the gun - it went off and got another. Five to two.

Clearly he apologised for the error.

“Break it,” he then told her.

“They’ll kill us!”

“No they won’t. They’re starting to see us as less than valuable. They know they won’t be able to find Irene or Notes again, and they know we won’t either.”

“How sure are you?”

“Please…”

Katrina dropped the memory stick to the floor and stomped on it, destroying it entirely.

Guns were taken off safety once again.

The pair of them held up their hands in surrender, Sherlock taking a deep breath as he righted himself and stood his ground. God, they’d laid into him, and Katrina could tell from his slightly weary face that the adrenaline was wearing off.

He started speaking to them again, and she rolled her eyes because yet again - she couldn’t understand a word that was being exchanged. What Katrina did notice, however, was the fact that Sherlock was slowly edging in front of her.

Whatever he was planning, it clearly wasn’t good, and she closed her eyes with bated breath and silently hoped that it didn’t involve him taking a bullet for her. That would be going one step too far, in her opinion.

So of course it came as a massive shock to Katrina when Sherlock grabbed her and before she could protest they had smashed through the window behind them.

The shock of his action rendered her speechless, so much so that she couldn’t even focus on her stomach dropping as they were weightless for a few seconds, before crudely hitting the ground.

No cracking noises, thankfully, but Katrina cried out as her ribs screamed in agony at the impact of landing front first with Sherlock on her back. With a renewed energy and the pain from his beating forgotten, he rolled off her quickly and crouched by her as he carefully flipped her onto her back. Some blood dripped from his nose onto her face, but she didn’t care.

That was the least of her problems - they had just dropped down 

“They won’t follow…” he told her. “I told you they won’t bother with us…”

Katrina groaned. Without realising it, she had tears streaming down her face and she tried to curl into herself. 

“It’s okay… it’s okay, we have time…” Sherlock stood with his knees bent ever so slightly and hooked his hands under Katrina’s armpits. “We need to hide.”

“You said they… they won’t…” she was struggling to talk. A throbbing on her forehead told her she’d had some impact there with the ground too. She yelped when Sherlock started dragging her away from the building.

“I know, I know…  hang on…”

He’d taken her down a dimly lit side alley and was in the process of trying to make sure they were hidden among the shadows. He propped Katrina up against a wooden fence and knelt on the ground as close to her as possible, helping her tuck her legs under her as best as he could.

Each movement caused a searing pain through her body, all of it becoming too overwhelming as lights danced in front of her eyes, and breathless, she started to slide to one side. Sherlock was quick, though, and grabbed her before she collapsed to the ground entirely.

“I’ve got you,” he said, a little frantic. Katrina could barely focus on his face in the dim light but tried her best. “I’ve got you.” One of his hands was on her shoulder, keeping her pinned to the fence. The other was cupping her face. He carefully wiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb. “It’s okay.”

She blinked rapidly, still trying to keep focus on him. His hand then slid down to the base of her neck.

“Calm,” he told her. “Just… breathe, Kat. Put your hand on my chest.”

She did as he said, sliding her hand inside his jacket and doing her best to press her palm flat to his chest where she could feel his steady heartbeat. Immediately she snapped back to reality, Sherlock her anchor as she matched her breathing to his. They remained like that for a few minutes in silence, until Sherlock was happy enough that he went back to cupping her face again and stroked her cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated.

“I - I know…” she breathed, her shoulders slacking as she slowly calmed down. “Fuck. I don’t - I don’t feel great.”

She finally dropped her hand from his chest, and equally as quickly he moved his from her cheek and down to her other shoulder. “I can imagine. We can’t go back to the flat Irene put us in. We have to go somewhere else now. I’m going to call Mycroft.”

“He’s gonna be so pissed…” Katrina whined. “We can’t…”

“Kat. We have to. There’s no Notes or Irene, and you’re… you’re hurt.”

“So are you.”

“Logically, Mycroft will be able to get us somewhere safe. Are you able to sit up without my help?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Panic’s worn off. Thanks, Lock.”

He didn’t say anything and merely stood up, pulling out his phone and wandering further down into the alley, leaving Katrina to support herself against the fence. She took a deep breath and her lungs screamed - she let out an ugly groan, still hoping to a god she didn’t believe in that definitely nothing was cracked or fractured. Maybe Sherlock was right in calling Mycroft.

He wandered back over and sat down next to her. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Great. Great…” Katrina rested her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. She carefully slipped her hand into his and squeezed it every time her breaths aggravated her injury, and he didn’t protest at all. It was odd to see him be so kind. “I’m tired.”

“You hit your head. Potential concussion. Falling asleep whilst concussed-”

“It’s dangerous. I know,” she yawned. “Are you alright?”

“You broke my fall. I’m doing far better than you. This was not how this was supposed to go.”

“At least we’re all out in one piece. For the most part,” she chuckled, but then grabbed her side in pain. “Fuck sake…”

“Perhaps we should sit quietly until Mycroft arrives?”

“Best idea you’ve had tonight…”

“I thought the window was pretty good.”

Katrina made the correct choice in not laughing this time around, electing to squeeze Sherlock’s hand with every breath she took, and it reminded him that she was still conscious and present with him. Due to the fact she probably had a mild concussion, that sign of life from her was all that mattered - he could feel she was alive and well (the whole world in the palm of his hand) all things considered.

When Mycroft did finally arrive, neither of them said a word as they shakily got into the back of the car, the adrenaline no longer protecting them from the worst of their injuries.

---

“And you know the rest,” Katrina cut in. “Does this story satisfy you? Or is satisfaction one of those emotions you don’t really feel?”

“We’ll be returning to the UK the day after tomorrow,” was all Mycroft said as he stood up. He gestured for the agents to go over to Notes. “Unfortunately we need some time… separately with your friend here. Nothing too taxing. You two may have a day of peace to yourselves, as much as I despise that idea…”

“You better be nice to Notes,” Katrina warned him. “None of the usual interrogation tactics that MI5 use.”

“Who said we would be interrogating?” Mycroft responded with a wry smile as the agents handcuffed Notes and started frog marching her towards the door. “This is something you are not privy to, Miss Jenkins.”

“Ouch. Back to ‘Miss Jenkins…’” Katrina sighed. “See you in two days, Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft let out a strange, low, huffing sound and took his leave with Notes and the agents in tow.

Sherlock closed the door behind them and turned back to Katrina, an odd look on his face.

“That went better than expected,” he said. “Mycroft will have more questions for you when you go home.”

“Really?”

“Hmm. He’s going to ask Notes for her perspective due to the fact we managed to help her get away,” Sherlock paused. “Admittedly we could have done better on that part.”

“Probably. But we did the best we could given the situation.” Katrina sat up. “Now, I actually have a few questions for you… but first: codeine?”

Notes:

Hello! This is pretty much the end of the first little arc of what is going to be a big fic. Sherlock will have some answers for Katrina (and us!) in the next chapter, and they'll discuss a few other things too... I don't know why I thought any of this arc was a good idea because it kept getting away from me as it went on! But oh well. It's basically done now. Welcome back, old readers. Can't wait for you to see what I have in store! :)

Chapter 5: Silver Strike: Not Doing Feelings

Sherlock certainly delivered on the codeine front, because Katrina fell asleep mumbling all sorts of nonsense to him and woke up at around three o’clock in the morning in bed feeling more normal than she had done in the past day. Or at least, as normal as she could be considering the fully formed bruise that now adorned her ribs when she turned on the lamp in order to check.

Katrina rolled her top down and sank back down into the pillows, suddenly aware of the fact Sherlock was not in bed. The light filtering from under the door told her everything she needed to know, so she got up and headed through, not wincing as much as she had the day previous.

She stopped short on seeing Sherlock, who was shockingly asleep on the sofa under a blanket. A pang went through her heart for a moment, and a warm smile came to her face. She went over to him and on closer inspection saw that he’d been reading and the book had dropped to the floor. 

She didn’t risk leaning down to pick up the book, but elected to give Sherlock a gentle shake of the shoulder even that didn’t stop him from waking with a start.

“Oh. You’re up.” He appeared surprised, and she glared at him.

“How much codeine did you give me?”

“A regular amount, but Mycroft also supplied valium so I mixed a low dosage into your water - perhaps a touch too low, I was aiming for you to sleep until six o’clock in the morning at the very least,” he explained as he sat up. “How do I look?”

“Your nose and under eyes are purple, but more importantly - you drugged me?!”

“You asked for the drugs.”

“I asked for codeine.”

“Let’s not get pedantic…” he waved off her worry.

“Well — don’t do it again!” she snapped, before perching next to him. “Why are you in here?”

“You were restless. Had to wake you up a couple of times because you were crying out in your sleep.”

She frowned. “I don’t-”

“There was a fair bit of valium in your system — you won’t remember,” Sherlock sighed and ruffled his hair. “I have reason to believe you dreamt about them beating me up. Hard to watch?”

She sighed. “Of course it was. I don’t remember dreaming about it, though. Is that why you left me alone?”

“As much as I despise saying it - I needed sleep too,” he paused for a moment and eye Katrina curiously. “If you think you’ll be okay, I’ll come back to bed with you. The sofa leaves much to be desired in terms of comfort - how did you last all day lying on it?”

“It was more comfortable than the bruises, I’ll give you that much.” Katrina stood up. “You reckon the combination of drugs made me have bad dreams?”

He shrugged and got up, following Katrina as they both blearily stumbled back to the bedroom. “Possibly. I’ve not experienced that particular combination. Interesting experiment.”

“Hmm. Do that again and I’m going to be so fucking mad at you - that’s a promise. ”

The pair of them climbed into their respective sides of the bed, and Katrina was able to just about lie on her side so she could face Sherlock. Even though he had switched off the lights, she could just about make out his outline and features in the darkness, and shuffled a little closer to him.

“You aren’t to know if I’ll do something like that again,” he murmured in defence.

She chuckled. “This is you we’re talking about. Be serious.”

“I suppose you’re right…”

Katrina was certain he rolled his eyes at her, not that she could quite tell but she could feel it to be true. The more time she spent with him - even if it was as simple as talking to him - she was growing to understand him even more so than she had done before. She smiled to herself in the dark, wondering if this is what it was like to truly have a close friend.

“G’night, Lock…” she whispered, realising how heavy her eyelids had grown but without the addition of a peculiar concoction of drugs.

“Hmm. Sleep well, Jak.” Whilst his voice was equally quiet, it was far more awake than hers was at that moment.

As Katrina shut her eyes, she hoped she would either have a dreamless sleep or remember what she dreamt about. She had a vague recollection of rolling over in the middle of the night and curling up to Sherlock, but when she woke up a few hours later she found had indulged her and wrapped an arm around her.

Groggy and aware that the angle she had just been sleeping at was not the best for her injury at all, Katrina groaned and nudged Sherlock’s chin with the top of her head. He hummed and seemed to twitch awake.

“Happy?” was all he said to her.

“Kinda.” She shuffled away from him and rolled onto her back. “Shouldn’t have come over to you…”

“No, perhaps not, but you were half asleep and clearly in need of comfort after the past few days so I can hardly blame you for it.”

“It’s so much fun when you logic out my feelings.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Shockingly, no. It’s useful.” She sat up, refraining from groaning like an old man which amounted to a high pitched squeak escaping her lips. “Fuck me.”

“I’ll get you more codeine…” Sherlock was out of bed before she could even ask him.

“Thanks. And hold the valium this time?” she asked, watching as he opened the curtains and flooding the room with daylight. She blinked rapidly and rubbed her eyes in a sordid attempt to adjust to the sudden change. He waved off her question mixed with that slightly sarcastic tone with a huff before disappearing into the living room.

He came back a few moments later with the pills and some water, which Katrina gladly took and downed.

“Much like how I barely moved from the sofa yesterday, I’m barely moving from here today,” she told him. 

“At least have a shower and change out of those clothes,” he replied with a mild look of disgust.

“That means you have to as well.”

“I’ve been on the run-”

“Not right now, you’re not. So the both of us can clean up today. You first,” she added, when it looked like he was about to fully get back into bed again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, and trudged off to the ensuite bathroom and slamming the door with a little too much force behind him.

Katrina sank back down into the pillows with a grunt, trying her best not to aggravate the bruising anymore than she had done in the night. It was difficult, as her upper body was becoming more stiff with every passing second that she tried not to move. There was only so much she could do, unfortunately, and realised she just needed to let her body do its thing and recover at its own pace.

Flying back home was certainly going to be interesting, as would be returning to work on the following Monday.

She reached for her phone and emailed Daniel asking to come and pick her up from the airport. FLight details to follow as soon as she had them off of Mycroft. That she’d explain everything that happened in the car on the way home. And also that you couldn’t use WhatsApp in China, which is why she was sending an email to him at work even though she was technically off work.

Relieved that she wouldn’t have to spend any longer than necessary travelling with what would still be an angry Mycroft, Katrina shut her eyes and dozed whilst Sherlock was in the shower. She could hear the water running from next door, and it gave her comfort to know that she was never really without Sherlock, even when they were half a world away from each other most of the time.

He didn’t spend too long in the shower, and when he came out he patted Katrina on the foot, jolting her out of her dozy state.

“Don’t fall asleep again. You’ll mess up your circadian rhythm more than you already have.”

Katrina did her best not to stare at Sherlock, still damp from the shower with the towel around his waist as he rooted around in his own bag for a fresh enough pair of clothes to wear. His curly locks were beginning to dry off, all of them messy from where he clearly did a little towel dry in the bathroom. They were sticking up at odd angles that only made him look more-

She snapped out of it.

Sherlock was her best mate, and they’d had that chat already.

Don’t even go there… she told herself as she got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. A shower was definitely going to do her some good, and the heat would likely help with the injuries. As long as she didn’t run the water too hot.

Naturally, the bathroom was still steamy and warm from Sherlock’s use, which meant she didn’t even need to wait for the water to heat up when she turned it on and hopped into the shower. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to wash her hair - it had been a good few days, but the grime and dirt of the other night was still clinging to her in all the wrong places, her hair most notably. The shampoo and conditioner wasn’t exactly what she’d go for on her own curls, but it did the job and when Katrina stepped out freshly washed, the ache in her bones was minimal and she felt alive again. The drugs were probably beginning to kick in again.

She wrung out her hair before heading into the bedroom to find some underwear and a clean pair of pyjamas in her bag that she could lounge around in for the day. Sherlock had disappeared from the bedroom, so she quickly dried and got changed in his absence.

She wandered out to the living space to find him making toast, handing her two slices of it on a plate without a word.

“Hmm. Mycroft had this place prepped then?” she asked, taking a bite. She’d only eaten once previously in the past twenty four hours, and this was one of the best things she’d put in her mouth since.

“Bare minimum. Literally bread and butter. Pathetic…” Sherlock grumbled, going to settle on the sofa. He was in a pair of trousers and long sleeved shirt, much like how Katrina was used to seeing him dressed. “You said last night that you had questions?”

“Hmm,” she got comfy in the armchair opposite him, munching away on her toast. “Why were you so adamant that they weren’t going to kill us?”

“We were more useful to them alive.”

“So then why didn’t they come after us?”

“Not so much use if we didn’t know where Irene and Notes were going.”

Katrina sighed, his answers too blasé and quick for her liking. “Sherlock…”

“They recognised you,” his voice was soft, concerned, and so unlike him that for a moment she almost didn’t believe him again. “From the moment we set foot in that casino, they knew who you were. I knew Moriarty’s web spun far and wide, but for it to infiltrate specific groups was… unsettling. They were frightened of your capabilities, knowing what you had done for Moriarty before the fall. That’s why they didn’t believe what was on the drive we had.”

“So why not kill me?”

He smirked, looking her in the eye. “More useful to them alive.”

“As an ally…” she realised. Suddenly no longer hungry, she set her plate down on the coffee table.

“Exactly.”

“And they knew who you were?”

“Of course they did. So they’re very aware of who my brother is. Why else would we have gotten away so easily?”

“Which means they would have known who Notes was too.”

“Debatable. Notes isn’t as notorious as you, as far as I’m aware.”

“Does this mean I’m in danger?” Katrina asked quietly.

“No. Not whilst I’m around dismantling everything Moriarty ever built. You’d do well to keep your head low, however. I’ll only call you out again for help if it’s extremely important,” Sherlock assured her. “Nobody will hurt you or get to you.”

She gave him a dubious look at his bold statement, not quite believing that he even had the power to do something like that.

“I’m being serious, Kat,” he carried on. “I don’t intend on letting my friends take the fall for me . Or because of me. Ever.”

Eventually Katrina nodded in understanding, thinking that she and Irene were his only friends left that actually knew he was alive. Well, and Molly too. But Molly wasn’t exactly aware of what Sherlock and Katrina were up to, or even the fact that they were in contact. She’d never tell Molly what was going on - that would be beyond stupid - but now her train of thought was leading her to maybe finally getting a coffee with the woman. See how she was doing.

John, on the other hand, was someone that Katrina still had to avoid. She considered that it might be best to use her resources at MI5 for her own gain and keep tabs on the man, if only to keep avoiding him most of the time. As well as see how he was doing. It had been over a year now. When she almost ran in with him earlier in the year, he seemed to be doing well but a glimpse into the window of a house was never the best indication of how someone’s life was truly going.

“Is that a promise?” she asked. “Or is it stupid to promise something so big?”

“It would be stupid to make such a promise,” he replied. “But you know I mean it even without a promise.”

“Yeah… I know. I feel the same way about you. Just - if I could be here with you all the time… I’d make sure nobody could hurt you or get to you.”

“I’m flattered, Katrina, but I’m always one step ahead of the game.”

He was always such a smug bastard, and she didn’t say anything except smile to herself slightly and finish her toast.

The rest of the day passed by in a humdrum, droll haze of lounging around and trying to find something entertaining to do whilst confined to the flat. Katrina mainly focused on getting to her next dose of codeine to the point that Sherlock intentionally gave her a lower dosage the next time she needed it.

“You’re not going to be relying on this on my watch - we’re not doing the alcohol all over again,” he told her.

“Said the addict.”

“I’m not an addict, I’m a user,” he replied, dryly, as if that were a line he had used plenty of times before. “And we’ve already been over this. I’m clean. But if you’re not careful I’m slipping you some valium with your night time dosage again - see? I warned you, so you can’t get angry if I do.”

Katrian grumbled in response, shuffling off to the bedroom for a change of scenery and to read a book in peace.

Some hours later in the early evening, one of the men that had been at the apartment the previous day arrived simply to drop off dinner on behalf of Mycroft. Neither Sherlock or Katrina were expecting that, but it was very much welcomed. Sherlock actually ate considering he was no longer on a case, and Katrina realised that this was possibly the second time she’d ever seen him eat. He hadn’t eaten much when they were in Rome together, after all.

They didn’t talk much during dinner, nor before bed. Sherlock thankfully didn’t spike her with valium again. She tentatively curled up next to him, all too aware that this was going to be the last time she would see him for a while, that for all their want to be near each other was ultimately going to be dangerous for Katrina in the long run.

Sherlock pulled Katrina closer at one point in the night, whether consciously or not she didn’t care - being wrapped up in her best friend’s arms wasn’t something she would complain about. Overwhelmed at the thought of leaving him again after such an intense few days, she left his shirt stained with tears before falling back to sleep again.

She woke up before him the next morning and took the chance to immediately jump in the shower so she didn’t have to speak to him when he woke up. She couldn’t help but think they were such a strange pairing - anxious attachment on her part, avoidant attachment on his part. He was so terrible at admitting her cared for other people but he would show it in strangely intimate ways: when he calmed her down from panicking after their fall out of the window, the way he had pulled her close to him in the night, hell - being comfortable enough to share a bed like that!

Perhaps a more sane person would be confused by the actions of Sherlock, but Katrina knew it was all fine. They’d already spoken about it. But one thing they hadn’t spoken about in detail…

Irene.

And Katrina didn’t know if she wanted to speak about that, because she didn’t know what her thought process on it all was.

“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked, making her jump. When she’d finished up in the bathroom and gotten dressed, he’d been in the living room so she’d made a start on packing her bags, grateful for a tiny bit of extra space. Mycroft wouldn’t be long now in collecting her.

“Stiff,” Katrina said, a wry smile on her face. “I’ll be alright though. Bit difficult to lift anything…”

He nodded, electing to finally step into the room and actually assist her in packing. “I’ll… see if I can come to the airport with you this time.”

Katrina didn’t say anything and merely nodded. She didn’t know how to be around him right now. Retelling the events of the past few days — especially when it came to Irene — had her realising that maybe there was some harboured jealousy buried deep in her heart.

She wished he wasn’t helping her pack. She didn’t want him to be there in the room with her, but she also didn’t want to tell him to piss off and open a can of worms again that didn’t need to be opened.

Sherlock’s hand brushed hers briefly by accident and she recoiled.

“Kat?”

“I… sorry,” she said, her gaze meeting his as they both stopped packing her bag. He was deducing her, she could feel it. Calculating but calm, no coldness in his heterochromatic blues. Katrina chewed on the inside of her cheek and folded her arms. “Go on then. Say it. Tell me what’s wrong right now.”

“Irene is a friend,” Sherlock started off, knowing exactly what had been going through her mind. “You’re my friend. And both of those friendships are complex in their own ways. I don’t do feelings , Katrina.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” she said with a lump in her throat. “I was… I don’t have feelings for you either, if that was your next question.”

He nodded, mirroring her stance. “You said the other night we shouldn’t kiss again. No apparent flirting on my part either.”

“I know. I’m not — I’m not trying to find a loophole in that, I just — I’m human and you aren’t sometimes. Yet you’ve looked after me way more tenderly than I expected and it- I don’t know. I’m explaining this badly,” Katrina looked away from him and added the last of her things to her bag. “It’s intense when we spend every moment together for a few days and then we have to go back to being long distance friends. It’s like everything comes pouring out of both of us - don’t deny it, you care about me - in one go. Every bit of affection we have for each other, no matter how big or small.”

“I wouldn’t deny anything,” he murmured. “What do you want from me, Katrina?”

She frowned, unsure why he was asking her that.

“Our closeness… it’s certainly been a new experience for me to explore so I need clarity from you,” he carried on.

So he was confused now?

That, she wasn’t expecting.

“I want you to be my friend,” she told him, finally. “A friend that understands that on the scale of logic to emotion, I am firmly in the emotional camp, and that friend needs to deal with it when I get sentimental.”

“Alright. That I can do,” he told her with sincerity, and Katrina sighed with relief. “I don’t need to say it, do I?”

“What?”

“You know exactly what.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip now. “Do I?” Katrina wanted him to explicitly say it, if only to humour her just this once. He knew that too, a slight smirk coming to his face.

“I like it when you’re here,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “And I dislike your absence.”

“So… you’re going to miss me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Exasperated, Sherlock said: “Yes, exactly that.”

She smiled, about to go in for a hug when someone knocked at the front door. She rolled her eyes, Sherlock dutifully grabbing her bag and following after her as she went to answer.

“Ready?” Mycroft couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries, it seemed.

“Obviously,” Katrina muttered.

“Unfortunately it would be unwise for Sherlock to come and see you off. If you wouldn’t mind engaging in whatever form of sentimentality you need…”

Sherlock dropped the bag to the floor as Katrina turned to face him, a little awkwardly since Mycroft was watching their every move.

“I’ll… text you when I’m home?” she offered.

He nodded. “Yes. Please do. I’ll keep you updated of my whereabouts. You know - so you don’t worry so much. Might be a while before we see each other again.”

“Yeah… well… this was fun. I think?”

He chuckled. “Hmm, quite. Perhaps we won’t be throwing ourselves out of windows next time… or engaging with Miss Strike again.”

“Sounds like a plan. Stay in trouble, Sherlock.”

“And you stay out of it.”

There was a moment where neither of them were entirely sure what to do thanks to Mycroft simply being there , but Katrina ultimately went in for a hug. Sherlock returned it with a quiet enthusiasm, a quick squeeze of his arms around her waist and then they broke apart. Katrina looked between Mycroft and her bag, and with a sigh, the government man picked it up in her place.

“Bye Sherlock.”

“Bye Kat,” he said with a wink, watching her follow his brother out the door and down the hallway, only heading back into the apartment once they had disappeared into the elevator.

“If you talk to me on the plane, I’m not liable for any damages that I’ll incur,” Katrina told Mycroft.

“Lucky for you, I’m not in the talking mood. We’ll discuss on Monday afternoon in our usual slot - perhaps we’ll take a full hour?”

“Hmm. Sounds good to me.” Katrina did her best not to appear so nervous.

Who knew how that conversation would end up going?

Notes:

Hello all! First mini arc of the story is DONE! Finally. Sorry it took so long. I've been bouncing around the document that RTL sits in, writing more of the further in advance sections of the story... The word count is going to be through the roof, I believe. Nice, long chapters, to account for the slow burn angle I'm going for, I guess. I'll try to be quicker with my updates where I can! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the rest.

Chapter 6: Tally Chart of Favours

Katrina slept on the flight, even if it was only a light sleep. Mycroft was utilising the wifi to make business calls left, right, and centre, so she unfortunately had to put up with his droll voice seeping into her subconscious. At least it was a private plane and they had it to themselves. She had no qualms about reclining the seat to the fullest extent, stretching out, and using the blanket and her coat to keep her warm.

It wasn’t too awkward on her rib injuries, but she felt stiffer than she had when leaving the apartment that morning on arrival back in London. Thankfully, as promised, Daniel was there to drive her home, but it didn’t stop the slightly intimidating goodbye from Mycroft.

“I’m sure you’re now more aware of the dangers that come with being close with my brother,” he called after her as she was walking off with Daniel. The pair turned to glance back at him.

“And I’m surprised you can’t do anything about it,” she hit back. “Sherlock told me that it’s likely thanks to Moriarty I can be recognised.”

Mycroft shrugged. “There was only so much to be done when it came to Moriarty. Besides, you’d already had a name for yourself in the criminal underworld long before he came along. Perhaps Sherlock was wrong. He often is.”

Katrina snorted. “He’s often wrong in your opinion. I think you need some quality time with your brother again one day.”

He pulled a face at that whilst Daniel held back a laugh. “I can do without the brotherly sentiment. Don’t forget about our upcoming chat on Monday.”

“Am I in trouble, boss?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Mycroft gave her a wry smile before promptly getting into his car.

Katrina glanced at Daniel, rolled her eyes and they finally carried on walking towards where he’d parked.

“So… Shanghai was good?” he asked. “Didn’t get into any trouble at all?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh you know… jumped out of a window and all that.”

“That explains the fat lip,” he remarked, and Katrina smacked his arm.

“Hey! I didn’t think it was that bad… Sherlock didn’t say anything…”

Daniel smirked. “Well of course he wouldn’t…”

“Shut it,” she grumbled as they got the car, Daniel promptly dumping her bag on the back seat as she got into the passenger side. Once he was in, they set off back to central London, Katrina feeling more awake than she had done on the flight - thank goodness for timezones anyhow, as it was coming up to around lunchtime now. “Mycroft is gonna kill me on Monday, I just know it. I’d rather the jump out of the window was a bit higher up so I’d be in a coma instead.”

“Jesus Christ, Kat… chatting with Mycroft won’t be that bad now, cm’on…”

“Hmm, you don’t know him like I do,” she sighed, sinking back in the seat. “How was your birthday?”

“Oh - it was fine! Wish you’d been there. We went bowling and then to the pub after.”

A nice, normal birthday, for a nice, normal boy. Katrina wondered why she couldn’t have been attracted to Daniel after all. “I’m sad I missed it.”

He snorted in response. “Yeah, but you were with Sherlock having an adventure in Shanghai! You barely thought about me the past week - you didn’t even text to say happy birthday!”

“I saw you before we left and I told you then!” she protested, her eyebrows turning upwards in guilt. “Sorry, I - Shanghai was a mess. Really. I barely had a moment to think.”

She caught him side eyeing her but didn’t mention it, and he ended up sighing. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have been that annoyed on the day about it… you were also what? Eight hours ahead?

Katrina nodded.

“What’d you get up to on Wednesday evening then?” he asked, a more forced lightheartedness to his voice.

“Scouted out bad guys at a casino, pretty much. I got to look pretty, get drunk, and observe. It’s a rarity for me to shut the fuck up, isn’t it?”

He laughed, and it was more genuine now. Katrina felt relief flood through her - it seemed like it was impossible for Daniel to actually stay mad at her for any reason. It was awfully sweet of him, but at the same time it made her wish he’d grow a backbone.

“Hmm. Well, you were pretty quiet when you first started at work…” he teased, and she smiled. In truth, it had been Daniel who’d gotten her out of her shell again. Granted, it had taken him a fair bit of time and plenty of Pret coffees to do so, but she was grateful for it all the same. Once she threw Sherlock into the mix, she had really become a better version of her old self again - one not weighed down by traumatic events from her past.

“Good job. You wore me down,” she ended up chuckling. “Thanks again for picking me up by the way… I did not need more Mycroft. Or to have to deal with my bags on my own.”

“Yeah, did you break anything when you went out the window? By the way - going to need the full details on that when you’re in on Monday…”

“Ah. Didn’t break anything. I just have really bad bruising on my ribs, and just about managed to avoid a concussion. I’ve been on codeine for the past day or so, but aiming to just drop that down to co-codamol instead,” Katrina explained, shifting in her seat in an effort to get comfy all over again. The passenger seat of the car was not like the seat on the plane at all, and she was feeling that annoying discomfort in her ribs again. Thankfully there was a Boots on Baker Street that she could nip into, and she’d probably grab some lunch from the Pret nearby as well. A proper food shop could be saved for tomorrow - she wanted to lie down, read a book, maybe take a hot bath to ease the ache…

“Kat?”

“Huh?” She snapped out of her thoughts. “Sorry. Was thinking about what I was gonna do when I got home.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t hit your head too hard, didn’t you?”

“No. I can get checked over again at work on Monday if you’re worried, though? Just… you’re gonna have to help cover me a bit. I don’t want anyone else knowing what’s happened.”

“Am I the only person who knows what’s been going on?”

“Yeah. And it needs to stay that way,” she said it pointedly enough that the conversation pretty much ended there. She didn’t mean to be so overtly blunt with Daniel, but he was far too eager and chatty for his own good sometimes that she often wondered why she trusted him. None of those traits were a bad thing per say, but she knew what it was like to run her mouth, and there was always the off chance he could do the same by pure accident.

The silence for the remainder of the journey started off awkward, but it thankfully turned into something more comfortable as the pair of them realised there was no need to be so weird with each other. Katrina would let Daniel know the full story once they were back at work sparing no details. All she had to do was think up an excuse for the split lip and whatever minor bruises were on show on her face, and she’d be covered.

Daniel is kind enough to bring her bag to the top floor of 221B for her once they arrive, eagerly offering to go get her anything she needed, leading her to joke that he’s only meant to be her PA at work. Sending him off with a quick ruffle of his blond hair, Katrina is glad to see the back of him and be in her own company for once. She could only hope that Mrs Hudson didn’t make her way upstairs with a chirpy “yoo hoo!” and a cup of tea.

Katrina wanted peace and quiet after a hectic few days.

Methodically, she tossed her laundry from the trip into the basket and ultimately decided she’d leave it until tomorrow. She trudged back down to the kitchen all the same, tossing out any food that had gone off over the past couple of days and giving the milk a sniff to check it was still usable. She considered the semi-skimmed milk for a moment after giving it the cursory smell, but decided it was ultimately good enough for one more day for the odd cup of tea and that she’d get a fresh carton of it tomorrow.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow .

She’d never been much of a procrastinator before, but today it was needed.

A quick trip down the street to both Boots and Pret later, Katrina stretched out on the sofa with the television on in the background as she dosed up on co-codamol and ate her way through an overpriced toastie. She had the television on in the background, playing reruns of Friends so as to drown out the silence of 221B.

As much as she wanted peace and quiet, Katrina had to admit that being alone in 221B didn’t feel great after such an intense few days with Sherlock, Notes, and Irene. Perhaps it was the wind down from all the adrenaline, the lack of ridiculous situations to get into that were making it all the more worse. She missed the stimulation that the situation in Shanghai provided her.

God, how very Sherlock of her.

At least she knew that going back to work would be interesting, even if things were a bit… quiet at the moment. She also knew that it was important to bring up notes in her chat with Mycroft - she wanted to know why Notes was even in China in the first place, and what Mycroft found out from her.

Katrina yawned, and realised that vegetating on the sofa wasn’t going to help her fix her jet lag or sleep cycle. She needed to stay awake until nine o’clock that night earliest . She switched off the television not long after she’d finished eating, got up, and carefully stretched herself out. The ache was dulling down anyway thanks to the painkillers, but it felt good not to be so hunched over anyway.

One thing that had occurred to her - as it had been briefly mentioned a few days ago - was keeping a tally of all the favours that she and Sherlock owed each other.

She went over to the desk and foraged about in the drawers and managed to find a small whiteboard and a dry marker. She curled up in the navy blue armchair, pondering over what her and Sherlock had been getting up to recently.

She wrote “JAK” on one side of the board, and “LOCK” on the other, drawing a line down the middle to indicate each separate side. She marked a tally down on her side, as she had owed Sherlock after he’d helped her out in the alleyway that night. Then another for the fact he didn’t make her pay during the diamond case.

She then removed a mark and added one to Sherlock’s side for Baskerville. She added one more to her side as Sherlock had gotten her moved down Mycroft’s naughty list. Then another tally mark on Sherlock’s side for the Holly Peters case. Then she figured she owed him for the fact Moriarty had used her to betray him. But… during that time, she’d also helped him out anyway so he owed her one. She didn’t bother scrubbing off any.

Katrina stared down at the board for a moment, her count having gotten them up to three each. Him getting back in touch and doing some ground work for him took her down to two - so she rubbed a line off. Then she actually went out to Rome - another favour, down to one.

She distinctly remembered asking Sherlock to cuddle her as a favour, but why had she thought at the time it’d take him down to one? He was down to two, if anything. She must have miscounted at the time. Shanghai was a balancing act - technically it was a favour called in from her, but then he had gotten Mycroft to help them out.

So it remained:

JAK - I

LOCK - II

That seemed about right.

Sherlock owed her two favours? Nice. She hadn’t expected to be the one coming out with the upper hand, even if it was by the skin of her teeth so she was quite impressed with herself. All she had to do now was remember to actually update the fucking thing when something else happened. If anything, it was likely that Sherlock was going to be in debt more to Katrina if he managed to get her out of the country again, which she knew wouldn’t be for quite some time all things considered.

After that bit of fun, the weekend passed by slowly as she finished off all her errands and got prepped for the work week ahead. For the time being, Katrina pushed all thoughts and anxieties about her upcoming chat with Mycroft to the back of her mind and decided it was simply Monday afternoon’s issue and that it would probably all be fine. Probably.

When Monday did roll around, the first thing that happened on arrival at the office was Daniel immediately escorting her up to medical just to make sure she wasn’t more permanently damaged. Which thankfully, she wasn’t. Katrina was sent off with a course of prescription strength co-codamol that would last her the week with the hopes she could just drop down to regular paracetamol by the following week and the bruising would be gone within the month.

She avoided as many meetings as possible in the claim of “catching up” on last week’s work - which was partly true, but she also didn’t want to have to be wincing everytime she moved through the building.

Then it finally came: her hour long chat with Mycroft.

Katrina gulped and knocked on his office door with a shaky hand, before straightening out her jumper and holding her posture more upright before he allowed her entry. She didn’t want to look nervous in front of Mycroft, but she knew that he’d see right through the facade and garner that from what was ultimately a stilted “good afternoon” on her part.

She sat down, allowing Mycroft to pour her a cup of tea and make it just the way she liked before they even got to actually talking.

“Did you find out why Notes was in Shanghai after all?” she asked, before he could even begin questioning her.

“Yes, I did. In fact, it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated it being. The only black mark for her in this instance, was when she came to help you and Sherlock,” Mycroft replied, a finger delicately running along the bottom of his chin. “I have all her notebooks from the time she was out there. Unfortunately we had to relocate her from Asia entirely.”

“And by that you mean she now works for you?”

“Precisely. Can’t have her running around doing anything else stupid. I suppose I should have your friend TB come under our employment too, but so far he hasn’t caused any harm with what he does.”

Katrina’s brow furrowed. “And Notes has?”

“No - but she has the potential to. Her fondness of record keeping could cause some serious damage if found in the wrong hands,” he sent her a wry smile. “Much like your name being in the mouths of various gangs across the world. Thankfully they only know you as Jak. Nothing more, nothing less.”

That made all the pieces click in Katrina’s mind. “That’s why you weren’t worried when I mentioned it at the airport!”

“Dear lord , and I thought you were supposed to be clever. You did get checked over today right?” Mycroft frowned. “No lasting damage?”

She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea before setting down the cup. “No. No lasting damage. Just some very painful ribs until the end of the month.”

“Which brings me onto what I needed to talk to you about: you are not to put yourself in a position like that again,” despite Mycroft’s voice being low, almost like he was trying to console her as a friend, there was a firmness too it that reminded Katrina that he did also function as her employer. He wasn’t just her best friend’s brother: he was her boss too, and he could easily fire her if he felt that she was toeing the line or about to step over it.

Quite frankly, Katrina did not want to fuck around and find out when it came to Mycroft.

“I am fine with the fact you are in contact with my brother,” he carried on. “You haven’t done anything to put him in a position of danger but the fact of the matter is he has not had the same consideration for you. I know you are close, but when Sherlock gets an idea in his head it does not leave until he sees it through. Was he the mastermind behind the plans that ended up going awry in Shanghai?”

Katrina felt her jaw go taut and the bottom of her right eyelid twitch. The bare minimum of reaction to let Mycroft know that actually he was toeing the line right now. What did he know of hers and Sherlock’s relationship? How would he know that Sherlock would willingly put her in danger? She had been given a choice both times and it had been hers alone to make - Sherlock had never forced her to Rome or Shanghai, he had never given her an ultimatum. Perhaps he could have done with warning her better, but he wasn’t one to be so patronising to her lest she dish it back tenfold and bruise his ego.

“It was him and the client,” she said. “But I added my own sort of… je ne sais quoi to the operation, so to speak. If anything it was probably me that got us into trouble.”

“How so?”

“I collected data regarding the client at the time from her accountant. Money skimming. I basically stole the proof the gangs needed and then we destroyed the memory stick it was on.” Katrina paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Why else did we have to jump out of a window, Mycroft?”

“Don’t defend him-”

“I’m not!” she protested. “I’m admitting to what I did! I make my own choices - Sherlock has no influence on them whatsoever.”

“Aside from being Sherlock, of course,” he quirked a rather accusatory eyebrow when making that remark, and it stopped Katrina short.

“What the hell does that mean?” she spat after a moment, rising to her feet ignoring the creaks of protest from her chest. “What the fuck are you implying?” She slammed her fist on the table, nostrils flared. “No - don’t give me that look, we are having this conversation as friends right now. You cannot assume I would do something just because Sherlock asked me to. Have you forgotten why I had to work here for you in the first place? Why I had to abandon John? Leave my old friends behind? It was because even though I was in a hard place, you stuck a rock in the way of my escape!”

Mycroft was silent, unable to look her in the eye.

“So say I did do things because it was Sherlock asking - please remember it was you who put me in that position in the first place. I’m lucky I have Daniel now and that I’m starting to like the rest of the team here, otherwise I’d really be stuck, wouldn’t I?” Katrina had simmered down by now, knowing that she had made her point.

“Are you done?” Mycroft said.

“Is that all you have to say?”

When he didn’t respond, a light, smug look crossed Katrina’s face.

“I don’t think the full hour was ever necessary,” she said, before storming out of the office and slamming the door in her wake.

Whatever adrenaline had been coursing through her body wore off by the time she reached her office. Gasping for air, Katrina placed a palm to her ribs and leaned against her desk for support for a moment. She couldn’t have any more pain meds for another couple of hours, so decided to ring Daniel on his desk phone.

“There’s gotta be a hot water bottle up with medical, right?”

“Uh yeah, why - are you okay?”

“Think you can get it sorted and bring it to my office? I just did something stupid.”

“You know what, I’ll get some coffee too.”

Chapter 7: Autumn 2012

Autumn in London was nothing short of wonderful - to a point.

As the trees withered and their leaves went from bright green to yellow to brown, the weather hit that annoying spot of too cold in the morning but too hot by the middle of the day. Wearing a jumper always seemed like a pointless idea by lunchtime, which was why Katrina was grateful to be in the perpetually air conditioned MI5 - it meant that when the few hot days of British summer passed by a month before, she’d had no reason to complain at work.

Besides, now that autumn was in full swing it meant getting cosier by default anyway and with that came burying any petty behaviour. Katrina was twenty nine now, and it was absolutely going to do her no favours to stew in the contempt she held for Mycroft at this point in time. For at least two weeks she avoided the usual Monday session but as her Shanghai wounds began to heal up and her texts with Sherlock became more and more spotty as he delved into further ridiculous situations in other countries, Katrina decided to grace Mycroft with her presence once again.

She actually purposely went out of her way to go and buy them some nice, takeaway coffee. There were a couple of independent places not far from the building so by the time she got back it was still piping hot and she had a feeling he couldn’t reject a peace offering like that. Precariously balancing one takeaway cup on the other, she rapped on his door three times.

There was a moment of silence before he let her in, and Katrina had a feeling he was debating whether or not to actually let her in.

Either way, she left one of the coffee cups on his desk in silence and did not sit down, intending to make this visit quick and the least amount of awkward she possibly could.

“There’s um… no use being pissed off with you forever,” she said.

“And there’s no use in teasing you about my brother forever,” was the reply. “You were right - I did put you in a difficult position. So if you found friendship with my brother then I cannot deny you that or imply anything else otherwise.” Mycroft took the coffee and raised it to her before taking a cautionary sip. “Hmm.”

“If you hate it I don’t care too much, I was really hedging my bets.”

“I don’t hate it, per se…” He was clearly trying to hold back a grimace. “It’s fine.”

“And on another note, thanks. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I won’t be doing it again.”

She refrained from smirking. “Sure. I have to run, but I’ll see you around.”

With that, she left in better spirits than before. Not that she really had to run, but she didn’t have much else to say to Mycroft at that particular point in time and wanted to save the both of them from the awkward small talk.

The combination of being healed from her injuries and actually making up with Mycroft really had Katrina walking with a spring in her step, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Someone’s happy,” Claire said to her as they bumped into each other whilst she was on the way back to the office. Whilst Katrina would have much rather it be Daniel, she was beginning to warm up to Claire anyway. “Considering the time of seasonal depression is upon us.”

“That’s very… winter is coming of you,” Katrina remarked lightly.

“You watch Game of Thrones? ”

“Caught up fairly recently, but maybe my references are a bit behind,” she shrugged. “Either way - yes, I’m happy despite the likelihood of seasonal depression. Granted, I think I should be okay this year. You?”

Claire seemed taken aback that Katrina was being not only open, but genuinely interested in her wellbeing.

“Come on, Claire, I’m your head of department - I do actually care, considering I have major issues myself.”

“Right, um…” Claire still seemed rather taken aback and still struggled to hide her surprise as the pair of them slowed down on approach to Katrina’ office door. “I think I should be fine.” Hardly convincing. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”

Katrina merely nodded in agreement, not wanting to push the subject. “Well… my door is always open…” she glanced at the firmly closed door in question, “metaphorically speaking.”

On that awkward note, she retreated inside before Claire could say another word. Katrina closed her door and slid down it with a sigh of relief, almost laughing to herself at the ridiculousness of the past fifteen or so minutes. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad heading into winter after all, really. She had a sip of the coffee and almost winced in distaste - Pret was fine in comparison to whatever Mycroft kept stashed away from the rest of his employees, that was for certain.

Katrina remained sitting on the floor of her office, electing to ignore her work for a little longer as she pondered over the past couple of months and what was to be coming up in the future. For a moment her heart leapt into her throat and her palms grew a tad sweaty when she remembered she had no idea when she was going to hear from Sherlock next, let alone see him. The texts were spotty enough as it was anyway and she realised she had been trying to ignore the inevitable - that no contact for a little while was going to happen and she could not avoid it.

She needed to settle into life here in London properly again. She couldn’t hinge her hopes on her best friend that was thousands of miles away - she needed to focus on her best friend here . Daniel. She’d already done the poor lad a disservice by getting so wrapped up in herself that she forgot to text him on his birthday and even though they were fine it was impossible for her not to harbour some guilt from it. How could she forget her friend’s birthday?!

Aside from that, she really needed to get on with her team better. That brief conversation with Claire had been a good start, but she needed to somehow work her way around the rest of them. At least she was beginning to dip her toes back into the idea of “Friday pub” with them, and knew that that upcoming one there was bound to be a trip around the corner to either The Riverside or Mother Kelly’s. She hoped Mother Kelly’s. She was getting a bit sick of The Riverside, truth be told. Everyone from work went there. But their gang needed to find somewhere quieter, she’d decided.

Only, she could only really implement that idea once she was more fully acquainted with everyone. Properly. The fact it had been over a year and the only people she spoke to were Mycroft and Daniel was abysmal.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Katrina finally went back to her desk with her now tepid coffee and found that she had rather enjoyed her time on the floor reflecting on life, and found herself able to breeze through the rest of the day - and week, for that matter.

Whilst they still wandered down to The Riverside for Friday drinks, Katrina still had a good time. She bought most rounds of drinks in an effort to make up for all the times she never joined them, which went very much appreciated. She didn’t overdo it either, and merely felt merry by the time eleven o’clock rolled around that night and they all had to head home.

It transpired that Claire actually lived along the Bakerloo Line, so they both ended up taking the same route home with Katrina getting off at Baker Street whilst the other woman carried on further north. On entering 221b that evening, she thought briefly of the time when she’d last returned from a night out with her work friends to find Moriarty in her living room; Katrina ended up taking careful steps up towards the living room, an almost forgotten familiar tightening in her chest as she flicked on the stitch of the light only to exhale a deep breath to see that the living room was fine.

Everything was pristine. There was no consulting criminal on the sofa or in either of the armchairs, and on further investigation: not in the kitchen, her bedroom, bathroom, or Sherlock’s old bedroom. It was only after she left Sherlock’s room that she mentally had to slap herself for falling into that paranoia; the trap of her own mind. It had been some time, but she realised she had forgotten about the inescapable nature of trauma, ready to draw her back into its painful clutches for even the briefest of moments.

Katrina barricaded her bedroom door that night and on waking the next morning, moved her therapy session a few days earlier. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

Aside from that one minor bump in the road, autumn carried on fairly normally.

Until of course, the buzz about the Halloween party started in the office during the second week of October. The posters went up around the office, and sure enough Katrina and her team were gathered around one during an afternoon coffee break.

“Kat, do you think you’ll go?” Daniel asked.

She sighed, taking a sipping of the still too boiling beverage and hissing afterwards. “Maybe.”

“Oh, come on!” Claire nudged her lightly. “You missed out on last year’s, why not come this year? It was a riot!”

“It was quite fun, actually,” Flora piped up. She was one of the quieter girls but had proven herself a loose cannon at drinks. Katrina kept her stare fixed on the poster so as not to give the poor girl a once over whilst she wondered how much more wild could she get at a party in comparison to a casual drink on a Friday after work?

Katrina squinted a little closer at the poster. “Costume competition? Does anybody actually take it seriously?”

“Benjamin does.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the man and gave him the once over. “Yeah that doesn’t surprise me, actually.”

“Wow, Kat,” he feigned offence but chucked a wink anyway. “I’ve love to see the effort you’ll put into your costume!”

She groaned whilst the others laughed. “Okay - back to work everyone - and pray there’s a national emergency so we have something far more interesting to do…”

As per usual on setting off back to her office, Daniel was practically skipping after her.

“I was thinking of going as a wizard for Halloween this year…” he said to her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” He was definitely too excited about the idea.

The awkward silence that followed led Katrina to slow down and turn her attention fully to him. “What are you getting at, Daniel?”

“Fancy being the witch to my wizard?”

As far as ideas went, that wasn’t a horrible one in her opinion. “I could work with that. Seems like an easy costume to do - I’m not really one for dressing up.” Already with a few ideas in mind, Katrina set back off down the corridor leaving Daniel only a little bemused in her wake - but he didn’t carry on following her back to her office and ultimately returned to the main floor.

Katrina had about three weeks to also mentally prepare herself for the night too. Not that anything bad would happen, but she hadn’t been to a party in a long time and was already mildly concerned in anticipation of whatever antics were bound to happen.

Needless to say, she was actually looking forward to it, which was something that surprised her. Daniel had certainly been a good influence on her life recently, that was for certain, if she was finding herself becoming more like her sociable old self again.

Yes. Maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad after all.

Notes:

Sorry for the insane delay... I was travelling 100+ miles a day for work for 2 months as well as juggling some other projects... needless to say fic writing was at the back of my mind but I'M BACK! I've been steadily dipping my toes back in with this fic by writing some Shertrina based chapters that come later on... anyway I hope you all liked this small update. I want to update this more regularly so now that my life is less crazy it should be easier.

Chapter 8: MI5 Does Halloween

“Okay. Clearly we had some miscommunication about our costumes.”

Katrina and Daniel stood across from each other in her office, awkwardly looking the other up and down and trying to figure out where things went wrong. In the spirit of Halloween and the fact that Katrina never really dressed up, she did put in some effort with her witch costume - albeit if it bordered on the line of “sexy witch.” She was in a short dress with long, flowing sleeves, and managed to find a fascinator style witch’s hat. It was an all black outfit, and the knee high boots sold it well enough too.

Daniel on the other hand went for the wizard aspect like Merlin in The Sword and the Stone, sans beard but still with the pointy hat. He looked utterly ridiculous and it was taking everything in Katrina not to burst out laughing, to the point where she intentionally drew her lips into a thin line to prevent that. Her watery eyes were a dead giveaway.

“You are the worst friend-”

“No! It’s cute,” she assured him. “And really geeky. Very you. But seriously we really should have talked more about what we meant…”

Still dejected, Daniel crossed his arms and his tone of voice came out more grumbly than anything. “Pre drinks are in Claire’s office…” He turned away and started to head out of Katrina’s office, but she very quickly darted round her desk and pulled him to a stop.

“No - not yet. Come on, mate…” Katrina took his hand and tugged him over to her desk, where she pulled out a bottle of whisky and some very nice glasses from the bottom drawer of her desk

“I’m sorry - pre -pre drinks?” Daniel’s mood had certainly lifted from the initial, obvious disappointment he had about his and Katrina’s non-matching costumes, pulling up the other chair and eagerly watching the woman pour them a triple shot of whisky each, followed up by pulling a couple of cans of Coca Cola out of her bag.

She handed one over to him. “Sorry it’s not cold, didn’t want anyone stealing them from the fridge.” She cracked hers open and poured it in with the whisky, giving the glass a swirl for good measure. Daniel copied her, and then they clinked glasses.

Her eye twitched when she had a sip - it seemed like something equal to a triple shot was a little too strong for her tastes. Even Daniel exhaled deeply after having a more sizable first gulp.

“Fucking hell, Kat.”

“Yeah, well, if the real pre-drinks are in Claire’s office, we’ll need all the help we can get,” was her explanation for the incredibly strong drink. “I won’t lie, it’s nice to drink like a normal person again. I like a fruity cocktail at the best of times when I head out.”

“That’s fair enough. Surprised you didn’t wanna go teetotal for the rest of your life.”

She shrugged. “As long as I’m not an addict, it’s fine. Barely a strong user of alcohol at this point.”

Daniel eyed Katrina oddly for the description, and she felt a heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks as she recalled how Sherlock described his previous addictions. There were some things to do with him that were completely embedded into her now, and it made her almost glad for the break in communication whilst he went off and saved the world from the remainder of Moriarty’s network without her.

“Here,” she then said, topping up his glass with more coke. The glasses had been small enough that it hadn’t warranted tipping the whole can in in one go, so that meant they could water it down as needed considering the amount of alcohol in the drinks. After having another few sips, the pair of them silently concluded that it definitely tasted better.

“So… once we have this, are we gonna go down to Claire’s office?” Daniel asked.

“Unfortunately, yes… what does she usually serve up?”

“Cider, I think.”

“That’ll do. But I can see why pre-drinks at hers never seem entertaining,” Katrina mused, sinking back in her chair. “Reckon Mycroft will show up?”

“You know, he actually does. He came to the Halloween party last year - he doesn’t do it every year - and usually at the Christmas party he gives a speech of some kind,” he replied in earnest.

“Fantastic,” Katrina drawled sarcastically, electing to neck back the rest of her drink despite it burning the back of the throat and the bubbles from the coke making her mouth feel strange. She managed to hold back an unladylike burp, thank goodness, standing up and gesturing for Daniel to do the same.

He started to neck back his drink as well, but paused halfway through making a face. “I’m not doing that.”

“You’re very clever, Daniel,” she remarked. “But just bring your drink with you.”

She opened the door, slightly exasperated and allowed him to head out first, his drink in tow as suggested.

“Old habits die hard for you?” he teased.

“Shut it, otherwise if there’s a chance for me to make you do a heinously foul shot tonight - I will.”  

Daniel couldn’t help but smirk as he carried on sipping on his drink as they wandered down the corridor towards the office Claire shared with Flora, where everyone seemed to be on brand for their personalities in terms of Halloween costumes. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief on seeing that Benji had taken up a wizard attire similar to his own.

“Thank. God.”

“I see your plan with Kat failed,” Claire said, pulling an IPA out of a minifridge she kept in the corner. “Miscommunication?”

“More like agreed on something, assumed the other person knew what sort of vibe we were going for, and the rest is history…” Katrina said, going to perch on the end of Flora’s desk with her arms folded, looking the other woman up and down as she did so. “Nice. You actually went with a fairy.”

Flora was generally a very sweet person, so it was no surprise at all that she came to a Halloween party as a very cutesy fairy, all pastel pink and glitter. She nodded, clearly pleased with herself.

“And… old hag?” Katrina then quipped towards Claire, who rolled her eyes as she handed her the IPA.

“Witch, actually, so we’re unfortunately matching.”

The time passed that way for the next hour or so - the group of cyber security tech nerds making light jabs at each other, catching up, and drinking. A few photos were snapped in the process and Katrina was bullied into getting instagram, much to the delight of Flora and Daniel. Private account, of course, but still an account all the same.

“You can post pictures from when you were away,” Benji said, and Kat couldn’t help but laugh whilst awkwardly glancing at Daniel.

“Honestly, didn’t really have the time…” she ultimately said without arousing suspicion. “Just… busy taking it all in.” She thought back to her and Sherlock going out the window and had a hasty sip of her drink. She caught Daniel raising his eyebrows out of the corner of her eye and hoped that nobody else noticed that reaction - which seemed to be the case, as conversation swiftly moved on and more drinks were consumed.

By about eight o’clock, they were ready to leave the confines of Claire’s office and make their way to the main reception area for the actual party itself. Everyone and everything was decked to the nines for Halloween, and Katrina stopped short on realising that she had most certainly missed out the previous year. Not to mention the fact it put Halloween celebrations at her old job to shame.

Unfortunately, it did mean that from the moment Katrina’s lips touched the free alcohol, the rest of the night became a blur. There was some dancing, she knew that much, and probably getting a little too close to both Daniel and Claire for it to be appropriate, but again - she was barely thinking straight. The only thing she was certain of was that she wasn’t the only one at the party who got blackout drunk, and so she went as long as she possibly could until she realised she probably needed to go home.

She just about remembered being in the bathroom trying to fight the nauseous feeling building in her stomach, and being successful with it. It did make her erratic, though, and Flora was left to go fetch help in the form of Claire.

But Katrina seemed to fully regain her conscious mind in the car. 

She had a vague memory of being walked out the building by Claire and Daniel and into a car if only because she heard who was going to be in the car with her, and her drunk mind thought “yes, that’s actually a good idea.” The sober part of her was long gone so couldn’t actually fact check it, so all she had to trust was Claire and drunken logic.

But after a few minutes of bobbing along in a private car, Katrina snapped to and sat up straight, turning to her left to see that Mycroft was clearly nursing a much milder drunken state to her own.

Yes. A good idea on Claire’s part indeed.

“Ohhhh…!” she exclaimed in realisation. “Tha’s… tha’swhyyyy… you!” Katrina was positively beaming over at Mycroft, who pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Quite,” his voice was hoarse as if he too had been somewhere among the party festivities and struggling to actually speak to anyone without shouting. Interesting. Katrina hadn’t even spotted him, if that were the case. “Please keep it down, Katrina, you are outrageously drunk and I’m trying not to vomit.”

“Over… overin… over…” she was struggling to form the word without slurring. “Over. In. Dulged.” Spelling it out that way had been much easier.

“Pot kettle black,” was all Mycroft said, his tone so sharp it indicated he did not want to carry on the conversation - if it could be called a conversation at that point. Except, of course, in her entirely obliterated drunken mind, Katrina didn’t quite catch that social cue.

“Drunk?”

“Yes,” he sighed, his hand finally dropping from his face so he could look over at her. She smiled when they made eye contact, and he couldn’t help but give her one in return. “Not as drunk as you, mind. Are you able to form coherent sentences without slurring?”

“Uhhh… I don’t… know…” Whilst she did slur and was evidently pleased with herself for it, she did speak very slowly. That was acceptable enough for Mycroft to at least carry on speaking with her for the rest of the journey home. Or for at least part of it.

“Where…” Katrina sighed, paused and tried to struggle her way into putting words together but ultimately failing, electing to lean back against the window.

“We’re going to my home because I don’t think you should be on your own this evening, and I am not staying in that flat you call a home.”

“Urgh. Fine, ” she grumbled, crossing her arms in a sort of annoyed manner. A mock pout formed on her lips but even that didn’t stay long and she ended up giggling to herself, and Mycroft had a look on his face that indicated he didn’t know whether to join in or roll his eyes at the woman. “Sensible,” she then said.

As the car journey progressed and the pair of them ended up on the outskirts of West London in some lovely private property, Katrina could feel her logical mind coming back to her, slowly but surely. The moment she started feeling a modicum of embarrassment, that was when she knew she was beginning to sober up. However it wasn’t enough to warrant a normal conversation with Mycroft.

“I know we’re friends, but I - I despise you, sometimes,” she mumbled as he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her arm around his shoulders, walking them both up the steps to the gorgeous house she was hardly paying attention to. The driver was already at the front door of the house.

“I gathered…” Mycroft was unfazed by the statement, giving a curt nod to the driver who was holding the door open for them. “You have many reasons to.”

“Hmm. I could make you a list.”

He had to let out a chuckle at that. “Perhaps, but not now. We’re both drunk. You more so than I.”

“Sounding posh as ever…” Katrina remarked as he led her up the stairs - granted, a lot more difficult and she took it very slowly. She noted that he was oddly patient with her in doing so, and made a mental note to thank him in the morning. “What are they gonna think?”

“Who?”

“Them lot at work. That I went home with Mycroft,” she snorted. “Not heard the rumours?” This was really beginning to transform her back into the drunken self she knew and loved.

“We’ve discussed this before.”

“I feel sick,” Katrina said all of a sudden, and Mycroft veered in the opposite direction to wherever it was they had been going before. Then they were in a bathroom, and she was on her knees in front of the toilet bowl throwing up, finally.

Mycroft did not hold her hair back. He was not that kind of person.

But he was the kind of person to offer up some mouthwash alongside a toothbrush and toothpaste for when Katrina was done being sick. For that she mumbled an ashamed “thank you” and got to work freshening up before he helped her wobbly self walk to the guest bedroom.

“Are you able to take your makeup off?” he asked her as she sat down on the bed, wrangling her boots off.

“No. Can barely get my shoes off.”

Mycroft sighed and disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with a glass of water, paracetamol, and a small towel. He tossed her the towel.

“I don’t want my pillowcases stained,” he said, going to set down the water and painkillers.

Katrina kicked one of her boots off at him, and it hit him in the back with a dull thud as he began to walk away.

“Kat!” he grumbled, turning around with a flash of anger.

She snorted. “You’re nearly sober.”

“I don’t drink excessively.”

“You should every once in a while. You might lighten the fuck up a bit,” she said as she got comfortable under the covers. “Thanks, though.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome. Don’t wake me unless you worry you’re going to choke on your own vomit.”

“Gracious as ever, Mycroft…”

“Get some sleep,” he huffed, his voice somewhat strained.

“You too.”

As Mycroft was almost at the door, something occurred to Katrina and she sat up in bed.

“Hey…” There was no sarcasm or mischief in her voice anymore; instead she spoke to him softly. “Since when do you call me ‘Kat?’”

He stopped in his tracks. “Well… since it turns out we’re friends.”

Nothing more was said as he switched off the bedroom light and hurriedly closed the door behind him, leaving Katrina to settle with that confession alone.

Notes:

Sorry it's been 6 months! Life got a bit crazy for me. I had this chapter half finished ages ago and rewrote it a few times because I didn't like it. I still don't like it. But I'm not about to abandon this fic because of that. So here, I hope you enjoyed whatever this was. I'm getting back into the swing of writing fanfic again now that it's the Christmas holidays and I don't have the responsibilities of my actual life to worry about for 2 weeks.

That's kinda how I churned out the first few chapters of this fic last year/earlier this year. And also for some reason, the ending chapters of this fic. So the ending is fulyl done, I just need to flesh out the bullet points under the chapter headers to get there... and some chapters it's more difficult than others so I jump around the document a lot.

Okay that's it from me. Until the next one! Which should be soon, hopefully. (Sherlock's back in the next chapter, briefly).

Chapter 9: Catch Up Call

A raging headache and horrifically dry mouth was what woke Katrina up the next morning around ten o’clock. She gulped down half the water that was on the bedside table and then knocked back a couple more painkillers too. As she sat up properly in bed, she glanced down at the towel over the pillow to find that half of her makeup had rubbed off. She huffed in amusement at the fact Mycroft had been right.

Katrina stretched, her spine letting out a couple of pops and cracks, and stood up with a slight sway in her stance. The only thing lighting her way was the thin strip of light coming in through the curtains, and that was all she could deal with at the moment. She trudged towards the bedroom door and mentally prepared herself for actual daylight, taking a deep breath as she pulled on the handle.

As the door swung open, she winced. It wasn’t blinding in the hallway, but it was enough to be irritating and aggravate the throbbing in her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose and continued downstairs at a sluggish pace, muttering to herself that she was never going to drink again.

The moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, a delightful smell hit her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, standing straight and now making her way through the extravagant house as she followed the smell to its source.

Mycroft in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

Now that was certainly a sight to behold.

“Morning…” it didn’t matter than Katrina had near enough finished a glass of water, her voice was incredibly hoarse.

“Good morning. I trust the bed was comfortable?” Mycroft responded in the most Mycroft way possible. No actual concern for her well being; only reference to the environment in which she had slept in.

“It was lovely. Thanks.” Katrina’s feet dragged as she went to go sit at the kitchen island counter, barely even taking in the beauty of the room she was in. All she wanted was food. There was no time to appreciate the home she was in - she just needed to survive the hangover right now. “And thank you for dragging me here last night.”

Mycroft glanced behind him towards her and raised a brow. “Daniel and Claire are sensible. Even if they were about two drinks away from being as inebriated as you.” He turned his attention back to the food, beginning to plate it up.

“Hmm…” Katrina twiddled her thumbs. “I said something quite mean last night, didn’t I?”

Whilst Mycroft wasn’t known to show emotion, the way he handed over the plate and cutlery suggested that this was going to be a sensitive subject. Katrina dutifully waited until he was sat opposite her with his own food before continuing on with the conversation.

“I will take that as a yes,” she said, electing to dig into the bacon and eggs that was now in front of her. As much as the smell had enticed her, one look at the food had her stomach lurching. She needed to power through and not throw up in Mycroft’s house again.

“I know you despise me, it did not need to be said out loud,” was his response. Straight to the point of their odd relationship, then.

“I know, I know… I’m sorry. Really. Because you have been a good friend to me this past year. I know you’re… trying to make up for the fact I had to close the door on my old life.” Katrina didn’t fancy repeating the obvious so tried to be delicate about it and ended up being clumsy instead.

Thankfully, Mycroft didn’t hold that against her. “It’s alright, Katrina, I understand why.”

“So we’re… still friends?”

“Yes…” he said carefully. “I’m not a goldfish.”

Katrina didn’t bother questioning the statement, because she had a funny idea that she knew what he actually meant by that. She filed it under a new mental list she’d called “Mycroftisms” and hoped it would turn out to be an entertaining new venture for boredom at work.

The two of them ate the rest of their breakfast in silence; nothing else needed to be said.

She managed about three quarters of her food and retired from the kitchen in order to go and grab her things from the bedroom she’d been staying in. She’d shower at home, not wanting to impose on Mycroft’s weird hospitality any longer, and grabbed the towel she’d rested her sweet head on to go and find a washing basket somewhere upstairs.

There was one in the bathroom she had thrown up in the previous night, which was good news for her because the thought of skulking around Mycroft’s home without his knowledge was not a pleasant one.

He was waiting for her by the open front door, and Katrina slowed to a stop by him.

“I’ll see you Monday then…”

“Hmm. The usual time, of course?” Mycroft clasped his hands behind his back.

“Yep…” Katrina didn’t bother with a proper goodbye, electing to step out of the house and shield her eyes briefly from the glaring morning light for a few moments until her sight adjusted to it. Thankfully she was heading straight to the car anyway, where the driver held the door to the back passenger seats open for her.

Thanking him, she may as well have tumbled into the car with her belongings in her relief for the tinted windows and knowledge of the hour long drive that was up ahead. She could have a doze. She wasn’t going to be spoken to by the driver either. Perfect.

So the moment they set off, Katrina sank down in her seat with her arms crossed and shut her eyes for a bit, trying to keep down the nauseous feeling in her belly every time they went around a corner. She must have actually drifted off properly at some point, because the next time she opened her eyes they were back in London and she didn’t even feel that refreshed. Sighing, Katrina rubbed her eyes to and ended up smudging her leftover eyeliner even further, sighing as she saw the stains of it on the back of her hand. Looking for something to do to pass the rest of the journey time away, she went to pull out her phone from her bag and then froze.

She didn’t want to see what texts were on there about last night.

She wasn’t nearly enough of a functioning human for that yet.

So if there was one thing Katrina never left behind nowadays was her shitty brick phone that she used to contact Sherlock, and it was thankfully in her inside coat pocket. Feeling safe in the knowledge that if the driver was going to say anything it would be to Mycroft only , she elected to ring Sherlock once closer to central London.

He answered after the third ring.

“I thought you’d have been banned from talking to me…”

“Surprisingly no.”

“Who pissed down your throat?”

Katrina rolled her eyes, annoyed that Mycroft hadn’t said a word about the fact she still sounded like she’d been dragged to a club last night. “It was work’s Halloween party. I went a bit off the rails. Ended up at Mycroft’s, actually…  if only for my own safety and sanity.”

Sherlock hummed on the other end of the line. “How bad was it?”

“I told Mycroft I despised him and then about five minutes later he told me we were friends.”

“Ouch,” Sherlock was genuinely shocked. “And how’d the morning after conversation go?”

“It was fine. Brief. He understood what I meant but I still said sorry…” Katrina checked out the window to see the driver had turned onto Baker Street, and she got him to stop just outside the Pret there. “Thanks…” she told him, hastily getting out of the car and practically diving into the cafe.

“Have you only just got home?”

“Actually I’m in Pret.” It didn’t matter that she had just eaten breakfast, Katrina was in need of another coffee and something sugary. She was eyeing up the cookies behind the counter.

“Not Speedy’s?”

“I don’t need them seeing me like this.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment.

“Slutty witch?”

“Oh fuck you…” she hissed just before approaching the counter and popping her order in. She was handed her cookie in a small paper bag and she stepped to the side to wait for her coffee. “Anyway, whereabouts are you at the moment?”

“Finland. Helsinki to be precise.”

“You’re close again.” Katrina frowned. “Why?”

“Have you got your coffee yet? Are you home yet?”

“I don’t think the people of London are listening in…” Katrina said, grabbing her coffee from the cashier once they had called out her order. She muttered a quick thanks before making a hasty exit from Pret as Sherlock gabbed on in her ear.

“You still need to be cautious, and I’d recommend getting a new phone at some point soon.”

“I’ve had this one for as long as I can remember - it’s fine. Besides, I expect if people want to threaten me they’ll just message my personal number…”

On arrival at 221b, Katrina supported the phone at her ear with her shoulder, grabbed the pastry bag between her teeth and searched in her pockets and bag for her key.

“Would anybody have a need to threaten you? In fact would anyone be able to?”

As she opened the front door, she stalled for a moment on realising she hadn’t actually told Sherlock about the fact Magnussen had every single piece of dirt on her that he could - more than just the situation in two thousand and four. Nothing as bad as two thousand and four, per say, but it was still bad enough to warrant fear.

“Jak?”

She stepped into 221b and locked the door behind her, finally removing the pastry bag from her mouth and taking hold of the phone again properly.

“Sorry. Thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Shut it.” She trudged upstairs, dropping her bag on the floor of the living room and setting down her coffee before flopping onto the sofa with a groan. “So… Helsinki?” As Sherlock began talking, Katrina began chomping down on the cookie she had bought, sighing in relief and in gratefulness for the sugar.

“Hmm. Easy job. Moriarty’s web really did stretch far and wide, but I’m seventy percent of the way there,” he explained. “All the trails are leading to Serbia - so I expect when the time comes, I’ll head that way.”

“And then?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “And then?” he repeated.

“Lock…”

“Jak…”

“You know what I’m asking. You know how to read between the lines so do it now.”

“There’s no guarantee I can come home,” he reluctantly said. “I want to - I hope that when this is all done I can - but at the moment it doesn’t seem possible. Serbia seems… like it’ll be difficult.”

Katrina sat up straight, grabbed her coffee and washed down the cookie without a care that it was still way too hot for her mouth. “Alright,” she finally said. “I get it.”

“Kat…”

“No - seriously, I get it. It’s horrid work, isn’t it? So you need to let me know if I can help at all. Make it easier.” Katrina ignored the fact her voice wavered and could only hope that Sherlock did too. This was nothing if not a sobering conversation, but it would have had to happen eventually.

“I guess I know who to call when I need it then, don’t I?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Why did you call?”

“Dunno. Felt like it. I’m hungover, give me a break.”

He huffed. “Alright. I wouldn’t make a habit of it though-”

“I know, Lock.”

“Look - I’ll let you know when I need you. I’ll text again like normal. I assumed Mycroft wouldn’t have been happy if we had stayed too in touch after Shanghai. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No. You should have asked,” Katrina told him with a raised brow. She shouldn’t have been that surprised he’d clocked onto the fact she had, actually, been a little annoyed they hadn’t spoken properly in some time. Not even the odd text here and there. “Is the closest I’ll get to an apology from you right now?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll cope.”

He went quiet again. “This shouldn’t be something that warrants an apology…”

She sighed. “Yeah. Fine. I won’t push it.”

“I need to get going. This network won’t dismantle itself, you know.” He was trying to lighten the tone again, for which she appreciated. Even if it was a little irritating he could easily swerve topics. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“I know you will.”

“Bye, Kat.”

“Bye, Lock.”

And then he was gone.

The silence of 221b thumped in her ears, but that was probably also the brewing headache. Katrina necked the rest of her coffee before heading to the bathroom.

Perhaps a shower and maybe a nap will help get her head on straight again. Then she’d actually look at the texts she’d received from her work lot from the previous night. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Chapter 10: New Projects

It had been bad in regards to Halloween, but not as bad as Katrina thought it was going to be. 

Besides, she wasn’t the worst offender for things that had happened at the actual work party. Daniel had been the worst, but she hadn’t exactly clocked how drunk he was considering the state she had been in. Pictures galore of him looking more gangly and unruly than usual had surfaced in the group chat, which was generally speaking more embarrassing than the ones of Katrina and Claire where they were dead behind the eyes.

It certainly served as something to giggle about during the collective coffee break after the team meeting that morning.

“Hmm. I still look hot though,” was Katrina’s only remark about the entire situation. “It’s the chronic resting bitch face. I don’t need to smile in photos.”

“You’ve got a nice smile though,” Daniel said.

“Pack it up, Dan, she’s not going to get with you,” Benji teased, and the rest of the group (aside from Katrina) burst out laughing. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, especially due to how dejected he looked at that remark.

“Leave off, Benji,” she told him in a warning tone. “I heard that you couldn’t get it up when you ended up going home with one of the field agents.”

The man went bright red. “What that - how did you-?”

Katrina smirked. “I didn’t, actually, I was making it up. Good to know it was true though.”

“Psycho…” Benji muttered, shuffling away and heading back to his desk whilst the rest of the group fell into silence.

“You didn’t make that up, did you?” Claire rounded on Katrina. Not necessarily angry, but rather shocked she’d gone that far.

“On our way here I overheard one of the girls talking about,” she confessed in response. “She was very unimpressed to say the least. But what? He’s in his thirties, right? He should know his own limits when it comes to alcohol.”

“It was a little mean…” Flora piped up, and Katrina rolled her eyes.

“And Benji wasn’t mean to Daniel?” she countered, picking her coffee off the counter and beginning to lead the group out of the kitchen, Daniel flagging at the end. “I know what you’re all thinking - we hang out enough that you can make all the funny jokes you want. Unfortunately, it takes two people to drunkenly interact with each other at a party. So I won’t be hearing anymore about that, do you all understand?”

Katrina was never sure how she felt leading a group, but her firm tone of voice suggested to her that she might actually be good at it - especially because they all murmured in agreement and when she glanced back at Daniel, he had perked up a little. For that, she gestured to him and they headed back to her office together.

Once comfortable in the privacy of the room, he finally spoke again.

“That was… very… well - I assume that’s what Sherlock was like,” he said.

“I can’t do his little deducing trick though, unfortunately. Passing off gossip as something you’ve made up is quite fun though. I’ve done it a couple of times before. Anyway…” Katrina waved it off. “I need you to do something for me. It’s a bit off-piste and I’ve been debating it for a while, but you’re a little bored, aren’t you?”

He was rather taken aback by the astute observation. “I - what?”

“I’d be a shit manager if I didn’t notice,” she pointed out, and he hummed in agreement. Katrina had a sip of her coffee before continuing, leaning back in her chair as she did so. “There’s an assassin named Sebastian Moran. Mycroft employs him to do dirty jobs for MI5 and MI6 which is good news for us because otherwise he’d be targeting us instead. I haven’t heard from him in a little while, but I need you to find out where he is and get in touch with him.”

Daniel frowned. “Won’t that be going against Mycroft?”

“No. He once sent Moran to come and pick me up. Long story. Either way - he’s not off limits, and after a recent phone call with Sherlock, I need someone else to be keeping an eye on him. Potentially helping him.” Katrina paused. “Think of it as a fun little side project aside from protecting the cyber security of Great Britain. Moran’s details should be on a file - I’ll need to give you proper clearance for it, but I need to double check with Mycroft first. I’m due to meet with him later anyway.”

“Kat, this is all a bit backwards with permission…”

She sighed. “I know. It’s the only way I know it’ll be fine. Besides, I’m getting bored too so this won’t come as a surprise to Mycroft that I’m having you personally keep tabs on our best assassin. He might be all for it, actually.”

He nodded in response. “Alright. I guess… you’ll let me know this afternoon?”

“Indeed I will. And - I really need to stress how important Moran is. In the eventual case you make contact with him, you really can’t fuck it up.”

“Got it,” Daniel gave Katrina a confident smile. He was far too sweet for his own good.

“Great. Now off you pop, before the others start assuming I’m playing favourites…” she winked at him and he chuckled before scampering off. Once he’d shut the door behind him, Katrina let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need to worry about Sherlock so much once all this was sorted.

Moran probably wouldn’t mind a game of hide and seek with Sherlock, that much she knew. And it’d keep him occupied between the slim pickings of killings that Mycroft was inevitably giving him. Every now and then over the past couple of months a bulletin report would come through on the work system indicating that someone who was bound to be troublesome was dead.

Katrina had begun to notice it was lining up with Sherlock’s investigation to Moriarty’s network and caught on to the fact that Mycroft was slyly helping his brother. She knew that was the extent of brotherly love that Mycroft would ever extend towards Sherlock, and she may as well utilise Moran properly in that regard.

Her usual afternoon appointment with Mycroft really didn’t beat around the bush in regards to it, because he immediately questioned her on what she had Daniel doing.

“The sudden interest in Moran is certainly amusing, I must say. Why?” was what he said as he gestured for her to sit down. Katrina didn’t even bat an eyelid with how blunt Mycroft was about it. She was used to it by now.

“Daniel’s bored. And don’t think I’ve not noticed the pattern of government approved killings on the bulletins. Is that even legal?” She crossed her eyes, giving him a very pointed look.

Mycroft sighed. “By the skin of our teeth - only just. Fine - you can give Mr Smith the access he needs to keep tabs on Moran… I suppose it might be useful to know his movements… But! I digress. I didn’t want to talk to you about how you run your department.”

Katrina had started helping herself to some tea and biscuits as he spoke. “What did you want to talk about this week?” she asked him as she poured some milk into her cup.

“We’ve landed the project I was rather vague about a couple of months ago,” Mycroft explained. “And the client requested that you personally deal with it. I know you’re bored too, so this should keep you busy for the next month or so.”

“What’s the project and who’s the client?”

“The project requires upgrading the cybersecurity for a well known newspaper mogul.”

Katrina tried her best not to flinch or pause. The description seemed too familiar to her, so in an effort to save face she merely picked up her cup and had a sip of her tea. It didn’t matter it was scalding - she still hadn’t actually told Mycroft about the lie Moriarty had told her and that Moran had revealed it to her. That Magnussen knew. That Holly Peters knew. And that the reality of it was - there were far worse things she had done than what happened in two thousand and four. Things that Mycroft didn’t even know about.

She gripped the cup tightly, nodded her head once to indicate she was still listening despite her mind racing at one hundred miles an hour.

“He’s concerned about leaks - so wants security tightened. You’re the woman for the job, it seems. And he’d like to meet with you in person; you and I will be going for lunch with him tomorrow, one o’clock sharp. Somewhere discreet in Mayfair.”

Katrina hummed. “Because why would we go anywhere else in London?” she said with an eye roll. “As long as I’m not paying, I suppose I’ll eat anywhere.”

“Hmm. Naturally. We’ll be driven there. Don’t expect to be back in the office until after three o’clock - the client really would like to get to know you.”

“And the client’s name?”

“Charles Augustus Magnussen - I’m sure you’re heard of him. In fact… Holly Peters used to work for him, did she not?”

And there it was.

Katrina merely nodded, trying to ignore the building pit of fear in her stomach. “Unfortunately, yes. She did. I expect that’s why he has asked for me?”

“Partly that, partly because he asked for a list of the best we had to offer in terms of his requirements, and you were on that list. He asked for you from that,” Mycroft said, eyeing Katrina oddly. She tried to ignore his scrutinising gaze, all too aware of how a Holmes boy looked when he was trying to deduce someone.

She tapped lightly on the side of her cup with a fingernail as she thought. Perhaps this could leave her in Magnussen’s good graces if she did this and she’d be left well alone. The only issue is that she couldn’t let on to Mycroft what was going through her head, but wasn’t that dangerous? Wasn’t the fact that Holly Peters had been employed by Magnussen and had crossed wires with Katrina also dangerous? Why her? Why did it have to be her?

“Isn’t this a bad idea?” Katrina asked in the end when she could feel Mycroft’s growing impatience, stopping in her tapping of the cup too. “We didn’t exactly succeed with Holly Peters… surely I’m the last person he’d want.”

“He was insistent. I’m not one to question his choices - he’s far too powerful.”

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach at those words. If she did confess to Mycroft what Moran had said to her, it seemed as if his hands were tied regardless. It made her wonder if there was anything that Magnussen had on Mycroft.

“How does he have so much power?” she murmured.

“Information,” Mycroft sighed. “He knows too much about all of those he crosses paths with. Thankfully, all he has on you is what I already know. It is no issue.”

If only he knew the full truth.

“Okay… what does he have on you then? If you’re up for sharing,” she said carefully, trying to gauge how Mycroft would respond in terms of body language. But he was too good.

He remained stoic and passive as always.

He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly in curiosity as he surveyed Katrina sitting across from him, but she was able to hold her own easily enough. She’d done it enough times before.

Then, in a very Sherlock-like manner, his fingers came together steepled just in front of his chin.

“All I can say is that it is the most difficult secret I have had to keep,” he finally responded. “And eventually there will come a time where I must divulge it - lest the safety of those around us be damned.”

Katrina blinked, not having a single clue how to digest that rather dramatic statement. She set the cup down on the desk again.

“You’re an interesting man, Mycroft. We spend all this time together and I hardly know you but you seem to know most things about me,” she said.

He smirked. “And that’s the key part of it - most. There needs to be an air of mystery between friends, don’t you think?”

“Hmm. I suppose so,” she agreed, although thought that perhaps it would be worth letting Mycroft know about the worst of it.

Thanks to the nature of both of their jobs, he had access to all of her records and there was a very clear, obvious red flag about Katrina in that she had been able to pay off her tuition and maintenance loans by the end of each academic year. She’d never been questioned on it though, but with the prospect of doing a job for Magnussen under Mycroft she could only start to worry about it.

Her head was beginning to swim with what it could all mean if Mycroft found out via Magnussen. But she was no longer her past and if Mycroft could keep his secrets then she could too.

“Katrina?” Mycroft brought her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry. One o’clock tomorrow, did you say?”

“Yes. We’ll be picked up at twelve thirty. You know how London traffic can be around lunchtime.”

He shuddered, and it was the only moment in their conversation that Katrina felt the tension in her shoulders ease. She was able to at least shoot him an amused look.

Notes:

Needed to start dropping some more Katrina lore at some point soon as it's been a while. :)

Chapter 11: A Deal With The Devil

Katrina could only assume that today was going to be one of the worst days of her life. One of. She had to keep reminding herself that she’d been through worse and then some. To make up for the impending sense of dread and doom she felt beginning to weigh on her, Katrina elected to put some extra effort into her appearance for today.

It was the first time she was meeting Magnussen, after all.

She pulled out the light blue two piece suit that she knew matched her eyes, finding some amusement in the fact that the last time she wore it was when she met Holly Peters at a bar. Somehow going to meet Magnussen with Mycroft for lunch felt more dangerous than this - and she’d had a distinct lack of supervision when meeting up with Holly Peters. Not to mention, she highly doubted Sebastian Moran would be on standby.

Daniel had yet to come back to her about where Moran even was, but so far it seemed like he wasn’t likely to be in the country anyway. There was no safety net for her there, but it would be fine. All she needed was for the lunch to go well, Mycroft impressed, and leave no cause for Magnussen to even bring up any instance of blackmail against her. She knew that it would be impossible to say no to the job, not when Mycroft had all but effectively agreed to it on her behalf.

As she put on a touch of mascara and lipstick that morning in the bathroom, Katrina couldn’t help but be a little annoyed that she’d had little to no input on this. But considering the ways she knew she could run her mouth and dig holes for herself (on the odd occasion) then perhaps it was for the best that Mycroft had done all the organising. It left her to not out herself to Mycroft about anything else he didn’t know about - good.

Sighing, Katrina used a bit of product to tame the mess that was her hair so the curls appeared less frizzy and more sleek. She checked the time on her phone to see she still had about ten minutes before needing to leave and elected to make a coffee she could pop into a travel mug.

It had been unintentional, but she realised that she had made her coffee black with two sugars. The way that Sherlock did it. She paused just before putting the lid onto the mug and took a step back from the counter. If there was someone she could use a bit of support from right now… it was Sherlock. But she didn’t want to worry him.

Katrina then stared down into the dark waters of the steaming coffee, her puzzled reflection just about blinking back up at her.

She wandered to Sherlock’s bedroom.

She hadn’t been in there in forever - she had no need to go in there - but just to be around everything as he had left it would bring some comfort to her. Unfortunately, she did sneeze terribly on entering the room and realised that over the weekend she should give it a good dusting. She pinched her nostrils together for a moment in an effort to make the fizzing sensation go away - and it worked, thankfully.

Katrina took in the room. She winced on seeing an old coffee mug on the bedside table that definitely had its own ecosystem growing inside and added cleaning that to her list of things to do over the weekend as well. The back of the door held Sherlock’s lab coat and two dressing gowns; the usual blue one that she knew about, and a burgundy one that she hadn’t seen him wear ever. Granted, she’d not been to 221B all that much and they had only known each other for six months before shit hit the fan, so why would she have seen him in more than one dressing gown anyway?

She pulled the burgundy one off the hook, revelling in the feel of the soft silk as a tiny smile came to her face. She put it on over the top of what she was wearing, went to the wardrobe and opened it to check herself out in the mirror there. Her smiled became brighter, and she twirled-

Happy as anything, Katrina did a flourishing twirl in the coat with the brightest grin on her face.

“So?”

“So what?” Sherlock shrugged.

“How do I look?”

He tilted his head to the side. “It’s on the larger side-”

“Do I look nice or not?”

“Beauty is a very subjective concept that starts in childhood-”

“Sherlock…”

“Yes,” he exhaled. “Yes, you look… nice. It… it does suit you.”

“There we go! Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

-As the memory of the time she tried on Sherlock’s coat flashed through her mind, Katrina wondered if he would think the same of her in one of his dressing gowns.

Shaking herself out of that thought, Katrina went to hang up the burgundy robe and fetch her coffee and bag so that she could start making her way to work. She didn’t bother closing the door of Sherlock’s room, because she wanted a stark reminder that she needed to go and clean up in there a little.

On arrival at the office about half an hour later, she got a few looks because of the pale suit but paid them no mind. Katrina knew she looked good, and surprisingly for once that actually made her feel good. She had anticipated perhaps being erratic in the lead up to lunch time, but found herself carrying on with her job as if it were a totally normal day and she wasn’t about to go and meet someone who could potentially blackmail her if she didn’t do what he wanted.

Mycfoft knocked on her office door at twelve twenty five exactly.

They were in a car heading to Mayfair at twelve thirty.

Neither of them spoke a word to one another in the car - there was no need to, really.

The restaurant was some extravagant place in Mayfair that Katrina didn’t care to know the name of, and the pair of them were led to a small private dining area after the hostess took their coats to hang up. Katrina made sure to keep her phone in the inside pocket of her blazer.

Charles Augustus Magnussen rose from the table to greet them, and Katrina balked at the sight of him.

She’d seen pictures of course, but they did not fully encapsulate the power he naturally exuded. Tall, lean, and lightly smug, Katrina felt more scrutinised under his gaze than she did with Sherlock or Mycroft.

“Charles, good to see you again,” Mycroft went to shake the man’s hand, before beckoning Katrina to get a little closer. “This is Katrina Jenkins - one of our finest in the cybersecurity team.”

“A pleasure, Miss Jenkins,” Magnussen extended his hand to her and she took it as confidently as she should with a small smile.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr Magnussen,” she said, trying not to sound stilted. “It’s an honour to have been picked by yourself and Mycroft for this project. Quite keen to hear more about it.”

“Of course. By all means - please, sit.”

The three of them all took their places at the table, immediately being offered a choice between two brands of white wine. Katrina had never dined anywhere this fancy before, but she picked what Mycroft chose. It was a French wine, apparently. She took a sip of it and found it was sweet enough and not overly dry, thank god. She wasn’t usually a white wine person, but it appeared as if that was what was going to go with whatever food they were being served shortly.

“How do we want to do this? Straight to business?” Mycroft asked.

“That would be wise. I’m aware that all of our time is precious. I don’t know how many details you provided to Miss Jenkins, but the security on my building needs upgrading.”

“Am I allowed to ask why?” Katrina took a more hefty gulp of the wine. It was addictive in a pleasant way, and it gave her something to do with at least one of her hands.

Magnussen smiled gently; unnerving and creepy all in one go. “Simply, it’s outdated. I was meant to get in touch last year once I’d heard about Miss Peters running loose, but as she clearly had no interest in stealing company resources, I let it slide. And thank goodness I waited - I imagine your expertise would be most useful in this instance, Miss Jenkins.”

Before Katrina could answer, the main course was served for them. Not quite a fancy set menu that she had been expecting, but then again - it was only lunch, and a dish that certainly had a Japanese inspired element to it.

“I hope it will be. I assume setting up something that means if you dare have the wrong security card for a door it would set the actual building security on you. No yellow flags - just jump from green to red. No possible override for that scenario,” she said off the top of her head. “From there if you’re legit you can just be verified in person. That’s just entry to the building. Not even getting into all the fun stuff.”

Magnussen was impressed, as was Mycroft. Katrina humbly shrugged and tucked into her food. Something with salmon in it. Not her favourite, but it was alright.

“I told you she was good, Charles,” Mycroft said. “She barely needs to think.”

Katrina couldn’t say anything - she didn’t know how to react to being complimented by Mycroft. Clearly he was keen on getting this sorted with Magnussen so was effectively brown nosing the both of them.

“Where did you work before Mycroft snapped up your talents?” Magnussen asked.

“Just as a film company, sir, in an IT department. Fixing end to end pipelines and the odd computer every now and then. I did that for about six years,” Katrina said after finishing a mouthful of food. “Good people. Easy work. Sort of boring.”

“You do seem highly intelligent - grunt work would be boring for the likes of you.”

“I… wouldn’t say it was grunt work. It was just the nature of the IT department there,” Katrina responded with a frown. It didn’t matter if she thought the job had been boring, but she wouldn’t have someone else diminishing it. “It kept me out of trouble as a girl in her twenties living in London, you know?” She lightened the tone, which just about worked as Mycroft snorted and Magnussen let out a light chuckle.

“Of course. I meant no offence…”

Katrina smiled. “I know. I uh… well, I have a lot of love for the people I used to work with. They made the days more interesting. I do miss them a lot - I don’t get to see them in this line of work…” A pang went through her heart and she realised that she had finally stopped receiving messages from… well, all of them. None of them had tried to get in touch with her for about a month now, and admitting that she missed them finally made it hurt.

She carried on eating her food in silence, and both the men knew not to press the subject matter.

She merely listened in on the conversation, letting Mycroft handle the logistics and the deadline (she nodded and made noises of agreement where appropriate) and was glad to not be directly addressed again. Katrina just carried on happily sipping her wine once she was done with the food and had a small top up when their waiter dutifully approached and asked as much.

Then the worst thing could have happened:

Mycroft had to take a phone call.

He excused himself apologetically and made a swift exit from the room, leaving Katrina and Magnussen on their own in silence.

Magnussen ushered the waiter over and dismissed him from the room, and that was when Katrina tensed up.

“I expect you know why I chose you of all people, Miss Jenkins,” Magunssen’s voice settled under her skin in a horrid way now that they were alone.

Katrina wanted to play the fool a little longer. “Aside from Mycroft suggesting me, no, I don’t.”

He leaned back in his chair as he mused over what to say next and Katrina sat a little straight in hers. She could feel her heart hammering away and quietly took a few deep breaths in an effort to keep herself calm. Mycroft better hurry up with that damn phone call, she thought.

“You have certainly cleaned up since your university days, haven’t you? Otherwise you would not be in Mr Holmes’ employment. I have never known someone to be so desperate to keep themselves debt free that they would engage in so many illegal dealings,” he continued. Katrina remained silent so he kept going. “How much did you make in that time? Pre-two thousand and four, of course. I’d assume it was just enough to keep you going by and looking like the struggling student but with a hefty savings account.”

“You don’t know what kind of work I did-”

“I do. Unfortunately, for you, I do.” Magnussen scraped his chair along the floor and sat as close as he possibly could to Katrina. She didn’t look him in the eye, already feeling his warm breath right by her ear. She could not turn to look at him in fear of accidentally touching him in the process. “How much?”

“You know how much, I’d expect,” Katrina responded coolly.

“I would like to hear it from you, Miss Jenkins.” Magnussen picked at an olive from the nearby bowl, and Katrina did her best to ignore her as he chewed his way around the olive pit and deposited it on her plate. He swallowed. He was patient.

“Six thousand went on my tuition,” she began quietly. “Twenty five thousand covered me comfortably for rent and bills across four years. Fifteen thousand for living. Two hundred thousand in savings across four years. Can’t tell you how much tax I paid.”

He chuckled, beginning to twirl a lock of her hair around his finger. “You were a bad girl weren’t you? Not that you were the only one.” Magnussen pulled on her hair abruptly and she hissed in pain. “But you weren’t quick enough to clean up at the time.” He repeated the motion with her hair again. “And when I heard about you investigating Holly Peters, well — I was able to do some digging of my own with some special people.” Twirl. Tug. Ouch.

“Have you ever been desperate?” She asked him, trying to do her best not to let tears brim her eyes from the pain. Mycroft, hurry the fuck up.

“Not so desperate that I would put innocent lives at risk by breaching worldwide treaties to earn some money. I have class, Miss Jenkins,” he scoffed. Twirl. Tug. Ouch. He inhaled deeply. “What is that? Coconut and Shea butter?”

Katrina could only nod.

Magnussen scraped his chair back to where he had been previously sitting and she was only able to relax a little bit. The interrogation wasn’t quite over, she felt.

“I never used to be good at the clean up,” Katrina then said. “But it takes time to perfect a skill set like mine. Why else do you think I lay low working in a basic IT department for several years?” She was trying to show confidence again, and if it worked she’d be in the clear for when Mycroft got back. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

He sent her that god awful smug smile, and that was when Mycroft finally came back into the room and settled back down in his seat.

“My apologies,” he said, more to Magnussen than anything. “You know how it can be - effectively running the British government.”

Katrina smirked and raised an eyebrow, at ease again. “You always try to deny that.”

“This is somewhere that I don’t have to. I assume we’re all on the same page here in regards with what needs to be done?”

She glanced over at Magnussen briefly before going back to Mycroft. “Yes. I just need the paperwork.”

“I can have it sent to your office directly with a courier,” Magnussen said. “For the both of you. It’s no trouble at all, really.”

“Then we shall take up no more of your time,” Mycroft looked pointedly at Katrina as he stood up again and she followed suit. “Thank you, Charles.”

Magnussen also got up to see them out, and Katrina couldn’t help but notice that when he shook her boss’ hand, Mycroft then had to hide a mild look of disgust.

“It was a pleasure, Mr Magnussen,” Katrina said, also shaking his hand and understanding why Mycroft wasn’t best pleased with it - he was so sweaty it was awful.

As the pair were escorted out of the private room to collect their coats and go to the car, they did not say a word to each other until they were away from any prying ears.

“What did you two talk about whilst I was out?” Mycroft asked Katrina as they set off back to MI5.

She merely shrugged. “Nothing much at all. He… well, he had some questions about my time at university. I answered honestly,” came out at the half lie.

“Hmm. Two thousand and four was a strange time for us all,” was all Mycroft had to say on the matter.

On arrival back at the building, the receptionist stopped the pair of them so that they could both be handed envelopes that were presumably from Magnussen. When Katrina was happily back in her office and able to breathe again, all she could do was stare down at the brown envelope in disdain before she opened it.

All she could think about was the fact that she was going to sign herself into a hole. She was going to make a deal with the devil that was inescapable for years to come. She would never be able to look at Magnussen in a funny way lest he reveal what was worse than two thousand and four, and there was nothing anybody could do about that.

She finally took out the contract, and seeing the number she’d be paid in writing made her realise how awfully real it was. It took her back to the time that Moriarty dropped an ungodly sum of money into her bank account just to help him frame Sherlock, and now… Now it was all for the protection of a man who liked to collect information on people.

Katrina knew it was a bad idea to sign herself into the clutches of a terrible man once again, but she couldn’t let Mycroft down.

So she meticulously read through every page and eventually signed on the dotted line.

Chapter 12: Watch List

Katrina had a cigarette for the first time in a while. In fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d even had one but it was certainly needed after today. It was sometime around nine o’clock and she knew that she should be getting ready for bed for another day at the office, but her mind was racing and she needed to calm her nerves somehow. Despite the fact that her therapy sessions had suggested things such as journaling or mindfulness or going to the gym… she needed a quick fix, and she wasn’t about to pour her heart out into a notebook.

She was terrible at writing, it’s why she worked with numbers instead. Lines of code were better than lines of text in her eyes. There was also the cliche of being a writer who smoked, meanwhile who the hell had heard of anyone working in cybersecurity that smoked? Katrina pondered that for a moment and realised that whilst back in her early twenties she wasn’t working in cybersecurity specifically, she did chain smoke an awful lot between the hours of eleven at night and two in the morning when she was trying to get her hard earned cash illegally.

The window was open in the living room of 221B because Katrina didn’t fancy pissing off Mrs Hudson by allowing the smell of smoke to linger in the flat. She sat on the window ledge, pyjamas and slippers on, Sherlock’s burgundy silk robe tied tight around her. She leaned back against the window pane and took another drag, sinking down a little and almost losing her balance and tipping the wrong way. Katrina righted herself, only slightly amused she’d nearly dropped out of the window.

She terribly wanted to text Sherlock about it all. She terribly wanted to talk to him because maybe he would understand. He was the only person that would know what to do - he could logic it out for her and she would feel less upset about the whole thing. Sure, he might chide her for ever agreeing to Magnussen in the first place but he would know why she did it anyway. He wouldn’t continually judge her for it. They both knew that sometimes all you had to do was survive.

At that moment, it also occurred to Katrina that it had been nearly a full year since Sherlock had sent her a new phone as a present and she was still insisting on using that bloody brick. Tossing the end of the cigarette out of the window, Katrina hopped down into the living room again and shut it, the cold air of a London autumn dispersing from the flat. She went to open the desk and pulled out her old Nokia and the nice new iPhone, realising that all she needed to do was switch the sim card in and it would be the same number.

So she did just that, and decided to be funny with it too.

Once Katrina had set up the phone, she opened up iMessage so she could drop Sherlock a line: specifically, with a rather cheeky selfie attached to her text. Camera quality wasn’t bad either.

Finally using your Christmas present. And don’t worry, I’ll delete the photo once you’ve seen it.
-Jak

It didn’t take very long to get back to her at all.

Is that my second best dressing gown?
-Lock

Katrina couldn’t help but chuckle, all thoughts of the job for Magnussen now pushed entirely to the back of her mind.

I’m gonna keep it for a bit.
-Jak

She headed up to her bedroom, ensuring all the lights on the main floor of 221B were switched off along the way. She shut the door of her room and lounged across the bed, the only source of light now the shitty lamp that had previously been John’s.

Sherlock took a little while longer to respond this time, and when he did her heart jumped into her throat because it was not the response she’d been expecting at all.

Are you flirting now?
-Lock

It hadn’t occurred to her that the comment about the fact she was keeping the dressing gown could even come across as flirtatious, particularly to someone like Sherlock. But reading back on it… she had sent a photo wearing it to explicitly gain a reaction from him… why else would he have assumed she was flirting?

Perhaps a little.
-Jak

I thought we weren’t flirting anymore?
-Lock

Well, he’d got her there! She was directly going against what they’d discussed back in Shanghai… but she just couldn’t help herself in the slightest.

Couldn’t help myself. Miss you.
-Jak

We spoke last week. What’s happened?
-Lock

Katrina took pause. She didn’t want to tell him about any of this over the phone. It could wait until the inevitable time they saw each other again. It would be far easier to explain that way.

Nothing. Can’t I just be a bit silly and say I miss you?
-Jak

It took a moment for Sherlock to respond to that too.

Fine. You can have that. But no more flirting, as we agreed?
-Lock

Katrina rolled her eyes.

Yeah alright. Killjoy.
-Jak.

Quite right. Get some sleep, girl.
-Lock

Katrina set that phone down on her bedside table and got under the covers still in the burgundy robe. She was able to settle down into a dreamless sleep, free of worry and panic about Magnussen and was actually refreshed the next day when she went into work. Even the unexpected Mycroft randomly in her office couldn’t put a damper on her newly relaxed state despite everything.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, shutting the door and placing her Pret coffee down on the desk before shedding her bag and winter layers. Instead of sitting normally opposite him, she perched on the desk edge just around the corner from his seat.

“It’s good news for you because of your upcoming work for Magnussen,” Mycroft said.

“Colour me intrigued…” Katrina grabbed her coffee and took a drink. Now she was ready to hear what he had to say. “Well?”

“The watch list-”

Kaintr groaned. “No! No, no… fuck off-”

“You’re off it,” Mycroft managed to cut across her before she started to get more irritated. Her jaw may as well have been on the floor, and he was oddly smug about that fact. “I did say it was good news.”

She still didn’t quite know how to take it. “Surely the fact I talk to Sherlock would have implicated me more?”

“Nobody here knows about that except for myself, Anthea, and Daniel,” he reassured her. “Everyone else assumes you’re on holiday.”

“That is why they bullied me into getting Instagram…” Katrina waved the thought off when Mycroft looked at her oddly. “So for all intents and purposes I’m… safe?”

“You were always safe. You’re working for the government. The watch list was never going to affect you negatively whilst here - that was mainly for other countries,” Mycroft paused. “This does mean you have Magnussen’s full trust. It was at his request.”

She frowned. “He can ask you to do that?” she asked in a small voice.

Mycroft nodded. There was something solemn about it that she didn’t like.

“Hmm…” She sat there and twirled a lock of hair around her finger, wondering what it would mean for her other friends spread so far and wide across the world. She wondered what it meant for Berry, who nobody had seen in years. For Notes, who had the most interesting stories imaginable about all the odd things she got up to. For The Wire, who was somewhere out in Scandinavia doing god knows what.

TB was already off the list. He didn’t matter anymore.

Katrina realised what she was doing and quickly dropped her lock of hair.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Nothing of interest to you. I need to get some new hair products on my way home…”

Mycroft looked heavily disinterested in that topic matter, and concerned about how her train of thought had led her there. “I see…” He rose from his seat. “I shall leave you to your day… and thoughts.”

With those final words, he departed.

Somehow, the news of being off of the watch list didn’t bring comfort to Katrina. All it did was make her think of her other friends, and now she wanted the day to be over so she could give more of her time to it, maybe call Sherlock, and definitely go buy new hair and beauty products because she didn’t want to smell like coconut and shea butter anymore.

The day dragged on and she couldn’t put her mind at ease until she was able to go home. The one time she felt genuinely refreshed and it was taken away from her because she had forgotten about the watch list for some time now.

The moment she was back in 221B she’d grabbed her other phone and rang Sherlock whilst pacing up and down the living room.

“What’s happened?” was his first question when he picked up. He sounded a bit rough, but Katrina elected to ask him about that later.

“I’m off the watch list.”

He was silent.

“I can’t really explain why I’m off of it, but…” Katrina came to a stop in front of the whiteboard. “If you do this for me… I’ll wipe off one of the favours you owe me. So we’ll be even. One for one.”

“Alright… what do you need?”

“I need you to get in touch with an old friend of mine. I need you to make sure he’s alright.”

“He? I’m assuming it’s not TB, so that can only mean-”

“Yes. The Wire. Just… I don’t know…” She took a deep breath and thought back to the last time she’d seen the man. It had been a little awkward to say the least. “Look, if you get in touch with him, say it was because of me. That I’m sorry. Make sure he’s alright. He’s somewhere in Scandinavia. I’d imagine Sweden at this rate. Last time I checked he hadn’t made his way there yet.”

“Right. Jak… did you and he…?”

“If this is you trying to be delicate - yes. We did fuck. We went out briefly at one point,” she sighed. “Please, Lock.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know you’re sorry…”

“Oh - piss off,” she chastised him with a smile on her face. Leave it to Sherlock to be a menace.

“Why are you so worried about this?” he went all serious again and she both liked and hated it. She couldn’t tell him about Magnussen - not yet.

“Being cautious. Surely you’d want me to be cautious?”

“Hmmm, more of a Mycroft thing, that. You’re much more fun when you take risks. But Jak - Kat - you could have found him yourself. Why are you asking me to do the work for you?”

“He knows how to hide from me, because I taught him how. But he doesn’t know how to hide from Sherlock Holmes.”

“One of the more poignant things you’ve said…” He shuddered down the other end of the phone. “But good girl. You know the game well enough.”

Good girl. Katrina tried not to linger on that in her mind too much.

“Right. Well. That’s it. I need to go to Boots… was meant to stop off on my way home but I needed to call. Where are you now by the way?”

“Oddly enough, on my way to Stockholm. I’ll see if your friend is there. You may want to keep your special laptop close by - I believe your assistance will be needed within the next month.”

Sherlock hung up after that and left Katrina to wonder what the hell he was up to now anyway and why he’d want to drag her into it again.

She better do a stellar job at work over the next few weeks so it’d be easier to convince Mycroft to let her go, otherwise she’d be stuck in London for the holidays. She could do with a bit of snow, and it seemed as if Stockholm would be the perfect place for it.

As long as Sherlock didn’t end up in a huge mess like in Shanghai.

But this was Sherlock.

Notes:

A short chapter, but it's some filler. I always find that my filler chapters barely break the 2000 word mark so they're always going to be the shorter chapters throughout this fic.

Also, as of today, I have a posting schedule. This fic will be updated twice a week from here on out - hopefully! I have the next few filler chapters lined up and a new case for Sherlock and Katrina too... Not to tease too much, but some fun friends will be coming back for that case and it's a loose adaptation once again of a Sherlock Holmes story, so I hope you all ultimately end up enjoying it.

Up next: the MI5 tech gang during the Christmas party, where they mainly take refuge in a disabled toilet for a majority of the night...

Chapter 13: MI5 Does Christmas, 2012

“Oh, fucking hell, Flora!” Katrina groaned as she and Claire frogmarched the poor woman towards the nearest bathroom. They were little too late as she had partially projectile vomited down the corridor.

“Sorry…” Flora murmured, bile coloured drool dripping from the corners of her mouth.

Katrina and Claire eyed each other over the shorter woman’s head before taking a sharp right into the disabled toilet. Probably not the best idea, but the ladies was much further down the corridor and they had just about made it in time for the next round of vomiting.

Claire took the lead, holding Flora’s hair back as she dropped to her knees at the toilet bowl whilst Katrina paced up and down behind them, debating on whether to stay or go back and get herself and Claire another drink as well as some water for the poor woman currently throwing up what seemed like an entire day’s worth of food.

“Are you going to pace or are you actually going to help?” Claire snapped.

She sighed, coming to a stop. “Shall I go get us some drinks? We’re gonna be here a while. I’ll get Tactical Chunder here some water.”

Clarie considered what she said for a moment. “Yeah alright,” she said, her tone much lighter. Katrina took her chance to get out of the bathroom before the stench of sick got to her.

She had no idea that it was even possible to top the mess that was the Halloween party but there they all were. Barely even nine o’clock and Flora was the first one to overdo it. Katrina expected Daniel to be the next one to go too hard, then Benji, then Claire and herself. How it fell to her and Claire to remain as sober as they possibly could whilst still indulging, she would never know.

The rest of November and the first half December passed by in a breeze. It had been easier than this time the year previous, that was for sure. Katrina finally had community with her fellow “tech gang” as she colloquially called them in her head. Things felt so much less lonely now, and she was actually enjoying herself properly again. Even with the ongoing project for Magnussen, Katrina was fine - better than fine. She was good, for once.

Therapy definitely helped. She’d dropped down to one session a month and she was hoping it would come to a point in the new year that she’d be able to stop going entirely. She was only keeping on with it because of Magnussen and kept the details about it vague so nothing got back to Mycroft about what was really the matter.

Katrina finally made it back to the main floor kitchen where the brunt of the Christmas party was taking place. She grabbed a glass of water for Flora alongside a couple of tinnies for herself and Claire, shoving them into a pocket each in her blazer.

“How bad was it?” Daniel asked from behind her suddenly, and she jumped.

“Oh, we barely made it to the disabled loo. Where’s Benji?”

“Trying to get off with someone. Mind if I come with?” Daniel shuddered.

“Yeah alright…”

The pair of them escaped the hellscape that was the party - there was too much loud conversation, the music was crap, and Katrina swore she could have seen someone trying to flirt with Mycroft. Or talk to him. He looked uncomfortable either way so it didn’t really matter what was going on, but he always had to show face. She expected he’d leave in the next half an hour or so.

Daniel knocked on the bathroom door, and Claire let them in. She wasn’t shocked to see him at all, and gratefully took the tinny (cider) from Katrina. After Katrina had left the glass of water by Flora, she and Claire snapped rings off their cans and cheersed before taking a long swig whilst surveying Flora, whose head was still very much in the toilet bowl.

“Ah. Well then…” Daniel said. That was all he could say.

“Why do we always get so messy?” Katrina asked. “Two for two on someone in the department being blackout…”

“You missed Christmas and Halloween last year - messy then too,” Claire added. “Suppose we look at PCs all day. Numbers. Code. It’s dull - we want to let loose. And it’s not like we can smoke at our desks…”

“Yeah, that reminds me… you need to lay off the cigarette breaks…” Katrina told her. Claire almost looked offended she’d brought it up. “Hey - look - I don’t actually care about how many cigarette breaks you go on, but the other departments have noticed… so I can at least say I’ve spoken to you. Maybe cut back on one or two a day at least. You get your work done, that’s all I care about.”

Claire couldn’t argue with that.

“Oh! That reminds me…” Daniel turned to Katrina a little too enthusiastically, his wine sloshing around in his glass too much to the point it almost spilled. “Sebastian Moran!”

“What about him?” Katrina responded with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s in Sweden at the moment.”

She did her best to keep a poker face. “Right…”

An interesting coincidence for sure.

“What?”

“Nothing. Well - what’s he doing in Sweden?”

“As far as I’m aware, he’s knocking around with some very sexy looking tall man…” Daniel blushed, but his look towards Katrina was very pointed. “Not up to much. Can’t really get my bearings with either of them…”

Maybe not a coincidence and Sherlock is being sensible about something. But she hadn’t told him much about Moran…

“At least we know where he is. Safe, I assume?” Katrina carried on.

“So far, yes.”

“Nothing to worry about?” She wasn’t sure if she was talking about Sherlock or Moran anymore.

Before he could answer, Flora violently threw up again. Katrina took Daniel’s wine glass.

“Your turn,” she told him and he sighed, getting down on his knees next to Flora to make sure she was alright.

Claire shuffled over next to Katrina. “What was that all about?” she murmured in question.

“Long story,” came the reply. It wasn’t technically a lie to escape explaining to Claire why they were keeping tabs on Moran, but it was clear that she had picked up on the subtext about the sexy looking tall man and gathered there was more to it. There was no way Katrina would be explaining the whole thing with Sherlock to Claire.

“Right…” She wasn’t buying it at all.

“I’m not being patronising. Promise,” Katrina reassured her. “It really is a long story and honestly? It’s not worth you getting involved. Daniel wasn’t even meant to be involved, but it just sort of… happened.”

“I think that’s just standard for our jobs.”

A knock on the door brought all of them out of their insular worlds.

“Fuck. Was only a matter of time,” Claire said. “We should leave.”

“Guys…” came the rather sad voice of Benji. “Can I come in?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Katrina moaned as she unlocked the door and let him in. He gratefully slid in and she locked the door again. “Nobody else knows we’re here, right?”

“I thought you were getting off with that field agent!” Daniel said from his spot next to Flora.

Benji cringed. “I tried. Didn’t work. Figured I’d come looking for you guys - you’re not very good at being inconspicuous considering we work for MI5. What’s up with Moran?”

“How long were you standing outside there?!” Katrina nearly shrieked.

“Long enough to check it was actually you guys. Who’s the sexy man?”

“Kat’s crush,” Daniel smirked.

Katrina lobbed her half full can at his head. “Fuck you!” The can bounced loudly to the floor and some of the cider spilled into a small puddle by the sink.

“Hey! Uncalled for!”

“So was that!”

“I was joking-”

“Well, Daniel, it didn’t seem very fucking funny to me.” Katrina’s nostrils flared and the silence that befell the disabled bathroom was excruciatingly painful. She stared Daniel down as he rubbed the back of his head and eventually simmered down because he looked like a puppy that had been kicked. “It wasn’t funny,” she said in a more measured voice. “It wasn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Do you want your cider back?” he asked, picking it up off the floor and offering it out to Katrina.

“Hmm… it’s just been on the floor…” She didn’t feel so inclined to put her mouth back on that can.

“Yeah but… you’ve definitely drunk from worse places at uni…” Benji pointed out.

It really didn’t take much convincing for Katrina to take the can back. “Yeah alright.” She took a swig and shrugged. “Now what? Are we staying in here for the rest of the evening?”

“Yes! Because… anyone else see Lady Smallwood chatting with Mycroft?” Daniel asked. Flora retched again and flushed the toilet, sitting back on her knees.

“I think I’m done now…” she told the group meekly, going to chug down the glass of water.

“That’s who Mycroft was chatting to?” Katrina ignored her and carried on with the main conversation. “Lady Alicia Smallwood?!”

“What the hell is she doing here anyway?” Claire asked. “At our work Christmas party?”

“Claire, we’re barely at our own work Christmas party…” Benji murmured.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned is that Mycroft does as he pleases,” Katrina said. “Why else do you think I was even hired in the first place? I shouldn’t be working at a place like this with my track record!” she hissed.

Daniel gestured for them to huddle in closer together, which they all did. “You think they were flirting? Smallwood and Mycroft?”

Katrina shook her head. “No - Mycroft is a Holmes boy. They don’t know how to flirt.” She paused. “Well - at least Mycroft doesn’t know how to flirt…”

“Are you suggesting the other one does?” Claire whispered.

She had to be careful with how she answered that and make sure she didn’t implicate Sherlock as being alive in the process.”N-No… he tried…?”

“You FLIRTED with Sherlock Holmes?!” Flora yelled out and Daniel immediately clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Okay so… I flirted at Sherlock Holmes and he understood. I have never flirted with Mycroft and never will. I guarantee he doesn’t know how to flirt. He doesn’t smile and he hates being sentimental,” Katrina stopped there. “I know too much about that man and his brother who is - was - actually, quite fit.”

They all stared at her in shocked silence.

“You have the hots for a fraud detective?” Claire elected to clarify.

“Flora thinks young Joseph Stalin is hot.”

“You agreed with me!” Flora protested.

The group couldn’t help it - they all burst into laughter at how ridiculous it all was.

The rest of the night passed by with the five of them taking refuge in the disabled bathroom, occasionally popping out to collect more alcohol and hide from the rest of the company. Each trip out to the kitchen indicated things were getting more and more debauched, and the time eventually came where it was deemed far too ridiculous to even go to the kitchen anymore.

That was when they all called it a night, all of them at silly levels of drunkenness and with one photo finally posted to Katrina’s instagram of them in the bathroom.

Katrina took a cab back to Baker Street after hugging and kissing her group (on the cheek) all a sweet good night. She dozed off in the cab and woke up just as they pulled up to 221b, where she grabbed some money from her purse and paid.

She had to creep up to her bedroom in an effort not to disturb Mrs Hudson.

Katrina collapsed down onto her bed, the room spinning in that fun way because she was drunk. Not so drunk that she was blackout - drunk enough to find everything around her amusing. Drunk enough to consider messaging Sherlock after that little confession in the bathroom. She couldn’t do that though. He would probably tell her to stop flirting again and she wanted to honour that at the very least. It had been her idea after all.

She just couldn’t get him out of her head, and it was irritating. Why couldn’t he be here in London? She wanted to see his face every day, that unique, captivating beauty of his along with his insane level of intelligence had her hooked from day one, as much as she hated to admit it. It wasn’t that Katrina had feelings for Sherlock, but that kiss in Rome…

She hadn’t seen Sherlock’s face since Shanghai and she wondered how his hair would be looking now. How long it would be, if it got curlier or straighter the longer it grew, how he would keep it tied back from his face…? Katrina groaned in frustration, she could not be this seriously attracted to him and he was in an entirely different country on top of the fact he was legally dead.

Of course she would get herself into a situation like that. It only seemed appropriate that her personal life would be as messy as anything when she was doing well professionally.

She squirmed on the bed when she felt an uncomfortable wetness growing between her legs the longer she thought about Sherlock. She was sorely tempted to sort herself out but she didn’t want to entirely succumb to the attraction to him. Not yet. She had barely acknowledged it some months back, and now it was blossoming further that she had to fully accept what was going on.

She needed to sleep. She couldn’t keep thinking about him like this. She needed to hope that she’d get to go out and meet him in Stockholm soon - whether it was last minute or planned. Maybe they could talk about it all again - that was what she needed. To get it out of her system properly and see if he could logic her out of it because there was no way she could logic herself out of her feelings.

Katrina still considered taking off her trousers and sorting herself out, but ultimately decided she was too tired. As fun as it would be to think of Sherlock right now whilst she masturbated, she needed to talk to him about it first. She needed to get it off her chest and see what he thought about her strange little attraction towards him.

Besides, there was no chance in hell he’d think the same of her.

That might quash any attraction she had to him good and proper if that was the case.

Notes:

Attempting biweekly updates on Wednesday and Sundays for now. I'm a few chapters ahead in terms of writing so I think we should be okay.

Do leave a comment about the silliness of MI5 and Katrina's burgeoning lust for Sherlock... x

Chapter 14: The Sunny Club: Last Minute Addition

Notes:

This is my attempt at a version of The Red Headed League - aka The Sunny Club, in this instance. Enjoy!

The Christmas holidays were quiet again, but not in the lonely way Katrina had felt in two thousand and eleven. This was a welcome quiet, where she was secure in herself and the direction her life was going in. She had new friends at work that were actually alright, she was able to stay in touch with Sherlock, and things were surprisingly okay with her and Mycroft as friends. She kept out of Mrs Hudson’s hair for the most part at Baker Street, and was debating calling her sister on Christmas Day for once.

One look at Isabel’s instagram told Katrina that the girl was fine enough without her calling her. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement nowadays that they were on good terms with each other - especially after Katrina gave Isabel her old flat - but to merely spy on each other’s lives and not be that actively present.

Katrina felt that Isabel would likely call her if something were to go horribly wrong, and she would do the same. Or if either of them got married. Or had kids. That would most certainly warrant a phone call.

There was no Christmas message from Sherlock this year, and she expected he was busy trying to sort out goodness knows what in Stockholm, considering he’d been there for over a month now. So not actually expecting to hear from him for a while again, Katrina was pleasantly surprised to find she had been emailed to her dodgy email address with a link to the Tor browser on Boxing Day.

Okay. Maybe not going to be a fully quiet Christmas holiday after all.

Sighing and dragging herself upstairs with her glass of cheap white wine, Katrina got out her dodgy laptop and logged onto to talk to Sherlock. She almost choked on her wine when she saw his appearance.

His hair was long enough to be worn in a bun.

Sherlock had a man bun.

He also had a bit of stubble growing. Oh god.

She gulped down some more wine so that she didn’t have to reveal her pink face.

“Apologies for the lack of Christmas text… this seemed more fun,” Sherlock sounded tired, and then a loud bang came from off screen. “Do you mind, Sebastian?”

“Sorry!” came Sebastian’s reply off screen.

Katrina was gobsmacked. “You got yourself a boyfriend now?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “No. He slammed a cupboard door. It’s been a long day - whisky is on the cards I believe…”

“No celebrations for either of you?”

Moran came and poked his head into view. “We’ve been trying to uncover a fake business that’s trying to rob a jewellery store, Jenkins.” And then he was gone. Katrina heard the distinct sounds of a liquid being poured into a glass, and then Sherlock was handed a glass himself.

“Cheers,” said the detective before taking a swig.

“Cheers, indeed…” Katrina agreed, having the last of her wine before setting the glass on her bedside table. “I’m going to assume I’m needed?”

“Clever girl.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “What’s wrong?”

“Extra pair of hands? And your usual set of skills. This one might is more hands on that Shanghai and more… irritating than both there and Rome.”

“When do you need me out there?”

“Can you catch a flight today? You’ll be back before the Christmas holidays are over.”

She groaned. “That’s gonna cost a lot on Boxing Day…”

“I know you have the money for it…”

“Yeah, I know I do… but that’s from the Moriarty money…” she shuddered. “But I’ll do it. You have to pick me up from the airport though.”

“Fine. But I’m bringing Sebastian with me.”

Katrina didn’t care too much about that. It was going to be interesting seeing the pair work together at the very least, and she was certain that she would find it entertaining too just going off of that short interaction via the video call.

The rest of their chat involved Katrina informing Sherlock of what flights she was booking in and out of Stockholm, what sort of clothing she needed to bring, and what of her own equipment would need to be taken in her carry on bag. It was all very straightforward, but she was definitely not equipped with the correct winter clothing.

Diving into her wardrobe, she found that she did have a few thermal layers and some thick socks she’d likely need to keep reusing over the course of the next week or so, but she could chuck her regular winter clothing on on top of it all. Sherlock insisted on sharing a few other winter bits he had, and Katrina could hardly decline that.

It had been mid afternoon when Sherlock called, and Katrina was well on her way to getting the flight that was around nine o’clock at night from Gatwick airport to reach Stockholm as soon as she possibly could. She was at the airport by six o’clock. She had managed to check her baggage in fast as anything because it was ridiculous to be flying out somewhere on Boxing Day so there were very few people at the airport anyway. She was through security in record time and leisurely eating her dinner before her flight to Arlanda airport just outside of Stockholm.

She had a quick doze on the flight because knowing her luck, she would end up talking the night away with Sherlock. She was looking forward to that without a doubt, but not the loss of sleep of course.

True to his word, Sherlock did in fact bring Sebastian Moran to the airport.

Once she had collected her suitcase from baggage reclaim she wandered out into arrivals to find that Moran was sitting with his arms crossed incredibly grumpy that he had been dragged out at this time of night in the cold to meet her. Sherlock was impassive as ever but he rose immediately on seeing her. Katrina elected to hand her things over to Moran (he accepted begrudgingly with an eye roll) and threw her arms around Sherlock.

He was taken aback by the sudden gesture, but returned the hug all the same. When Katrina pulled back, she kept her hands on his shoulders and surveyed him with a slight tilt of her head. His eyes darted from side to side in mild confusion.

“Yes?” he eventually said, his arms now entirely by his sides.

“You’ve got a man bun.”

Sherlock looked towards Moran. “Told you.”

Moran sighed. “Whatever. If you two could stop eye fucking each other - I didn’t want to come out in the first place and now I’m bag man. What a fucking downgrade…” He started to make for the exit that lead towards the trains, so Katrina elected to link an arm with Sherlock’s as they followed after the assassin, putting on her gloves again in the process.

Sherlock purchased a ticket for Katrina and the three of them boarded the next train that was heading back towards the city centre. At first the conversation was non-existent and they had to sit with each other in awkward silence for a good five minutes before Katrina finally said something.

“So whilst I was at Gatwick, I did a bit of Googling and found out about a Swedish alcohol called akvavit - apparently it’s similar to sambuca… I fancy trying it, but I know it’s hard to buy spirits here because you have to go to a special shop, right?”

“We’ve… actually got some at the flat…” Moran said. “Good to know you use these trips to enjoy the local culture.” He leaned across the aisle and lowered his voice. “Detective, you said anything to her about what’s happening?”

Sherlock peered around Katrina. “Not yet, no…”

“Is he using ‘Detective’ as a code name for you out in public?” Katrina hissed, rising from her seat slightly and glancing around the carriage. More or less empty bar a couple down the other end. She sat back down. “What’s my code name? I know about Big Brother, Boswell, and Big G… Usually I’m Jak and he’s Lock.”

“Yeah, Lock’s too obvious,” Moran said. “‘Jak’ is alright for you, but I’ve been referring to you as IT Crowd… I’m Snipes.”

“Fuck me…” Katrina sighed, her head dropping into her palms. “Yeah, I’m gonna need that akvavit.”

Tensions eased the closer they got to the city centre. Moran still dutifully looked after Katrina’s belongings as the trio made their way to the metro to head to Sodermalm - the south part of Stockholm city. They had to battle the biting cold, the snow, and cobbled ground uphill as they headed to what was referred to as the bolt hole.

It was a shitty little apartment with a bed and sofa in one room, a shabby kitchenette, a nice enough bathroom, and a smaller bedroom just off the main room. The heating was barely working, the boys having opted to heat the place with various small space heaters. One of the windows over the bed in the main room had the tiniest of cracks in it and the draft could definitely be felt. Katrina couldn’t help but notice it was a mess of belongings and she spied into the next bedroom that Moran had a few weapons out.

Sherlock double bolted the door shut behind them once they were all inside.

“You can have my room if you want,” Moran said to Katrina. “I’ll go on the sofa.”

“I’m not sharing a space with you,” Sherlock scoffed.

“It’s fine…” Katrina said. “I’ll just bunk with Lock. I get cold easily, so the extra body heat will be nice…” she tried to play it off as nonchalantly as possible as she began shedding her outer winter layers, trying to ignore the growing heat in her cheeks.

“Sounds about right…” Moran murmured. Once he had stripped down to his regular clothes, he went to grab a bottle of clear liquor from one of the cupboards in the kitchenette along with three shot glasses.

He placed the glasses onto the rickety coffee table, pouring out the alcohol shortly after. In an unspoken agreement, the three of them all raised their glasses to each other.

“Skul,” Sherlock said, and they all tipped it back.

One of Katrina’s eyes twitched as it semi-burned its way down her throat. “Well…” Her voice was hoarse, and her mouth felt a touch numb with the fennell aftertaste. “That’s certainly akvavit…”

Moran chuckled. “You wanted it. I’ll leave you to get reacquainted… no shagging though…” And with that, he skulked off to the other room and slammed the door shut behind him.

“He’s being a prick because he knew he’d end up looking after your things on the way back…” Sherlock whispered, heading over to the bathroom with a spare change of clothes. He half closed the door so he could keep talking to Katrina as she hovered outside it, leaning against the wall as she did so.

“I assume he’s been alright though?” she clarified.

“A perfect gentleman. I’ll explain the full operation tomorrow morning, but he’s managed to worm his way in with the criminals, of course. It’s been rather useful for gathering information.”

“Of course…” she murmured in agreement. “You said it was to do with a bank robbery?”

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’ in that familiar way she enjoyed. Sherlock reappeared and went to go and get comfy on the bed. Katrina remained where she was. “It’s far more organised that we anticipated - hence why we needed you out here. We’re also looking for The Wire. I’m close to finding him. He’s hiding out somewhere in Gamla Stan.”

She nodded, going to get her pyjamas out of her suitcase and get changed in the bathroom. Sherlock carried on talking, raising his voice a touch so it would carry through to her.

“I expect I’ll touch base with him tomorrow morning. You can come along if you’d like. Scare him.”

Katrina couldn’t help but laugh as she finished changing into her pyjamas, switching off the bathroom light and making her way over to the bed. She discarded her clothes on the sofa on her way over, switching off the main light too. The lamp on the bedside table provided a warm glow to the ensuing conversation.

“Nothing much can scare him…” she remarked, sitting comfortably next to Sherlock on the bed. He moved so that he was sat cross legged facing her. She copied him. “I guess I can apologise to him in person. He’s alright, really.”

“How did it end?”

“With me moving to London and wanting to leave all that dodgy crap behind…” She shifted, uneasy with where the conversation was headed.

“I see…” A delicate frown crossed Sherlock’s face, and he went quiet as he couldn’t stop staring at her. The silence eventually became deafening.

“What?” Katrina asked, her head tilted to the side ever so slightly as he surveyed her oddly.

“There’s… something…” Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled. A delicate frown broached his brow, and then he opened his eyes. “You changed your hair products and moisturiser. Unscented hair wash. Vanilla body products.”

Katrina froze, merely shooting him a small smile before deciding to get comfy under the covers in bed. She lay there on her side still facing Sherlock who was now apparently trying to deduce the absolute fuck out of her with very little success.

“Why did you…?” He also got under the covers and faced her. They were almost nose to nose and Katrina gulped. They hadn’t been this close since-

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “We should sleep - I’m tired, and it’s cold, and-”

“Kat,” Sherlock’s voice was so gentle it made tears spring to her eyes. “Who hurt you?”

She tried to laugh it off. “Nobody hurt me-”

“It doesn’t have to be physically. So who was it?” Sherlock was far too good at hitting the mark, and the fact he had learned to do it gently enough around her was astonishing. Katrina thought she’d rather the blunt method of deduction, simply because the confession wrought from her would have hurt much less and she could have attempted to be more methodical about it.

But no. Sherlock was cleverer than that. Sherlock knew that she needed an emotional release, and it pissed her off to no end.

“Magnussen. He - he knows about some other stuff I did. Not just two thousand and four. All throughout uni. Two thousand and four was just the one that the British government truly cared about,” she admitted. “Sorry - I should have told you that there was more to it…”

He was silent for a moment before speaking again, and Katrina was worried she had majorly messed up in not telling Sherlock the full truth about her sordid past.

“You weren’t fast enough in wiping the evidence, were you?” was all he said. “So when Magnussen decided to dig - there were always going to be traces of it. He preys on people, Kat, and one day he’ll live to regret it.”

She sniffed, the tears finally spilling over when she knew that Sherlock couldn’t even be angry with her for it. “I have work to do for him first. Then he’ll leave me alone. That much I know. Please just - if you ever come back. Be careful. I can’t - I can’t risk losing you because of him.”

“Stop getting all sentimental on me, Jak,” Sherlock tried his best to lighten the mood, and Katrina knew it was only because he didn’t want the conversation to go too deep. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Goodness knows the world has tried.”

She snorted and wiped her tears away. “Good point. Still… it’s Magnussen. I’m sorry I never said about the other stuff…”

“Don’t apologise for that. Why do you think that I’ll hate you for not disclosing your past? We’re allowed to have our secrets.”

“I don’t know… it’s you. I feel like - I need to trust you more…”

He went quiet for a moment. “You trust me enough for what we need to do.” Sherlock then rolled onto his back and reached over to turn off the lamp. “Get some sleep, girl.”

Katrina allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness and noticed that Sherlock was now resting with an arm behind his head. Not sure if this was even the best course of action, Katrina then shuffled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she heard the gentle thrum of his heartbeat. She exhaled, actually feeling herself relax after that tense conversation and somewhat long day getting to Stockholm.

She tested the waters and put an arm around his waist, trying her best to get comfortable.

He stiffened, but the arm that had been behind his head carefully came to rest around Katrina’s shoulders and the pair eventually drifted off to sleep in comfort.

Chapter 15: The Sunny Club: Meeting The Wire

The next morning, Sherlock and Katrina were rudely awoken at six thirty by Moran. He was far less irritated than the night before and in fact seemed rather amused that he had found them curled up together; Katrina was rather snugly being spooned by Sherlock. To add fuel to the fire, Sherlock didn’t quite want to let go of her so soon either.

“You’re very warm…” he murmured in a sleepy voice, rolling onto his back again and bringing Katrina to rest her head on his chest as he did so. “Sebastian… put the kettle on…” he just about managed to raise his voice.

“Yeah, yeah… alright, princess,” Moran called back. He sounded just as tired and Katrina managed to wrestle herself free from Sherlock’s hold and sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she did so. The detective huffed and turned once more so that his back was facing her, his hair now having fallen out of his small bun. She picked up the elastic tie that remained on the pillow and looped it onto her wrist.

“Sleep okay?” she asked politely, stretching down towards the floor and turning on the small heater. It had timed out and switched off automatically in the night, so the drafty flat was noticeably more cold than it had been when she had gotten into bed. “Why are we up so early?”

“Your friend,” came the simple reply over the sound of the boiling kettle. Moran had three mugs prepped. “You take sugar?”

“Just the one - and a bit of milk,” she replied to his question first. “Do we really have to go out this early to find The Wire?”

As if a switch had turned on in his brain, Sherlock sat bolt upright in bed fully wired and awake. “Yes. He’s sneaky. You certainly taught him how to hide because we’ve been manually tracking his movements. Sweden is veering more towards cashless payments and yet… he is a man who still exchanges for Krona. It has been rather irritating trying to trace his movements on the daily, but I’ve managed it.”

“Don’t you mean we’ve managed it?” Moran said, now pouring the boiled water into the mugs. “I’m almost offended you don’t think I’m a good enough lookout.”

“ You’re a perfectly adequate lookout,” Sherlock wasn’t quite agreeing with him, but he wasn’t disagreeing either.

“Do you want your coffee or not?”

“Please.”

Katrina enjoyed watching their back and forth, unaware that she had begun to shiver whilst the room warmed up. It was only when Sherlock placed the blanket from the bed around her shoulders did she realise. Murmuring a thanks to him and then Moran as he handed over the coffee, Katrina held the blanket around her shoulders tightly with one hand. He perched himself at the opposite end of the bed, and it began to feel like the most ridiculous sleepover party ever.

“What are we doing for breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I can’t survive on just coffee,” Katrina said brightly.

“I’ll get you a pastry in Gamla Stan,” Sherlock told her.

“Course you bloody will…” Moran murmured into his cup, earning himself an eye roll from Sherlock.

That was how the rest of that early morning went. Whilst Katrina went off to have a (surprisingly hot) shower, she could just about hear the two of them bickering through the wall. As amusing as it was, it was going to end up being the least productive thing that could happen if it carried on throughout the case.

She didn’t want to even think about what would happen with The Wire later… she could only hope that Sherlock would let her do the talking because otherwise it was going to be incredibly awkward. As if it wouldn’t be awkward enough with her showing up with a supposedly dead detective and one of the best assassins in the world.

Katrina did her hair up in a tight bun at the base of her head, leaving down some face framing curls. She stepped out of the bathroom when fully ready and the boys took their turns in showering and layering up for the day. Sherlock was the last one to do so, and when he emerged from the bathroom he had a frown on his face.

His hair whilst down and damp was certainly a sight to behold. It reached just below his chin and the curls were beginning to loosen with the new length and weight of them.

“Give me back my hair tie,” he said to Katrina, who was sitting rather demurely on the sofa. Her hand went to her wrist and her eyes widened when she realised she had used his hair tie to do the bun on her head. Either way, she dug around in her bag and found a spare one.

A little grumbly about it all, Sherlock wandered over when she gestured at him to do so, and sat on the floor between her legs with his back to her. Katrina took a moment before she ran her fingers through his hair, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck as Moran watched the interaction. She combed Sherlock’s hair back and carefully twisted what she could up into a bun that sat at the mid level of the back of his head. His now longer fringe dropped in front of one his eyes on one side, but that didn’t really matter to him. He just wanted the majority of his hair out of his face. Some of the hair at the back was still down, so it was a half up-half down sort of situation.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, getting up off the floor and going to slip his shoes on. All she and Moran had to do was put their coats on and follow after Sherlock once he was fully ready.

They turned off the space heaters and lights on their way out; a dreadful thought, and Katrina was not looking forward to coming back to a cold flat later on that day.

Sherlock was true to his word after they had taken the metro to Gamla Stan. He led the pair of them to a bakery and bought Katrina the biggest, freshest cinnamon bun that was on offer. They huddled up in a corner whilst quietly discussing their game plan.

“Snipes - you know what you’re to do.”

“Lookout as ever, Detective…” Moran sighed. “You know the door number?”

“Yes. Third floor. You’ll be able to get into the building opposite?”

“‘Course.”

“Jak, you’ll want to do the talking,” Sherlock turned to Katrina, who was delicately nibbling on her cinnamon bun as she tried to savour it. “He’s your ex boyfriend after all.”

She cringed. “Let’s… not call him that. I’ll address the elephant in the room if it comes to it. Probably won’t. At least… I hope it doesn’t.”

Sherlock and Moran looked at her weirdly, before staring back at each other.

“Ex-boyfriend,” they concluded at the same time, and she shook her head in disappointment, electing to carry on eating her pastry in peace and ignore them. There wasn’t even that much of a plan - they were literally going to The Wire’s front door and effectively hoping for the best.

When she was done eating they ventured out back into the cold and through to some pokey little side street that she couldn’t quite pronounce, and Moran eventually left them outside one building to head into one opposite. Sherlock led the way up to the third floor and seemingly to the correct door, which Katrina knocked on.

They waited with bated breath.

Footsteps were heard on the other side of the door, shuffling closer and closer. They stopped, and Katrina winced on realising that if it was The Wire behind the door, he was looking through the peephole.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned, and then the door opened. Conventionally handsome with scruffy brown hair, The Wire was displeased to be visited so early in the morning and by Katrina to boot. “How’d you find me?” A voice like velvet, but weirdly enough it didn’t do it for her anymore. Her slight embarrassment at showing up at his flat like this dropped immediately on realising she definitely harboured no feelings towards him anymore.

“This is my friend: Lock,” Katrina introduced Sherlock to him. “He found you. Not me.”

“Christ. Must be important.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

The pair of them followed The Wire inside with Katrina sticking as close to Sherlock as she possibly could. She wasn’t keen on this situation at all, but knew it was entirely necessary if they were to sort out the case as quickly as possible. The flat was nice, beautifully decorated, and was a far better place of operation than where Sherlock and Moran were holed up.

“Make yourselves at home…” He gestured vaguely to the sofa, so the pair of them sat down and removed their coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. It was certainly toasty in there. Neither of them took their eyes off of The Wire though. He disappeared for a moment into a kitchen, but came back within a minute with a coffee of his own and settled into an armchair opposite them.

“It’s been what? Seven years?”

“I mean I haven’t seen you since we finished uni, so… yeah…” Katrina replied quietly.

“Yeah… long time.”

“Just a bit. You didn’t have any problems, I take it?” she asked.

The Wire leaned back rather casually in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee as he mused over her question. “Not really. The chunk of money I got from the government was pretty nice. Helped me set up nicely here. Haven’t been disturbed since then. Mainly evade government types here… I don’t do anything too risky. What about you?”

“I work for MI5 now. It… took a while for me to get there, but it’s mainly to keep an eye on me…”

“Working for MI5 and yet you’re running around with a supposedly dead detective.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Always in trouble somehow, aren’t you?”

“His brother is my boss. It’s fine.”

“You always got your way-”

“I didn’t want to work for Mycroft Holmes,” she cut across him coolly. “Don’t make assumptions, because that’s what gets you into messes.”

He eyed her for a moment and then shrugged. “So what does Sherlock Holmes want with me?” He turned his attention towards the detective.

“Jak says you’re better at physically handling things. Up until the moment we walked through the front door I had yet to determine if she meant tech or people. Both, I presume?” Sherlock rattled off as quick as anything. “I’m going to need a man on the inside.”

“For what?”

“To prevent a robbery. A man has employed me as he was duped by something called The Sunny Club. Claiming they wanted to recruit people with only the sunniest of blonde hair to their members group, do a bit of freelance work, only to be dismantled some months later and the people running The Sunny Club did not seemingly exist.”

“Wait,” Katrina frowned. “What the actual fuck?”

“Oh, it gets weirder love,” The Wire chimed in. “I’ve heard of this Sunny Club. English translation of course, but there’s been a few involved in it. I’ve actually been taking a look into it myself.”

“ Great. So this has rippled through Stockholm for how long?”

“Past month or so,” The Wire answered. “Thought I’d be dealing with all of it myself, but good to know that Mr Sherlock Holmes is around to help out.”

Sherlock scoffed. “If anything, it’s you that will be helping us. ”

“Lock…” Katrina hissed. “Play nice.”

“Same as ever, Jak…” The Wire said. “Always trying to keep the boys in line.”

She blinked.

“I can drop every piece of dirt on you to Sherlock right now and he can deduce some extra bits whilst we’re at it. It’s been seven years, so don’t push your luck,” was all she said in a very Sherlock-like manner that had the detective glancing at her curiously. She sank back into the sofa and crossed her arms, now put out by what was going on.

“Stop pouting, Kat, it never looked good.”

“Alexander Williams, born April 5th 1983-”

The Wire jumped up out of his seat and made his way over to Katrina but she was fast as well - she was on her feet squaring up to him. Sherlock merely sighed from his spot on the sofa and rose from it so that he could come between them. He squeezed in front of Katrina so that he could face The Wire.

“There’s payment. I would suggest that your bitterness over how Kat broke up with you disappear entirely. Kat, stand down, keep whatever information you have on him to yourself. It is unnecessary to engage,” was all Sherlock said as he held the gaze of The Wire.

“I’m going to get some air,” Katrina said, knowing when to accept defeat and gathering her things before making her way back out.

She trudged back down the stairs whilst layering up, practically bursting out onto the street and heading into the building across the road to go and find Moran. She was grumbling to herself as she made her way up to the floor he was situated on, completely unsurprised to find him watching The Wire’s apartment window through the scope of a rifle.

“Now how did that go?” Moran asked as Katrina stepped beside him. He momentarily glanced up to her with a smirk.

“I think they’re probably comparing dick sizes now.”

“Detective tell you to leave?”

“If I hadn’t listened I would have punched a potential ally in the face and twisted his balls,” she explained. “It was better I listen to Lock than risk his plan for this case.”

“You’re a good friend.”

She sighed, feigning dramatics. “I know. At my own expense sometimes, of course.”

“Of course.”

They were silent for some time, Katrina electing to people watch at the street below.

“They’re leaving,” Moran said, beginning to pack up his rifle and stash it under a floorboard. “Let’s go.”

As they came to meet Sherlock and The Wire outside, the former happened to be much happier than the latter, who rather looked as if someone had kicked his puppy.

“It is in everyone’s best interests that we do not speak of this morning or the past. We have work to do. Come on!” Sherlock urged the three of them and they trailed after him back towards the metro.

Notes:

It's been a chaotic week for me, ergo the skipped Wednesday. May also have to skip next Wednesday due to another chaotic work week, but then we should be back on track for twice weekly updates!

But ooooooo Sherlock meeting Katrina's ex, how fun!!

Anyway I hope you're all still liking this. It's so fun to write.

Chapter 16: The Sunny Club: Makings of a Plan

There was still an air of stilted awkwardness between Katrina and The Wire and the cramped flat in Sodermalm did nothing to help that tension at all. She made a point of practically gluing herself to Sherlock’s side as the four of them sat and went over the case details regarding how one Mr Joakim Westerlund was effectively swindled out of a job.

And as Sebastian had already mentioned, he was not the only one.

It was certainly interesting how this whole affair had tapped into the stereotype of Swedish folk being blonde and beautiful, because it had happened to so many people along the same street that Sherlock had been able to narrow it down to the owners of the so-called Sunny Club wanting to rob a bank. It was the only building on the street (again, a street with a Swedish name that Katina wouldn’t dare pronounce save she butcher it entirely - languages were never her strong suit) that hadn’t had anyone seemingly removed for certain daylight hours as per the Sunny Club advertisement.

“How comes you didn’t - I don’t know - jump in sooner and stop the bank robbery?” Katrina asked as she elected to stretch out on the sofa and plant her feet in Sherlock’s lap. He didn’t seem to care too much but she didn’t miss the eye roll that came from The Wire.

“Because they were letting these people go one by one,” Sherlock explained. “Whilst Mr Westerlund was one of our first reporters on the matter, he was not the last - and the last came in yesterday. We have to act by tomorrow - otherwise a very large robbery will have gone on under all of our noses.”

“Why are you assuming there’s a robbery?”

Sherlock scoffed. “I didn’t assume. I deduced it.”

“Okay then, tell all, Mr Clever…” Katrina poked him in the thigh with her big toe and he lightly whacked her foot.

“In the lead up to your arrival, Jenkins,” Sherlock began, a lightly stern tone in his voice as he said Katrina’s surname, “I investigated where all the shop owners were disappearing from during the day time to go work for the Sunny Club. Same street. Which could only mean that the time all these people were away, our criminals were at work.”

“Just so you know - it gets grim from here,” Moran said with a wry smile. “But it’s alright, Kat, I’ll assure you in advance that he did shower before coming to pick you up.”

“I hopped down into the sewers,” Sherlock continued as if Moran hadn’t just intruded on the narrative. “And it transpired that there was digging going on. Our criminals are tunnelling under all the shops towards the bank - they needed the employees out so that they were not caught in advance. Now that it’s Christmas - naturally everyone has closed up for a few days - and it leaves the tunnels free to go to the bank and take from the vaults there.”

“And what are you proposing we do to stop it?” The Wire asked.

“We’re going to have to hide out and hope for the best.”

Silence fell in the room. Even Katrina sat up at that idea, not exactly best pleased with it.

“Fuck me, man, hiding out for the past year has rendered you a little more like a goldfish,” she said.

“A very Mycroft statement coming from you,” Sherlock noted. “Perhaps accurate.”

“ Also… why’s Jak even here? We’ve done most of the leg work,” The Wire then asked.

“Yeah, Lock, why am I here?” she reiterated. “I didn’t actually do any of my usual work for you this time?”

“The fact you didn’t question why you were coming and just showed up really says a lot about you…”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Pack it in,” Moran said in a warning tone.

As silence fell in the room, Katrina kept her eyes on Sherlock as he calculated an answer. It was like she could see the cogs turning in his brain as if trying to figure out best to broach the subject. She raised an eyebrow the longer the silence went on, wondering why he was taking forever to even answer. Then it clicked in her mind: for the first time, he was actually nervous to give an answer - no, not nervous. Embarrassed?

Him saying something offensive wouldn’t usually make him be either of those things, but what was what she gleaned from the fact he had now pretty much shorted out mentally whilst deciding how to word his answer.

“Ah,” she said. “I have a funny feeling the answer is going to offend the rest of you.”

Sherlock’s head whipped round as he paid her attention.

“How would you know?”

“I deduced it.”

Sherlock sighed. “Kat’s company is far more valuable to me than either of you two. That’s why she’s here.”

“Good grief, it’s Shanghai all over again - I’m a pretty face for you to admire,” she took a mocking tone on in her voice that had Sherlock’s jaw going taut.

“Would you like to come the sewer route to the bank? Or would you rather go in the front door as intended?”

She was rather baffled by that response. “I’d quite like the front door. Don’t get chatty, Lock.”

“If anyone’s gonna get catty - probably me and Mr Pretty over there,” Moran piped up. “Seriously, Sherlock, you brought her along just for company?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Sherlock asked him.

“I would,” said The Wire. “Well - if it’s a Jak specific thing…”

“Allow me to elaborate: wouldn’t you want company from a close friend in a dire situation?”

“First Mycroft admits being my friend, now you admit we’re close friends… Sebastian, please look out the window and tell me if there’s a pig flying?” Katrina remarked dryly.

“I should have divorced you,” Sherlock said.

“Too late now.” Katrina took her feet out of his lap and sat up straight. “But back to the point - no, I’m not providing context for the divorce remark - what is the actual plan?”

“We do need to lie in wait. We cannot let the Sunny Club know we’re aware of what they’re planning. Kat, you will need to utilise your skillset as the bank will be closed. We need to find out who runs the particular branch that’s to be robbed and find out where they live to go meet them,” Sherlock explained. “Moran, our main lookout in the sewers to see if anyone heads that way. Wire - you’ll be with myself and Kat in the vaults once all is sorted with the staff. The only way to do this is to catch them in the act.”

“Sounds simple enough,” The Wire shrugged.

“Whilst they have been using the sewers, the tunnel they have created offshoots from one section of it. It’s quite possibly the worst crawl space you could imagine.”

“So The Wire can effectively man the front door?” Katrina clarified. “We’ll need someone on the front door and I know for a fact he’s got knives.”

“You’re a knife boy?” Moran was intrigued.

“Emphasis on the boy,” Katrina added.

The Wire rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna go to the shops. You’re a bit low on the basics…” he grumbled before grabbing his outer layers and storming off, slamming the flat door behind him.

Sherlock turned to Katrina. “And you refuse to refer to him as an ex?”

“Shut it.”

“Oh dear…”

“Seriously, Sherlock, shut it. You’re the last person I’d be talking to about relationships.”

A sour look crossed his face, but he nodded all the same. “I suppose that’s fair. Not really my area.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look - you said it yourself. It’s not really your area. So don’t get weird about it.”

“I would have thought that as your friend you would want to hear my thoughts on the matter,” Sherlock said, getting up and going to put the kettle on again. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Moran was watching them intently, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the two as if it were a tennis match.

“Did you ever consider that it was a sensitive subject?” she asked quietly, now sitting cross legged with her hands in her lap. Sherlock paused in his hunt for the sugar, closing the cupboard door and looking back over at Katrina who was now quite forlorn. “I did something bad. I lied to him. A lot. Mainly when we broke up and why I wanted to break up with him.”

“Go on.”

“I never loved him. He was just a convenience for me. Unfortunately most of what I felt for him was pity and sadness because I know for a fact he really loved me,” she sighed. “I think I was his whole world when we were together towards the end of our time at uni. What he also didn’t know is that I was sleeping around behind his back.”

“I see.” The kettle finished boiling and the first thing Sherlock did was make and hand Katrina a strong coffee. He didn’t go back to make his own - he ended up sitting back on the sofa next to her; closer to her. As if trying to be a source of comfort, but he didn’t know how. All he knew was that he had to be close to Katrina.

Moran still said nothing from where he was sitting and watching them.

“Is that when… it got worse?” Sherlock asked delicately, nudging her thigh with his knee as a means of trying to indicate to Katrina what he was talking about.

“Yeah… he thought it was just stress from uni and everything else going on,” she mumbled. “It was easy enough to lie about that. It’s why I haven’t had a proper relationship for a bit…”

“You may have done a bad thing to someone you at least cared about, but don’t tell him now. There’s no point,” Sherlock then said. “I know you’re thinking it. Don’t bother. It’ll hurt too much.”

“How human of you. I didn’t think you liked him-”

“I meant for you,” he told her firmly.

“Very human of you.”

“It’s the only logical explanation to help with what you’re feeling,” he said with a shrug.

Everything seemed so simple to Sherlock, Katrina found, even if it was to do with emotions. She wondered if her stance on being a more emotional person had helped him with this understanding of it. Besides, she appreciated it when he applied logic to what she was going through.

“I don’t think any less of you either. So stop moping, pull yourself together for when he’s back, and we’ll go over the finer details of the plan when he’s back,” Sherlock told her. “If you’re lucky, I may allow you some alcohol.”

“Menace.”

“Hmm. That makes you the insufferable one today, then.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna need to hear more about the divorce line,” Moran finally piped up.

Neither of them obliged him.

Katrina did as Sherlock asked to the best of her ability and saved face when The Wire returned with a plentiful enough food shop.

In her efforts to remain comforted by Sherlock, Katrina still remained curled up close to him but did it carefully so that she didn’t ultimately piss off her old friend. Tensions eased throughout the rest of the afternoon, and dinner was a pleasant enough time with Sherlock revealing he had a bottle of whisky kept hidden under the sink.

The Wire ended up not going back to his place when it came to calling it for the night, and elected to sleep on the sofa. He didn’t seem to care too much that Katrina was already sharing a bed with Sherlock, but she had some guilt about getting under the covers with the detective next to her and she stayed as far from him as she possibly could considering her behaviour earlier on in the day.

She ended up being unable to sleep, her mind swirling with the remnants of alcohol in her system and all consuming thoughts of the day that had gone by.

The room felt too hot and she hated the fact that The Wire was only a few feet away from her on the sofa. He was the one of the people from her past that she hadn’t wanted to cross again. It was one thing for her to want to make sure he was safe and unharmed, but it was entirely another to see him in person. She had told him to hide from her for a reason. She had never wanted to be tempted by the idea of him.

Something about the fact she was sharing a bed with Sherlock made her feel bad. Her ex was on the sofa and she was there with another man. Not that she and Sherlock were anything, but the fact she found the detective attractive was clear as day to everyone else in their group except for the detective himself. It was stupid as anything and she felt guilty for it too.

Not wanting to toss and turn and possibly disturb Sherlock, Katrina crept out of bed and into the hallway outside of the apartment. She shivered at the sudden coolness outside of their toasty temporary home but she slid down the wall a few paces away from the front door and hugged her knees to her chest.

Keeping control of her emotions at the moment was difficult, that much she could admit to herself. She did not want to break the agreement she had with Sherlock - she couldn’t break the agreement that she had with Sherlock. He wasn’t built for anything beyond friendship and it was silly of her to want anything more than that.

Distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

For all his stupid longer hair in the man bun, the stubble on his face, and the fact he was just so fucking comfortable around her and she around him… the fact that he could tell her anything about herself from just a look… Katrina had missed him dearly and the need to express some sort of admiration for him was increasing tenfold and she felt like she was going to burst.

“Jak?”

The Wire was up.

He rubbed his tired eyes and started to approach. She huddled up further into herself, not looking him in the eye.

“Why are you out here?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, resting her chin atop her knees.

Without even asking but knowing she needed it, The Wire sat down next to her. “Big feelings?”

She side eyed him. “How did you know?”

“Without sounding like your man in there, it was obvious,” he told her with a chuckle.

Katrina snorted. “Yeah, obvious to you. Maybe to Sebastian. Not so much to Sherlock. He’s more of a thinker - don’t know if you could tell.”

He was quiet for a moment before responding.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I… I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’m attracted to him, sure, but I think that’s down to the fact I don’t see him all the time. Last time I saw him was a few months back. We don’t talk all the time. I miss him and it’s manifesting weirdly because I’m always the emotional one. Always the emotional one… I’m so - I’m so sick of it.” She sniffed as she held back tears. “And because I’m like that, I was so unfair to you all the way back then-”

“Don’t-”

“It’s true!” she snapped at him in a hiss, aware that as much as she wanted to yell in his face that she was stupid and sorry, that she couldn’t really do that lest she wake up everyone else in the flats on their floor. “We needed to be over - that much was true - but I was unfair about it. I - I lied to get out of it. It was easier than just admitting I couldn’t do it anymore so I decided to be cruel. It’s easier to be cruel to you now.”

The Wire was quiet. He shuffled closer to Katrina and placed an arm around her. She tensed up but didn’t make any other indication that she wanted him away from him. She needed this. She needed the comfort and he was the only one awake.

“This isn’t fair,” she added, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but… you shouldn’t be out here because it’s not you that I want here.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. You need someone, though. And big brain is asleep.”

Katrina couldn’t help but laugh at that, which in turn made The Wire laugh too.

“This isn’t fair…” she repeated.

“Kat…” he sighed. “I promise you… it’s alright. It might hurt a bit knowing that you’re going to go back in there and crawl back into bed next to him, but it would have hurt more if you had pushed me away. You might be the emotional one, but you do see things logically sometimes. Besides - I think we needed to talk about this anyway. It’s why you taught me how to hide, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t want to risk coming to find you and making things worse between us. We would have been stuck in a cycle of on again, off again… It was just better for you to go analogue for a while. Seven years is a bit far though…” She was trying to lighten the mood by teasing him. “Alex… Would you have still helped Sherlock? Even if I wasn’t here?”

The Wire was stunned for a moment as she used his real name for the first time in a while - and not as a form of leverage. He turned to kiss the top of her head.

“You and I both know that Lock only came to me because you asked.”

“How-”

“Again, that much was obvious. I know he doesn’t like me. I also know that he’s been tailing me for some time now,” he paused. “God, Kat, you - you draw everyone in, you know that right? Even if you don’t mean it, you’re the centre of the universe for so many people and - and for Sherlock? Watching him around you, it’s like watching someone chase the sun before it disappears over the horizon. Whatever time you two have together is precious to him. Whether you believe me or not, he wants to be in your orbit.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t bother trying.

“I hope he’s good to you. I know I wasn’t, but I promise I loved you once.”

“You weren’t meant to love me,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Especially ‘cause you already knew you weren’t meant to love me.”

“Sherlock won’t ever love me.”

“And are you okay with that?”

“Yeah. He’s my best friend. Nothing can change that.”

Katrina sat up straight and looked The Wire in the eye. He wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t need him to believe her. It had been far too long a time apart from one another for him to be looking out for her emotionally anymore.

“Thanks, by the way,” she then said. “Appreciate it.”

“Whatever…” he said with a jokey eye roll, and she gave him a playful nudge before standing up.

Without another word and a slightly shaky smile, Katrina wandered back into the flat and didn’t even wait for The Wire to follow after her. All she wanted to do was metaphorically wash herself of the conversation and immediately crawled back into the warmth of the bed with Sherlock.

“Kat…?” Sherlock sleepily mumbled.

“Sorry…” she whispered. A gentle click and lock of the front door told her that The Wire was back in too. “Couldn’t sleep. Had a quiet chat with The Wire…”

Sherlock hummed and she could just about make out in the darkness that he was rolling onto his back. He then patted his chest three times in quick succession. Katrina understood that as an invitation to use him as a pillow, so she shuffled closer and hooked a leg around one his as she threw an arm around his waist and rested her head on his chest.

“Get some sleep, girl…” was all he said.

Katrina fell asleep not much longer after that.

Notes:

It appears that there will not actually be an upload schedule but vibes. Confession is that I am in the same line of work as... let's say Benedict Cumberbatch (just because this is a Sherlock fanfic and he'd be the best example for it) so my life can get pretty chaotic fairly quickly.

ANYWAY.

Learning more about Kat's past doomed lovers??? She's catching feelings for Sherlock but trying not to??? It's like poetry, it rhymes.

Leave a comment and I'll update when I can!! Thanks x

Chapter 17: The Sunny Club: Botched Robbery

It had all gone horribly wrong, naturally, and Sherlock had been caught in the crossfire.

There was so much blood coming out of his shoulder it was near impossible to get back to the apartment discreetly.

The Wire had done his best to patch Sherlock up but the blood still dripped upon the fresh snow. It was genuinely a miracle that nobody had followed them. Neither of them said a word to each other as they ran as fast as they could through the streets of Stockholm.

They reached the apartment in record time, and Katrina bolted the doors behind them whilst The Wire carefully dumped Sherlock onto the bed before rooting around the bathroom for a first aid kit. As Katrina got the heat going and started to shed her layers of winter clothing, Sherlock started to rouse with a strained, whining noise.

A pang went through her heart. Her eyes began to water. Katrina was immediately by his side, helping to try and get his winter layers off as best as she could without hurting him.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” she breathed, ignoring the fact her hands were stained red. Trying to ease his arm out of his shirt had been the worst one to do out of all the layers. The wound was gaping at the top of his shoulder, and she was surprised that the damage hadn’t been worse. She didn’t hear The Wire emerge from the bathroom.

Katrina managed to get Sherlock’s shirt off entirely and balled it up in her hands, pressing it down on his shoulder. The scarf that had been used previously was entirely sodden with blood - it was no use now. His whining became a more pronounced cry, and she cupped his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. No regard for the fact that she was making his face sticky with his own blood. That didn’t matter right now.

“I’ve got you…” she told him, getting down on her knees next to the bed. “Just like you had me.”

“Katrina…” Sherlock just about whispered, his eyelids fluttering as he attempted to look upon her. His lips were too grey for her liking.

She hushed him, and The Wire coughed a little awkwardly from some ways behind her. She barely glanced back at him, not wanting her old friend to see the tears now streaming down her face.

“Can you - can you sew him up? Please?” she asked him with a wobbly voice.

“I… yeah. Of course,” he seemed surprised to see Katrina appearing so vulnerable, coming round to the empty side of the bed and setting up to stitch Sherlock’s wound closed.

“Hold my hand,” Katrina told Sherlock, now reaching down to clasp the hand of his uninjured arm with both of her own. “It’s okay.”

He managed to open his eyes and stayed locked in her gaze as The Wire began his work. Sherlock hissed in pain and Katrina kept her mouth firmly shut when he squeezed her hand too tightly for her own liking. He’d occasionally squint his eyes in pain, but thankfully the stitching job was as quick as it could be and his grip on her hand slackened. The Wire then covered the area with a dressing pad and taped it in place.

He then gestured at Katrina as if to say I want a word.

She nodded, and then as if on autopilot, she stroked Sherlock’s curly hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead and then followed The Wire out of the flat, keeping the door on latch whilst they chatted in the hallway.

“You can’t stay here,” he said to her, and she scowled.

“Neither can you!” she hissed. “In fact - it’s probably worse if you’re here!”

“You actually have a life to get back - I don’t. I’m just here. I can look after him-”

“No,” she sniffed, hastily wiping away the tears that had finally dripped down her cheeks. “He’s my friend.”

“Come on Kat-”

“Shut it. We talked about this last night! Stop being a jealous twat,” Katrina paused, folding her arms. “And get out. Seriously - you can go any time you like. Thanks for sewing him up though, but if you’re gonna start making assumptions like you always do, you can fuck off.”

The Wire went very quiet for a moment, biting back every retort he had and swallowing his pride before saying: “Do you want me to get him something for the pain?”

Not expecting to hear that, Katrina was thrown for a moment and her angry stance faltered for the briefest of moments. Now it was her turn to be the sensible one - for Sherlock’s sake - and she just about managed it. “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks…”

“I’ll be back in a bit…”

They both ended up back in the apartment, if only The Wire was there for a shorter amount of time whilst he layered up before heading back out again. Katrina elected to use the bathroom and scrub her hands clean of Sherlock’s blood, taking a moment to calm herself and then heading back out to see how he was doing.

Thankfully, he was still conscious, just understandably incredibly jaded. He looked towards Katrina with heavy lidded eyes and just about patted the free spot on the bed next to him. She hesitated a moment, before walking around to the other side and climbing on top of the covers, making sure there was enough space between them so that she didn’t accidentally knock him and make things worse.

“ Everything alright?” he murmured.

Katrina couldn’t help but chuckle as she lay her head on the pillow. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because he’s your ex.”

“Good to know that getting severely injured makes you sentimental.”

“Neither of you were quiet out there. Nor the other night.”

Her lips drew into a thin line. “Let’s not talk about this now. He… likes to make assumptions.”

Sherlock forcibly widened his eyes so he could look at Katrina properly. Some colour had made its way back into his lips. “I know. There is one thing he was right about… time with you is precious, given the circumstances.”

She had no idea what to say to that. There wasn’t anything normal she could say in response to that without coming across as overly sentimental herself.

“Only logical,” was what she settled on. “Time apart makes people miss each other.”

“Quite…” Sherlock’s eyes had closed again. Worried for a moment, Katrina pressed her fingers to his neck in an effort to find his pulse. “I’m fine,” he told her in a low voice and she removed her hand. “I won’t bleed out, he did a good job of stitching me up.”

“Do you just want to sleep?” she asked him.

Sherlock merely hummed in response and she took that as her sign to leave him be. It was hard to relax considering he could have nearly died from that wound, but Katrina still settled down into the bed and elected to drift off herself - at least until The Wire came back. Or until Moran finally phoned them to let them know he was safe too.

So Katrina drifted off into a restless sleep, every time she managed to doze off she’d shake herself awake again to check on Sherlock - who was sleeping soundly, his shallow, deep breathing soothing Katrina back into her own slumber. Rinse and repeat.

---

It had all been going so well.

The plan that they had put in place was going so well. Sherlock and Katrina with the bank manager in the vault. Moran had been at the front door. The Wire in the sewers.

They were all ready to catch them red-handed.

Moran was ready to call the police when necessary.

In fact, Katrina had logged into the system with the bank manager’s permission so that she could switch off the lights in the entire building, making the perpetrators have to navigate in the dark. So they all sat in the dark together.

They had no comms between themselves, Moran, and The Wire as agreed.

It had all been going so well.

Except when it came to the moment of truth of shutting them in the vault, the bank manager had turned out to be in on it the entire time.

Katrina turned the lights on again via her laptop, and Sherlock tried to calmly talk down the three men that were now standing off against them.

One of them took the laptop off of her.

They communicated in Swedish with Sherlock, probably just to piss her off.

The conversation between the other four began to get heated, and then…

The lights went out again.

The laptop dropped to the floor somewhere.

A gun was fired distantly - it was likely Moran.

Pure unadulterated panic set in with the others in the room with her, and she stayed silent in fear of what could come next.

---

At one stage she did wonder where The Wire was but he was soon shaking her awake and had the aforementioned morphine with him.

“Sorry that took so long…” he whispered. “Kinda hard to sneak in and out of a hospital. Is he alright?” he then asked, indicating Sherlock.

Katrina sat up and rubbed her bleary eyes, nodding as she did so. “He’s sleeping.”

“Not anymore…” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes still closed. “You will need to give me a specific dosage that won’t make me high. I was once an avid user of morphine and heroin when I was younger.”

“Fuck me…” The Wire groaned.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock finally opened his eyes. “Kat’s here. She wouldn’t dare let me get high.”

“I’ve got ten vials of it at seven milligrams each. Should tide you over for a few days.”

“Approximately three days…” Sherlock started to sit up and Katrina elected to help him. He winced and groaned as he accidentally jostled his bad shoulder, but he was able to sink back into the pillow that she’d fluffed for him as he rose. “Four if we use it sparingly. Ten days if we only allow me to have it once per day.”

“Which… seems like the more sensible route,” Katrina said. “Go on then.”

The Wire prepped a syringe and Katrina watched carefully to see how he did it so that she could do the same for Sherlock over the next few days. The detective didn’t even flinch when he was injected with it and she knew he’d be all the more grateful for the painkillers once it finally hit his system.

“You gonna be alright, big man?” The Wire asked Sherlock, who merely chuckled in response.

“Of course. This is merely a minor setback.”

The Wire nodded, now making a point of handing the bag of morphine vials and the fresh syringes to Katrina.

The two men did not need to exchange a proper goodbye, so when The Wire headed out of the apartment for the last time, Katrina followed after him.

“Look - I’m sorry about earlier…” she admitted to him, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. “You’re just trying to help - and still look out for me even after all these years.”

“It’s alright, Jak…” He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I’d do it all again.”

Her bottom lip wobbled and she shot him a shaky smile. “I really hope you don’t have to, but - you need to lay low for a bit. Please. Less of this. I’ve sort of… I’m in a bit of a situation back home.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s someone out there who knows about two thousand and four - and worse. He - he knows about how we paid our way through uni.”

The Wire’s eyes widened. “What the - what do you mean? You didn’t -?”

“No!” she hissed. “I didn’t say anything to anyone. None of us did. But Berry’s gone - nobody’s heard from her in nearly eight years! And I - I can’t dig up anything on her and I fucking work for the British government! It’s like she never existed and I’m so - I’m so worried it’s to do with all of that.”

“Okay, okay!” He held his hands up in surrender. “Just had to check. Look - I’ll let you know via Sherlock if there’s something up on my end with all of this. You know I can’t stay in Stockholm anymore, right? Now that you know I’m here?”

“Yeah. I know.” A small smile then came to Katrina’s face. “Now get the fuck out of here. See if you can figure out how to hide from Sherlock Holmes this time too.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Sounds good, Jak. Hopefully won’t have to see either of you again any time soon.”

With those final words, he pressed a kiss to the very top of her head and took his leave. He didn’t look back, and neither did Katrina when she hurried back into the apartment and bolted the door shut.

---

The last thing she saw had been someone going towards Sherlock with a knife and cry of pain.

Katrina did not want to give herself away.

Then the noises quietened.

Footsteps and voices became more distant.

Tears in her eyes and trying to remain calm, Katrina started to inch forward completely blind for all she knew.

Trying her best not to breathe loudly, Katrina flattened herself to the floor. She left her laptop behind as she began to shimmy herself awkwardly in the general direction of where she knew the door to be. She couldn’t hear any footsteps close by as she shuffled her way along, but stopped every couple of seconds to listen and check.

This attempt to stop a robbery couldn’t have gone any worse.

Granted, they had stopped the robbery, except they hadn’t expected the crew to get so horribly violent about it.

She gasped when her hand touched something wet in front of her.

That couldn’t be…?

No…

“S-Sherlock?” she whispered in a mousey voice through the dark.

“Kat…” came a weak reply. “Shhh.”

He wasn’t that far from her.

Which meant…

Oh god…

“I’ve got you…” Katrina whispered, reaching for Sherlock and feeling for his arm. “Hold on, okay?”

He didn’t protest and did as he was told.

Then with every ounce of strength in her and with a renewed adrenaline pumping through her body, Katrina began to drag herself and Sherlock towards the vault door. She kept her exertion noises quiet and forced herself not to make them at all where possible.

That became tricky when she remembered that she had to get herself and Sherlock up a flight of stairs in the dark. But it was fine. She still couldn’t hear anybody close by, all she could hear (now that they were out of the vault) was more distant sounds of a struggle and the firing of a gun.

It must have been Moran.

Running footsteps fading away followed by several in pursuit told Katrina everything she needed to know.

“Get up…” she told Sherlock, getting onto her knees and trying to haul him up with her. “Lock, they’re gone - we need to - we need to walk now…”

Her voice started wavering because he was barely responding to her and her mind began to go a thousand miles an hour about the fact that he was dying on her. But he stirred. He used her as a support in getting to his knees, and together the both of them rose to their feet and held onto each other for dear life as they stumbled up the stairs and onto the ground floor.

Sirens were fast approaching, so Katrina made Sherlock hurry towards the daylight of the front door.

They burst out into the snowy streets of Stockholm and straight into The Wire.

He was pleased to see them at first but then a look of horror crossed his face.

Katrina then gave her full attention to Sherlock to see that there was a knife sticking out of his right shoulder and he was paler than normal.

“Fuck - what the FUCK!” The Wire exclaimed. He hurried them around a corner and down a small alley, sheltered from the falling snow and hidden from any police that would be hot on their feet.

“We need - we need to get back to the flat,” Katrina said, beginning to shake the longer she stared at Sherlock. His lips were turning grey. This wasn’t good. “Sherlock…?”

“Hide the… blood…” He was on the verge of passing out.

The Wire took a moment to attempt to stop the bleeding on Sherlock’s shoulder, patching him up with his own scarf and bracing the cold weather. It didn’t matter to him. The detective had to remain alive, so The Wire knew he could risk a bit of the freezing temperatures to ensure that.

“Where did Moran go?” he then asked, taking some of Sherlock’s weight and helping Katrina walk him to the end of the alley and out onto another street.

“I think he distracted them. I hope he’s okay. Let’s just - oh god…”

Sherlock was becoming more and more of a dead weight in their arms.

They had to move - fast.

---

“Then there were two,” Sherlock remarked.

“And then there were two,” Katrina echoed his statement, going to collapse onto the sofa. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I won’t die. Give it a few more minutes and the morphine will hit - I’ll need to sleep again.”

“Alright. I’ll… sort some food out for later on. Case solved, you’re injured - meaning you have to eat, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sherlock said. “Sorry about the laptop.”

Katrina snorted. “I’m just glad you’re alright. We all got out alive. I’ve got more laptops at home.”

“I know. Still. It’s the right thing to say.”

“I guess…” she sighed. “Did you have any idea that the bank manager was in on it?”

He shook his head. “Even through my usual deductions, nothing about him screamed ‘I want to rob a bank.’ But people do things when they’re desperate, as you well know.”

“Yeah… I, um… I didn’t expect any of this today. It just…”

“What?”

Katrina shifted to lie on her side, facing Sherlock. He had his head turned towards her so that he could give her his full attention.

“Well, I think I came close to losing my best friend today. That’s something I have to sit with,” she admitted quietly. She willed herself not to cry again - Sherlock couldn’t see her cry. He’d only tell her off for it and not really acknowledge it properly. They weren’t at that level of friendship for her to be crying over him nearly dying.

She’d done it once when she knew he was going to be faking his death and leaving, and that went down just as well as she had expected back then. All he did was tell her to get some sleep. It didn’t matter that they were closer now, he would still hate every second of it.

“Nothing major was affected in the stabbing. Only lost some blood. Give me a few days and I’ll be right as rain,” he ended up saying.

Exactly as she had expected. Barely an iota of emotion from him.

Just the way Katrina liked it, really.

It made her feel less upset about the whole ordeal now. Her conversation with The Wire earlier on hadn’t exactly been fruitful.

Sherlock closed his eyes once more and got comfortable on the bed again as he turned his head away from Katrina.. “Wake me up when Moran calls.”

“Don’t you mean if he calls?”

“No. I mean when. He has sense enough and some integrity too.”

“Didn’t know you knew what integrity was.”

“I learned it from someone very close to me,” was his quiet, closing remark.

The morphine must have hit him in that moment because he was out like a light.

Katrina fell asleep again not long after, exhausted from the day’s events.

Notes:

I had a version of this where I wrote out the full extent of what happened but I didn't like it. Much preferred the aftermath and keep in some vague flashbacks to give an idea of what did go down. Also... next chapter is a long one. Also an important one. Hehe.

Chapter 18: New Year's Eve, 2012

Notes:

CW: Misuse/recreational use of medical morphine. Also, smut.

The next three days were spent in that regard: Sherlock being rather out of it for most of the day, and always in a deep sleep in the afternoon when Katrina administered his morphine. She would ensure they were both fed and keep the small apartment as clean as possible, changing the dressing on his shoulder when necessary and occasionally helping him shower when he wanted to. It was a mindless routine but it worked for the pair of them, and they barely needed to speak during it.

Katrina would entertain herself with shit Swedish telly in the room that Moran had previously occupied, and she had packed a couple of books in her bag too. Sherlock had a small few volumes regarding random philosophers in his bag that she didn’t feel that inclined to indulge in.

It was on New Year’s Eve - the third day - that Katrina’s phone rang. She roused Sherlock from his morphine induced sleep when she saw that Moran was finally calling.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Katrina asked, popping her phone on speaker.

“Sorry. Got stuck on my way out of the city - they actually ended up tailing me. Had to hide for a bit,” Moran said. “But I’m fine now. I’m down south in Gothenburg. They were following me on the train so I had to hop off at some random fucking town in the middle of nowhere until I was certain I could keep going. All good now. How’s the Detective?”

“Fine…” Sherlock mumbled, groggy as anything. “The Wire stole me some morphine for the pain. I’ve got a very good nurse here looking after me…”

“Call me a nurse again and I’m opening up that hole in your shoulder,” Katrina told him and he smirked at her in response. “For god’s sake…” She rolled her eyes. “But you’re fine, right Sebastian?”

“Yes. Fine. Glad you’re both alright too. Jak, when are you heading home?”

“Um… I think later this week…” Katrina eyed Sherlock oddly. “Lock needs to be functioning before I leave.”

“I’m perfectly capable of-”

“No. I’ve been feeding you the past few days and am the only reason you’ve not wasted away in bed,” she said, coolly. Sherlock grumbled and sank back down into his pillows.

“Housewife.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Only joking! But we’re in the clear. Shame we couldn’t get them arrested but at least they won’t be pulling that again. Catch you all soon.”

And he was gone.

“It’s New Year’s Eve…” Katrina said to fill the silence that Moran had left. “Can’t even go and do anything.”

“What’s the time?”

“About two thirty.”

“I think I can manage without you for half an hour,” Sherlock said. “Go and get something from systembolaget to celebrate. It’ll close at three for the day. You weren’t meant to be here this long, were you?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I was meant to have gone home yesterday.”

“Then go. Get some air. You’ve not left this shithole in a few days.”

As he settled back down to an afternoon sleep, Katrina did as he said and hurried through the snow as fast as she could to grab a bottle of prosecco from the government mandated alcohol shop. She just about managed to get in and out before the shop closed at three o’clock, and quickly made her way back to the flat. She had no care for the fresh winter air, she just wanted to be close to Sherlock even if he was going to be sleeping for another two hours.

Katrina knew that she should have left yesterday as intended, but the thought of leaving Sherlock to fend for himself whilst still badly injured didn’t sit right with her at all. Moran had been their diversion tactic, and The Wire - who would have stayed - couldn’t have possibly stood to be around Sherlock knowing that Katrina liked the detective in a way she used to like him. What a mess that would have been. Besides, it made sense for her to be the one to stay as she knew Sherlock better than the other two.

So she lost herself in a book for a couple of hours whilst Sherlock slept, and it was only when he was waking up around about six o’clock that evening did she start doing dinner for the both of them. They were on the last of their meat and potatoes so she knew she’d have to pop out the next day to get supplies for Sherlock as he holed up here for longer than she would be there for.

He joined her on the sofa as they ate in companionable silence.

They didn’t always need their witty conversations, and Katrina wanted to merely bask in his company for a little while longer without the need to say anything. At one stage, they retreated to Moran’s old room and showed the television on just so there was some background noise and they sat on the bed with Sherlock resting his head on her shoulder.

“Do you know any Swedish?” she eventually asked him.

“Enough to get by,” was the response. “Kat…”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been high from morphine before?”

She had an idea of where this would end up going. “No, I haven’t… Sherlock…”

“A terrible idea, I am aware, but… tempting.”

“Why?”

“Bored. And it’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Not a good enough excuse,” Katrina said, electing to move Sherlock away from her shoulder. “That’s a secret I couldn’t keep from Mycroft.”

“Why?” It was his turn to ask that irritating question.

“Because whilst I don’t know everything about your past I know that you have a history with substance abuse!” She jumped off the bed and started pacing. “Fuck - even I have a history with substance abuse!”

“And yet you still drink now-”

“I got it under control.”

“Well, so did I!” Sherlock hopped off the bed too and raised his voice. Katrina stopped in her pacing and folded her arms across her chest. “Haven’t you ever been curious? About what it feels like?” he asked her, more quietly.

“Why are you even thinking about this?”

“Because it’s just sitting there in that bag. The dosage is perfect for pain relief, but if you doubled it it would render us both euphoric - and I need that after all that’s happened the past few days! Don’t you?”

Katrina narrowed her eyes at him. “Sherlock - no. We can’t. It’s too risky - for you more so than me.”

“You’d rather just sit here watching shit telly and not wonder about how it could stretch your already so brilliant mind further? Consider it - consider it an experiment. Yes…” Sherlock stood as tall as he could. “An experiment.”

“Oh yeah?” Katrina scoffed. “And what would the parameters of the experiment be?”

“Dunno,” he said with the tiniest of shrugs. “Perhaps that’s something we decide once the high has hit. All I know is that - is that you would relax for the first time in a while. Truly.”

Katrina stared him directly in the eye, searching for some hint of him trying to pull the wool over her eyes on this one but she couldn’t. It really did seem as if he wanted to see her calm - to see what she would be like under the effects of his drug of choice. And she couldn’t help but admit that she was actually curious too, and that she had been curious to see what Sherlock was like whilst high.

She shouldn’t.

But it seemed as if neither would tell on the other.

“How long would it take for it to hit? Fourteen milligrams each?”

“About two hours. If we’re lucky the clock will strike twelve and we’ll feel it then. Are you considering it?” He seemed a little surprised.

“As long as you promise you won’t abuse it any further?”

“I promise. Just tonight. With you. It’ll be fun.”

“I… really shouldn’t…” She was tapping her foot impatiently, which amused Sherlock to no end.

“You’ve already agreed to it internally - the tapping of your foot which seems impatient is you trying to convince yourself out of it. Go get changed into something more comfortable and we shall meet the stars in no time at all.”

Jaw agape but knowing he was right, Katrina stormed off to grab the comfiest thing in her bag - which turned out to be a random dress she had thrown in. As much as she despised dresses, she had started to like them if only because at the end of a work day in a full suit she wanted something loose and breathable to wear. She’d subconsciously packed it with all her winter layers.

She quickly got changed into it - loose fitting, thin straps, black, and it fell to the middle of her calves. She tossed one of her many baggy jumpers on over the top of it, grabbed the bag of morphine and syringes and took it into the other room. She practically threw the bag down onto the bed between her and Sherlock.

“I’ll make sure it won’t hurt,” was all he said before prepping one syringe with two vials worth of morphine. “Maximum dosage any human can have of morphine per day is thirty milligrams - you’ll be fine. 

“This is still a stupid idea,” she said.

“And yet here you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Lie down.”

Naturally, Katrina did as he said. Her heart was beating far too quickly for her liking and seemed to get worse as Sherlock approached her. He grasped the syringe carefully between his lips and with a touch gentler than one she had ever known him to have, he rolled up the left sleeve of her jumper until it exposed the inside of her elbow.

He gingerly took hold of her arm, and her breath audibly hitched in her throat.

“It’s alright,” he said after removing the syringe from his lips. “It’s just me.”

He flicked the inside of her elbow with his thumb a few times until he was satisfied there was a vein prominent enough before he very deftly injected her. Katrina hissed in discomfort, and when he removed the needle she immediately clamped her free hand over the puncture mark. She watched as he discarded the used needle and prepped a fresh one for himself, working much faster on himself than he did her.

Sherlock didn’t join Katrina on the bed, instead he wandered off back to where he had been sleeping before.

She did not dare follow.

Not yet anyway.

She engrossed herself in television she didn’t understand for the next couple of hours.

It was only when a wave of calm began to wash over Katrina did she realise that the high was finally hitting her. There was absolutely not a single coherent thought in her brain. She felt as if she could sink right down into the mattress and never come out of it. She could easily fall asleep right now, but that would ruin the experiment, wouldn’t it? Sherlock needed to see what she looked like. He needed to know how she was feeling.

A glance on the clock showed it was eleven thirty.

They had half an hour of twenty twelve left, and the pair of them were going to spend it high.

It took every effort possible, but Katrina pushed herself up and off of the bed with a floating feeling in her head as she practically drifted through to the main room. She leaned in the doorway and observed Sherlock as he struggled to focus on whatever book he was reading.

“Lock…” she called out to him from the doorway.

Her call to him snapped him out of his stupor and he sat bolt upright. He placed the book on the bedside table next to him, holding out his hand and beckoning her over.

The effects of the morphine really hitting now, Katrina very obviously swayed as she wandered that remaining short distance over to Sherlock and could have fallen onto him had he not taken hold of her hand and waist in an effort to keep her upright. She stared down at him with a rather distant look, her long hair falling in front of her eyes. Sherlock reached up and tucked some of that long hair behind one of her ears.

“How does it feel?” he asked her.

“Strange,” she said, glancing down at their entwined hands. “I feel…” She couldn’t quite put it into words. “It’s so calm. I’m not… I’m not worried about anything for once.”

“Good. That’s exactly how you should feel. Give it a little longer and you’ll feel the euphoria I used to chase when I was younger.”

“What do you do when you’ve been high before?” Katrina asked him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Lie there?”

“Hmm. Usually.” Sherlock’s eyes darted across Katrina’s face before coming to rest on her lips. “I expect you have something else in mind.”

“An idea as terrible as yours, perhaps…” she whispered, loosening her hand from Sherlock’s and running it up his arm, coming to rest on his good shoulder. He was still staring at her lips, and it was clear that he knew what she meant.

“Did we… not have an agreement about it?” He tested the waters and started to guide her to straddle his lap.

“Wasn’t the agreement no flirting? No kissing?” she responded with a clumsily flirtatious quirk of an eyebrow. Her face was inching closer to his.

“And if you come any closer, you’ll be breaking it.” One of Sherlock’s hands came to rest in her hair, whilst the other trailed up her thigh under her dress. Katrina shivered at his touch, cupping his face with her palms now. She rested her forehead against his and they shared the same breaths between each other.

Oh, how she so terribly wanted to kiss him.

But every time she came close enough to do so, he’d pull her back by the hair.

“I think… we should do this my way,” he told her in a low voice. “Take off your jumper.”

Katrina froze for a moment but did exactly as he said regardless. Only one of the heaters was on in the main room, so she really felt the chill on her shoulders once her jumper was gone. Goosebumps rose across her skin, becoming even more pronounced when Sherlock ran a slender finger over her exposed collarbone.

“Is this a good idea?” Katrina then asked him.

“Since when were you the logical one?” Sherlock’s voice was different. Seductively different. Katrina was certain that the combination of the morphine and him talking had her ready to melt entirely. What also didn’t help was that his up her dress was inching ever higher and soon enough his thumb was brushing over her clit through her underwear.

She blinked. “I - I don’t know.” She sighed in contentment when he applied a more firm pressure whilst rubbing her clit. “We — we didn’t include this in the agreement, did we?”

Sherlock finally slipped his fingers past her underwear and into her folds, finally feeling how wet she actually was. Katrina let out a sharp breath and arched her back slightly. The hand of his that had been tracing her collarbone slipped the straps of her dress down.

“No,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her bare shoulders in front of him. “We didn’t.”

His middle and ring fingers started pumping slowly inside Katrina, and she supported herself by gaining purchase on his good shoulder. She let out a small moan, and Sherlock stayed his hand around the base of her neck.

“Why - why did you want to do this?” she asked him breathlessly.

“I told you once that I wanted to dissect you and see how your heart beats,” he told her, crooking his fingers inwards ever so slightly. Katrina’s breath hitched in her throat. “Consider this my experiment. Consider the ice around my heart cracked - that is what you always wanted.”

“Why has it cracked?” She started to move her hips in rhythm with his fingers.

“Rather annoyingly, I can’t seem to get you out of my head. Every time I make a deduction, you’re there - goading me . A version of you begging me to do better,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. “It made me wonder what would happen if I simply caved to what I knew you to desire - and have desired ever since our time in Rome.”

She smirked down at him through heavy lidded eyes. “Is me being in your head such a bad thing?”

“I’m a reasoning machine, Katrina,” he reminded her. “And a trickle of emotion has found its way in. We were only ever meant to be friends and yet I find myself craving your company when you’re not here.”

His pace started to pick up as her movements urged him to.

“I don’t - I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind for philosophical conversation,” she said breathlessly. Her heart was beginning to hammer so fast in her chest it felt like she was going to explode. Sherlock’s fingers inside her felt electric and soothing at the same time. Everything about it felt more intense because of the morphine in her system; everything felt more confusingly calm too.

She was here with her best friend and he was finger fucking her until she would ultimately see oblivion, and as odd as it sounded she wouldn’t have had it any other way. The combination of their two completely opposite personalities had found a way to connect in the middle somewhere. She would get her release, and Sherlock would satisfy any curiosity he appeared to have about her sexuality and her desires.

The pit of heat began to build in her belly as she drew steadily closer to orgasm.

Each breath that came out of her was more pronounced and Sherlock was picking up pace with his fingers. His free hand went round to support her back and keep her upright when he realised that she was losing herself in the moment and leaning backwards too much. She was grateful for it, and gripped ever tighter to his good shoulder.

“Sh-Sherlock…” Katrina whispered as she finally saw stars. Something snapped in her and she let out a wild moan, falling forwards onto him and resting her forehead on top of the hand that was on his shoulder. Her whole body shook and Sherlock kept going - he kept her climax going but she was so painfully sensitive down there now it felt like the most euphoric agony in the world.

“That’s my good girl…” Sherlock murmured in her ear, finally beginning to slow down with his ministrations. “Completely undone.”

She remained hiding her face on his shoulder, crying out again as she came to her peak once more as Sherlock drew a second climax from her.

“You… are… an insufferable menace,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. The orgasm mixed in with the morphine was certainly making for an interesting experience, and she swayed against Sherlock who dutifully removed his fingers from her but impishly wiped them on the sheets next to him.

“Easy…” Sherlock managed to get Katrina off his lap and lying on the bed next to him. She was positively dazed by the experience.

“I could sink into this bed…” was all she could say.

“I know.” He shuffled down so that he could lie next to her. “I feel the same.”

“You’re a devil, Sherlock Holmes.”

“And yet you enjoy it,” he then sighed. “But we won’t be able to do this again, will we?”

Katrina shook her head with a smile, coming back to reality slowly but surely. “We’re terrible friends.”

“No, we’re rather excellent friends. Besides - it was a good experiment. I… didn’t expect you to enjoy that so much,” he confessed. “As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve only had one experience…”

“You certainly picked up a lot from it. But really - why? Why get us high and do this?”

“It was easier for me to consider the notion of an experiment whilst high instead of sober,” Sherlock said, reaching across to adjust the straps on Katrina’s dress so they were back on her shoulders and she wasn’t in danger of exposing her breasts to him, now that they were out of the moment. “I… should clarify that you are not an experiment. You are my friend. I meant-”

“We both tested boundaries tonight,” Katrina cut across him. “I get it. Because you’re right: this is all I’ve really been thinking about. You know, after the work Christmas party I considered rubbing one out whilst thinking about you. I realised that was something I should run by you first.”

Sherlock frowned. “Hardly normal to ask a friend permission to wank over them-”

“We’re not a normal friendship though, are we Sherlock?” As dizzying as the high was, it was starting to wear off. She wondered if the finger fucking had anything to do with that. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

At that moment, the sudden eruption of fireworks began.

“Hmm.” A half smile came to Sherlock’s face.

“Happy twenty thirteen, Lock.” She paused. “Would it be weird if I still slept in here tonight?”

“No. I enjoy your company. And you keep me warm. We keep each other warm.”

“You certainly wore me like a glove just now…”

Silence.

And then they couldn’t help but burst out laughing. It was a silly situation to be in with one’s best friend, really, but they were able to make it work.

“There’s prosecco,” Katrina said once the laughter had subsided. “Come on. Let’s actually celebrate the New Year.” As she was about to get off the bed, Sherlock grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back down.

“No - not whilst it’s still in your system. You won’t react well. Trust me,” he said to her.

Katrina took a moment to digest his words and then nodded, enjoying the fact she felt like she was sinking into the bed again anyway. She could have easily fallen asleep right there and then.

So that was exactly what she did.

All she saw behind her eyelids was darkness. There was nothing there. Not even those strange, funny kaleidoscopic colours that popped up when one closed their eyes. The morphine had done a number on her, but it felt like the world’s longest blink and then it was suddenly three o’clock in the morning. All the lights were out and Sherlock was sound asleep next to her.

Supposedly.

The first sign of her moving had him awake. She had been trying to get under the covers to combat the fact she was cold now, and he murmured at her to go back to sleep.

“I’m cold. Get under the covers. I thought we kept each other warm?” Katrina’s voice felt unlike her own. She was tired and still feeling the effects of the high.

“Hmm…” Sherlock murmured, and shifted around until he too was under the covers. “That morphine certainly did the trick on my shoulder…”

“How is it?”

“Far better than it was. I expect I’ll come to regret the high in the morning.”

The morning.

“Sherlock… I have to leave in the morning,” she muttered, a slight wobble in her voice. “I can’t stay any longer. I wasn’t meant to be here this long…”

He was silent for a moment and shuffled closer to her.

Hands brushed under the covers, and Sherlock restrained himself from taking hold of hers; she restrained herself from him.

“I know,” he said. “Whenever we part ways I try to tell myself that logically speaking it’s always an inevitability. That because of the nature of our work we must part ways. The other argument is that there’s the logical side of you staying - we work better together. But I know that’s me covering for my… emotional side.”

Katrina smiled in the dark at how he still abhorred that word in reference to himself.

“It’s simply because I do not want you to leave, Kat.”

“I don’t wanna leave either. Full on emotional and sentimental - I hate it more than you can possibly imagine. You’re my favourite person in the world; you’re my best friend. I hate to be without you. That’s the horrid truth of it.” Her voice was so small she couldn’t even believe she was able to be that quiet. “Too emotional for my own good.”

“No. It’s how you are - and it’s just right.” Sherlock paused again. “Sleep, Kat, and I’ll take you to the airport in the morning. My shoulder’s doing far better.”

“Okay,” Katrina squeaked, bundling down further in the warmth of the duvet and with Sherlock next to her.

“And because I didn’t say it before: Happy New Year, Kat.”

Notes:

The characters ran away from me and that's why they did all that... but yeah. Shertrina doing *that* as an experiment? More likely than you think. Yes this will have an impact further down the line.

Chapter 19: Trouble on the Rise

“How was Stockholm?” Daniel asked as Katrina got into his car at Gatwick Airport.

All she had been thinking about on the flight home was her tryst with Sherlock, and she didn’t know if she could confess that was the peak of her trip. Besides, it wasn’t like she went into loads of detail about the cases that Sherlock called her out for, but this seemed like a big thing to keep from Daniel all things considered. He knew about her growing crush on Sherlock, and the fact she had indulged in it as a bit of an experiment was bound to be juicy news for her best work friend.

“Stockholm was… interesting…” was what she settled on as she buckled her seatbelt. “It didn’t really go to plan, but it was nice to Sherlock anyway.”

Daniel sped off from the pick up point, a small smirk coming to his lips. “Oh yeah?”

Katrina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Stop it. It was different to Shanghai. I mean - I suppose Shanghai went wrong as well, but this was for different reasons. Turns out bank managers are greedy and want to take money for themselves. They had us fooled, annoyingly. And… well… Sherlock got hurt. Quite badly. I stayed longer to make sure he was okay.”

Her voice had trailed off ever so quietly. She couldn’t shake the image of all the blood in the snow that was coming out of Sherlock and how she had thought it wasn’t possible for him to get even paler than he already was. His lips had been grey. That was the worst part. His lips had been fucking grey.

“Kat?” Daniel asked, concerned.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought there was a chance he might die. I knew logically he wouldn’t, but… you can’t help but fear that. He’d lost so much - so much blood…” A few tears unexpectedly dripped down her cheeks and she hurriedly wiped them away. “Sorry…” she repeated. “Sorry. It was a lot.”

“No, it’s fine… I get that. Jeez. You guys certainly get yourselves into some situations, don’t you?” He was trying his best to lighten the mood a little - granted, it did work. Katrina let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, that’s certainly one way of putting it,” she said, thinking back to when she was on top of Sherlock and he had his fingers inside her. There was no way she was forgetting that or the feeling of being high on morphine any time soon. “Fuck sake…” she murmured to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to clear her mind of Sherlock’s expression when he had made her orgasm.

“You good there?” Daniel was more curious than worried.

Katrina chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before ultimately biting the bullet and telling him what happened.

“Sherlock and I… we sort of hooked up…” she confessed.

“Oh my god… ”

“No penetrative sex! It was more of an experiment if anything… we were both high on morphine-”

“Jesus Christ, Katrina!”

She winced at his tone. He wasn’t impressed but it seemed like he was sort of proud of her for doing that. Katrina was still in two minds about the fact she had recreationally used morphine and didn’t do her best to dissuade Sherlock from it, but at least someone sort of supported her in the act.

Well, someone other than Sherlock, anyway.

“Do you want to know what we did or not?” she asked him pointedly. “You seem very pro-my crush on Sherlock so…”

“Then do tell. It’ll make our journey on the M23 much more interesting…”

“How explicit do you want it?”

“Not too explicit. But enough that I can fill in the gaps myself.”

“Right. So for context: we had an agreement of no kissing or flirting,” Katrina felt that was the best place to start, just so Daniel could fully understand how she had ended up in the predicament that she did with Sherlock. “We er - we had a bit of an intense make out when I went to see him in Rome. Did I tell you that?”

He was gobsmacked. “You didn’t! What the hell?!”

“We were sort of goading each other at the time. He’s fascinated by how emotional I am, I’m fascinated by how logical he is. That seemed like an experiment too…” Katrina frowned when she thought back on it. Was the word ‘experiment’ a means to an end? So that neither of them had to confess anything real to the other? “It sounds fucked up the way it’s framed, I know-”

“But it’s actually very much in the realms of what I would expect from the pair of you at this point,” Daniel had calmed slightly. “I don’t even know Sherlock but I know that much from what you’ve told me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess so,” Katrina sighed and sank down further in her seat. “This really has to stay between us, alright? If Mycroft knew… I wouldn’t hear the end of it. In fact, I’d probably be banned  from ever hopping out of the country to see Sherlock again.”

“What, because he-”

“No! Not because of that,” she cut across him quickly, not wanting to hear him say it. It sounded crass enough coming out of her mouth, it would probably be about ten times worse if Daniel had said it. “The morphine thing. Mind you, I don’t know how Mycroft would feel if he knew that his brother… well, did that to me anyway. I have a lot to think about after that trip.”

Daniel frowned. “In what sense?”

“Oh! Well, we had to get my ex in on the job. That certainly opened up a can of worms I wasn’t expecting. I might have a crush on Sherlock-”

“Obvious-”

“And I ended up having to talk to my ex about it. It’s all very messy.” Katrina wasn’t keen on the fact that everyone and their mother seemed to recognise her crush on Sherlock before she had even admitted it. It felt like it had been rubbed in her face, and they were all being a bit smug about it. A glance at Daniel told her that he was desperately trying not to say I told you so on the matter.

The upside was that Daniel knew when to drop a subject and leave her to her thoughts.

---

“We didn’t talk about the other night,” Sherlock said as they drank coffee at the airport. Katrina still had a few hours to kill so they were holed up in one of the cafes until she had to go through security. She ducked her head down and stirred sugar into her coffee vigorously. “Kat…”

“What do you want me to say? You want me to admit that I’ve had a crush on you for god knows how long?” she hissed in response. “And last night I indulged in you when I probably shouldn’t have.”

“And it’s fine,” he assured her. “Trust me. We were both indulging in something we shouldn’t have.”

She was still aggressively stirring the coffee, and Sherlock reached across the table to stay her hand. She didn’t flinch away like he had expected. She just stopped what she was doing.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Me too,” he sighed. “You may be onto something though - with the fact that you probably feel this way because we don’t see each other all the time. It… makes sense. It’s logical. It’s like how you miss me so much.” He added a jokey tone to his voice just to make her feel at ease again and it worked to a point. She finally looked up at him again with a small smile.

“I don’t know how you cope with me being so emotional.”

“Oh, that?” He waved it off. “I naturally balance you out as the reasoning machine that I am.”

---

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Daniel asked her, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” Katrina wasn’t quite so easily distracted from thinking about her last interaction with Sherlock.

“Lunch. Shall we get lunch? There’s time for it, if you want,” he reiterated, glancing over at her.

“I think I need to be alone when you drop me off,” she admitted, electing to stare out of the window at the cars passing by in the lane next to them. “Thanks though. It’s… been a lot the past few days. I’m not gonna be great company to be around for the rest of the day, but thanks for picking me up anyway. I really appreciate it.”

“All good,” Daniel said softly, failing to hide the pity in his voice.

The car journey back into London was silent between after that. Only the gentle thrum of the radio on a very low volume was all that could be heard through the car.

Katrina knew in her heart that it would ideally be better for her to socialise with someone normal like Daniel to take her mind off of things, but she knew that she’d be out of sorts anyway. She knew she needed to sit with her feelings and what the fuck had happened in Stockholm. She also needed to figure out a way to discuss what had happened with Mycroft the following Monday once they were all back in work.

That was going to be the worst part of it all.

Talking to Mycroft.

Because she obviously couldn’t tell him every single detail, but she did need to let him know that Sherlock had been badly hurt. She’d probably be reprimanded for that somehow. She didn’t particularly care too much though. She felt that she could take anything from Mycroft at this point in time; hell if he ever decided to fire her in the future for whatever reason, she’d probably be able to take that on the chin too.

Katrina was far too used to having to deal with the Holmes brothers that nothing really fazed her anymore.

On arrival at Baker Street and a bittersweet departure from her friend until the following week, Katrina was glad to see that Mrs Hudson was still clearly at her sister’s for the Christmas holidays. Good. It meant she didn’t have to put on a fake smile and have small talk - she wasn’t in the mood for that today, she just wanted to go and lie down in her own bed.

Despite that, that’s not what she did at all.

On dropping her duffel bag in the living room, Katrina trudged down the hallway towards Sherlock’s bedroom and opened the door. It needed another dust, but it was still pristine and untouched as ever. She was drawn to the silk dressing gowns hanging up on the back of the door though. She’d worn the burgundy one as a little joke that one time, sure, but she’d never touched the blue one.

She grabbed it and put it on over her clothes. She brought the cuffs up to her nose and inhaled. Even after all this time, it still smelt like Sherlock and it brought tears to her eyes.

Was she really crushing on her best friend? Or was it the distance that made her want him?

Katrina had no idea how to answer that particular question right now, but all she knew was that the gown was cosy enough and she wanted to lounge in it. Wear it to bed. Leave a part of herself on it in case Sherlock ever did get to make his way back to London. Maybe it would be a way to let him know that she had missed him more that could know. Maybe he’d actually confess to missing her too.

And maybe that’s what she wanted.

She wanted him to say the words “I missed you, Kat,” and be done with it because that was the only way to prove he would only ever love her as a friend and he couldn’t even give her that. He darted around it because he hated feelings that much, no matter how soft he could be with her. No matter how much he dared to take care of her.

Even when they had effectively hooked up, it was still an experiment for the both of them and it was all rather silly and now she was sitting on his bed and fully crying.

If she could run away from everything and block out her feelings, she would.

Katrina knew that she was technically able to do that. She could disappear and become anyone else in the world if she so desired.

But that would be stupid. She couldn’t do that to anybody, tempting as it was.

Either way, she stored that as an idea for later.

Katrina kicked off her shoes and curled up on Sherlock’s bed as she continued to cry, eventually drifting off into a peaceful sleep for the rest of the afternoon. She did not dream, but she felt comforted knowing that she was surrounded by Sherlock in that moment as a means to soothe her aching soul. Sleeping in that room was easier than anything else in the world.

When she woke up a few hours later around four o’clock, Katrina did have the horrid realisation that Mycroft would be able to deduce certain things about her and the Stockholm trip. She was going to have to figure out a way to poker face and not give away her body language over the next few days so that come Monday she wouldn’t get into trouble with the elder Holmes brother, because that was the last thing she needed after one hell of a Christmas.

She was too openly emotional and she needed to be able to hide it when necessary.

And hiding it from Mycroft was a necessity, always.

So the next few days consisted of Katrina tidying the flat and posing questions for herself about how Mycroft could possibly interrogate her about Stockholm and how she was able to even be useful to Sherlock. There was no way she could justify that trip now, not when she knew that Sherlock had mainly brought her out there for the company.

To some degree, that was okay. Katrina had been let in on the faking of his death for a reason. Aside from the fact that Moriarty had effectively dragged her into the mess that led to her being in on the secret in the first place, of course. She liked to forget about that aspect of it; it had most certainly been one of the many low points in her life.

And then Monday rolled around and everyone was back in the office after Christmas. Of course they all had more restful holidays than she did. There were naturally a few people who didn’t take time off over the holidays as international threats didn’t take a break. Now that the majority of staff were back, those few who lacked a holiday would be able to have a small amount of time off to make up for it.

Her first port of call for the day - instead of the usual three o’clock time - was to go and visit Mycroft. She barely acknowledged Anthea and waltzed straight into her friend’s office, to which he wasn’t surprised about at all.

They did stare at each other for a moment in dead silence, though.

“Happy New Year,” Katrina said, sitting down opposite him.

“Happy New Year,” he replied. “Now that that’s out of the way - how was Stockholm? You didn’t ask permission this time therefore I found out from my brother the other day.”

“Ah. Yes, well, I was planning on telling you about that today, actually. It was… wait, how much did Sherlock tell you?” She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly but still held steady. She did not want to give away any nervousness at all. She couldn’t give herself away.

“That he was stabbed and you extended your stay to look after him. He didn’t elaborate any further.”

“It was a job that went horribly wrong,” Katrina offered with a wry smile. “The bank manager was in on it and we weren’t able to give a reasonable conclusion to those who had been duped by the Sunny Club. Moran helped out too, you know.”

“Yes, Sherlock did mention that… as well as your ex.”

Katrina groaned and sank down in her seat. “He didn’t need to tell you it was my ex though…  we needed manpower in case of things going awry and well… The Wire was my group’s muscle back in the day. Not that he did much heavy lifting in Stockholm, he did help initially patch Sherlock up. I made him leave after that. I can’t stand the guy nowadays.”

Mycroft went very quiet and contemplated his next words carefully.

“Sherlock spoke highly of you for that time. Shanghai, Rome as well,” he paused. “But I can’t have you go out and help him again. Not so soon, anyway. Stockholm wasn’t part of the main web - Shanghai semi-was. He’ll be entering more dangerous territory soon, Katrina, and you cannot get mixed up in it any further. He has to do the rest of this alone or he won’t be able to come home.”

Her lips drew into a thin line and she had to hold back tears at the prospect of not being able to see Sherlock again any time soon. She stared at her lap so that Mycroft didn’t need to see her reaction to what he was telling her.

“He does care about you because you’re his friend. Neither of us can have you in harm’s way,” he continued. “Your skills are required here , Katrina, so here you must remain. If not because there was an… interesting development over Christmas.”

She frowned and looked up at him, hurriedly wiping the tears that had brimmed over to her under eyes.

“What - what sort of interesting development?”

“We finally managed to catch Holly Peters. And she’s requested to see you.”

Notes:

She's baaaacckkk! Just putting it here now that Holly Peters is in place of Eurus Holmes. I had come up with the concept of Holly way back in 2014 and always knew she was going to be a big part of this trilogy so had planned out what was going to happen before series 4 aired in 2017. I've shaped it since then so it works with S4 though, particularly with The Final Problem.

Anyway, please leave any nice comments you may have!! <3

Chapter 20: Interlude, Holmes

Notes:

A small, short chapter of reflection on Sherlock's part.

Sherlock had been near enough everywhere across the world, escaping the clutches of Moriarty’s web and low life criminals, still going about solving cases as he had before - just more quietly without attracting too much attention from the general public. Just with the added factor of most of his cases revolving around shutting down Moriarty’s web.

He had been near enough everywhere across the world but there wasn’t a place he could hide from Katrina. Whether they were in contact or not, there had been truth to what he told her when he said that she was always in his head telling him to do better. It was perhaps the strangest litmus test to see if he could internally evoke an emotional response about any of the cases he was solving.

So far, nothing.

He never got angry or frustrated with his cases.

He would merely get mad with the vision of Katrina that would be inside his head.

This was much more different to the version of her he stashed away in the car in Dartmoor somewhere in the depths of his mind. That was when he needed to genuinely figure out something that could have a emotional tie to it because he was no good at that. He couldn’t deal with emotions for the life of him unless it was to do with Katrina. He learned from her about emotions and he could read them on her at the bare minimum. Sometimes he wondered if that’s all he needed in life - for her to be the one person that he needed to understand.

Sure, there was John Watson, but John thought he was currently dead. Not a day went by that Sherlock thought about revealing himself to his best friend but he knew that it would be deeply stupid to do so. He didn’t need to be dragged into this mess the way Katrina had - and Sherlock had always regret the fact that Katrina was a part of the mess in the first place. He hadn’t fully anticipated the fact that Moriarty would make her a pawn in the game, but he should have realised sooner than he and Mycroft had.

But… Katrina was the perfect asset as and when he needed her. He felt terrible admitting that her being let in on the secret had quite possibly been the best idea Mycroft had had in some time but she was getting her own enjoyment out of it too. So it wasn’t an entirely selfish feeling, right? He had his friend, she had hers. Sherlock would even go so far as to agree with Katrina in that they were best friends at this point in time too. Because they were. It had been a year and a half since he faked his own death and she was still here , still talking to him . Still jumping in on his cases when he needed her to. Coming out to help him if it seemed appropriate, coming out to help him even if it wasn’t.

Rome. Shanghai. Stockholm.

He knew realistically there could only be one more chance to see her before he delved into the final throes of dismantling the network, and it was horrid that he was getting so close to that point. He didn’t know how long he could keep putting off going to Serbia. It was January now… could he postpone it for three more months? Six months? He didn’t know. And that also meant he didn’t know when he could see Katrina again.

Oh, Katrina…

She never strayed from his thoughts nowadays. It was always worse just after she departed from whatever city he had been in with her. Especially now, after their rather not sensible night on New Years Eve…

Sherlock was currently on the train from Stockholm to Gothenburg with plans to catch up with Moran to see if he still fancied assisting him elsewhere. Moran had been more than happy to oblige and hole up somewhere nice whilst waiting for Sherlock. That was the thing with Moran: he wasn’t faking his death so he could book into the nice hotels with the sum of money that Mycroft was paying him to keep him from turning bad again.

He let out a long, shaky breath as images of Katrina on his lap flashed through his mind, writhing in ecstasy against his fingers so deep inside of her… He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples as he tried his best to bury that memory in the Dartmoor car-

“Oh no,” she said to him with a light laugh. Of course he would be taken back to the car the moment he thought hard enough about it. “You’re not doing that. You can’t put memories here. You like to build your mind palace accurately, right?”

“I… well, yes,” he replied with a frown. “Your point?”

“There’s no means of watching the memory here. Look around, Lock, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Unless you planned to put it on the CD player in the car? And instead you just listen to it when you fancy rubbing one out?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine. Point taken. I want somewhere to rewatch it. Remember every detail. You’re in my head far too often for your own good, you know.”

“I know,” she smirked, shifting in her seat so that she could face him better. “I’ve got an idea. I live at Baker Street now, as you very well know. Maybe when you don’t want to have a conversation with me but you’d rather remember our escapades you go there instead. You can rewatch it on the TV if you’d like.”

And just like that, Sherlock was in the living room of 221b Baker Street. Home. He hadn’t been there in a year and a half and he missed it dearly. Everything was exactly as it should be, except the TV was on and the image of Katrina on his lap was playing out. He could count the tiny beads of sweat across her collar bones-

Sherlock brought himself back to reality. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about it - he was on a train for goodness’ sake.

The problem of Katrina Jenkins being in his head was the most silly problem he could have.

It was hardly a problem at all anymore.

He had started to welcome it.

And he couldn’t bear to admit that out loud to anybody else, let alone himself.

Notes:

I hope you guys liked that. It felt right to add something like this in after what happened in chapter 18. There'll be one for Katrina further down the line at another important turning point... which may come as a shock to some of you when this little turning point DOES happen, but I'll have you know I've been planting the seeds for it since Chapter 59 of Returning the Favour. Heh. :)

Chapter 21: Sherrinford: Get That Chip Out Of My Brain

The next few days had Katrina being briefed on exactly what to expect from Sherrinford. She knew vague details from Moran but other than that, she hadn’t been aware of exactly how high security it was going to be. It was also not on any map - so they had to be dropped off by helicopter on a little island in the North Sea that she had no clue whereabouts it was. Her only comfort was that Mycroft was coming with her.

Even then, he was still being rather odd about the whole ordeal and she didn’t blame him. Neither of them spoke to each other in the helicopter on the way out - Katrina was shitting bricks for all she cared because she’d never been in a helicopter before - and she focused on the fact the headphones were rather comfortable on her ears and stared at her knees. The windows were blacked out on the inside for her and Mycroft in the back, presumably so they didn’t know where they were going.

She thanked her lucky stars that the trip to Sherrinford didn’t take long at all, and she was glad to be on solid ground again within twenty minutes. Naturally Katrina started trying to figure out whereabouts this little island was and could only surmise it wasn’t actually that far from the south east coast of England and therefore not far from London at all. She knew next to nothing about helicopters but she expected it probably wasn’t safe to be in them for hours upon hours at a time.

As nervous as she had been - and still was - about being here, Katrina couldn’t help but be impressed with the building once they’d arrived.

“Is this where the taxpayer money goes?” was the first thing she said to Mycroft as they were escorted up towards the building.

He gave her a rather intense side eye along with a raised eyebrow. “Shockingly, no. Consider Sherrinford privatised, if you catch my drift.”

She sighed and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Of course it fucking it is,” she murmured, shivering as she did so. January on a little island somewhere in the North Sea. Katrina was much colder than she wanted to be despite the navy gloves and scarf that matched her coat, but then she remembered that Stockholm had been much colder.

Now the physical security at Sherrinford was tight, and Katrina was mildly impressed. Phones were taken off of her and Mycroft, they were given pat downs, and only then were they allowed in. Security cameras were every few feet in this place, and Katrina felt the need to keep her eyes down as they wandered down the long corridor to the main hub.

Various members of staff all overseeing different prisoners in the cells deep below ground in complete and utter silence. Now that was a little creepy, but Katrina tried not to let it get to her so much. If there had been a hubbub of fuss then that would have meant something was deeply wrong. Mycroft led Katrina into an office that overlooked the whole hub.

“First impressions?” he asked her.

“Absolutely insane. And you’ve not let me near this?” she asked him rather cheekily. “I’d probably have much more fun here…”

“And that is precisely why you are not to ever be stationed here,” Mycroft responded. “The worst of the worst reside here, Katrina, and it would do you no good to be anywhere near them.”

Even she had to agree with that. “Good point. So what’s the plan for today? How am I doing this?”

“Holly Peters has requested fifteen minutes with you. Entirely unsupervised. What she wants to discuss with you, I have no idea. She did not answer any of my questions. What happens down in that room will be confidential between the two of you, unless you feel any reason to divulge it to me. All cameras and audio will be switched off once you enter, and switched back on when you leave. Security will escort you down to her and back up. Do not cross the line on the floor, Katrina. Knock on the door when you want to come back out. The cameras will turn back on after fifteen minutes, so if the conversation goes over we will give you a minimum of two minutes before we pull you out. Do you understand?”

Katrina had always known the gravity of the situation when she was first told that Holly Peters wanted to chat to her from her own prison cell, but seeing the look on Mycroft’s face and how seriously he was talking to her made her realise just how bad this actually was. She was genuinely scared to go down there and talk to the woman.

“Yes,” she said, a slight wobble in her voice. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said, as a security guard knocked on the office door. “Off you go. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”

“Yeah… right.”

Katrina turned on her heel and followed the security guard to an elevator that took them into the depths of Sherrinford. Once again she was led down a long corridor and they came to a stop outside a door at the end of it. She was let inside and the guard did not follow her in.

The room was large, bleak and grey like the rest of the building, but what separated her from Holly Peters was a wall of tempered glass that had a delivery hatch and no obvious means of getting in or out. There was a bed, a toilet, and a table and chairs; at the table sat Holly with her back to Katrina, hunched over something.

She was almost annoyed that Holly had her back turned to her when she arrived, so waited patiently for a moment before very loudly pulling up a nearby chair and daring to go as close to the line before the glass as possible.

“No need to be rude,” Holly said, turning her chair round she could face Katrina. She looked surprisingly spritely for someone who had been on the run and then thrown into the highest grade security prison in the world, and gestured to something on the table behind her. “I was just setting up our game for today.”

Katrina scoffed. “I’m not doing that again. I’m more interested to know why you wanted me to come here today.”

Holly gave a rather demure shrug of the shoulders and a half apologetic smile. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. It seemed like the best place for us to chat. I feel like we have a lot to catch up on after this past year, don’t you?” She paused. “I know he’s not dead, by the way.”

Katrina froze, trying not to let her eyes widen in shock at the fact that Holly knew Sherlock was still alive. She kept her jaw as relaxed as possible, and crossed one leg over the other in an effort to remain as casual as possible.

“Okay,” she finally responded, not sure if she should play into it and ask Holly how she knew Sherlock was alive. Had she been following him around? Because if so, that would mean… Katrina pushed the thought from her mind. She didn’t like the idea that Holly had been watching the both of them. “How’d you find that out?”

“I was also in Rome last summer. He’s not very good at being inconspicuous is he? But a promise is a promise and I left you two lovebirds alone.” Holly’s voice was taking on a strange, almost dreamy, overtly girly tone that Katrina didn’t like. She wished she had insisted on keeping the cameras on but then she knew deep down she wouldn’t have gotten any answers out of Holly if that were the case.

“Lovebirds?” she settled on with a chuckle. “How original. Sherlock isn’t the loving type and I have no intentions of loving him either. It would be impossible. So my crush remains a silly, little crush. No more, no less.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to have a crush on your best friend?” Holly asked her. “Besides, don’t you two just try to… meet in the middle, as it were?”

Katrina frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I have my secrets as you have yours - and I know for a fact you have many,” she teased.

“And you dragged me here to what? Talk about my secrets or talk about Sherlock?”

“Oh, well, I don’t really want to talk to you about Sherlock - that’s boring. No, I’d rather talk to you about secrets and mine and how they intertwine.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“Yes. I know,” she seemed rather proud of that fact and it unnerved Katrina to no end. “But you were just as bad as me once. You and your little band of merry hackers, having fun on the dark web - my god, no wonder you didn’t want Magnussen knowing any of that.”

Katrina bristled. “How the fuck would you even know what Magnussen does? You barely worked for him the first time we met! You were - you were off your rocker! That’s why you’re rotting in here.”

Holly giggled. “Hardly rotting if I can get in and out of here. I think they should let you have fun with the security - I’d probably stay put.”

“Wait… hang on - Moran said they let you go a few years back?”

“And why would Sebastian Moran be privy to what goes on here?” Holly was almost disappointed that Katrina hadn’t understood that it had been a lie he’d told her - all because he had been told that lie first. “Imagine if the general public knew about this place and that it wasn’t actually that secure? MI5, MI6 - imagine if they had an idea about that too? You’re one of the lucky ones to know about Sherrinford which is very funny to me because you should really be in here too. But once again - you. Got. Lucky.”

“I wasn’t running experiments on actual people!” Katrina protested, standing up angrily and almost crossing the line on the floor. She stared down at it as it taunted her, telling her not to get any closer to the glass. Holly saw her turmoil and stood up too, making her way to the edge of her glass cage and daring to be as close as she could get to Katrina.

“Really now? You didn’t do what I did?” Holly tilted her head to the side ever so slightly in curiosity.

Katrina rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t. Me and that little band of merry hackers weren’t intentionally hurting people! Let alone hurting them for money - we were only on the dark web to get our way through university. Which you would know! You knew TB!”

“Didn’t he sell you out a couple of years back to get his name off that watch list?”

“How could you possibly know about that too?!” Katrina’s voice was going shrill and she ended up feeling grateful for the fact that Mycroft and anybody else couldn’t see or hear what the hell was going on. “How the fuck do you know more than you should?”

“I was hiding in the shadows a lot the past couple of years thanks to you and Sherlock Holmes. I had rather a lot of free time on my hands.”

It was perhaps more unnerving to Katrina how calm and cryptic Holly was being. There was something that she wasn’t telling Katrina, and the woman desperately wanted to figure it out. What could she possibly be hiding from her that she could lord over her?

“I learned a trick or two from Magnussen. I may have worked as a meek little journalist but I kept an ear out for how he operated,” Holly then continued. “Rather unfortunate he had absolutely no clue what I was. What I could do. What I had done. But he knew all about you, didn’t he? God, I miss Jim Moriarty. I have him to thank for reminding me of some of the extras about you.”

“Reminding you?” Katrina was becoming more and more baffled with every passing sentence that came out of Holly’s mouth.

What the hell was this woman on about?

She giggled again. “Sorry! I accumulate so much information on people over time that it all blurs into one big mess. I was thinking about somebody else. Now… let’s play a game, Katrina.”

Holly went back over to the table and switched something on.

The monotonous tones of a metronome echoed through the room and Katrina shivered.

“Seriously? This again?” Katrina groaned.

“Sit down, love, this one might take a minute. I’m going to ask you a few questions and you just need to answer them. All a test of morals, of course.” Holly sat back down in her chair and waited for Katrina to do the same.

Heart pounding in her chest at the prospect of what was going on, Katrina obliged anyway.

“Good. So. A small girl is playing on a swing in a local playground when an adult comes along and pushes her off into the dirt making her cry for no other reason than that he'd had a bad day at work and wanted to take it out on somebody who couldn't fight back. Are his actions morally wrong?” Holly reeled off as quick as anything.

Katrina gave her an odd look. “Obviously his actions are morally wrong. That’s a child!”

“Thank goodness this is all hypothetical then…” she replied with an eye roll. “Next one’s a bit tricky, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Suppose that there is something about… I don’t know - the weather - that makes it inevitable that lightning will strike a barn therefore causing a fire that will kill three people. If nobody is responsible for the weather, and nobody is responsible for the causal link between the lightning and the fire, does it mean that nobody is responsible for the fire and the deaths?”

“Well…” Katrina racked her brains for this one. “You have to consider the chances of the lightning striking the barn. Nobody could accurately predict if that would happen. So… nobody’s responsible.”

Holly seemed pleased with that answer. “Good. Alright.” A sly smile came to her face. “Is it true that a person can only be morally responsible for what they have done if they could have done otherwise? Or, to put this another way, if an outcome is inevitable, if it was always the case that a person was going to do something , there was simply no alternative, then is it true that they cannot be morally responsible for the outcome?”

“What?”

“Would you like further explanation?”

“Please…” Katrina sank back in her seat and rubbed her forehead. The metronome ticking was really pissing her off, and she felt odd. Like she was in a strange sort of dream.

“Philosophers tend to think about this issue in terms of coercion, inner compulsion, or hypnotic suggestion… anything that makes it impossible for an individual to avoid doing whatever they end up doing.”

Katrina couldn’t see the metronome but the phrase “ inner compulsion” seemed to twig something in her mind. A switch going on. She could see through the dream.

“I could have avoided it,” she said suddenly. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Avoided what?” Holly prompted, intrigued by the sudden switch in attitude.

“Sherlock getting beaten to an inch within his life in Shanghai. I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have hacked the accounts. I was just doing it because it’s what I do best - a compulsion of my own. Then they wouldn’t have known…” Tears sprang to her eyes. Why was she confessing this to Holly of all people? “We wouldn’t have had to jump out the window - we wouldn’t have gotten hurt, Notes wouldn’t have been caught and we wouldn’t have had to bother Mycroft - fuck! ” Katrina jumped up from her seat and began pacing. “Is this what you do? You get inside people’s heads with philosophy and get them to confess when they’ve done wrong?”

“There’s more to it than what happened in Shanghai, isn’t there Jak?”

Katrina came to a halt and turned to face Holly once more, who appeared to be as demure as ever. Her stomach dropped. She felt sick. In fact, it made the entire discussion much worse with how calm Holly was and how riled up Katrina was getting.

“How do you know that name?” she asked slowly.

“Jak. TB. The Wire. Notes. Berry. Your little band of merry hackers. I told you I know things. What do you remember about university, Jak?”

“Stop using that name. That’s only for certain people and you are not one of them. You’ve not earned it. Those people did.”

Holly smirked. “I think I have. I’ve done my research.” She was so sure of herself that Katrina was almost scared. What wasn’t she being told? What did Holly know that she didn’t? “Do you want to finish the morality test?”

“No, thank you…” Katrina sat back down. She sighed and wiped the tears away, sitting up as straight as she possibly could. She couldn’t show weakness in front of Holly, she couldn’t-

Weakness. Was she viewing emotion as a weakness now?

Katrina’s brow furrowed again. “What the fuck?” she muttered to herself. 

How had she let Holly get inside her head that quickly? It was almost too easy - had she done that before when they met over drinks? No… she hadn’t. Katrina peered around Holly to stare at the metronome. But that was the connecting factor of it all - the metronome. Why did she insist on the metronome? It was like there was an itch in Katrina’s brain that she couldn’t scratch, as if she was desperately trying to remember something.

“Trauma’s a funny thing, isn’t it? And your life has been built on it,” Holly said. “You thought Magnussen and Moriarty were bad, but why were they never in here like me? With me?”

Katrina’s nostrils flared at the prospect of Holly knowing quite literally everything about her and she didn’t know how the woman would know. She had buried it all. Her parents - literally - her sister she never spoke to, and her four friends who she was lucky to have seen three of recently… they had all agreed to never speak of any of the incidents from university again. Unless, of course, it would mean saving someone’s life. But Katrina wouldn’t dare do it to save her own life right now. She had around five more minutes left with Holly and she hadn’t even found out anything useful other than the fact that there were secrets bound to the philosophical psychopath that weren’t going to be spoken of anytime still.

Itch. Itch. Itch.

Katrina stared at the floor, feeling like her brain was buzzing. An anger was brewing in her that she didn’t even know was possible beyond the realms of what she was already capable of. The ticking of the metronome was really starting to piss her off as was Holly’s blase, falsely demure attitude about it all. She was being incredibly smug about it too.

Katrina concluded that TB and Holly must have been closer than she originally thought. That was the only explanation for it - that was the only logical thing she could think of. But on the flip side… why would TB tell Holly all about her? About any of them? It didn’t seem right. It didn’t actually make sense the more she thought about it. And the more she thought about it, the more Katrina got angry. But she couldn’t show anger in front of Holly-

Wait. No. That’s what she wants. She wants you to bury it.

She would be stupid to bury the anger because then it would prove Holly’s point, wouldn’t it?

So all she had to do was figure out the meaning behind the moral questions that had been posed to her.

If she could somehow take blame for what happened in Shanghai, then whatever she did in the next three minutes she could reasonably choose not to take blame for. Katrina could easily tell Mycroft that Holly had provoked her and he would believe her. Of course he would believe her. But only if the cameras remained off. She couldn’t do anything with the cameras on otherwise Mycroft would never let Katrina get to the bottom of any mystery surrounding Holly Peters in the long run if she couldn’t handle being in front of her for fifteen minutes.

“Say somebody was provoked and - and threw a chair… would they be responsible for causing damage to a wall?” Katrina finally looked up at Holly and asked the question. The other woman seemed amused by the proposal, and thought on it for a moment.

“Depends on how the individual was provoked, so I would say no - they’re not responsible for the damage. Being on the defensive is important. Were you on the defensive back at university, Katrina? Or did you and your friends actually aim to hurt all those people?”

Katrina couldn’t believe how quickly it had been flipped around back onto her. This woman was ridiculous, but maybe she was trying to provoke Katrina into doing something stupid.

“Would you eat the cat, Katrina?” Holly asked her.

She didn’t answer.

“Do you want the chip out of your brain?”

She didn’t answer that, and knew that she was being thrown the titles of the experiments that Holly had played over the years.

“Would you kill the fat man?”

No answer, but she was bristling in her seat now. She didn’t have long until the cameras turned back on.

“Don’t hold back, Katrina, there’s a reason why Sherlock likes you so much - maybe one day he’ll be able to verbalise it-”

And that was it.

With a scream, Katrina stood up, picked up her chair, and threw it as hard as she could at the tempered glass. Of course nothing happened except there being a new scratch on the glass. Breathing heavily, Katrina faced down Holly who had finally risen from her seat once more and started to approach the glass again.

“So gifted and talented but mummy and daddy and Isabel didn’t love you, did they? Is that why you want the love of a reasoning machine? Because it’s the closest thing you can get to warmth?”

Angry tears spilled down Katrina’s cheeks. “How the fuck do you know about my parents?!” she shouted at her. The metronome seemed horribly loud now.

“You were not an easy person to find things out about in my free time before I was brought here but my god was it a fascinating read!” Holly laughed. “I know we reached a stalemate last year but since I can’t do anything out there, I thought I would at least have my fun in here and bring you to me so that I could. You fascinate me, Katrina. You and Sherlock both fascinate me deeply - and I cannot wait for the day where I can talk to him again-”

“You will never go near him!” she cried out. “Do you understand? We are not your playthings! Nobody should have to suffer you!”

It was at that point Katrina looked up to see the cameras switch back on.

“What is the point of you?” she then asked Holly.

“What is the point of you? ” Holly threw the question back at her, glee dancing in her eyes. “All that emotion and love and nowhere to put it. It builds up, doesn’t it? And you can’t wait to explode, can you? See here’s the thing that you need to ask yourself, Katrina: do your emotions impact your morals? How does your intuition affect your problem solving skills? You think you can work with Sherlock? Think again! You were never meant to meet! But you did - someone made sure you did. You should have been in here with me this whole time! You and your silly little friends!”

Holly started wildly cackling and Katrina could only look on in horror.

Of course this is where she would have ended up in two thousand and four had she not been saved by the phone call.

Katrina turned on her heel and ran towards the door, frantically banging on it until it slid open and she was greeted with Mycroft.

She practically launched herself at him, crying, shaking, and unable to find quiet in her head until the door closed behind her. Mycroft didn’t know what to do in this instance, but when Katrina buried her face in his shoulder sobbing he realised that she needed a friend. He rather awkwardly placed an arm around her, his hand resting in the middle of her back.

“Katrina, what happened in there?” he asked her quietly.

She didn’t say anything, but her sobs began to subside. There was quiet in the hallway - no cackling maniac or metronome to piss her off anymore.

“Kat…” Mycroft whispered. “Tell me.”

Katrina finally pulled back from Mycroft and looked him in the eye. She did not let go of her and he gave her the courtesy of keeping his arm around her. The next question that came out of her mouth so meekly gave him cause for concern.

“What is the point of me?”

Notes:

Don't worry. This'll have a pay off... in the third story. Lol. Sorry! It does permeate through the rest of this story though.

And as you can tell, Katrina is starting to view Mycroft almost like a big brother... and Mycroft viewing her as a little sister. It's quite sweet.

Chapter 22: Sherrinford: Repercussions of a Psychopatch

They were back in the office that oversaw the hub. 

They had walked back there slowly, Katrina unable to let go of Mycroft the whole time. She had been utterly shaken to her core with no clue how to process the vague and cryptic conversation she’d just had with Holly Peters. She knew that Mycroft had seen the last few moments of the conversation where she’d been barrelled with the questions about her own morals and if they were affected by her emotions; he knew that she would have thrown the chair. The discarded placement of it would be enough.

Katrina sat in silence at the table with her coat draped over her shoulders and a hot cup of tea in hand. She stared at the table and continuously blinked back tears. Mycroft sat opposite her, waiting patiently for her to start talking because neither of them had managed to say anything on the way back up. Not after the question she had posed to him. Katrina wondered if maybe he was thinking it over himself and that’s why he hadn’t said anything and maybe that was what was making it worse.

“Seriously…” she finally muttered, more towards her tea than Mycroft. “Answer the question. I asked her the same and she threw it back in my face with examples.”

Mycroft took a deep breath and pulled his chair closer to the table. “You are not defined by your ability to express emotions, Katrina. You are capable, clever, strong, and you are a bloody good problem solver in your own right. I cannot look at lines of code and numbers the way you do. Nobody can. It does not matter if you cannot find a place to put your emotions.”

She was silent again for a few moments. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “Yes, it does. I know you almost as well as my brother does. You needn’t worry about how Holly Peters perceives you.”

“And yet she seems to know more about me than I do,” Katrina set down the cup and pushed it away, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she sank back in her seat. “How much do you know about the two thousand and four incident?”

“I know enough.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And what does that mean?”

“It means that at the time, whoever was behind your get out of jail free card was much higher up the ranks than I was,” said Mycroft rather stiffly. “I don’t know who made the call, Katrina. There may be truth to Peters’ words about the fact you could have ended up in Sherrinford with your friends, there may not be any truth to it. She’s a psychopath. She clearly wanted to get to you.”

“So why did you let me talk to her?”

“Because she requested it. Besides, I thought… perhaps you might be able to get some information out of her. It’s rather difficult for us to do so,” Mycroft confessed. “Much like Sherlock had Moriarty, you unfortunately have Holly Peters. The consulting detective and the consulting criminal. The intuitive hacker and the psychopathic philosopher. Are you not intrigued by any of it?”

Katrina sighed and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes felt painfully dry after all the crying and she desperately wanted to get out of the building, but she knew that Mycroft had more to talk about before they inevitably departed. Besides, it probably wasn’t a good idea for her to go home in this much of a state.

“Of course I’m intrigued by it - but that’s not… I’m not Sherlock, Mycroft,” she told him with a wry smile, her hands dropping from her temples to play with the cup in front of her.

“I wasn’t saying-”

“No. But the intrigue is Sherlock’s thing. Not mine,” she added with the shake of her head. “Unless that’s what she wants - she wants me to approach it more like Sherlock. All that emotion and nowhere to put it? He locks his emotions away in his mind palace unless he needs it. His rationalising of everything and everyone means he doesn’t do emotions unless absolutely necessary. Me? I like to follow my gut instinct. I’m inherently a very emotional person because of all the shit I went through with my parents and sister.”

Mycroft considered her words for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was stressed out by the situation as much as she was, perhaps even more so knowing that he had willingly put her into that mess today. “Have you considered therapy for your childhood troubles?”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “God, that’s all you can say? An awkward half hug, a cup of tea, and recommending me more therapy? Christ, you really have no clue how to deal with people, do you? Not even your friends.”

“Friend,” he corrected. “I don’t typically go for them, but you’re an exception to the rule.”

“By fucking default I’m the exception.” Katrina necked back the rest of her tea. “Can we go? I’m sick of being here.”

“Do you want to tell me anything else that happened in there? Whilst the cameras were off?” Mycroft elected to ignore her initial outburst.

“She had a metronome on. Which is exactly what she did when she had me play the Wason Selection task what? Last year? Annoying as anything. She wanted to know my thoughts on more moral games. That was it,” Katrina said with a shrug. “I really do want to get out of here, Mycroft.”

“Once we’ve gone through it all,” he assured her. “This conversation is not to leave these walls, do you understand me?”

The sudden seriousness in his tone had Katrina worried. It didn’t matter that she knew it was a serious situation regarding Holly Peters, but Mycroft’s entire demeanour had shifted. Like he knew more than he was letting on - like Peters did. Not that Katrina should be suspicious because Mycroft always knew more than he let on (he was the British government, after all) but it unnerved her entirely considering where they were and what had just happened.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him carefully.

“She’s a psychopath, Katrina, that’s what’s wrong. And she’s rattled you. I don’t take well to that. So I would like to know what has you rattled.”

Katrina sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “She knows too much about me… she knew about my parents… Isabel… she knew that I go by Jak every now and then. She shouldn’t know about Jak. And she knows about what happened with Moriarty… I hate it, Mycroft.”

”Unfortunately there’s not much we can do… I can certainly have someone find out how she learned what she did. There’s no guarantee that she’ll tell the truth.”

“I want to cry again…” Katrina’s voice was now entirely muffled by her hands. “I really do. I bet she’d love to see that though. And then probably get mad about the fact I’m crying and not being sensible! Blah blah blah, I think you get it now, don’t you Mycroft? No matter what I do, she’ll always get some satisfaction out of it. She’ll have a response. And it doesn’t matter how she finds out, because she inevitably will.” She paused for a moment and looked at her friend from between her fingers before resting her chin on top of her hands instead. “Mycroft… there’s something I’ve not told you. It’s something I’ve known for over a year and a half.”

“Go on.” His brow furrowed.

“Moriarty told Holly Peters a lot about me… that’s how she knows at least half of it. The rest I’m not sure,” she told him slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. A weight had most definitely lifted from her shoulders, though, now that she had finally told him that was the case.

Mycroft was completely unreadable. “I see,” was all he said at first. “And… how did you come about this information?”

“Sebastian Moran told me.”

“Was this in Stockholm?”

“No…” Katrina’s brow turned upwards in worry. “No, it was - it was a long time ago…”

---

“I’m officially done,” he said to her. “I don’t work for him anymore. I won’t - I won’t be on your case anymore.”

“What - why are you telling me this?” Katrina’s brow furrowed in confusion. Moran sighed, planting his hands on either side of her on the wall.

“Because that fucking diamond was where it started. I’m sorry, Katrina, I was working for the wrong people.”

Her jaw dropped. “But you - you shot me!”

“I know. I was paid to - because that’s what I do!” he reminded her. “There is one reason and one reason alone that I’ve been released from his employment: this isn’t going to end well for either party. Moriarty knew that from the start.”

Not really able to compute what he was saying, Katrina pushed Moran away from her and began pacing up and down in front of him. “What the - you can’t just - you can’t act like you’re completely fine now that you’re not on the payroll!” she exclaimed, and he sighed.

“Money corrupts morals. If you were born in the dirt, you’d understand.”

“But then you have other people who were born into privilege and they never had morals to begin with,” she spat, coming to a stop in front of him. “You’ve probably met a few of those in your life by Moriarty’s side, haven’t you?”

Moran nodded, realising that he and Katrina were coming to see eye to eye.

“I can think of one name: Magnussen.”

Now that got to her. “Why - why is it always his name?!” Katrina cried.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Because he will end you, Katrina!” Moran shouted in her face. “Moriarty never kept to his end of the bargain! Magnussen knows everything about you! Holly Peters too!”

“W-what?”

“Katrina, he tricked you,” he said sincerely, and her shoulders slumped. The fear was gone for a moment. “Peters is easy enough to evade, but Magnussen is here in London. Pray to whatever god you believe in that you don’t cross paths with him.”

She laughed without humour, her eyes going wide in that sort of crazy way when someone’s not prepared to take on board certain kinds of information. Almost threatening to Moran, but they both knew Katrina was harmless at that moment. “I don’t believe in god,” she chuckled again, void of any feeling. “Why would I?”

---

June two thousand and eleven had been an interesting time for Katrina, that was for certain.

She couldn’t look Mycroft in the eye after the revealing story regarding Moran - the parts about Magnussen omitted, of course, it was one psychopath at the time here - and hid her face behind her hands again.

“Why did you keep this from this entire time?” he finally asked her.

Katrina shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… I didn’t think - I didn’t know how to tell you…” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again, her voice becoming thick as she held them back. “I’m sorry, Mycroft.” She sniffed, doing absolutely everything in her power not to burst into tears all over again and beginning to fail miserably. “Can we go home? Please? I need - I need to feel normal again.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said instantly.

The scrape of his chair opposite meant that he had stood up, and he made his way round to Katrina to at least be close by when she also rose from her seat. She dropped her hands from her face once more and stared at the floor as they walked to collect their coats and any other possessions on their way out of the facility.

She did not have a single coherent thought in her mind when they were in the helicopter on the way back to proper UK soil. She did her best to blank everything out and ignore Mycroft staring at her. It was impossible to not feel his gaze on her and she hated it. She knew that she was being analysed by him because of the crying.

He was a Holmes boy.

They weren’t good at dealing with crying.

God, it was all so awkward.

She ended up being driven home once they were back on the mainland. She didn’t know if the car journey back to Baker Street was better or worse than the flight. Mycroft sat in the backseat with her, and she still couldn’t look at him.

It was only when they pulled up at 221b did they actually speak again.

“Is there… anything I can do?” he asked Katrina rather awkwardly before she got out of the car.

“I don’t wanna go back there, Mycroft. Even if she asks.”

He nodded curtly. “And also: you must not tell my brother what happened here. I know you seek comfort from…  Lock, as you two are friends,” the distaste on his face about that word despite also being friends with Katrina was paramount, “because he won’t be able to do anything and it’ll only worry him.”

“Fucking hell, Mycroft. You really need to learn to understand humans better,” was the last thing she sat to him before hastily exiting the cab and storming into her flat.

Safe in the confines of her own home, Katrina trudged up the stairs at top speed and immediately went to find the bottle of whisky from under the sink. She poured herself a decently sized portion of it and necked it back - all before taking her coat off. It burned when it went down her throat, but it felt better than what she had dealt with that day.

She took the bottle and the glass to the living room, finally shedding her coat and shoes before collapsing down into the red armchair.

Katrina poured herself another one and stared at the empty navy chair opposite.

Perhaps Mycroft was right: she shouldn’t tell Sherlock. It would be pointless to do so considering he was god knows where and probably wouldn’t be able to help. Granted, he might be able to help her rationalise how she was feeling, but… no. She couldn’t. She couldn’t drag him into her mess right now. Not when he was off still dismantling Moriarty’s network.

When she missed Sherlock enough, then she would tell him what had happened.

And Mycroft could not begrudge her that.

Notes:

A small callback to Returning The Favour in there. Anyway it's (almost) all cards on the table between Katrina and Mycroft now! More to come on that front...

Chapter 23: Another Round

“Doesn’t anybody else find it depressing that we’re all close to or in our thirties and still single?” Claire asked one evening at the pub. Katrina checked the time on her phone.

“It’s not even eight! This is the kind of talk that happens after nine and we’re far more drunk!” she then insisted. “Either way, who has the time for dating? Feels so pointless considering our jobs…”

“And everyone take a shot for Katrina despairing about her love life!” Daniel announced to much laughter. Katrina, on the other hand, made a noise of indignation.

“You guys don’t even have shots!”

“I know. But you’re going to get them. It’s only four - five if you want to join in - come on Kat…”

She sighed. “Fine!” She held up her hands in surrender with a chuckle and made her way up to the bar in order to get the aforementioned shots. Whilst waiting for the tequila to be poured, Katrina handed over a twenty pound note and surveyed her colleagues-slash-friends. It was beginning to feel like when she used to work at that film company on Great Portland Street with the tech department there.

If anyone had told her a few years back that life would in fact still be the same and go back to normal after a few upheavals and traumas, she wouldn’t have believed them. It hadn’t seemed possible back then. Even with the threat of Holly Peters looming over her in the back of her mind, Katrina was glad to have a sense of normalcy back in her life.

Friday drinks were the best kind of normal.

After the Sherrinford incident, the rest of January passed by in the usual unbearably slow pace. She’d taken to avoiding Mycroft for a little while in an effort to not think about what had happened. It was easier that way. If she passed him in the halls of MI5 they’d exchange a few words and he didn’t press her to come to the usual Monday tea. If anything, Katrina felt glad that he understood her avoidance and general need for space at that current point in time. However, it did make January pass by ever more slowly than she could have possibly imagined.

It meant her Mondays weren’t so broken up as days. It meant that she didn’t have anyone to send the occasional snide text to in the evenings if she so desired. For once she wasn’t making contact with Sherlock, knowing he had a job to get on with and Stockholm needed to be forgotten about (temporarily, in any case). Katrina found it difficult to actively try and leave him alone but she managed to power through it.

So that’s where the Friday nights came in.

Katrina hadn’t been sure if she wanted to partake in the weekly pub outings again, but Daniel had pulled her leg - so to speak - and then their little tech gang was down at their local pub. She’d gone so far to make a table reservation each week so they actually had a table to cram around together and not have to hover awkwardly at the bar or cosy up too much against the bitter London cold outside. It had become a good way to unwind, and Katrina found herself merrily warm on the tube on the way home, ultimately collapsing into bed and falling asleep with ease each time.

And now she was paying for shots because they had clearly made up some kind of game against her in good jest. The usual. It had gone like that back at her old job too.

The bartender was kind enough to give her a small tray to take the shots back over to her table.

“Yeah, I’ll be despairing about my love life for some time, thanks…” was all she said before raising a shot along with the rest of them. “To hating the upcoming month of love!”

They couldn’t disagree with Katrina on that one, and they downed their shots.

She pulled a face and her eye twitched. Tequila was not the one. Salt and lime or not (in this case, not) they were bloody awful and it’s why she never went for it.

“Urgh. Next time-” Clarie started back Katrina cut her off.

“You can get them and you can make the choice of alcohol.”

“Okay yeah, fair, I’ll take that one,” she conceded.

“You tried any apps, Katrina?” Flora asked. “You know - for dating… or a shag.”

Katrina’s eyes couldn’t have gotten any wider. “My casual shagging days are over, I’m afraid. I’m nearly thirty! It’s too tiring and… oh - once I had a rotation of guys and girls and it all got a bit messy in the end when I double booked a pair of them by mistake… that’s when I gave up the casual shagging. So none of that for Valentine’s Day.” She then turned to Daniel. “I’m interested in who you’re seeing.”

He balked at the accusation. “Who said I was seeing anyone?”

“Your entire attitude, mate,” Benji chimed in.

“Yeah, you have been surprisingly perky recently,” Katrina said after she took a gulp of her pint.

“I’m always perky!” Daniel insisted. “That’s why everyone loves me!”

“Well - yes - but you’re being more perky than usual. So Katrina’s right on the money with her question: who are you seeing?” Claire asked.

A resounding silence pattered around the table for a few moments until Daniel sighed and relented, finally confessing to what had been keeping him in a good mood recently.

“I am seeing someone. Met them off tinder. You don’t need to know anything else! There’s some things I want to keep to myself, you know? Considering the one thing we all share is our work…”

“I can respect,” Katrina clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re all just happy to see you happy about something else other than cybersecurity. And running around getting me coffee…”

“Yeah, about that - can we get in on the Pret runs?” Flora chimed in. “You guys always come to the kitchen in the afternoon with Pret coffee and we’ve just got to deal with the bog standard kitchen stuff…”

Katrina glanced at Daniel. “I mean… sure. Why not?” she then said. “It didn’t start as an exclusionary thing, by the way, it was just to kinda… get me used to being here, I suppose. It was rough for me when I first started, I didn’t want to know anyone, and Dan brought me out of my shell a bit. He’s a good lad. It’s why when I have my infrequent bouts of time off he gets to take over from me.”

“You’ve shown him the ropes!” Claire was only mock offended. “Oh, no wonder he does all the fun stuff…”

“I can sort out fun stuff for the rest of you as well!” Katrina was worried about the possibility of this conversation getting far too serious. “Say the word on Monday, I’ll run it by Mycroft, and then I’ll do it- oh. Mycroft.” She sank down in her chair on remembering that she hadn’t actually spoken to him for the better part of a month.

“Drama!” Flora said in a sing-song voice. “You’ve not been chatting shit with your best mate - not ever since you came back from that work excursion.”

“If it can even be called a work excursion…” Katrina mumbled. Everything and anything to do with Holly Peters felt far too personal to be work related, and it was the last thing on earth that she wanted to be thinking about on a cosy February night at the pub. “It’s a long story. Not one anyone wants to hear, and it’s entirely confidential. I’m having a bit of space from Mycroft which is allowed. I’m sure one day you’ll hear about the drama of this particular work excursion…”

She waved off the topic well enough in a casual manner that the others weren’t massively interested in carrying on the conversation about it anyway.

The night passed on as usual in good spirits and a few more pints, and by about ten o’clock they all rather sensibly left to go home. They all started to make their way towards Vauxhall tube station, but Katrina lagged behind when she noticed a looming figure on approach, clearly having departed from the MI5 building not that long before.

A pondering look crossed her face, and she bade the others goodnight before hurrying over towards said figure.

“You worked late,” she said as she fell into step beside Mycroft. “And you’re not in a car. What gives?”

“Hmm. A nighttime stroll often does wonders to clear the head,” he replied.

Katrina, uncaring in how she would be perceived by Mycroft, hooked her arm around his elbow much to his chagrin. He did not make her let go of him, though. That was the weakness of the Holmes boys: giving Katrina anything she could possibly want.

“I guess. Or a pint with people who like you - that often helps,” she suggested. “Most places around here close at eleven on a Friday. We’d have to go somewhere more central for a substantial catch up, considering we’ve missed about a month’s worth.”

“Indeed. By your own doing,” he said slyly. When Katrina huffed, he let out a rare chuckle. “I understand. Sherrinford is a lot for anybody on their first visit, let alone what you had to deal with that day. On a loosely related note, Magnussen’s been in touch to see how you’ve been getting on. I told him just fine, thank you, and that you’d reach out when you had something substantial to show.”

“Thanks… I appreciate that. I’ll let you do the reaching out though - he gave me the creeps and I don’t fancy the idea of talking to him directly if I can help it,” she admitted shyly.

They were walking at a steady enough pace, but Lambeth Bridge was coming into much closer sights now. Katrina took the moments of silence on their walk to really take in London - she had very little appreciation for the city she had been living in for several years now, especially at night time. The way the lights lit up and it teemed with life even more so than during the day. The echoing chatter of those brave enough to sit outside the pubs at this time of night at this time of year. The gentle waves of the Thames as it ebbed by, bringing the occasional boat along it.

It was truly something else - something beautiful, and Katrina now understood why both Mycroft and Sherlock held a deep rooted affection for the city. It felt strange to see through Mycroft’s eyes, though, and she wondered if she would ever get another moment like it. So she gripped his arm a little tighter as they carried on walking.

“He’s an acquired taste,” Mycroft said after a few minutes. “I know you don’t want to talk about him, but it was worth saying. I have to keep him on side. That’s all there is to it.”

She nodded and didn’t say anything - it didn’t warrant a response.

“Duck and Waffle will be open,” Katrina said. “It’s twenty four hours. Up by Liverpool Street. I’m not suggesting we walk there, but we could get a cab and then a drink?”

Mycroft considered it for a moment. “You know… I think that might just be a good idea.”

So - much to Mycroft’s chagrin - they hailed down a regular London cab and took it to Liverpool Street. Neither of them spoke during the cab journey, but on arrival Mycroft paid the fee. Considering how late at night it was, Duck and Waffle wasn’t all that busy once they took the elevator up to the main restaurant and were seated fairly quickly by the window with an excellent view of the city.

They both ordered old fashioneds, sitting daily watching the twinkling city lights until their drinks arrived.

“Cheers,” Katrina said, and they clinked their glasses together before taking a sip of their quite strong drinks.

“Indeed.” Mycroft set his glass down, leaning back in his chair. “A quiet Friday night - just what the doctor ordered. I expect yours was far more entertaining before you ultimately ended up here with me?”

“The usual,” she said with a shrug. “They’re a good bunch that I work with. We’ve learned to get along over the past year and a half. Daniel I get on with more so than the rest, but he was always looking out for me when I was in my quiet phase at work.”

“That’s good. I know you like to… have people around you, so to speak.”

Katrina raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean friends, Mycroft? You’re one of them.”

“A status that still baffles me to this day. The fact I hold the same sentiment towards you baffles me even more so.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well - it’s good to have friends. It means you’re not lonely.”

“I take it you were lonely back when you first started with us?”

She nodded, taking another sip of her drink and clutching it tight between her palms, watching the large ice cube and orange peel swirl around in the golden liquid. “Of course I was. I’ve given up everything I’d ever known because of the world’s biggest secret. It wasn’t easy, but somewhere deep down in my heart I knew it was for the best. For all that it pissed me off, the past year or so reminded me of something I used to say when I was younger: Underneath anger lies forgiveness; within forgiveness is empathy. It helped me remember that the anger would go away, and that I only felt angry because the people who caused it mean something to me.” She looked back at Mycroft. “Emotions aren’t something to be wary of.”

He considered her words for a moment. “You’re very emotionally intelligent, Katrina,” he said. “Perhaps if the rest of the human race were the same then I wouldn’t abhor people so much.”

“Why do a lot of our conversations ultimately involve us confessing things we wouldn’t dare say to anybody else?”

“Because there is a level of trust between us that neither of us have with many other people. Besides, you’ve managed to balance wearing your heart on your sleeve and holding your cards close to your chest, for want of better metaphors,” Mycroft pointed out. “Don’t think that I don’t know what you really think of my brother.”

She made a noise of indignation but realised it was ultimately better to lean into it - they were confessing, after all. Katrina knew that he was right in that they trusted each other, so she could ask Mycroft his thoughts about it all as an outsider.

“And what do you mean by that?” She played a little coy. “I want to hear you say what you mean for once before I say anything else on the matter.”

“You like my brother more than you should,” he said simply. “That’s all there is to it. I have said before that becoming attracted to him is not a good idea-”

“It’s just a silly crush,” she was okay to admit that now. “Probably because he’s not here and it’s always so intense when I do see him… it’s nothing, honestly.”

Mycroft gave her a look, and she sighed.

“Honestly. It’s fine. It’s nothing. I would know - I experience emotion at a much higher rate than you do,” Katrina elected for cheekiness to stop herself from appearing defensive. “Besides I think you’d know if I had any real feelings for Sherlock - it’d be obvious.”

“Hmm…” He wasn’t entirely sold on it. “I must stress that the consequences of either of you liking each other in a romantic regard are ones I don’t even want to think of. You’re both rather loquacious enough as it is. Saying that, I do appreciate the fact you keep an eye on him. As much as mine and Sherlock’s relationship over the years has become strained as we’ve gotten older, he is still my little brother at the end of the day. A close friend like you has done him some good.”

The ghost of a smile touched the corners of Katrina’s lips. “I try. I never wanted to get along with him in the first place but it just… happened. Couldn’t really stop it. Everything about him just pulled me in and next thing you know I was in Rome. Magnetic. If you know where to look with him.” She had a few more sips of her drink before setting the glass back down on the table. “I didn’t come here just to talk about your brother, Mycroft, I wanted to actually spend time with you.”

He chuckled. “Of course. He is a nightmarish topic to be fixating on anyway. No - it was… nice of you to suggest getting a drink. Goodness knows I’ve needed one… Sometimes with this job I often wonder what my political alignment is and I realise it’s simply: for Queen and country. We have to play into the palms of those far more wealthy, unfortunately. Even if it may go against my personal morals.”

“I hate that word: morals, ” Katrina said with distaste. “That woman has put me off entirely. Obsession over something so human gets you nowhere. As much of a shady past I have - I try to do good now, and that’s what counts, right? And I expect you try to do good too?”

“Try being the operative word. It’s hard. Decisions aren’t made that way in my line of work.” Mycroft went silent for a moment. “Listen, Katrina - Kat - I need you to know that if you do need anything… you can always come to me. I will never be a person of warmth, but I am a person who keeps their word. If anything troubles you, if there’s an emergency… I will find a way to help. You know I would.”

Katrina had no idea how to react to that.

Mycroft showed sincerity very rarely but she suspected he must have felt some kind of guilt for how he had handled the Sherrinford incident the previous month. Whilst she held no grudge towards him - despite wanting some space to put it all at the back of her mind - she couldn’t imagine what her silence had done to his brain. He was more strict in his logic and reason than Sherlock ever was, as well as being barely capable of handling emotions, so he had probably spent the better part of the month trying to riddle out his own emotional response to her lack of communication.

It was the only explanation she could think of.

The only logical one, anyway.

It made his statement make more sense in her eyes anyway. As touching as it was, there was a logic to it she couldn’t fully comprehend.

“Thank you.”

That was all that needed to be said in response.

Notes:

I think Katrina and Mycroft are veering into found family territority lol. But it's nice!

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed.

And I'm sure you noticed the overall chapter count updating... oh yes! There's just so much I want to add in and character development I want to dive into that I *had* to extend the length of this fic. It should mean the ending of this one before the third and final fic in the triology will be more gut wrenching. :)

More to come...

Chapter 24: Missing Sherlock / Missing Katrina

Katrina never expected mail, unless it was the yearly council tax bill. She was paperless for everything she needed in life, and nobody sent her letters. Everyone she knew would get in touch with her via mobile or email. LinkedIn if they were particularly psychopathic.

So she hadn’t been expecting the post to arrive on Valentine’s Day. In fact, it wasn’t until she received said post that she remembered it was Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t something she was ever fussed about, and she was somewhat surprised to be receiving anything.

It all made much more sense when she opened the envelope and pulled out the card, though.

Jak,

This is all I could do this year.

Never forget that you are my best friend.

Do something nice for yourself on this day.

Lock

PS. You’ll have to exchange it yourself. I wasn’t about to trek to an airport when I’m meant to be undercover.

“For goodness sake…” Katrina chuckled as she then looked at the remainder of the contents of the envelope to find an impressive stack of Euros. It took a moment for two and two to connect in her brain in that Sherlock wanted to buy something for her for Valentine’s Day but couldn’t do it and she was oddly touched.

She hadn’t heard from him at all since they had been in Stockholm together, plus there was the fact she’d been warned by Mycroft not to let the man know about what happened in Sherrinford. As far as Katrina was aware, Sherlock didn’t even know that Sherrinford actually existed, so it was fine. She did desperately want to let him know about the Holly Peters run in at some point, though, because she didn’t want Mycroft to be the only person she could talk to about it.

She set the card down on the desk and counted out the Euros - her eyebrows shot up when she counted five hundred. She couldn’t even question it - she knew that Sherlock got paid for his cases regardless.

The fact he took time to send her the five hundred though… that was a whole other matter. An unexpected but somewhat welcome surprise, and she had no idea what to do with it really. Valentine’s Day this year was a random Thursday, so it meant bars and restaurants were going to be horrifically crowded with couples that were in love on dates together.

Katrina figured she’d save going out for a solo date for the next day on Friday. Whilst London would still be heinously busy, it wasn’t going to be filled with couples displaying gross amounts of PDA that nobody else wanted to see.

Either way: she had to get to work now.

The rest of the day passed by in a dizzying blur of meetings that should have been emails, emails that should have been meetings, and a few cups of coffee that she needed to cut back on, and some cigarettes that she definitely needed to cut back on. All of it a swirling haze of numbers and smoke and anything to forget the fact that her best friend wasn’t anywhere close by and she couldn’t see him.

Katrina had never yearned for someone’s company in this way before.

Not even when she had been casually dating someone; not even in a relationship.

God, she was bitter about it all, really. And that wasn’t entirely like her.

She probably needed to get out of whatever dry spell she’d been in for the past few years and actually get some. Not that she fancied bringing a guy or girl back to the flat that had one empty room because her best friend was off pretending to be dead and solving crimes in another country.

Then there was the matter that she couldn’t stop thinking about her best friend that was pretending to be dead and solving crimes in another country. So maybe going out a fucking someone would be a terrible idea if she couldn’t focus on them entirely because she’d be focusong on her best friend that was pretending to be dead and solving crimes in another country that happened to be quite handsome in her eyes.

And there it was.

Katrina went outside for one last cigarette break at five o’clock before she wrapped up her work for the day and headed back home at top speed at six o’clock that day. She did not say a word to her colleagues and friends on the way out. She needed to get home. She couldn’t get the thought of the five hundred Euros that she needed to exchange and Sherlock out of her head.

The quiet of 221B was relatively welcome, but she found herself pacing and not knowing what to do with herself in order to pass the time.

Well. Maybe dropping Sherlock a thank you text wouldn’t be so bad.

So she did that.

Thanks for the card. And the cash. Weirdo. Treat yourself today too by not getting beaten up. Jak x

She sent it on the iPhone he’d gotten her for Christmas all that time ago but had only started using it. It was hard to let go of the old Nokia brick phone.

Treated myself today by solving a case. Too easy. What do you think you’ll do with the money? Lock

Katrina didn’t think he’d text back so fast either.

Go for a drink somewhere really nice. Maybe update my wardrobe. Possibilities are endless, aren’t they? Jak x

Not entirely endless because five hundred Euros would only get her so far, but they would still entertain her enough.

Those jumpers are a little old. Get some nice blazers too. Lock

No need to respond after that.

Katrina ended up cooking herself some pasta for dinner and curled up with some shit telly for the evening. Why was there nothing good on TV at the moment? She supposed there was probably a new season of True Blood that she needed to catch up on, perhaps Game of Thrones, but she wasn’t in the mood for anything so heavily HBO. And there was no way in hell she was about to start watching soap operas.

She ended up calling it an early night, sinking down into slumber much quicker than she had anticipated.

---

The shitty little apartment in Stockholm.

She was on top of Sherlock but he didn’t have his fingers deep inside her. No, his hands were on her waist and they were furiously kissing. He had no wound in his shoulder. It was a completely different outcome to the bank robbery. Except, of course, in her dreams, Moran wasn’t in the room next door regardless of the different outcome.

It was just Sherlock and Katrina, as it should have been that case.

She broke away from him for a moment.

“We broke our agreement,” was all she remarked.

“I have reason to believe that is something we will always end up doing,” he replied with a raised brow. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek. “I’ve told you this in real life that you’ve worked your way into my mind and that I cannot make you leave. It appears as if I’ve done the same.”

She hummed in agreement, her fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. That was different to the main Stockholm memory or at least she thought so. She couldn’t quite remember properly if he had been wearing a button up shirt. Then again, in this dream he didn’t have an injury so she didn’t know why she was questioning it.

“You’re overthinking it,” he told her. “Stop questioning every detail here - this isn’t the place for that.”

“Funny that you of all people would be saying that… you love to question every detail.”

“This is your mind, Kat, you can do what you please here. Think of it like my mind palace.”

“I’m dreaming,” she said with a frown. “It’s not a mind palace if it’s a dream.”

He studied her for a moment. “You don’t want a mind palace?”

“Not really, no. That’s more your area,” she paused. “I miss you.”

“I know you do. I suppose I miss you too. Mind you, this is a version of me in your dreams. I’d never say it out loud.”

She chuckled. “You couldn’t even say it over text.”

Sherlock made a face. “I’d never have that in writing. No hard evidence on my missing Katrina Ann Jenkins - I can’t have people thinking I have a heart now, can I?”

Her smile grew ever wider, but then she restrained it. “Oh no, you can’t let people know you have emotions.”

He did something that she hadn’t expected at all - even in her dreams. He flipped her round so that he was on top of her between her legs. Katrina knew that this was something she had wanted deep down when he pressed his lips to hers again, gentle but commanding, his curls falling down to tickle her face and add to the feeling that she had so missed with any other human being.

She could have dreamt about anything else that night, but her mind was so fixated on him that was all she could dream up. And she knew her mind wasn’t going to be the same once she woke up either in the middle of the night or the next morning.

But she didn’t care.

She was dreaming about Sherlock Holmes, god damnit.

---

Sherlock didn’t think that the wad of cash and the card would get to Katrina on Valentine’s Day exactly, so the text from her was a welcome surprise. It had been a small highlight in an otherwise dreary, drab day in Lithuania; the weather was typically cold and unrelenting in Eastern Europe but at least he had better central heating in the shoddy apartment he had found for cheap in the city centre.

He was on his own this time. No Moran. Nobody from Katrina’s old group of friends. Just him and himself, as well as the packet of cigarettes he had chosen to work his way through as a vice. Normally he would never be bored of his own company but sometimes he needed something to do on the slow days. He had no violin with him. No games to correct.

Just his mind. Usually enough but not tonight - not after Katrina had text him.

He wouldn’t dare say that he missed her. That was too far for him at this stage. Her company was always going to be welcome for him on his jaunts away - whether the company was necessary or not - but the concept of acknowledging deeper, friendlier emotions towards her was not logical for him at this stage.

Not when he was this close to going to Serbia.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to put off. He knew he would have to go soon. It was February now, and it was going to take months of dismantling and infiltration to get the last of the web done for.

He’d had four cigarettes in a row. He’d had two cups of coffee that evening. He lounged on the windowsill of the shitty flat staring out across the city. His hair was longer, curlier, messier; it remained tied in a low ponytail to keep it out of the way. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and the stubble was only mildly irritating. He’d need to do something about that soon.

The constant movement and travel had him keeping fit too. He went through phases of getting skinnier and getting bulkier, but he knew he’d have to be physically strong if he was going to be enacting the final part of dismantling the network. No time for a gym. He’d have to figure out another way to gain some strength and muscle for good.

Sherlock picked up his phone and stared down at the last text Katrina had sent him that Valentine’s Day about the fact she wanted to use the cash to go for a drink. Good. He liked the idea that he effectively got to send her out to do something nice for herself. Friends did that for each other, didn’t they?

No rational thoughts could come to his mind at that moment. Not with Katrina sitting in there.

He finished the last of his cigarette and tossed it out the window before closing it and sliding off the ledge to go to bed.

---

Placing her in Dartmoor made sense when he wanted a logical conversation.

But Sherlock couldn’t deny that he missed her.

So now he was in the living room of 221b rewatching the memory of Stockholm on the television.

Then it paused.

Katrina herself walked in from the kitchen, settling down on the sofa next to Sherlock and resting her head on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to always mind palace it - even in sleep,” she told him. “We can just do something in your dreams. You can get off to it in reality if you like. Well - not asleep, but you’ll probably wake up with a hard on.”

“And I’m expected to retain the memory of my dreams of you?” he countered.

“You’re Sherlock Holmes. So… yes.” Katrina sat straight again and looked him in the eye. “It’s alright, you know, if you wanted to get off to the thought of me. I’m probably doing the same right now.”

He hummed in agreement. “You’re more likely to than me. I’m not one to indulge.”

“You got high and fingered me.”

“I didn’t see you declining.”

Katrina straddled his lap, her hands finding support on the back of the sofa. The gap between the pair of them was miniscule, and Sherlock knew if this was real life he would feel how warm her breath was on his face. But this was a dream. He could not feel her warmth at all.

“Stop overthinking it,” she said to him.

“I’m not overthinking anything.”

“You’re overthinking the concept of me in your head.”

She kissed him hard and fast; he had expected that fully. He had wanted it. Sherlock never indulged, but goddamnit - it was Katrina Jenkins and he would indulge however he pleased. It was only inside his head, after all. Nobody else needed to know. He was on his own in the real world for now, so having her company in his head made all the difference.

Chapter 25: Almost Run In

The months passed by in a languid yet busy haze.

The rest of February and March consisted of Katrina continually working on Magnussen’s security system as ever, even going so far as to rope in some of her team to help her and test out after hours at the reception of MI5 at various points. Whilst she didn’t particularly enjoy working on the project for Magnussen, it kept her busy and her mind off of Sherlock for the most part when he wasn’t able to respond to her messages.

There was some form of entertainment in it too: when testing it out at the work building, there had been a moment where they accidentally sent the entire building into lockdown. The security guards on site during the late hours weren’t particularly impressed but eventually managed to find some humour in the situation despite not being able to actually help Katrina unlock the building.

She’d certainly tested her limits, that was for certain.

In the end she had ended up on a grovelling phone call to Mycroft at nine o’clock at night asking for his override powers and he ended up having to be driven back to the MI5 building to assist. An unlocked building and a light scolding with a hint of a smirk later, Katrina was able to go home to Baker Street tired but happy, and her colleagues absolutely ripped the shit out of her the next day.

She’d not been able to look Mycroft in the eye for a week, though.

All of that to say: Katrina felt utterly and completely normal for once.

Except to her, that meant something awful was bound to happen next.

Typically speaking whenever Katrina went out on a weekend in central London it was a rarity on the whole, but also a rarity for her to get the tube. She had a tendency to simply walk everywhere that she could from Baker Street and often get the bus back in the evening so she could admire the sunset and the city skyline from the top deck.

Only on this particular weekend she had decided to venture south of the river in order to go to Greenwich Market. It wasn’t somewhere she had been before but the weather was nice enough and she would much rather wait until the summer time before haunting Parliament Hill Farmer’s Market.

She’d been able to get the Jubilee Line to North Greenwich and then a bus into Greenwich town, her earphones in and being mindful of all the locals and tourists that took up space on the pavement. Katrina was able to wave in and out of them seamlessly, crossing the road by the university when it was clear of the cars - she had no time to wait at the pedestrian crossing, not when it was a one way road - and carried on towards the market entrance.

Packed full of people who didn’t know what way they wanted to go, Katrina effortlessly strolled to peruse the different stalls of art and tat, picking up the odd item and turning it over in her fingers as if trying to ground herself amongst the heavy crowd. The smell of old books in the shops that had homes in the building called to her and she ended up subtly trying to sniff each book she delicately picked up, frightened that maybe each one would fall apart in her palms they were so old and crumbly and not well cared for.

The expensive tomes of Shakespeare shut away carefully in the glass cabinets caused her to wonder if the cost was worth it, but ultimately she stepped away and out into the main market again. This time the smell of the street food called to her so she had a wander down towards the stalls stopping for a moment to allow her senses to be consumed by the mix of Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Italian food and more assaulting her nostrils. It made the choice of what she wanted almost impossible. Maybe she’d have to wander towards Cutty Sark to see the rest of the options that were an extension of the main Greenwich Market - nothing picked her fancy, though.

She ended up wandering closer to the Thames and watching the boats idly go by. The murky green river was still as ugly as anything, but Katrina felt the boats added a certain level of charm as did the fact she was in Greenwich right now. There were certain parts of London that could make anything charming and it seemed as if Greenwich was one of those places. She got her phone out to take a few pictures of the landscape, wondering if it would be worth going up the hill towards the observatory…

Katrina made a face at the prospect of facing that hill today.

Sighing, she made her way towards one of the coffee shops back in the town centre and grabbed a latte to go. It hadn’t exactly been a wasted trip because it had certainly been good to get out of the flat but she couldn’t help but think it would be much nicer to have been with friends. The gaggles of university students, the families, and the groups of tourists left her with a slightly furrowed brow and a pang in her heart that she didn’t really have anyone to do things with on the weekend…

Well. Maybe Daniel. But they’d never broached the subject in the almost two years of working together.

She didn’t like that thought. Maybe it was time to actually start reaching out to people at work more, because she knew for a fact they got on well enough to actually spend time together on weekends if so desired.

She tried not to let the thoughts consume her as she hopped on a bus back towards North Greenwich so that she could get the tube home. She’d killed a couple of hours and that’s all she had wanted to do. Maybe she’d take a wander around central like normal - it all depended on how she felt when the tube got to Green Park or Bond Street.

That was when the awful thing happened.

Somewhere between Westminster and Green Park the tube train she was on came to a slow and steady halt in the middle of the tunnel. Alright. Fine. Classic. It was packed for a Saturday and it meant that instead of the huffs of annoyance and impatient glances around at each other, it was slightly confused tourists trying to reassure each other for the most part. Katrina spotted a few seasoned Londoners who fit the bill for the typical reaction she expected.

“Sorry for the delay, we’re being held at a red signal. Currently waiting for more information…” The driver said over the announcement system.

Katrina sighed, slouching in her seat ever so slightly. Of course the one day she elected to use the typically on time London Underground it was subject to delays! And now she was stuck in this warm tube with a bunch of strangers all piled on top of each other. That was something she didn’t like. Not when…

She glanced out the window into the darkness. Katrina knew realistically it was just the wall there, but…

Her breath caught in her throat and her palms began to sweat as she remembered the time she had been left on the tracks between Camden and Chalk Farm, hands bound and at the mercy of Holly Peters. At the mercy of Sherlock making the right choice. She frowned: she got the tube to work every day and now she was getting worked up about being stuck in a tunnel…?

It was so rare for her work journeys to get stuck like this.

How long had they been sitting there? Five minutes? Seven? Katrina didn’t know. She hadn’t checked the time on her phone when they first came to a halt.

“You okay?” A gentle voice came from opposite her.

Katrina popped out her earbuds and turned her attention to the woman sitting on the other side of the carriage to her: she seemed a little older than her, with very short blonde hair and a kind face. She seemed genuinely concerned which is what threw Katrina off the most.

“I… what?” She didn’t know how to respond to a stranger.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit spooked. Don’t get the tube that often?” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, and Katrina gave her a wry smile.

“I get it every day for work.” She wiped her palms on her jeans. “I don’t - can’t really explain why I’m getting worked up all of a sudden.” Technically she could, but she wasn’t about to say all that to a stranger. It seemed as if the woman knew she was lying going by the look on her face.

“Sure,” was all she said in response. “Claustrophobic?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t like not knowing how long you’re gonna be stuck in a hot tin can for?”

Katrina laughed, feeling her heart start to slow down a little. Clearly this woman knew how to distract people well enough. “Thank god it’s not the Central Line during a heatwave.” She glanced down at her hands to find they were trembling. “For goodness’ sake… one bad experience…”

“It happens,” the woman said sincerely. “You don’t have to always be plagued by the one bad experience, but then you get stuck in a similar situation and you can’t help but think about it.”

“Good afternoon everyone, thank you for your patience - a train has broken down at Green Park and is in the process of being taken away. We should be able to move onto the platform in the next ten minutes.”

A resounding groan echoed through the carriage.

“Where you getting off?” the woman then asked.

“I was debating whether going home or getting off at Green Park, actually,” Katrina admitted.

“Where’s home?”

“Baker Street.”

“Oh! Lovely. My boyfriend used to live that way.”

Katrina raised an eyebrow. “Really? Small world.”

“Yeah. Moved away though - more north. His friend passed.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Katrina said. Whilst her hands were no longer sweaty, her neck was. “Fuck me…” she murmured, wiping the back of her neck with her hand. “I hate the underground on a weekend. I only trust commuter hours on this thing.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking!” The woman’s smile turned a little awkward, but Katrina saw no harm in her question.

“Uhh… I guess you could say there was a bit of an incident in two thousand and eleven… I was strapped to some underground train tracks.”

“Jesus Christ,” said a man next to her. When Katrina and the blonde woman shot him a look. “Sorry…” he immediately turned his attention back to minding his own business.

“Well then. That’s… reason enough for you to dislike being stuck in a dark tunnel,” the woman said. “We’re not gonna be here much longer if the driver’s been told the right info.”

“Yeah that’s a good point. Maybe I’ll just get off at Green Park and walk home. Can’t stand the idea of everyone else who had to get off the broken down train cramming onto this one,” Katrina sighed, leaning back in her seat slightly and taking a few deep breaths to regulate herself. “Thanks, by the way. Didn’t totally spiral.”

The woman’s smile turned warm again. “I know us Londoners don’t speak to each other, but I couldn’t not say something. You looked terrified,” she added gently, her lips drawing into a thin line and her brow upturned with worry. Katrina still didn’t understand how a complete and total stranger could be so kind as to make sure she was alright when she was beginning to freak out like that.

“As long as I don’t look terrified now,” she replied lamely. It made the woman laugh, though, and Katrina breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’ll be on the move again now, thank you for your patience,” the driver announced.

“Barely ten minutes! See - it’s all okay. Still gonna walk home?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s a nice enough day out.”

The passengers all jolted slightly as the tube set off, meaning that the conversation came to an abrupt end thanks to the noise levels. Katrina was able to breathe easier knowing that the tube platform was coming up at any moment now and she’d be able to get back out into the sunshine once again; to be able to weave in and out of the people of London as she usually would on a Saturday with all thoughts of Holly Peters at the back of her mind. There was no need to think about the train track incident from years gone by - she hadn’t thought about it at all, really, but she expected the recent Sherrinford visit caused this exact issue.

Moriarty had been a plague on her mind for some time, after all, so it was no wonder she hadn’t been plagued so much by the train incident. She was always more focused on pressing matters.

Once the train arrived in Green Park she made a face at the amount of people on the platform. God, it was going to be a fight and a half to get through them and to the escalators.

So Katrina popped her earbuds back in and hoped for the best, roughly shoving through all the pissed off tourists on the platform and yelling out “let passengers off the train first!” because honestly they had no etiquette. Once off the platform and in the main hallway with the escalators up and out, she was tapped on the shoulder.

The blonde woman.

“Quite the set of lungs on you,” she said as they walked towards the escalators and headed on up, standing on the right hand side as they did so.

“I have some residual anger issues and tourists piss me off,” she replied with a shrug, merely lowering the volume of her music. “Didn’t realise you were getting off here too.”

“Meeting my boyfriend - partner - whatever you wanna call it. Might be moving in with him soon so we’re gonna have a chat about that.”

“That’s nice,” Katrina said politely. As kind as the woman had been she didn’t particularly care for the ins and outs of the personal conversation. Their time on the tube was done. They had to go back to being proper Londoners now. “I hope it goes well.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a better day.” It seems as if she was able to pick up on the cues that Katrina wasn’t too invested in the conversation. “It’s just a silly tube. Alright?”

“Yeah. I know. Silly tube.”

The woman overtook her once they got to the top of the escalator and hurried off, leaving Katrina to finally get back to living in her own world. She carried on walking through the mildly packed tunnel towards the next escalator and then eventually was able to get through the barriers.

She had to do a double take when she was through.

She could have sworn that that woman she had been talking to had walked off with John Watson.

Katrina frowned, staring at the spot on the steps leading up to the street where they had hurried up. No… surely not? She thought.

Pushing it to the back of her mind and heading to the steps that led towards the Marks and Spencers then up onto the street, Katrina knew it was far too much of a coincidence to be true and thus didn’t let it bother her for the rest of her day.

Ultimately she inevitably forgot about it, but still thought of the woman and her kindness to make sure she didn’t totally spiral in public.

John Watson didn’t cross her mind in relation to it.

Notes:

Yep. That was indeed Mary. :)

Chapter 26: Security Issues

Katrina worked to keep the security of Great Britain in tip top condition. In fact she was very good at her job doing that. So naturally it came as a surprise to her when it appeared that the security in her personal life was genuinely a little bit shit.

One April evening, Katrina was tidying up the kitchen and thinking about maybe getting an early night. She hadn’t had one of those in some time and with the lack of texts from Sherlock at the moment she knew now was the time to catch up on sleep until he inevitably started texting her at midnight again. After setting the dishwasher off and giving the countertops a good scrub (whilst utterly unimpressed with the fact she had left several coffee ring stains on it), she elected to borrow the burgundy silk robe from Sherlock’s room and get into her pyjama shorts and tank top.

She threw the robe on top, gave herself the once over and a twirl in the mirror, then headed back down to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Except she didn’t even reach the bathroom.

The doorbell rang.

Frowning, Katrina checked the clock in the living room.

It was eight thirty.

Who would be ringing the doorbell at eight thirty?

She groaned on realising that perhaps Mycroft was making a late evening house call for some reason, and she tied the robe around herself before trudging downstairs barefoot to answer the door.

“What the fuck?!” Katrina exclaimed in shock, slamming the door immediately after she had opened it. Not Mycroft. That was definitely not Mycroft. That was the opposite of Mycroft.

She slowly opened the door again, and yanked Irene Adler inside the flat. She locked the door as fast as anything.

“What the fuck?!” she repeated at a much lower volume.

“Hello to you too…” Irene raised a perfect eyebrow at her. “Mind if I head up?”

“Sure…” Katrina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she did so. “You can make your own tea. I was getting ready for bed.” She couldn’t get over the fact that this woman was somehow dressed to the absolute nines despite the fact she was pretending to be dead as well as on the run from multiple crime groups. The heels were certainly something.

“I can tell,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk as she ascended the stairs. “Is that one of Sherlock’s?”

“Obviously…” Katrina hurried up the stairs after Irene, electing to lock the kitchen and living room doors for the time being whilst the other woman pottered about making herself what looked like herbal tea. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask for a favour.”

“Bold. You have my number.”

“Can’t be messaging you too much. You never know who could be tapping in.” Irene was done making the tea and sauntered into the living room, electing to comfortably drape herself in the red armchair. Katrina settled in the blue one opposite her, crossing one leg demurely over the other in an effort to emulate Irene’s natural charm and poise.

“I don’t take favours so lightly,” Katrina said to her.

“I’m aware of that,” Irene sipped on her piping hot tea, barely bothering to blow over the top of it to cool it down. “Granted, I have no interest in a game like you and dear Sherlock have, so I would merely owe you one and we call it even.”

Katrina made a face. “Depends on what the favour is though.”

“I need help buying a flat.”

“Fuck me-”

“I’m not above doing that,” Irene gave Katrina her most devious smile. “And I’m sure neither are you.”

“It might be of interest for you to know that I’m not keen on the idea of being shagged for a flat,” Katrina replied coolly. “I’ll help you. But I won’t fuck you.”

Irene didn’t seem to care either way, it seemed, as long as she got her favour. “You would help me? ”

“I’ve helped you before.”

“But not by your own volition,” she pointed out. “I have the money. The flat would have to be in your name, of course.”

Katrina scoffed. “No, it doesn’t. I can just… sort you out a fake identity, you do realise that?”

Irene tilted her head to the side in curiosity. “Really?”

With a sigh, Katrina held up a finger before heading back up to her room where she dug around in her bedside table until she found exactly what she was looking for: a passport. Specifically, a passport that was not exactly in her name but had a photo of her. She often forgot she even had it because she had never needed to use it. It wasn’t MI5 issued by any means and she had only had it made when starting to gallivant with Sherlock in the past year. Not that she had actually needed it.

Useful to have, though.

She brought it back down to the living room and tossed it to Irene, who opened it up with surprise.

“Jacqueline Trina Lockhart… you had this made last year?” She was enthralled by it. “Interesting name choice. Don’t you think some of it is too similar to yours?”

“That is entirely the point,” Katrina said as she sat back down. “Who’d be stupid enough to believe that two people with similar names are actually the same person? Almost like how there’s multiple men in the world named John Smith.”

“Hmm. I suppose so. What’s the reasoning behind the name? I’m curious.” Irene chucked the passport back over to Katrina who caught it deftly and placed it in her lap.

“Jacqueline for Jak. Trina for Katrina. Lockhart for… well, I needed a surname. It sounded pretty,” was her response. She shifted uncomfortably for a moment and cleared her throat.

“Hmm. Alright. What name should I go for?”

“Rena Striker,” Katrina said without missing a beat. “I can get that sorted within a day if you let me take a passport style photo of you in the morning when we’ve got better light. I take it you have somewhere to stay? You don’t have any bags with you.”

“It’s a bit out of the way, but yes. Not in the nicest part of town.”

Katrina sighed. “Fine. You can have my room tonight. Borrow anything you need. I’ll sleep in Sherlock’s.”

“How kind.”

“How’d you know I live here anyway?”

“Sherlock told me.”

“Sherlock needs to shut his mouth.” Katrina raised an eyebrow. “How’s he doing?”

“We crossed paths on our way out of Lithuania last month. I asked him then where I could find you should I ever return to London. And here we are!” Irene rose from her seat, leaving the cup on the coffee table.

“Here we are,” Katrina got up too. “I’m at work tomorrow, so I’ll be able to get what you need done then. Just write down all the details you want for the passport and please tell me you have some sort of address that we can give to an estate agent?”

“Why? I’m not borrowing money.”

“No, but they’ll ask for one,” she huffed. “If there’s anything we can do legally - we do it legally. And where do you want the flat?”

“I have enough to be tucked away up in Hampstead Heath,” Irene said.

“Fantastic. We can have something sorted by the end of the week, I expect. Good night.” Katrina made her way towards the bathroom as Irene took the flight of stairs up.

“Good night…” the woman called after her.

Katrina slammed the door and swore on getting into Sherlock’s room when she realised she had left the other phone upstairs. No matter - she decided that she could give him a good bollocking tomorrow morning for that one. There had been no warning at all that he’d told Irene she was at Baker Street! No heads up that the woman might want a favour!

Taking a breath, she pulled off the burgundy robe and tossed it to the side of the bed that she wasn’t sleeping on. She didn’t care about hanging it up. She needed to sleep. Her own bloody phone was up in her room as well! For god’s sake. She set the alarm on the digital clock on the bedside table, feeling oddly old school and glad for it because it meant she’d have some more rational thought whilst laying into Sherlock in the morning.

She settled down into the bed - all thoughts of washing her face gone - and willed herself to calm down as she closed her eyes to go to sleep.

It was almost like she had blinked and was being rudely awoken by the digital alarm clock blaring in her ears. Katrina fumbled to switch it off, swearing under her breath and then eventually sat up once it was done. Six in the morning. A little earlier than normal but she did have a house guest after all.

She got ready for her day at work as per usual and it was only when she was sorting out some coffee at around quarter to seven that morning did Irene make an appearance. She practically floated down the stairs clad in a pair of Katrina’s pyjamas and somehow looked as elegant as ever. The pyjamas were a little bigger on her, but she was about eight inches shorter. It made Katrina wonder how she’d actually fit into one of Irene’s dresses in Shanghai, but remembered that’d lost weight due to the excessively bad mental health in two thousand and eleven - so it wasn’t really that far-fetched of an idea she was able to fit into a dress that the shorter woman owned.

“You left your phone alarm on,” Irene said, handing over Katrina’s mobile. “Figured you might want it. Don’t worry - I didn’t peek.”

She grabbed one of the cups of coffee from the kitchen table and leaned against the countertop as she drank from it gratefully. “Oh!” She then pulled a piece of paper out from the pocket on the pyjama shorts, also handing that to Katrina. “Name, date of birth, and an address. Three bedrooms minimum, ideally a top floor flat. I can transfer the money over to you if you text me the details on your naughty girl phone.”

Katrina didn’t say anything about that. “You can freshen up and then head back to where you’re staying when I head to work. I tend to keep my other phone on me anyway so I’ll be in touch once I have your passport ready. There’ll be a file with your fake name on it - you’ll be able to travel as you please. Why are you here anyway?”

“I need to lay low for a while. Easier here in London - I can blend in. Feel free to grab yourself a set of keys. You can use it for… whatever you like.” Irene gave Katrina a cursory once over as she said that, causing the woman to narrow her eyes ever so slightly.

“Thank you… I think. I have bread and cereal and maybe a stale croissant if that tickles your fancy for breakfast,” she swiftly changed the subject, and Irene made a face.

“I’ll have breakfast out… but thank you. I think.” A smirk was sent Katrina’s way, and she was reminded of what it was like to have either an irritating girlfriend or one night stand over.

“I need to be out in the next half an hour, are you capable of showering that fast?”

Irene rolled her eyes, finished her coffee, left the mug in the sink and wandered off towards the bathroom. “Is there a spare towel?”

“You can use the blue one,” Katrina shouted after her. “Fucking christ…” she murmured, necking the rest of her coffee and leaving the mug in the sink as she got to work on unloading the dishwasher from the previous night. One less thing to do when she got home. She checked she had everything she needed in her small work bag (going to grab her other phone too) and popped the slip of paper from Irene in there too, and by seven thirty the both of them were out of 221b.

“Shall we meet tomorrow evening when everything is sorted?” Irene asked her.

“I suppose so. Assuming it all goes to plan,” Katrina replied with a frown. “Can’t guarantee anything. I’ll have to go up to Hampstead Heath at lunchtime tomorrow, but it should be fine… I think. I’ll just say I have an appointment if anyone asks.”

“Brilliant. Then assuming all goes to plan, we’ll meet for drinks somewhere in central London?”

“You can text me a location.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” With that, Irene disappeared into the crowds of the central London commuters, with Katrina not too far behind her. It was easy enough to lose one person - especially when getting on the tube at Baker Street - so she didn’t bother to check if they truly had gone in the same direction.

Although, Katrina had a feeling that Irene was not one to be getting on the London Underground. She didn’t seem like the type to go on public transport unless it was a plane.

Katrina was thankful her work day ended up being relatively quiet when she got there. It meant she could sort out Irene’s new identity undisturbed and without any question for why there was suddenly a new person in the database. She had all the overrides for that. She could do anything she needed to. Birth certificate, passport, some other bits of admin info - all done within a couple of hours and no questions asked.

It was around lunchtime that she dialled Sherlock on her other phone.

“Is this an emergency?” he asked, only sounding a little uninterested.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she hissed down the phone at him as she slammed her office door closed. “You told Irene where I live?!”

He was silent for a moment. “Ah. Yes. I was meant to tell you-”

“Good fucking job, Lock.”

“I’ve been a little busy, Jak,” he spat in response.

Katrina merely rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of her desk. “Yeah, well, so have I. Did I tell you I had to design a whole new security system for Magnussen? It’s currently being tested on his building at the moment.”

Sherlock went very quiet on the other end of the line. “You didn’t. How’s that going?”

“Nearly done, I would say. But back to the point: it doesn’t matter if you were busy, you shouldn’t have told her where I lived! And you did - a warning would have been nice.”

“What did she want anyway?”

“She wants to buy a flat. She has the money. She needed the proper documentation.”

“You made her a fake identity?”

“Don’t be so surprised that that’s something I can do for someone,” Katrina pointed out. “You’ve barely touched the surface of my skills.”

“Hmm. Is this all you called me about?”

“Yes, I was pissed off. What’s difficult to understand about that?”

“Oh, nothing, just asking,” Sherlock sighed. “I’m in Belarus now.”

“Must be nice.”

“Not really.”

“Figured. I was just trying to lighten the mood,” she said with a small smile. “Do you know when you’ll be done with the horrid job?”

“Don’t know. Few more months. I’ll let you know when there’s an end in sight,” he said so quietly that Katrina knew there was something else afoot. She didn’t want to persist on the matter and find out what the truth was, because she knew that the reason he wasn’t saying anything else more than that is because she didn’t want to know what the truth really was.

“Okay. Sounds good,” she said, after a few moments of silence. “I’ll uh - I’ll keep you updated on the Irene thing, yeah? Don’t do that again, though. Sending someone my way without me even knowing.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Bye, Jak.”

He was gone after that, and Katrina rather dejectedly put away her phone. A pang went through her heart; a pit formed in her stomach, and she realised that she didn’t like the idea of feeling so empty after any interaction with Sherlock. There was an ache in her that she couldn’t place. Perhaps there was an anxiety that loomed over her because she knew she wouldn’t be hearing from Sherlock so much so soon as he put a true end to Moriarty’s madness and she hated that thought.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her foot tapping on the floor as she did so. He was impossible to take her mind off of and maybe she needed to figure out a way to do so. She just didn’t know what that was yet. Her life and job were so intertwined with his in such a unique way it was hard to separate the two.

A knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts.

“Hi - yeah - come in!” Katrina immediately perked up. The door swung open to reveal Daniel and Claire which caused her brow to furrow. “Everything alright? You don’t normally come in a pair.”

“Oh! Well - Mycroft stopped by. He heard your office door slam so figured he shouldn’t bother you, but… Magnussen’s happy, apparently. It all works,” Claire said.

“Yep!” Daniel nodded eagerly. “Should mean good things for our department now, right?”

“Yeah… definitely,” Katrina agreed, surprised that this was the news they had come bearing. “I suppose we’ll get a little more funding than the rest of MI5 and MI6 in that case, then. Which - if we’re clever about it - could mean pay rises.”

“Aren’t you in charge of whether or not we get a payrise?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, but that also has to be run by accounts, so… don’t tell anyone that’s the plan if Magnussen decides to part ways with his cash. Now. Anything else?” Katrina wondered.

“No, actually, that was it…” Claire admitted.

“Hmm. Probably could have been an email.”

“Yeah, but… you alright? Slamming your door and all that?”

Katrina stopped short for a moment. “Unintentional door slamming. I was on a phone call. Which reminds me: I have to pop out at lunch tomorrow, and I’ll be back closer towards the end of the day.”

“Great. Cool. Well… we’ll leave you to it,” Daniel said chirpily before he and Claire left Katrina’s office.

The rest of the day passed by quietly after that. Katrina made a few calls to some estate agents in north London and was able to secure an appointment at one for the next day. She took Irene’s new paperwork home and text the woman her bank details so that all the money could be transferred over and she didn’t need to faff about with it the next day.

She didn’t see Irene that evening by surprise, thankfully; the woman was sticking to her word about their meeting tomorrow.

By lunch the next day Katrina was in Hampstead Heath chatting with an estate agent and promptly viewing a flat on Parliament Hill that seemed to suit Irene’s needs so signed for it. Apparently she could just transfer the deed over whenever, so the whole plan with Irene’s fake identity wasn’t entirely necessary but had been good to have as a backup. The payment went through just fine and there were two sets of keys.

Katrina pocketed one set for herself.

She text Irene the good news and was sent a location to meet at after work.

Naturally that meant the rest of the day passed by all too slowly, even when Katrina did manage to zone in entirely to her work and ultimately smash it out of the way in the remaining time she had at the office for that day. She’d unintentionally had a two and a half hour long lunch. She knew that she should have stayed a little later, but figured there would come a time where that was actually necessary.

She headed straight to the snazzy central London bar to meet Irene, rather crudely dumping all the flat paperwork, her personal paperwork, and the keys onto the tiny table.

The other woman raised a perfect eyebrow at it all.

“You’re lucky I had my drink in hand,” she said, raising the cocktail in toast to Katrina who then sat down opposite her. “As stated before, I have no interest in a game with you. So my favour to you is to please use the flat at any time you need. I expect you’ve kept a set of keys.”

Katrina was almost impressed. “I have. Well done. I suppose an open ended favour is still a favour. I’ll be kind enough to let you know if and when I require use of the flat. You’ll have to sort the furniture yourself, by the way. It didn’t come with any.”

“Fine by me. Are you going to order a drink?”

“Once you confirm we’ll be parting ways for a while because then I can celebrate.”

Irene laughed, set her cocktail down and mock pouted at Katrina. “You don’t hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you,” Katrina clarified. “I don’t know what to make of you. And I don’t think I have the time to do that. So I’d rather you be out of my hair - I’ve got more important things to be dealing with.”

“Like what? Our dear friend Lock becoming spotty?”

Katrina’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Irene leaned back in her seat, lithe and beautiful as anything. Katrina couldn’t help but notice that despite being such a small woman she had the most impeccably long legs. The figure hugging dress and sheer tights definitely accentuated them. “It’s obvious you worry about him. He’s your best friend, after all.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Katrina murmured. A waiter came over and she ordered herself a vodka martini. A little out there for her, but she was in a high end bar and that meant they couldn’t fuck up a martini. “He’s wrapping up the tail ends of the network now. Dangerous stuff. There’ll come a time I won’t hear from him for a while and I need to mentally prep myself for that.”

“You really do care about him, don’t you?”

“I think he’s my favourite person in the whole world,” Katrina said. “There’s nothing I can do to change that, really. It’s just how it’s turned out.”

“How sweet. I hope he has that amount of care for you. You know what he’s like.”

“I do know what he’s like. And it’s fine. If it’s not the same level - it’s fine.”

The martini came as fast as anything, and Katrina raised her glass in toast to Irene.

“Here’s to not seeing each other for a while.”

The woman laughed again. “Ah. You’ll miss me. I guarantee it.”

They clinked glasses and drank like old friends would; even though they were anything but.

Notes:

This chapter was me throwing hints of future plot at you and running away. :)

Chapter 27: Rabbit Hole In Paris

April turned into May soon enough.

As far as the British spring into summer was going, the weather was definitely much warmer than it ever had been. Naturally there were still the odd cloudy days here and there as well as a few showers but that didn’t do anything to dampen what was becoming a more sunny disposition for Katrina.

After (somewhat) helping Irene settle into her Hampstead Heath flat, Katrina found herself enjoying the London weather for the first time in a long while. Her central London walkabouts became more frequent, she had elected to take the bus to the work instead of the tube just so she could see the sun shining across the Thames. It made up for the fact she worked in a windowless section of MI5.

It could have been such a perfect transition into summer, were it not for the fact that for the first time in years, there was a quite literal ping regarding her old friend Berry.

Katrina hadn’t even realised that her user at work had been set up to keep track of any updates, but she suspected that Daniel may have had something to do with it since he was the only one who had been interested in her old group of friends in a genuine way. Besides, he had been keeping an eye on things where necessary anyway. She just thought she’d hear from him first, not get a notification that there was movement in Europe regarding her.

There was security footage. It was hard to make out her face, but it was definitely Berry somewhere in Paris.

Electing to actually dig deeper, Katrina was able to find out exactly where in Paris that Berry was last seen and when; it had been a few hours previous. Nothing untoward about the woman’s behaviour, just that she was… there.

Katrina decided to utilise her time at work and the government level access to pretty much anything to pull up live security feeds from around Paris to keep track of Berry for the day and see if there was anything out of the ordinary.

She also delved back into Berry’s file to find that everything was redacted.

Not empty as it had been before.

Redacted.

She frowned and leaned back in her chair, wondering why on earth there was new information that she was unable to see? Why didn’t she have the clearance for it? Especially when she could go into TB’s file, along with The Wire and Notes. Those were all easily accessible, but why not Berry? She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration at it all.

MI5 had far too many secrets - the fact that it kept some of those secrets from their employees was very telling. Berry must have done something incredibly insane to warrant only the absolute top level employees being able to read her file. The only thing on there that was mentioned by year that she could see was two thousand and two.

Katrina grimaced.

She knew what that meant.

There was one vague line about improper activities - that was on all of their files - and she thanked her lucky stars that none of them here knew. It was only, unfortunately, Magnussen that knew. And Katrina was forever grateful that he hadn’t mentioned it to Mycroft.

As she attempted to dig deeper into Berry and keep and eye on her in France (whilst being certain she was likely breaking some sort of international law by doing this on the downlow), Katrina couldn’t help but feel far too voyeuristic with it all, and it reminded her of two thousand and two… not in a good way.

When she had been in her early twenties, the idea of the dark web seemed so fun and freeing. But she and her friends learned the hard way that sometimes a bit of cash was not worth the horrors that they saw and accidentally enabled. She had buried those memories to the back of her mind and paid them no heed, but she knew that the way she reacted to traumatic situations definitely stemmed from that time in her life.

Granted, at least she’d had therapy now. She didn’t self harm anymore; she had no need to. She had never desired for it in the first place but it had been her only outlet to forget the horrors and twisted humans she had witnessed in that time. It had been her only outlet to express deep emotions.

And now she was somewhat more stable, but the creeping feeling of feeling like she did barely eight years ago felt like an unbearable itch at the back of her brain that she needed to scratch.

So she scratched it and watched Berry’s every movement for the rest of the day.

Between emails and the odd visitor into her office, Katrina did not close the security feeds that allowed her to see a glimpse into the life of an old friend that a small part of her wanted to hear from. She had seen the rest of them, so why not her?

It almost felt unfair that she had been able to see the others and not Berry.

Everything was much too tempting now, and the incident settled down at home in her mind.

Distracted as ever on her way home, Katrina ended up going back on the underground with nothing but thoughts of Berry taking hold. There were so many questions that needed answering, the main one being who the hell was Berry, truly?

Why didn’t Katrina know who she was?

She and the others had known who they were, but why not her?

What was so bad about Berry that they had only ever known her by her fake name?

The questions were going to bug Katrina, that was for certain.

Even in the confines of 221B she managed to access the cameras she had been watching from earlier in the day. Thankfully it was a Thursday, so if she stayed up late and was a little tired for a Friday which consisted of her wrapping up loose ends from the week anyway, it wouldn’t matter too much.

The most curious thing she noticed during her watch of Berry was the fact she had been able to check into a rather expensive hotel in the centre of the city. So she had money. She was keeping busy. That was good - to a degree. But once she was inside for the evening, there was no way of knowing what she would be up to unless she was out of her room.

Which happened at one stage, if only because she went to have dinner.

She had changed outfits too, but her face was concealed by a pair of sunglasses so Katrina couldn’t fully make out her features to see if she even looked any different to how she remembered her. She decided to hack into the hotel’s guest system and figure out who Berry was. Surely there’d be a name for her room number? A form of ID, perhaps?

But no. The name that came up was clearly fake considering that Berry was using the false name of “Berry” as her surname in this instance. There was no photographic evidence of her on the system either, leaving Katrina well and truly stumped. Not even a debit card. The room had been paid for for the week with cash.

What the hell was she up to?

Not sure what else to do, Katrina decided to message TB.

Found Berry. She’s in Paris. -Jak

His response was instant.

Fuck. How long’s it been? -TB

Eight years, I’d say. She’s in Paris. -Jak

He didn’t say anything to her for a moment.

Wanna go to Paris? -TB

I can’t. That’s stupid. -Jak

Then I’ll go. Send me where she’s holed up! -TB

Katrina sighed, running a hand through her hair as she thought about how stupid this impulsive idea of his was. As long as he didn’t fully approach Berry… maybe it would be okay.

You can’t approach her if you do. Just see what she’s up to. -Jak

Fine by me. She was weird anyway. Do you remember how weird she was? -TB

She did remember how weird Berry was. Vaguely, anyway. Quiet but strategic, Berry had not been one to be heavily active whenever their group plans were enacted. She helped figure out logistics beforehand, but didn’t stick around. Katrina and The Wire did a lot of the legwork.

Always some odd comment after the fact. -Jak

Yep. Anyway. I can get to Paris in the morning. I’ll keep you updated. Send me the address where she’s staying. -TB

So Katrina did as he asked and then proceeded not to hear from him for the rest of the night.

The next morning she was glued to her other phone, anxiously awaiting every possible update that he could give her. It felt odd not to be doing this with Sherlock, but she couldn’t drag him away from his vital work for something that he would deem trivial. Because technically, it was trivial. Katrina had no need to be looking into this: she merely wanted to.

She shut herself in the office for the day at work so she wasn’t disturbed by anybody.

The updates started coming through around ten in the morning when he was finally in Paris. TB’d gotten through passport control okay. He’d made it to his hotel okay. Katrina had the security feeds up again and told him that Berry was in the local area around her hotel. So off he went to go and spy on the woman.

There’s something off about her. - TB

What do you mean? -Jak

Weirder than I remember. Dunno. I’ll see if I can tail her more closely. -TB

Be careful… -Jak

Katrina surveyed the feeds on her computer more closely. She could make out TB - in a fairly decent disguise - exiting the hotel several metres behind Berry, who was still making every effort to hide her face.

Seriously, what the hell?  Katrina thought. Why was she trying to hide so badly? Aside from the obvious… but-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the pinging of her phone

Hey, do you think she knows I’m tailing her? -TB

Not sure. Why? -Jak

She’s speeding up… -TB

Katrina could see it on the monitor: Berry was speeding up. In fact, she glanced over her shoulder at one point to see that TB was following her through the moderately crowded street and ran off at full speed. TB took chase after her. It became a scramble for Katrina to keep track of where the both of them were going, until eventually they came to a dead end down some back alley.

She couldn’t hear their confrontation. She could only be the worst kind of voyeur again.

It barely lasted for five minutes before TB backed off and Berry aimed a gun at the nearby security cameras putting a bullet in them.

“What the fuck?!” Katrina hissed with wide eyes, now trying to find a security feed that was local to that particular spot to see if she could find the pair of them again. She chewed on her bottom lip, her teeth painstakingly picking away at the dry skin there as she waited with bated breath to hear back from TB - she could only hope that Berry hadn’t hurt him whilst she had no view.

We shouldn’t have looked for her. -TB

She sighed in relief.

Why? -Jak

We just… we shouldn’t… I’m sorry, Jak, but I ain’t doing this again. -TB

Call me? Explain? -Jak

Can’t. She’ll get me if I do. She knew the whole time. -TB

Does she know about me? -Jak

Yeah. So drop it. -TB

Why? -Jak

Trust me. It’s hard to, but you gotta. -TB

You can’t give me anything else? -Jak

When TB didn’t respond, she threw the phone down in frustration.

Maybe she’d try him again later just to see if he was alright.

He’d have to pick up later, surely? He wouldn’t just drop her because he had a scare?

Right?

Either way, Katrina wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that one. But one thing she did know is that she did need to drop it. She couldn’t obsess over something from her past when it was inconsequential nowadays.

Unless, of course, what TB had seen of Berry in person meant that it wasn’t inconsequential. And that was why he wasn’t telling her anything.

What could possibly hurt Katrina to know about Berry?

Katrina turned off the security feeds and scrubbed her computer of the evidence that she’d been tinkering as Jak again. She’d done the same with her laptop at home.

Pursuing it further would be a case of curiosity killing the cat.

She didn’t want that.

She needed to distract herself from all thoughts of Berry.

Notes:

I really am just laying down breadcrumbs for the THIRD story at this point, lol.

Chapter 28: Further East

MAY 8TH, 2013

Morning. -Lock

You don’t send good morning texts. This must be a special occasion. -Jak

Hardly a good morning text. Just… checking in. -Lock

What? -Jak

Friends do that, right? Check in? -Lock

I suppose they do. I’m fine, thank you. You? -Jak

Also fine. Busy. I expect you are too. -Lock

Yeah. Always. Do you need anything? -Jak

No. -Lock

Okay. Let me know if that changes. -Jak

Of course. Wouldn’t have you miss out on the fun. -Lock

Yeah, well, you’re probably having a lot of fun anyway. -Jak

Hmm. Yes. Well. It would be a little more fun if you were here. -Lock

Flirt ;) -Jak

Only for you. -Lock

---

MAY 10TH 2013

Time: 10:03am
Subject: Forbidden Fruit

Lock,

This wasn’t one for text. Maybe it was one for a phone call. I don’t know if you’ll have the time to do it, but… I need a favour. I had a pinged about Berry last week - the one I hadn’t heard from in years - and she was in Paris. TB went out to find out more, but something happened and he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I know you’re in Eastern Europe, but is there anything you can do to find out more?

I shouldn’t be thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. If you’re in touch with Moran or The Wire they could investigate?

Yours,
Jak

Time: 12:47pm
Re: Forbidden Fruit

Jak,

What does that take us up to now? How many favours do we owe each other?

You’re right that I can’t go myself. It’s getting more and more difficult to find places with a good enough internet connection to even answer these mails. I’ve had to drop a lot of my possessions - not that I had many with me, but… I have to travel light. I’ll let you know when I have to abandon the laptop. I can get in touch with Moran and send him to Paris and retrace Berry’s last steps.

Don’t think about it anymore. I mean that. It doesn’t do well to obsess.

Yours,
Lock

Time: 1:15pm
Re: Forbidden Fruit

Thanks, Lock. Appreciate it.

But didn’t you obsess over Moriarty once upon a time?

I’ll try to put it to the back of my mind.

Yours,
Jak

Time: 2:23pm
Re: Forbidden Fruit

No comment. 

Moran’s on the case. I have to go. I might text you in a few days. In the middle of nowhere, so signal is hard to acquire.

Yours,
Lock

---

MAY 15TH, 2013

Bored. -Jak

You? Bored? -Lock

Miss you. -Jak

I know. -Lock

Okay Han Solo… -Jak

Well, you don’t need to keep saying it… because I already know -Lock

Sometimes the sentiment is nice. -Jak

Sentiment is hard to come by these days. -Lock

You have me for it. -Jak

And soon I won’t. I’m in hiding at the moment. -Lock

Anything I can help with? -Jak

No, not this time I don’t think. -Lock

Okay. -Jak

Problem? - Lock

No. Like I said - bored. -Jak

And you miss me? -Lock

Yes. Thought we covered that one. -Jak

Just checking. The sentiment is welcome. -Lock

What do you mean you soon won’t have me for sentiment? -Jak

Lock? -Jak

---

MAY 16TH 2013, SOMETIME AROUND MIDNIGHT

Signal dropped out. I’ll explain another time. -Lock

Katrina stubbornly didn’t answer.

---

MAY 18TH, 2013

How deep in Russia are you? -Jak

The message failed to send.

---

MAY 19TH, 2013

Katrina tried again.

How deep in Russia are you? -Jak

Deep enough. Trying to get internet now. How’s the messaging charge? -Lock

Dunno. Don’t care. I have money. -Jak

Alright. I’ll be in touch soon. Keep yourself busy, Jak. -Lock

And get some sleep, girl. -Lock

Notes:

This one's been ready to go for so long because it wasn't the usual formatted chapter. So have a second day in a row of an update! There's still one more Sherlock/Katrina chapter to come before Siberia properly kicks in. But chapter 36 is where The Empty Hearse begins, so they won't be apart for too long. Chapters 32, 33, and 34 offer perspectives from Katrina, Sherlock, and Mycroft over the few months between June and October 2013 so that should be an interesting read for everyone!

I'm so keen to get into series 3 guys. It's where all the fun really kicks in for Shertrina. There's SO much to come... a few tags to be updated... The Magnussen arc has already been written too. That's why I'm so slow at updating these chapters... because I've been busy writing the end of the fic lol.

Chapter 29: No Distraction Good Enough

May began turning into June, and with that the approach of Katrina’s birthday.

Not that anybody at work knew.

Well - maybe they did, because they had access to all sorts of information about each other, and if so they didn’t mention it. If only because Katrina hadn’t explicitly mentioned it so they were likely respecting her wishes on keeping it quiet. Sort of. It hadn’t stopped Daniel and Claire from trying to convince her that she needed to do something to celebrate as she was going to be turning thirty soon.

Thirty.

Katrina couldn’t quite believe it. She was finally at the end of her twenties and that meant she was at the end of the fuck ups that were meant to happen in your twenties. Thirties were meant to be about stability and making sensible decisions, and Katrina needed to get that mentality going as soon as possible. She had a hell of a lot of money just sitting and gaining some interest each year and she had tax deducted from it, so maybe she should do something with it and actually buy a place to live instead of renting off of Mrs Hudson.

But there was a nice charm to living right in central London at a lower rate than expected.

She didn’t want to give that up so easily.

Unless she decided to buy the place off of Mrs Hudson, but that would have felt wrong on so many levels.

She hadn’t heard from Sherlock in over a week now, and she hadn’t attempted to get in touch with Moran regarding Berry. There was still no sign from TB to at least let her know he was back in London, but she tried to move on from that, as difficult as it was. Her distractions from it all were few and far between, until one fateful pub night out where it was sunny and warm enough to be in a pub garden that managed to offer up what could have been the perfect distraction.

“I’m downloading tinder,” Katrina announced all of a sudden, getting her phone out and going to the App Store on it.

The silence that befell the table was nothing short of amusing.

“I didn’t see that one coming,” Flora said.

“Neither did I…” Daniel raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you had a crush on someone?”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to get over it,” Katrina said rather haughtily as she added in her details and a few photos to her tinder profile. She kept it as minimal as possible. “It would never have worked out anyway if he felt the same. So…”

Only Daniel truly knew who she had a crush on. The others had an idea but they didn’t know for sure.

“So… we play tinder,” Daniel then said, snatching Katrina’s phone from her grip and beginning to swipe left on the profiles he didn’t approve of, and the occasional swipe right on people that he thought she would like.

“I had a feeling you’d like this too much…” Katrina murmured with a swig of her beer. She didn’t usually go for it but it was cheaper than her usual drink of choice. Plus, it felt more like the upcoming vibe for the summer. It didn’t taste too bad either, but the one bottle was likely going to be enough for her before she ultimately swapped back to her gin and tonic.

“There’s gotta be another reason for this…” Benji said.

“I need a distraction? I don’t know - I used to have mindless sex all the time between breakups… could use some again.”

“Oh, so you don’t actually want a date…” Claire pinched the phone out of Daniel’s hands and started to swipe for herself. “You just want to fuck. Different approach. Daniel’s too sweet for that. Oh! This guy’s hot…”

Claire showed the picture of the man in question and Katrina made a face.

“Too muscly,” she said and reached across the table to swipe left. “I’ve dated one of those types before, didn’t really end well… and the shag wasn’t even that good. Not taking my chances again!”

Claire sighed and got back to swiping.

“Do you know what your type is?” Daniel then asked.

Tall, high cheekbones, ridiculously clever, lean, logical…

“I like a clever guy,” Katrina replied. “Or a clever woman. Preferably I’d like to be topped by the woman. The man I’ll go either way. But Jesus Christ, if there’s no brain in the head then bin either of them. I can’t be dealing with a lack of creativity with the dirty talk.”

There was a rather stunned silence once again at the table.

“Too much information… sorry…” Katrina murmured, downing the rest of her beer. “But you wanna have fun with my tinder profile, you need to know…”

She rose from the table and elected to go and finally grab that gin and tonic. She had some cash in her jacket pocket and was more than happy to leave her phone with her friends and colleagues to have a bit of fun with the dating app. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure how good of a distraction attempting to go and fuck someone would be considering her mind was still heavily fixated on Sherlock; not even in a sexual manner.

She was just worried about him. It showed in her chewed down nails and her chapped lips that she kept biting the dry skin off of; in the constant reaching for the iPhone that he had bought for her to replace the shitty little Nokia brick so they could stay in touch; in the late nights that she stayed up hoping to hear the phone would ping. It hadn’t even been that long since she had last heard from him and there she was. Already worrying. Already wishing. Already hoping.

Katrina wanted to help. She missed their late night video calls that warranted a genuine excuse for her hair being a little messier in the mornings and some concealer and mascara applied in a rush on the tube because she’d overslept by half an hour. It didn’t matter to her that Stockholm had gone badly, she missed being able to be on the ground with him and doing something that actually mattered.

She had been his downfall so all she could do was try and make up for it now.  

Even after she had ordered and paid for her gin and tonic, she remained at the bar. It was empty inside the pub as everyone had spilled out into the garden or onto the streets of London to enjoy the Friday setting sun. There was a feeling in her heart that she couldn’t put her all into this evening out with everyone; she definitely couldn’t put her all into finding someone for a shag on a shitty dating app she had made a profile on on a whim because she knew she needed to be distracted.

It wasn’t like the old days in her late teens and early twenties where she could just mess around with some government in a foreign country for fun or quick cash. Not when she worked for the government now and they knew about nearly every dirty deed she had done and would catch on very quickly if she started doing all that again.

She had good people around her and she still felt lonely.

Still, she put on a happy face and made her way back out to their table.

“Matched with anyone yet?” she asked brightly.

“No…” Claire groaned and handed the phone back. “I think you’ve got too high of a standard for tinder…”

“A far cry from my uni days… which is probably a good thing.”

She sipped on her drink and flicked to her contacts with Sherlock’s old number residing there. She had no idea what he had done with that phone whilst out on his travels, but the weight of her phone settled too hard in her palm. That was her whole world right there: the little contact detail of Sherlock Holmes (Consulting Detective).

Katrina let out a slight huff of a chuckle.

She hadn’t even dropped the ‘(Consulting Detective)’ from his name in her regular phone. That was how she’d had him saved the moment he text her for the very first time and they hadn’t exactly gotten on like a house on fire.

Oh, how time changed things.

She set down her drink for a moment and made a change: Sherlock Holmes 🌻

Katrina had no logic for picking the sunflower. Perhaps her deep adoration for Sherlock had led her to intuitively pick it - besides, she was always at her happiest nowadays when they were in touch. She knew that probably wasn’t a good thing, but that’s just how it was.

The worst part was that she didn’t know how long she was going to have to deal with not hearing from him.

Katrina slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket and tried to be more present for the rest of the night. She could feel Daniel’s stare on her, and sighed with the idea that he was going to accost her at the end of the night.

Which is exactly what he did.

As everyone slowly began to depart around ten o’clock, soon enough it was just down to the two of them by ten thirty.

“You’ve got a sad face on. Are you thinking about him?”

She nodded, forlorn. “I can’t help it. Is it weird that I feel guilty about even downloading tinder? I mean… it’s stupid, right? It’s a crush that’ll never work out and yet… I can’t - I can’t bring myself to like anyone else..” Her voice cracked and a few tears slipped down her cheek. “Fuck me…” she murmured, hastily wiping away the tears. “Fucking hell…”

“Kat. It’s alright.” Daniel shifted across one seat to sit directly next to her and put his arm around her. “It’s not stupid. You care about him. I know for a fact he cares about you, judging by what you’ve told me.”

“I can’t stop thinking about where he is, what could be happening to him - I can’t… nothing can stop it. Nothing is going to distract me from it.” She dropped her face into her palms as her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

“You need a hobby,” Daniel mused as he rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “I know you like Shakespeare and theatre. Maybe go to an acting class or something. I don’t know. Something to stop you obsessing over your gadgets and your man.”

She snorted. “‘My man’ - let’s not get too hasty there…”

“Well, you get my point. Now: do you want to go home? Maybe we can have some hot chocolate at your flat.”

Katrina peeked up from between her fingers. “I think that could be a better distraction than fucking tinder… Thank you, Dan.”

“Anytime,” he smiled warmly at her.

So they departed from the pub and headed back to Baker Street to finish off a relatively fun pub night in an oddly cosy way for the time of year bordering on summer.

Daniel had never been to 221b before and was in awe of the state of the flat. Whilst Katrina had added her own flairs to it over the past almost two years, it was still undeniably Sherlock and John in character. Her favourite part to show off were the flowers made of computer parts on the desk in the living room, and the fact she’d jammed her collection of books into every available space that was left on the main bookshelves.

Also the fact she’d rearranged the kitchen into a more organised state.

With hot chocolate in hand she was happy to natter on about all the things she had done to not only make 221b feel like her home but to also preserve what had been there before her. Daniel was more than happy to listen until it got to somewhere close to one in the morning and both of them needed sleep.

Katrina went to bed that night without obsessively checking her other phone.

The screen lit up ten minutes after she went to bed.

Saturday 8th June. I’ll have internet. -Lock

Notes:

Three days and three updates? I'm on a roll! Yes, I am desperate for everyone to be reunited properly. It's so much fun what goes down in the restaurant...

Fun fact: I've accidentally written the Shertrina dynamic into existence. Less MI5/spy/detective work, but let's just say I've ended up very much being the Katrina to someone's Sherlock, minus the crush. Lol. The pattern and chain of events is crazy. The dynamic is much healthier than what's fiction though. Anyway...

Katrina's sooo in love without realising, isn't she? I'm terribly sorry to say you'll have to wait for either of them to confess their love for... well... quite some time, I'm afraid (I have already written their love confession scene and it's so horribly disgustingly them I LOVE IT and I think you all will too!)

K thanks bye x

Chapter 30: Saturday 8th June 2013

“Are you in the bathroom right now?”

Katrina unmuted her laptop where it was precariously balanced on the edge of the bathtub. She was currently a little drunk and peeing. The camera was off for the moment. Sherlock had scheduled a video call with her on the basis that it was important to talk about face to face and it had unfortunately clashed with a night out with Daniel and Claire. It was rare for Katrina to go out if it wasn’t after work Friday drinks, but this had been an exception. She still hadn’t told anyone at work when it was her birthday exactly and merely hinted towards it, which had prompted Daniel and Claire to drag her out in an attempt to celebrate it. But she would be turning thirty soon, and she wasn’t sure if she liked that prospect all that much and didn’t particularly want to celebrate it.

“Hmmm mmm,” she said, pausing midstream to answer Sherlock.

“Are you on the toilet?”

“I’m quite drunk and it’s midnight on a Saturday night - well, Sunday morning. Give me a second.” Katrina hurriedly put the laptop back on mute, finished her business, flushed, and rose onto unsteady feet to wash her hands.

Once her hands were dry, that was when she brought her laptop onto the sink, unmuted, and switched the camera on again. She angled the screen so that Sherlock wasn’t looking at her breasts and only had a mildly ugly angle of her face and chin, but that did him just fine. That was the moment she realised she still had some makeup to remove and wash her face as well.

Katrina groaned.

“What?” Sherlock frowned at her. His hair was just past shoulder length now, more wildly curly and unruly in every which way, and he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He had the beginnings of an actual beard. If anything it had curbed her attraction to him somewhat.

“I have to take off my makeup. Wash my face. Urgh. This is why I don’t go out to… we went to this place in Soho called Zebrano. It’s a bar and a club kinda thing…” Katrina prattled on as she set about searching for her makeup remover wipes. “And you can order these big bottles of booze and a selection of mixers and free pour your own drinks. So we did that.”

“We?”

“I was with Claire and Daniel,” Katrina said, being careful not to scrub her eyelids so hard when trying to clean the mascara off of them. If anything she was surprised at how coherently she was talking to Sherlock. A more sensible idea would have been to move the call, but there was a sense of urgency in his messages that indicated it couldn’t wait.

“Ah. How are they?”

“They’re good. Happy to drag me out for a good night,” she chuckled in response, tossing one wipe into the bin and getting one more out so she could remove what little makeup was left on her face. “How important is this call that I shouldn’t have gone out with them?”

Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment. “Live your life as you please, Kat. I don’t take offence. You honoured the fact I needed to talk to you. I suppose… as your best friend… that’s all I could ask for.” He paused. “If I weren’t so tight on time I would have rescheduled.”

She winced at that, running the tap and electing not to use a cleanser to wash her face. She really couldn’t be bothered at this point and her limbs were aching from the dancing. Slouched over as she rinsed her features with warm water, Katrina longed to carry on this call from the comfort of her own bed.

“You’re being very patient whilst I do all this,” she said as she dried off, grabbing the laptop and finally exiting the bathroom. She switched off the light behind her only to find the light of the laptop was now going to guide her back up to her bedroom.

“I can’t believe you went for a piss whilst on call with me.”

“Have we not done worse in front of each other? If we haven’t - we probably will.” Katrina carefully crept up the stairs towards her bedroom. She was electing to ignore the fact that nearly half a year ago he was knuckles deep in her vagina, but that had been brushed under the rug to the point neither of them ever mentioned it again.

Probably for the best.

“I need to change. I’m turning the camera off again,” she then said, resting the laptop on her bed after she entered her room and switched on the lamp. She kicked the door closed with her foot, did as she said and proceeded to get out of her night out clothes and into her pyjamas. A small smile came to Katrina’s face as the rare June heat gently caressed her skin and opened the window a touch to allow a cool breeze to enter.

She jumped onto the bed, got under her blanket, and popped the camera back on again so that Sherlock could see her.

“So. Do you want the good news or bad news first?” he offered up for her.

Katrina gulped, her heart pattering faster than ever in her chest now. “Go with the good news first. I expect the bad news will take longer to discuss.”

“The good news: the end is in sight. Moriarty’s network is going to be finished once I’m done in Serbia… which leads me to the bad news…” Sherlock glanced down at his lap when he next spoke. “I won’t be able to contact you. I don’t know for how long. I’ll be under deep cover.”

She knew it had been coming, but that didn’t stop the ache in her chest and the pit in her stomach. Her heart was still racing, and it took everything in her to ground herself with a couple of deep breaths. Perhaps she’d been complacent up until now with her access to Sherlock whilst he’d been off playing dead. Perhaps she should have cherished it more than she should have; more than she had let him know.

The thought was a sobering one, and she sat up straighter on her bed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” was the first thing she said.

“No.”

“Lock-”

“I mean it, Kat. No escapades as Jak this time. If they find out who you are, they’ll come for you. This is the one time I can’t protect you from Moriarty’s network if you help me. I’m doing this from the inside this time, and there is an inevitability that I will be found out.”  

Sherlock was being so deadly serious that it scared Katrina more than she could put into words. She had no idea what she could possibly say to that. All she knew was that she had to listen to him for once in her life. As much as Sherlock enjoyed describing things as a game, this was most certainly not a game anymore.

Tears brimmed in her eyes and she took another breath. “Okay,” she said.

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“I said: okay. I’m listening to you. If it’s more serious than anything else you’ve done across the past two years, then fine. I’ll stay out of it. You say it’s to protect me but come on, Lock…” she sighed. “I can read between the lines.”

“And by that, you mean…?”

“You are protecting yourself in this case,” she said bluntly. “And that’s - that’s fine. Honestly. I understand. If you’re going into deep cover then I’m not going to fuck that up for you, even if it was just to help. Alright?”

The smallest of smirks graced Sherlock’s lips. “You’re certain there’s an element of me protecting myself here?”

“You’re Sherlock Holmes. You’re not so emotional you’d only think of me in this situation,” she pointed out with a raised brow. “You need to put yourself first, and I have to do the same. Even though I’m terrible at it nowadays.”

“How so?”

She gave him a look. “You know how.”

“I really don’t.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Katrina’s jaw went taut. This conversation was progressively getting her more and more sober as it went along. “Maybe you should think a little harder about when I tell you I miss you.”

He went quiet for a moment. “Right…”

“Is this going to be the last time we talk for… goodness knows how long?” Katrina pivoted the conversation back to what it was meant to be about.

“Yes. You have to wait for me to get back in touch with you. Is that clear?”

She nodded, doing everything in her power to stop her bottom lip from wobbling at the thought.

Her whole world right in front of her and she would not have access to it.

“I hope it goes well. And you’re as safe as you can be. Don’t get into too much trouble without me, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her with a tired half smile. “You should get some sleep, girl.”

“Can’t stay a little longer?”

“I’m afraid not. I need to be on the move shortly. Better to do it at night.”

“Makes sense,” she said with a shrug. It sort of made sense to her. He’d never been this cautious about his movements before. Why start now? “Good night, Lock.”

“Good night, Kat. I’ll see you soon.”

He lingered for a few more moments as if he wanted to say something else, but then he ended the call.

Katrina was left in the silence of her own room with barely a sound from the streets of London making their way through. She shut down her laptop entirely and put it away at the bottom of her wardrobe next to the tin of cash she kept on hand for a severe emergency. Her alternate identity information was also in a document stashed there too.

Oh, the temptation to use it to go and find Sherlock…

She slammed the wardrobe shut to break the train of thought.

Tears welled up in her eyes as her bottom lip really wobbled.

No more Sherlock for now.

The tears spilled over as she started crying and she curled up in a ball on her bed. It was barely midnight and she felt stupid for crying over this. It had been a privilege to have as much access to him as she had done over the past two years anyway (even if the first six months there had been nothing) and now it was gone with just a simple “see you soon.”

She really didn’t know what she was going to do with herself. It felt like her heart had been ripped in two and a horrible, grieving ache was left in place of her stomach.

That was when she decided to call Mycroft.

And was shocked to find that he was still awake at this hour.

“This had better be an emergency…” he said in a harsh drawl down the phone on picking up.

Katrina sniffed, holding back a sob as she did so. “Can - can I come and stay with you tonight? Can you send a car?”

“Be ready in the next thirty minutes,” Mycroft replied, less harsh than before.

“Thank you.” Katrina hung up, not waiting for him to say anything else.

She slipped on a pair of jeans over her pyjama shorts and packed a shirt and some underwear for the next day, as well as a few basic toiletries that she’d need. Each minute that passed she would carry on crying, stop herself from crying and calm down, then remember why she had called Mycroft in the first place and the cycle would repeat; all as she paced the living room.

When Katrina knew there would be a couple of minutes before the car would arrive, she grabbed her belongings and headed downstairs and out onto the street, locking up quickly behind her. She timed it perfectly and was able to jump into the backseat of the car so that it barely had to stop.

It turned around and went back the way it came.

Katrina didn’t say a word to the driver, electing to close her eyes and try to keep as calm as possible and hopefully get a short nap in before arriving at Mycroft’s. It were as if she had blinked and they were there, the front door to his lavish property left slightly ajar for her.

He did not greet her at the door.

Instead, when Katrina was inside, she shut the front door and followed the dim light that emanated down the hallway from the kitchen. She found Mycroft there in pyjamas and a robe only looking a little bedraggled, but he had a fresh pot of tea on the go as well as some whisky hanging around on the counter top.

“Well?” Mycroft asked from his spot at the table, beginning to pour the tea. “You’ve clearly taken my statement seriously in that if you’re troubled then I would help. So what’s troubling you?”

Katrina’s lips drew into a thin line as she tried to stop herself from crying again. All that resulted in was watery eyes.

“Have you heard from your brother?” she choked out.

“No. It’s rare we’ve spoken over the past two years. Why?”

“He’s… He’s…” Katrina played with the hems of the sleeves on her cardigan that she’d thrown on before leaving Baker Street. She couldn’t look Mycroft in the eye, but her reaction to the question was enough to let him know what was going on. He poured a shot of whisky into her tea and kicked out the chair opposite him. She took that as her invitation to sit down.

Mycroft slid the cup across to her and she took it gratefully, taking a long sip of it and making a face when the whisky hit the back of her throat as she swallowed.

“You’re worse than worried. You’re anxious. You’ve not been this way about him before.”

She sighed and looked up at him, finally. “I didn’t have a reason to be anxious before. I do now. I can’t help him if - if he needs it. He’s in Russia, how can you not be anxious about that?”

“I don’t anxious about my brother, Kat. I do worry about him. However, I know that he is capable and is finishing the job he needs to finish off so that he can come home. He can’t afford a distraction.”

“I’m not a distraction-”

“I didn’t say you were-”

“You implied it,” she said through gritted teeth. The slight anger towards the sentiment meant that she wasn’t close to crying anymore. “He doesn’t want me to get involved this time. Understandably. But not because I’m a distraction. He wants me safe.”

The tiniest hint of a half smile appeared on the corner of Mycroft’s lips. He elected to add a shot of whisky to his own tea and taking a drink. “Par for the course for my brother, it seems. I’d rather you were safe here.”

“I suppose on some level I agree with the both of you,” Katrina admitted. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hate it though, right? This is - this is different to the first time. The first time when he had to… disappear… I wasn’t that close with him. I didn’t want anything to do with what was going on and what he had planned with you. And then I got to have the privilege of maybe getting to know him a little better, but I had a friend who I could genuinely be myself around for the first time in a while. Neither of us know when he’ll be coming back - if he’s coming back any time soon. Neither of us will be able to help him. I can’t get past the fact that I don’t - I don’t have him now. It’s been hard dealing with the spotty communication enough, Mycroft.”

“You value communication above all else - I know. It’s one of your more redeeming qualities…”

She gave him a wry smile. “I can always rely on you for a compliment, can’t I?” she then said sarcastically.

Mycroft huffed in a way that could have been likened to a light laugh, and Katrina figured that was the best she was going to get out of him for such a cheeky remark.

“Thank you, by the way.”

His brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For answering the phone at a ridiculous time of night and letting me come over.”

“I was still awake so no harm done. Like I said: if you need anything, I’m here to help.”

“Yeah, well, I was worried that calling gone midnight would be taking the piss…” she murmured, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. “I’ll try not to do that in future… I’d home from a nice night out and had to call Sherlock. His request. Fresh wound.”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone care about my brother the way that you do. It’s different. Charming. Weird, perhaps, but I find it endearing all the same. It’s very you.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Katrina perked up a little.

“And it won’t happen again anytime soon.”

“Oh, of course not. I would never expect that.” She smiled at him.

“Feeling better?”

She nodded, momentarily forgetting about the whisky in her tea when she took another drink. “Eurgh. That’s enough alcohol for tonight. Shall we both get some sleep?”

“That would be wise, yes,” Mycroft agreed. “The room you stayed in before is all set up - if you can remember the way.”

She chuckled, leaving the cup of tea behind on the table to go and grab her bag. “I can. Thank you again. I’ll see you in the morning…”

“Indeed.” Mycroft had remained in his seat still nursing his drink, but had an ever watchful eye on Katrina as she left. “Good night.”

“Night…”

She meandered off through the hallway and up the stairs, with just a good enough memory to find the bedroom she had previously stayed in. At least she’d be able to remember getting into bed this time.

Closing the door behind her with a soft click and being welcomed into the room with the warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table, Katrina took off her cardigan and shrugged out of her jeans, practically jumping onto the soft double bed after she did so. For as odd as her relationship with Mycroft was, she felt safe here. It really was like she had a big brother looking after her.

She often wondered about the age gap between herself and Mycroft; between Sherlock and Mycroft. There was no way Mycroft was more than ten years older than either of them. Katrina knew she was three years younger than Sherlock, but that was about the extent of it. She’d find out one day, she supposed.

Her brain was less of swirling mess than it had been since her video call with Sherlock and she didn’t feel constantly on the verge of tears anymore. The whole ordeal had exhausted her on top of the fact she’d come home from a night out as well.

“Double damage…” she mused to herself as she switched off the lamp and crawled under the cool duvet; the pillow under her head a cloud in comparison to her pillows back home in the flat. Perhaps she needed to invest in better quality pillows and duvet, and she made a mental note to check out a few websites the next day.

All lucid, normal thoughts drifted from her mind as being wrapped in comfort finally sent Katrina into a deep sleep.

---

“You’re a silly girl, crying over me,” Sherlock said to her from the sofa.

Katrina was reclining in the bed opposite him.

Back in the Stockholm apartment.

“It’s not silly to cry about someone you care for,” she pointed out to him. Sherlock looked like how he did when they were in Stockholm together. No super long hair, less muscle. He did have his hair in a small half updo at the back of his head, though.

“The most emotional person in the room crying for the most non-emotional person in the room. It is silly, and you know it.”

“Don’t be mean,” she frowned and sat up.

“You need clarity. The real me won’t give that to you.”

“You would if I asked.”

“But you’re too scared to. It’s cowardly of you,” he goaded her. This was not like the normal Sherlock that would appear in her dreams. No, this was bordering on something that could be a nightmare. His gaze was cold and sharp, his words had venom interwoven among them, and he was being far more stoic than she had ever known him to be.

“Why - why are you being like this?” her voice shook in her dream - in her almost nightmare.

“You need it. You need to get on with it.”

“I miss you.”

“As you always tell me,” he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be like that,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t be so cruel.”

“Well it’s all in your own head isn’t it? Deep down in your subconscious this is what you truly want, Katrina.”

“No - no, I wouldn’t want this. I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t-”

“You know, perhaps Miss Peters was right in trying to make a point that showing your emotions was a weakness,” he said idly as he leaned back on the sofa. As if the dream couldn’t get any worse, Sherlock morphed into Holly Peters herself.

“It is honestly pathetic how much you pine for him,” she said.

Katrina moved back on the bed in an attemp to put as much distance between her and the other woman as possible.

“I don’t pine, I’m just-”

“You’re just worried! You’re anxious! Blah blah blah, repeating yourself is honestly boring. Stop lying, Katrina, stop bloody well lying! It’s only making things worse for yourself. Then again… maybe that’ll be fun for me one day in the future.” Holly sent her a wicked grin that she wished she hadn’t had the imagination to dream up.

“No - no, you’re not… I don’t-”

“Stop stammering, it’s boring…”

“You shouldn’t…”

Everything was becoming a swirling mess again. She couldn’t form words. There was a tightness to her shoulders that she couldn’t explain either as the room seemed to squeeze in around her slowly, which was when-

---

She was shaken awake before it could go any further.

It was still dark outside but her face was wet with tears and the lamp was on again. Mycroft’s hands were on her shoulders due to the fact he had been carefully trying to rouse her from her god awful dream.

Katrina sat up in a mild panic, her breathing erratic and her brain disorientated. Her eyes were doe like as she stared at him in shock, and he held his hands up in surrender after he let go of her.

“I think… I think this is gonna be really hard, Mycroft.” Her voice wavered and cracked for what felt like the umpteenth time that night and she dropped her face onto his shoulder as she cried, and cried, and cried some more.

Mycroft was cautious in his comfort, only placing one hand on Katrina’s back at first in an awkward half embrace that he was familiar with. But as her tears kept flowing and her pain kept growing in presence, he properly hugged her. An alien feeling for the both of them, but in this instance she was using Mycroft as the big brother she had never had.

He was delivering on that front perfectly for her.

“I don’t - I don’t like this,” she sobbed, her entire body shaking violently with every passing moment.

“I know,” he said gently, his eyes wide as he stared at the headboard behind her. “I don’t like it either.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “I’m getting your robe all wet.”

“A robe can be cleaned easily. Your anxiety does not go away so easily.” Mycroft slowly prised Katrina off of him. She was still sobbing - almost thirty and sobbing like a teenager, perhaps it was pathetic - and desperately trying to dry her eyes with the back of her hands.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“That does not matter-”

“Yes it does. What time is it?”

“You’ve barely slept two hours,” he informed her. “I heard you crying out in your sleep.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled again, staring down at her lap.

“No, Kat,” Mycroft sighed. This was a strange situation the pair of them were navigating. “I can stay here until you go back to sleep-”

“No, you need to rest-”

“Kat.” Mycroft’s voice was firm enough to the point she didn’t argue. It was like he had gone back into work mode again. “My brother would not like it in the slightest if I left you alone and scared. Whilst we are friends, I have a duty of care. I promised - no, I vowed. ”

She looked up at him and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Us Holmes brothers don’t typically make promises or vows. In fact, I don’t recall a time where myself or Sherlock have ever even made a promise,” Mycroft explained. “However, we always agreed that in dire circumstances we would have such a prevalent agreement. Shortly after Stockholm he was in touch with me - again, a rarity - and he made me take a vow to look after you should you need it. It was perhaps the easiest thing I have ever done because I did not need a make a vow or a promise to do that.”

Her eyes darted back and forth in confusion. “Why? Why do you both look out for me so much?”

“We inadvertently put you through hell in two thousand and eleven by not coming forward to let you know that we knew Moriarty was blackmailing you,” he confessed. “We should have done better. So that is what we are doing now, and I will stay here until I know you are sleeping comfortably and without distress. Is that clear?”

Completely taken aback by what he was saying, Katrina only nodded dumbly. She sniffed and managed to snuggle back down under the covers. She didn’t know what to say to Mycroft - if she could say anything else to him.

“I urge you to listen to my brother for once in your life: get some sleep, girl.”

Notes:

All three of them are my babies. Chapters 31-35 will be the lead up to The Empty Hearse, FINALLY! And everyone will be back together as it SHOULD BE. I'm wondering if I keep up this pace I might be able to get this entire fic done within the year... it's currently at 150k words in my google docs and still so, SO much more to write... The only complete arc I have is the Magnussen one which is right at the end and oh boy is that going to be a rollercoaster ride for everyone involved...

Thanks for the love!

Chapter 31: Two Years On

Katrina had ended up sleeping well enough in the end after sobbing on Mycroft and had a dreamless sleep.

What she didn’t expect was to find Mycroft asleep at the end of the bed. She poked him in the back with her foot on waking, and he jolted back to reality but remained half curled up.

“What are you doing?” she asked him quietly, sitting up in bed.

He took a deep breath as he also sat up, rubbing his eyes before turning to face Katrina. “Apologies. I stayed for longer than I intended and… well… you can see the outcome for yourself.” He gestured at himself before rising off the bed, and Katrina felt a pang go through her heart when she watched him stretch, heard his back click, and see how unruly his hair was from the back. “Breakfast?” he then asked as he wandered towards the door.

“I’ll - I’ll do it,” Katrina immediately jumped out of bed, grabbing her cardigan to put back on as she followed Mycroft downstairs. “Taking your duty of care a bit too seriously?” she yawned. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

He side-eyed her intensely as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I see you’re feeling better after last night.”

“Who wouldn’t after apparently sleeping in the same bed as a Holmes boy?” she remarked cheekily. “Seems to be a running theme with me.”

Once they were in the kitchen, Katrina made a beeline for the bread bin to find that he had a loaf of brioche that was beginning to turn stale. She spun around and held it up. “French toast?”

Mycroft sat down at the table. “I’m not fussy.”

With a smile on her face, Katrina set about finding eggs and milk so that she could make the aforementioned French toast. Neither of them spoke to each other as she cooked and pottered about making coffee, but the silence was comfortable and welcome. In no time at all, Katrina had served up and she was seated opposite Mycroft in a much more cheerful manner than she had been the night before.

“I won’t make a habit of this,” she assured him. “I didn’t know what else to do last night. It was either cry myself to sleep at home or talk to someone I trust.”

“That makes sense,” Mycroft agreed. “And it’s fine if you need to do it again, by the way. Granted, not at a ridiculous time of night and only in an emergency in that case…”

“Yeah. Got it. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he told her. “I’ll never understand why people feel the need - the urge - to apologise so often.”

Katrina didn’t know how to respond to that. Sometimes Mycroft was so typically Mycroft in the way he spoke about other people there was nothing anyone could possibly say.

“I um… I want to take Wednesday off work this week,” she said to cut through the sudden awkwardness.

Mycroft glanced at her. “Your birthday?”

“Yeah. How do you… you know what, I think that one’s obvious.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Does there need to be a reason why I want to take my birthday off?” she retorted, electing to have some of her coffee.

“I’m curious. I’m asking in a… friendly manner,” he said, nonplussed.

“Okay… well, I want the day to myself. I don’t really celebrate it anymore. Haven’t since I was twenty five if I’m honest. And now I’m turning thirty, on the day that’s the anniversary of my best friend faking his death.” Katrina shrugged. “I’m allowed a mental health day. Even if it is my birthday.”

Mycroft hummed in agreement. “When you’re at work tomorrow, put in the request and I’ll ensure it’s approved. I expect you’ll be leaving Daniel in charge in your stead?”

“As always.”

The morning ultimately ended up passing by quietly, with the pair of them taking a wander around the grounds of Mycroft’s property once they were both dressed. The sun was out and there was a gentle breeze in the air that was enough to clear anyone’s head and keep them calm. Katrina couldn’t get over how beautiful the place was, but knew she would have to leave it shortly so that she could run a few errands and tidy up the flat before the week began anew.

Her birthday ended up rolling around far too quickly for her own liking that week, and she was grateful to have the approved day off in the end. She had a wonderful night’s sleep and a decent lie in for the first time in forever, which led to her having a slow morning to get ready and decide what she wanted to do with her day.

She still had the money that Sherlock had sent over a few months back. She hadn’t spent it all yet because she had chosen to keep it for special occasions and it be on him. He could treat her to a nice dinner and some drinks tonight. Not that she’d be able to tell him that for goodness knows how long.

Then the unexpected happened: she had mail.

An envelope addressed to her in familiar writing had her heart leaping into her throat.

The contents of it were slightly heavier than Katrina expected, and she didn’t want to open it just yet.

She knew the perfect place to go.

So she grabbed a takeaway coffee from the Pret down the road and took the underground to the graveyard where Sherlock’s headstone was.

The weather had remained pleasant enough since the weekend for her to warrant a visit so that she could sit and read the card or letter or whatever he had posted for her to arrive at the right time. She wanted to buy some sunflowers for the grave, but there were none. She settled for a sprig of lavender instead to offer up as a means for wishing the both of them to sleep well over the next however many months they would be without each other.

Katrina settled down at Sherlock’s gravestone and opened the envelope, surprised to find four letters in there.

Each of them were dated.

30th April 2011

Miss Jenkins,

I know. I know he’s blackmailing you. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to take the pressure off of you. I’m writing this as a fail safe because I have my own plans forming and I know they will intertwine with what Moriarty has you doing for him. I do not wish for our paths to cross and end in this way. There will come a time you will read this letter and it will only be when we are both in the clear from him. Or at least, you are. I’m sure my work will take me to places where no gun could keep me safe. Except you will be safe when you receive this.

Sincerely,
Mr Sherlock Holmes

She took a deep breath. It was barely a letter but the fact he had known that long before he told her… it didn’t matter she had known that fact for a long time now, it was still odd to see something from the time it had been an ongoing, terrible situation.

Katrina couldn’t quite comprehend how formal they had once been with each other.

She also couldn’t comprehend there was enough of a heart in him at the time to warrant him writing her that letter - well, note, more accurately.

Her fingers trembled as she slipped the first paper to the back of the stack and she read the next one.

12th June 2011

Katrina,

I’m all too aware that it is your birthday today. Twenty eight, if I’m not mistaken (I never am). I know you will tell me today what’s been going on, and I will have to reassure you. I’m not good with humans or emotion, but I’m sure your mere presence will force me to react appropriately. It’s cruel that I must do this today of all days, but you will know the truth. It is imperative you know the truth because you were the one who had to cause my downfall and for that I am forever going to be angry about.

Not because it was you, but because Moriarty dragged you into it. It was unfair. It was also to be expected. The person who would least likely betray me was the one to do it. It should not have been you, but it was. And it is fine. One day we’ll both understand our actions in this case properly; for now we must deal with the devil himself and ensure he cannot play games anymore.

You’re more of a human being than I am. I can only hope that what I do today doesn’t mar your birthday for the rest of your life. When you inevitably receive this letter, I hope you do not begrudge me for anything that happened this year. We may not be friends, but I can sense we may on the path towards friendship for which we will both find amusing.

Reason and emotion are due to meet in the middle. The perfect storm, as I once said at the pub.

Sherlock Holmes

He had thought everything through.

He’d only known her for six months by that point but he had figured her out well enough.

Katrina’s hands were still shaking as she moved onto the third letter.

12th June 2012

Dear Katrina,

Happy birthday. Twenty nine now. Close to your thirties. I turned thirty two earlier this year and quite frankly there’s no difference to being in your thirties than your twenties. At least, that’s my understanding of it anyway. But I lead a very different life to the one I had when I was in my twenties. I had never expected to be pretending to be dead. Life is certainly an interesting myriad of pathways, isn’t it?

Whilst you won’t receive this letter yet, you will have received the new phone. I expect you won’t use the new phone until you absolutely tire of the Nokia. But it’ll be there for when you decide to start using it. I’m in Rome. I’ll be inviting you along - and when you get this, we would have seen each other for the first time in over a year - and I expect our reunion will be interesting.

We’ve formed a good friendship and working relationship by now. In fact, being in touch with you over emails and text has been incredibly useful. Not only have I been able to solve cases much more efficiently, but I’m learning more about the human condition in the process. I know you better. I know myself better. And for that, I thank you.

Sherlock

She almost didn’t want to read the last letter, but knew that it would bear the most important message of all.

12th May 2013

My dear Kat,

I write this exactly one month in advance in the hopes that it will arrive with the rest of these letters on your birthday. I still don’t know what possessed me to write any of them other than being aware you are a sentimental being who, for some reason, cherishes the words I speak and write to you. Someone who cherishes my company more so than anybody else in the world.

The end is in sight. This is the last piece of the puzzle that Moriarty left behind, and it is unfortunate that I have to leave you behind for this. I will never be an emotional human, but I must let you know that your company has been cherished in return the past two years. Well - year and a half, more accurately. I had not expected to find friendship with you in the way that I did, but here we are.

Stay safe, Jak. Kat. Katrina. Whatever name for you takes my fancy at this time seems to be swirling between the three. I’m sure by the time this reaches you we would have spoken for the last time. You understand the nature of my work by now. I did not do it lightly. I did not break contact lightly. It’s Russia, after all, and you cannot be put in the firing line. You were never meant to be collateral damage in my game with Moriarty the first time around, so this is my way of ensuring you cannot be collateral damage this time.

This is the most sentimental you will ever find me. I am not one to write letters. But you wear your heart on your sleeve and keep mementos in the cavity left behind in your chest. You have two hearts for the price of one, and it makes up for the one I have encased in ice. Although, granted, you did crack the ice. Only crack it. But it was enough to let these words bleed through to be permanent on paper.

Happy birthday. I know this will arrive on the day. I’ll time it perfectly. I’m sure I’ll see you again sooner than we both think.

Yours,
Lock

Katrina sat baffled as she read through the final letter.

She read it through again. And a third time.

This was a brief look into Sherlock’s emotional side and it touched her soul. She was never going to see something like this from him again. She needed to keep these letters somewhere safe, where nobody else could find them and know about them. This was between her and Sherlock.

It was funny to see how his diction towards her had changed over the course of two years; how he addressed her had changed over the two years. A testament to their strange, unique friendship with a dynamic that nobody else could replicate.

She rested her head against the marble gravestone, a small smile on her face.

“You’re quite sweet, you know that right?” she said to it. “I don’t think anybody else will ever know how sweet you truly are, and it needs to stay that way. I’ll keep two hearts for the both of us. I’ll look after you the way you look after me, Lock.”

She pressed a quick kiss to the marble and stood up with her coffee, pretty much downing the rest of it before popping the takeaway lid off and pouring the last few sips of it onto the grass.

“There. Now I can say you were with me for birthday drinks,” she chuckled. “You’d probably find it a bit weird that I did that, so I don’t think I’ll tell you in person. Unless you get me really drunk - then I might confess. I don’t really like my birthday anymore, but I think you made it just that much better. So… see you around, Lock. Happy two years of pretending to be dead, by the way. You’ve done an excellent job of it.”

As Katrina departed from the graveyard that day, she thought about the remainder of the wad of cash that Sherlock had sent to her four months previously.

Perhaps she’d save it for a rainy day instead.

Maybe when Sherlock was back and all things were right with the world.

She’d rather share it than hoard it for herself, after all.

Particularly if he had shared the melted ice from around his heart with her.

Notes:

Okay I'm going to hibernate for a week or so and finish off The Empty Hearse arc. I'm thinking weekly Friday postings for this from the 30th May just because I'll have a nice backlog by that point!

Sherlock allowing out a fraction of his feelings? Oh we're starting to cook with gas now. Next 3 chapters are the different perspectives of the summer/early autumn months of Katrina, Sherlock, and then Mycroft. We're almost there! He's nearly back! Finally!

Chapter 32: No Contact: Mycroft

Mycroft had been born an observer and a protector.

Being clever and from an even cleverer family, he knew from the age of seven what life would be like for his baby brother. It had always been those two together from the moment Sherlock could walk and talk; Mycroft almost missed the days where his little brother would look up to him. Time did that funny thing of changing people, and the intelligence that both of them had led them to growing up with a dislike for other people and, occasionally, each other.

Regardless of their turbulent, brotherly relationship, Mycroft would always be there for Sherlock no matter what. Even if it did mean going to the nastier parts of Cambridge to rescue his little brother from the drug dens and informing their parents a softer story so that they didn’t worry as much as they already did. So it was a miracle when Sherlock got clean by the end of university and started to solve crimes as the alternative when he moved to London.

By that point, Mycroft was well into his thirties and he didn’t need to be so protective of Sherlock after all - even though he did spy on his brother occasionally. Sort of. It wasn’t really spying, but Sherlock referred to it as such and despite his disagreeing with the term, he couldn’t help but think for once his little brother was actually right.

John Watson had been good for his brother too.

John Watson helped reign his brother in, find him work, and the pair of them got on wonderfully. As much as Mycroft disliked the idea of friends, he understood that it was good for other people. Even Sherlock.

As alike as they were, they were so incredibly different.

People were able to warm to Sherlock much better than they warmed to Mycroft, and he was okay with that. He didn’t need people to warm to him; he didn’t need to help people in the way that Sherlock did. Mycroft was about cold, calculated methods to keep the country safe and engaging only the best operatives to get the job done legally.

He didn’t need to deal with petty detective work like his brother.

The appearance of Katrina Ann Jenkins had certainly been an interesting one.

It had not only thrown Sherlock with how she acted, but it had thrown Mycroft too.

Her volatile, open emotions had been the most intriguing thing about her until her computer skills came into play. She used her emotional nature combined with the logic required for coding and problem solving to seemingly create a new breed of intelligence that had Mycroft fascinated.

So it came as no surprise to him that Sherlock held that equal fascination too.

The few conversations they had in two thousand and eleven before Sherlock faked his death revolved around Katrina because neither of them could fully work her out like they wanted to. Perhaps that was the most intriguing thing of all.

Either way, Mycroft had expected her friendship with Sherlock but did not expect his own friendship with her to slowly blossom over the course of two years.

He was a decade older than her, first and foremost, and he was her boss. He had given her a job because he was all too aware of her dangerous background and it was the best way that he could keep an eye on her. He wanted to make sure she didn’t do anything ridiculous. He had not accounted for the fact that Katrina was excellent at worming her way into people’s hearts when she needed to.

It was the first time in a long time he was reminded he even had one.

Mycroft had been certain his heart was left behind the last time he had to pull Sherlock out of a crack house; that was when their brotherly relationship had hardened.

Yet here was this wild woman who was so easy to read and deduce, having tea with him every Monday because all he wanted to do was try to work her out. Not that she knew it was so he could work her out like a puzzle. And over time, Mycroft found himself slowly but surely softening towards the woman, especially when it came to him finding out how much she had grown to care for Sherlock in the two years that they had been communicating with each other and working together to dismantle what was left of Moriarty’s network.

She had become softer too.

That was one thing he’d noticed.

She was flourishing in the work she was doing for him now; flourishing in the work she did with Sherlock. Katrina also didn’t have to constantly be fighting Sherlock about who she was and what she did because she had finally accepted herself as a part of his life. She had finally accepted who she was to Mycroft as well.

And she most certainly had both the Holmes brothers wrapped around her finger.

There wasn’t anything that Mycroft wouldn’t do for Katrina if she asked. 

He realised some of that stemmed from the guilt of not getting her out of the Moriarty situation sooner than he could have done and for having her leave behind her old life to work for him and keep Sherlock’s secret, but that was besides the point. Over two years he had gotten to know Katrina all too well and he saw her as a more intuitive extension of Sherlock.

He did not like dealing with her tears.

It had happened twice now.

It wasn’t because she was a human that cried and was emotional, it was because he knew there was nothing he could actually do that was helpful. He was no good at dealing with intense emotions like that, but at least he knew Katrina. He knew what she wanted. Physical comfort. As much as he had a strong disdain for it, Mycroft was able to get over it on the two occasions where she needed a hug from a friend.

A friend.

He was surprised she even wanted him as a friend. Was it because at one stage she had no other choice? Perhaps. But Mycroft was quietly grateful for it all the same and he would never admit it out loud.

So over the summer that they were to be out of contact with Sherlock, Mycroft kept a much closer eye on Katrina than he normally would. To his untrained, unemotional eye, she seemed more wistful than usual. She seemed less perky than she had grown to be. And if that were true, he knew why.

She missed Sherlock; perhaps more than he did.

He would never admit to missing his own brother but knowing he couldn’t have access to him either was what prompted that emotion in him. It was a rarity for Mycroft to find himself missing anybody, but this time it made sense. He knew there would always come a time where Sherlock would truly have to disappear off the face of the earth to get the job done, and this was it.

He was able to get on with his job and occasionally acknowledge the worry he had for his brother, whilst also keeping an eye on Katrina and her apparent slow decline of sadness.

But he would not intervene.

He couldn’t intervene.

Broaching the subject with her would be far too awkward too, because then he would have to admit to her that he was also worried about his brother. He wasn’t sure if the worry was more or less than Katrina, but over the years he’d learned to compartmentalise it in a way that would have the regular functioning human recoil in disgust.

It would have Katrina recoiling in disgust, and he couldn’t do that to her.

He didn’t want to elicit that reaction from her. Ever.

She was too close a friend now.

He found it funny that she had entrusted him with a key to her Jak related possessions, but he understood why she had given it to him. He was the one person that she could really trust at that point in time, especially when it came to falling to temptation. He was able to guard that and prevent her from engaging in the most human action of all time.

Mycroft could only watch and wait until he knew he had to go and retrieve Sherlock himself because that was now going to be the only way they could get him back.

It would be just like the drug dens all over again, except he had to utilise what field training he had from long ago. A far more dangerous operation but only he would be able to undertake it because he knew from experience what it was like to get Sherlock out of those places.

He had hoped to never do it again, but it was always an inevitability with Sherlock.

He hoped that it would never fall to Katrina to pull Sherlock out of a place like that, because that would be unfair. He could not let her take over the job that he was made for. Sherlock was his responsibility first and foremost, and it did not matter if Katrina was close to his brother or not he could not let her go through something so awful.

Sherlock wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if that happened.

Katrina was under his duty of care now.

He would be her observer and protector for as long as he needed.

Notes:

I had more prepped than I thought! So you get an update a week earlier than I said - albeit a small one. I would have updated tomorrow but I have an incredibly busy weekend ahead of me so I figured I'd post today.

Weekly Friday updates from here on out! Thanks for the love as always.

Chapter 33: No Contact: Katrina

It was hard to keep occupied outside of work. 

Katrina had to physically lock up her laptops and other phone at first so that she wasn’t tempted to leave Sherlock a message or constantly look at them in the hopes that he’d be in touch and find out that actually, Serbia had been okay and he had been paranoid for nothing. But she couldn’t keep thinking like that and holding onto what was a false hope. She needed to lock everything away and not think about it at all, lest it consume her more than it already had.

It had meant she started going out a lot more - whether it was for cinema trips, finding cheap theatre tickets, or having dinner with work friends, Katrina had begun exploring London more so than she had ever done before. The summer made it all that much easier as it meant she actually wanted to be outside and not hole up at home.

But the times she did want to hole up?

She started looking into members clubs.

Anything to keep her out of the flat, in all honesty.

Some of them had rigorous application processes, some didn’t, and she had a hell of a time deciding - but that kept her occupied too.

Another thing that Katrina managed to finally do was also reconnect with Molly Hooper, which the pair of them had both been excited about, it turned out.

They ended up meeting at the Viaduct Tavern one sunny evening - Molly had been working a little later than usual so Katrina figured she could make the effort to trek to Holborn from Vauxhall.

It was a small pub on a corner, and Katrina waited at the bar. For a Wednesday evening it wasn’t too packed, but it wasn’t empty either and there was no point in trying to find a booth either. She’d at least wait until Molly had arrived and grabbed a drink before they stepped out for their chat, because there was no way in hell they were going to stand at the bar all evening.

“Hi, Katrina!” Molly was bubbly as ever, and it seeped into Katrina’s bones. She couldn’t help but feel warm inside as she stared at the smaller woman, and her smile in response to the perky greeting was genuine and wide.

“Hey, Molly - sorry it’s been so long…” Katrina then hugged the other woman.

“Don’t worry about it - I could have gotten in touch as well but I didn’t… I suppose we’ve got a lot to catch up on, right?”

Molly seemed a lot more confident than Katrina remembered; she was rather taken aback by it watching her order a glass of wine.

“Definitely,” Katrina finally said, grabbing her gin and tonic once Molly had her drink. “Shall we go outside? Enjoy the British summer whilst it lasts…”

Molly was more than happy to do that, and the pair of them headed out the front doors and onto the streets of Holborn, ensuring they stood behind the barriers of the pub so as not to be so much of a nuisance for passers by. They were able to perch their drinks on the window ledge as they spoke.

“It was hard to move on from all of that, wasn’t it?” Molly cut straight to it. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’ve not really been able to - it was insane. Just… insane what we had to do, wasn’t it?”

Katrina balked. She didn’t know if she could tell Molly what she’d really be up to the past two years.

“It was insane. I’m sorry I wasn’t really around so you could talk about it - I should have gotten in touch sooner…”

“It’s fine, Katrina, honestly,” Molly reassured her. “I don’t blame you for it. You moved on. It’s normal. I mean - I moved on too, look!” She presented her left hand, where a beautiful engagement ring sat on her finger.

“Wow, congrats, Molly.”

“Thank you!” She was positively beaming. “I got over my crush on… you know… and found someone who’s worth my time, and I’m worth theirs.”

Oh god, Molly once had a crush on Sherlock? 

Katrina had no clue that the woman had had a thing for Sherlock. Molly was too sweet for Sherlock anyway! How could someone as lovely as Molly ever have a thing for someone like him? It could have been a pot kettle black situation, but Katrina knew she was not as nice as Molly and therefore it made her crush on Sherlock entirely different.

“Good,” was all Katrina said in the end. “You deserve that happiness - that normalcy.”

“What about you?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you dating? Seeing anyone? Something normal after all that?” Molly pressed gently.

Katrina took a very heavy sip of her drink before answering. “No. I don’t really have time for that. My line of work makes it a bit difficult…” It wasn’t a total lie. Granted, yes, some people in her team had other halves, but she was in a rather unique situation where getting over her crush wasn’t so easy. It had taken root in her very bones and was a part of her now. She couldn’t shake it.

“Are you sad about that?”

She frowned. “No, I enjoy being by myself anyway.”

“You don’t look like you do.” Molly was being incredibly perceptive that it was unnerving.

“If I’m sad, it’s nothing to do with my relationship status. Trust me,” Katrina mumbled. Perhaps meeting up with Molly had been a bad idea, but they sort of owed it to each other to do it anyway.

She wasn’t convinced but dropped the topic matter anyway.

So much for not trying to think about Sherlock…

Somehow the conversation turned towards the more mundane: about how they found living and working in London, what they both got up to in their free time, telling each other about their colleagues and friends that they didn’t know. It made Katrina’s heart sing when the topic came to that. It was nice. It was easy. It made the next gin and tonic she had bought worth the trouble of getting through the awkward part of it all at first.

By nine thirty, the two women parted ways and hoped to stay in touch a lot better than before.

There was no guarantee that would happen, however, as was the way.

So, it was still hard to keep occupied outside of work.

Despite the good people she surrounded herself with, she felt lonelier than ever before. It made absolutely no sense to her. Why did it feel like there was a part of her missing? Like she was functioning without one of her vital organs - except she couldn’t pinpoint which one, which was stupid. She wanted the summer to pass by in a dreamy London haze, but her thoughts would often go to the cupboard in the kitchen she’d put a lock and chain on because it contained all her ridiculous tech that gave her the chance to be Jak.

Among other things.

Katrina didn’t want to think about the other things, because she was trying to distract herself from the other things.

She’d ended up giving Mycroft the key to the cupboard. She didn’t trust herself with it, but she trusted him with it.

She could tell Mycroft was keeping an eye on her, but she never brought it up. The idea that he was observing her did unnerve her a little and it meant she didn’t enjoy their weekly teas together as much at the moment - filled with awkward silences and furtive glances - but Katrina could easily figure out why.

She reeked of the loneliness she felt in her bones.

Even Daniel didn’t know how to approach her properly. Katrina was only half functioning when it came to socialising and when she wanted to do work she really threw herself into it to the point the coffee breaks served as extra, quick meetings rather than an actual break. Her words were quiet, thoughtful, but less like her than they usually were. She was far too distracted for real conversation - especially after the slightly awkward drinks with Molly - and she couldn’t quite remember how to make herself look like a normal person again.

Summer was not the dreamy haze that Katrina had wished it to be.

Her favourite person in the world was not available to her and it made things all the more hard. She hadn’t realised until now how much her mood had depended on Sherlock. It probably wasn’t healthy, but Katrina decided that was a problem she needed to work on in the future, whenever it seemed like Sherlock likely wasn’t going to come back sooner than she wanted him to.

Katrina found herself smoking more again. The hit of the cigarette gave her the same rush in her veins that she had whenever she had gone to another country to help Sherlock, as if there was something more in her than what she normally felt and did. She’d get through at least five cigarettes every evening, sitting on the window ledge in the living room of 221b as she overlooked the street below. Through the summer rain, cloud, and sunshine, it became an evening ritual for her as it kept the ghosts away.

Well - ghost. Singular.

“If I was a little crazier, I’d probably start talking to myself and pretending like you’re here,” Katrina said out loud to the empty living room after blowing a puff of smoke towards the street. “I’m not that imaginative though.”

“You are to a degree, but you’d get my interpretation wrong, though,” she imagined a voice that resembled Sherlock’s inside her head telling her.

“I don’t know - I expect it would be fine,” she replied, tossing the end of her cigarette to the street below and lighting up her fourth one for the evening. “I know you quite well, after all.”

“I suppose you do. You’d do a terrible impression of my voice.” The voice was becoming more than just a voice - she now envisioned Sherlock pacing in the living room as he spoke.

“I can agree with that. Impressions were never my strong suit.” She took a drag of the fresh cigarette and blew it towards the imaginary Sherlock.

“How kind of you,” he said, indicating the smoke. “Secondhand smoke: my favourite when I can’t get a nicotine patch.”

“I expect in Serbia you’re short on patches,” she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Enjoy the secondhand smoke over there, but I’ll save some for you when you get back.”

Catching herself at that moment, Katrina shook her head free of that odd train of thought.

She needed something interesting to happen before she went absolutely crazy over missing her best friend, just in case there was the off chance he might actually be dead this time and that was a thought she often had to brush away during her evenings alone whilst she smoked.

One thing was certain: she should not have met up with Molly Hooper. That had opened a whole can of worms in her brain that had been the start of her mental downfall in the summer that should have been good.

Notes:

Thursday update again as it turns out I have a busy Friday tomorrow and this chapter was sitting ready anyway! Apologies these no contact chapters are so short, they're only meant to be small bridges/quick insights to everyone's mental state before The Empty Hearse.

Thanks for all the comments as per usual! Nearly there with the big reunion guys!

Chapter 34: No Contact: Sherlock

How quiet it was to truly be on his own again, and how he despised it so.

Nobody to bounce off of, nobody to keep him in line…

But he had a job to do.

And he had to finish it by himself - as it was always meant to be.

The further into Serbia he went, the harder it was to stay hidden and infiltrate properly

This was one of the times where Sherlock wished he had the skills that Katrina had, or at the very least was able to call her to ask her to do something so that he could slip by unnoticed and carry on with the last connecting cases in peace. Alas, that would have put her in trouble and he wasn’t able to do that, not when she had already done more than she had to for him.

Only because he had asked her to do more than was strictly necessary.

Katrina had wanted to help, because they were friends. Friends did that for each other.

He had certainly learned over the past two years what friendship meant. Even though knew it and had it with John, there was something different in the way he and Katrina were friends. Perhaps it was because they were of opposite genders. Perhaps it was because the circumstances of their friendship made it more unique than he and John. There were countless possibilities as to how he had truly begun to understand what friendship was, and it all lay within the kindness that Katrina had shown him over the past two years.

She had unintentionally taught him about the emotional aspects of friendship that ran deeper than he could have possibly imagined - things that not even John had been able to touch on with him, and Sherlock put that down to the fact that Katrina wore her heart on her sleeve. She showed him the ugly side of it all, and it was all explained to him so very clearly in a way that a friendship with another man could not explain.

And now there he was.

Alone again.

Everything he had learned from Katrina was being sealed up in the back of his mind as he focused on the task at hand. There would be cracks and slips, of course, where he ended up in situations that were too close to call that it would have been useful to have her assistance…

The whole thought cycle would repeat anew.

His brother would reprimand him, that was for certain.

But Sherlock honestly did not care what Mycroft thought of his friendship with Katrina - especially because Mycroft was friends with her too. It would be pot kettle black, and an utterly ridiculous notion for his older brother to even broach in the first place.

Shake it off. He had to shake it off.

Baron Maupertuis was the end goal here, and he had to get in deep within his organisation and his home to be able to enact the proper damage. There were several scenarios in which Sherlock had envisioned for this particular case and how he would get out on completion.

Unfortunately almost all of those scenarios ended up with him in captivity.

Except the way he would get into the complex would be his way back out and he knew he would just have to keep running as far as possible until he no longer could anymore. But he had to do this - he had to do it for John, Mrs Hudson, Katrina, Molly, Mycroft, Lestrade…

He had to try. He had to get back to them.

No matter what it took.

Besides, at the present moment, he needed something to distract himself from the fact that he was getting the shit beaten out of him. It was just two guards and nobody else had been alerted. His broken Russian had been enough to alert them to the fact he wasn’t from around here and was likely up to no good. But they hadn’t told the Baron.

Yet.

Sherlock was more than happy to take the beating for the time being as he thought through what he could do next.

Ah yes. He could headbutt the person who was holding his arms back. Which is exactly what he did. Quick hit to the kneecap of his main aggressor. Make a run for it. Ignore the pain building in the face and chest after taking the beating. Hope to get to the bottom of this nonsense.

Truth be told he needed to know about the full layout of this place, but he had no means of getting blueprints for it, nor access to security cameras unless he could find his way to the CCTV room. He needed his girl to hack her way in, but that would have been too risky and was the reason why he had to cut off contact.

His girl.

No - Katrina wasn’t that. Well, maybe she was. He couldn’t tell. They were ridiculously close and a part of him struggled to comprehend that she wasn’t there. It reminded him of the time two years ago he couldn’t comprehend being without John and so wanted to reveal himself many times. Now it had shifted to Katrina. His Katrina.

No, no, not his Katrina.

But she was…

Sherlock couldn’t be dealing with this internal battle when he was trying to figure out the layout of the obnoxiously large compound.

She had done so much for him, and he would do it all for her too.

Sentiment had not been an expected outcome for this two year long task, nor did he expect to have to quietly grapple with it without the aid of the one person who would understand it most. The sentiment bubbled underneath his logical plan of action because all he wanted was to be able to return home sooner rather than later and see all the friends who were, in fact, dear to him.

Sherlock hated to admit that he was a sentimental being somewhere deep down, but he would not have been the same person without his friends.

And his brother, he supposed.

As much as Mycroft detested sentiment, he understood that Sherlock was prone to it more so. He understood that the attachment he had developed for Katrina was useful to an extent. She helped him in ways that logic could not if only because she was more inherently emotional and knew human nature better than either of the Holmes brothers could dream of.

Whilst it would be his logical, calculated mind that would get him out of the mess he was in for goodness knew how long, it was the sentiment and emotion that would keep his heart beating.

He had to make it back to them all.

Notes:

Thursday update again because Fridays (and weekends) don't exist in my life at the moment. However... I can tell you a few things:

1) Chapter 35 is the prelude to The Empty Hearse
2) Chapters 36-41 is The Empty Hearse arc (and ALL of these chapters have been written!)
3) I have figured out a posting schedule so that this entire fic will be posted by the end of the year!

Up until mid July I will be posting once a week (on a Thursday or Friday depending on what life throws at me), which is when I'll have enough material to start posting TWICE a week. When I start posting twice a week, it'll be on Tuesdays and Fridays. Then at the end of October/start of November, I will be ahead enough of the game to be able to post THREE times a week, on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Wowzas.

In terms of the episode arcs, this is when to expect them:

1) The Sign of Three: Chapters 70-72. This is because elements such as the Bloody Guardsman and the Stag Night will be popping up earlier on in the fic and not presented as flashabcks.
2) His Last Vow: Chapters 78-94. She's a biggie, but it goes into a lot of detail and character work that spans about a 4/5 month time period. I've written out pretty much this entire arc - including what's episode based and implied events in the timeline.

I'm not really touching The Abominable Bride in this fic or the next part, but I've been thinking... do you guys maybe want it as a separate minific to bridge the gap between this and the third story in the main trilogy? I think it might be nice considering the end of this fic will hve heavy implications and it means the start of the third and final one will be... uhh... lowkey traumatic for Sherlock and Kat so we need something nice for them in between. Let me know!

One final thing for this author's note...

I want to say thank you SO MUCH for all the support in what I have been posting for this fic recently. Katrina popped into my mind in 2012 back when I was a teenager, and rewriting hers and Sherlock's story in my adult years has been wonderful. I've seen my diction and writing improve, and it's all informed my other work. I typically post fanfiction for me (because all the art I do is for me, first and foremost), but to have the love from everyone who has left a kudos, comment, or bookmark has truly meant the meant the world to me.

I've been having a rough time in my personal life as of late and whilst it has led me to reconnect with long time friends in a really nice way, I still run home to my stories at the end of every day. Writing has always been my creative and emotional outlet, ever since I was a kid. I feel incredibly honoured to share that with you all. So thank you for all the love (even if this chapter was on the shorter side, ha), and I hope you continute to enjoy Sherlock and Katrina's story!

Okay thanks byeeeee

Chapter 35: The East Wind

Notes:

Lost my job. Twice weekly updates start now so I've adjusted the schedule that was mentioned in the previous chapter: Wednesdays and Sundays up until December, then it's 3 times a week to get this baby out the door by the end of the year.

Everyone in MI5 was in a flurry of panic.

They’d been put on a terror alert.

Not the usual public facing one that indicated to the general population about whether a terrorist threat was imminent, but there had been murmurings that the likes of Katrina and her team had been investigating to find the trail had led back to London. The only issue was they had no idea when it was going to happen or where. Not to mention they could only narrow it down to six suspects.

Katrina - finally cutting back on cigarettes and coming out of her shell again now that she had something interesting in her life - had personally put Moran on the trail of at least two of them. He was already out in the field and it saved extra resources - well, aside from his ‘get out of jail free’ card in the form of a handler that had to be on call should anything go awry.

Early mornings would often turn into late nights, and that ultimately led to shift pattern work so that nobody was coming in over-tired and not on top of their game when there was a fucking terrorist alert for MI5.

It was barely the start of October, but the looming threat had caused the Halloween party to be cancelled; which is what ended up being the big talk of the office for at least three days. That, and the fact they were all having to work weekends a lot of the time too. But the lack of Halloween party was more important.

“I’m just saying…” Flora carried on during a very sneaky coffee break, “if they want us to work well, they need to be sorting out something for our morale! And the Halloween party is just that: a morale booster!”

“Are you sure this isn’t about getting blackout drunk on free booze?” Claire queried with a raised brow.

Flora was stumped for a moment. “I suppose there is that…”

“I thought I had alcohol problems…” Katrina murmured into the rim of her cup, causing Daniel to start chuckling to himself.

“What was that?” Flora asked.

“Nothing. We should probably get back to work…” Katrina replied with a smile and their ragtag group all parted ways from the kitchen.

Coffee breaks were few and far between at the moment, and when they did happen they were for the amount of time it took for someone to make their coffee. No small talk, no lollygagging around - the high alert meant everyone was under scrutiny and that included Katrina. She had never been so tired in her life, and she knew that was partially down to the caffeine crashes in combination with the late nights.

However, what she hadn’t expected on return to her office that afternoon was Mycroft waiting for her inside.

“Oh no, what have I done?” she groaned as she shut the door. He was in her seat and everything which she wasn’t impressed by, but didn’t mention it and sat down opposite him.

“Nothing. I needed to pay you a visit since we’ve not been having the usual Monday chats with everything going on,” he told her with a wry smile. Mycroft then clasped his hands together as he leaned on her desk, a pensive look about him that had Katrina only mildly worried about what he was going to say next.

It was true they had been so wrapped up in doing their actual jobs that the Monday chat had slipped between their fingers. Neither of them minded, though, because it wasn’t done out of dislike but necessity. Granted, Katrina didn’t think she could ever see herself disliking Mycroft even though once upon a time she had despised him for making her work here. Nowadays she saw that as a blessing in disguise and knew that he appreciated her for keeping in touch with his brother.

Not that Mycroft would ever admit that.

He could barely admit they were friends, after all.

“Okay…” Katrina said slowly. “So what is this about?”

“I’ll be away for the rest of the month,” he began. “With Moran being out in the field tracking our suspects for intel more directly - he’s far less noticeable than our usual crew - there’s one other person who would be more… suited to tying up the loose ends, as it were.”

“Right…” She frowned. “Who would you- oh. Oh, I see…”

“There’s no guarantee that he’ll be able to come back - not when I have no idea if he’s finished his work or not. But it’ll take some time. Do you know when the threat is due to follow through?” Mycroft then asked Katrina, who was still trying to process the very idea that Sherlock could be coming home and only because his older brother was going to drag him back.

She knew what was happening here in London was bad, but was it really so bad that Mycroft was pulling Sherlock in to solve the case? Would she get to work with Sherlock closely? And without doing it in secret for once? The questions were endless and her brain was going at one hundred miles an hour. 

“Katrina?” Mycroft prompted, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Um - I can find out by the end of the day. I’ll get in touch with Moran. How - how long do you expect to be gone?” A heat crept up in her cheeks as Mycroft surveyed her intensely, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and cleared her throat, willing herself to calm down and not act so embarrassing in front of her boss about his brother.

Who she just happened to be very close friends with.

Which Mycroft knew, after all.

Still - it was a little embarrassing to be thinking so hard about that right now.

“Don’t get too excited…” he said, standing up and straightening out his suit before heading over to the door. “You two will effectively be working together under my watch should it all go to plan.”

“And I need the key back. It’s better if I can have my Jak phone.”

“Fine. As long as you don’t start to use it for anything else other than work…” Mycroft opened the desk drawer and handed over the key to Katrina.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and didn’t dare look back at him as he left, her face now utterly burning.

Yeah, she really couldn’t get too excited about working with Sherlock this time. They had to do it all by the book unlike every other time… no Jak. No Lock. But Katrina and Sherlock. As it should be, really.

And now she needed to get in touch with Moran to see if he could find out when the terrorist plan was to be enacted. Then actually meet up with him because they couldn’t have anything of the written word leaking and getting into the wrong hands.

It was certainly a good thing that Katrina had spent her summer applying for private members clubs in Soho and in one case, getting in successfully. They’d be able to speak with a little more privacy there, so she sent an email to the man in question.

Time: 3:13pm
Subject: Rat Infestation

Need to chat to you about our rat problem, among other things. I’ll book a table at the Century Club for 4pm. Get there.

Katrina didn’t even leave any time for him to respond, but grabbed her coat and belongings so that she could head out immediately. She went to Mycroft’s office first, not bothering to knock as she informed him of what her plan was.

“Meeting up with Moran. Didn’t want to do it over email or text or whatever. I’ll be back later for anything else!”

“Thank you, Kat…” Mycroft called after her as she let the door close behind her.

She pulled out her phone and called up Century Club, requesting a table for the time that she had told Moran; she was ever so grateful for the fact all she had to do was also mention Mycroft’s name alongside her request and it was as if every table possible had been freed up.

It didn’t take her too long to get to the heart of central London at all, and she was at Century Club by three fifty-five. It allowed her to get settled into the table in the corner away from everyone else before Moran showed up at four on the dot.

“This is nice,” he remarked as he joined Katrina. “Good to see you. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

She shot him a wry smile. “Only nine months. Could have had a baby in that time.”

“And did you?”

“Piss off, I’m the last person that should be a parent. How’s it been working back home for MI5?” Katrina swiftly got the topic back on hand.

“Tiresome,” Moran said. “You lot know how to put a man to work. Which is a good thing, but god… I’ve been led to places in London I wouldn’t normally go.”

“So does that mean you’ve found out about the rats’ plan?” Katrina lowered her voice and leaned forward. He nodded, mirroring her stance.

“Early November. We’ve got a month left. I don’t know what the plan is, but we need to fucking crack on,” he murmured. “They’re using the tube a lot. But that doesn’t seem weird considering most people in London do that…”

“Keep an eye on it anyway, especially if they stray from their usual routine. That’s always the catch with that one. The minute any of them do something out of the norm - we have to be on top of it. Okay?”

He snorted. “Look at you, telling me how to do my job. It’s a bit funny - I’ve been in this game longer than you.”

Her face went passive, and she leaned back with her arms folded. “Have you now?”

“Yeah.”

“I think my late teen years and twenties were filled with a lot of stuff that would make your toes curl. It’s one thing to be an assassin for Moriarty but it’s another to witness and enable the worst of humanity for a bit of cash,” she put it as plainly as she could, and the smug look dropped from Moran’s face. “I think we’re even at the very least.”

Moran was shocked for a beat. “Cold.”

“I learned from the best in that regard,” she said smoothly, just as a waiter came over. “Martini, please. I need something strong even though we’re working, you?” She directed that last part at Moran.

“Fuck it, I’ll have the same as her.” He shrugged. “Might as well. I’ve not had anything on them today.”

“You’ll have help soon enough - Big Brother’s heading to Eastern Europe… he’s… acquiring an asset, shall we say?” Katrina hated speaking in code, but out in public she had to. It was better than the potential of an email leaking to the wrong person. Besides, she knew that Moran was keeping a watchful eye and sharp ear on everything going on around them.

“Your favourite asset?” Moran prompted. “I was wondering why you were so perky today. It’s nice - seeing you go back to normal a bit.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I suppose you could say that. I don’t know how long that’ll take, but I expect that the November deadline will hurry things along. I’m heading back to the office after this anyway, didn’t really get a lunch break earlier so I’m using this meeting as that.”

“Liquid lunch?”

“Liquid lunch,” Katrina repeated with a dreamy sigh.

Moran laughed, and it was a good thing that martinis were easy enough to make because they were shortly presented with the ice chilled glasses and crisp drink inside. The pair did a quick cheers and took the first refreshing sip, with Katrina once again letting out a contented sigh.

“Oh, that’s miles better.”

“It’s certainly something,” Moran winced. “I think I preferred the aquavit.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me. Stockholm was an interesting time, that was for certain…”

“Oh yeah? Aside from the obvious, anything else happen?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not wanting to fall for the bait.

At least she knew it was bait, especially with the way he was looking at her expectantly.

“Even if anything did happen…” Katrina said carefully. “It’s not your business either way.”

“Fair enough. I know when to stop pushing your buttons. You can be a bit scary, you know,” Moran said with an odd look in his eye. “It’s not a bad thing by the way. It’s good. Use it well, and use it sparingly. And if you can use it on the brothers: even better.”

“That’s quite possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she remarked. “Now… we’re going to drink these, talk about something boring like the autumn weather, and then I’m going to pay the bill so we can part ways as if we were rushed on time for a catch up. We’ll have barely been here for forty five minutes. Anything else you find out, you need to message Jak.” Her gaze was so pointed that Moran understood exactly what she meant. “Whilst Jak is not around to help at this time, it’s the best way to keep me updated on what you’re doing. I’ll run it by Big Brother when I see him. He’ll be very busy in a couple of days, so… we have a bit of time.”

Moran nodded, drinking more of his martini. “I bloody hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“The weather. But maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?” Katrina was intrigued.

“Yeah. The east wind is on its way over.”

Notes:

He's back next chapter. And oh boy does it get good from there!

Chapter 36: The Empty Hearse: Sherlock's Return

With how busy she was, the month flew by.

Naturally, Katrina had been the first one in her department to notice that Mycroft was back in the office. She’d been keeping an eye out for it. It had been lax for the past week - despite the stress of the looming terrorist threat that nobody could quite get to the bottom of, the lack of Mycroft around meant people were staying late but not late late. People were arriving on time to the office but not early. Lunch breaks were taken as normal, not skipped.

Then a few people skipped lunch. Murmurings went on about how they were going to have to do shift work again or stay in till midnight and be in at seven thirty in the morning. Katrina decided to subtly investigate the rumblings of Mycroft’s return by means of taking a slow walk down the halls and towards the reception as if going to grab a coffee from somewhere; it was easy enough to play off considering she did actually really fancy going to get a coffee anyway.

So it was on her return from the nearby Pret on the Saturday that everyone had stayed to work that she had full on confirmation that Mycroft was back because she spotted Anthea with a garment bag heading through reception at the same time as her. Katrina quirked an eyebrow and caught up with the woman at the elevators.

“Anthea! How’ve you been?” she asked. It was a genuine enough question but she hoped that the other woman would be able to read between the lines.

“I’ve been well, thank you. I assume you’re aware that Mr Holmes is back?”

“Yeah, people are shitting bricks about the fact we’re gonna have to up our game again…”

Anthea smirked. “I wasn’t talking about Mycroft.”

The elevator was perfectly timed for Anthea to get out, leaving Katrina gobsmacked as she went back to her department.

Her heart was hammering in chest as she walked down the halls with a spring in her step and she could have burst with excitement.

Of course it wasn’t just Mycroft that was back.

Sherlock was back too.

Katrina practically skipped past her office to the main floor, where Daniel, Claire, Flora, and Benji were surprised to see her looking so happy, all things considered.

“Oh my god, she’s smiling. She’s smiling for the first time in weeks,” Claire remarked. “What’s going on? Don’t say you’re happy because Mycroft’s back - we’re gonna be in overtime and then some-”

“Shall we hop into a meeting room?” Katrina cut across her. “I’ve got gossip.”

“Fuck me…”

The four of them hastily followed Katrina into a nearby meeting room and closed the doors and pulled the blinds down. She didn’t want anyone else listening in or seeing any reactions. It might have been overkill but she didn’t care.

None of them sat down in the chairs at the board table. They all either hovered or perched on the edge of the table whilst Katrina paced a little whilst talking.

“Here’s the thing… yes… Mycroft is back,” she started off, “and I ran into Anthea on the way back from my Pret run-”

“Thanks for inviting me, by the way,” Daniel said with an eye roll.

Katrina flipped him the bird quickly but they both chuckled. “Yeah the Pret run was meant to be fake - I mainly wanted to figure out if the rumours of Mycroft being back were true, and I ended up running into Anthea on my way back. I needed the coffee. Anyway… she implied that Mycroft wasn’t on his own. Sherlock Holmes is back in town. And you all know what that means…”

“You’re finally going to shag him?” Flora piped up.

“What the - no! No, Sherlock and I are just friends. No, it means I have to do a statement as Jak. I have to confess to what I did when Sherlock ended up faking his death. The Richard Brook stuff, the break ins - all of that,” Katrina carried on explaining.

“Ah. The massive elephant in the room when you started working here,” Benji commented. “Got it. Fuck. Also - great that Sherlock’s back, I guess?”

“Yes, I can feel the depression leaving my body already…” Katrina remarked dryly.

There was a knock on the door, and they all froze. They only relaxed when Anthea popped her head in, beckoning for Katrina to follow her.

“Well. Guess I’ll… catch you guys later…” she said, leaving her takeaway coffee on the table and hurrying off after Anthea.

They didn’t say a single word on their way to Mycroft’s office.

Katrina was then handed Sherlock’s old Belstaff coat, and Anthea gestured for her to take it in. She was utterly gobsmacked by the idea of it. Her heart rate was going into overdrive. She was actually going to see Sherlock again after five months of thinking he was probably dead in Serbia, and she was going to be handing him his posh coat like she hadn’t been thinking that.

Almost as if on autopilot, she walked right into Mycroft’s office.

“What do you think of this shirt?” Sherlock asked as he tucked a white shirt into black trousers, surveying himself in the mirror that had been propped up against the wall. He barely noticed Katrina coming in; Mycroft, on the other hand, did.

“Certainly emphasises that fact you’ve bulked up a little since I last saw you,” was what she said in response to his question, her head tilted to the side ever so slightly. She kicked the door closed behind her, and Sherlock turned to her with wide eyes.

God.

There he was.

His curls had been cut back to the length she knew they should always have been. He looked a little tired around the eyes, but his baby blues were practically sparkling with excitement at the prospect of a new case; at the prospect of being back in London after all this time. He moved stiffly when he turned to her, and Katrina could only assume he’d been roughed up badly during his time in Siberia. He reached for his usual blazer on the nearby hanger and pulled it on, wincing as he did so.

“And beaten up too. You were busy then,” Katrina added, feeling rather awkward holding his coat.

“I would have taken less of a beating if Mycroft had only stepped in sooner,” he replied, reaching for the coat. Katrina shook her head and ended up helping him put it on. She smoothed out the crinkles at the back of it and he was back to his full glory. Sherlock glanced behind him at her. “Hello.”

“Hello,” she repeated, a small smile coming to her face. She had to keep herself contained in fear of looking absolutely ridiculous. This was definitely one of the better days in her life she had recently.

“How’s work been?”

“Oh, you know… someone died recently trying to get the information about the terrorist network. I’ve had the cybersecurity on full alert, scouring for leaks and anything important… the usual, really,” she replied with a wink, an action that she surprised herself with.

It was like there had been no time apart at all.

Mycroft cleared his throat and her cheeks went pink. She’d forgotten he was in there for a moment.

The pair of them turned their attention to him.

“Perhaps this reunion could take place elsewhere?” he then suggested. “Katrina, you have work to be getting back to.”

“I could use her assistance,” Sherlock said, a sly look on his face. “Besides, she’s a far friendlier face than I when it comes to John Watson. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, I assume?”

“Of course.”

“And where can I find him this evening, my dear brother?”

“He has a dinner reservation at the Landmark on Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion... though I prefer the 2001,” Mycroft smiled wryly.

“What’s the most high-end place you’ve been for dinner or drinks, Kat?” Sherlock asked her.

She made a face. “The Savoy. Drinks with Holly Peters. Why?”

“Perhaps you could swing a reservation where John will be dining this evening,” he said. “We can drop by.”

“You can drop by, but sure…” she murmured, not entirely sure she liked the idea of going to surprise John considering how she had all but abandoned him - not out of choice, though - for the past two years.

“Katrina will be leaving work early today, Mycroft, and I’ll be taking your debit card,” Sherlock said, holding his hand out.

For a moment Katrina didn’t think that Mycroft would possibly agree to that, but then was surprised when he did actually hand over the debit card and waved the pair of them off.

Neither of them really knew what to say to each other once alone together. Sherlock dutifully followed Katrina as she went back to her office to gather up her things for the day and sign out. She scribbled a note and stuck it on the outside of her door for Daniel and the others to read:

Doing some field work with Sherlock Holmes. Don’t ask. Kat x

Sherlock merely raised his eyebrows and she shrugged as they headed off towards the lift.

Once inside, the silence that fell between them became a little awkward, as if there was something on the tips of both of their tongues that they really wanted to say, but nobody wanted to actually say it first.

Katrina was the one that caved to break the silence.

“Five months… Thought you might have been dead at one stage, actually.”

“Well… I’m not.” It was funny how they had been so at ease with each other in front of Mycroft, but addressing the fact they hadn’t spoken in five months felt too uncomfortable to bear.

“Missed you,” she murmured, finally saying what they both wanted to say to the other.

Sherlock let out a little amused huff. “Likewise.”

The elevator dinged and they walked through the reception of MI5 after the doors opened, ignoring the stares they received from the few people that were in the vicinity; ignoring the whispers of Sherlock’s name passing between their lips.

“You know John’s going to be pissed off with the both of us, right?” Katrina said as they exit the building. “I shouldn’t go with you. You need to go on your own-”

“No, you’re prolonging the inevitable if you don’t come tonight.”

Katrina rolled her eyes as Sherlock stuck out his arm and hailed down a taxi. They both got in and carried on the conversation after he told the driver to take them to Oxford Street.

“Oxford Street?” Katrina repeated with a frown.

“Do you own a nice dress?”

She made a face. “No, I’ve not worn a dress since I graduated university.”

Sherlock patted the pocket on his coat where the debit card resided. “Then we’re getting you a dress on behalf of Mycroft.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake…” she murmured. “You’re ridiculous. And I’m not going.”

“You are going because you’ve not seen John in two years either. Don’t procrastinate over seeing him again,” Sherlock side eyed her.

“It’s not like I left things on great terms with him! It was upsetting for both of us!” she protested. “He’s probably going to be more pissed off with me than you.”

“Don’t be so-”

“If you end that sentence with the word ‘stupid’ I will bail from this cab whilst it’s going at full speed,” she cut across him coolly, folding her arms. When Sherlock decided that not finishing his sentence was the best course of action, Katrina carried on talking. “He’ll realise that I had to stop talking to him because I knew you were alive - he already knew that Mycroft employed me, by the way - and he’ll be mad because you both got me in on the secret. He’ll be even more angry when he finds out about what I did for Moriarty. You still think it’s a good idea for me to come along?”

“Yes, perhaps we can hash it all out together,” Sherlock replied without missing a beat.

Katrina sighed. “Urgh, you menace.”

“Ah! Then you’re insufferable today.” He turned to her and flashed her a quick grin that she couldn’t help returning.

Five months of no contact but two years of on and off adventures, but Katrina felt it in her heart that none of it had been the same as Sherlock being fully present in London. Every thought and feeling she had about Sherlock immediately began to bubble up in her chest and her cheeks went pink; it hadn’t even been a year since their experiment in Stockholm, but that was right at the forefront of her mind now.

She quickly looked away and out the window at the view of London.

“What?” he asked her with a frown.

“Say the words, Lock…” she teased.

“What words?”

“The ones I said to you in the elevator at work,” she elaborated.

“Why?” He seemed appalled at the very idea.

“Come on, Lock…” Katrina glanced over at him, her blue eyes big and round. “I know you want to…”

He sighed with mock drama. “I have missed you, Kat,” he then said. “Especially these last few months when I…” Sherlock shook his head, not wanting to think about it. “It wasn’t good, let’s just say that.”

Katrina’s eyes welled up. “You were beaten within an inch of your life, going by the way you’re moving around. That’s worse than just ‘not good.’”

“Stop it,” he told her with a warning tone.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been together not even half an hour and you’re on the brink of tears! I don’t mind, but at least save it for when I actually tell you what happened in Serbia. It’ll be more appropriate.”

Katrina let out a light laugh then took a deep breath as a means to clear the tears away. Sherlock had a point. She couldn’t get emotional over theorising what happened to him in Serbia - that would just be silly.

“I suppose you’re right. Anyway… what do you need from me this evening?”

“We’ll go over the finer details once we’re home, but if you’re swinging us a reservation at the Landmark, make sure it’s close enough to John’s table.”

“Yes sir,” Katrina said, giving him a little salute. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. “Dunno. You’re being all demanding. The word ‘please’ does exist.”

“You love it, really. You missed it. You missed me , after all,” he smirked at her.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Lock. We need to figure out the rent soon.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that and the short remainder of their cab journey passed by in a quick silence. Katrina was surprised that he had cash on him and didn’t make her foot the bill as they pulled up just outside the Langham London before dragging her down Cavendish Place instead of heading back to Oxford Street directly due to the fact it was much quieter and easier to walk down.

Ultimately they ended up going into House of Fraser and to the seemingly never ending women’s department. Sherlock dragged Katrina through rack after rack of dresses, trying to show her things that she might like.

“What do you know about fashion anyway?” she grumbled, shaking her head as he pulled out a floor length black dress that had no shape to it at all. “I hate shopping.”

Sherlock sighed and put the dress back. “My coat is Belstaff, and my suits were made at Spencer Hart. Initially at my brother’s behest but I’ve learned what works for me over the years. Not to mention the need for disguises to go undercover every now and then, so… I had to store some information about fashion. What do you want to wear? It’s your dress after all.”

“Uh… I guess something to match my eyes…” Katrina then had to hurry after Sherlock as he made a beeline for another aisle. “Sherlock! I have a suit at home - why do I need a dress? What’s the actual game plan?”

“Ah. So. We may need to pretend to be on a date.”

She blinked at him. “How the fuck is that gonna help our case with John?”

“Well, he won’t know it’s me on the date, will he? You approach him first and just say… you’re on a date with someone from work. Considering you weren’t meant to have friends outside of work, and I technically count,” he paused, waiting for her response. “Because we have worked together.”

“Yes, I understood that!” she snapped at him. Her mind was racing at one hundred miles an hour and Stockholm was on her mind again. As if it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to go on a fake date with Sherlock, right? Yeah, that wouldn’t bring up any feelings for him at all…

“Stop it.”

“Huh?”

“Overthinking it!”

Katrina waved him off and started to wander down another aisle, busying herself looking through the racks of dresses. “I’m not overthinking it… I’m…”

“Yes?”

“Thinking about Stockholm,” was all she said, side eyeing him for a brief moment before pulling out a navy blue dress. Whilst it didn’t match her eyes, it was nice, but Katrina really wasn’t a fan of floor length numbers. When Sherlock hadn’t said anything for a good thirty seconds, she gave him her attention again to see that he looked as if his brain had shorted out.

He took a few steps closer to her - in fact he was so close that his chest was touching her back - and lowered his voice the next time he spoke so that only she could hear him.

“And… what is it you’re thinking about in regards to Stockholm?”

Katrina felt a deep blush creep up her neck. What the hell was he playing at? He was doing this on purpose! He was trying to make a point about them going on a fake date, wasn’t he? She spied something that looked like she’d actually wear it, grabbed it from the rack and spun round to press it into Sherlock’s hands.

“Your fingers deep inside me,” she retorted with a shiteating grin before walking off. “I want that dress!” Katrina then called over her shoulder as she left Sherlock standing there gobsmacked.

Two could play at his game.

“Work mates going out for a posh meal then?” he replied, now following after her towards the tills.

“That’s better,” she agreed. “Or, we can say it like it is: two best mates going out for dinner in order to surprise the third best mate after two years of no contact?”

Sherlock chuckled as they approached one of the free tills, placing the dress down for the cashier to scan it through.

“Perhaps the most accurate description of it all. But you’re still going to need a cover story when you go over to John anyway.” The item then got scanned and Sherlock nearly balked at the cost before popping his card into the reader and typing in the pin. Katrina tried not to laugh at the fact he knew his brother’s pin code, but soon enough they were back on the streets of London, avoiding Oxford Street like the plague.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Hmm. Had some before I left work. Probably shouldn’t have anymore caffeine…” she sighed. “I expect you’ll just buy me some anyway.”

“Precisely. We have a long night ahead of us and I need you fully awake! Shall we head to Devonshire Street? Presuming the good cafes are still open and also haven’t been overrun by tourists…”

Katrina rolled her eyes, adjusting her bags on her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll have some coffee. And no - Marylebone is still safe from being overrun by tourists. Soho might not be in the next couple of years, but we’ll have to make do, I’m afraid…”

Sherlock made a face and scoffed. “I highly doubt Soho will be overrun by tourists… it’s hardly so upmarket…”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been gone for just over two years, I think I know London better than you now…” she told him rather smugly.

“Please… you couldn’t even agree to Devonshire Street as a place to find a cafe for some good coffee. You don’t know London as well as I do.”

“I know the bars and pubs better than you,” Katrina pointed out.

They were on Wellbeck Street, passing by all the private GPs and entering a much quieter part of central London. Sherlock was leading the way as if he hadn’t even left the city for two years, and Katrina was certain that she had never been down any of these streets before.

“Soho’s fun, at least,” she then carried on. “Good food, good drink, good company. Well - at least I used to have good company up that way… not anymore… but the guys I’ve got at work now are good. We go for drinks every Friday at one of the pubs round the corner from the building. Didn’t we meet for the first time around here?”

“All Soul’s Place,” Sherlock murmured.

“Sorry?”

“It was All Soul’s Place. Down near the BBC building, opposite from the Langham,” he said rather quickly, not looking her way at all.

Katrina was struggling to compute what he was saying. “You… you remember the little alleyway we met in?”

He shrugged. “I remember a lot of things about you, Kat. Other people too. Mainly you - as you’ve been a constant for the past two years…” He cleared his throat rather awkwardly, and she couldn’t help but grin at him in response. He rolled his eyes and picked up the pace.

Soon enough they were in some quaint coffee shop on Devonshire Street where Katrina ended up paying for the two takeaway coffees, then back to Baker Street it was. Sherlock was a man on a mission by the time they had their beverages in hand - which Katrina was glad for - and they were outside 221b (and Speedy’s) in record time.

“Home again,” Sherlock mused as he stared at the building from across the road.

“Do you want to see Mrs Hudson?” Katrina asked him.

“Not quite yet. I… have a few house calls to make before we set off for the evening.” Sherlock checked the time on his watch. “Four thirty. Yes… I can go pay Lestrade and Molly a visit. You’ll sort out a table booking for us?”

Katrina sighed. “Yes, Lock, I’ll sort out how we’re going to get you to scare the shit out of John this evening. Anyway - if you’re planning on seeing Lestrade and Molly briefly, why come all the way with me?”

“Besides the obvious of wanting to see at least the outside of my flat again, I… thought it was only right that I saw you home first.”

“Someone’s sentimental…” Katrina teased him.

“Stop that. There’s only one sentimental person in this friendship, and it’s you. I’ll be back by six thirty. Don’t say anything to Mrs Hudson.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. The restaurant isn’t far from here - if John’s heading for dinner it’ll be around seven thirty, maybe eight - so I’ll work my computer hacking magic to get us something at that time too,” she then said. “That means you’ll be able to freshen up a bit once you get back. I know - I know you got a whole new do at MI5, but I mean… you might want to put some aftershave on.”

“Right… well… I’ll see you shortly,” Sherlock said, his eyes darting from side to side for a moment before he stalked off back the way they came to go and hail down a taxi.

Katrina stared after him for a moment, watching as he got into said taxi without so much as looking back at her. A smile still ghosted her lips as she finally made her way across the road and let herself into her home. She hurried up to the top of the flat to her room with a renewed sense of excitement for the evening ahead despite all her worries regarding John.

She couldn’t quite believe Sherlock had splashed out on a dress using his brother’s money, all for the sake of trying to add a sense of realism to their dinner outing. It wasn’t a date by any means at all - Katrina knew that - but the idea of spending some quality time with her best friend was enough to make her happy all over again.

Sherlock was actually back, and he wasn’t going to be leaving again anytime soon.

Notes:

HE'S BAAAACKKK!! Finally. The next set of chapters are probably some of my faves so far. Hope you all like how I slot Katrina in. :)

Chapter 37: The Empty Hearse: Telling John

Katrina really didn’t do dresses, unless the circumstances were well and truly dire. Especially formal dresses, at that.

Regrettably, this was a well and truly dire circumstance. More so than when she borrowed one of Irene’s dresses in Shanghai.

Either way - she couldn’t help but think she looked good, admiring herself in her full length mirror. The dress she’d chosen ended up being navy blue, halterneck, and it plunged a good deal too. It was figure-hugging up top with a slightly flared skirt that stopped just below her knees - out of her comfort zone, but for once she actually liked it.

Classy, and just a tiny bit slutty, she thought, realising that that was an apt way to describe her time at university.

Katrina had also managed to do something presentable with her hair, managing to tame the usual unruly locks into neat curls, some of which were pinned back from her face. She didn’t do much with makeup, just some concealer, mascara, and pinkish lipstick, then she was done. She popped on a pair of nude heels, grabbed the black coat she barely wore from her cupboard, a small bag to pop her phone, keys and purse in, and made her way down to the living room.

Sherlock had made his way back into the flat during the time she was getting ready. She knew this because there had been an incredibly loud scream from 221A, and she knew that he had gone to surprise Mrs Hudson. She’d sighed deeply, wondering what on earth he’d done to make her scream like that.

He’d done himself up a little bit - the scent of aftershave wafted over to Katrina from where he sat in his armchair like he’d never left.

“Ta da,” Katrina said dryly, giving him a small twirl.

He didn’t say anything at first, merely giving her a once over before tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Have you done something different to your hair?” was all he said.

“Oh for goodness’ sake…” Katrina yanked his coat off the hook and tossed it over to him. “I heard Mrs Hudson. How were Greg and Molly?”

Sherlock groaned and stood up, donning his coat as he did so. “She was far too dramatic. Molly was fine - if not a little surprised - but who’s Greg?”

“Lestrade,” Katrina sighed as she popped her coat on.

“Oh. He hugged me.” Sherlock wandered over to grab his scarf.

“Right. How was that for you?”

The pair of them started to head down the stairs now that they were wrapped up for the evening autumn weather.

“Fine… not something I’ll be doing again any time soon.”

Katrina snorted. “I don’t know. You might be hugging John this evening.”

“I meant with Lestrade…” Sherlock sighed.

She stepped out onto the street and waited as he locked up the front door before they set off towards Marylebone Road, Katrina’s heels clicking and clopping quite loudly on the pavement much to both of their irritation.

“This is why I don’t wear heels…” she said.

“Hmm. Well - you do scrub up well, I have to say.”

“I’d say the same for you but the most you did was put on aftershave.”

“I changed my shirt!”

“Did you?”

“It’s one of my navy shirts,” Sherlock said quite proudly. “Rare that I wear it.”

She furrowed her brow. “Navy?”

“Yes, why - oh. No, I didn’t wear it to match you-”

“Oh, but you so did…”

“Colour cohesion will be better for us in the long run this evening, especially if we’re talking to John,” Sherlock insisted rather haughtily. He didn’t like the implication of sentiment behind his choosing of shirt for the evening.

“Or he might actually think we’re on a date, put the dots together about what I knew for the past two years and then we’re really in the shitter,” Katrina pointed out. “I still think me coming along is a bad idea, but I expect you want some form of support in the case it does go wrong.”

“Overthinking it.”

“Shut up…” Katrina grumbled, and they carried on their walk to the Landmark in silence. Just as they got to the front door of the hotel and restaurant, Sherlock stopped her from going in by gently taking hold of her upper arm.

“The seating arrangements?” he prompted.

“We’re three tables away from John and in his direct eyeline. I should be the one he sees, not you. So… don’t be too obvious when you walk in. He’s here on a date, going by the fact he also booked a table for two,” she explained.

“I’d be more impressed with the fact you hacked the booking system if it weren’t for the fact that’s grunt work for you.” Sherlock let go of her arm and she started to make her way in.

The Landmark restaurant appeared far more upmarket than the Savoy to Katrina, even though she knew it wasn’t. As they waited behind a group of people in the process of having their coats taken off of them, the pair of them took a moment to survey the restaurant.

They could see John from where they were standing in the queue, currently the only person at his table but it looked like there were two glasses of wine. He wasn’t waiting for his date to arrive, clearly, only waiting for them to come back.

“Oh dear god,” Sherlock said, “he’s grown a moustache.”

“If that doesn’t scream mental breakdown, then I don’t know what- hello!” Katrina switched up her tune when it was their turn to be attended to. “Table for Jaqueline Trina Lockhart.” She smiled sweetly at the host and pulled Sherlock a little closer to her, slipping her arm around his waist. “For two.”

Whilst the host checked for the booking, Sherlock returned her gesture and then hissed in her ear: “You have a fake name?”

“It’s more than that,” she whispered back, “I have a whole set of documents taped under my bed if I ever need to make a quick getaway. And whilst you don’t exactly have a false identity, the fact that people can’t legally look you up is incredibly funny, William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

He squeezed her waist in annoyance but neither of them dropped their overly fake smiles. “I can’t believe you know my full name.”

“It was on your file-”

“Could I take your coats?” The host then asked, holding out two tags for them to take. “Your table is ready, along with a bottle of champagne as requested for your celebration this evening.”

“Oh - thank you so much,” Katrina told him as she took the tags and popped them in her bag before handing over her coat.

“May I ask what you’re celebrating?”

“We’ve been together for a year,” she lied with ease, turning to Sherlock and batting her eyelashes at him whilst he handed over his coat with a taut jaw. “We first got together during a holiday in Shanghai. Wasn’t that quite the getaway, darling?”

“Indeed it was…” he said, adding on as much charm as he possibly could. The host merely smiled at them and handed a set of menus over to a waiter who then began to lead them to their table.

Sherlock tried to look as unassuming as possible, keeping his head ducked down and slipping his hand into Katrina’s as she took the lead. She gave his fingers a cursory squeeze as if to reassure him, and thankfully neither of them were noticed by John once seated.

The menus and wine list were set in front of them, when a second waiter came over with two champagne flutes and a bottle, immediately pouring them their drinks.

Once they were left be, the pair of them raised their glasses.

“What shall we toast to?” Katrina asked, her smitten girlfriend act dropped.

“Your rather insane knack for lying?” Sherlock suggested.

“You can thank Richard Brook and the whole MI5 thing for that one,” she pointed out. “Bit boring. How about toasting to things being back to normal?”

“Also boring. Perhaps a toast to a two year job well done?”

She laughed and clinked his glass. “Cheers to a two year job well done, then.”

They both drank, both of them pleasantly surprised by the taste of the alcohol.

“But really, that was rather good down at the front there. Pretending to be on a date for the benefit of the wait staff? I didn’t think you’d want to even do that. ”

Katrina shrugged, leaning back in her chair and idly surveying John a few tables over. “We’re in matching colours, I’ve got my tits out, may as well go with the assumption we’re on a date — even when I was fiddling with the bookings I had a feeling they’d assume.”

“You were right to. The staff attending us seemed rather pleased to hear we’re celebrating our one year together, supposedly,” Sherlock agreed. “People enjoy the prospect of strangers in love far too much to be normal.”

“Agreed,” said Katrina, still spying on John. “Speaking of… I think he might have a ring! There’s a little velvet box on the table and— oh no.”

Sherlock frowned. “What is it?”

He was about to turn around when Katrina kicked him in the shin so he didn’t.

“Ow!”

“The girlfriend — we spoke some months back.”

“What?”

“Tube delay. We were stuck in a tunnel for about thirty minutes. I don’t know why but I got way too antsy so she struck up a conversation…” Katrina sighed. “She’s lovely. You know - maybe we should go.”

“Kat…”

“You are so annoying…” she huffed, having more of her champagne. “Do we have to go and talk to them? He’s probably about to propose!”

“Do you remember what John’s like? He’ll take forever to even get to the point. We may as well go and interrupt him now. No - actually - you interrupt him now. Call me over when the time is right.”

Katrina’s eyes could have bugged out of her head. “Excuse me?”

“He’ll be less irritating if you go first-”

“I haven’t seen him for two years either!”

“Yeah but you’ve not been pretending to be dead for two years.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and poured more of the bubbly into both of their glasses. “Dutch courage, come on girl.”

Katrina gritted her teeth and made a noise of frustration at him. “Insufferable menace.”

“Brilliant. Now get to it.”

She necked the champagne, stood up, grumbled something under her breath about Sherlock being the biggest cunt alive and carefully made her way over to John’s table. When within about two feet of the table did he do a double take, unsure of how to react.

“Oh… my god…” he murmured quietly. “Katrina.”

“Hi,” Katrina said awkwardly. “This is pathetic of me, isn’t it?”

“What? No - no, of course not…” John got to his feet to go and give her a rather tight squeeze of a hug.

By this point, his girlfriend turned to face her and her jaw dropped. “It’s you!”

John let go of Katrina. “You know her?”

“We got stuck on a delayed tube a few months back…” Katrina confessed.

“Yeah. You were not a happy bunny. Funny old world, isn’t it? You’re Katrina?” she said, beaming.

“Oh god. He told you about me?”

“Of course I bloody did. You had fucked off to MI5 and weren’t allowed to get in touch for two years!” John chuckled. The fact he wasn’t angry after all this time with her had Katrina entirely baffled. “Really quite a whirlwind situation we were in, right?”

The guilt was starting to eat away at Katrina and she glanced over her shoulder back towards Sherlock, who had dutifully not turned around to watch. “Yeah…” she said, her mind a million miles away. “Just a bit.” She then turned her attention to the girlfriend. “I’m so sorry - I never got your name?”

“I’m Mary. Best thing that’s ever happened to him, by the way,” the blonde woman was a breath of fresh air again, that was for sure.

“So - so what brings you here tonight?” John then asked.

“Work dinner,” Katrina replied. Not a total lie. “Sort of. It’s a friend from work and we were just… sort of…”

A knowing look came to John’s face. “You on a date?”

“No.”

“Yeah right. Can I meet him?”

“It’s not a date, but sure,” she sighed, but still forcing a smile to her lips. “Let me… bring him over… you may wanna sit back down.”

She didn’t wait for John to do as she said before she hurried back to her table.

“It’s go time. You cannot hold me responsible for what he does. I cannot hold him responsible for what he does. Mary, on the other hand - that’s the girlfriend soon to be fiancee by the way - will probably be enthralled by what happens. Come on.” Katrina pulled Sherlock up out of his seat by his arm and led the way. The extra couple of inches on her heels meant that his face was concealed by her head, thankfully.

John and Mary were looking at her rather expectantly. “So…” the doctor prompted.

“I did say I wasn’t on a date… and that it was a work dinner,” she said bluntly before stepping aside to present Sherlock.

John’s face fell.

It felt like time had stopped.

“You… you’re meant to be…”

“Short version: not dead,” was Sherlock’s response.

“Biggest cunt alive, I said it earlier…” Katrina murmured to herself more than anything, drifting back over to her table and grabbing the bottle of champagne from its bucket so she could drink from it directly. The time for being classy was over. The act had to drop. She wandered back to witness the train wreck in motion.

“Potentially a terrible idea coming here with Kat, all things considered…” Sherlock said with an awkward smile. “However, on my arrival back in London it seemed like the best idea to soften the blow.”

“Oh no…” Mary said, realising who Sherlock actually was.

“Oh yes.”

John was stony faced, his gaze becoming absolutely murderous.

“My god.”

“Not quite.”

“I should have kept the drinking problem,” Katrina was talking to herself. “I should have stayed in the shitty little IT department on Great Portland Street and then I wouldn’t be here…”

“You jumped off a roof and died!” Mary exclaimed.

“He really didn’t though, did he?” Katrina addressed the three of them. Sherlock gave her an odd look, glancing between her face and the champagne bottle, becoming even more weirded out when she offered it to him. “Come on! The staff probably won’t think we’re on a one year anniversary date after whatever the hell happens here - drink the free champagne!”

Sherlock couldn’t argue with that logic, taking the bottle and having a swig for himself.

“Two years!” John then said, his voice dangerously low as he slammed the table with his fist. “I spent two years thinking you were dead, Sherlock - you let me grieve! And Katrina - oh my god - I barely even knew you but I would have thought you wouldn’t be swanning over here casual as anything like you…” The realisation dawned on him. “Like… you… knew…”

She threw her hands up in the air as if to say I give up. “Granted - not actually my idea - and I hated every damn second of it!” Katrina huffed, taking a breath before speaking more calmly. “Maybe… maybe so we don’t cause a massive… whatever - we should talk about this sensibly. How does that sound?”

The silence was deafening. Awkward. Katrina wished she’d just kept talking to herself.

“Kat…” Sherlock said softly.

“Kat!” John repeated incredulously. “Funny that! The pair of you are acting like an old married couple as it is.”

“We did get married in Shanghai last year - annulled very quickly, of course - but that would be the main contributing factor to the dynamic, yes,” Sherlock replied without missing a beat. He was aiming for a funny anecdote with that one, but it didn’t work.

John was absolutely seething.

“Why did she get to know? Hmm? Why did Katrina get to know?” He was fuming. Katrina and Mary looked at each other quite worried.

“That was not my doing, nor hers. Now… there is merit in Kat’s-”

“Kat!” John wasn’t over that, it seemed.

“Yes… there’s merit in Kat’s idea of talking sensibly, so… before anybody does anything they’ll regret, I do have one question,” Sherlock carried on.

John gestured for him to keep talking.

“Are you really going to keep that?” Sherlock couldn’t help himself as he pointed out John’s moustache with a chuckle.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Thankfully, Sherlock realised quickly enough and thrust the champagne bottle back into Katrina’s hands as John launched himself at the detective, knocking him to the ground. Mary stood up in shock and went to go help but Katrina stopped her from doing so.

“No, no…” she said, watching as the rest of the restaurant viewed the tussle in shock and the waiters jumped into action. “Let it happen.” She had a sip from the bottle before handing it over to the other woman, who gladly had some. “Sorry for interrupting your engagement.”

“He’d only gotten the box out on the table and was struggling through half a sentence before you showed up,” Mary replied. “You barely interrupted.”

“Yeah, well, sorry anyway… especially about him,” she indicated Sherlock, who had managed to roll out from under John and be helped up by a waiter. Two more were holding the doctor back.

“Seriously, did you actually get married in Shanghai?”

“We were drunk,” Katrina said with a shrug, grabbing the bottle from Mary and swigging it again. It was nearly empty so she finished it off, making a face as she did so. “Long story. But we’re not married anymore.”

“And you’re not dating either?”

“Oh god no!” Katrina insisted. “If anything we’ve just… trauma bonded over the past couple of years.”

Before their conversation could continue any further, the host approached them both to escort them out with Sherlock and John. Mary quickly grabbed the tiny engagement ring box and the four of them were led to the front of the restaurant. Nobody spoke a single word to each other as coats and scarves were put on before they were fully kicked out of the Landmark.

“Now what?” Mary was the one to break the silence. “Do we want to talk about this like grown ups?”

Sherlock and John didn’t say anything, but it gave Katrina a chance to survey the detective, who had most certainly taken a few punches to the face. She glanced at John who was clean as a whistle, and her heart softened at the fact that Sherlock clearly couldn’t bring himself to fight back.

“Look…” she said quietly. “Baker Street’s around the corner. Let’s go back there. It’ll save us pissing off anyone else.

“Fine,” John said curtly. “Lead the way.”

Katrina started marching back up Marylebone Road, with Sherlock falling into step beside her. As she pulled her coat tighter around herself, he offered out the crook of his elbow to which she gladly accepted; the extra bit of warmth from Sherlock was always welcome. Except-

“Bloody hell!” John cried out from a few paces behind them. They came to a stop and turned, still with their arms linked together. “Yeah - yeah I can tell you two were clearly fucking around for the last two years on some jolly-”

“Okay, you know what?” Katrina broke away from Sherlock and marched back towards John. “I would have rather it was you, John, that knew Sherlock was alive!” She got incredibly close to his face that she was practically spitting on him. Her heart was hammering in her chest as her voice dropped to something lower, something angrier.

Sherlock tried to pull her back from John.

“Don’t - don’t fucking touch me!” she hissed at Sherlock, who backed off a few paces in surrender. She turned back to John. “I didn’t want to know Sherlock was alive, but do you know why I do? Mycroft! Moriarty! Because guess who did all that crap with Richard Brook? Who had to fake it all because she knows how to do anything with computers?”

“Don’t cover for him,” John replied with an eye roll.

Katrina bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. “Why would I cover for him? I don’t need to! But why do you - why do you think I spent those two months avoiding you both? Because it was me! It was all… ME!” 

“Jak…” Sherlock said quietly. “You don’t need to…”

“Shut it, Lock,” Katrina murmured, her bottom lip trembling as the angry tears spilled down her cheeks. Whilst she was staring at the ground, she could feel them all looking at her. “Moriarty made me do it. And Mycroft knew. Sherlock knew. So I had to - I had to be in on it. Molly Hooper was in on it too, because they needed a body from the morgue.”

“Don’t forget the homeless network…” Sherlock murmured.

“I thought I told you to shut it?” Katrina snapped at him.

John and Mary were utterly baffled by the confession.

“I didn’t want this… I didn’t want any of this…” she murmured, staring at the ground. “I would have rather stayed at Great Portland Street. Not knowing that Sherlock was really alive - just so I can be in the same boat as you, John. But it wasn’t meant to be like that. And now he’s my best friend. Which I’m grateful for.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, still not looking at any of them.

All that could be heard were the sounds of traffic passing them by.

“How much did he pay you?” John asked all of a sudden.

Katrina’s watery gaze snapped up to meet his irate one. “What?”

“John, come on…” Mary tried her best, sensing it was a sensitive question but to no avail.

“How much did Moriarty pay you?” he asked again with a firmness to his voice. “Because god I wouldn’t have put you down as someone who’d betray Sherlock like that. Is that why you ended up such good friends with him? Because you felt so guilty about all of it, you wanted to make up for it even though you knew it would be impossible to shag him-”

Katrina tried to launch herself at John, but Sherlock was too quick and had anticipated it. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet so he could turn, placing himself between her and John. Once set back on her own two feet, she kept trying to fight past him.

“Don’t,” he told her. “Don’t bother.”

“This was your idea,” she replied, pushing him away and taking a few steps back. “You should have come on your own!”

“He would have reacted the same!”

“That doesn’t matter! This wasn’t the time for me to tell him all of this!” she shouted back at him.

“Hey - hey!” Mary came running between the two of them. “Stop it. The pair of you.”

Before they could even get into a fully fledged argument, they turned their attention to the other woman. Somewhere further up the road, John was now trying to angrily hail down a taxi. “Let him cool off. He’ll come around. But don’t let him get the both of you angry at each other.”

“How is he even lucky enough to have you?” Katrina replied. “Sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.”

“Oh, I know,” Mary smirked. “Funny old world, isn’t it?”

Sherlock hummed in response, seemingly much calmer than before. Katrina fell silent and watched as he clearly deduced Mary, intrigued but satisfied by the outcome all the same.

“Thanks, Mary,” Katrina said, just before John called her over to head home.

Leaving her and Sherlock alone to watch the taxi drive off.

The detective closed the gap between them cautiously, even more careful in placing a comforting hand on Katrina’s shoulder; she did not shy away from him.

“Sorry for… sorry for yelling at you,” she whispered.

“Perhaps… perhaps I should have listened to you.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” she murmured. “He’s pissed with both of us.”

Sherlock sighed. “It matters because you’re upset and you’re my friend. I should have listened.”

“Sentimental,” she whispered, her eyes still teary as she sniffed. “Can we go home?”

He nodded, and he dropped his hand from her shoulder before leading the way back towards Baker Street. 

Katrina followed along a couple of paces behind him, her hands in her pockets and shivering against the wind. She noticed how he had his elbow positioned in a way that suggested he was open to her taking it again, but she didn’t want to. She was a little mad at him for not being all that helpful when John was going in on her, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. It could wait until they were in the warmth of 221b.

Barely ten minutes later they were back at the flat and Sherlock allowed Katrina inside first, closing the door behind them both. Almost immediately she had kicked her heels off and was carrying them up the stairs, tossing them into a corner of the living room as she took off her coat and hung up her small bag before collapsing down onto the sofa. She’d flicked on the lamp in that time too.

Sherlock had followed her up much more slowly and was less haphazard in how he took off his coat and scarf, and in how he removed his shoes and put them away. He settled down happily in his old armchair again, surveying Katrina for a few minutes in silence.

“Don’t be weird,” was all she said. “You don’t need to even try and deduce things out of me. You should know that by now.”

“I wasn’t doing that, I was… looking. Nothing more, nothing less,” he said quietly.

She snorted and rolled leaned up on her side so she could look at him directly. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Sherlock was exasperated. “I did wrong by you today. I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have made you come with me. I should have gone on my own. Let you talk it out with John another time.”

Katrina was taken aback by the fact he was owning up to his mistake. “Okay… well… you were pretty useless when John was taking out his anger on me…”

He sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. “I’m all too aware. However, you’re a big girl - you handled it well.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be a big girl. Maybe I wanted the prick who started this whole thing two years ago to take ownership of the reason why I had to be in on it,” she murmured.

“Technically speaking, the prick in question blew his own brains out on the roof of St Bart’s-” Sherlock cut himself off abruptly when Katrina shot him a dirty look, and he realised what she was getting at. “But that’s besides the point - in fact, it seems I missed it entirely…” He cleared his throat. “It was unfair. Yes. You shouldn’t have had to be in on it, but it was better for you in the long run.”

“These last five months were fucking awful, Lock,” she confessed. “Granted, not as bad as you would have had it, but… bad for me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I see. How so?”

“I was like how I was when you first had to leave after everything happened. When I was still getting over the fact Moriarty had made me do all of that…” Katrina sat up straight. This was not a conversation to have whilst lounging around. “I started smoking a lot.”

“Yes, you’re terrible at cleaning up - there’s ash by the windowsill,” Sherlock pointed out. When she threw him another pissed off look he shook himself back to reality. “Right. You are not someone who I ever want to do wrong by. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

Katrina was silent.

“There’s also the fact you did also drug me that one time-”

“And I’ve not had the opportunity to do it since, nor do I intend to drug you again in the grand scheme of things,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. “You did look… nice this evening.”

“You did too, even if it was only a shirt change to match me,” she said with a wink. “It’s a shame it didn’t go better. Fancy a nightcap? There’s a bottle of whisky under the sink as per usual.”

“Near enough a whole bottle of champagne and you still want more?”

“I did say I should have stuck with the drinking problem.”

Sherlock hummed in what could have been a mixture of agreement and amusement. Either way, he went to get two glasses from the kitchen and the aforementioned bottle of whisky. On his return to the living room, Katrina had made her way to settle into the red armchair opposite him whilst he poured out a couple of thumbs of the beverage and handed her one of the glasses.

They sat in companionable silence as they drank for a moment.

“What’s your plan?” she then asked, crossing one leg demurely over the other.

“I solve the case of the underground terrorist network as usual. I’ll try to persuade John to help. Can I persuade you?”

“I can’t really get the time off work if you need me to actively be with you on this one - then again, it’s still technically field work if I stick with you. I do think I’ll be more useful to you behind my desk. I can get my team on whatever surveillance you need,” Katrina offered instead.

“That would be useful. You have your rats, and I have mine,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as far as he possibly could. His long body stretched out far enough that his feet were almost touching Katrina’s.

“My lot aren’t rats. Don’t be rude. I need to introduce you to Daniel at least.”

He frowned. “Daniel? Is that the one who usually covers for you?”

“Yep.”

“He seems… friendly, going by what you’ve told me.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Katrina paused. “Just so you’re aware, he knows everything. ”

“Everything?” That had Sherlock taking pause.

“Everything,” she repeated.

“Meaning…?”

“The morphine incident in Stockholm? Yes, he knows about that.”

“Right. Why does he know that?”

She couldn’t help it - her face flushed with some embarrassment. “He’s my friend. He covers for me and I tell him what happens so he understands. He won’t say anything to anyone - in fact, he just sort of teases me about it… no judgement normally, so you’re fine. Sorry - friends talk about those kinds of things. I should have warned you.”

Sherlock waved it off. “It’s understandable. You felt lonely, after all. You’re someone who needs friends and I wasn’t exactly here.”

“Well…” Katrina stood from the chair and necked back the whisky, leaving the glass on the coffee table. “I think I’ll be a little less lonely now that you’re back.” Feeling bold, she stepped over to him and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Sherlock. It’s good to have you back.”

As she sauntered off towards the stairs up to her bedroom, Sherlock called after her:

“It’s good to be back. Good night. Get some sleep, girl.”

Katrina smiled to herself as she headed up the stairs. She definitely needed the sleep if she was going to be working her seventh day in a row tomorrow.

Notes:

Katrina and Mary are going to become fast besties btw. Katrina and John on the other hand... ehhh. They have issues to work out. Hope you guys liked this. :)

Chapter 38: The Empty Hearse: Back To It

“I’ve got some coffee ready. Also some toast - I know you’re on a case but we didn’t eat last night and mostly drank champagne. I’m feeling it a bit. You?” Katrina rattled off to Sherlock the moment he exit his bedroom showered and fully dressed and made his first appearance in the kitchen that morning. She wasn’t rushing about but she was keeping a weather eye on the time.

It was around seven fifteen in the morning, and the pair of them had to get to work. Katrina obviously accounting for her tube travel to MI5, and Sherlock merely to hole up in the living room for however long until a client appeared. She set a plate down on the table in the kitchen, pulling up in the chair opposite. He eyed her oddly for a moment before sitting down, pulling the plate of buttered toast and the cup of hot coffee towards him.

“You still like it black with two sugars right? Being in Serbia didn’t ruin that for you?” Katrina had no food in front of her but was nursing a coffee too - only hers was with a dash of milk and one sugar. She had a habit of grabbing something on the way into work when she actually felt hungry enough.

“That is a fact that will never change,” Sherlock said just before he took a sip of the beverage. “Ah. Instant coffee. How I have missed its bitterness.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to get a fucking cafetiere now after all the Europan coffee you’ve had?”

“Someone’s feisty this morning.”

“Someone’s a bit hungover and pissed off at how last night went down,” she confessed. “This is where you apologise.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Didn’t I apologise last night?”

She sighed. “No, Lock, you said you should have listened to me. That’s not an apology.”

“And what am I apologising for?”

Several months of not talking to her had definitely had an impact on his ability to understand emotions, that was for certain. “I’m not answering that. I need you to work that one out for yourself. You’re clever enough for me to not spoon feed you.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m… sorry for putting you in a situation you did not need to be in or were ready for…” Sherlock looked at her for confirmation.

“Thank you. Apology accepted.”

His shoulders sagged as he relaxed, and Katrina had to hold back a smirk at the fact he had been that worried about trying to apologise to her for the previous night.

“Do you think you’ll be able to resolve things with John?” she then asked.

“He needs some time to adjust, I’d expect,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “And you?”

“Loaded question. He’s not going to forgive me as easily as he’ll forgive you, you know,” Katrina pointed out. “After all, to him I’m the one who aided Moriarty in your downfall. And John’s your best friend-”

“You’re also my best friend-”

“Not the point,” she said, exasperated. “You’ve been through more crap together before I came along. He’ll understand why you did what you did, but he won’t understand why I did what I did.”

“I forget that regular humans are much more emotionally complex than I care to understand,” Sherlock said. “I suppose some of that boils down to the fact I’ve not had you around for five months to explain things to me.”

“I hardly explained things to you,” Katrina necked back the rest of her coffee and stood up. “I think you just observed me enough to pick up on something for once. Text me if you need anything, by the way. Or… text Jak. I got to unlock my phone from the cupboard, so it’s on hand.”

“You locked the Jak phone away?” Sherlock questioned with a raised eyebrow, watching as Katrina went to go pack her bag and put on her winter layers for her journey to work.

She stopped in her tracks for a moment, turning on her heel as she shoved her arms into her navy coat and poking her head towards the kitchen again. “I said it had been rough the past few months. I had to curb my temptation somehow. Mycroft had the key until I absolutely needed it. Moran gets in touch with me on there - oh! Maybe you should meet up with him? I can set you guys a meeting point. You can exchange intel. The people he’s tracking can become yours and I can move him onto slightly more… interesting things for him.”

“Right. Do you… talk to Moran a lot?” he asked, turning his attention back to the coffee and toast on the table in front of him. He took a small bite of the breakfast, being oddly awkward about the question.

Katrina’s eyes narrowed in slight confusion. “Uh, only for work. Why?”

He shrugged. “We’re friends. Just asking out of… friendliness.”

“O… kay…” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m not interested in Moran if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You get on very well with each other, I wouldn’t have been shocked if you were.”

“Is this you telling me to get some?” Katrina had a slight smile on her face, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If so, that’s really funny. Dating apps bored me and Moran is… very much not around that often. Also a coworker. I can’t be shagging coworkers. Not my style anymore.”

“Typical. Boring,” Sherlock waved her off with a smirk. “Have a good day at work. Set up that meeting for later on today with Moran. I have clients to see to…”

“Bye Sherlock…” And she finally left for work, thinking about the fact that that had been an odd conversation to have. The poor sod hadn’t exactly been socialising for the past five months and for the better part of two years in general, so she couldn’t really blame him for taking the most awkward interest in her love life through the veil of their friendship.

Either way, on arrival at work she called Moran from her Jak phone, picked a time for him to meet up with Sherlock later in the day along with a location, and proceeded to message Sherlock those details too. He had his old phone and number back, so popped that contact number into her Jak phone before messaging him about it all.

Neither of the men had issues with her organising them, which made it all the more easy. It was the only part of her working day that she didn’t actually mind - the rest of it could go to hell. Sherlock was back and on the move, so why on earth were they still putting in all the hours? Well, obviously they had to because it was their jobs considering they were the protectors of Great Britain, effectively, but when they had the best man on the case… it felt a little bit like overkill. There wasn’t much any of them could do other than surveillance and keeping tabs on the five people that Moran (and now Sherlock) were tailing.

By five o’clock, Sherlock got in touch with her on her regular phone.

“I thought I said to send any updates to my other phone?” she was exasperated and she rubbed her dry eyes as she finally looked away from her computer screen. “This is silly.”

“Oh, I can tell you the updates in person. They’re inconsequential. I wanted to know if you fancied some Chinese this evening.”

Sherlock’s behaviour today was baffling her more and more. She took a moment to sit with the shock that he was offering to buy dinner before responding. “Sorry, you’re buying dinner this evening?”

“There’s nothing edible in, you’re working late, and I believe it’s customary for friends to at least owe each other after doing something that the other doesn’t want to do,” Sherlock paused. “I’m referring to last night with John, by the way.”

Katrina pinched the bridge of her nose. Five months without contact with a normal human being had certainly rendered Sherlock more like his old pre-faking-his-death self. “Yes, I gathered that. I don’t really know what time I’ll be home yet…”

“Text me when you leave and I’ll sort it. One of the Chinese takeaway owners just off the Marylebone Road owes me a favour, so it’ll be with us by the time you get home.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have to…” she sighed. He was being rather sweet about the whole ordeal, come to think of it.

“I want to. Text me, alright?”

“Alright. And then I want a catch up of your day when I’m in. Get some wine, I’m out of red. One of the off-licenses will be open…”

“Yep…”

He hung up after that.

Katrina had no clue how to feel with the knowledge that he was actively trying to make up for the fact he had been a bit of an arse the night before, making her come to see John with him. She wasn’t even aware Sherlock was capable of being a friend that would do apologies in that regard, and wondered if he would extend a similar sort of olive branch to John when the timing was right. Then again, she and John were very different people.

John was the sort to forgive Sherlock for the past two years very easily, but as she had already stated to the detective he wouldn’t give her the same courtesy because the lie was far worse in his eyes. Hardly her fault that Jim Moriarty had wanted to involve her… and it was hardly her fault that Mycroft had her do what he thought was best and she went along with it.

Maybe she didn’t need to have gone along with it, but it had been better in the long run even at the cost of her burgeoning friendship with John.

Katrina sighed and leaned back in her chair, once again rubbing her dry eyes and telling herself that it would all work out just fine in the end. It had to. If it didn’t, then all of them were absolutely screwed because there was no way in hell she was going to constantly go and solve crimes with Sherlock in John’s place. No, she had a salaried job that she was happy with, thank you very much.

Even if said salaried job was being pretty fucking annoying at the moment.

And it had roped Sherlock into it.

She groaned and checked the clock. Not even five fifteen. She wanted to get out of here as soon as she possibly could. Considering she’d worked the weekend anyway and was to have Monday and Tuesday off (but would be helping Sherlock), Katrina figured that sneaking off at the usual time of six o’clock would be fine if she was effectively doing unpaid overtime for the next two days.

Besides, nobody really came to check on her at the end of the day anyway.

So when six o’clock rolled around, Katrina slipped out of work unnoticed and headed towards the tube station.

I’m on my way. I imagine I’ll be working on this with you on my days off, so no need for me to stay late. -Kat

She popped her earbuds in and her music on as loud as she could handle, briskly walking towards Vauxhall tube station.

The London Underground was typically less packed on a Sunday which Katrina was glad for, and it meant she could breathe easier until having to switch to the Bakerloo Line at Oxford Circus. It didn’t matter the time of day or what day of the week it was, that place was hell.

At least she was at her front door within half an hour.

On heading up the stairs to 221b, the aroma of Chinese food got ever stronger and Katrina found herself consciously withholding her saliva as her stomach rumbled. It had been a long day, and the idea of eating junk food made her have a spring in her step the last few metres into the living room, where she took off her coat and scarf, kicked off her shoes and hung up her bag so that she could hurry to the kitchen and get something decent to eat.

“Truth be told, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she chirped at Sherlock as he got the takeaway containers out of the bag. “How was your day?”

“I went to speak to John…” he murmured, going to grab two wine glasses and start pouring from the bottle that had been sitting on the counter top.

Katrina immediately started piling up food on her plate, giving herself a little extra of the chow mein. “I take it that went terribly?”

“He told me to fuck off,” Sherlock said as he handed her a very full glass of wine.

“Oh…” Katrina frowned. “I mean… he’s still got to adjust, right?”

“Precisely. However, with your being at work his assistance would be most useful.” Sherlock took a slightly smaller portion of food than Katrina; it was a rare thing for him to eat on a case, but this was two friends having dinner together so she suspected that was why he was indulging. They sat down opposite each other at the table in the kitchen. “At least settling back in here has been easy enough,” he added, making a vague gesture towards the flat. “Did you wear my burgundy robe more than once?”

Katrina’s face immediately flushed pink. “Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, it… it smells like your skincare products…” he said very carefully, casting her an odd look.

“Oh!” She picked at her food for a moment. “I can get it dry cleaned-”

“It’s fine-”

“No, I shouldn’t have worn it… and when I did I should have… cleaned it…” she sighed, going for a hefty gulp of wine. In the absence of Sherlock over the past five months, Katrina had ended up taking to wearing the burgundy robe at least once a week. She never touched the blue one as it was far too sacred in her eyes and simply Sherlock through and through.

Besides, if the burgundy one smelt of her, she wouldn’t have wanted the blue one to suffer the same fate.

“I suppose I understand the extent of you missing me…” Sherlock carried on as if it were nothing. “You were wearing clothes under it, I assume?”

Her fork clattered to the plate as she dropped it in surprise at the question. “Lock!”

“It’s an innocent enough question.”

“Not really, not when - not when Stockholm happened,” she said quietly, her gaze towards him pointed. “But yes. Yes, I wore clothes when I wore your robe. I was usually in my pyjamas, I’ll have you know. Now stop asking me weird questions and tell me what you did with your day aside from John telling you to fuck off.”

“The meeting with Moran was fine,” Sherlock started. “I have my intel…” He glanced towards the living room and Katrina got up to go and investigate. He’d certainly gone all out with pictures, maps, printed articles, bios, and notes pinned to the wall behind the sofa.

“I see why people say you’re a psychopath,” she chuckled as she went to sit back down to carry on eating her dinner. “Anything of interest yet?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he always did. “But any of them can make one wrong move and that’s when I’ll know. I expect we have a matter of days before one of them does that. Then we’ll have our answer and the case will be solved. No terrorist attack on London this winter, and Mycroft will threaten me with a knighthood again.”

“Oh, how I missed your arrogance.”

“And how I missed your sarcastic quips. It makes cases much more fun. Shame you work full time.”

“Isn’t it just?” Katrina shot him a wry smile. “But I’m here to help if you need. Anything else of note from today?”

“Had a few clients. Nothing too interesting. One of them was obsessed with trains…”

Katrina could tell that Sherlock was inwardly shuddering at that prospect and held back a smirk as she carried on with her dinner. “Yeah, well, everyone’s got one weird obsession, right?”

“I suppose so. You love computers after all.” He was sly with it, but there was a semblance of a smirk on Sherlock’s lips.

They fell into a comfortable silence that Katrina had not experienced for some time. On her own, the flat had felt cold with the quiet inside it as if the place itself knew that she was lonely and felt the same but with no way of telling her. Now that Sherlock was back, there was a warmth that bounced off the walls that seemed to originate from the red threads hidden amongst the blue and the purple in his purple shirt. The silence was cosy. They were companions in it once more.

Red wine usually tasted bitter after a few sips, but the pair of them kept drinking it as if it were as sweet as a crisp rosé, and between the two of them they finished the whole bottle with ease and moved onto the whisky again when they retired to the armchairs in the living room. Sherlock got the fire going.

“Half and half on rent and bills?” Katrina prompted that usually difficult conversation.

“Let me foot the bill on rent for a few months. Mycroft will be paying me handsomely should we get this terrorist network case solved in the next few days,” he paused for a moment.

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Half and half on bills then. I expect from this morning you’ve memorised what my routine is before work?” It was rather depressing she’d had to work on a Sunday, but needs must when the country was on high alert.

“Precisely. I’ll make coffee so you don’t have to from now on.”

“Oh, that means at least an extra ten minutes in bed for me then.”

“Fine by me, you’ll be out the door between seven thirty and seven forty five regardless. You’ve perfected it all. Have the extra ten minutes,” he assured her.

“Great. Now we have that covered: you can’t play violin after eleven on a weekday. I like my sleep,” she told him with an edge to her voice. “Friday and Saturday nights I won’t care because I can at least get a lie in the morning after.”

“Noted. But what if it’s an emergency?”

“There is no such thing as a violin emergency, Lock.”

After a brief pause, the pair of them burst out laughing.

Living together was clearly going to be a breeze.

They just needed to get through this case first.

Notes:

You do not understand the stress I had when I had happily sorted this arc and then realised... I needed to look up the days of the week for October/November 2013 to make the last chapter work for it being on 5th November. I think I mentioned this in the first fic of this trilogy, but the BBC Sherlock timeline was inconsistent in the show versus John's blog with the dates and sometimes the year... and then they tried to date it in The Abominable Bride/series 4 lol.

Anyway so in order to get the timeline to work, Katrina has had to work seven days in a row lmao. Which explains why she was going into work on a Sunday. it was the only reasonable explanation I had. Why did I have to be that fic writer who looked up calendars and dates etc why could I not just operate on vibes alone?

Hope you all enjoyed!

Chapter 39: The Empty Hearse: MI5 Is (Probably) Thick

If there was one thing Katrina hadn’t been expecting on the Monday morning, it was Mycroft stopping by for a house visit to see his brother. She also couldn’t believe that she had gotten up after Sherlock and now had to deal with whatever ratty conversation he was having with Mycroft before she’d even had a coffee.

“I can’t even get peace in my own home on what’s meant to be a day off…” she remarked towards Mycroft as she dragged her feet into the living room. The pair of them were in the armchairs and she stopped in front of the little table with her arms folded and her eyebrows raised. “You know, I think this is one of those times I can finally tell that you two are brothers.”

Sherlock frowned as he glanced at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“The fact you are sitting there playing Operation whilst clearly discussing more important matters…” She pointed at the game on the table, which was when Mycroft hushed her. “Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to concentrate, Katrina, and your grumbling is not helpful…” he murmured as he carefully dug around and pulled out one of the plastic organs without setting off the buzzer.

She sighed. “I’m making a coffee and neither of you are getting one.”

The pair of them merely ignored her.

“As for the terrorist organisation: as Katrina already mentioned the other day, someone died trying to get that information to us,” Mycroft said, clearly carrying on the previous conversation before Katrina had walked in the room.

She enjoyed eavesdropping whilst making her coffee and grabbing a bowl of cereal.

“Well, he was obviously just trying to show off,” Sherlock replied.

“None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?” Mycroft asked.

“They were Moran’s markers at first, you know…” Katrina called out across the kitchen as she finished up making her breakfast. “We did a handover yesterday.”

“Precisely. Moran is more useful elsewhere now. Besides, I’ll find the answer. It’ll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad,” Sherlock explained to Mycroft, going to pull out one of the pieces. “Your move.”

“I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case,” the older Holmes said.

“I am on the case. We’re both on the case. Look at us right now.”

A loud buzz emanated from the game and Mycroft dropped the tweezers.

“Oh, bugger!” he exclaimed.

“Oops!” Sherlock retorted in a childlike manner. 

Katrina had meandered over to the sofa at this point, her coffee on the table in front of her and she was wolfing down her bowl of cereal. “You are children, ” she said with her mouth full.

“At least swallow before you try to reprimand us.”

She rolled her eyes, but did as he said. “You are children. You are both older than me, and yet you are children. Who the fuck plays Operation at nine in the morning?”

Neither of them responded to her as they began to tidy up the game, with Sherlock picking up the piece that Mycroft had lost out on. “Can’t handle a broken heart – how very telling,” he said, tossing it down and crossing his legs as he leaned back in his chair.

“Don’t be smart,” Mycroft huffed.

“That takes me back: ‘Don’t be smart, Sherlock. I’m the smart one,’” he mimicked.

“I am the smart one,” Mycroft replied in a low voice.

Katrina could only watch as they bounced back and forth in their inane banter. Anything was better than scrolling on twitter in the morning, she supposed, so watched gleefully whilst eating the last of her cereal.

“I used to think I was an idiot,” Sherlock remarked.

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on until we met other children.”

“Oh, yes. That was a mistake.”

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?”

Sherlock glanced over at Katrina briefly, who had now finished her breakfast. “Probably something about trying to make friends.”

“Oh yes. Friends.” Mycroft also looked over at Katrina. She wasn’t entirely impressed that she was being dragged into their sort of argument. “It seems as if we both go in for that sort of thing now. Katrina’s not as slow as the rest of the goldfish.”

“Katrina is right here and you are staring at her,” she said, getting up and going over to the pair of them. “And I’m hardly a goldfish. You would not be able to stand me if I was any form of slow.”

Sherlock smirked, steepling his fingers together under his chin as he surveyed his brother. “I’m so glad that my two years of absence led to you having a friend, Mycroft.”

Mycroft shuddered and stood up, causing Katrina to take a step back as she looked up at him.

“Oh, he doesn’t like admitting in front of other people we’re friends…” Katrina pouted at Mycroft with a mocking look on her face to go with it. “Is it embarrassing you have to admit to your little brother that you’re friends with his best friend?”

“Hardly embarrassing,” Mycroft scoffed as he walked over to the fireplace.

Sherlock snorted. “And yet you avoid the topic like the plague.”

“Maybe we should change the subject. He’ll go red if we’re not careful,” Katrina took up the spot in the red armchair that Mycroft had vacated.

“Ah, Kat, you forget: Mycroft doesn’t have a heart. He’s unable to blush. But we digress… Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.” Sherlock quickly swerved back to the important topic on hand.

A knock on the door followed up by a “yoo hoo!” signalled the entrance of Mrs Hudson, baring a tea tray which she set down on the main coffee table.

“Speaking of which…” the older Holmes muttered, causing Katrina to smirk.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him - sitting in his chair again!” Mrs Hudson then exclaimed happily. ”Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr Holmes?” she directed the question towards Mycroft.

“I can barely contain myself…” he told her with a polite smile.

“Oh, he really can…” Katrina murmured. “Mrs Hudson, would you mind passing me my coffee?”

“Picking up bad habits from him already, young lady…” she chastised, but still handed Katrina the beverage before turning her attention back to the men. “Anyway. He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that!” She made a face.

“Sorry - which of us?” Mycroft clarified.

“Both of you,” Mrs Hudson declared with a grin as she exit the room.

There was a beat of silence as the three of them looked between each other. Katrina took a sip of her coffee, not wanting to be the one to break the silence. She wanted to enjoy what would ultimately be the most normal conversation between the Holmes brothers she would ever witness.

“Let’s play something different,” Sherlock then said.

“Why are we playing games?” Mycroft sighed with exasperation.

“You should see the whiteboard,” Katrina nodded behind her to the small whiteboard with the tally chart on it. “I’m tempted to add another for Lock, considering what happened two nights ago with John. But I don’t think that’s good enough a situation to warrant a favour.”

“You still play a game of favours with my brother?”

“Of course! It’s how we pass the time. Besides, it’s how we met.”

“And eventually became friends,” Sherlock added. “Speaking of passing the time: London’s terror alert has been raised to critical-”

“Since when?” Katrina spluttered as she was midway through a gulp of her coffee.

“Since this morning when you were having a lie in,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. 

“I want to pass the time until my rats emerge,” Sherlock carried on. “Let’s do deductions.”

He rose from his armchair and went to grab a woollen bobble hat with earflaps; each earflap had a woollen pom pom dangling from it. It was quite the ugly looking thing, Katrina thought, but someone clearly loved it.

“Client left this after dropping by yesterday. What do you reckon?” He tossed it towards Mycroft, who deftly caught it.

“I’m busy.”

“Oh, go on. It’s been an age.”

Mycroft took a cursory sniff of the hair which had Katrina frowning. “I always win.”

“Which is why you can’t resist,” the younger Holmes smirked.

“I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…” Mycroft reeled off quick as anything, only stopping himself when Sherlock’s smirk turned into a more genuine smile. “Damn.”

“Oh, that’s good, Lock,” Katrina commented.

Mycroft glanced between her and his brother, with the latter giving an approving nod. “Your turn.”

He then proceeded to throw the hat towards Katrina, who scrabbled to catch it with one free hand. “I don’t do deductions,” she said.

“Which makes it more interesting,” Sherlock pointed out. “Your mind functions differently to mine and Mycroft’s. Put down the coffee and tell me what you observe, Jak.”

With a heavy sigh, Katrina set her coffee down by her feet and turned the hat over in her palms, plucking out a few short stray hairs in the process. She, too, sniffed it and could see what Mycroft meant about the appalling halitosis. “So he chews on the pom poms, that’s how you figured out he was anxious? From the bad breath?” she clarified. 

“You think the owner of the hat is a man?” Sherlock noted.

“Well, I just pulled some hairs out of the inside of it,” she said, doing the same again as she looked more closely at the inside of the hat again which held a slightly yellowish tint around the rim. “I know some women have short hair, but those are the sweat stains of a man. Women take more care in the appearance of things like this and their scalps. Glycolic acid. Best friend if you sweat. A man who’s not into basic skincare won’t know that, but a woman who knows basic skincare does.”

With a shrug, she threw the hat to Sherlock. Both he and Mycroft were impressed by her show of knowledge for the minute details.

“And the sweat stains show he’s out of condition, and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four-”

“Five times,” Sherlock cut across his brother. “Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five’s excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive.”

“Five would suggest comfort. Not obsessive compulsive. He chews on it, and also left it behind,” Katrina pointed out.

“The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad – in Peru,” Mycroft said on the repairs of the hat.

“Peru?” Sherlock questioned.

“This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.”

“Fucking hell, man, this is like the worst tennis match I’ve ever watched,” Katrina mumbled as she grabbed her coffee. The pair of them ignored her.

“You said he was anxious,” Sherlock carried on.

“As Katrina pointed out, the bobbles are chewed which is why the stench of bad breath has been left behind. Except it’s only the bobble on the left that has been badly chewed, which shows he’s a man of a nervous disposition but-”

“-But also a creature of habit because he hasn’t chewed the bobble on the right.”

“Precisely.”

Sherlock finally sniffed the hat and grimaced. “You and Kat certainly have good noses - brilliant.”

“Elementary,” Mycroft said with an eye roll, now beginning to make his way towards the door.

“But you’ve missed his isolation.”

Mycroft stopped in his tracks. “I don’t see it.”

“Plain as day.”

“Where?”

“There for all to see.”

“Tell me.”

As Katrina watched her morning tennis match, she started to wince. She had an idea of what point Sherlock was heading towards but didn’t want to say anything.

“Plain as the nose on your-”

“Tell me.” Mycroft was really beginning to show the older brother side of himself now.

“Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn’t in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?”

“Not at all. Maybe he just doesn’t mind being different. He doesn’t necessarily have to be isolated.”

“Exactly.”

As Sherlock observed the hat in his hands again, Katrina spoke up again.

“I think we should stop before somebody gets upset…”

The pair of them turned to her, confused.

“Sorry, who’ll get upset?” Mycroft asked. “Didn’t we just establish the fact I don’t have a heart?”

Katrina shot him a small, apologetic smile. “Yeah, but, to put it more sensitively: that doesn’t stop you or him from feeling the effects of loneliness. Even when you do have friends. Or just the one. Didn’t stop me, did it?”

“I’m not lonely, Kat,” Mycroft replied gently.

“And you finally called her ‘Kat’ in front of me… You may not be lonely but there’s your goldfish,” Sherlock said.

“Hey!” Katrina was not happy about the idea of being referred to as a ‘goldfish.’

“It’s a term he understands, I don’t actually mean it.”

“Pair of you: back to work if you don’t mind. I’ll be checking in with you later,” Mycroft said, directing the last part towards Katrina who merely nodded as he stalked out of the living room.

“What are your plans for the day?” Sherlock asked Katrina once Mycroft was out of earshot and he had wandered over to his mental wall of pictures and maps and newspaper clippings.

“I suppose I better pop by the office to see how the team is getting on. Is there anything you want to put me to use on?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to help me attend clients today, but…” Sherlock sighed. “I suppose ensuring a terrorist attack doesn’t happen in Great Britain is more productive. I’ll text you the photographs of the rats - technically speaking you won’t be breaching your contract if it came from me. Just in case you see them out and about in London. Any movements that stray from their usual path, tell me immediately.”

“Obviously.” She downed the remainder of her coffee and got up. “I’m not an idiot.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement and Katrina went to go and get ready for the day.

Admittedly, she did want to jump in and help with his clients but knew it was best to leave Sherlock to his own devices on that front. He needed to get back into it properly now he was in London again. So she was in for her second surprise that day to find Molly in the living room getting ready to assist Sherlock before he let his first client in.

“Oh!” Katrina came to a halt in the doorway before catching herself to go and get her coat on. “How are you, Molly?”

“I’m good, thanks, Katrina. You alright? You look a bit… startled?”

“Wasn’t expecting you here, let’s just say that,” she replied politely. “Anyway - I’m off. Enjoy your day of crime solving, and I’ll be back for dinner. What are we having?”

Sherlock shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. “I was thinking fish and chips?”

“Yeah, good as anything. Mind you - tomorrow we should pop to the shops and get some real food. If you’re paying for the rent-”

“Technically, Mycroft…” he muttered.

“-Whatever. We can’t keep spending money on takeout. It’s not a bachelor flat anymore.”

He was affronted by that notion, whilst Molly amusedly watched the pair of them interact. “A bachelor flat?”

Katrina scowled at him “I had to reorganise the cupboards when I moved in.”

“That’s why the coffee was in the wrong place! ”

“Well, it’s a place that makes sense now.” She was steadfast in her tone, which only served to colour Sherlock humoured. “See you later.”

“Bye, Kat.”

And she was off.

She had barely been out of the door for thirty seconds before receiving the images of the six rats from Sherlock, and she began to keep a weather eye out for them. None of them were going to emerge, lest they be spotted. Then again, the tourists were already out in full force. Hiding in plain sight would be the perfect way for the rats to get around.

Either way, Katrina still did her best to be as observant as possible as she made her way to MI5.

Daniel and Benji were more than happy to see her, regardless of the fact she shouldn’t have been working that Monday after pulling seven days in a row. Aside from the constant questions about Sherlock (they’d not had a chance to interrogate her the day before) there wasn’t much to do or speak about. It didn’t matter that the alert had been raised to critical, there was no telling of what was going to happen next or which one of the rats would do it.

“Anyone got eyes on Moran?” she ended up asking. She needed something to do to stay out of the flat whilst a flurry of clients came in and out of it.

“Which one?” Daniel asked. “Our Moran or Lord Moran?”

“Our Moran. But if you’ve had eyes on Lord Moran too…”

“Last saw him getting on the tube,” Daniel quickly pulled up some CCTV footage. “Didn’t catch where he got off, though.”

“Hmm. Okay. Do we count that as weird behaviour or is that standard?”

“Jubilee Line most days… switching to District or Circle if need be,” Daniel said with a shrug. “Can’t see anything going off-piste with it.”

“As for our Moran: he’s around near Parliament at the moment,” Benji said. “Mycroft stationed him there to keep an eye out because that anti-terrorism bill is going through tomorrow night… anyway, why the hell are you here? You’re meant to be having today and tomorrow off!”

“Someone’s got to keep Sherlock in the loop…” Something clicked in her mind. “You don’t think they’ll attack Parliament, do you? I mean we’re looking for terrorists and there’s an anti-terrorism bill about to go through… come on! When did that motion even go through?”

“It only became common knowledge last week, but we’ve been trailing this for the past month…” Daniel said. “Is MI5 that thick?”

“No, we just don’t have proof that they’re going to attack Parliament so we can’t actually do anything about it other than pop up more freelance security based on a hunch. None of the rats have done anything out of the ordinary so we don’t know if and when they’ll do anything! Tell Mycroft - I’m going to find Moran, and then when Sherlock’s back from whatever case he’s solved I can let him know.”

With that, Katrina hurried off as fast as she came into the office. It all felt counterproductive but the idea that nobody had really entertained the possibility of the attack happening on Parliament proved how stupid they all were. She could have taken the bus up towards Westminster, but she elected to walk. It wasn’t too far and it would save her the hassle of squeezing on and off between tourists trying to make their way around central anyway.

She walked fast enough to make it there in under twenty minutes.

It was quiet, and Moran was stationed just at the inside of one of the gates. Tourists were getting turned away and told to come back another time. Typical for when a new bill was going to be passed.

Katrina flashed her MI5 badge at one of the guards outside and she was let in through the gate and onto Parliament grounds where she made a beeline for Moran.

“Big gun,” she observed. “I won’t be long.”

“What’s up?” He barely looked at her whilst still trying to remain on duty.

“It only just occurred to us that with the anti-terrorism bill going through in the next couple of days, there’s a chance that Parliament could be attacked - we don’t know how or when. The boys are letting Mycroft know our hunch, but there’s no proof and the rats haven’t done anything weird,” she then rattled off. “Do you reckon you could ask for extra security? Just in case? Do a sweep of the building or something?”

“It’ll need Mycroft’s approval, but I can get in touch. Does Sherlock know?”

Katrina shook her head. “He’s got clients today. Molly Hooper’s helping him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It was a bit weird.”

“And you’re not meant to be working today either - why didn’t you just help him?”

“I’m unfortunately the bridge between MI5 and Sherlock,” Katrina sighed. “I know I just worked seven days in a row, but I still needed to check in with the team anyway. Besides, keeps me out the flat whilst he’s on a case. I don’t always want to solve them with him, you know. Not when I have a very well paid salary job.”

“You getting overtime?”

“Piss off.”

Moran only laughed. “Alright. I’ll ask Mycroft for reinforcements. Get yourself a coffee and go home. When are you officially back on the clock?”

“Wednesday.”

“We’ll talk then.”

Moran gave her a gentle nudge back towards the gate, and when Katrina glanced over her shoulder at him he was already on his radio clearly asking to get in touch with Mycroft. It was nice to see him use the official channels rather than just her.

Do you reckon the terrorists would go for Parliament? Also, what time do you think you’ll be back? -Kat

She sent the text off to Sherlock before heading onto the Underground at Westminster. The Jubilee Line would take her straight to Baker Street, thankfully, so she wasn’t on there for long.

When she emerged and had signal on her phone again, the reply came through from Sherlock.

Potentially. There’s no proof that’s the plan as of yet. I’ll be back at 5. -Lock

She had loads of time to kill before he got back home.

Katrina elected to go and grab a few essentials from the Tesco Express around the corner so that they did actually have something relatively healthy and able to cook at home to prevent them from going for more takeout this week. Then on Saturday they could actually do a proper big shop and stick to only having takeout as a treat. She wished she had been more organised than this, but the seven day work week and the surprise of Sherlock coming back had thrown her for a loop.

When she set foot through the front door of 221b and shed herself of her coat, Katrina popped the minimal amount of groceries away and tidied up. The kitchen and living room had been left in a bit of a mess since the morning, and the chairs were still arranged in such a manner for clients so she set them back in their rightful places. Clearly he and Molly had left in a rush to go deal with a case, it seemed. Then again, Sherlock was hardly one to be good at tidying up.

She had a late lunch, and by about three thirty the sky was growing gloomy and slowly darker as the winter sun began to set for the day.

Thinking that maybe a sneaky cigarette wouldn’t hurt, Katrina grabbed the packet from inside the desk drawer where she was sitting and as she turned to get up, jumped on seeing a figure in the doorway.

“Oh! Jesus, John, you need to knock or something…” Katrina said breathlessly, her hand over her heart. Once she’d recentred herself, she frowned. “What are you doing here anyway?”

John did that thing where he clenched and unclenched his fists in an effort to regulate himself as he stood in the doorway. Slowly he entered the living room, bringing with him a palpable tension that suggested to Katrina that whatever conversation they were about to have was going to be deeply uncomfortable. So she waited patiently for John to talk, because she had seen him angry the other night and it hadn’t been pretty in the slightest.

“I was… coming to see Sherlock. He’s not here though,” he finally said, surveying the room and looking anywhere but Katrina. “Just - just you.”

“Yeah. Just me.”

“Like it was for two years…”

Her brow furrowed. “Er, yeah, I suppose…”

“But it wasn’t.”

Katrina sighed. “John-”

“You knew this whole time! And you knew when we - when we met up. I can’t believe I fell for it. That the only reason we couldn’t stay in touch was because you were working for Mycroft,” his voice went dangerously low and slightly choked up as if he was having difficulty deciding if he was angry, upset, or both.

“That wasn’t my choice,” she told him firmly.

“Clearly there were a lot of things that year that weren’t your choice,” he spat.

“I didn’t want to do any of that for Moriarty!” Katrina raised her voice and rose from the table. “Why can’t you understand that he would have killed me if I hadn’t?! Did that ever occur to you? Or do you just prefer the version of events in your own head that paints me as a villain because I got closer to Sherlock over two years?” She could feel the tears brimming up in her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. She refused to cry in front of John, especially over this.

“What really happened over those two years? What did you do?”

“I’m really enjoying the fact you’re ignoring the fact I could have been murdered by a criminal if I didn’t do as he said. Yeah, I can see what sort of thing you want to play out in your head right now,” she huffed and folded her arms. “We can’t have this conversation right now, because you’re not going to listen to me, are you? It doesn’t matter what happened over the past two years. I helped Sherlock at points, so what? I hated not being able to talk to you about it. It wasn’t fair. I already said that the other night. But oh my god, you’re acting like I didn’t have a shit time either.”

John went incredibly quiet, chewing on the inside of his lip as he contemplated her words. She waited with bated breath.

“You didn’t have to live thinking your best friend was dead for two years.”

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Just - just go. We’ll talk another time.” She turned her back and resigned herself to the fact that John was going to be as stubborn as he possibly could, and she would not beg for him to listen to her.

Slow, retreating footsteps told Katrina that John had left, and she got a little closer to the window to see him properly leave 221b. On seeing him out on the street, she was relieved until something concerning happened.

He got shoved by a man. Okay, no biggie, a bit annoying.

But then a second man stabbed him in the arm with something when John was distracted by his own irritation, and he soon dropped to the ground unconscious.

There was nobody else on the street.

Katrina opened the window in a hurry. “Hey! What the - what the hell are you doing?” she shouted at the two men who were apparently working together.

A car pulled up, and the pair of them got inside it quickly bringing John with them. Katrina memorised the number plate and got out her phone to ring Daniel who she knew was at work that day.

“Hey. I’m gonna text you a number plate. I need you to find out who owns it and track it across London. Get some other spooks on the case too,” she didn’t give him a chance to speak as she proceeded to run up the stairs to her room. “Two people just accosted John Watson and dragged him into the car. Black Mercedes, I think, I don’t know my cars - I’m better with bikes. Can you do that for me?” She found her motorcycle keys and helmet and ran at full speed down to the street.

“Uh, yeah, sure, has this got something to do with the terrorists?” was his only question.

“I don’t know. It could do! Especially if the internet has clocked on that Sherlock's back. It might have spooked them and they’re - they’re after John. I’m gonna chase if I can - he can’t get hurt. Okay?” Katrina hung up the phone, text the license plate, and pulled on the thick leather jacket she kept hanging up by the front door. She slipped her phone into one of the pockets, popped the helmet on and without locking the front door ran to jump on her bike.

The car clearly had had a struggle trying to turn around on Baker Street to head back down south, so it meant it had barely gotten to the end of the road meaning Katrina could keep it in her sights.

She revved the bike into gear and sped off after the assailants.

God, it had been a while since she’d ridden her bike, but hopping back on it to go after a friend? Of course she had to do it. Running after a car or getting on public transport was ridiculous. Getting in a cab would have been ridiculous too. At least on her motorbike she could weave in and out of the traffic of London without losing sight of the target.

She realised that the way they were going was leading towards the river.

Oh god… she thought. They better not…

But then they passed Big Ben, Lambeth Bridge… and headed up towards Pimlico, coming to a stop at one of the squares on the way.

Katrina kept her distance as much as she could, electing to park around the corner so the occupants of the car didn’t spot her. She removed her helmet and unzipped her bulky jacket, the cool autumn air sharp on her body. She should have put on a better jumper over the top of clothes.

She started a nonchalant walk off the street and onto the corner of the square, where she saw the assailants dragging John’s body into a pyre of sorts.

“What the…” Katrina went to get the phone out of her pockets, her fingers stiff and cold from the fact she hadn’t put on her biking gloves. Before she could do anything, however, there was a sharp pain in her neck and the world swam before going black.

Notes:

And now you've got to wait until Sunday. :)

Chapter 40: The Empty Hearse: On Caring Deeply

As Katrina slowly regained consciousness, she felt like she was floating.

No - she actually was floating.

She shivered in the freezing cold water of… she had no clue where. Her eyes slowly opened and all she could see was the night sky above her. She had no energy to turn her head to figure out her surroundings, but that would have been a useless exercise anyway. It was dark. There were no sources of light nearby. She had to stay staring at the sky and hope that someone would notice she was gone and come to find her.

She tried to open her mouth but it was too slow. A strangled moan slipped out from between her lips as they learned how to work again. There was a dullness in her jaw, causing it to ache every time she attempted to even speak. As her mind grew accustomed to the real world around her, Katrina realised she was shackled at the wrists and ankles. She tried to move her hands and feet but nothing would give, except the faint clink of whatever was attached to her.

A pounding in her chest told her that her heart rate was speeding up. Frantic and uncertain, Katrina willed her body to move more than it could. Oh, how it ached. It was slow. She couldn’t do it. What the fuck had happened to her?

Oh right.

The sharp pinch in her neck.

Fade to black.

Clearly, it was the same people who had done the same to John.

Fuck.

She had to get out of this predicament but her limbs couldn’t move fast enough yet. She tried to move her hands more violently and only managed to lightly push them through the water. The water! Oh god, she had to get out of the water. Lying on her back, half in half out, she was cold but also it caressed her back with warmth and she wanted nothing more than th submerge herself so her whole body could be-

No!

Katrina wasn’t thinking straight. The drugs had addled her brain.

Before she could attempt movement again or even think of anything else, she was suddenly plunged under the surface and dragged down to the bottom of the pond or lake that she was in by whatever had been chained to her wrists and ankles. Someone had cruelly let go of her. Someone wanted her to hurt.

The shock of being submerged in the water jump started Katrina’s brain and she struggled against her bonds and tried to fight her way back to the surface. It felt like an arm’s reach away, but the persistent heaviness in her limbs from before the weights had dropped made her realise that all she was doing was making herself tired.

Squinting up towards the surface, Katrina saw two little paddle boats float away seemingly towards the shore.

Okay. So whoever it was that had dropped her in it was nearby. Was that a good thing?

She needed to get out of here though.

She needed to get to the shore.

A pain in her chest told her that she was running out of air and fast. Her lungs were burning, they were going to burst, she had to breathe but if she breathed then the water would get in and-

---

The Stockholm flat again. Of course that’s where her mind would go. Kartina was absolutely soaked as she stood before Sherlock who was surveying her from his spot on the couch with a shot of akvavit in hand.

“No way out?” he asked her, handing her the glass and pouring himself another.

She shook her head. “Unless somehow in the real world I’m pulled out of that lake - pond - whatever - I don’t see my chances of living to be high.” Her fingers trembled around the glass and her chest felt as if it were being squeezed. She fought against the need to inhale.

“Are you giving up so easily?”

“I - I don’t want to,” she gasped. Why was it so difficult to breathe here? She was only inside her own head, after all… “But I need to open my mouth eventually.”

He nodded in agreement. “You need to open your mouth eventually. Why don’t I help you through it?” He indicated their shots. “It might make it easier.”

She couldn’t disagree with that.

“One… two… three… skul,” Sherlock said calm as anything, raising his glass to his lips and Katrina did the same.

The moment the liquid entered her mouth it burned and she spluttered as it made its way down her throat and into her lungs.

But that was all she needed to do.

---

“Don’t you dare! ”

Sherlock thumped Katrina’s chest so hard after he’d pulled her from the pond and onto the grass hills of Hampstead Heath that she may as well have hacked up a lung. He rolled her onto her side so that she didn’t accidentally swallow the water back down again and instead spew it all onto the ground.

He was absolutely soaked to the bone but that didn’t matter.

The moment he had received further texts regarding Katrina, he had left John with Mary and went as fast as he possibly could to the Heath. He had little to no thought for himself when he discarded his coat and blazer to make it easier to swim in the water but he couldn’t just leave her to drown first of all, and he also couldn’t end up in as bad of a state as her either.

The chains had come off of her wrists and ankles easily enough with some brute force, and he’d been able to haul her to the pond side in no time at all.

He knew it had been clever to have discarded his coat and blazer before he had jumped in after Katrina. The dry clothing was the only thing that was going to keep her warm at this rate, and there was no time to call an ambulance or Mycroft. He spied her biker jacket nearby too and grabbed that as an extra layer.

She was shivering dangerously. He didn’t know how long she’d been in there either. There was nobody else around except for them. Being cold and wet was the next likely thing to kill her if she didn’t get warm and dry soon. So Sherlock did the most sensible thing he could think of to try and conserve body heat and stripped off Katrina’s wet clothes as he elected to bundle her up in the dry ones he had as tight as possible. She murmured something about her keys, and he had to dive into the leather jacket he had as the second layer on her to find the set of keys in her pocket as well as her phone.

Sherlock left her discarded shoes and clothes where they were, before scooping her up into his arms. 

“Where - where are we?”

“Hampstead Heath,” he said. “Need to get you somewhere warm and clean the pond off of you.”

“Parliament - Parliament Hill…” she told him through chattering teeth as he hurried back towards the streets of Hampstead Heath with her in his arms. “There’s - there’s - there’s a f-flat. K-k-keys. St-strike.”

He frowned down at her. “A Strike?”

Katrina shook her head. “St-strike. Your f-fault.”

Sherlock was wracking his brains as he tried to figure out what his shivering friend was trying to tell him. Why was a strike his fault? What on earth was she-

“I see,” was all he said when he figured it out, keeping Katrina as close to him as possible despite the fact he was soaked to the bone too. The only difference is that whilst his hands were only just starting to go numb from the cold water and late autumn evening air, Katrina had been submerged for minutes longer than he was ever in that body of water for. She needed somewhere warm much more urgently than he did.

Granted, there was a hospital on Pond Street, but the flat she spoke of was much closer. He didn’t think he had it in him to carry her up a hill to get medical assistance right now, not when he was beginning to grow cold too.

Katrina’s voice was becoming more garbled as she fought to remain conscious, but he managed to catch the number of the flat that they needed to get to, setting her down on unsteady feet so that he could unlock the main front door of the building before carrying her up three flights of stairs. He didn’t bother setting her down this time, merely banging on the door with his foot.

A very startled Irene Adler answered.

“Oh! You’re back. And…” She realised it was Katrina that Sherlock was bearing in his arms. “My god. Get in - now. I’ll get a fire going.”

“No time. She needs a warm shower.”

“Bathroom’s second door on the right.”

Sherlock didn’t even bother saying thank you as he headed straight there, removing the coat, jacket, and blazer off of Katrina before stripping her of her underwear and getting her into the bathtub, where she half lay down and rested her head on her arms on the ledge of it. He turned on the shower and pulled the head off the holder, making sure the water wasn’t too warm as he ran it over her body.

Katrina stared up at him with wide, grateful eyes, her shoulders appearing less tense as she began to fully warm up. Sherlock’s hands shook from the cold, but he still powered through to get her warm, his gaze never leaving hers. Irene came in at one stage to at least drape a towel around him, and leave one for Katrina as well as some spare clothes and underwear for the both of them. She murmured something about going to make hot drinks and left them to it, shutting the bathroom door behind her with a gentle click.

“Better?” Sherlock asked.

Katrina nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He couldn’t help it, but he had to know. His eyes swept over her body and they settled at her hips. He had never seen the scar from the time Moran shot her, but what was more alarming was the red, angry bruise that was developing into a blue-purple colour in those places.

“Kat…” he murmured, indicating her injury. She glanced down at herself and curled in with a wince.

“I dunno. I think when they got to me I must have - must have dropped hard…” She shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes. “I - I want to dry off.”

“You still have pond water in your hair.”

“Please?”

He obeyed her wishes.

When Sherlock shut off the water, Katrina got out of the tub and he quickly, dutifully wrapped a towel around her before stripping naked himself in order to have a proper shower himself.

“I see we’re at this point in our friendship,” Katrina remarked as she dried off with her back turned towards Sherlock.

“To be expected,” was his reply.

“Not normally…” Katrina was finally dressed in a long sleeved shirt and pyjama bottoms, her hair just about damp. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

She hung up her used towel on the railing and left without sparing Sherlock a second glance.

He was done in the shower not long after, grateful to have washed the wild water off of himself. He made a note to ask why Irene had men’s clothes on hand as he got into the joggers and t-shirt she had left for him, before tossing his soaked clothes into the wet tub and headed out to find the two women.

The flat was nice; it suited Irene well, and was decorated in a sleek but lush manner that he would naturally expect from her.  He found them in the living room, Katrina curled up on the sofa under a thick blanket with a cup of tea in hand, Irene relaxed demurely in an armchair opposite. She had gotten a fire going regardless. Sherlock seated himself right next to Katrina who immediately drew closer to him and placed her head on his lap in an effort for more warmth.

He carefully leaned across her to reach for the cup of tea on the coffee table that was clearly for him, feeling Katrina still trembling ever so slightly on him. Aware that Irene was watching his every move, Sherlock elected to rest his free arm on the back of the sofa rather than Katrina.

“I expect you have questions,” Irene said.

Sherlock’s eyes darted around the room, between Katrina and Irene, his brain running at a million miles an hour as he pieced together as much as he could. Irene was typically harder to read-

In hiding. Feels safe in London. Worried about Kat. Worried about me. Has regrets about Shanghai.

-but all of that was straightforward enough.

“None, really, aside from why you have men’s clothes here,” he said. “And you?”

“Just in case. You never know when you might have a friend stop by. What happened?” she asked, indicating Katrina.

“Someone tried to drown Kat.”

“Kat… you really do care.”

“Kat is right here…” the woman in question mumbled. “I can’t have been under for too long, but Lock was right on time, I suppose. Thanks for the clothes, by the way. I can’t believe you left mine on the heath.” The last remark was directed towards Sherlock.

“They were soaked and you were going to freeze to death in them in this weather - it’s easier to warm up a naked body,” he replied coolly. “I have no clue who did it, before you ask.”

Katrina didn’t say anything in response to that, and leaned up to have a sip of her tea. She coughed a little as it went down and then rubbed her chest. “I need painkillers.”

“Not paracetamol…” Sherlock told Irene as she stood from her seat to go and look for some. “Your strongest ibuprofen will do for now.”

The moment she was out of the room, Sherlock pulled the blanket back from Katrina a little so that he could pull at the waistband of her joggers to check on the bruising.

“Perhaps some ice, too!” he then called after Irene.

“I can’t do this here…” Katrina groaned, batting his hand away and pulling the blanket over herself again. “Can we leave soon?”

“You need to rest-”

“Lock…”

“Kat. I’m serious. You could have died tonight. I am not taking that so lightly,” he told her firmly. He watched her shoulders tense again, and then she was trembling more so than ever before. He knew she was holding back tears.

“I won’t get annoyed if you cry,” he muttered. “This isn’t-”

“I know. I just - I don’t wanna think about it, right now. If I think about it I’ll cry.” Katrina shot him a shaky smile. “We’ve got work to do tomorrow. A good night’s sleep’ll help.”

Sherlock knew it wouldn’t. “Kat…”

“Don’t.” Her bottom lip was trembling, and she took a quick gulp of tea. “Please - d-don’t.” She set down the cup and that was it. The waterworks were unleashed and her face was in her palms as she sobbed.

For a moment, Sherlock froze. He’d not seen her in this state for a long time. Before he could even stop himself, he’d put down his own cup and carefully brought Katrina up into his arms where she rested her head on his shoulder. Physical contact in times of distress soothed her. That’s all he could think about.

“You crying on me isn’t the worst that could have happened tonight,” he said gently. 

“Yeah, but - you’re you. You don’t do crying.”

“No. I don’t. You are my friend. It’s different.”

That ultimately helped her begin to calm down, and eventually she pulled away from Sherlock ever so slightly to look up at him.

She tilted her head to the side, and he wondered what could possibly be going through her mind.

“How did you actually become good at comforting me?” she asked him, her voice trembling with her tears.

“I learned from the best,” he murmured in response. He hadn’t dropped his arms from around her; there were mere inches between their faces, and all Katrina could think about was how warm Sherlock was. “How’s your chest?” he then asked.

“It’s alright,” she replied. “Bit achey.”

“Okay. Drink your tea. Then sleep. You need rest. I’m sure Irene won’t mind hosting us a little longer. Any issues in the night - A&E. Alright?” Sherlock was so firm with his words that Katrina couldn’t help but nod in agreement, not that she was ever going to disagree with that chain of events.

No other words needed to be spoken. The comfort of Sherlock’s company and knowing he wasn’t going to be going away any time soon helped to calm Katrina considerably, and she ended up resting her head on his shoulder.

She felt his gaze on her when she did that, but didn’t think anything of it at all.

She knew that he was just as content to be her source of comfort at that moment.

“I found some ibuprofen. No ice. Sorry,” Irene said quietly from the doorway of the living room.

Whilst Katrina didn’t move, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. His brow furrowed on seeing the forlorn look on Irene’s face, wondering what on earth that could possibly mean. She brought the painkillers over to Katrina, who took them gratefully with her tea.

“Are you alright?” Irene asked quietly, noticing the fact Katrina’s face was tear stained.

“I’ll be fine…” she sniffed. “I need to sleep.”

“No - of course. Use one of the spare rooms. There’s one across the hall from the bathroom. Apologies - it’s plain, but it’ll do you for the night, I suppose…”

“Thank you…” Katrina stood up, waiting for Sherlock to go with her. He shot a sly glance towards Irene, and she understood. “Good night… Catch you in the morning…”

She was a little wobbly when she shuffled away, but it wasn’t anything to be alarmed by.

It was only when the distant sound of the bedroom door clicked shut did Irene speak again.

“Why did you come here? I’m the last person either of you would want to see.”

“Well, we were only around the corner - and because she asked,” Sherlock replied as if it were the simplest thing in the entire world. “In any other case I would have called Mycroft, but he would have taken too long to get there and therefore it would have taken us too long to get back to Baker Street. Logically, that’s stupid.”

Irene smirked. “Logically, you wouldn’t risk her life.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I don’t pretend to know emotions, but I have learned enough in recent years to notice a spot of jealousy. Why?”

“As if Katrina wasn’t jealous in Shanghai? You’d already told her we’d had a shag, and yet she wasn’t exactly taking it well, was she?” Irene goaded him ever so slightly. “On the flip side, it’s good to see there is a heart in you after all. It’s almost sweet how much you’d do for her.”

“I care for Katrina very deeply,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth, enjoying the conversation less and less. “I wouldn’t like it if anything happened to her.”

“You’d be upset.”

“Perhaps. But that is not something I would wish to discuss with you.” His usual cold, calculating front was back up more obviously now. Emotions were never going to be Sherlock’s forte, but at least when he had a conversation with Katrina about them he could further his understanding; everyone else seemed to have their fun with it, as Irene was doing right now.

Irene was nonplussed by his reaction. “Shouldn’t you get to bed? Or are you going to stay up all night trying to figure out who did it?”

“There’s no evidence that would suggest who attempted to drown her,” Sherlock stated. “The only thing I know for certain is that whoever tried to drown her was the same person who tried to have John set ablaze in a Guy Fawks effigy. Whoever it was decided to pursue my two closest friends. The fact that I don’t know who troubles me.”

She mulled over his words for a moment. “Sleep on it, at least. I’m sure Katrina would enjoy your company more than I do.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement and rose from the sofa. As he was walking out of the living room, Irene had one final statement to make.

“Saying that…”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned towards her.

“If you do ever need a bolthole - either of you - you are welcome. Even if it’s difficult for the three of us to naturally get on nowadays,” she said sincerely. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Miss Adler,” he said with an incline of his head.

He made a hastier than usual exit to find the bedroom in which Katrina now resided.

She was still awake and had a lamp on, but was very much curled up under the plush duvet. Even from the door he could see that her eyes were red rimmed and raw from the fact she had resumed quietly crying on her departure from the living room.

Sherlock shut the door with a click and wandered over to the bed, sitting down on the empty side of it as he surveyed Katrina.

“If there’s one thing you need to know, Kat, it’s that no matter what happens and no matter where you are, I will always come to find you. Alright? This isn’t a promise born of emotion or a deep rooted vow, it is simply a fact. A fact born from logic. We are best friends. Do you understand?”

Completely floored by the confession that had never needed to be said but was welcomed anyway, Katrina nodded. They were best friends. They had a funny dynamic for sure, but she wouldn’t have changed it for the world. She sniffed and gave Sherlock a small smile, which was when he finally climbed under the covers next to her.

“It’s been some time since we shared a bed,” he whispered. “However, if you need comfort, I won’t object. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither,” she whispered in response. “I know you won’t say it but I can tell you’re upset by what happened this evening.”

Sherlock was silent, so Katrina shuffled towards him and rested her head on his chest under the crook of his chin. Despite it being ten months since they had been in such close proximity to each other like this, old habits died hard indeed and it was as easy as breathing to allow her into his personal space in that manner.

He switched off the lamp and gently rested a hand on Katrina’s shoulder.

The last thing he had wanted was for her to almost die on his return. Who was trying to get to him? Who knew how close he was to her that they would try something like this? Sherlock’s mind raced with those thoughts as he tried and failed to fall asleep that night. He needed the rest. There was only so much energy a person would have after diving into a pond to save their best friend from drowning.

Certainly it had been a stroke of luck that Irene was holed up near the scene of the crime, all thanks to Katrina. Did that mean the person who orchestrated this knew that Katrina had a friend living nearby? What on earth did any of this mean? First John, then her… it was a mystery that would remain unsolved for some time, he should think.

And that annoyed him the most.

Sherlock finally got to a point where he was struggling to keep his eyes open, and he had barely closed them for sleep when Katrina made an odd whining noise against him.

Alert immediately, he tried to rouse her.

“Kat?” he whispered. His chest was damp. She was damp. She was sweating. Likely having a bad dream and wasn’t going to wake up just yet. “Kat? Come on girl… wake up…” He spoke a little louder, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt to get her back to the real world.

She jumped and she was there with him. He switched the lamp back on.

“S-sorry,” she said, clearly shaken by whatever was going on in her head as she sat up. “Bad dream. This evening was horrible.”

“Not surprising,” Sherlock replied as he too, sat up. “You were an intended victim of drowning.”

“Don’t say it like that…” Katrina groaned, fanning herself to cool off. “Makes me sound pathetic.”

“It doesn’t. It’s exactly what happened.” He sat in thought for a moment. “Would you rather we go home?”

“Yeah, but… let’s just - let’s just do it first thing in the morning. I can’t be fucked right now as much as I want to.”

He nodded. “Alright. If you’re sure. Just… you’re safe now. As I said: I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” her voice was quiet, meek - nothing like the Katrina he knew. It was understandable, though. Nobody would be their normal self after being kidnapped and nearly drowned. She frowned. “Oh. My bike. It’s still-”

“Get Mycroft to sort it tomorrow,” Sherlock said as he lay back down again. “He’s done it before.”

“Oh yeah…” Katrina had all but forgotten about the train tracks incident, and slowly settled down in bed but placed her head on the pillow next to Sherlock instead. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. I’d do it again,” was his response before he turned off the lamp again and shut his eyes. “Sleep. We can leave at seven in the morning.”

She sighed but shut her eyes again all the same, electing to focus on Sherlock’s quiet breaths as he tried to send himself off to sleep. Katrina pushed every thought of the day to the back of her mind and slowly but surely drifted off into a dreamless slumber, comforted by the reassurance that her best friend would save her life over and over if it came to it.

Notes:

Once upon a time, I was gonna actually write some light Sherlock/Katrina/Irene into this as a threeway... but I prefer the slight animosity instead. I'd say we're a few chapters away from Sherlock realising that he's got a bit of a thing for Kat (because yes, he's very much in denial). The next chapter is a long one and it's the final one of The Empty Hearse!

Chapter 41: The Empty Hearse: Bomb

Sherlock was true to his word and had them up and out of Irene’s place by seven the next morning after collecting all their remaining clothes from the bathroom. They pretty much snuck out of the flat as they didn’t want to disturb her, but Katrina left a note behind to say thank you.

Cabs were rare in that area of Hampstead Heath, so they ended up walking the twenty minutes to Highgate Road where it was much easier to hail down a cab to take back to Baker Street. They were silent the entire journey home, as if in reflection of what had happened the night before but neither could quite comprehend it.

It was only when they were home did they talk again.

“I suppose I better… put these in the washing machine…” Sherlock said, indicating the bag of damp clothes.

“Yeah that would be a good shout,” Katrina sighed. “Oh my god, my clothes are still on Hampstead Heath. People are gonna think someone went skinny dipping last night…”

“Least of your problems,” Sherlock called back from the kitchen.

“Hmm. Well, I’m going to get into my actual clothes and brush my teeth. I have pond water after taste in my mouth.”

Before she could even retreat upstairs, a very loud “Bugger!” came from the kitchen. Katrina poked her head back in.

“What’s wrong?”

“My… parents are in town…” He held up his phone. “They’re coming over at lunch. You can stay or make yourself scarce, but I’m sure they’ll be charmed to meet you. You know - as the person who kept me the most company over the past couple of years.”

She blinked, surprised by the offer. “I don’t mind saying hi, but they’re your parents. Keep ‘em to yourself. You’ve been dead for two years. I had you to myself for two years. I mean-” Katrina spluttered, a familiar flushing rushing to her cheeks. “I mean in the sense that - that we - together - uh, crime - solved…” The silence that fell between them now was the first awkward one they had truly encountered. “I’m going to get into my actual clothes, brush my teeth, and maybe take my foot out of my mouth?”

“Then we’ll pretend that this conversation never happened.”

“Brilliant.”

They both hurried off on their separate ways to their bedrooms.

When Katrina slammed her door shut she hurriedly fanned herself off with her hands. Jesus fucking christ… it seemed as crushes didn’t go away so easily and definitely became more intense when said crush saved your life. It hadn’t crept in gently so as not to startle her, but it had jumped out in surprise as a stark reminder that her favourite person in the whole world was back. He was here to stay. And with it he would stay in her heart too.

Distance had certainly made the heart grow fonder, but Katrina realised she needed to bury whatever it was she felt for Sherlock. Having a crush on her avoidant type best friend that was a sociopath would not end well, because he would always be oblivious to her feelings. So she got dressed and was thankful in the knowledge that she could bury that feeling with the letters he had written to her and keep them taped under her bed with all the other funny documents she had.

Out of sight, out of mind, but close by just in case.

She kept an ear out once she got dressed to ensure she didn’t cross paths with Sherlock yet. The sweet melody of a violin rang out upstairs, so she was certain he’d be distracted long enough for her to go back down, brush her teeth and get her foot out of her mouth for sure.

Except her sneaking around the flat wasn’t going to go unnoticed for long. On her way out of the bathroom, Sherlock abruptly stopped his violin playing.

“Do say hello to them,” he said, turning away from the window and facing Katrina. “They knew I was playing dead the entire time. They were told about you. So that’s why I said they’d be charmed to meet you. My parents are funny people. But they’d like you.”

Her heart started hammering away in her chest. No, Sherlock may not have been her boyfriend by any means whatsoever and never would be, but she was terrible when it came to parents. The prospect of being polite to someone’s parents was far too awkward of a concept for her considering how she had hated her own. Katrina had no clue how to act.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed on noticing her silence. “Of course. I - how could I forget?” He turned away and started to pluck at the violin as he started out the window.

“I’m sure they’re lovely people, Lock, but I… I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to my sister in a while either. I can’t remember if I even text her Merry Christmas last year,” she admitted sheepishly as she walked over to him. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. It’s alright.”

“Look, maybe I can make myself scarce for the majority of the time they’re here, and when you think they’ll be on their way out I can pop back with some nice pastries for the four of us?” Katrina then suggested. “I’m polite, not an arsehole.”

He merely shrugged. “Whatever works. I’ll see you later. Go do whatever it is you do when you’re not working…”

With that, Sherlock got back to his violin.

Yeah, avoidant indeed.

As Katrina left the flat, a persistent ache grew in her chest that she wasn’t sure was from the conversation or the previous night.

She opted for her usual meander around central London, deciding that she wanted to spend time in the Marylebone area today. There were a few nice bookshops and high end clothing stores that had always piqued her interest, and tourists typically didn’t come Marylebone way anyway. It was a fairly normal part of central London that people didn’t particularly care for unless they lived there.

From what Katrina knew of the area, most people who lived in the flats there had been lucky enough to buy them in the seventies or had inherited them from the parents who had been able to buy in the seventies. She knew that she could technically afford to buy a flat in Marylebone, but she like the charm and easy transport links of Baker Street that she only had to walk thirty seconds to get to. Plus, Sherlock was her flatmate now, and that wasn’t something she was about to give up so easily.

With her earphones in and in her own little world, it was easy enough to pass the time for several hours until it started veering near towards two o’clock. That was when Katrina figured she should head back to Baker Street and at least meet Sherlock’s parents even if it was fleeting. She picked up some pastries from a little independent cafe on the outskirts of Marylebone just before Marylebone Road, and headed back home with a spring in her step.

Sherlock had left the living room door open, so she could hear the ensuing conversation going on between him and his parents. Katrina took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t completely trip over her tongue when meeting her best friend’s parents for the first time.

She headed on up.

“...We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul’s, the Tower… but they weren’t letting anyone into Parliament,” said Sherlock’s mother. “Some big debate going on.”

“Unfortunately, the MPs do work sometimes…” Was the first thing Katrina said as she stepped into the living room with a wide smile on her face. “Shocking, if you ask me.” She then held up the bag of pastries. “I hope you like cinnamon rolls. Seemed like the best bet.” She directed the latter statement to Sherlock, who dutifully walked up to her and grabbed the bag, heading into the kitchen to grab some plates.

“You must be Katrina,” said Sherlock’s father.

“Unfortunately, yes. Lovely to meet you both.” Katrina hung up her coat and bag, electing to go and lean against the desk.

“And likewise - thank you for keeping him company the past two years. It is a worrying thing to have your youngest go around undercover like that with no word from him…” Mrs Holmes said.

Katrina took a moment to process that statement as Sherlock came back in with a pastry each on a plate for his parents. “Well, I - I did what I could. I think Rome and Stockholm were my favourite places to go to when Sherlock needed to make use of me.”

He scowled at her on his way back to the kitchen, to which she gave him a smug smile.

“There were just some things he couldn’t do without me,” Katrina then carried on, a false sadness to her voice. Sherlock joined her at the desk, handing her a plate.

“You needed my company more than I needed yours in Stockholm, to be quite frank,” was all he said through gritted teeth.

The pair of them were leaning against the desk with their baked goods like two peas in a pod as they tried to get at each other between the lines, desperately hoping that his parents wouldn’t pick up on any sly references.

“Well, I did mostly sit there and look pretty, didn’t I?”

Sherlock surreptitiously stepped on her foot with enough force that Katrina promptly took a very large bite out of her cinnamon roll in an effort to shut up. Somehow, his parents - his ordinary, bemused parents - didn’t even notice the strange animosity between the two of them.

“Always the way, isn’t it?” Mrs Holmes offered. Katrina could only nod in response.

The four of them then ate in silence.

“I’m not taking you to Les Mis,” Sherlock said after he’d dusted off his pastry. “Mycroft said he would - so he needs to do it.”

“Or the pair of you come!” Mr Holmes suggested, setting his empty plate down on the coffee table. “It’d be nice to spend some time together as a family after all this time.”

“I’m busy. Case to solve. Safety of Great Britain depends on it - Mycroft can take you.” He then glanced at Katrina. “Unless-”

“Nope,” she said, putting her plate down and dusting the sugar off her hands. “Don’t drag me into your argument with Mycroft!”

“It’s not an argument it’s-”

“Oh! Hey,” John cut across from the doorway, glancing between the four of them uneasily. None of them had even heard him arrive. “I can come back-”

“No, it’s fine,” Sherlock wandered over to his parents, grabbed the plate from his mother’s hands and popped it down on the coffee table too. “Time to go.” He started trying to get them up off the sofa and towards the door as John stepped awkwardly into the living room.

“Seriously, if you’re on a case-”

“No, not a case, no-no-no,” Sherlock said. “Goodbye…” He was really shoving his parents towards the door.

“We’re here until Saturday, remember,” said his mother.

“Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out,” Sherlock was curt and he was fully able to get them out of the living room and onto the landing and partially close the door.

“Well, give us a ring.”

“Very nice, yes, good. Get out,” he said. He very quickly pulled back from his mother. “Oh, for God…” Sherlock sighed as he shoved the door closed and turned back to John and Katrina. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. Clients?” John asked.

“His parents,” Katrina piped up with a grin. Sherlock looked like he wanted to kill her.

“You didn’t even want to meet them!” he then said to her.

“Your parents?” John couldn’t quite believe it.

“In town for a few days.”

“Your parents?” He repeated. Katrina rolled her eyes. How on earth did Sherlock live with this man for several years?

“Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of ‘Les Mis.’ Then he tried to talk me into doing it, suggested it might be good for Katrina to experience a nice set of parents, so they popped round for a visit.”

“Wait, what?” She was affronted. “It was Mycroft’s idea to send them here?! Oh my god, you need to make him take them to that matinee. He knows what my deal is!”

Sherlock waved her off, whilst John had wandered over to the window to see Mr and Mrs Holmes departing Baker Street.

“Those were your parents?” the good doctor then said.

“I will actually smack you if you keep repeating that,” Katrina huffed. “Sherlock’s parents are normal people unlike their offspring! It’s fine! It’s pretty standard in cases like that.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a cross I have to bear,” Sherlock sighed deeply as if it were the worst thing in the world to have ordinary parents. The other two could tell he was merely joking.

“Did they know, too?” John then asked quietly.

Sherlock and Katrina glanced at each other uncomfortably.

“That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek?” He carried on.

As Sherlock deliberated over his answer, Katrina coughed. It was not an attempt to fill the gap of silence, but more so because her chest ached a little and a quick cough helped. The detective shuffled closer to her rather quickly, but she shook her head as if to say don’t worry about it.

“Maybe,” he finally answered.

“So that’s why they weren’t at the funeral!” John exclaimed. 

“Sorry! Sorry again…”

“Hmmm.”

John started to slowly make his way to the door as if he were about to leave.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said it so quietly that John stopped.

“Wait… Katrina…” he turned around. “You were at the funeral?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” She didn’t know why she was being brought into this again. He didn’t look happy, and she didn’t fancy having him yell at her in her own home.

“But you knew.”

“Yep.”

“And so did Sherlock’s parents.”

“Uh. Yeah…” she cleared her throat and resisted the urge to thump her chest to stop it from aching further.

“So how comes…?”

It didn’t need to be said out loud.

Why were you at the funeral if you knew Sherlock was faking it?

“Well, I was employed by MI5. Couldn’t really blab about Sherlock being alive, could I? Mycroft probably would have me done in for treason or something else ridiculous,” she said with a soft smile.

John considered her words for a moment. “Huh. Yeah. Probably.” He went to go and settle in the red armchair and that was when she fully took in his appearance. He definitely looked worse for wear after the previous night; in fact, he looked as terrible as she currently felt. He’d also gotten rid of his moustache, but that was a conversation for another day.

“You alright?” Katrina asked John quietly.

“Yeah. Just um… smoked out,” he responded, clearing his throat as he did so.

She didn’t really know what to say to that. “Oh, right… sorry - Sherlock did mention last night what happened…” Katrina knew that John wasn’t aware about what happened with her immediately after he nearly burned. “Tea?” she asked, her voice going higher than usual as she scampered off to the kitchen.

“Sure… Katrina?” John followed after her. She kept her back turned to him, the excuse being that she was busying herself with getting mugs out. Three, in this case, because she knew Sherlock would want a cuppa as well if the kettle was already going to be popped on.

“Yes?” she replied.

“Are you alright?”

She sighed. “Rough night. Long night.” She sneakily rubbed her ribs again where they ached from the constriction of holding her breath for as long as she possibly could.

“Now that that’s sorted,” Sherlock had made his entrance back up the stairs in a huff, “Kat - I would suggest that once all this is over that you make a GP appointment… The potential of your lungs being horribly affected after what happened last night is too much a risk to ignore… oh!” He had come to a stop in the kitchen. “I’ll take a coffee…”

She froze, and felt John’s eyes on her. The scraping of a chair indicated to her that Sherlock was now sitting at the table.

“What happened last night, Sherlock?” John then asked. “After you left me and Mary? What do you mean about Katrina?”

“In the way that you were almost set alight, Kat nearly drowned,” Sherlock said. “Her plight came after yours. I had to race to Hampstead Heath.”

“Fuck. Okay.”

Katrina didn’t say anything, merely finishing up the hot drinks and spinning so that she could place the coffee in front of Sherlock, a tea next to him, and then grab her own cup and stay leaning against the counter top. John slowly took his tea, hovering next to Sherlock and still staring at her. The fact nobody was saying anything was becoming unbearable. The fact that John wasn’t asking any questions was even worse. He looked somewhat guilty about the whole thing but clearly didn’t know how to broach the topic with her.

“I came after you last night,” Katrina said. “When you left, I saw them drug you. So I hopped on my bike and I followed the car that they had dragged you into. And then they got me too. Even after you were a dick to me, I still wouldn’t have left you.”

John’s lips drew into a thin line and his jaw went taut. “You - you didn’t need to say that last part.”

“I did. I really did. Because you still don’t understand, do you? I don’t think you particularly want to either. It’s fine, though.” Katrina shrugged. “But we have a job to do right now. Sherlock doesn’t know why me and you were targeted last night, so we need to park this conversation until another date.”

She gestured towards the two of them and walked back into living room, where they stood in front of Sherlock’s wall of information.

“An underground terrorist network has been planning an attack on London is what we’ve known for the past month,” Katrina then said. “We had a field agent die getting that information and so far it’s not actually been that helpful. MI5 has been doing ridiculous amounts of overtime and it was only yesterday we came to the conclusion that there could be an attack on Parliament because of the anti-terrorism bill going through.”

“Hold on…” Sherlock turned to her with a frown. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Your parents were here and between me finding out that information and seeing you again, I went through a traumatic event. Wasn’t quite at the forefront of my mind again until now.”

“My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something’s up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth…” Sherlock pointed at a particular photograph, which John frowned at.

“I know him, don’t I?” he then asked.

“Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development,” Katrina explained. “No relation to our good friend Sebastian Moran, but worth noting he’s been working for North Korea since nineteen ninety six. I genuinely don’t know why we haven’t done anything about him sooner, but Mycroft said unless he does something ridiculous…”

“Mycroft really likes to keep people in his good books…”

“More like neutral. Shockingly, he doesn’t want to cause a fuss.”

“He’s the Big Rat . Rat Number One,” Sherlock said. “And he’s just done something very suspicious indeed. Kat, have your team been keeping a careful eye on the London Underground as of late?”

“Probably not close enough, why?”

“Lucky for you, I wasn’t idle yesterday. Remember the hat?”

“That hat?” She raised an eyebrow. The resounding sigh of disappointment managed to jog her memory. “Oh! The chewed bobble hat? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Train enthusiast. I returned the hat yesterday and he showed Molly and I something very interesting.”

Whilst John and Katrina waited for a further explanation and quietly sipped on their hot drinks, Sherlock grabbed his laptop and got comfortable at the desk with it where he got up CCTV footage of the London Underground of a train departing from one platform after Lord Moran got on it, and then arriving at another with no passengers to be seen.

“Hold on… Benji and Daniel showed me this yesterday. What’s… he’s not…? There’s nowhere he could have got off.” Katrina was absolutely baffled that she hadn’t spotted it yesterday.

“Precisely. There’s something – something, something I’m missing, something staring me in the face…” Sherlock mused. He momentarily got distracted by his phone beeping, and Katrina turned her attention to the wall again.

“He’s certainly made use of Westminster tube station recently,” she remarked. “Only adds to the idea that there’s an attack on Parliament imminent.”

“Any of the usual obvious groups that could be doing it?” John asked Katrina. “You’ll have a list, surely?”

“Unfortunately none of the obvious ones. It’s independent.”

“Our rat’s just come out of his den,” Sherlock said, looking up from his phone. He then jumped up in realisation. “And I’ve an idiot!”

As he began pacing the room, John and Katrina hopped out of his pathway so that they didn’t interrupt whatever train of thought he was on.

“Oh, that’s good. That could be brilliant.”

“What are you on about?” John asked.

“Perhaps MI5 isn’t so useless after all,” he said with a wink at Katrina.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she murmured. When the men stared at her utterly gobsmacked at her response to Sherlock’s wink, she sighed. “You know what? GP appointment is probably a good idea. Who knows how much oxygen didn’t go to my brain last night. What’s up?”

“It’s not an underground terrorist network… It’s an Underground terrorist network!”

It took a moment, but Katrina’s jaw dropped and Sherlock stopped in his pacing. “Oh my god.”

She immediately went to replay the footage on Sherlock’s laptop and surveyed it very carefully. A heat creeped up her neck as she could feel Sherlock and John watching her intently. A shuffle of a foot and a quiet ‘don’t disturb her’ from Sherlock told Katrina everything she needed to know. There was something off about the footage that he’d already noticed but she hadn’t, and if she hadn’t noticed it yet then there was no way in hell that John had.

“Oh my god!” she repeated. “Seven carriages at Westminster. Six at St James’ Park! And the timestamps… oh god. We need to tell Mycroft now. ”

“Catch me up would you?” John said.

“Lord Moran didn’t disappear – the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage,” Sherlock said.

“Detached it where?! There’s nothing between those two stations.”

“Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth,” Sherlock rattled off, more to himself than anything. “That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere.”

“But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?”

“It vanishes between St James’s Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You’re kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par…”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks when it all clicked together in his mind, grabbed Katrina by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She was absolutely baffled by the gesture, offering him an odd smile in response.

“I knew there was a reason I kept calling you out to help me,” he told her.

“Okay,” she gulped. “What’s this about?”

“Anti-terrorism bill… attack on Parliament… Lord Moran is a peer of the realm. He should be sitting in Parliament tonight about that bill but he won’t be there.”

“Because…?”

“John, what’s the date?”

“November the fifth…” he replied. “Oh god…”

Sherlock finally let go of Katrina and took a step back from her. “Somehow, that tube carriage is sitting under Parliament waiting to blow.”

“Gunpowder, treason, and plot,” Katrina necked back the rest of her tea. “Great. I should probably head to work.”

“No. Not yet.”

“Lock, there’s lives at stake-”

“Lock?” John’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline but they ignored him.

“I’m aware of that, but we need to find out where that carriage is first.” Sherlock paused for a moment, and lowered his voice. “Do you trust me?”

Katrina chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Do I need to answer that?”

“I need you with me. So yes. Ideally. You do.”

“Fine. I do. I trust you. Do you trust me?”

Sherlock proudly stood tall in front of her. “Without a shadow of a doubt.”

“Fucking christ, you’re an old married couple,” John murmured, plonking himself down in the seat in front of Sherlock’s laptop.

---

“There’s nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations,” said Howard on the other side of the screen.

Sherlock had elected to call the train enthusiast to get his take on things, considering he had provided the footage in the first place. Katrina had been highly amused to finally meet the man who had a habit of chewing on his own hat. In the short space of an hour they not only had the rather timid yet passionate Howard on the line, but various books and maps sprawled across the floor.

“There has to be. Check again,” Sherlock told him. For a moment, Howard disappeared off screen, and Katrina waltzed back into the living room with her own laptop.

“All the blueprints I’ve managed to find are the ones that you’ve got printed,” she said, presenting Sherlock with his laptop.

Meanwhile, John was flipping through a book. “Look – this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand…”

“Won’t be any of that - it’s too far from Westminster. Narrow it down: What’s close by?”

“St Margaret’s Street, Bridge Street…” Sherlock started off.

“Parliament Street is an obvious one…” Katrina peered closer at her screen then at one of Sherlock’s maps. “Sumatra Road…”

Howard popped back into frame on the laptop, chewing on his pompom yet again (which Katrina couldn’t help but smile at). “Sumatra Road! There is something down there…” He then started muttering to himself as he searched for something on his end: “Where is it? There was a station down there.”

“Well, why isn’t it on the maps?” John asked.

“‘Cause it was closed before it ever opened.”

“Wait - yeah, I’ve got it!” Katrina was fast as anything when it came to finding a digital footprint once she had the relevant information. “It didn’t open because of a legal dispute?”

“Exactly!” Howard was excited and show his map in a book on the screen. “They built the platforms, even the staircases, but because of the legal dispute they never built the station on the surface.”

He looked so proud of himself for finding the correct spot on the page, but Katrina’s face was downfallen. “Yeah. And it’s right underneath the Palace of Westminster. Boom!”

“Fucking hell,” John snapped his book shut. “We have to go.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me…” Katrina had already set down her laptop and was pulling her coat on. “Bye Howard! Nice meeting you!”

Sherlock didn’t even let the man respond and abruptly shut the laptop so he too, could pull on his coat.

Without stopping to say a word, the three of them headed towards Baker Street tube station. Sherlock had wanted to get a cab but Katrina insisted if they were up against the clock they needed to get on the tube right fucking now.

She had really stood her ground to the point that Sherlock shut up and let her lead the way.

They tapped through with their Oyster cards and as they were descending down towards the Jubilee Line and about to lose signal, Katrina quick sent a text to Mycroft.

Sumatra Road. We were right about the bomb threat.

“We need to call the police,” John said as they were halfway down to the Jubilee Line. “They need to evacuate Parliament.”

“They won’t have time. I’ve text Mycroft. It’s fine,” Katrina told him. “Just - we need to get there now.”

“Kat’s right,” Sherlock murmured. “There’s not enough time. We can’t sit around - we’ve done that long enough.”

John didn’t argue back after that, and once they were on the tube train and made it to Westminster they followed Sherlock as he led them towards a maintenance tunnel.

Which he proceeded to open with a crowbar.

“Are you serious?” Katrina asked.

“Well… I learned a trick or two in my time away,” he replied as he then handed it over to her. She didn’t know what to do with it over than pop it on the floor as they climbed into the maintenance tunnel and began a further descent to the disused parts of the underground. The three of them turned on their phone torches to guide their way.

It led them to a disused platform where Sherlock immediately jumped down onto the tracks. Both John and Katrina were apprehensive.

“As long as you don’t touch the rails, you’re fine,” he assured them.

John was the first to follow after him, but Katrina was still hesitant. Her palms began to clam up as she stared down at the tracks.

“We jumped out of a window several floors up in Shanghai. You will be fine,” Sherlock pocketed his phone and reached out his hands to her. “I’ll help you.”

“That’s not what…” she trailed off, forcing a smile to her lips. “I’ll be fine here. Maybe - maybe when the spooks show up-”

“Kat. You get the tube every day. You got the tube just now-”

“This is different!” Her voice echoed around them with a slight wobble. She bit her lip and willed the tears back from her eyes.

“I know, but I’m here,” Sherlock reassured her, his blue eyes bright and pleading from the light from John’s phone and hers. “I’m here.”

“It’s different…” Katrina’s breath caught in her throat as flashes to all those years ago being tied up on the tracks jumped to the forefront of her mind. “It’s different… Lock…”

Sherlock gestured for John to go on ahead and follow the tracks. The doctor had been watching the pair of them curiously, unaware that Sherlock had the capability to be so soft with someone let alone a woman. He had missed so much in the space of two years, and all restraint not to shove that in his face was gone as Katrina had a minor panic at the prospect of walking on train tracks.

But John understood.

John knew he couldn’t watch whatever happened next and hurried along.

The light was slightly dimmer now, the source being only from Katrina’s phone as she shined it towards Sherlock.

“I’ll wait here,” she whispered.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, and shuffled forward ever so slightly. He was standing half a foot from the live track, perfectly stabilised on the sleepers as he adjusted his stance so that he was ready to get her down from the platform. “You figured this out. You were the clever one to think of the most likely place for an attack to happen. You put two and two together about the anti-terrorism bill. You are not going to forgo this ending. I’m here. I will have you, because if there’s one thing I’ve realised in these past two years is that you are my Katrina. And I will not have anything less than that.”

My Katrina.

The words bounced around her head stronger than any fear she had.

She approached the edge of the platform and leaned forwards. Sherlock was able to grip her waist as she planted her hands on his shoulders and in one swift motion he had her on the tracks right in front of him.

“It’s just a train track,” he told her. “Stay on the sleepers.”

“It’s just a train track,” she repeated with her still wobbly voice. “Stay on the sleepers.”

“I’ll be behind you.”

Katrina nodded and spun one eighty on her toes, beginning to take cautious steps forward. She knew she needed to be faster than that but she couldn’t yet. It wasn’t until she could hear Sherlock’s sure footed steps behind her that she was able to walk at a confidently normal pace and she led them in the same direction John went.

He was staring dumbstruck at something, but when the pair of them arrived he also looked a little awkward.

Katrina had a feeling everything Sherlock said to her had echoed down the tunnel to him.

What was in front of him, however, was the disused tube carriage. The one that had been detached two days ago.

And it was lit up like a beacon.

Without another word, the three of them pocketed their phones and ran inside to see that the main bomb in the centre of the carriage had a countdown going.

“Yeah, so, whilst you two were having a moment back there, this happened…” John said.

“And you didn’t think to maybe yell back?” Katrina had snapped back to her normal self again and shrieked at him as she went over to the device.

“I didn’t want to interrupt! What’s another minute to two years?”

“God, I’d love to slap you-”

“Stop it!” Sherlock shouted at them as he pulled one of the cushions off the seats. “Look!”

There was wiring in the seat.

On closer inspection, it ran up the poles and was in the ceiling of the compartment.

“That’s not just the bomb,” Sherlock said, pointing at the device in the centre. “This entire carriage is the bomb.”

“We need bomb disposal,” John said, starting to fret.

“No time for that.”

“What do we do?”

“I have no idea,” Sherlock confessed, a little frustrated as he sat in one of the seats.

“That’s a first.”

“You will get slapped if you don’t pack it in, John Watson,” Katrina said. “He doesn’t know everything! Besides - you were in the army.”

“Not bomb disposal though,” he pointed out.

“And yet you still choose to remind everyone that you were a soldier,” Sherlock said.

“Can we rip off the timer?”

“That would set it off.”

“See! You know something!”

Sherlock groaned and got up, beginning to pace. Katrina watched the two of them from her spot by the bomb, hoping that one of them would actually say something sensible because she had nothing.

“Why do you never call the police? And why do you like Miss MI5 here get involved?” John then said.

“Oh my god!” Katrina had had enough. She was about to storm over to John when Sherlock grabbed her and began pushing her away.

“Not worth it,” he told her quietly.

“I genuinely don’t care.”

“Well, I do! Go,” he told her, pushing her towards the door. He looked back at John. “You too. Both of you go! I know what I said, Kat: I know I said you should not forgo this ending but perhaps I was mistaken.”

She shrugged out of his grip. “No time for either of us to go. Besides, we’re the only ones who can figure this out until the spooks get here.”

“Use your mind palace!” John blurted out, pissed off as anything. “She’s right - might as well stay!”

“That’s not really how it-” Sherlock cut himself off. “Fine.” He placed his fingers to his temples and shut his eyes.

John turned to Katrina with the same angry heat in his eyes. “And you - you’re good with computers!”

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “So? That’s a bomb! Not quite my area of expertise!” she retaliated.

“It's got wires - have a go?”

Even Sherlock stopped trying to figure out if he could disarm a bomb, his arms dropping to his sides as he looked at John in some shock at the suggestion.

Katrina couldn’t keep the confusion off of her face.

“You’re a university educated man with a doctorate and you really just told him to use his mind palace and told me that a bomb has got wires so I should have a go. Really?”

The three of them fell silent with Sherlock and John just staring at her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” she murmured and dropped to her knees in front of the bomb she patted her pockets to find a pair of tweezers and nail clippers much to the shock of the two men. “What? Most girls have this on them.”

“In your pockets?” Sherlock elected to clarify.

“Yes. Now don’t you two have some catching up to do before we horribly die?” Katrina ducked her head down and properly started to look at the device to see if she could reasonably fiddle around with anything.

“Please don’t be angry with Kat,” Sherlock begged John. Tears sprang to Katrina’s eyes and she took a quiet deep breath. “It’s like she said: she was dragged into this by me and Mycroft because Moriarty got to her first. We knew — we knew the whole time. But it… it worked in our favour…”

Katrina frowned and looked up at him.

“I never apologised to you properly about it either,” he told her sincerely. “And now there’s a chance the three of us are about to die - well… it’s all I can do…”

“The fuck…?” she asked him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes. Deadly.”

“Fantastic…” 

Either way, she got back to work attempting to find a way to dismantle the bomb. She had about a minute left. Which was when she noticed a peculiar little switch on the side of it…

So Katrina did what any normal person would do and flick the switch.

The timer stopped.

More accurately, it flicked between fifty eight and fifty nine seconds.

She didn’t say anything though, because Sherlock was pouring his heart out to John.

“You have to forgive me, John, for all the hurt I’ve caused you…”

“No - no, this is just another one of your tricks!” John snapped at him, pacing up and down. Katrina could only watch with bated breath, wondering when the best moment to pipe up would be. “You’re just trying to make me say something nice!”

“No, I’m really not… Not this time, anyway.”

John let out a mirthless chuckle whilst Sherlock shot Katrina a panicked look. She ducked her head down again, acting as if she was still trying to figure out the bloody bomb.

“I wanted you to not be dead!” John then said.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

The doctor was utterly unimpressed.

“If I were still dead you’d have a life with Mary… Katrina you would be - well, same as ever, really. Working for Mycroft. Putting the world to rights…”

“Oh, shut it…” Katrina told him through gritted teeth.

“I find this stuff difficult, you know…” John said.

“I know,” said Sherlock.

Katrina risked a glance again. Sherlock had sat down in one of the tube seats, resigned. John was gripping onto one of the poles for dear life on the brink of tears.

“You were the best and wisest man… I ever knew… and Katrina - you’re brilliant. You’re really brilliant. And I’m sorry too - especially because it had to end this way…”

She winced. She couldn’t keep this up.

Sherlock and John had both apologised.

“For fuck’s sake…” she sighed and stood up. “It’s not ending this way. Look at it.” She pointed at the timer and both the men came over to investigate. “Fail safe switch on the side.” She pulled out her phone and presented a text message that had come through at just the right moment before they had lost signal.

If it’s a bomb, you’ll have to find a switch. Play along.
-SH

“Oh my god!” John cried out. “You - you both - oh… you…” he was pacing, gritting his teeth and trying his best to only insult Sherlock . “You utter - you utter cock!” he eventually yelled at the man, who was attempting not to smile at the whole ordeal. “And you…” John rounded on Katrina. “You went along with it?”

She shrugged. “Listen, man, I got my apology from him out of this. It was all genuine. Besides… his brother runs my paycheque, and this goes up on the board as a favour! ” Katrina turned to Sherlock with a grin on her lips. He sighed, hanging his head in annoyance. “That’s three now!”

She was practically skipping to get off the disused tube carriage just as the spooks and bomb disposal began to approach. Sherlock and John followed after her.

“Why three? Surely two?” Sherlock called out.

“Because you made me go to dinner with you the other night so you could say hi to John! I didn’t want to go, remember?”

“Fine…” Sherlock grumbled.

“You’re both fucking menaces…” John was not happy in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way!”

He relented. He couldn’t argue with Sherlock on that one. “Suppose so.” The pair of them hopped out of the carriage to go and catch up with Katrina.

“Oh! Seb! Hi!” she chirped. She was in far too much of a good mood considering the three of them had nearly just been obliterated, and the fact she had almost died the night before. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you had gotten yourself into a mess,” Moran replied, coming to a stop once he’d reached Katrina. “Mycroft would rather not have his best employee get blown up. How are you two doing?”

Sherlock and John had reached them by this time, with the latter far more confused about what was going on.

“You took your time,” Sherlock mused as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are you our escort home, Snipes?”

He shrugged. “Can be if you want. Ask nicely first.”

“Hold on a minute…” John was connecting the dots in real time. “You’re… but you’re Sebastian Moran? You worked for Moriarty!”

“I did. Yeah. I work for whoever pays me the most, which has been Mycroft for the past few years. Me and IT Crowd here are all good now.” Moran lightly nudged Katrina who batted him away. Sherlock smirked at the reaction, which only caused John to become further baffled by the dynamic and behaviour.

“Yeah, well, you say you work for whoever pays you the most - but you enjoy working for Mycroft. I don’t see you quitting any time soon,” she said.

“Jesus Christ…” murmured John. “Seriously, what the hell happened whilst you were away?” He directed the question towards Sherlock.

“A lot. Perhaps when we’ve wrapped this up we can have a proper conversation where each party listens ?” The detective said rather pointedly towards both John and Katrina.

“Sounds fair,” she said. “Come on, boys, I wouldn’t mind a Moran escort home…”

Katrina hooked her arm with Sherlock’s and surprisingly offered her elbow to John so he could do the same. Considering they had just played a trick on the poor man, it was the least she could do to be cordial. Besides, she had no energy to be angry with him right now anyway. They’d worked through the day together well enough and even though he was suspicious about the gesture at first, John still gladly took her arm and the three of them followed Moran back the way they came.

“You can tell Mycroft I’m having tomorrow off,” she then said. “My annual leave reset back in June, I had carry over, so I need to use my days. In fact… I might take the rest of the week off. He can cope.”

Moran laughed but agreed to pass on the message.

Eventually when they got out of Westminster station they had to part ways with John who was taken home by another spook. Moran stuck with Sherlock and Katrina who didn’t have much to say whilst on their way back home. All the adrenaline had worn off, it was far into the evening, and Katrina wanted nothing more than to go to bed.

Their goodbyes to Moran were swift but he was just glad to have seen them off home.

“Christ,” Katrina said as she and Sherlock entered the living room of 221b. “Didn’t expect today to go like that.”

“Neither did I,” Sherlock replied as he hung his coat and scarf up. “At least Mycroft can sleep peacefully tonight knowing that Great Britain is safe again.”

“And I guess we can too. Do you think he’ll threaten you with a knighthood again?” she teased.

“He’ll threaten you with a damehood if you’re not careful. Keep your Jak activities down to zero and he will,” he retorted. “Go. Get some sleep girl.”

“You too. Night, Lock.”

He merely waved her off as she took the next set of stairs up to her bedroom.

Katrina slept like a log that night, thank goodness, as the next day saw a mini gathering in their flat to celebrate not only Sherlock being back, but John and Mary’s pending engagement. Prosecco was flowing, and the likes of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and her fiance were invited along.

She had to immediately drag Sherlock away from the fiance over to the desk.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered to him.

“Kat, I’m not stupid…”

The pair of them glanced back over their shoulders.

“She told me at the pub a couple of months ago that she got over her crush on you,” Katrina then murmured. “I have a feeling she might be kidding herself?”

“Hmm. Quite.” Sherlock peered out the window. “Go mingle. You’re a social butterfly at heart. John and I will have to deal with the press soon…”

That was the other thing: news spread like wildfire that Sherlock was actually alive and he had been the one to prevent Parliament from blowing up.

“Rather you than me,” she said.

“You should come down with us.”

Katrina laughed. “Yeah, no. I’m gonna go mingle if it’s all the same to you.”

“Hmm. Very well. How’s your hip?”

“Fine. Bit achey. The bruise’ll go away eventually.”

“And your chest?”

She smiled gently at him. “I’m fine, Lock. Come on now… let me go mingle.”

Of course she was immediately cornered by Lestrade the moment she broke away from Sherlock.

“Word around here is that you knew this whole time that he was faking it?” He was dumbstruck when he approached Katrina. She merely quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of her prosecco.

“Yes. Not that I wanted to. It came with a lot of collateral…” She glanced over at John, who caught her gaze for a moment before looking away awkwardly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine with time.”

He noted where she had looked. “Ah. Didn’t take it too well?”

“There was a bit of an argument in the middle of Marylebone the other night but… I don’t know.” Katrina shrugged. “I had the privilege of knowing his best friend was still alive when I shouldn’t have.”

“Was it really a privilege or are you just telling yourself that to… I dunno. Seems like it’s making it worse for you.”

“The guilt is making it worse for me,” she pointed out, watching as John left the flat with Sherlock. “It’ll be fine. Eventually. John can’t be that mad at me about it forever. At least, I hope he won’t. We were hardly friends before all this, and it’s going to be trickier to become friends now.”

“Oh, he’ll get over it!” Mary came swanning over all smiles and waving everything off about her future husband. “He just wants to be in a mood. But… going by what happened down in the tunnels… he’s gonna forgive you sooner than you think.” She wrapped an arm around Katrina and squeezed her shoulder. “Besides, I think I want you in the wedding party. I want you as a bridesmaid. And John can’t say fuck all about it.”

“I assume Sherlock will be best man? I’ll only do it if he’s gonna be best man. I’m not a wedding person…”

Lestrade chuckled as he wandered away to go and mingle, whilst Mary dropped her arm and faced Katrina properly.

“Sherlock’s not either, is he?”

Katrina shook her head, laughing. “Of course he’s not, have you had a conversation with him?”

“True. Either way - John’s gonna ask him. Our two most awkward friends at the top table - what could possibly go wrong?”

“Friends?”

Mary looked at her oddly. “Er, yeah?”

“Okay. We just - we hardly know each other-”

“You’re good, Katrina. I’m gonna be seeing you quite a bit anyway from now on, and I like you. So yeah. We’re friends,” Mary reassured her. “Is that alright with you?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Notes:

Posting a day early as I'm out all day tomorrow! Didn't want to leave anyone hanging with the end of this arc.

It's been too hot to do anything in the UK so I may be a little behind on my writing schedule (however twice a week updates are still good to the end of July!)... but it's meant to cool off and I'll likely catch up again. I've already got the next important arc all written out (chapters 49-51), it's just all the in between 9slight fluffy) chapters to go. 46/47/48 are eluding me at the moment... but there's some excellent Christmas based chapters coming up, let's just say that much!

Thanks all

Chapter 42: Jak's Statement

“Typically speaking we don’t really do press,” Mycroft said to Katrina as they had their usual Monday chat over some tea in his office about a week later. “But this warrants it. My brother is back on top form, and you were spotted coming out of Westminster with him and John on an arm each. The plan had been to release a written statement from Jak, but this has put you on the map.”

She ran a finger around the edge of her teacup whilst mulling over Mycroft’s words, sinking down into her chair as she did so. Katrina wasn’t one for the public eye, but had a feeling that simply living in 221b with Sherlock had its chances of eventually leading her that way. She just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Then again, they had prevented a high stakes threat from being carried out the previous week.

“So you want me to go in front of the cameras and read out the Jak statement as if I hadn’t written it? As a means of explaining why I was with Sherlock and John last week?” she clarified, briefly eyeing the printed statement on the desk between them. When he nodded in response, she carried on: “Like the good little MI5 girl that I am.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Yeah, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

He did not confirm or deny, and she smugly sipped on her hot drink.

“Great. So when am I doing this?” Katrina then asked.

“Five o’clock news today. So you’ll be live, I’m afraid.”

She groaned. “Can’t you do it?”

“No. You’re the one who chooses to entertain the company of my brother whilst also being in charge of cybersecurity. It’s rather handy that sometimes we require his assistance otherwise you would most certainly be fired considering you’re not to talk about your job with anyone, let alone a flatmate,” Mycroft explained. “And I suppose nepotism is at play. You are well protected regardless.”

“Not to mention the fact you made me take this job just so you could keep an eye on me,” she elected to remind him. “And now we’re friends. So yeah - nepotism is definitely at play.” Katrina pulled the statement towards her and scanned it over, checking her phone for the time. “Hour and a half. Come knock on my door when it’s ten minutes before.”

“Fifteen minutes before. You need to look presentable.”

Katrina scowled at him, set the cup down and stood up. She swiped the statement from her desk. “That’s rude.”

“You look fine. I just need you to represent MI5 better,” he added with a wry smile. “Tousled hair does not exactly do well on camera.”

Katrina refrained from giving him the middle finger as she left his office and headed back to her own.

She started practising the statement out loud, making sure that every word was said correctly and fell off her tongue in the right way. Mycroft had a point: she was going to be representing MI5 at that moment, so she couldn’t cock it up and look like a fool on the television. God, she didn’t know how Sherlock and John dealt with the press on a regular basis - granted the previous week after the bomb threat had been the first time in a while that they’d done it, but before the two year gap it was crazy (in her eyes) how much they had to deal with.

Eventually four forty five rolled around and someone came in with Mycroft to fix up her hair a little. It ended up being braided and she popped on her blazer and coat to be led out of the building - statement in hand - and over to the awaiting press. She was told where to stand. Mycroft hovered behind her. She didn’t know if she slicked that or not, but ultimately it was a comfort.

Katrina was then given the go ahead to start talking.

“The vindication of the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes came about just over a month ago when the police proved that Richard Brook was in fact a fake identity used by none other than the consulting criminal Jim Moriarty,” she began. “At the time, for the general public, it felt like it was little too late for one of the best detectives in Great Britain. However, we here at MI5 knew a different story in regards to Sherlock Holmes.

“Mr Holmes bore witness to Jim Moriarty shooting himself in the head on top of St Bartholomew’s Hospital in the Holborn/Farringdon area. Mr Holmes then proceeded to fake his own death with our assistance so that he might go and dismantle the network of criminals that Moriarty had around the world.

“Moriarty had planned to frame Mr Holmes for quite some time; all of which led to the general public and Scotland Yard turning against him…” Katrina took a deep breath before reading the next sentence. “An individual going only by the name of Jak was employed by Moriarty to plant false information about Mr Holmes online, and was also the creator of the Richard Brook identity. Jak also had this information regarding Richard Brook placed online so that anyone could simply search for him and believe that they were reading the truth. Jak has come forward to tell us that they were, in actuality, blackmailed by Jim Moriarty to do this. What I am about to read next are Jak’s words:

“‘My name is Jak. Nothing more, nothing less. I took this name to become faceless and cause chaos that had no intention of harming anyone, until Jim Moriarty threatened to expose aspects of my personal life to people far more unkind than him. It was out of fear I took the money and the job that he wanted me to do. It was out of fear that I embarked on the smear campaign against Sherlock Holmes, and I truly believed that it was because of my work with Moriarty that he would die at the end of it.

“‘The hurt I caused, the lies I spread - it wasn’t worth it, even for the knowledge of safety. Which was ultimately a lie. There are dangerous people who know who I really am and what I’ve done in my lifetime. This work was not worth it, and I’m glad that Mr Holmes is alive and well, and back to doing what he does best: helping the citizens of London and more. I am no longer active, and I wish to live my life in peace. I don’t deserve that, but I was a victim to Moriarty too. And now I’m at risk with others. Please do not try to find out who I am. Mr Holmes and I have spoken, and all is well. He would not wish for further harm caused because of Moriarty.’”

Katrina had to take a moment again before finishing off the bookends of the statement. The paper wobbled between her anxious fingers and she gripped it tighter in an effort to stop. Her neck was burning with Mycroft’s gaze from behind her, but all she could wonder was if Sherlock was watching and what would happen when she returned home that evening.

“It is worth noting that Jak is under MI5 protection,” she finally carried on. “There is no point for anyone to try and identify who Jak is. The point here is that olive branches have been extended in this situation, and there is remorse. We here at MI5 felt it important to disclose this and put an end to any further speculation regarding the ins and outs of what happened in two thousand and eleven with Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty. Thank you.”

Katrina was ushered back inside as quickly as possible, where she handed the paper back to Mycroft once they were in the elevator.

“I hated that,” she insisted.

“You did well,” he told her. “Shaking hands or not.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, folding her arms. “I’m grabbing my bag and going home.”

“Fine by me.”

God, she didn’t even have to convince Mycroft with an argument at the best of times. Definitely nepotism.

Either way, Katrina was home before six o’clock that day much to the surprise of Sherlock.

“I thought Mycroft would have wanted to keep you to celebrate your first news appearance,” he said as she hung up her coat and flopped down on the sofa, kicking off her shoes in the process.

Katrina snorted. “Hardly. You watched it, though?”

“Of course,” Sherlock called back from the kitchen where he was making tea. “Very kind words on Jak’s part.”

She cringed at the way he said it, as if it wasn’t her. “Well… they’re my words. It’s - it’s me. You still call me Jak sometimes.”

“I try not to.” He came in with a cup for her, so she sat up to grab it and have a cursory small sip so as not to burn her mouth.

That had been a nice part of having Sherlock as a flatmate. The moment he heard the front door open downstairs he started making a cup of tea. Katrina had no idea why, but she suspected it helped him lead into a conversation with her about their respective days. He was much more talkative about what he had been up to in the day (usually on a case) and nothing felt stilted or awkward or forced.

He had settled into the blue armchair whilst they carried on talking.

“Yes, well, if you need to, you can,” she told him. “But you probably can’t now. I’m not exactly active as Jak anymore. It was nice of you to watch the news, though.”

He shrugged. “You don’t enjoy being in the public eye, it’s why you’re so secretive as Jak. And in general. You don’t like it when I deduce things out of you.”

“Nobody likes it when you deduce things out of them, but I think that’s down to the fact you can be quite rude about it. I don’t mind your being too rude, I just don’t like the invasion of privacy. Besides, I like telling you things.”

“You tell me things begrudgingly, ” he pointed out. “Or unless you feel guilty about the fact you’ve not told me something. Case in point: Magnussen. When we were in Stockholm. One of the dangerous people you alluded to in your speech today?”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

Sherlock hummed in agreement, the sound seemingly starting in his chest and echoing out across the room to Katrina. She bathed in that sound when he made it. That and when he chuckled. She relaxed a little on the sofa when he hummed, despite the unfavourable mention in the conversation.

“Hard for me to miss a trick when I’m constantly deducing the world around me,” he then said.

“Yeah, well, put your blinders on as much as you can around me… maybe it can be a rule of us living together in harmony?”

He scoffed. “We don’t need rules. ”

“I have one word for you: Stockholm.”

“Are you always going to bring that up when you want to get your way?”

“No, but now that you mention it-”

“Oh for god’s sake-”

“I’m kidding!” Katrina laughed. “I’m not going to keep using it, it was just an example to establish why we should have certain rules. I don’t want you to figure out my menstrual cycle.”

“Well-”

“Oh my god, you’ve already figured it out, haven’t you?”

“Unfortunately for the both of us, yes,” Sherlock sighed. “You’re on the pill, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you want to know that?”

He was silent for a moment, clearly debating over what the appropriate answer was. Not that there could ever be one. “Taking an interest as your best friend and flatmate?” was what he eventually said.

“That’s not-”

“No. No, I agree with you there.” Sherlock paused again. “Do you - do you experience PMS symptoms?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Good. I’ve just never lived with a woman before. Let alone one that I’m close to. I thought that perhaps I could be… more sensitive… to certain things? I know you mentioned the violin but it’s been over a week now. I expect there’s more to us living together without issue.”

“Good start. I think it’s as simple as taking it in turns to do deep cleans of the kitchen and bathroom. We both have to keep it clean once we’ve used either. And that means tidying up after your experiments. I don’t fancy accidentally ruining something or injuring myself in a jar of acid. No body parts in the fridge or the bathtub either,” she quickly added. “We can buy a new fridge for the body parts. How does that sound?”

“Sounds reasonable,” Sherlock agreed with a shrug. “It’s almost like living at university again.”

“Only almost,” she pointed out. “We’re both adults. We are in our thirties-”

“You are barely in your thirties-”

“And we can communicate our feelings about things,” Katrina concluded. “So… if I leave too much hair in the shower drain and I don’t pick it out, please let me know. Or borrow it for an experiment if you’re bored. I don’t know what you do when you experiment. Well…”

“I’m banning any mention of Stockholm.”

“Fine by me. Now. What do you fancy for dinner? Or have you got a case?”

They had split payment on the food shop that week, so there was a variety of ingredients in the flat that needed to have something done with them before they inevitably went out of date. It had transpired that Katrina was the better cook but Sherlock was good at getting things organised so they had grown a habit of sorting dinner together most nights.

Katrina did look forward to the day that Sherlock would use a chopping board and be at a stove, however. Some nights she had absolutely no energy to cook (which was when leftovers became a saviour) but she sincerely hoped that once he was back into the swing of things and the pair of them settled into living around and with each other, he’d pick up some slack somewhere.

“I do have a case but I’ve found myself hungry today. I noticed we have a lot of garlic to get through. I may use half of it to see if I can enforce an environment good enough for clostridium botulinum,” he paused. “I’ll label the jar of bad garlic in that case. Until we get a separate fridge.”

“I didn’t expect that I could be prone to botulism whilst living with you, but I should have known better.”

“You really should have.”

Notes:

Next few chapters are just life bites, effectively. And a random case I rehashed from the old version of this fic.

Chapter 43: Routines

November drifted on, and the pair of them settled down into living together in 221b.

Routines were easy enough to establish and observe from each person in regards to the other; a dance formed between the two of them, and to the untrained eye it would look like they had been living together for years. Except there was uncertainty in the way Sherlock would hover outside the bathroom two minutes earlier than he should have in the mornings (at first); doubt lingered at Katrina’s fingertips when she was setting the washing machine at the right temperature when all of their clothes were bundled in together (saving on water) and she didn’t want to ruin his linen shirts by accident.

Kindness was not Sherlock’s forte, but he could make a good cup of coffee in the mornings before either of them set off for work and a good cup of tea in the evening when the pair of them were back from work. Observation was always going to be what he was best at, and through that he learned how to be kind to Katrina. He had been all too aware of how much she had done for him in the last two years putting her life on the line at times, and his way of giving back was in the small day to day things that she would hopefully notice over a longer period of time.

Mondays, Katrina was often perkier and he knew that was down to her weekly chats with Mycroft. In so many words, Sherlock could tell that she truly did adore his older brother even if by the end of the week he had the potential to drive her to her wits end as her boss. Her chat was far too much for Sherlock’s liking but he listened like a good friend would. Tuesdays she often turned the tables on him and had him talking about the cases that were coming in and how he would solve them. He drew diagrams for her sometimes. She adored it (and him) as much as she adored Mycroft.

Wednesdays were the lull in the week where both of them were often silent in the evenings. Sherlock would be on his laptop answering emails and texting Lestrade. Katrina would use that time to catch up on television shows she enjoyed. At the moment she was catching up on the third season of Game of Thrones. He half tuned into it. He made some remarks about the books being better. This meant that Thursdays had Katrina curled up on the sofa reading the damn books and didn’t care for conversation. Sometimes she fell asleep on the sofa when it got late and he covered her up with a blanket and popped the heating on a little higher.

Fridays she went to the pub, so John often stayed in the flat for longer if he had popped by to help with a case. Sherlock always knew the time she’d be in through the door and John was out the door at least fifteen minutes before that. Katrina was prone to drunken rambles but he let her go through the motions whilst reheating a smaller than usual portion of dinner for her in the microwave so she’d have something in her stomach before bed. Weekends were often different and filled with kindness from Katrina: his coffee was made by her in the morning. Laundry was done by her. She would tidy up her pile of books and laptops that she liked to tinker with throughout the week when the need took her to mess around. She helped with his cases too, even though it was obvious she much preferred to hear him talk about them. Saturday nights were for takeout food and Sundays were for cleaning.

All of it settled like snow that London would never see. A seemingly cold thing to witness on the outside, but really it was a blanket of beauty and warmth that Sherlock and Katrina dived into.

Until of course routine was broken one Friday night, when John stayed too late and Katrina came home earlier and merrier than expected. The happier she was to ramble away it meant she had had more alcohol than usual. She did not balk when she saw John in his red armchair. In fact, she beamed at him.

“I know you’ve been here every Friday when I’m out late,” she said, sauntering over to the desk and plonking herself down in a rather demure manner into one of the wooden chairs there. “I wanted to catch you out. I’m not some scary lady who’s gonna shout at you every time she sees you.”

John’s amusement was paramount across his features. He had initially bristled when Katrina entered and addressed him, but the fact she had known this entire time that he was in and out of the flat the last few Fridays meant that he couldn’t possibly be mad at her today. “Well,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips. “That’s good to know. And I’m not a scary man who’s gonna shout at you every time either.”

“Oh good!” she grinned. “We’re seeing eye to eye. Lock…?”

She noticed John’s jaw go taut at that. He hated the fact she had a nickname for Sherlock because all it did was serve to remind him that there was two years of history between them that he was not privy to simply because he hadn’t been in the know.

Sherlock turned to her from the navy armchair. “Yes, Kat?”

“What was for dinner?”

“Leftover soup from last night. Would you like a small bowl of it with some of the baguette?”

She nodded, pleased with the offering, watching as Sherlock got up and headed over to the kitchen. John was rather bemused by the exchange.

“We have a routine,” Katrina explained, deciding to go and sit in the navy armchair now and stretch out of her limbs more comfortably. She slipped her shoes off and kicked them under the little table just to the side of her and John. “I get back drunk and he heats up dinner for me to eat before bed. His idea. Not mine. I’d happily go straight to bed.”

“And who would suffer with the hangover?” Sherlock called from the kitchen as the microwave whirred.

“Me.”

“No. Both of us. I’m not dealing with your hangover,” he scoffed. “By the way, who do you think puts the heating on on a Thursday night?”

She frowned. “It’s on a timer, no?”

“Hmm. Nice try. No. I put it on so that you don’t freeze going up to bed once you wake up from your book induced sleep on the sofa.”

“Oh god, that actually explains quite a lot…” she murmured. “Oh god, you’re being sweet?! You? Sweet? John - John you need to keep him busier than this. I can’t have him turning sweet !”

“Believe me, I am the furthest thing from sweet,” Sherlock said before John could reply with a sarcastic remark that was clearly brewing. The microwave dinged and he pulled out the hot bowl with a towel, setting it to the side for a moment. “As you have said: we’ve established a routine. You falling asleep on the sofa reading A Game of Thrones has become part of that routine, as has me putting the central heating on so that when you creep upstairs at midnight it’s not cold. And yes: I do hear you creep upstairs. It doesn’t wake me up, I’m usually still awake at that time anyway. I sleep in on the weekends to make up for it.”

“And there’s the routine,” Katrina concluded with a smile.

“Wow,” John said. “It was never like that when we lived together.”

“John, you live with your girlfriend. Surely you’ve noticed that living with a woman is entirely different to living with a man?” Sherlock had popped the bowl of soup on a plate with some buttered bread and a  spoon, and brought it over to Katrina. “It’s hot,” was all he said to her before he went to settle on the sofa.

“Hang on…” John’s brow was furrowed. “Are you two… is that why the past two years… and this whole living arrangement feels a bit… domestic?”

Sherlock tilted his head to the side with his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what on earth John could possibly mean by that.

“No. No, we are not…” Katrina sighed. She stared wistfully at her soup that was still a touch too hot to eat. “We are not dating. That is not what happened over the past two years. Sherlock just doesn’t like getting in my way in the morning and evenings. I don’t like getting in his way. So… we’ve figured out a little dance and how to split housework and all that fun stuff.”

“Okay… so… I guess there’s never gonna be a good time, but… please - please can you just tell me what the deal was the past two years? The both of you?” John asked quietly.

He was right. There was never going to be a good time for the three of them to discuss it. Not when he had played his part the last few weeks in avoiding Katrina, but at least he was finally calm enough to actually want to listen to the pair of them. The silence in the room hung heavy, and Sherlock was the one to break it.

“I asked you not to be angry with Katrina,” Sherlock’s voice was quiet, as if daring to reiterate his initial point with the whole situation was a dangerous thing to do. If only they had the fire going to add to the atmosphere. “I need you to be angry with me. With Mycroft. But most importantly: with Moriarty.”

“I’ve done a lot of weird shit in my life with the skills I have, John, and a lot of it’s not good,” Katrina said after having a few spoonfuls of soup whilst Sherlock was talking. “The wrong people found out at the right time. So that’s why I embedded all those fake stories about Richard Brook and Sherlock for Moriarty. I took the money because I didn’t want anyone worse to find out, and… that’s exactly what happened. Deals with the devil often have a small print. I was scared. I wasn’t - well, you saw firsthand how I ignored you and Sherlock for some time. I think it’s lucky that he’s an observer first and foremost. He and Mycroft knew what was going on but they had to leave me to it just in case it got ugly.”

“It’s why we let Katrina in on the secret,” Sherlock carried on. “To give her peace of mind that what she had done was not going to actually harm me, to protect her, and in Mycroft’s case: to keep an eye on her. Across two years we met up three times. Rome, Shanghai, and Stockholm. I had cases around the world and Katrina helped me with them. It was also my way of ensuring she didn’t feel so lonely when she had to leave her old life behind for one of secrecy. It was safer for her to know what was going on, but safer for you that you did not, John. It was not a decision that was made lightly.”

“I hated it and I loved it at the same time,” Katrina admitted. “I was finally doing something good with my skills, but at the cost of a lot of my friends. I haven’t spoken to anyone I used to work with before MI5 in two years. And I’m sorry that I had to lie to you when I stopped talking to you as well, John. Yes, it was because of working at MI5, but also because I knew about Sherlock. I couldn’t do anything else. I’m sorry.”

John didn’t say anything, electing to take his time to process what the pair of them had said to him. Whilst he stewed in his emotions and mulled over an appropriate response, Katrina finished eating and felt much more sober as she went to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and start it up for the night. She returned to the navy armchair with bated breath, all too aware of the tension that Sherlock was currently oozing as well.

“Okay,” John eventually said. “I’m still annoyed about the whole thing, but… it’s clearly not been fair on you. “Moriarty’s dead. What’s the point in being angry with a dead man? There’s nowhere for it to go. It’s easier to be angry with a person who’s right there.”

“Do you think being angry with me is going to change what happened?” Katrina asked him, softly. “I get it. You’re best friends. But Sherlock and I developed that level of friendship too over the past couple of years. I didn’t want to be involved in the way that I was, but it happened. If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else doing it. I told Sherlock you’d forgive him more easily, but not me.”

“How do you know I’ve forgiven him?”

“Because you’re here! Every Friday! It’s a good thing I’ve got friends at work that I can spend my evenings with, otherwise I’d have to force myself out of the flat! I don’t - I don’t wanna hide from you, John. But if you choose to keep being mad at me, then I’ll have to.” Her brow was turned upwards in pleading. She didn’t want to tiptoe around him for god knows how long. Not when he and Sherlock were best mates.

“You don’t - you don’t have to hide from me,” John’s voice sounded like it was caught in his throat. As if he hated the idea that Katrina felt like she couldn’t be around him for whatever reason. “It’s just hard. It’s hard knowing you had what I should have had - the - the knowledge. It should have been me.”

“Yeah. I agree. It should have been you. But like Sherlock said - it was safer for you not to know. Please - please understand that.” Katrina’s voice was wobbling too. The entire conversation was so sobering that she was consciously holding back tears at this point. “Do I have to beg? Is that what you want?”

“No - no, I don’t want you to beg.” He shuffled forward in his seat and then held out his hands. Katrina looked at it and he gestured for her to take it. “Come on.”

Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. They felt different from Sherlock’s. They were worn and calloused from hard work and age; the whole of them. Not just from something as simple as playing the violin. John gripped her hand tight.

“Tell me honestly: did you look after him? Because he’s useless at the best of times. So when you were in Rome, in Shanghai, in Stockholm… did you look out for him?”

Katrina glanced towards Sherlock who was as shocked by the question as she was.

Of course that was the question, though. John Watson cared about his friends.

So she looked him in the eye and nodded. “I adore him. I’d do anything for him. You know - he got stabbed whilst we were in Stockholm. I got a different flight home so I could look after him and feed him when he couldn’t move from his bed. So yeah. Of course I did.”

Sherlock’s hand twitched when Katrina said ‘his bed.’ It wasn’t just his bed. It was the bed. Their bed. But John couldn’t know that. John didn’t need to know that.

A small smile graced John’s lips. “And did he look after you? You’re more emotional than me, that much I know. He knows it too. And he’s really bad with emotions at the best of times.” This question was more serious than when he asked if she looked out for Sherlock.

“Yeah. He did. He does. He’s learning to deal with the emotions.”

John looked to Sherlock for confirmation; the detective merely shrugged and nodded all in one awkward movement.

He let go of Katrina’s hands and sank back in his seat. “Alright. I’ll stop being less angry soon. Promise.”

“As much as I hate to suggest it because I’m friends with him now, but Mycroft could be a good target for your anger,” Katrina said.

“That’s er…” John didn’t know how to take that and scratched the back of his head before giving Katrina an odd look. “Sorry - you’re friends with Mycroft?”

“He adores me. He won’t ever admit it, but he does.” Katrina sat tall, proud about that fact.

“Mycroft is effectively wrapped around Katrina’s little finger,” Sherlock added. “It’s very odd. But it’s been good for him. He understands the rest of us who have friends. Even though he does not want to admit he has one.”

“I’ve been to his house twice, ” she said with a chuckle. “Once he took me there because I was so blackout drunk he didn’t want to leave me here on my own. The second time I went because I was sad…”

“You went to my brother because you were sad?!”

“It was after that last video call we had before you dropped off the face of the earth in eastern Europe. Didn’t like that idea at the time. Called Mycroft. He was up. Went and stayed in the guest bedroom.” She paused for a moment. “I do think you should visit him there sometime.”

“Have you been to see your sister in Brixton since you gave her the flat?” he countered.

“I - um - well - no…”

“And I expect you’re not going to invite Harriet to the wedding?” Sherlock turned to John.

“No, I’m inviting her. Don’t expect her to show up, but worth a try, right?”

“I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that,” Katrina said after a moment and stood up. “On that fun note, I’m going to head to bed. I’m tired. And he wants to play the violin. So you might wanna make yourself scarce too.”

As she headed upstairs towards her bedroom with a casual “good night” thrown towards both Sherlock and John, she could just about overhear her flatmate explaining one more thing to John:

“I know it’s odd the way she and I dance around as we live together, but it works. It’s different to how we lived together, sure. Kat and I always say we’d meet in the middle and this is how we meet in the middle at home. She is my best friend, as are you. Nothing else will change in that regard.”

And the soft chuckle and reply that came after: “‘Kat.’ You adore her as much as Mycroft does.”

She went to sleep smiling that night.

Notes:

Thank you for all the lovely comments as per usual! I went back and had a reread of them today after being horribly ill/in severe pain this morning (all good now though). John and Katrina will slowly see their friendship mend after this moment. :)

Chapter 44: An Easy Solve

The buzzing of the doorbell at six o’clock in the morning on a Sunday was not how Sherlock and Katrina wanted to start their day. They both met in the stairwell bedraggled, cold, in their dressing gowns, and annoyed as anything.

“It’s for you, isn’t it?” Katrina grumbled, trailing behind Sherlock as they both went to answer the front door. “Who the fuck comes here on a Sunday morning with a case?!”

“Someone desperate,” he yawned. He ruffled his hair up so that it would sit as he was used to it, and not be an absolute mess of a bedhead. He opened the door whilst Katrina hung back a little. “Or… rather… multiple desperate people.”

He stepped aside to reveal a group of young university students. Three girls, one boy. All of them clearly still a bit drunk from the night before going by the way they were holding each other steady on the doorstep.

“Oh christ…” Katrina sighed. “I’ll pop the kettle on.”

She didn’t feel bad about leaving Sherlock with the group of students as she hurried back up to the kitchen, but knew it would definitely come back to bite her on the arse later in the day. She grabbed six clean mugs from the dishwasher and filled up the kettle, trying her best to ignore the whispered remarks from the students as they came up behind her.

“I thought he lived with John Watson?” hissed one girl.

“Didn’t think Sherlock Holmes would have a girlfriend?” whispered another.

“Maybe they’re not dating,” suggested the boy.

“True… probably just trying to split the rent. Wasn’t the lady the one on the news that time?” said the third girl.

“Sit down,” Sherlock told them curtly once he entered the living room behind the group. “It is six o’clock in the morning on a Sunday. I understand that you may have been out last night but that doesn’t quite cover the fact that you are all still clearly drunk on my doorstep - next time you need someone’s help in the manner of which I will decide to give you or not, sober up and don’t make assumptions about someone’s living arrangements or relationship status when they can hear you . It leaves a terrible first impression. I don’t typically work Sundays, nor does Katrina, so this needs to be good.”

He had been pacing in front of them whilst reeling off that spiel, eventually coming to sit down in his navy armchair with his fingers steepled under his chin. Katrina held back a groan from the kitchen, but brought in a tray of four teas, a small jug of milk, and pot of sugar, and two coffees; the coffees being for herself and Sherlock. The teas were merely black so that the students could make it how they needed to, and they appeared grateful for the choice in the matter once she had set the tray down in front of them and handed Sherlock his coffee. Katrina sat in the red armchair with her own, waiting for someone else to start talking.

“Sorry, Mr Holmes…” The more sheepish looking girl said. “Um… well, I’m Charlotte Walker. These are my flatmates Becky and Sarah… this is our friend Karl.” She indicated each one as she said their names. The way that Lottie was tapping on the mug with her nails indicated how anxious she was to even be talking; Karl shifted closer to her on the sofa as if to try and ease that.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the students as he began to work out exactly what their university degrees even were.

“Stop it…” Katrina murmured in warning, catching on what he was doing. “It’s not relevant.”

“It might become relevant.”

“They’re students. The only thing that’s relevant is if any of them have jobs - do you all have jobs or do you just rely on student loans and your parents’ money?” she asked the four of them.

“Miss Walker and Karl have jobs,” Sherlock said. “The other two don’t. Do either of you enjoy working in a bar or is it the tips that get you through the night?”

The two students in question glanced at each other, annoyed but impressed that Sherlock had figured them out that quickly. Then again, it was absolutely in his job description to do that. There was a reason they were here at Baker Street, and it was only a matter of a few minutes until they finally revealed why.

“Maybe you should start talking so he stops,” Katrina said.

“Where’s John Watson? Is he going to help?” Becky asked suddenly. There was a slight slur to her voice which indicated she had been the most drunk of the four of them. Granted, Sarah next to her was half asleep and struggling to stay focused.

“It’s a Sunday morning at six o’clock. He is asleep. He may come to help. He may not. Katrina is more than capable of assisting me where necessary. If you’re not careful, she might dig into your internet history,” Sherlock said.

That got them all to shut up for a moment.

“We think - it’s silly, the police would think it’s silly - but we think someone’s trying to scare us out of our flat,” said Charlotte. “Where we live used to be a hospital in the war - it got converted into flats. Supposedly haunted building. Anyway, there’s been some weird stuff happening in the flat lately…”

“Oh yeah!” Becky piped up, trying her best not to slur. “Taps left running after we all leave the flat for the day even though they were off when we left… cupboards emptied…”

“We’re surprised nothing was stolen,” Sarah added. “But yeah. Stuff like that. The shower leak as well - that was a huge issue…”

“We got back this morning after our night out. The door is unlocked even though we know we locked it, and we see something at the end of our hallway that… looks like a ghost…” Charlotte carried on. “Probably sound crazy because we were drunk-”

“You still are. Continue,” Sherlock cut across very quickly.

“It was there,” Karl was deadpan when he spoke. “Definitely a trick, but why? Who? They’ve done nothing wrong!”

“And how would you know? You don’t live with them!”

“Do you want our money or not?”

As Sherlock opened his mouth to speak again, Katrina managed to get there first.

“You’re students. Sherlock would be more than happy to help at a discounted rate. You came all the way back to central London to ask for help. I guess you didn’t go to the police because you thought they’d laugh at you?”

The four of them nodded.

“Okay…” Katrina offered them a soft smile. “Sherlock’s got experience with that. So he’ll help.” She quickly popped back to the desk, scanning it under she spotted a business card, going to hand it over to Charlotte. “I take it you all follow John’s blog. Don’t blame you. It’s a good read. But go home, get a few hours sleep, text Sherlock the address, and he’ll come over to have a look. Alright?”

The four of them nodded again.

“Thanks, Miss… er…” Charlotte trailed off when she stood up with the rest of her friends.

“Jenkins. I’m actually head of cybersecurity at MI5. He wasn’t joking about the fact I can dive into your internet history. Go.”

The students filed out of the flat and downstairs. When the front door being slammed shut was heard, Sherlock started talking again.

“I’m doing the case?!”

“You can solve it by the end of today. Besides - it’ll give you something to do. Now: I don’t know about you, but I’m going back to bed.”

Sherlock sat in thought for a moment, watching as Katrina walked out of the living room. She had taken the case on his behalf, which meant that he could get her to help if need be. That would annoy her the most in this instance: spending a Sunday solving a petty crime.

“There’s one thing I need you to do,” he called after her. She’d barely gotten halfway up the stairs before sighing and coming back to lean in the living room doorway. “They’re all on the same course. Same university was easy, but the chances of them all being on the same course wasn’t as high as you think. Find out more about them. Start with Charlotte Walker - I expect you can find the rest of them from there.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “I shouldn’t really, considering the whole ‘Jak is no longer active’ public statement, but fine. I’ll let you know what I find after I’ve done it and slept. I take it you want me to come with you when they send an address?”

“Well, you got me the case,” Sherlock rose from the chair and started to head towards his bedroom. “I’d say it’s fair. I’d say - it’s me calling in one of your favours. John can have a Sunday off.”

“You can rub that one off the board, then.”

“When the case is done.”

“Hmm. Fine. See you in a few hours.”

“Likewise.”

The pair of them finally returned to their respective bedrooms: Sherlock immediately went back to sleep for two hours, whilst Katrina began researching into the four students and their degrees. It took her less than half an hour to find everything she needed to know and she went back to sleep for a further two and a half hours.

By the time the both of them had woken up refreshed and gotten dressed, Sherlock’s phone pinged with an address from Charlotte. They had to make their way to Greenwich, which he was not pleased about and made a point of grumbling about it the entire cab journey there. In an effort to get him to shut up, Katrina said she’d pay for the journey there and back.

Charlotte and Karl were waiting for them at the gates of the converted hospital building, the former babbling away as she led the two grown ups to the flat. The building was nice with its carpeted, winding corridors and large stairwells - the remnants of it being a war hospital were obvious, and it added to the character of it being a set of flats. They passed by a large window that overlooked the grounds where a few building residents were out enjoying some fresh air.

“How much rent do you pay for a place like this?” Katrina wondered, abruptly cutting Charlotte off. Sherlock appeared thankful for the interruption, whilst the girl was only a little put out. “Sorry.”

“Between three of us, it’s one thousand four hundred a month. So a little under five hundred each. Council tax exempt of course, and once you add bills into the mix I think we’re paying about five hundred and fifty each?” The girl explained. “Rent’s getting lowered next month as well because of the shower issue.”

“Not bad. It’s nice here. Looks well looked after so at least your money is going somewhere.”

The front door of the flat had been left open, but Becky and Sarah were pottering about inside so there was nothing to worry about. Sherlock surveyed the hallway: two doors on the right hand side, two on the left, and one up ahead.

“I assume that’s where you saw your ghost?” he said, indicating towards the end of the hallway.

“Sort of,” Becky had popped her head out of her room looking much more alive. “It was more towards the kitchen.” She indicated the area by the kitchen door, so Sherlock naturally moved into that room to investigate first. Katrina stayed in the hallway and leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

“So… you lot are all very interesting,” she said to the three students in the hallway with her. Sarah then emerged from her room at the end to join them. “Film degrees. All of you. Second year? Are you sure that whatever you saw last night - or early hours of this morning - wasn’t because of someone else on your course trying to… I don’t know, have a bit of fun?”

“Two of them believe in ghosts!” Sherlock called from the kitchen. “Not that it’s relevant.”

Charlotte and Sarah didn’t make eye contact with Katrina after he said that.

“If you work for MI5, why do you help him?” Karl asked.

“Because I owe him a favour. I also apparently have nothing better to do today. Flatmate things, you know?” Katrina replied.

“It was either this or laundry… and it’s your turn to deep clean the bathroom,” Sherlock then said.

Katrina rolled her eyes but stepped into the kitchen all the same, where Sherlock was holding up a tiny fragment of glass with a pair of tweezers and inspecting it with his magnifying glass. He showed it to her before popping it into a tiny vial for safekeeping.

“Have you got your naughty phone on you?” he asked her.

“Don’t call it that,” she groaned. “But yeah. Why?”

“It’s Sunday and there was no security at the front gate when we came in. You’ll want to have a look at the cameras.”

“Bit lax if they think Sunday they can have a day off. We could just… go into the little office at the gate and have a look for ourselves if nobody’s there?” she suggested. “If we get caught, I can flash my MI5 ID card.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You… you carry that on you? All the time?”

She pulled it out of the inside pocket of her coat. “Yeah. I figured now since you’re back from two years away I might get into some stickier situations and this is my get out jail free card. Legally speaking it’s fine because you’re actually helping the British public a lot of the time.”

He was quiet for a moment and his eyes narrowed whilst staring down Katrina as she put the card away. She couldn’t quite tell what sort of look he was giving her, but then he abruptly left the kitchen.

“What was the shower issue?” he asked the four of them.

“Massive leak into downstairs,” said Becky. “I stayed at my boyfriend’s, Sarah used the gym showers here, and Charlotte went to stay at Karl’s whilst it got fixed.”

“And that’s why the rent has been reduced…” he murmured. “Kat, can you get on the footage now from your phone?”

“Yeah, yeah…” she sighed and got out the specially gifted iPhone, leaning against one of the counters and working her magic. Nobody attempted to make small talk with Sherlock in the few minutes that she spent on her phone. “Oh Christ. Alright. They covered their tracks well - covered up the camera. Anybody have the landlord’s number?”

“Uh - I do, I can drop him a text to come over…” Charlotte said.

“That would be wise. When he arrives, perhaps we can meet your downstairs neighbour too,” Sherlock added. “Come on, Kat, we’re not waiting around in here. There’s no living room as they used it as a third bedroom…”

As Sherlock sauntered out of the flat itself, Katrina could only smile apologetically at the students before following after him.

He was completely silent as she stayed a few paces behind him. He was thinking hard about the case at hand and needed to be away from any other distractions. Katrina found his methods of working persistently odd, and not even almost three years of being aware of them and working with him was ever going to change that. She couldn’t fathom how fast his mind could possibly go in times like these and how he was always the cleverest person in the room, for which she could only hope to give him a run for his money in that regard.

They ended up outside in the chill, sitting on a picnic bench under a tree on the beautiful, still frosty grounds of the building. Katrina sat unfazed by his silences, electing to take a few pictures of her surroundings and even go so far to snap one of Sherlock whilst he was lost in his trance. He barely gave her a glance when she so blatantly did that, but she looked at the photo and thought he looked quite nice. Maybe it was one to go up on the wall of the flat somewhere, should he return the gesture.

“It’s an insurance scam,” Sherlock said after a good ten minutes. “Or at least attempted extortion. A very bad attempt. He’ll get done for breaking and entering, on a technicality of not notifying them that he would be in the flat. The shower leaks downstairs, the landlord takes pity on the occupant, tries to figure out a way to scare the students - and they’re students. Of course they’re scared. But as a gesture of goodwill he agrees to the reduced rent because it took so long to fix their shower. In the process, he wants to scare them out of the flat and retain the deposit with the justification that they ruined the flooring in the bathroom.”

“Okay. How did you get to that conclusion?” Katrina asked after a moment.

“The camera cover up suggested that whoever did it knew where it was and would have had an accomplice,” Sherlock explained. “The resident in the flat downstairs. The landlord would own several properties in that wing of the building.”

“And the ghost?”

Sherlock proceeded to get the vial out from his coat pocket.

“Pepper’s Ghost. It’s an illusion using light refraction through glass. I don’t know if you noticed in the kitchen but there were white dust marks on the floor - likely from paint or hair spray to make the person look like a ghost. Stand behind acrylic glass and view it from a certain angle, you have your projection. The glass fragment was just inside the kitchen doorway. They didn’t clean up so well once the students had run off.”

“Wow. All of that from the glass, the dust marks, and the covered up camera. Very good.”

Sherlock shrugged and hummed. “All in a day’s work. I suppose you were right that I’d have it solved by the end of the day.”

“You just need a confession from the landlord first.”

“Exactly. And the accomplice.”

“Hi!” came a spritely voice from not so far in the distance. The pair of them turned their attention to see that Charlotte was walking over to them with a tray of tea and biscuits. “Thought you might want something to keep you going. Landlord’ll be here in an hour or so and he’s gonna grab the downstairs neighbour too!”

God, she was so cheery now. It seemed like she really wanted to impress Sherlock with how keen and organised she was as well; in fact, she kept looking directly at him when speaking as well. Katrina thought it was sweet. She’d have probably done the same in Charlotte’s position. Sherlock was the kind of person any mentally ill young person would be desperate to try and impress.

She set down the tray and perched on the edge of the bench that Sherlock was sitting on, unable to take her eyes off of him. Katrina understood that. If she were less self conscious about the idea of being caught staring at Sherlock, she’d do it all the time too. Unfortunately, she did have a minor crush on him to get over as well as actually live with him, so it was something she never dared to do. She’d sneak glances at him every once in a while, and that was just fine.

For now, Katrina settled with grabbing a cup of tea and dunking a biscuit in it in order to push her thoughts elsewhere.

“I don’t eat on cases,” Sherlock said, eyeing the biscuits.

Charlotte shrugged. “They won’t go to waste anyway,” she said, going to take a biscuit and nibble on it. “Have you figured it out?”

“Yes. I just need to speak to the landlord. All very simple. Too simple, in fact, and quite frankly an immature situation. It’s dull, so to speak. One look at your kitchen and I had it.”

Katrina lightly kicked Sherlock under the table when he said that the case had been dull, due to the fact Charlotte looked rather downcast about it.

“Still…” he carried on, his brow furrowed towards Katrina as he went to rub his leg for a moment. “You have no ghost. It was an illusion. Perhaps the most interesting part of all - and that’s how I solved it. And… no charge.”

“Seriously?” Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes,” Sherlock said softly. “The perpetrator of the whole situation was your landlord and downstairs neighbour. Effectively attempting an insurance scam or extortion, likely the both of them. Your landlord wasn’t happy at having to reduce your rent due to the shower issue so wanted to get you and your flatmates out. Rather than ask you to, he wanted you to leave and then try and claim the deposit for the damages. Too simple.”

“Oh…”

Katrina knew that Sherlock took pride in having a more satisfying conclusion to his cases. He would have cared more that this one was too easy to solve, but there was something about the hopeful university student bringing them tea that had him not minding. He smiled gently at Charlotte and drank from the cup of tea she had made for him with barely a grimace that he hid well because the tea was not made to his usual standard.

Eventually the landlord and the downstairs neighbour showed up, allowing Sherlock to verbally obliterate them into the next century much to the pleasure of the four students and Katrina. He had called in Lestrade to make an arrest and do all the appropriate paperwork, and the pair of them floated off away from the scene of the crime in a cab that Katrina was less begrudging about paying for.

“You’ve gone all soft. Why?” she asked Sherlock on their way back home. “Waiving the fee? Leaving it in Lestrade’s hands? Not like you.”

“They came to us because they thought the police would laugh at them. I know what that’s like,” he explained. “My first case when I was eleven - Carl Powers and how he drowned - the police didn’t believe what I had to say. Fact of the matter is, we put a stop to the landlord before he could do any real damage to the girls that lived in the flat. Not an interesting case, but still… important regardless.”

Katrina hummed in agreement. “One thing I do have to say about those students though.”

“Oh?”

“If I was more of a betting girl, I would definitely be placing a bet on Charlotte and Karl.”

“Agreed. They’re very attached. He soothes her anxiety, she likes the extra layer of protection. Gives her confidence.”

“I’m shocked you deduced that out of it.”

“They were glued to each other on the sofa. Even you could have spotted that.”

Katrina smiled and couldn’t help but wonder if he was reminded of how close they were.

Notes:

Semi-rehash of a case from the old version of this fic. It is what it is. A bit of filler.

Chapter 45: A Night of Observation

“Humour me.”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s one night!”

“Um… no.”

“John and Mary are going.”

“Still no…”

Katrina sighed as she tailed Sherlock around the flat. He was wandering around in an effort to get away from her and not get cornered by her, and he was doing an absolutely terrible job of it. She’d started keeping note of the time in the case that he might lock himself in his bedroom or the bathroom. The chances of him actually leaving the flat were slim to none because he wasn’t someone to waste time like that.

Sort of. He was still letting Katrina practically chase him around the flat.

“My work lot are coming as well - you can finally meet Daniel.”

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks.

“Tempting… but no.”

“You can wipe one of your favours off the board.”

He sighed and turned to face her. “Fine. But I refuse to go on a single ride and I will not ice skate. Are we clear?”

Katrina scoffed. “Like I was going to ask you to do any of that. I just wanted you to come out and socialise. The plan is to mainly drink and maybe eat some overpriced food, but that’s about it! We’ve not gone out as flatmates and done anything fun together yet.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to counter her point, but she cut across him.

“Solving cases doesn’t count!” she huffed. “That’s more fun for you, but not for me.”

“And how is going to Winter Wonderland meant to be fun for me? The noise! The people! It’s a breeding ground for overstimulation.”

“Fresh air?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “There is some truth to what you’re saying - you don’t necessarily enjoy going on cases and we haven’t done anything outside of this flat together. May as well give it a shot and dive right into the deep end.”

“Great! We leave in about two hours,” she beamed at him before running off into the kitchen to grab something to eat. 

Sherlock sighed and watched her from his spot near the window. As much as he hated the prospect of going out in a big group and socialising, at least she, John, and Mary were the main people there. That gave him small comfort alongside the fact he’d get to meet the mysterious Daniel for the first time. He couldn’t really care less about the rest of the people Katrina worked with, but she just seemed to be happy about the fact he was coming along regardless.

He didn’t feel all that hungry and ate some toast, electing to use his time trawling through his email inbox for another case that he could solve from the comfort of the living room before the pair of them ultimately wrapped up and headed out into the cold.

They met with John and Mary first at the corner of Hyde Park station just after seven thirty; the lights from Winter Wonderland were colourful and bright, and not nearly as irritating as Sherlock had expected them to be. So far, so good. With their small group and the fact they appeared to be the first ones out of the larger group to arrive, Sherlock knew he could ease into it. He trailed behind John, Mary, and Katrina by a few paces with his hands in his pockets and watched them chat away in a rather chirpy manner. For some reason, his gaze never seemed to leave Katrina.

Whatever. He was putting it down to it being their first social excursion at flatmates.

The crowds weren’t too bad and they were able to walk with ease, eventually coming to a specific food and drink area with tables and various stalls (most of which seemed to sell alcohol). Katrina practically ran over to a group of five sitting at one of the larger tables, practically throwing her arms around the man that Sherlock presumed to be Daniel, as she did not greet any of the others the same way (the hugs were more polite, and one of them got a handshake which meant she didn’t know that person at all and he assumed it was someone’s partner).

“...So that’s John and Mary,” she introduced the two of them as they followed after. “And that grumpy sod is my flatmate Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave them all a curt nod and sat down at the end of the table next to Katrina but opposite John. It appeared as if her work group had been there for a little longer than they had and were at least one, maybe two drinks in and had had some food as well.

Whilst Katrina and Mary very easily slotted into the conversation, Sherlock and John were left a little awkward at the end.

“Shall we grab ‘em some drinks?” John suggested.

“Hmm. Yes,” Sherlock agreed, and they got up and headed over to one of the stalls that had the shortest queue.

“I’m surprised you’re out and about.”

“Kat made a compelling case,” Sherlock said with a shrug, his hands immediately going back into his pockets. “She’s a social girl. It… appears that she enjoys going out with her flatmates if she has any.”

John chuckled. “And you’re the flatmate.”

“Indeed. No harm in it.” Sherlock glanced back over at the table to see that Katrina was laughing at something someone in the group had said. A delightful, yet quite rare sight. She was more of a giggler, prone to a light chuckle, so to see her fully laughing with her head thrown back was a nice sight to behold.

“And you can’t stop bloody staring at her.” John raised an eyebrow as they moved forward a couple of places in the queue. “Seriously, did anything else happen in those two years? I get you two are close but I think the last time I saw you ever look at a woman like that was when Irene Adler came to stay in the flat.”

“I’m not having this conversation…”

“No - no, you are. Because chance is a fine thing if you happen to like a girl.”

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. John was his best friend, there was no harm in telling him one small detail, was there? “We kissed. In Rome. An experiment, if you will. Testing our boundaries and our different types of personal ethos when it comes to emotions. That was a year and a half ago. Nothing more, nothing less, but it certainly broke the ice when it came to being friends with each other.”

John’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Finally, a bit of the truth!

“There was also whisky involved,” Sherlock quickly added. “Nothing else is bound to happen. She cares about me too much for that.”

“And you don’t care about her…?”

Sherlock gave John a look as if to say ‘stop fishing for answers,’ which only made the man grin. “Of course I do. The routine around the flat wouldn’t work if I didn’t.”

It was their turn next, and Sherlock dutifully paid for four mulled wines after a brief back and forth with John.

“You do like her though,” John persisted.

“Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn’t live-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I do like her. Not as you want me to,” Sherlock gave him a wry smile, and then they were presented with four cups. “You can take yours and the future Mrs Watson’s…”

“Yeah, and you’re taking the ones for you and future Mrs Holmes.”

Sherlock sighed, picking up two of the cups and walking back towards the table, John in his wake. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“It’s dull.”

“It’s funny.”

“No…” Sherlock sped up his pace so he could get away from John who was beginning to chuckle. He got back to the table about ten seconds before John did, sliding back into his seat next to Katrina and handing her the mulled wine. “You’re welcome,” he then said, taking a sip of it and wincing ever so slightly. “It’s a little tart.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t expecting anything less from what is effectively a tourist cash grab,” Katrina pointed out. “Thanks for buying, though!”

“Next round is on you…”

She didn’t particularly care about that and happily agreed to it.

As the night went on, the conversation and people flowed - they were in and out of the group, some choosing to go on rides, some choosing to go for a walk, others heading for the arcade games. But as long as there were two people at the table to keep it, it didn’t really matter what everyone was doing. Sherlock remained there as a permanent fixture as he sipped slowly on his mulled wine. He only had the one, but he indulged Katrina in buying her a second when she came back giggling with Mary after a wander around the park. He eventually bought himself a second as well, as the occasion seemed to call for it.

At one point he ended up in a conversation with Daniel and the others that Katrina worked with. He understood why Daniel had become a good friend of hers: he was exactly the kind of sensible yet outgoing person she needed around in the past couple of years. The man couldn’t have been more thrilled to finally meet Sherlock, and was practically falling over his words the entire time. Nerves, perhaps. But this was a casual setting, and Sherlock knew there was no need for him to be nervous.

“I heard about pretty much everything that happened when you were away when Kat would - would go to you,” Daniel confessed.

“I know,” Sherlock replied, harbouring no ill will towards either of them for it. “She told me.”

“You understand how she gets, right?”

Sherlock froze, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly. Thankfully Katrina and Mary were now down the opposite end of the table and were too engrossed in conversation with John, Benji, and Daniel’s partner that none of them would be paying attention.

“You mean emotionally?” He chose to clarify.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Daniel leaned a little closer towards Sherlock across the table. “She sort of shuts down a bit, you know? When she’s not - when she’s not okay. That happened when you guys weren’t in touch earlier this year. She didn’t have a good time. It’s like you’re an extension of her - you’re her favourite person ever.”

“I’m aware. That much I was able to deduce. Human nature and emotions are not my area at all, but Kat makes it easier to understand. Or at the very minimum, I understand her.” Sherlock paused for a moment, a soft smile gracing his lips. “She’s in safe hands, Daniel. And I know where to turn if the need arises.”

“I try my best. She annoys the hell out of me sometimes.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Sherlock took a swig of his wine. “She’s quite the stubborn girl, isn’t she?”

“And also my boss. I shouldn’t make any further comments.”

“Quite right.” He winked at Daniel, who rolled his eyes but winked back as well.

The night went on and the group became more raucous in their behaviour. Too much mulled wine was being consumed and Sherlock was keeping a much closer eye on Katrina. She and Mary looked to be getting on like a house on fire - he wondered if it would be impossible to separate them at the end of the night.

His point was proven when they all parted ways, eventually.

They were practically joined at the hip and had to be prised off each other when Sherlock managed to flag down a cab for himself and Katrina.

“Come round in the morning…” Katrina told Mary (and by extension, John). “Bring breakfast! It’ll be nice.”

“Yeah…” Mary agreed. “Yeah alright. At ten? Ten’s alright, isn’t it John?”

“Yes, Mary, now let go of Katrina, so she and Sherlock can go home…” He was the most sober one out of all of them. Whilst Sherlock had only had two wines, the slow sipping of them meant that he was expecting it to hit him to some degree fairly soon.

For now, he was able to get Katrina in the cab and so began the twenty minute journey home to Baker Street. She was a little restless, chatty, and he sat there and listened because she did not let him get a word in edgeways.

“Admit it, Lock, you had fun!” Katrina insisted at one point during the ride home. Instead of sitting by the other window of the cab, she was in the middle and right next to Sherlock. Her arm was looped through his and she was resting her head on his shoulder. “You enjoyed the shittiest seasonal thing in London.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but agree with her. As much as he despised cash grabs and festivities such as Winter Wonderland, he had enjoyed his time out with her, John, Mary, and Katrina’s work friends. He may have stayed on the fringes of it all, but that had suited him just fine. Besides, someone needed to remain sober and that had worked out perfectly with the fact that Katrina had had enjoyed one too many mulled wine much like the rest of the group (except for John, who remained sensibly sober so he could get Mary home in one piece).

As drunk as Katrina currently was and had been hanging off of his arm for the past hour — long before they got in the cab — Sherlock had no ill feeling towards her for it. He would rather be the one she hang onto to get home safe instead of her traipsing around London on her own at eleven o’clock at night. They were flatmates and best friends, after all, and it would have been silly of him not to want to take up that responsibility. It didn’t matter that Katrina was a thirty year old woman capable of making her own decisions, he had learned over the last two years that the worst of the world often lay in wait in the shadows for someone to show an ounce of vulnerability before striking.

An inebriated woman would fall into that bracket.

And it had taken some convincing to not get the tube back home, but the cab that they were in now. Sherlock had rolled the window down to allow the winter breeze to drift in as the driver sped through London in the hopes that it might sober Katrina up enough before she climbed into bed that night and not have even the faintest semblance of a hangover the next morning.

“You are aware of how ridiculous you are sometimes, Kat?” Sherlock mused out loud as he glanced down at her with a fond look on his face. She beamed up at him, and an odd warmth flowed through his chest which he put down to the mulled wine beginning to hit him.

“I can’t be that ridiculous, otherwise you wouldn’t be happy to have me as a flatmate with our little routines that we have.” A fair argument. Sherlock couldn’t disagree there. In fact, there was a lot that he couldn’t disagree with at the moment when it came to Katrina, particularly that night. Again, it was likely the mulled wine. It was a rarity for him to drink as much as he did, but the two cups of it had been enough to warrant his logical mind far more relaxed than normal.

Katrina was more than pleased that he couldn’t find a way to argue back against her point and merely sank down in her seat with a happy hum to herself for the remaining few minutes of the journey home.

Sherlock swiftly paid the cabbie and helped Katrina out. She swayed and gripped onto his upper arms with a giggle; he steadied her with his hands on her waist. He didn’t move when he realised that was where his hands were. In fact, he swallowed rather nervously at the very notion. Why was he nervous? It was Katrina! His best friend Katrina! Who was currently being the most ridiculous person ever to the point she could erupt into giggles at any given moment.

“Shall we get out of the cold, Lock?” Ah. So she still did have some sense left in her brain. It brought Sherlock out of his inner thoughts and he immediately shifted so that he could loop his arm around her elbow and lead her up the front steps of the flat.

“Mrs Hudson will be asleep,” he told her as she fumbled with the keys from his pocket. “So keep your voice down.”

Katrina nodded quickly but giggled again.

“And stop giggling!” he hissed as he opened the door, managing to shove her inside and hurry in after her, locking the door with a few quiet clicks after the fact.

At least she could listen to instructions, because Katrina suddenly became the quietest she had been all evening and practically tiptoed alongside Sherlock through the hallway. The stairs up to 221b, however, were an issue. She sighed, annoyed that she was going to have to go up them.

“I can’t do stairs…” she murmured.

“I am not carrying you up them.”

“I wasn’t asking that!” she insisted. “Just - just take it slow…”

“Alright…” Sherlock began to wonder how she had coped after MI5 parties, but then remembered the finer detail of having to go to his brother’s house after the Halloween one. Either way, he kept a tight hold of Katrina and they went up the stairs at her pace. The wine was starting to hit him further too. The sudden jump from the cold London air into the warmth of the flat had not been helpful at all. If he wasn’t careful, they were both going to be giggling messes on the stairs, unable to get to bed.

It took them the better part of seven minutes, but they made it to the living room. Katrina did not want to go up the additional flight of stairs to her bedroom and elected to flop down on the sofa.

“I’m gonna sleep here,” she announced as Sherlock turned on a couple of lamps and removed his winter layers.

“Terrible idea. You’ll do your neck in.”

“More likely my back…” she muttered, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Kat. No. You are not sleeping there. Water. Bed. Now. Okay?” He sincerely hoped that his point was succinct enough as he went to go and fill up two glasses from the tap in the kitchen.

Katrina very begrudgingly sat up when he came back, gratefully taking one of the glasses and pretty much gulping it down. Sherlock had taken a few sips of his own and handed it over so she could have more, before going to sort a refill. Whilst she drank her third glass much more slowly, he elected to get her shoes off. Lace ups. There was no way in hell she was going to get those off whilst this drunk.

“You going to undress me too?” she teased.

“Down girl,” he warned. “First of all, we’re drunk - you more so than me. Secondly, we’ve already had this conversation. Thirdly - yes, if you feel incapable of not being able to get into pyjamas on your own, then I may have to. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She was still in her winter layers too, so Sherlock had to prise the glass from her grip so he could at least get her out of those lest she start to overheat.

“Borrow some of my clothes to sleep in. I’m not going through your drawers and you won’t go upstairs. You’re staying in my room. Alright?” He sat back on his knees and rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired. It was close to eleven thirty which wasn’t nearly as late as he would go to bed, but they had been out all evening with friends and acquaintances and people he decided he really didn’t like at all.

Thankfully, Katrina agreed to the idea, all thoughts of jokingly flirting gone from her mind.

Sherlock would never understand women. He would not ever fully understand Katrina and her attachment to him. Yes, they were best friends and that made sense to him, but she revelled in his very being. She could not get enough of him, it seemed. If anything, he was as wrapped around her little finger as Mycroft was and he didn’t understand that either. They had known each other for nearly three years and spent the better part of two maintaining a long distance friendship, but now they were putting all that horrid effort into a close quarters friendship like it was no effort at all.

He trailed after her towards his bedroom and knew he wouldn’t mind trailing after her for the rest of his life. He revelled in Katrina’s company and had to face the fact that he enjoyed their odd bond more than he let on. He averted his eyes as she changed into a shirt and joggers from his chest of drawers, and busied himself with making sure that she could immediately slide into bed and get a good night’s sleep.

The alcohol. It was the alcohol talking, he kept telling himself every time his thoughts drifted over into pure sentiment regarding Katrina. She was the sentimental one in this friendship, not him.

Yet there Sherlock was: making sure she was cosy in his bed and wasn’t going to have a hangover the next day. He waited until he was certain that Katrina was sound asleep first before he considered even allowing himself to nod off. She had been chatty again once she’d climbed into bed. Except it had all been nonsensical and he could only half heartedly agree or disagree with what she was saying. Katrina practically mumbled herself to sleep in the end, curled up in a ball on the left hand side of his bed without a single care in the world.

Sherlock knew she’d have questions the next morning. Anyone that drunk would.

So he was surprised to find that she was up and about before him on the Sunday morning - if ‘up and about’ was an accurate term. Katrina was in his second best dressing gown, nursing a cup of coffee whilst at the desk in the living room, phone in hand and scrolling with a look of disdain.

“You know…” Her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Eight quid for a mulled wine isn’t worth it. Let alone seven of them.” Katrina groaned and set down her phone.

“You can afford it,” Sherlock mumbled, pulling up the chair opposite her. It appeared as if she had made him a coffee as well; it was still hot. “This is why I didn’t want to go in the first place. We could have all just gone to a pub and the mulled wine would have been five pounds and tasted a lot better. Also - seven?! I bought you two!”

Katrina winced as his voice went up. “Yes, well, hush, Lock. I’m a big girl who can buy alcohol for herself.”

“A big girl who couldn’t get up the stairs on her own last night and then had to sleep in my bed to avoid the second flight of stairs. And also wear my clothes to bed.” He gave her a sly yet wry smile.

“You wouldn’t have allowed it if it were such a problem. I’m a great flatmate.”

“Yes, and-”

The doorbell went, startling the both of them and they stared at each other in confusion. Katrina checked the time on her phone.

“Well. It’s gone ten. I assume it’s fine.”

Sherlock got up and peered out of the window. “It’s fine - it’s John and Mary!”

“Why are they here?”

“You invited them round, remember? Don’t worry, it looks like they’ve brought food.”

Sherlock disappeared to go and let them in, whilst Katrina lay her head on the desk in despair. So much for being a big girl. She couldn’t even remember the fact that she had invited her own friends round for breakfast, apparently! She was just thankful that when Mary walked in she looked about as awful as Katrina did, the only difference being she wasn’t in pyjamas. John followed behind her with a massive bag from Pret, and Sherlock was at the very back already munching on a toastie.

“Leave whatever’s for me just right here…” Katrina wearily patted the space on the desk next to her head. “I’ll have it when I feel like sitting up straight again.”

“This feels like an omen for the hen do,” Mary said as she collapsed onto the sofa. “I cannot wait to see you get absolutely slaughtered at it.”

“I presume I’ll be the one getting the call to drag Kat home when that happens?” Sherlock asked as he sat in the navy armchair.

John handed out the remaining hot food before going to settle in the red armchair. “Well, you live with her mate, and she’s not in a relationship so… yeah. Yeah, you get to be the one anyone calls when Katrina’s off her nut.”

He sighed in mock disappointment. “I should have known you came with terms and conditions,” he directed the statement at Katrina. When she rolled her eyes at him, he winked. Of course Sherlock didn’t actually care if he was the one to have to drag a drunken Katrina home after a night out. He’d done it  the night before without an issue, and he already knew he’d be more than happy to do it again. But he didn’t want to make it so obvious to John and Mary without making them suspicious for no reason.

“Any unhinged girl comes with terms and conditions, Lock,” she then said as a late comeback. “Surely you of all people would know that.”

“Good to know you’re unhinged, I suppose…” John murmured. “Anyway. Plans for Christmas?”

Katrina actually sat up straight and glanced over at the Christmas tree - the only decoration they had bothered to put up. Neither she nor Sherlock had discussed any plans revolving around the holiday, and appeared to be actively avoiding it. She felt like a deer in headlights. How had she and her best friend not made Christmas plans?

“We’ll be at Mycroft’s,” Sherlock then said, sensing her discomfort. “Kat spent time with him the past two years, and it’ll be the same again. Only I’ll be there. He is my brother after all.”

“What about your sister?” John asked Katrina.

“You’ve got a sister?” Mary was surprised.

“Yeah. I don’t really talk to her much. She lives in my old flat in Brixton. Haven’t seen her for a while, she usually goes to see the family at Christmas… I doubt she’ll want to forgo those plans…” Katrina mumbled in response, finally going to take a bite of her toastie. “I’ll send her a card. Not very festive in this household, really…”

“Nope,” Sherlock said. “That’s why I made the arrangements with Mycroft. Sorry to drop them on you now with just over a week left before the day.”

“Great,” Katrina sighed. “I mean… to be expected. Me and you and Mycroft like one big weird happy family. Are you going to throw your parents in for good measure again?”

“No, and that was Mycroft’s idea last time… it’ll just be us and my brother. Joyous.”

“Not the weirdest three-way I would have had, but definitely not the best.”

Mary choked out her laughter as she ate, John clapping her on the back utterly unimpressed.

“The image of you in bed with Mycroft… exactly what we all wanted,” he said.

Sherlock shuddered. “Kat’s very good at lowering the tone where applicable. Thankfully she respects my brother too much to do that in front of him.” He turned to John and Mary. “We’ll survive Christmas with Mycroft.”

“And we’ll see you on New Year’s Eve? We can do drinks here?” Katrina suggested. “Nothing crazy, of course. Quiet night in and all that.”

“Sounds good to me. We’re having a quiet Christmas this year anyway - keep that idea going into the New Year and it means we should have a good, quiet year, right?” Mary said. “Although I suppose getting married isn’t all that quiet.”

“I think it’s a fairly normal thing to do,” John added. “Not out of the ordinary at all. It’ll be a good year.”

“Yeah guys, let’s not hex it…” Katrina mumbled. “We’ve actually got to get to the wedding first.”

Notes:

Building on the Shertrina dynamic until they break, of course... We're getting close to the moment!

Thanks for all the support as always.

Chapter 46: Christmas 2013

“Oh god, Katrines, are we doing Christmas calls now?” Isabel asked down the line, hostile.

Katrina held back a sigh and sat down at the bottom of the stairs with her glass of champagne, leaning against the wall as she did so. “I know we normally don’t, but I thought - I don’t know. I wanted to check in. It’s been a while.”

Isabel was silent for a moment. “Well… that’s nice…” Her voice was softer now. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking the same. You turned thirty earlier this year, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. It was alright.” A lump suddenly formed in her throat. This was exactly why she never stayed in touch with her family. She had always been the weirdest little black sheep, but growing up came with maturity when it came to her younger sister. She was never the one for Katrina to direct her anger at, but once their parents were gone that was the easiest target after all. “Are you with Aunt Millie for Christmas?”

“We’re all at Uncle Barney’s this time,” she replied. “It’s alright. Hattie’s got a baby now, and it won’t stop crying.” Isabel paused. “Is that why you hated me so much? Because I wouldn’t stop crying?”

“I think ‘hate’ is a strong word. I was six,” Katrina sighed. “It definitely grew into hate, sure, but I’m growing out of it now…”

The thudding of footsteps behind her coming down had her glancing over her shoulder briefly to see that Sherlock was up and dressed. He slowed down when he saw that she was on the phone, a light frown gracing his brow.

Katrina hurriedly turned her attention back to Isabel. “Look… um… I need to go. But Merry Christmas. Maybe we should go for a drink soon.”

“Yeah. Sounds good. Merry Christmas, Kitty.”

“Urgh, don’t call me that,” she couldn’t help but laugh, a pang going through her heart at the same time. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“No. But you’re still my big sister Kitty. Bye.”

Isabel abruptly hung up, not that Katrina minded.

She stood up and waited for Sherlock to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Your sister?” he asked.

“Yeah. You know… she had two nicknames for me growing up. ‘Katrines’ when she couldn’t say my full name properly, and then… ‘Kitty.’ We were Kitty and Izzy. It was probably the only time I ever felt like a proper sister to her when she called me that, and I still didn’t care for it,” she confessed as they walked towards the living room. She sipped on her drink as they went. 

“I presume you won’t be taking John’s advice ever again?” Sherlock grabbed the bottle and the last remaining empty glass to pour himself some bubbly. “Is this the one time you don’t enjoy sentiment?”

“Dear lord…” Mycroft folded his newspaper in half and peered at them from his armchair in the corner. “This is precisely why Sherlock and I don’t do brotherly sentiment.”

“Sure…” Katrina sank down onto the sofa. “I’d argue that Christmas Day is the one day of the year where you do partake in brotherly sentiment. Meanwhile I prefer to avoid sisterly sentiment. I don’t know why I called. Humouring John, I guess…”

“Lesson learned,” Sherlock added, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa to her. “Don’t take John’s advice when it comes to family matters.”

She chuckled and raised her glass to that statement.

Spending the festive period with Sherlock and Mycroft certainly had its perks. The three of them had a mutual understanding of each other’s boundaries and therefore knew what was worth conversation, what wasn’t, and what they could essentially poke fun at. Not to mention that spending Christmas in a very stately home was a perk in itself. 

She and Sherlock had arrived the evening before, bringing a takeout dinner with them courtesy of Mycroft’s money. It had been a quiet and slightly awkward affair with the three of them being unable to settle into each other’s company without the prospect of danger and hiding, but it had been fine enough.

Long after everyone had retired to bed, Katrina had still found herself awake at eleven thirty that night. She wasn’t tired at all. She was enjoying the peace and quiet that the secluded estate Mycroft lived on provided. She’d not had a chance to appreciate it the last two times she’d been here, but she bathed in it with a book by lamplight.

Then there was a knock on her door, followed by Sherlock poking his head in.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he whispered.

Katrina snapped her book shut and looked at him weirdly. “Yes, and?”

“Mycroft’s asleep. There’s nothing around here for miles. Fancy a wander?”

She was so cosy in her pyjamas and in the enormous bed, but when Sherlock stuck his hand in with the bottle of whisky did she sigh and get up out of bed. He threw her a sly smile as she pulled on a pair of thick fluffy socks.

“Knew it,” he said triumphantly.

“We’re in our thirties and we still insist on acting like young twentysomethings when it comes to your brother…” she murmured as she followed Sherlock downstairs. The pair of them popped on their shoes and coats; she was also surprised to see that he was also in his pyjamas too.

“Needs must when it’s almost Christmas.”

They stepped out the front door into the cold, dark grounds of Mycroft’s estate. The sky was clear and the half moon glowed just above them. Sherlock popped open the bottle of whisky and had a swig before passing it to Katrina. She gagged a little after drinking some, not expecting it to be so strong.

“Fucking hell. I don’t wanna get plastered the night before Christmas…”

They walked down the steps and out into the grounds, both using the torches on their phones to light the way.

“Relax. You won’t. It’s just to keep us warm.” Sherlock took the bottle back from her and popped the cap back on as they headed towards the treeline.

“You’re insane.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Good point…” she murmured, folding her arms across her chest and shivering a little. Maybe she should have also put a jumper on. “I have a tendency to follow your silly ideas. Anyway, I’ve always meant to ask: what’s Mycroft’s deal with this place? It’s huge and lonely. Why does he live here?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s just how he likes it. When I first moved to London, he often had to… well, I ended up in drug dens, he’d come to rescue me. We’d come here. I’d recover. The occasional rinse and repeat until I got clean. I expect the lonely nature of this place gives him privacy for situations like that. At least, that’s what I’ve come to understand over the years.”

They hadn’t truly spoken about Sherlock’s past with drugs properly - not since they had been in Dartmoor together. The subject wasn’t taboo, it was merely something that was a thing of the past and he didn’t have to worry about anymore. Certainly they’d come close to it in Shanghai and Stockholm, but no cigar. As Katrina looked at Sherlock through the glow of their phone lights, his expression was impassive and unbothered. He wasn’t ashamed of it by any means.

“Stop it,” he told her.

“I’m not - I just - neither of us really talk about our pasts so much,” she said, turning her attention back to the fact they were in the trees now. Katrina allowed Sherlock to take the lead again and she followed him through the woods. “Why start now?”

“We didn’t get anything for each other for Christmas,” was his answer.

“How do you know I didn’t- ah. Never mind…”

They came to a small clearing with a sizeable enough log for them to sit on that when they looked up through the trees they had the perfect view of the half moon.

“I know it’s been difficult - the past couple of years - but you didn’t… you didn’t relapse did you?” Sherlock asked carefully.

“No,” Katrina shook her head. “It barely crossed my mind. I was too worried about you, I guess. And I had therapy to get through all the Moriarty stuff. I probably need therapy again to talk about Holly Peters and the train thing… especially after last month’s moment.”

“Yes, you were quite startled on the tracks. It’s a good idea. And it’s provided for you at work too.”

“You didn’t ask me to come out here to make small talk, so why did you?” Katrina cut straight to it, much to Sherlock’s amusement.

“Neither of us are Christmas people. You’ve certainly had your fair share of not normal Christmases growing up considering you don’t like to talk about it but it was easy enough to deduce from what I know about your parents and sister,” he spoke so quickly that from her tiredness of being up late she barely registered what he had said and let it slip by her. 

“Oh god. You’re being nice. You’re being… fun. Did taking you out to Winter Wonderland break your brain?” Katrina winked at him and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m being a good friend. Making things a little different.” Sherlock checked the time on his phone. “And for what it’s worth - Merry Christmas. If it weren’t so cold and dark, I’d say we should properly explore. Perhaps in the afternoon with Mycroft’s supervision? Although I expect he’ll figure out we popped out for a midnight stroll…”

“Hardly a midnight stroll. We can’t see shit and we’re in a clearing looking up at the moon and briefly touching on past trauma. Oh - and there’s also whisky. Give it.”

Sherlock handed her the bottle once more and she opened it to have another drink, passing it back so he could do the same. It settled warmly in her chest and she was grateful for the fact he’d brought it out.

“Merry Christmas, Lock,” she said quietly. “This is a nice way to start the day, I have to say.”

Katrina couldn’t entirely recall what they spoke about for the next half an hour before deciding to attempt to explore the woods further and then making their way back to the house at one in the morning. She slept better than she expected to, and now that the three of them were all in the living room trying to decide on how to go about the day, she realised that at that moment in time, the Holmes brothers were all the family she needed.

“We should go for an afternoon walk,” Sherlock said to break the silence. “After lunch, of course.”

“I suppose Kat would want to see the grounds in the daytime, then?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I heard you both coming back in. How was the stroll?”

“You’re an arse,” Katrina said. “But it was nice. Cold. But we had some whisky to warm us up, right Lock?”

“We barely touched the bottle, it was one of your nicer ones,” he informed Mycroft, who outwardly appeared incredibly impassive but Katrina could tell he was utterly unimpressed by their antics.

“Oh Mycroft, don’t be so dull,” she said. “I’m sure you had your fair share of fun when you were our age and at university.”

Sherlock scoffed at the very thought of Mycroft having fun. “Please, Kat, he was civil servant from the moment he left university and worked his way up ever since. Do you think he had fun in his twenties? I guarantee there is a laptop in his room that has every single secret about Great Britain on it, and he has to safeguard it over every holiday.”

“Aw, come on now. He has fun at the MI5 parties…”

Mycroft sighed deeply, electing to top up his glass. “I participate where I have to.”

“Hmm. Yeah. I’m sure Lady Smallwood enjoys it when you participate.”

“And what are you implying?”

“You so flirt with her at parties. Everyone can tell,” Katrina paused for a moment. “You know, I have this theory that neither of you understand if you’re flirting.”

“And how would you know if Sherlock was flirting?” Mycroft asked, a sly look on his face as if to say got you. But Katrina was calm - Katrina was cool - and she had a knack for talking her way out of holes she had dug around Mycroft. Sherlock, on the other hand, sank down in his seat ever so slightly and for once kept his mouth shut, electing to watch his older brother and best friend bicker.

“First of all, I thought you’d try and counter that I’m saying I can spot you flirting. Secondly, Sherlock flirts the same way you do,” Katrina said.

“Again, how would you know if Sherlock’s doing the same thing as I am?”

Katrina rolled her eyes at how devilish Mycroft’s expression was getting, still trying to catch her out. “Because friends sometimes jokingly flirt between each other. All fun and games, right Lock?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Sherlock told her in a low voice. “But Kat is right. There was nothing untoward about it, and I’m shocked that I can even flirt. More so that you can too, brother mine.”

“You’ve jokingly flirted with Kat?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t believe his ears. His expression suggested he didn’t mind learning more about Sherlock and Katrina’s perpetually blossoming friendship.

“Of course I have.”

“Of course he has! What real friends don’t flirt with each other? Actually, well… probably wouldn’t want you to do it,” she told Mycroft. “You are my boss after all. That would cause a stir with HR.”

Sherlock made a eurck sound. “This is really not helping the remark you made to John the other day about us three. Please, do stop before you get to the bottom of your glass.”

She stared down at her prosecco and hummed in agreement, ignoring the fact Mycroft’s brow was furrowed. “Good point. Back to the original topic: an afternoon walk before the sun goes down would be lovely. You’re not going to make us listen to the Queen’s speech, are you?”

“No…” Mycroft sighed.

“Thank god. I can’t be sitting through that.”

“Neither can I,” Sherlock agreed. “Are we doing a proper Christmas dinner?”

“In the evening, yes… to some degree. I’m hardly a cook, so we’ll have dinner brought to us,” Mycroft said.

“It’s gonna be Chinese food, isn’t it?” Katrina asked. The lack of response told her everything. “It’s not a bad thing - we did that last time we spent Christmas together.”

“Hmm. Yes. Exactly that,” Mycroft said. “At least you understand my parameters for this kind of thing - which is something I do not typically do.”

“Consider this mine and Mycroft’s sordid attempt to make up for the last few years. He won’t apologise like I did - today and tomorrow are the apology,” Sherlock explained, casting a rather furtive look at his brother.

In any normal situation Katrina would tease Mycroft to hell and back; however, once glance at him told her that he was clearly awkward about the entire ordeal. He was suddenly stiff in his seat, like if he didn’t move he would suddenly become invisible. He wanted to be a statue to survey. Katrina could not tease him for what was ultimately a kind gesture in the face of the fact that none of them had planned to exchange gifts with each other either.

Sympathy was what filled her heart, bringing with it a small smile and a warmth in her chest reminiscent of last night’s whisky.

“Well - thank you, Mycroft. Both of you. It’s um… it’s nice to know that I do have family somewhere in this world…” her voice trailed off so quietly at the end and her cheeks became aflame. She cleared her throat as the tension in the room became thick when nobody knew what to say. “Sorry. I’ll um…”

Katrina averted her gaze and hurried out of the room. She had not meant to get that sentimental on the pair of them at the same time - getting sentimental on them one at a time was enough for her, but together? Oh good lord, she was embarrassed.

She took refuge in the kitchen, her anxious feet drawing invisible lines on the floor as she stared at the pristine countertop and twiddled with her glass between her thumbs. The call with Isabel had gotten to her somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind where the love for her sister would always surely go to die; a tar filled pit of resentment for the lost childhood she should have had before her sister ever existed.

“Kat,” Sherlock’s voice was soft from the doorway. He had that look on his face - the one where he absolutely had no clue to approach the situation of an upset woman. Normally he was alright with her about it. But not today. Because it involved his brother and when they were around each other the stoicism was off the charts. “Keep frowning like that you’ll age yourself faster.”

Katrina blinked and did her best to neutralise her expression, still focusing on the glass. Her feet settled down, calm and back with her body now.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“No need to apologise. We’re aware of your familial issues. I suppose none of us expected you to be so forward about it in that moment.”

“Right.”

“I can’t speak for Mycroft but I appreciate the sentiment,” Sherlock said, Katrina now finally looking at him. “So… don’t worry. Come back and sit. We can play a card game. Or do whatever it is families do on Christmas.”

He was trying so hard to be casual about it to aid in Katrina’s comfort and settling back into the environment yet still being bloody awkward about the whole thing.

That’s what made her feel less weird about what she had confessed to the brothers.

“Is Mycroft good at card games?”

“He claims to be, but he’s god awful at them.”

The hint of a smile graced her lips.

“Good enough for me. Reckon we can swindle him out of some money in a few rounds of poker?”

Notes:

I didn't really know what to do with this chapter when I wrote it, but I hope you all liked it anyway. :)

Chapter 47: New Year's Eve 2013

The violin rang out through the living room of 221b Baker Street, and with it the remnants of Christmas. A few old mince pies, the last of the mulled wine, the smell of the pine tree, and the crackling of the fire were what was left of the Christmas season of twenty thirteen whilst Sherlock played a few choice pieces on the violin at the behest of his friends. He had appeared begrudging to do it, but secretly he enjoyed the moment to show off and not piss anybody off with playing the violin that evening. Even Mrs Hudson had joined from downstairs, and Molly showed up with her fiance around nine thirty that evening.

Whilst the couples crowded together on the sofa, Mrs Hudson was secured in the red armchair, Katrina sat on the ledge by the open window internally debating how many more drinks she needed to get into Mrs Hudson before even considering sneaking a cigarette in front of the landlady. She’d surreptitiously kicked away the old ashes just as the landlady had entered the flat earlier that evening and hoped that she’d never notice the fact Katrina actually smoked up in the living room quite frequently.

Less so since Sherlock had moved back in, but he’d cornered her the day before with the packet of cigarettes he’d found wedged between the pipes in the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

“Piss poor effort, Kat,” he’d told her as he tossed the cigarettes into her face whilst she’d been watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother.

“Yeah. Like I’m hiding them from you,” she scoffed and threw them back to him. “Put them away. I don’t want Mrs Hudson finding them.”

“It’s still a piss poor effort.”

Regardless, it was clear as the current night sky in London that Sherlock was absolutely gagging for her to crack out a smoke so he could inhale it secondhand. Every time he finished a piece on the violin he’d glance over at her expectantly, and she’d offer Mrs Hudson a top up.

The poor old woman was about four drinks and very few picky bits in but was definitely almost at the point of drunk that Katrina could justify a sneaky smoke. Except before she could even reach for the packet of cigarettes she’d shoved in her back jeans pocket in anticipation of that moment, Sherlock launched into playing a piece she vaguely recognised.

A piece he had composed himself, that much she knew. She’d heard it nearly three years ago when she’d stopped by the flat after the whole incident with the trains. He’d been playing it then, that melancholic, somehow nostalgic tune, that now had extra moments of flair and upbeat parts all brand new. Everyone could tell it was something Sherlock had composed, because they were far more enraptured than when he had played anything else.

Only, what got to Katrina is the fact he stared right at her as he played it, his eyes boring into her very soul and the music entangling itself into her veins and never letting go. She was stuck in place, unable to move, notes and blood becoming plant vines of Sherlock’s own cultivating.

This piece was how Sherlock viewed Katrina.

Her jaw dropped ever so slightly when she realised, a half smile coming to her lips as she attempted to play off the shock as enjoyment. As he had his back to everyone else, they missed the wink he threw her way before he turned back to them to finish it off with a flourish and a bow, followed up by plenty of applause from everyone in the flat.

Not Katrina, though, she was busying herself lighting up a smoke as Mrs Hudson wandered off to use the bathroom. She wedged the window open wider and blew her first puff out, sighing in relief and leaning against the pane as she fully relaxed after that debacle. He must have spent his Friday and Saturday nights finishing it off whilst she was fast asleep, because there’s no other time he would have done it considering their flat rules.

“Mrs Hudson won’t be best pleased,” John was standing next to Katrina with a beer in hand, his sudden appearance jolting her from her thoughts.

She shrugged in response. “If she notices I’m smoking, she won’t remember it tomorrow. I keep plying her with wine.”

“Irresponsible.”

“Yes, but also clever,” Katrina chuckled. “How was Christmas?”

“Nice and quiet. You?”

“Also pretty quiet. It wasn’t a typical Christmas with the Holmes brothers, but Sherlock and I managed to swindle Mycroft out of about four hundred quid during a few rounds of poker.” Katrina would never forget the look on Mycroft’s face when he realised at the end of many a game, that she and Sherlock had been working together to strap him of his cash.

No other Christmas could possibly top that.

“You like to antagonise him, don’t you?” John laughed.

“Out of office hours, I guess - I don’t need to worry about it affecting his view of me at work because he’s a professional and so am I. To a degree. Our non-working relationship definitely has an impact on that…”

“Huh. I’ll never understand how you can consider Mycroft a friend… he spies on Sherlock.”

“He does it because he worries. He does it a lot less nowadays, you know…” Katrina took another drag of her cigarette. “I couldn’t tell you how on earth to be friends with Mycroft Holmes. He’s more of an enigma than Sherlock - but you worked out how to be best mates with Sherlock.”

“So did you,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I worked out Mycroft first. Somehow. I still don’t know how,” Katrina admitted sheepishly. “I do think to some degree he was worried about me after… everything that happened that year. Guilt, maybe? I don’t know - it was weird. I don’t like psychoanalysing Mycroft-”

“Urgh, Mycroft!” Mary had sauntered over and thrown her arm around John. “You’re talking about Mycroft on New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, well, Lock and I did have quite a nice Christmas with him-”

“Lock!” John was exasperated, but he was starting to find the nickname amusing. “Lock… you call him ‘Lock.’ How did that happen?”

“Never you mind,” Katrina hastily finished off her cigarette and tossed the butt out of the window. “I’ll happily talk about my dynamic with the Holmes brothers - any other time of year. Go get me and Mary some drinks, would you John?”

To hone in the point, Mary pressed a sweet kiss to her fiance’s cheek and he couldn’t say no after that, trudging off to go find some more alcohol.

“Lifesaver,” Katrina said in regards to Mary popping up. “He’s got so many questions and terrible timing. I wanted to smoke in peace.”

“Shove over,” Mary said, electing to join her on the window ledge. She had to sit normally rather than leaning against the pane and with her legs stretched out across the whole thing, now with her back to the street. It was fine though, she wasn’t smoking anymore. “You alright?”

“Yeah…” Katrina frowned. “Why?”

“I heard about Christmas. Something to do with your family?”

“Oh. That.” Katrina’s gaze flickered over to Sherlock for a moment, where he was stuck in a rather awkward conversation with Molly and her fiance when all he wanted to do was clearly get comfortable in a corner on the sofa.

“Yes, Lock told me.”

“I don’t get on with my family. Never have. Never will. Rang my sister though. We’re sort of getting better, but it’s not… it’s complicated. There’s a lot of resentment, let’s just say that much,” she mumbled.

“Oh yeah, I totally get what you mean,” Mary replied in kind, having a swig of her wine.

That certainly piqued Katrina’s interest and she raised an eyebrow at the other woman. “You got a weird family dynamic too? I mean, it would make sense - you do fit in perfectly with me, Sherlock, and John.”

Mary laughed. “Too bloody right I fit in perfectly! But no - I’m an orphan. No family to speak of, really.”

“Wow, really?”

“You work at MI5 - surely you’ve looked me up?”

“No,” Katrina shook her head with a small smile on her face. “I don’t go diving into friend’s files. That would be wrong. Although… I did have to take a look at Lock’s… but we were working together. That’s different.”

“Right… okay…” The way Mary’s shoulders settled down as if she was no longer carrying a worry with her struck Katrina a little odd, but she moved past it. “Anything juicy about old Lock over there?”

“I don’t think he’d like you calling him ‘Lock,’” Katrina teased with a smirk. “That’s my nickname for him. But I found out his full name. Still need to cross reference it with his birth certificate, but you know… he’ll get pissy if I do that.”

“ Your nickname for him? Alright…” Mary laughed. “Denial’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“What the hell do you mean?” Katrina scowled.

Before Mary could even respond, Sherlock popped up with wine to refill their glasses. On seeing their baffled faces, he sighed. “I swapped with John,” he elaborated, gesturing over to the fact that John was now entertaining Molly, her fiancee, and apparently also Mrs Hudson. “What are you two getting tetchy about?”

“Am I allowed to call you ‘Lock?’” Mary asked.

“No,” Sherlock said simply, placing the wine bottle over on the desk. “That’s Kat’s name for me.”

“So she’s got a monopoly on that, got it… And I suppose you’ve got the monopoly on calling her ‘Kat?’”

“No, that’s for everyone,” he said. “It’s for friends.”

“Then why Lock?”

“That’s for work friends who are annoying,” Katrina said. “Which is exactly what he is. Was. Eh - you still kind of are.”

“All dependant on your mood…” Sherlock muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

“Hmm, it’s more dependant on if we work together or not. Or if you drag me on a case. Whichever happens first.” Katrina shrugged.

“I take it living together is going well?” Mary interjected.

“Did you see the new fridge? It’s where Sherlock keeps the body parts,” Katrina replied brightly. “No more cross contamination, I have no idea why John didn’t think of it… apparently he used to complain a lot.”

“He’s still a complainer.”

“He shouldn’t - he’s about to marry the hottest woman in the room.”

“Ah, well, I think Sherlock would beg to differ on that one,” Mary patted Katrina on the shoulder and went to go join the others again, leaving her alone with her flatmate.

Sherlock was staring after Mary oddly.

“What is she implying?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Why would I beg to differ? It’s John’s preference and apparently you follow the same opinion in thinking Mary’s… hot. ” He grimaced at the use of the word and sat down next to Katrina on the window ledge.

“She’s… getting at the fact that you probably think that I’m the hottest person in the room,” Katrina explained carefully.

“I see,” Sherlock replied after a moment, staring down at the wine as he swirled it around in his glass. “I don’t particularly notice those things - things like looks, beauty… it’s all very subjective. I told you once before. I know I give you compliments sometimes, but that’s because we’re friends… and I should. Right?”

“I’m so glad nobody else can hear what we’re talking about, because they’d probably have their opinions and say something about denial again.”

“Who’s in denial?”

“Nobody,” she said rather quickly. “It’s all very silly. And boring. And people need to stop making assumptions.”

“Agreed,” Sherlock sighed. “But people will talk anyway. Speaking of - have you told Molly you were actually in touch with me over the past two years?”

“Nope,” Katrina had a sip of wine. “I’m shocked she’s not realised it yet.”

“You should tell her.”

“Not on New Year’s. Not when we’re all meant to be having a nice time,” she said gently. She refused to look at Sherlock, a heat creeping up her neck when she could feel him staring at her. “John’s just about got over being pissed off. I don’t want someone else to take the spot so quickly.”

“Right. Fair enough.”

There wasn’t much else to say after that.

Katrina remained more of an observer for the rest of the night, happily perched on the window ledge and sneaking cigarettes when Mrs Hudson wasn’t looking. She somehow avoided talking to Molly, in fear of accidentally saying something she shouldn’t. At points loneliness wrapped itself around Katrina as she knew she was technically the outsider here, the main thing tying her to all of them that evening being Sherlock. Selfishly, she wished it had just been them two for the whole night, but then she wouldn’t have been able to chat with Mary a little - and she liked Mary a lot.

She clock watched with anticipation, a tight feeling in her chest about the fact there was an odd number of them in 221b and that wasn’t suitable for when it hit midnight at all. Not that she wanted to have a midnight kiss, but the couples would be doing it and there would be three of them left out a little awkwardly about it.

But when midnight rolled around, Katrina was the only one left without a kiss.

Sherlock had graciously gone over to Mrs Hudson and pecked her on the cheek.

She should have expected that, really, but she couldn’t ignore the slight slither of hope in her heart that maybe she’d get a cheeky kiss from her best mate.

A bottle of prosecco was popped open and shared around - they didn’t have flutes or coupes in 221b so they all took cursory swigs straight from the bottle, as nobody wanted to use their wine glasses.

Things started to simmer down after that. Conversation lulled as they all watched fireworks rise up in the London skyline from the window. Molly and her fiance were the first to leave. Mrs Hudson was next.

By about one in the morning, John and Mary were the last ones to leave the flat which meant Sherlock and Katrina could tidy up in peace. Neither of them spoke to each other, but she kept throwing him furtive glances for at least twenty minutes until he eventually sighed.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked. He had just finished loading the dishwasher and had his back turned to her as she walked back into the kitchen with the last of the empty wine bottles to pop in the recycling bin. “You’ve been staring.”

“Nothing…” she said quickly. “It’s silly.”

“People talk, Kat, and I do not like the idea that giving you a peck on the cheek at the strike of midnight would have caused that to happen.” Sherlock turned to face her. “It was more sensible for me to show sentiment towards Mrs Hudson.”

“Yeah - no, I know. I know…” Katrina gulped when Sherlock started walking towards her. She set down the empty bottle on the kitchen table, waiting with bated breath as he approached her. He stopped barely a few feet in front of her, the smell of red wine and prosecco coming from him dizzying on her nostrils.

“We had an agreement,” he murmured.

“I don’t think New Year’s would break it,” she whispered in response, a slight mischievous glint to her eye.

“No… no, perhaps not.”

Sherlock smiled softly at Katrina before effortlessly closing the gap between them and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. It took her by surprise, somehow. And when he broke away from her she was breathless.

“Happy New Year, Kat.”

He winked and swiftly left her alone in the kitchen.

But she didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Katrina laughed softly to herself as she took the moment in, before straightening up and going to actually turn on the dishwasher before heading to bed herself.

“Happy New Year indeed, Lock…”

Notes:

I have a jam packed week all of a sudden, so I'm going to update today and Saturday. I'm also starting a new job from next week so I'll be going back to weekly Friday posting after this until I get settled into the new routine. Should take a month or so, but it does mean you'll have to wait a little longer until you see some sort of confession from either Sherlock or Katrina. Sorry! I know you've all been enjoying the bi-weekly updates.

We are also at the halfway point of Returning The Love! Wow! You know, I've read so many Sherlock/OC stories over the years and I feel like a lot of them were very similar in that they always have Sherlock be *overly* cold towards an OC and not be friendly with them until they realise they're in love. Not my jam at all, even if some of the stories were fun. No, it makes sense for him to become friends with someone before considering he might have feelings for them, so I hope this is all coming across well in the small gestures between him and Katrina.

We're ten chapters away from something that resembles a confession (so Chapter 57!) You'll see what I mean. They effectively do everything a bit backwards (as you can tell by the end of this chapter)...

As a warning: there is also something I do (for the plot/story) in Chapter 75 that *may* annoy some of you, but it's always been a part of the plan ever since the first version of Sherlock/Katrina back in 2012. It's really important because it sets up a lot of very grown up conversations and hell of a lot of character development for the third story... And let's just say everyone really goes through it in the third story. Breaking apart and reconnecting etc.

Chapter 78 is the start of the His Last Vow arc which takes us to the end of the fic and takes place over the course of four months. A lot happens. Like really a lot. So the chapters end up being quite long but that's mainly because I didn't want to keep upping the chapter count lol. A good 75% of that arc is Katrina having the worst time of her life I'M SO SORRY but it's for the PLOT. Just warning you all on that front now.

Okay big author's note for the halfway mark of the story DONE. See you for a Saturday update and then weekly Friday updates from then on. Thank you and bye bye!

Chapter 48: Avoiding Solving Crimes

With the New Year out of the way, the routine within 221b changed ever so slightly now that Katrina was on far better terms with John. He and Mary often frequented the flat more on weekends, usually bringing with them woes to do with the organisation of their upcoming wedding. Sherlock tried his best to depart from that conversation whereas Katrina found herself roped into trying to help problem solve to the best of her ability.

In one such case where there was a specific caterer they wanted to go for that was apparently unavailable on their wedding day, they asked if Katrina could use her skills to perhaps make the clashing booking go away… she raised her brows that the request, sure, and made a comment about the fact she really shouldn’t be doing things like that, but she still did it anyway.

Katrina didn’t necessarily care for weddings and big events like that - she’d had no desire for it herself in life - but after spending a certain amount of time with Mary at various points, she found herself oddly yearning for the kind of life that John and Mary had. Coming home to a partner at the end of the day of working a stable, non-dangerous job seemed like a good life to have. Meanwhile, she was about five months away from turning thirty one and lived with a thirty four year old sociopath who was her best friend, and neither of them had any desire for a romantic relationship with anybody.

Granted, Katrina sometimes couldn’t help let her burgeoning crush on Sherlock run rampant and imagine what it would be like to truly live a domestic, romantic life with him - if only because they had the domestic part of it down perfectly. It may have been a case of dancing around each other and respecting routines, but to any outsider it would appear like a couple who knew each other intimately, working through the motions of daily life. But Katrina knew that adding in romance to that would mean kisses in the morning and kisses goodnight, her coffee being given to her in a takeaway cup and lunch being made for her. It would mean sharing a bed with Sherlock more frequently, likely having sex with him, and she’d probably be more into helping him on cases on the weekends.

On the flip side, she knew there’d be a few arguments - couples always argued - and the make-up sex would be phenomenal after the fact. They’d irritate the hell out of each other more so than they already did, but maybe he’d take her out on a dinner date at least once a month and that would be fine. She wondered if they’d be able to blend romance more into their already top notch routine and way of living with each other.

“Earth to Katrina… earth to Katrina!” Mary snapped her fingers in front of her face.

She jolted back to reality after staring over at Sherlock a little too long as he spoke with John in the kitchen about a case or god knows what.

“Sorry! Sorry…” Katrina cleared her throat and tore her gaze away from her flatmate to face Mary who was sitting across the desk from her. “You said something about dinner and drinks this evening with the other bridesmaids?”

“Oh good, you were paying attention,” she laughed. “You’ll like Janine and Beth - although, Janine’s actually my maid of honour. So be nice! I’ve known her for years.”

“I’ll be nice, don’t you worry. Where are we heading to anyway?” At least she’d be able to get out of the flat and stop thinking about Sherlock.

“Tapas place in Soho, and then one of the many lovely cocktail bars. Figured it’d be a good idea to introduce you to the both of them before we go to dress fittings and all that. Less awkward, you know?”

Katrina hummed in agreement. “Makes sense to me.”

It had been a while since Katrina had gone out with mainly other women. Most of her life she had ended up in ridiculous situations with other men and that was how she had primarily ended up with a majority male friends. At first at the dinner, Katrina kept uncharacteristically quiet, only speaking when spoken to and fiddling with her cutlery whilst deciding how she could meaningfully connect with Janine and Beth as well as contribute to the conversation. Talking about her job was difficult because she couldn’t really talk about it, but something piqued her interest when it came to Janine.

“Urgh. My work card almost didn’t work yesterday. Security nearly hounded me until they realised who I was,” she laughed. “But apparently they weren’t meant to descend on me like the fucking plague! My card was just pressed against my phone - should have just triggered facial recognition. Dunno why it didn’t work.”

Katrina’s brow furrowed for a moment and she angled her body towards Janine who was sitting diagonally across from her at the table.

“You work for Charles Magnussen?” was all she queried, which had Janine’s eyebrows up in her hairline.

“How - how do you know that?”

“I designed that security system. Good to know there’s a bug. I expect I’d be hearing from him on Monday about it?” In an effort to hide her now trembling hands, Katrina took a hefty gulp of her drink.

“Oh my god, you work for Mycroft Holmes?” Janine was utterly impressed, which led to Beth also exhibiting the same reaction. “But that’s - that’s the government.”

“Oh babe, it’s much more than the government. So I can’t talk about it too much. I’ve already said too much.”

“It’s very much ‘if I tell you then I’ll have to kill you,’” joked Beth.

Katrina took that as an opportunity to make a dark joke in response and see if it landed. “Well - not me, but maybe my boss. And it’ll be the both of us gone because I dared open my mouth,” she ended up winking to help the sarcasm land. Thankfully it worked after a beat. Beth’s laugh was a little nervous and Mary lightly kicked Katrina in the shin for it.

“Keep it light, would ya?” Janine laughed, and thankfully all tension from the terrible joke was gone after that.

The bar after dinner made things much easier for Katrina to get involved with everyone. Talk of hobbies and friends was exchanged, and she somehow managed to keep tight-lipped about Sherlock being her best mate - all she said was that her flatmate was peculiar. She didn’t want them prying too much into her odd dynamic with Sherlock and making judgements on it. At least Janine and Beth were well versed Londoners who told her of hidden little bars and fun events she could join them at if she so desired; Katrina considered actually taking them up on it should they survive the rest of the evening without anything else being weird.

She liked them - Janine and Beth - and found herself looking forward to the day they all ended up going dress shopping together. Mary had been rather pleased they’d managed to get on so well.

The only downside was that Katrina woke up the next morning just a smidge hungover and with Sherlock demanding her help on a case. The man was never able to rest! So she mustered up the courage to drag herself down to the living room where he handed her the burgundy robe to pop on over her pyjamas as well as a coffee before he started spitting facts at her at one hundred miles an hour. John was in the red armchair as the usual semi-permanent fixture of 221b, waiting for her with a cup of coffee and an apologetic smile in an effort to convince her to help.

She did end up helping with a sigh and an eye roll, but getting one of her many laptops out of the desk drawer nonetheless. And that happened quite frequently over the course of January and the beginning of February - be it on a weekend or a weekday evening.

Sometimes Katrina would pretend she and Mary had plans, stare down John to get him to play along, then text the woman and they would end up heading out for a coffee or daytrip somewhere to the other side of London. It seemed like it was working until-

“You can’t lie to a Holmes…” Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading when Katrina got in at nine o’clock one evening after heading out with Mary after work.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, realising he’d caught her out.

“You can just tell me if you don’t want to help.”

“I would have felt guilty.”

“So you took to lying to get out of it?” He snapped the book shut. “Did I presume wrongly about the level of our friendship?”

She sighed, a sinking feeling in her heart. “No. No, I - I shouldn’t have lied to you, Sherlock.” Katrina dropped her bag at the end of the sofa, hung up her coat and went over to him. “Sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He looked up at her oddly. “Katrina, you couldn’t ever disappoint me. Until now, I suppose, but generally speaking if you were a disappointing person to be around we wouldn’t be living together.”

“I don’t mind helping you on a case every now and then, but it’s just been constant recently… it feels like a second job and sometimes I don’t want to do that. You’re my best friend and I find it hard to say no to you sometimes,” she admitted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.” Sherlock patted her hand and she let go of him. “I’ll, um… I’ll keep it in mind you may not want to get involved, so to speak. I wasn’t really thinking about how it would impact your day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she paused for a moment. “Look, uh - neither of us like a liar and I’ve actually kept that stash of cash you sent me for a rainy day when you were back. Fancy going for a drink somewhere nice tomorrow night?”

“You don’t need to make it up to me if that’s what you’re trying to do-”

“Yeah, well, I’m the sentimental one in this friendship so I want to.” Katrina sat down in the red chair opposite him and took her shoes off, stretching out her toes with a few satisfying pops . Working in an office where the dress code veered towards the smart side had its pitfalls. “Besides - Mycroft knows I value communication in friendships and I failed on that aspect recently. So… drinks tomorrow night?”

Sherlock sighed, understanding that Katrina wasn’t going to relent. “Fine. Drinks tomorrow night. Although technically speaking it’s my money.”

“You gifted it to me, so it’s my money.” Katrina began to make her retreat up to bed. “Night, Lock.”

“Get some sleep, girl…”

And she did. The next morning was the usual routine except they had to decide on where to go for drinks that evening. Katrina said she’d look up a few places throughout the day, which suited Sherlock just fine.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to show up and meet her at work when six o’clock that evening rolled around. She jumped with a start when he tapped her on the shoulder just a few short paces from the building after she’d exit it.

“You could have said you wanted to meet me!” she whacked him on the shoulder, but then he offered her the crook of his elbow and she looped her arm around it. “Nice surprise though.” Katrina peered back over her shoulder as her colleagues headed in the direction of their usual pub, a few of them peering back over at them as well. “They’re gonna talk though.”

“People always do,” Sherlock sighed. “Where are we going?”

“We’re getting a cab to Mayfair. Fancy hotel bar. Can get a bit of food if you want as well. Come on…” Katrina practically dragged him towards the main road and within five minutes they were happily in a cab back into central London. Katrina used the cash she’d stowed away from Sherlock to pay for the journey, and soon enough they were tucked away in a corner bathed in the dim light of a fairly busy hotel bar.

The corner was quiet enough and they were at peace there.

“You know, I did this with Mycroft once. Late at night after the usual Friday pub outing,” Katrina said as they both perused the menu.

“He mentioned. He’ll never be the one to say it, but that was kind of you. He needs to learn to take a break,” Sherlock replied.

“So do you. Maybe stop solving crimes on a Sunday?” she suggested. “It does piss me off occasionally finding clients in the living room when I want to lounge in my pyjamas. If I were a religious person, I’d be banging on about it being the day of rest or something like that…” She set down the menu. “I’m feeling like a dirty martini. What about you?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and set his menu down too. “Hmm. That would suit me fine. I don’t think I’ve had a dirty martini before, but I expect it would be more palatable than a regular one. I’ll stop taking clients in on a Sunday.”

“Thank you. I get that business is booming but I wanna lounge about in my home, you know?”

“Right. Of course.”

The waiter came over to take their order at that point. When he was gone, the conversation carried on.

“Aside from wanting to make up for the lie, was there any other reason you wanted to bring me out for drinks?” Sherlock asked.

Katrina sank back in her chair, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she thought over her answer. “You’re my friend. I like you. We don’t really spend that much time together. I like spending time with my friends.”

He did that huff that was somewhere between a light chuckle and scoff. “You’ve already said I’m your friend, you don’t need to tell me you like me too. That’s implied, surely?”

“Yes, but, I do like you, and it’s nice to be told that. Don’t you like me?” A hint of a smirk traced Katrina;s lips, and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She knew he was about to try and make a deduction, but he shook himself back to reality and clearly thought better of it.

“Naturally. We’re friends, Kat.” The simplest, easiest thing for him to ever say. Her smirk turned into a smile and he returned a soft one. “I take it reassurance is something you need every now and then?”

She shifted in her seat awkwardly. “Hmm. Yeah. I guess. How could you tell?” Sarcasm. The perfect defense in the fact of too personal a question.

“You’re emotional. End of story.”

“Brilliant. Cop out response. True all the same.”

“Not a cop out because it’s true,” he countered. She didn’t say anything, so he filled the gap of silence to move past the personal conversation. “This is nice. I’m not saying this to make awkward small talk - it genuinely is nice. Getting out. Going for a drink with a close friend. I see why you enjoy it.”

“We could make it more fun.”

“How so?”

“I can see the waiter coming over with our drinks now. Do you fancy trying to deduce information about the other people here?” Katrina’s grin grew wider and wider as her sentence progressed, as if she desperately wanted to hear the unspoken truths about everyone else around her not only for gossip’s sake but because she knew in her heart it would make Sherlock happy. The slight blush that rose to her cheeks as she suggested it only affirmed that latter notion.

The waiter set down their drinks, and Sherlock agreed to her idea. He shifted his chair around the corner of the table so that he could sit next to her properly.

The pair of them huddled up for the next couple of hours, sipping on their dirty martinis and deducing things about the other patrons - well, Sherlock did most of the deducing. Katrina tried and failed most of the time with it, but whenever she did try she was paying so little attention to Sherlock that she never noticed him staring at her with admiration.

Not once. She was entirely oblivious to it.

Chapter 49: Let's Have Dinner: The Game

Katrina’s head was swimming as she sat up straight in her chair. Wait. What? When had she sat down? In fact… looking around… she wondered how on earth she had ended up in a restaurant that was due to open for dinner in the next fifteen minutes. She then noticed Mary at the table opposite her who was shaking her head as if to say she didn’t know what was going on either. Either side of them at this circular table for four was Sherlock and John, their heads still lolling back as they were not yet awake.

“What the fuck…?” Katrina murmured. She looked down to see her wrists and ankles were cuffed and chained so she had bare minimum movement. She could reach things on the dinner table. She could reach her face. But she could not move from her chair. “Why are they still out of it?”

“I don’t know. Whatever they gave us - they probably got it stronger,” Mary said, glancing over at John with concern. “Honestly when I opened my eyes I thought John would have been next to wake up, not you!”

“Are you implying that I have a stronger tolerance to drugs than John so I would have needed more to keep me under?” Katrina raised an eyebrow. “I’m not angry about that. It’s probably true. I used to be a functioning alcoholic. And I’ve gotten high on morphine.”

“Oh! I didn’t know about the morphine.”

“Blame him…” Katrina gestured towards Sherlock. “Stockholm twenty twelve - it was an experiment, according to him. New Year’s Eve and everything. Felt kinda nice. I can see why anyone would get addicted to that feeling. Neither of us have done it since, but it was certainly a way to solidify the fact we were friends.”

A groan to Katrina’s left and Mary’s right indicated that John was waking up. “Jesus…” he hissed, sitting up straight and flexing out his neck with an audible but quiet click. “What the…” He noticed the cuffs on himself as well as Katrina and Mary, and the still unconscious Sherlock directly opposite him. “Okay. Right. I was on my way home.”

“I think we were all on our way home, darling,” Mary said with a minute amount of sympathy. “What are the chances that Sherlock was in the flat?”

“Considering the fact that he always has a cuppa ready for me when I step through the door at six thirty, I’d say he was definitely in the flat. Someone probably would have had to break in to get to him,” Katrina sighed. “Which means I’m likely going to go home to a fucked up flat because knowing Sherlock, he would have tried to fight off whoever decided to drug us and take us out to dinner, apparently.”

“Makes sense,” Mary agreed. “But can we go back to the cup of tea thing?”

“Yeah, I told you about the soup, didn’t I?” John directed the question to Mary. “When she was drunk?”

“And you guys definitely aren’t dating?”

“No…” Sherlock groaned, finally awake and shaking himself out of his unconscious stupor. “No, we are definitely not dating. Stop asking that. It’s getting boring.”

“Thank you, Lock, glad to see you’ve joined us,” Katrina said. “Is that flat going to be in a state once we get out of here?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighed. “Tried to fight off whoever it was before they jabbed me with a double dose.”

“And the double dose couldn’t even keep you down that much longer than the rest of us,” John said. “We just heard about the morphine in Stockholm.”

“Did you now?” Sherlock’s head turned slowly to the left so he could glare at Katrina. “And how did that come about I wonder?”

“You were out the longest,” she said with the roll of her eyes. “Besides, we’re clearly in a location that’s equidistant to where we all work. Mary was awake first. Long before me, I think. We were all at work today, so… we’re somewhere in north London.”

“Are we though? You’re the only one of the four of us who works south of the river.”

“The last thing I remember was being on Baker Street. We all had to have been jabbed at similar times,” Katrina said.

“She’s right - the surgery Mary and I work at; it’s further north to our flat. Meaning we have to travel south to get home,” John said. “So the good news is we can figure out where we are! More or less. Bad news, we don’t know why we’re here or what’s about to happen?”

“Nice restaurant though,” Mary said. “Although… it’s not a real restaurant.”

“And why does it look like the Landmark?” Katrina added. “Sort of, anyway. Maybe if you squint.”

“Nobody else here,” John added. “A set up.”

“Clearly,” Sherlock said stiffly. “I trust you tried out how much movement we have?” He directed the question towards Katrina, who nodded.

“We can reach cutlery and our mouths. I do enjoy being cooked for. This place looks nice - food should be good if we get any. As long as there’s no olives. I hate olives.”

“I’ll have your olives then.”

“Fantastic. Who’s the olive eater out of you two?” Katrina asked John and Mary.

“It’s obvious…” Sherlock muttered.

“I love an olive,” Mary said.

“Told you it was obvious.”

“Shut up, Lock, you didn’t say anything,” Katrina said through gritted teeth. “You’re lucky our legs are restrained, otherwise I would have kicked you for that one.”

“Something of which I am grateful for at this moment. Now…” Sherlock scanned the table. “There’s a slip of paper just under your plate, Mary. You wouldn’t have noticed it from your angle. Can you reach it?”

The woman nodded and managed to get the paper out from under her plate. She ran it between her thumb and forefinger for a moment, the feeling of it more like light cardstock than anything. Mary unfolded the business card sized slip, her eyebrows shooting up as she read what was on it out loud.

“ ‘To Mr Sherlock Holmes and friends, please enjoy this three course dinner and the game that will become apparent as the evening goes on. Will hubris get in the way? Or will you understand the choice I’ve made? Sincerely, Miss Holly Peters.’ Right. Well. Who’s Holly Peters?”

Sherlock, John, and Katrina all groaned. The latter’s palms began to sweat and she wondered if that would allow her to at least try and get out of her restraints. Her gaze remained down on the table, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

How the hell could Holly Peters be back? She was in Sherrinford!

“Kat…” Sherlock’s voice was low as it drifted to her.

She didn’t say anything.

“Can somebody explain who this woman is?” Mary asked again.

“Philosophy freak. There was a case a couple of years back…” John mumbled. “Me and Katrina - we were - we were tied to some train tracks with a couple of others. Sherlock had to flip the switch and then go and get Katrina…”

“Oh… oh, Katrina. Is that why - when on the tube that day, you…?”

Katrina’s jaw was taut. She still didn’t speak up. Her mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour, trying to work through all the possibilities of how Holly Peters could have possibly gotten out of Sherrinford to enact chaos again.

“It’s a sensitive subject matter, Mary, as you can probably tell,” Sherlock said.

“You’re talking to me about being sensitive?” she scoffed in response. “Really?”

“When it comes to Kat, yes. I will do that. Is that an issue?” he snapped. His eyes were sharp, cruel, and cold on Mary for a moment. “You still don’t know her like I do, Mary, so don’t bother trying to make light of when I can and can’t be sensitive. ”

Their conversation was a garbled mess to Katrina’s ears: she was in a fishbowl of Peters’ making, fighting her way back out before she went absolutely insane.

“Something happened last year,” she finally murmured, stopping whatever argument Sherlock and Mary were about to have. “Mycroft told me not to tell you, Lock.” She briefly glanced at him, taking a deep breath and hoping he wouldn’t be angry as she explained. “Holly wanted to see me. She’s being held - or was being held in Sherrinford. Top secret prison with supposedly the best security in the world. We spoke. She wanted to get in my head. She wants to psychologically experiment on me and Sherlock by the sounds of things. Sorry you got roped into it too…” she addressed the last part towards John and Mary.

“How… how did she get out of that prison?” John asked carefully.

Katrina finally looked up from the table, somewhat resigned to whatever the hell the four of them were about to be put through. “How the fuck should I know? Mycroft doesn’t want me near Sherrinford. Too risky, apparently. Either way, every experience I’ve had with Holly Peters has been traumatising and I expect whatever’s about to happen this evening is going to be the exact same. So do forgive Sherlock for his picking and choosing of when he’s sensitive, Mary, because this is one of those times where he understands why he needs to be. Sounds like hubris is already getting in the way, going by the note.”

“The other pressing issue is what the game is,” Sherlock said, swiftly moving the issue back to the topic at hand. The four of them could spend time having a petty argument, but that wasn’t going to help any of them in the grand scheme of things. “Food related, naturally, and we need to wait until we’re served before it begins.”

“She’s an odd one,” Katrina remarked, slowly starting to come back to her normal self. Her palms still felt sticky so she kept them on her lap, subtly rubbing them against her trousers in an attempt to dry them off. “It’ll be drinks first.”

Like clockwork, two servers came out from down the opposite end of the restaurant dressed all in black and wearing masks to cover their faces, each one carrying a bottle of red wine that they then served to the group. One waiter for Sherlock and Katrina. One waiter for John and Mary. An eerie silence overtook the room as they performed, their footsteps ghost-like as they wandered back towards the kitchen and left them be.

It took a moment for the four friends to register what had just happened.

“Service in silence. That doesn’t bode well,” John said.

“Nothing bodes well about this, darling,” Mary reminded him, and picked up her glass. “Well, cheers everyone. Might as well.”

The other three followed suit. They weren’t able to clink glasses but at least they could raise them in a toast to each other. Cautious sips were had, and Katrina noticed that Sherlock rolled the wine about in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing.

“Are you trying to figure out if there’s something mixed in with the wine?” she asked.

“Of course. Miss Peters is going to poison one of us. I just don’t know how or when.”

“I’m sorry - what?!” John was taken aback by the sudden theory.

“Oh, come on!” Sherlock set down his glass. “Look around. We’re chained to a table, we can’t leave for help, we’re clearly about to be served dinner, and she wants us to understand the choice that she has made! Of course one of us is going to be poisoned! We need to figure out who and why she made that choice.”

“Suddenly I don’t like the idea of being cooked for…” Katrina said with a grimace as she necked back more of the wine. When she set it down she rolled her eyes. “And I’ve just had the most wine. What if there was something in the glass that mixed in with it?”

“How was the consistency?” Sherlock asked. “I’m asking all of you.”

“Like a normal wine - do you think there could have been something in the glass we didn’t notice?” Mary said, her eyes going wide as she surveyed the liquid more closely. “Doesn’t look any different. Not cloudy. Would it be cloudy?”

“Yes. Well - there’d be a slim chance of it being the type of poison that would dissolve into something cloudy,” Sherlock reeled off.

“We could just not eat or drink anything,” John suggested. “Has anyone thought of that?”

“I have a funny feeling that would be against the rules,” Katrina said. “It’s an experiment. That’s what she does. So we have to participate even if it’s unwilling. Figure out who’s been poisoned. Then we save them. Simple. Right?”

“You’ve perked up,” Mary said.

“Yeah, well, we all need to be on our A-game right now. One of us has been poisoned!” Katrina said in such a fake, perky voice that the other three were right to have concerned looks on their faces, but ultimately agreed with her.

“It won’t have been from the wine,” Sherlock said. “We can rule it out. Too early on and a far too obvious choice. But what we do know is that the victim would have already been picked from before we woke up. That’s what makes it a game for Miss Peters: the fact we have to guess who and why. Which leads us to the next question of who is the most likely out of the four of us to be targeted? Because my first port of call would be Mary. Miss Peters has never encountered her before and would therefore find this experiment a fun way to indoctrinate Mary into the games as well as truly test the boundaries of all our friendships.”

“You’ve been sitting on that one since I read out that note, haven’t you?” Mary wasn’t offended in the slightest even if she did cross her arms in an almost huffy sort of way.

“I always need to start with the obvious theory.”

“Right. Makes sense. Are you going to stick with it?”

“For now. We’ve not had our starter yet.”

“Do you think there’ll be snacks for the table?” Katrina asked. The other three looked at her weirdly. “Oh come on, are you not the least bit curious? If it wasn’t the wine, it’ll be whatever little bar snacks there are. If it’s not that, then it’ll be something in the main meal. Or when they top up the wine.”

“It would be easy for any one of them to perform a sleight of hand trick when pouring…” Sherlock mused. “Excellent work, Kat. At least someone else here other than myself is putting in the effort.”

“You sure you didn’t organise this just to test how good our deduction skills are?” John asked. “Because I wouldn’t put it past you to poison any of us for an experiment.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Please. I would not go to such elaborate lengths, nor would I poison anyone! No, I’ve done mental exercises in how I would kill each of my friends - it’s a very specific thing, you know.”

“Jesus.”

“Wow,” Mary said.

“I forget you’re a sociopath sometimes,” Katrina murmured. She looked towards the back of the room past Mary. “The waiters are coming again.”

In a twist of events where she hadn’t been expecting to be right, two waiters came with plates of bread, butter, and cheese, and the other two came back to fill up their bottles of wine. Everything was set down in front of them in an eerie silence before the waiters disappeared again.

“Not quite for the table, but I was pretty much right.”

“Again, if we don’t eat it…?” John reiterated.

“She’d find a way. Trust me…” Katrina’s voice went low, not wanting to think about the possibilities of what Holly Peters could do in this odd situation. “So just eat.” As commanding as it was, she still stared down at her plate with dread in her stomach.

Slowly but surely, the four of them picked up their knives and started to apply butter to the bread before carefully taking a bite.

“Hmm. Salted butter,” Sherlock remarked after he swallowed. “At least she has good taste.”

“The cheese as well…” John said. “It’s good.”

“At least we know who could die first just from how much cheese they’re shoving in their gob,” Mary said, being a little more cautious in how she was handling and eating her food. Even though Katrina had told them all to eat, she was also being careful. However the boys were right: the food was good. Even if there was a one in four chance of being poisoned by it.

“How long do you think it would take for symptoms to kick in?” Katrina asked, her hand covering her mouth as she spoke whilst chewing on some bread.

“It’ll happen over the course of the dinner,” Sherlock theorised. “There’s no time to waste here. So it’ll be something fast acting or something worthy of an intense overdose. Fast acting is uglier. It’s something that has to take immediate effect in subtle ways. Keep an eye on your pulses and any odd feelings you may have in your body.”

“At least we have John here just in case,” Mary said.

“And what can John do to help as a doctor if we’re chained up?” Katrina pointed out. “There’s got to be a key nearby. We can hardly move - so how do we try to find it?”

“Is it under the table? Obvious place, right?”

“But can we get under the table?”

“Ooh, I’m sure the boys’ll enjoy that if we do.”

“I think John will prefer it if you go under the table,” Katrina went to raise her glass to Mary, and had another sip of the wine. She made a face. “This is getting worse as it goes along.”

Sherlock sniffed his own refreshed glass and drank from it, making a face and murmur of agreement with her. “Good food, shit wine - it means they’re trying to cover the taste of whatever’s going to get one of us with high quality ingredients.”

“Kat, you go under the table,” Mary said. “I’m in a skirt.”

“We don’t even know if we can reach that far down, but…” she sighed. “I’ll give it a go.”

She could only move her feet so far, but the wrist shackles were attached to the legs of the chair so when Katrina awkwardly shuffled down off her chair and onto the floor. The chair toppled over behind her, but it gave her some leeway on moving her legs. She ducked her head under the table and tablecloth to be met - of course - with three other pairs of legs.

The impulse to bite Sherlock’s shin became overwhelming.

Her hesitation on movement was noticed.

“Kat, what are you doing?” Sherlock huffed. “Is there anything of note?”

His irritation meant she gave in.

She reached over to lightly bite his shin.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Patience, Lock!” Katrina called back, managing to duck out of the way when he tried to kick her.

There was just about enough light under the table for her to see the underside of it, where there was indeed a key stuck to the underside of the table.

“Well, that was easy,” she said, able to reach up and just about grab it with the tips of her fingers - for once, Katrina was grateful for the fact she had stopped biting her nails some years ago and kept them a respectable length.

A respectable length that meant she could hook the key from where it was stuck without too much of a hassle.

Key in hand, she shimmied back out for air and back onto her chair.

“Almost too easy,” Sherlock remarked as she slid the key to him as best as she could.

“You think there’s a catch?” Mary asked.

“It would be right to suspect a catch, we’re not in the best situation after all…”

“And that’s putting it lightly,” Katrina added.

“If she’s giving us the key, then she wants us to… fight back?” John suggested with a confused frown.

“She may want us to try and cure whoever’s poisoned. Limited mobility would hamper that,” Sherlock said.

“Then why put us in chains in the first place?”

“To let us know who’s in charge!” Sherlock tried the key on his wrist shackles and it worked perfectly. After he did his ankles, he went round the rest of the table in a flurry to free them all. “I expect there’s someone on guard outside this place, the door is locked - the works. We’re only allowed to leave once we’ve completed the game.”

He sat back down, surveying the table to find that everyone had nearly finished their appetiser.

“Shall we call for the starter?”

Notes:

A very ominous start to the next mini arc. It's cruel that I'm only doing weekly updates at the moment so you have to sit and wait!

Which reminds me - I'm SO glad I'm doing weekly updates at the moment. I've gotten very ill in the past week and been absolutely miserable because of it, whilst still also going into work... thankfully the new job has been really understanding and left me we easy tasks to do. My discipline with writing has gone down the toilet and I have not been bothered at all with writing in chronological order so I'm definitely behind for chapters post-this mini arc. I am on the mend, thankfully, meaning I'll get cracking over the weekend when I have some spare time to myself!

I miss writing lots everyday. Chapters 55/56 are a very silly self indulgent crossover mystery that I just want to get onto but I've had no brain space for it! Can you guess which British TV "detective" I'll be crossing over with? And yes, detective in quotation marks because they're not really a detective... but they are very Sherlock coded...

Thanks everyone x

Chapter 50: Let's Have Dinner: Poison Chalice

The small plates were taken away, then four masked waiters came out instead of the expected two to place down their starter plates, as well as filled up their wine again. What was more interesting was the individual bottles of wine, which Sherlock eyed very intensely. Meanwhile, the others were staring down at the plates of food, unsure of when to start eating. They’d been served bruschetta, interestingly enough.

“You said that we may have to cure whoever’s been poisoned?” Mary took a cursory sniff of the tomatoes.

“Cure is a loose term.” Sherlock turned his attention away from the wine glass and to her. “We’ll have to ease symptoms until we’re able to get professional help.”

“And John’s not professional help?

“I’ve not had to deal with remedying someone being poisoned!” John pointed out.

“However, my darling, you’ll be able to administer first aid, so there’s that.”

“Mary’s right - you’re useful in this situation, more so than the rest of us!” Katrina insisted. “Sherlock’ll know about poisons and antidotes, so you two will end up working together to at least help whoever it is that’s being done in!”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Which means John is not the victim. He has to help. He’s useful, as you put it,” he then said.

“But the three of us are still in play? Got it. Good to know. I hate this fucking woman,” Katrina sighed, taking a bite of her bruschetta. She made a face - maybe she wasn’t a fan of the balsamic vinegar on top of all the tomatoes. 

“Wait. Hang on. Did anyone else notice that all our wine was served individually this time? As in… no shared bottles?” Mary then asked, picking up her wine glass and peering through as if trying to see if there was any difference in colour opaqueness to the liquid.

“Very good, Mary,” Sherlock said. “This means that whatever we just ate was likely not poisoned and simply to ease us in. Clever.”

“Does this mean we can actually start worrying now?” Katrina said.

“You weren’t worried before? You must have been worried before!” Mary raised an eyebrow at the other woman.

Katrina shrugged. “I’m more concerned about how the fuck Holly Peters got out of Sherrinford and why she is out to irritate me yet again. This will be the fourth time in three years - I’m bored of it.”

“I don’t think she’ll be stopping any time soon,” John sighed.

“Well - she should be considering she’s meant to be in prison!” she snapped, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms in annoyance.

“You’re… not gonna let this one go any time soon, are you?”

“Whatever makes you think that?” she rolled her eyes sarcastically, and Sherlock raised his palm to her ever so slightly as if to say calm down. Katrina huffed again and carried on eating, albeit more unhappily than before. She winced at how flipping sour the balsamic was. She couldn’t ever remember it tasting that sour in the times she’d had it before this instance; perhaps the sourness was from the situation at hand.

“I have another question-”

“Of course you do…” Katrina murmured.

“Kat!” Sherlock groaned.

“Jesus Christ. How does this get around the fact Sherlock doesn’t eat on a case?” John carried on.

“It’s not a case,” he said. “Technically. It is sort of a case, but it requires my participation. This is one of the few occasions that I am playing by the rules of the game.”

“For once…” Katrina was getting progressively more and more quiet with every irate remark.

“Shut up and eat your food,” Sherlock grumbled at her in response, now tired of it. She perked up a little.

“I have a fantastic response for that - only I don’t think anybody at the table will like it.”

“Try me.”

A sly, half smirk made its way onto Katrina’s lips.

“I don’t think I want Katrina to say what she’s thinking,” John said.

“Repeat what you said to me for the full effect,” she ignored John.

Sherlock took a moment before he spoke. “Shut up and eat your food.” Exact same tone and pitch. Good.

“Yes, daddy, but say ‘please’ next time,” Katrina batted her eyelashes at Sherlock and gave him a small pout much to the disgust of the rest of the table. It had been on the tip of her tongue the moment he had initially told her to shut up, but pre-warning the group was a courtesy for such a comment.

“Insufferable menace,” Sherlock said after a moment, getting back to his food as if she hadn’t said that. Meanwhile, John and Mary looked about ready to throw up or kill her or both.

“Wonderful, for once I get to be both!” Katrina got back to her food after that, ignoring the still dumbfounded and irritated looks on John and Mary’s faces as they slowly got back to eating as well. The quiet crunch of the bread cut through the silence in the most unpleasant way as nobody knew how to move on from that conversation.

Nobody wanted to speak again, clearly.

Eventually they were all done with the starter, and their plates were cleared away by the four masked waiters. The wine was topped up. The silence was still horribly palpable the entire time, eating away at the four of them. Katrina could feel herself getting more and more lightheaded and drunk as the minutes ticked by, and-

Wait. Lightheaded?

She never got lightheaded when she was drunk.

The sudden concern must have shown on her face.

“Kat, you alright?” Mary asked, her eyebrows upturned with worry. Funny. Just a few seconds ago she hadn’t wanted to speak to her for a crude comment. Funny how things changed that quick.

But Katrina didn’t want to worry anyone - not yet, at least. She kept her hands in her lap.

“Drunk,” was all she said. “It just - it just hit me out of the blue.” Smile. Just fucking smile. She did. She smiled. That’s all she had to do to keep suspicion away from her until she absolutely knew it was her. Because of course it would be her, who else would Holly Peters target? But why was it her this time around? Why not Sherlock? He had not had the pleasure of being part of Holly Peters’ games recently, so why wasn’t the woman trying to have a go?

“You have been drinking that wine awfully fast…” Sherlock remarked.

Oh no. She was staring at him too intensely as she thought about the fact he hadn’t been the target.

Well, he still could be.

But the lightheadedness…

“Yeah,” she agreed with him in the end. “I should probably have some water.”

Except the water would be poisoned too and she didn’t know what with.

“Kat?” He sounded worried. Oh god, Sherlock sounded worried; a rarity that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Lock?” She still had that damn smile plastered on her face, only this time her eyes were wide and watery as they went with it.

“Do you think it’s you?”

Katrina shrugged, the smile now dropping from her face. “There’s a good chance it might be, why?”

“You said you were lightheaded and you’ve gone pale. Was there anything off about your food so far?”

“That balsamic was really sour,” she said.

“Chances are whatever’s in it could have altered the flavour - except they went too far in one direction.” Sherlock looked at John across the table. “Keep an eye on her. We’re going to have to figure out what poison it is from the symptoms that present themselves. Lightheaded and pale so far.”

“And nothing else?” John prompted Katrina.

The waiters now moved around them as if nothing untoward was happening. Wine was topped up again. The main meal was set down in front of each of them. Katrina had a glass of water too.

“I hate olives,” Katrina said, glancing down at the spaghetti alla puttanesca. “But I can’t give the olives away.” She shook herself out of her slightly teary state when she realised something. “Oh my god.”

“‘Oh my god’ what?” Mary asked.

“I hate olives.”

“Yeah, we gathered that, do we have to add a slightly addled brain to the list?”

Katrina rolled her eyes and got to work. “We might do, yes, depending on what happens next when I eat this. But in any other circumstances if I - if I was given olives… I’d pick them out and give them away to a friend.”

“And you would give them to-”

“Me,” Sherlock interrupted. “Kat would give them to me. We’re close, after all, and I like olives. They had no way of knowing that Kat hated olives until the very moment she set foot in here and said so, but everything was planned in advance. I would not have been so affected by whatever’s in the food as Kat will be, but would have had a mild reaction to it - a two in one, and Peters would have proved a point.”

“And the point is…” Katrina asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Great. Two unknowns - the point, and what the hell I’ve got in my system right now.”

“You could go for a piss,” John suggested.

“I’m sorry, what? ”

“I don’t think the water’s poisoned. Whatever they’ve done to your food they wouldn’t be able to do to the water. You’d see it. And they had to mask some sort of taste. So drink enough water, go for a piss, and it might get it out of your system.”

“That’s actually quite clever, John, well done,” Sherlock said, and then pointedly looked at Katrina. “Well go on. I’m sure your liver is working overtime right now, may as well flush out your kidneys as best as you can whilst you’re at it.”

Annoyed at herself for going along with it - Sherlock was right, it was clever - Katrina chugged the water due to the fact her life literally depended on it at this point in time. All she had to do was wait at least ten minutes before she needed to go and use the bathroom, so to pass the time she carried on eating dinner along with the rest of her friends. Between each mouthful she silently cursed whoever it was that decided Holly Peters was meant to be an obstacle on her path in life.

At least she had friends to battle that obstacle alongside her, and for that Katrina was grateful. She hadn’t ever expected to end up in an environment where she even had a stable friend group. Once upon a time, she had thought that her old group of hacking buddies would be knocking around together forever as was the dream of an eighteen year old girl when she first met them. Dreams never worked out, Katrina realised over the course of a few years of being friends with them. Dreams were a lie sold to the hopeful young girls who wished for more.

Well, she’d gotten more.

And it had landed her here.

With Sherlock, John, and Mary.

Far better people than anyone else she had ever been friends with (except for Mycroft and Daniel, perhaps).

None of them spoke as they waited until she had to go to the bathroom - one of the more ridiculous notions of this game they were playing. Not only was she likely poisoned and they were going to start keeping track of her symptoms, but they were hanging onto every bodily fluid she would ultimately expel as well. Who wouldn’t want their friends to wait for them to piss out poison?

Oh, and she still picked the olives out of her spaghetti too. She just didn’t give them away like she had wanted to.

The time finally came for Katrina’s much anticipated piss and she couldn’t tell if her friends were dreading it more or she was.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mary asked. “Moral support and all that.”

“Uh. I’m okay, thanks.” Katrina stood up, the lightheadedness temporarily getting worse and causing her vision to all starry for a moment. She shook her head and brought herself back to reality, her vision clearing to see three worried faces looking at her. “Stars in my eyes.” Her tone of voice was not upbeat enough and she followed a sign towards the restrooms, now really actually needing to go.

The sheer horror of what was transpiring in the fake restaurant really presented itself when she was finishing up in the bathroom. Katrina stood at the sink, her knuckles white as she grabbed the edges of it and took a few grounding breaths so as not to freak herself out even more. They would figure it out. Sherlock would figure it out. He had to! He couldn’t let her die!

Could he?

He was a sociopath after all.

She had a damn crush on that sociopath and all.

They were too close for him to let her die. Sherlock would never let that happen. She had to believe that or she’d probably give in to whatever the fuck was about to happen to her body. She had to believe her best friend would save her life. That all her friends would choose to save her life in this situation right now.

She jumped when stepping back into the restaurant to find Sherlock hovering by the hallway down to the restrooms, managing to knock her elbow into the wall as she did so.

“Well? Feeling any better?”

“No,” she grumbled, rubbing her elbow and trailing behind him as they walked back to the table. “There’s blood in my urine so add that to the list. Jesus fuck, you can’t sneak up on me like that! That hurt!”

“You barely bumped it.”

“Yeah, well, it was enough to probably leave a bruise…”

“Hardly,” Sherlock scoffed.

They seated themselves back at the table, and Katrina stretched out her arm a few times to try and alleviate the ache in her elbow. It shouldn't have ached - at least, not that fast anyway.

Then again, she’d been overdosed with something. The lightheadedness was still there, she could feel the fact there was no blood in her face, and there had been blood in her piss. All in all, her chances of survival were boding well with every petty spat they had considering nobody was actively trying to figure out what could be causing it.

“Start thinking fast, Lock…” Katrina peeled off her jumper and unbuttoned her cuffs so she could roll up one of her shirt sleeves to inspect her elbow. The sight of it - if she had any blood left in her head - would have turned her pale. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck me, you shouldn’t bruise that fast from a bump in the wall!” John dragged his chair closer to Katrina so he could gingerly take her arm and inspect it. The bruise was already an angry red colour, spreading rapidly over her elbow and turning purple in the centre. “Katrina, this is - this is worse than we think. Don’t - don’t accidentally hurt yourself otherwise you’ll bleed out. Sherlock - you know, right?”

“That there’s only one thing that can cause bruises like that alongside her other symptoms? Yes, of course. I was suspecting it from the urine comment but now it’s clear as day,” the detective sighed. “Your food has been dosed with anticoagulants, Kat.”

“What?” she frowned.

“Blood thinners,” John clarified. “You’ve been dosed on a very high amount of blood thinners. And there’s still dessert to go.”

Notes:

I know I said Friday, but... couldn't resist. Still very much unwell and having to go into work (I've not got anything contagious) and my working hours mean I start super early and can be home by the afternoon which is great! Means I have more time to myself in the evening which is always a bonus. Meaning it should ideally be easier to write. My brain is very much overwhelmed with the new job though, but I get to do some cool stuff so it balances out. :)

Did I also mention this mini arc was a rewrite of another one from the old version of this story? Anyway.

Chapter 51: Let's Have Dinner: Running Out Of Time

Notes:

TW: Discussions of anorexia and bulimia. Forced vomiting. Tags on the fic now amended for this.

Read with caution if any of those things are sensitive to you.

“We need to stop eating,” Katrina said, pulling her arm from John’s grip. “I can’t keep going on - I’ll die! We don’t have our phones - we - we can’t call anyone…”

“You said it was against the rules,” John said. “We can’t stop.”

“I know that - except that was before we figured out what I’ve been dosed with!” she snapped. “I would have suggested the same if it were any of you. What’s the worst symptom I could get from this? Aside from death? Because if that happens then we know how fucked I really am.”

“The bruising is already pretty bad, but if you start having a nosebleed, difficulty breathing, coughing up blood - then we know we need to overthink double time.”

“Great. Okay. That’s good.” Katrina buttoned up her shirt cuff and rapped her fingers on the table.

“I’ll go start looking for our things. We can call an ambulance,” Mary said as she stood up. “I’ll be back for dessert.” She hurried off towards the back of the restaurant after that, leaving the other three of them to sit within a tense silence.

The last thing Sherlock had said was to announce the use of anticoagulants, but now he was brooding. Staring at the table. Not looking John or Katrina in the eye. Jaw taut, brow furrowed, deep in thought and trying to sort through the mass of information in his brain. Katrina watched him intently, waiting for him to actually say something - anything - but nothing as of yet. She could feel the tension from John’s side of the table as they both waited with bated breath for Sherlock to say something else.

Clearly he wasn’t going to, and Katrina was beginning to feel sick.

“If we stop…” she mumbled, more to John than the both of the men. “What do you think will happen?”

“Do you really want to find out?” he asked in response.

“I don’t want to die. That’s what I want.”

“All right. We’ll find out then.”

“Vitamin K,” Sherlock said all of a sudden. “You need some form of vitamin K to help. And you’re going to need to vomit everything you’ve eaten.”

“Sherlock - you can’t make her do that until there’s medical help on the way-”

“What else do you propose, John?” He got up from the table and started pacing, his voice getting progressively louder with every passing word. “Let Kat die?! Granted you’d probably be grateful for more of my attention again if she did-”

“What?!” John stood up so angrily that he knocked his chair over. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“You still avoid coming round! ” Sherlock stopped in his tracks to yell. “Don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed that you barely drop by in the week to help with cases anymore, even when you are available and Mary suggests it! You show face on weekends to make it appear that you’re fine with Kat but the truth is you’re not, are you? You’re still so angry with her but you pretend like everything is fine.”

“I wouldn’t want Kat to die though-”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! I’m not a sociopath! Speaking of - you care so much about Katrina, but you barely ever showed an ounce of emotion towards me! Best friends, supposedly!” John scoffed, walking around the table towards Sherlock to shout in his face. Katrina didn’t care much for the argument - she was too busy concentrating on what her own breaths sounded like. The minute it became difficult, she would let them know.

“Because I didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to look like until I met Kat!” Sherlock retorted.

They could have heard a pin drop.

“Of course I cared about you John - I still do! You’re one of my best friends. But nobody explained to me what that looked like. It’s all very well and good being shown it, but I could never understand the logic behind it until… until Kat could explain it,” Sherlock confessed, running a hand through his hair in distress over the argument and the environment they were in. “We spent - we spent two years talking about things like that between dismantling Moriarty’s network. Between all the stupid things that happened on our jollies as you like to call them.”

“Stop it…” Katrina sniffed, her voice too quiet for them to hear.

“Why couldn’t you have just said?” John asked, resigned.

“Because we talked back in November and it appeared everything was fine. You forgave Kat. Supposedly. But you didn’t really,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“Stop it.” She sniffed again, and frowned. Katrina crinkled her nose in an effort to figure out why it was suddenly so irritated, wiping just under her nostrils to find a small smear of blood.

“It was hard to forgive - still is. I don’t know Katrina that well. I know you well. It’s why I can forgive you easier.”

“I know that. But why pretend anyway?”

Katrina slammed her fist down on the table to grab their attention, her nose with the taps turned on and a steady stream of blood coming out of it.

“I don’t feel good,” she said meekly.

“We can stop the game. One of the waiters handed me this,” Mary said as she reappeared, holding her note. She slowly approached the table as she read it out. “ ‘In case you decide that going through with the entire dinner isn’t worth the trouble, you can end the game. Your possessions will be returned. However you will never find out my motivations, and only be left to theorise. Hubris could win.’ Oh good. We don’t have to go through with dessert and we can get Kat help sooner.”

John took the note from his wife’s hands and read it. “Great. Good. Okay. You didn’t find anything of ours?”

“Nope. Must have gotten close though, because I was handed that note without a single word said.”

“One issue though…” Katrina said, using her napkin to help keep her upper lip clean from the blood. “Lock’s gonna wanna know the why behind it all. And honestly… I want to know too. She’s dangled a carrot and she’s fucking around with it. It was never going to be that easy. Also… was tonight really the best time to have another argument about the last two years?” She directed the last question at Sherlock and John.

“Ah, that’s what all the shouting was about,” Mary said as she pulled up her chair next to Katrina. “You two really picked your moments. You good, love? Lean forward.”

Katrina did as Mary said and pushed her chair out so she could get her head to her knees and thus prevent the blood going down the back of her throat. Mary gently rubbed her back.

“You two are useless, ” she then said to the men, and Katrina hummed in agreement. “But Kat’s got a point - the carrot’s been dangled and we have to make a choice now. Although, it should really be her choice. She’s the one dying after all.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sherlock said.

“Well, Sherlock, it’s the truth!” John reminded him. “We had an encounter with a psychopath three years ago and now Katrina’s had a lethal dose of blood thinners! Funny how things work out! Now get thinking.”

“You’re the doctor - you get thinking!”

“Mind palace!”

“Medical degree!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Katrina yelled at them from her knees. “Both of you - shut it.” Now no longer feeling like all the blood was going to escape from her nose, she slowly sat up. “John, you never said you forgave me back in November. If there’s ever a time to do it - now’s your chance.”

“Jesus Christ, Kat,” Mary breathed. “You’re really gonna do this?”

“Might as well, I could be dead soon.”

“I’m going to the kitchen,” Sherlock abruptly announced and stormed off. “See if I can find something that will help you throw up…”

“He’s right - you’ve been avoiding the flat,” Katrina said. “During the week at least. I don’t know how many more times I can say I’m sorry, okay John? I didn’t have a choice in the matter! What - what would you have done? If you were me?”

“Not lie to my friends-”

“No. Don’t bullshit me.” Katrina then erupted into a coughing fit. “Fucking hell, how much was in there?” She shook herself back to normal. “What would you have done, John?”

He clenched his fists for a moment, his shoulders tense and square before he relented and relaxed after a moment. “Probably - probably the same as you,” he finally said, his voice wavering a little. “But I didn’t - I didn’t want to admit that.”

“There’s no shame in it,” Mary said. “People do things when they’re desperate and scared.”

“Yeah… yeah they do. You’re forgiven, Katrina.” He shot her a small smile, which she was far too exhausted to return. “End the game. Don’t be daft, and end the game.”

“No dessert. End the game. I’ll find another time.” She had another coughing fit where she spat out a small amount of blood into her napkin. “Oh god…”

“You need to throw up,” John said. “But you can’t do that until we know help is on the way.”

At that point, Sherlock made his return with the four waiters behind him each with their possessions. The detective himself, however, was carrying a bag of spinach, a pint of milk, and a small pot of something black.

The waiters crudely deposited their things on the floor by their table, and one of them handed Mary another note before they headed towards the front of the restaurant, unlocked the door, and left without another word.

Mary abandoned Katrina to make a beeline for her phone and call an ambulance, whilst Sherlock slammed down his smorgasbord of ingredients on the table.

“Is there anything you know that makes you vomit?” he asked Katrina.

“Only a raging hangover and terribly bad nausea,” she replied after clearing her throat.

“You thinking vomit first and then eat?” John asked him.

“Precisely.” Sherlock offered out his hand to Katrina and helped her stand on her wobbly feet. She swayed and he put an arm around her. “Come on. Have you ever had to shove your fingers down your throat?”

She groaned. “No…”

“First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Kat, what’s your date of birth?” Mary yelled as they began heading towards the bathrooms.

“Twelfth June nineteen eighty three,” she replied.

John trailed after Sherlock and Katrina.

The three of them ended up going into the disabled toilet so that there was actually space for all of them, and Sherlock helped Katrina down to her knees in front of the bowl so that she could attempt to make herself sick and stayed at her level.

Unfortunately for Katrina, the moment she opened her mouth and stuck two of her fingers into her mouth, she merely gagged and chickened out. “Nope. No, no, not doing it. I can’t - I can’t force myself to do it. How do you even do it?”

“You’ve really got to hit the back of your throat,” Sherlock said.

“Have you done it before?”

“Yes…”

“Sherlock…” John sighed.

He rolled his eyes. “I was at university and much preferred the high when I had an empty stomach. Why else do you think I don’t eat on cases? I get the same high from a case as I used to from morphine, heroin, or coke.”

“You were bulimic?”

“More like a functional bulimic, but yes,” Sherlock was exasperated. “It didn’t last the whole time I was at university, mind you, the taste of stomach acid and the idea of rotting my teeth wasn’t appealing at all so that’s when I turned to not eating.”

“Functional anorexic?” John suggested.

“Yes. Thankfully in my twenties and early thirties I ended up with flatmates who eat.” A wry smile drifted over Sherlock’s lips and he turned his attention back to the topic at hand. “Try again,” he told Katrina.

“I don’t want to…” There were tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to forcefully make herself throw up and she couldn’t believe what Sherlock had just revealed to them in such a blase manner. “Lock…”

“If you are crying for me, I’d suggest not,” he said. “It was well over a decade ago. You know I’m far better now. We can talk about it another time.” He paused. “If I did it, would it help?”

“Maybe…”

“John, hold back Kat’s hair.”

“You really think she’ll vomit if you do it?” John asked, now also getting to his knees and pulling Katrina’s hair away from her face and holding it at the back of her hand.

“Yep. Open up, Kat.”

Katrina did as Sherlock asked and open her mouth wide enough for him to insert his fingers in. Except he didn’t do it slowly.

“Sorry in advance,” was all he said before crudely jamming two of his slender fingers into her mouth and immediately hitting the back of her throat. 

The sharp ache that popped up in Katrina’s throat was immediately covered by the loud gagging noise she made that quickly turned into a full on retch and suddenly Sherlock had taken his fingers out of her mouth just as the contents of her stomach came up. Some of it did go on his hand, but the other ninety eight percent made it into the toilet. Once she started, she couldn’t stop.

A mixture of what she had eaten - half digested - along with bile and some blood exit Katrina’s body with a sickening splash. She involuntarily heaved until she couldn’t anymore, her throat tired and aching and tears stinging her eyes. She gripped the sides of the toilet, trembling with every fibre of her being. Sherlock’s hand was still hovering in front of her, primed and ready to go again albeit covered in sick. John was still holding her hair, but gently rubbing her back. It seemed like Sherlock was rubbing her back too.

She risked a glance at him to see he had a mild look of disgust on his face, but that was more directed at the fact it was on his hand.

“Can we - can we go back?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“Not until it’s bile,” said John.

“It got into your system so fast they must have been spiking whatever you’d be consuming in liquid form to an incredibly high degree,” Sherlock explained. “However, you seem to have digested a lot of it. We have been here long enough, I suppose. But… John’s right.”

Katrina groaned, but opened her mouth once more and Sherlock stuck his fingers in again; less violent, but still very much uncomfortable and it did the trick. Two more retches of her insides out and it was just bile that was left. It burned her throat and left the backs of her teeth fuzzy, the acrid nature of the taste lingering in her mouth and she didn’t have any safe water to take it away and she sure as hell wasn’t going to drink from the tap in a sink in a restaurant toilet.

“Enough…” Katrina moaned, and John helped her to her feet whilst Sherlock flushed the toilet and washed his hands; she followed suit on the latter part. She undid a couple of the buttons at the top of her shirt because she was overwhelmingly hot and sweaty after that experience.

The two men had an arm each around her as they headed back out to their table to find Mary was poking her head out of the front door of the restaurant. The moment she heard them coming back, she bounded over.

“Ambulance should be about ten minutes,” she updated them as Katrina sat down in her original seat. “How er… how was that?”

“I won’t be giving a man head for some time, let’s just say that…” Katrina replied grimly.

Sherlock frowned. “As if you had a sex life to speak of at the moment-”

“Shut it.” Katrina shut her eyes for a moment and leaned back in the chair.

“No - no, don’t do that…” Sherlock tapped her on the face so she’d sit upright. He passed the unopened bottle of milk to her. “Drink this. Slowly. Nobody would have tampered with it.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle to show that the foil cap was still firmly attached. “Vitamin K.”

“Is there any point?” Katrina sighed, her nose beginning to bleed again, the nausea restarting. “Oh for - ten minutes yeah?”

“Yep,” Mary said.

“Alright.” Katrina took the milk from Sherlock and had a few sips. She found she couldn’t stomach more than that and promptly put the bottle back down on the table. “Whatever else you have in mind for me to do - no thank you. I’m tired, I’m scared, and my throat is aching thanks to you and your fingers.” Every word she spoke she was getting more and more breathless.

“Out of context that’s certainly a sentence.”

“Even with the context it’s worse,” John said grimly. “Look - what are the chances even though we’ll never know the answer we can figure out why Katrina was targeted this way?”

The woman in question frowned, her thoughts a swirling mess of questions but the only thing that stuck out to her was that John - despite outright saying he forgave her - still wasn’t calling her ‘Kat.’ He knew that she had that name reserved for friends and people she was close to, but he wasn’t partaking.

“Because she’s emotional. She’s close to me. I’m the opposite of everything she is. If we hadn’t concluded that someone was to be poisoned, she would have given the olives to me and there would be a slim chance of me falling ill too,” Sherlock rattled off. “Which we established earlier on, of course. Conversation has been rather focused around all of our relationships - less so John and Mary, they’re easy - but the dynamic between myself and John, then myself and Kat. It brought out the ugly truth to it all. But why would Holly Peters want to know the ugly truth?”

“To figure out if you’d do the same for John?” Mary suggested. Sherlock snapped his fingers and pointed at her in approval.

“Precisely. Peters had no interest in John and I three years ago because we were already long term friends and flatmates. Kat was new.”

“But I’m new as well.”

“We don’t have the same dynamic,” Sherlock clarified, glancing over at Katrina who was steadily growing paler with every passing second. She looked utterly exhausted and he didn’t fault her for it. “You’re very blunt with me, Kat isn’t. Peters is working out how we all fit in together, and so far not coming up with much except revealing that I assumed John hated Kat so much he wouldn’t have minded if she died tonight.”

“Which isn’t true!” John reminded them. “I don’t hate Katrina, nor do I want her to die.”

“Yet you refuse to call me ‘Kat,’” she said wearily, her heart beginning to pound rapidly. “Whatever though. I’m sure we’ll get to that point of being friends…”

The nausea was becoming too much. 

She’d thrown up everything she’d eaten that evening and her head was swimming, her skin prickling with beads of sweat and her stomach still churning. Her elbow, blackened with the bruise from earlier, had decided that now was a good time for the pain to well and truly kick in, her nerves feeling like they were on fire and making the overall nausea worse.

Katrina’s hand started tapping incessantly on the table from the amount she was trembling, her heart racing so fast she could feel her pulse in her neck and in her ears. Everything was dipping in and out of focus; she couldn’t concentrate on anything that anyone was saying.

All she knew was that help was on the way.

All she knew was that she couldn’t die tonight.

All she knew was Sherlock staring directly at her, impassive but his sparkly eyes filled with a worry she had never seen before.

She lost all grip on reality and she slid out of her chair onto the floor with a horrid thud that sent an explosion of pain through her hip and up the side of her body. She had no energy to cry out, and merely lay on the floor like a ragdoll in a simulation.

“Kat!” Sherlock was on the floor with her, hands flailing for a moment as he didn’t know what to do. What could he do right now? They’d made her throw up everything she’d eaten, and found charcoal to bind whatever was left in her system. There was nothing else to do!

Except…

He was now cradling her in his arms. She was half on his lap, her head against his shoulder out of convenience, position, and comfort. Katrina wished she had the energy to hold onto him, but at least he was holding onto her. If she did die right now, she’d be fine going like this: being held by her best friend, whom she admittedly loved more than anyone else in the world. He was her favourite person in the world, after all. Not that she could ever admit it to him.

“Don’t you dare…” Sherlock murmured. “Don’t you dare, Katrina Ann Jenkins. Not like this.”

Katrina hummed, the room spinning now.

“Help is nearly here. You’ll be alright.” Sherlock, the ever so sure voiced man of reason. She could entirely believe help was nearly there and that she’d be alright.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she slipped away into darkness.

Notes:

The end of another rewritten arc!! And I lowkey hate it!! But it's for the plot.

What did you think of the brief argument? I did say it was going to take time for John and Katrina to truly be friends... everything's simmering away under the surface until the absolute wrong moment as ever...

ANYWAY - lots of fun soft Shertina for the next 3 chapters. Then we get the mini crossover with another British (sort of) detective. And then... :)

PS. Sorry for the late update! Been very busy.

Chapter 52: Principles of Morals

Sherlock sat at Katrina’s bedside with a blank expression on his face as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. They’d stuck a tube down her throat. They were keeping her sedated for the next two days until they were certain she wasn’t going to have any serious lasting damage. She was on a cocktail of medication to get her blood consistency back to normal. The doctors here didn’t particularly enjoy talking to him due to how snappy he was at the moment, but Sherlock didn’t care about how he was presenting himself at that point in time.

He should have worked faster. He should have figured it out faster. Then Katrina wouldn’t be in this state.

The door opened and closed quietly behind him, but the slow footsteps were accompanied by a sharp tap on the floor on approach.

“How long are they expecting her to be here for?” Mycroft asked Sherlock.

“Assuming all Kat’s not going have serious complications, they expect a few days. Otherwise a week. But a full recovery won't take long after that once she's got medication,” he replied. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“John messaged. He said you’ve refused to move from here since last night. We have people looking into the circumstances surrounding Holly Peters’ escape from Sherrinford, but she made her own return some time last night and is under much more strict security now.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed and he tore his gaze away from Katrina to give his full attention to Mycroft.

“So you’re here to see me? Not Kat?”

“I’m here to see you both. Only, Kat’s not entirely talkative right now.”

“You care about her.”

“Of course I do,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “As long as we don’t need to keep re-establishing that fact. She’s had a positive impact on you - albeit, seeing you brooding isn’t entirely normal. You’re much more attached than you think you are.”

Sherlock huffed and turned back to carry on watching her. “Then by default, so are you. We both care for Kat more deeply than we could have ever imagined.”

Mycroft hummed. “Have you considered the notion that your care for Kat runs more… intimately… than deep platonic affection?”

“Why would I?” He was quick to respond.

“I’ve never seen you this intense with someone-”

“Because we hardly see each other,” Sherlock cut across his older brother, annoyed at the implication being presented to him. “As I said to John last night: Kat has explained what it means to care for someone. Why we do it. It’s how I’m able to live effortlessly with her. It’s why we have rules in place in the flat - things to make each other’s lives easier as two grown ups in their thirties.” He paused. “It was an intense situation to be in last night. It had an intense outcome, as you can very well see.”

Mycroft was silent, digesting what his brother was saying for a moment. Everyone around them could see it as plain as day but Sherlock and Katrina themselves - neither of them would confess to anything, but he thought they were right to keep denying it in front of John and Mary. Those two couldn’t possibly understand the how and why of his brother and Katrina entertaining feelings for each other, especially since Mycroft couldn’t fully understand it himself.

“I’ll stop by later in the week,” he finally said. “When Kat’s awake - or has returned to 221b.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you - and I mean that. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, little brother. Let’s see what the prognosis is when she wakes up.”

With that, Mycroft left and was replaced by John and Mary.

“Sherlock, you’ve been here since last night - go home. Get some sleep. Have a shower,” Mary said gently. “We can take over for a bit.”

He remained firmly and silently seated, ever watchful.

“Sherlock…” John’s voice was soft, and he came to stand on the opposite side of the bed to him so he was in his eyeline. “Katrina’s well looked after here. You can go for a few hours. Maybe when you come back you’re not so irritable with the doctors and nurses trying to help?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but finally got out of the chair, pulled his coat on and made a swift exit out. Mary sat down in his freshly vacated seat.

“I know we joke about it, but… do you think he’s into her?” she asked John, gesturing with her head towards Katrina ever so slightly. “Feels a bit wrong to talk about it whilst she’s like this.”

“Oh, I don’t think he even realises he’s into her. Let’s put it this way: he got really protective about Mrs Hudson when someone broke into the flat a few years back, but this is a whole other level,” John explained, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “I can’t believe he didn’t - he didn’t want to let go with her when the paramedics arrived. He knew it wasn’t logical to do that because they were there to help and still - couldn’t bear the idea of it.”

“If he weren’t so emotionally repressed they’d have done something about it months ago,” Mary replied. “And if Kat weren’t so stubborn too. Whatever the hell is going on between them it’s definitely working. Start going round the flat in the week again you moron.”

“Yes, dear…”

---

Five o’clock in the evening on a Thursday was when Sherlock returned home to 221b Baker Street. He’d been awake for just over thirty four hours and hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night when they were at that god forsaken restaurant.

He immediately discarded his coat and shoes to collapse onto the sofa, everything finally catching up to him. John and Mary had been right to send him away - he was impossibly tired and he needed to calm down. He held his hands out in front of him, flexing his fingers as if trying to make sure his body still functioned normally. His heart rate was calming down; he hadn’t particularly taken note of being in a heightened state, but apparently that’s what worry did to a person.

Typically it was rare for him to worry, and the last time that had happened was when John had been left in a bonfire and Katrina had nearly drowned. Somehow this was worse than either of those two things combined.

There was a tube down Katrina’s throat to help her breathe.

The image wouldn’t leave his mind but it was his own fault - he couldn’t tear his eyes away out of the sheer horror of it all. His Katrina looking like that? After she had been through so much and that was incapacitated her? He couldn’t believe it. She had nearly fractured and broken her bones in Shanghai, had been shot at point blank distance by Moran back in the day, had a wild and unruly life in her early twenties, been with him in other various dangerous situations, and yet it was excessive poisoning that nearly took her out.

Sherlock shut his eyes for what felt like a few moments, but when he opened them again it was one o’clock in the morning and his stomach was growling at him.

He sat up and stretched out his long limbs, each of them popping back into place in a horrid way which only came from sitting in a chair for eighteen hours. He got up and switched on a couple of the lamps in the living room, yawning as he did so before wandering into the kitchen and popping some bread into the toaster. He grabbed some of the blueberry jam from the fridge, a plate from the cupboard and waited somewhat impatiently for the toast to pop out.

Perhaps there was something to Mycroft’s suggestion about his affection for Katrina. Now was not the time to deal with it - it was too inappropriate. Besides, he wasn’t even certain if he was actually attracted to her or it was just simply his nature to be more openly caring for someone close to him should the situation call for it. He wouldn’t have ever let her get worse than she had done at that god forsaken dinner.

Sherlock shook those thoughts out of his mind when the toast finally popped up. He gingerly grabbed the two slices and tossed them onto the plate before applying the jam and hastily scoffing them down. He needed his proper bed. He needed to get his sleep cycle back on track and once nine in the morning rolled around he could head on back down to the UCL hospital to see Katrina again.

Hopefully they’d have taken the tube out of her throat by the time he got there.

---

John had dozed off in the chair in the night and Mary had gone home by the time Sherlock arrived around ten o’clock that morning with coffee. He lightly kicked John in the shin and he jolted awake, yawning and stretching out before rubbing his eyes, gratefully taking the cup of coffee that Sherlock had brought for him.

“Nothing’s happened. After you left they came in to check her and said that properly after lunch today they could take the tube out. She’s doing well,” John informed him.

Sherlock nodded. “Kat’s had a few other terrible scrapes, no thanks to me.”

John chuckled. “Oh, I can imagine. What was Shanghai, again?”

“Jumped out of a window and she nearly broke her ribs. My fault. I used her as a landing cushion. Mycroft popped by with some very strong drugs though - he happened to be in Shanghai at the time. I’m surprised you’re asking…”

“Can’t be mad forever, can I? Besides… I’ve done wrong by Katrina-”

“Katrina, Katrina, Katrina… why not Kat?” Sherlock queried.

“I’m not there yet. Me and her - we’re not there yet. Let’s leave it at that. But Sherlock I would - I would never want to see her like this again. Because she’s become one of Mary’s best mates and she’s one of yours as well. She looked out for you those two years - that’s all I could have wanted someone to do for my best mate. Yeah?”

“So you understand now.”

“I think so. Yeah.”

“Does that mean we can put a pin in this conversation and not do it at Kat’s bedside for the foreseeable?”

“Seems like a good shout,” John agreed.

The pair of them then tapped their coffee cups together in a quiet cheers.

“If you don’t mind - I might head off home. I was meant to be at the practice today but…” John rose from the chair.

“By all means. I’ll be here.” Sherlock shot him a quick, wry smile.

“Yeah, of course you are. Let us know when she wakes up,” John murmured as he left.

Another eye roll, another sigh, and Sherlock sat down in the vacated seat. He didn’t have much to do except filter through emails and see if there was a case worth solving, but he didn’t dare look until Katrina had the tube taken out of her. Seeing her look so vulnerable was a strange concept to Sherlock - even in Shanghai, even after almost drowning, she was still able to move independently and at least try to do things on her own.

But not this time. Having something affect her blood was far more serious and deadly so her recovery wouldn’t exactly be the most swift thing ever - and she had been coughing up blood and bleeding out of her nose that’s how far it had gone the other night. She couldn’t stubbornly just get up and get on with it, and Sherlock hated that notion. She would hate that notion on waking up. She would hate to hear how she’d needed help with breathing because it had been that bad.

Granted, a doctor did drop by to remove the tube and Sherlock still didn’t avert his eyes. He barely mumbled a thank you to the woman, barely listening when she said she’d be back in an hour to wake up Katrina. Another hour, then he might be able to speak with her. Good. Great. Fantastic. Except Sherlock knew that his flatmate would be groggy and not really able to chat much at all. Oh, she’d hate that too.

Katrina was going to hate every single part of this and Sherlock was going to have to put up with it for at least several weeks, if not more.

Dear god, no.

As annoying as it would be for the both of them, he would do it without complaint. She was his best friend after all and she’d need someone to lean on. It probably wouldn’t even change much from their usual routine.

Sherlock passed the time looking at his emails on his phone to see if Lestrade had thrown anything interesting his way, or anything that he could solve from the comfort of the sterile hospital room. Not much in either category, but at least he could solve something from the chair. He cleared those ones in the space of about fifteen minutes and billed Lestrade for the time.

He had to make rent somehow.

Eventually the very nice doctor came back with a clipboard and injected Katrina with something to wake her up, hovering nearby too.

“Sorry - could I just ask - who are you?” The doctor asked Sherlock, breaking the silence that had formed between them.

“Sherlock Holmes. Katrina’s flatmate and emergency contact,” he replied dryly. “I assume you already notified her next of kin?”

“Ah, yes, Isabel Jenkins, her sister?”

Sherlock hummed. “Didn’t want to swing by, did she?”

“No,” she admitted sheepishly. “Thank goodness you’re the emergency contact and… readily available. I only asked because when Miss Jenkins wakes up I was going to discuss a private matter regarding the medication she needs be on - but if she agrees with it, you can stay.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Tranexamic acid.”

“How did you-?”

“Considering I was the one that figured out it was anticoagulants coursing through her veins at a high dosage, I knew exactly what medication you’d be putting Kat on,” he explained, swivelling around slightly in the chair to face the mildly shocked doctor. “In fact, she’s on it in intravenous form right now and responding well to it. I know she uses birth control so she’d have to come off of it whilst taking the oral form of tranexamic acid for the next seven days. Even then, she’d had to remain off of it until you did a blood test to ensure things are on the right track. Rinse and repeat if not. But I expect Kat will be fine.”

“She’ll need to follow up with a haemotologist for a couple of months regardless,” the doctor raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “It’s nasty business what happened to her. Is there a police investigation going on?”

“MI5 is on the case, actually.”

“Who gagged me?” Katrina’s incredibly hoarse yet quiet voice echoed out across the room as she roused from the realms of unconsciousness, cutting the conversation short. 

“You had a tube down your throat to help you breathe,” Sherlock said. She finally opened her eyes and looked at him, tired as anything. “Hello.”

“Hi. Can I have some water?” She cleared her throat.

Sherlock nodded quickly and poured her some from the jug on the bedside table, whilst Katrina fumbled with the button to raise her bed so she was sitting more upright instead of lying down. He helped her take a few sips where she winced on swallowing, before setting the cup down.

“Flatmates, you said?” The doctor queried suspiciously.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, exasperated.

“Right, well…” she coughed awkwardly. “Miss Jenkins, you should be out of here by tomorrow. As I was discussing with your… flatmate… you’ll be on tranexamic acid for the next week in tablet form. It should set you right as rain, but we’ll have to do a blood test to check. Not to frighten you, but we were genuinely surprised you didn’t die on arrival here due to how much of the anticoagulants were in your system.”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up, and Sherlock remained impassive.

“Am I okay to carry on? I mentioned I wanted to discuss a private matter with you regarding the medication but-”

“Sherlock lives with me, it might be useful for him to hear,” Katrina cut her off with a shrug, her voice still croaky but getting slightly more normal with every passing sentence.

The doctor nodded, scanning the notes she had on Katrina. “You take birth control to help with fibroid pain, correct?”

Katrina averted Sherlock’s now rather intense gaze on her, but nodded in response to the question all the same. A heat creeped up her neck and she only hoped it didn’t make it to her cheeks.

“You’ll have to stop taking it whilst you’re on tranexamic acid - there’s a small risk of clotting so normally it would be fine, but considering what you went through two days ago-”

“Sorry, two days ago? I’ve been out for two days?!” Katrina’s voice grew in volume which she realised was a mistake on her part. She rubbed her throat and took the water that Sherlock offered her again, her fingers trembling slightly as she held the glass.

“Again, we’re shocked you didn’t die,” the doctor continued. “We don’t want even the smallest risk of a blood clot until your bloodwork comes back entirely normal, then feel free to go on it again. You’ll probably have one proper menstrual cycle in that time, so my apologies for any pain you might go through considering the fibroids.”

“Well, that’s going to be fun,” she remarked dryly. “Right, Lock?” She finally looked at him to find there was a slight frown on his face. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be annoyed you didn’t deduce that out of me. Besides, you assumed that I still had some form of cycle considering the withdrawal bleeding week. There was no way you’d pick up that little fact about me.”

“Explains more of your irritable nature, I’d be pissed off twenty four seven if I had to put up with what you did before birth control,” Sherlock muttered.

The two women stared at him in surprise.

“I’m not even mad. That’s quite sympathetic of you,” Katrina said, sinking back down into the pillow and then addressing her next question to the doctor. “Am I okay to eat normally? It didn’t totally mess up my insides.”

“Take it easy for a few days just to adjust - like after food poisoning - but you should be fine. Although any rectal bleeding, you should come in right away.”

“Lovely… Anything else I should know?”

“I’ll hand over the medication tomorrow when you’re good to go,” the doctor said with a warm smile. “But I’ll let you to it for now.”

“Thanks.”

With a small nod, the doctor took her leave.

The silence in the room between Sherlock and Katrina sat somewhere between awkward and comfortable, but when neither of them really knew what to say to each other it became more awkward than anything.

“Sherlock…” Katrina mumbled. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?” He rolled his eyes at the question, and she could see him struggling to keep up the usual unemotional facade he presented the world with.

“Lock…”

“Why did neither you or Mycroft tell me about the incident with Miss Peters at the start of last year?” Sherlock finally met her gaze. For the first time in a long time, he was cold as he looked at her. But there was something else there too: worry. Fear. Something more human that he was so desperately trying to hide, and she ended up annoyed with herself for letting her last thoughts of consciousness from - what she assumed to be - the previous night be ones of love for the man.

“Because I’d just got back from Sweden. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I wouldn’t have been worried-”

“Well, clearly you’re worried now!” Katrina snapped. “Mary said you were angry last night. And now you’re looking at me like I’m one of your cases. I’ve not been one of your cases for a long time, Sherlock, so don’t put up that front with me. I’m not something to be figured out. I’m your friend, I’m your flatmate, and I want to be comforted after what happened yesterday!”

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and she hastily wiped them away. Chewing on the inside of her lip, Katrina stared down at her lap and picked at her cuticles whilst she awaited Sherlock’s response. Her hair fell forwards, blocking her face from his view. Being friends with someone who didn’t exactly do well with big emotions certainly had its challenges, but she had thought that over the past three years of their friendship he had been doing much better with it.

She supposed all it took was one near miss for the wall to come back up again.

And oh boy, had last night been a big near miss for her life.

So what the fuck was going through Sherlock’s mind for him to think it was okay to become this avoidant around her of all people?

Sherlock reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Katrina stiffened and he immediately drew back.

“I didn’t think it would be you, last night. I thought - I thought out of all of us, it would have been me” he then confessed. “I didn’t work fast enough and you… you had a tube down your throat to help you breathe, Kat. I should have done better.”

Her voice caught in her throat thick and surprised. “That’s not - that’s not on you,” she choked out, risking a glance at him with fresh tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. “But it was Holly Peters behind it all, so it could only have been you and me as the options to poison. I don’t - I don’t know why she’s so obsessed with me and you, but…”

“It is what it is,” his voice was soft.

“Yeah. Which is a bit shit, really.”

A scrape on the floor told Katrina that Sherlock had dragged his chair as close to the bed as possible. He tentatively reached for her, his long fingers calloused from years of playing the violin but still somehow soft to the touch on the back of her hand. She did not recoil, but she let him trace over the bones and veins as if allowing him to remind himself that she was still there and alive.

His breath was warm next to her ear and neck; he was incredibly close.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she wondered if he could hear it hammering away. It shouldn’t be hammering away considering what had happened to her last night, but the proximity of Sherlock to her neck was almost too much to bear and there were a million different thoughts running through her mind about what he could possibly do next because fear made people do funny things is what she had learned over the years. And she didn’t quite know what fear did to Sherlock.

Yet all he did was then rest his forehead on her shoulder, and rested his hand palm up on the bedsheets. She interlocked her fingers with his and he squeezed her tightly and refused to let go for sometime.

“I refuse to lose my best friend,” he murmured.

Katrina smiled softly as she rested her cheek atop his head. “You’re lucky I refuse to die.” She sighed.

“Hmm mm.”

“It’s okay to feel things, Lock. You got pretty good at it recently. I get - I get that whatever fear you felt last night was too much, but… don’t ever look at me like that again - like - like I’m one of your cases. If you do, then that means I’ve fucked up. Okay?”

He removed his head from her shoulder and sat up straight again. “I’m certainly glad you’re stubborn enough that you won’t die.”

Sherlock let go of her hand and whatever warmth had built up between them was gone.

“Someone’s got to keep you in line,” she joked, sinking back into the pillows. “Why do you think she did it, though? Go to all that trouble just to see if you’d figure out how to save my life?”

“She’s a psychopath. I don’t think she needs a reason.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Kat. Not now. I think our other friends will be glad to know you’re awake now. And Mycroft. He um - he cares enough. Still hates to admit it.” He got out his phone to start texting.

“And you don’t?” she teased.

“Only to strangers.”

“Was the doctor implying we were more than friends and flatmates?”

“Her along with everyone else,” Sherlock huffed. “Apparently I cannot show I openly care for a lady friend without that implication.”

“Sounds like you get it worse than me,” she said, a little more perky. “Everyone at work has left it be for now - I can go to the pub in peace. Oh! I should have asked if it was okay for me to have a drink…”

“Always the functional alcoholic…”

“Only on a Friday,” she retorted with a smile.

“John and Mary are on their way,” he said abruptly, holding up his phone to her briefly. “They’ll be pleased to see you in a better state. Mary’s asked if you want anything to eat.”

“Not right now, no…” she said grimly. “I’ll eat something later.”

He eyed her oddly but nodded all the same and sent the reply. When Katrina started twiddling her thumbs, he sighed - knowing that there was a topic she didn’t want to drop entirely.

“She wonders why we’re friends,” he said. “Holly Peters, that is. At least - that’s what I would imagine. It’s a fair, logical assumption to make. We’re so different in our approaches, you and I, that to any outsider it feels impossible to believe that we would be friends. I don’t think Miss Peters understands what meeting in the middle is.”

“Yeah, she does wonder why we’re friends. That much she implied to me the last time I saw her…” Katrina sighed and rolled onto her side so she could face Sherlock. “She told me I had all these emotions and nowhere to put them and that’s why I like you so much, basically. Because apparently it’s easier for me to… like someone like you. Who isn’t all that emotional. I think she was trying to say I was projecting. But then - then she must have known you would eat the olives I didn’t want. Maybe she’d hoped we’d be in danger and see if we’d save each other. If I’d do the same for you like you do for me. Whatever the hell is wrong with her, she needs someone at Sherrinford to actually help her rather than keep her locked up.”

Sherlock sank back in his chair. “Judging from my very limited of knowledge Sherrinford, I expect they’re not equipped to do that in case she tries anything with them. How long did you spend with her?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Enough time to get inside your head and figure you out. I doubt they’d want their permanent staff to go through the same.” Sherlock paused, a frown coming to his brow. “Which would work out for her considering it would be wrong morally to put them near her on a regular basis. Genius,” he added that last part softly.

“So she does understand morals? That’s why she likes testing them?”

“Yes… and she wouldn’t have been able to do that at Sherrinford.”

“Interesting. Well - I can only hope we don’t end up in the way of her warpath again,” Katrina mused. “We probably will though - we just have no idea when. Anyway: I bet you’ve solved a few cases sitting here, tell me about them before John and Mary get here.”

“They’re boring-”

“And? I’ve been out for two days. I need something to cheer me up.”

Sherlock sighed, finally peeling off his coat and getting comfortable so he could start talking Katrina through the cases he solved in a record amount of time for Lestrade. She listened with rapt attention, feeling her general mood lift with every passing word and insult that Sherlock had in relation to the cases. She almost deflated when John and Mary eventually showed up, but Katrina still plastered a smile on her face because she was pleased to see them - she just wished they hadn’t interrupted.

“See? I told you she’s too stubborn to die,” Mary remarked joyfully to John on seeing Katrina sitting up and smiling at them.

“Collective agreement…” John said. “You good?” he directed that towards Katrina, who nodded in response.

“I can leave tomorrow and just take medication for a week, then they wanna check my blood isn’t all thin and horrible and then I should be fine!” She was rather pleased about that.

“We were all a bit worried.”

“A bit is an understatement.”

“Yeah well, let’s not err… worry Katrina.” John sighed at how pathetic the sentence was.

“Dear god,” Sherlock murmured. “Terrible bedside manner.”

“You’re one to talk, I had to actively ask you to cheer me up,” Katrina scoffed. “Nice of you both to drop by.”

“We were here yesterday as well - had to send Sherlock home to get some rest, he’d been up for what? Thirty five hours?” John said.

“Really?” Katrina glanced at her flatmate with a light frown crossing her brow for a moment. “You’re an idiot.”

“Perhaps. I did sleep for over twelve hours before making my way back here today,” Sherlock said.

“John was here all last night, watching,” Mary said warmly. “You’ve had a few hours kip though, right?”

“Yeah… didn’t wanna mess up my sleeping pattern too much so fast…” He shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. This was the closest he was going to get to admitting that maybe he was friends with Katrina. Maybe.

“I appreciate it, John, don’t worry,” Katrina replied.

For an hour or so, the four of them chatted idly - well, Sherlock didn’t do much chatting, but he did go to grab a couple more chairs so that John and Mary could sit. At one stage, Katrina felt the need to get out of bed and stretch her legs which was mildly entertaining as she was a little wobbly on her feet as she walked around the room - until it wasn’t too funny because her face paled from the exertion and she needed to get back into bed.

Thin blood. Of course she was going to be a little bit woozy. At least she lasted longer than she expected to, which meant the medication from the drip was doing its job. Everyone took that as their cue to leave to let Katrina rest, maybe eat, and get some sleep.

Granted, Sherlock stayed behind longer than John and Mary.

“I better not feel like this for the next the week…” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering closed. It may have been early evening, but she was tired after all that.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he assured her. “The fact you were ready to be up and about says a lot. Although, maybe mention it to the doctor when she stops by later.”

“I will. How much longer will you stay?”

Sherlock paused and shrugged nonchalantly. “However long you want.”

“Until I fall asleep?” she asked.

“It’s what? Barely four o’clock?”

“I’m feeling pretty wiped,” Katrina yawned, trying to settle down in bed but not being able to find a comfortable place for her hands. “I won’t miss the drip,” she then said, glancing at the IV line in the back of her hand. “Did you know that these are plastic?” She indicated the line. “Apparently it gets inserted with the needle and then the needle is taken out. Had no clue.” Katrina then shot Sherlock an apologetic smile. “You probably did though. Sorry… I feel like my brain capacity has gone to shit after all that.”

“You don’t need to apologise. I don’t - I don’t mind when you tell me things I already know. You’re one of the few people I don’t mind doing that. It’s not annoying. I know what it means to enjoy finding out new information - and you’re clever. That helps,” he explained as he stretched his long legs out, slouching in his chair as he did so. A perpetual air of nonchalance typically came with Sherlock and sometimes it vanished in the face of him being around someone he actually liked; the final outcome being he needed to desperately put the wall back up again.

Katrina finally snuggled down into her bed in better spirits for it. “I don’t mind when you tell me things are obvious. It’s kind of funny. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Well… in that case… they wouldn’t leave a needle in your hand. You wouldn’t be able to move it otherwise. Obviously…” He gestured come here and then took her IV line inundated hand carefully in his palms. “You see…”

As Sherlock prattled on about how it all really worked - because according to him, he couldn’t give such an overly simplified explanation to such an intelligent woman - Katrina found herself sinking into the bed and falling asleep due to the cadence of his voice. She was not bored by any means necessary. In fact, she absorbed every single word Sherlock was saying.

The fact he was here for long everyday at her bedside, attempting to be a soother in such a nasty world and situation… it was enough for her. She could drink his voice, bathe in the vibrations of his chest, swim in every hum, and she would be content for the rest of her life.

As she drifted off to sleep that evening, she felt Sherlock press his lips to the top of her head and mumble good night to her. She almost jolted awake out of surprise. She almost wanted to fully wake up again and pull him down for a proper kiss.

But friends didn’t think about things like that about their other friends.

Katrina Ann Jenkins fell asleep that night thinking about the prospect of being in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Notes:

A nice long chapter for you all! I've had this one written out for AGES... I have a habit of writing out of order sometimes (but getting better at writing this story in order) but this was one of the first chapters I actually wrote for it! I always knew this would happen.

As for the random update on a Tuesday - I have the most insane schedule for the next few weeks, packed with a lot of cinema trips and outings after work. I didn't want to leave anyone hanging for any longer than they needed to! Posting will be a little random but fairly consistant.

xx

Chapter 53: Trying Her Best

Notes:

TW: mentions of restrictive eating

I wish that I was beautiful
I wish that I was beautiful
Maybe then, I wouldn't fall
Fall from the cloud into my self-doubt
Look into your eyes
You don't have to try
You make it look so easy
Everything in life

- Ugly, Tom Odell

---

Things were different once Katrina was home on Saturday. 

She’d been very grateful for Sherlock bringing her a set of clothes to change into and he dutifully carried the bag of her bloodstained clothes back home so she didn’t have to look at them. They weren’t far from Baker Street and the winter air was crisp with small bouts of sunshine to join, so Katrina insisted that they take a slow walk home.

She wasn’t unsteady on her feet like the day before, but she certainly felt off kilter and linked arms with Sherlock as they walked down Euston Road (which then became Marylebone Road) and he was perfectly fine with that. He was used to it. Katrina liked being close to him as well - with her mind consumed by her crush growing more and more with every passing moment, she was taking every opportunity she could to try and make it obvious to him.

Except it was Sherlock. He’d probably just think she was being clingy. Although right now it seemed like he didn’t mind that as they strolled home.

“I’ll probably need to put those clothes in a cold wash,” she said, indicating the bag he was carrying.

“I probably should have brought these home sooner. I doubt the stains will come out,” he replied with a sigh. “You’ll likely have to chuck them.”

“You do the honours then,” Katrina waved it off. “I don’t want to look at those clothes again.” A hint of bitterness laced her voice, and she ignored the look that Sherlock gave her because of it. Thankfully, the rest of the walk home wasn’t uncomfortable for it, and he ended up buying them some takeaway coffee along the way - there was a little coffee shop just outside of Great Portland Street tube station that they made a quick stop in to do so.

Katrina unlatched herself from Sherlock once they had the coffees so that he might be able to drink his own without having to use the hand that was also carrying the bag. It was always rather irritating to have a drink whilst carrying something, plus it looked and felt rather stupid to be lifting a bag up to your chin anyway.

“Weird to think I used to work down there,” she then said, indicating Great Portland Street itself just after they had set off again. “And now I barely ever go there.”

“Would you want to go back? All things considered with the circumstances of how you left…”

Katrina shrugged. “I don’t know. I get why Mycroft wanted me out of there so bad - it really was beneath what I could do. If I’d taken any of the promotions then the work would have been more interesting, but I have no interest in what that company does for business anyway. I much prefer working for MI5. Besides, it means that there’s the odd occasion where Mycroft will no doubt have to pair us up at work together because he’ll always need your help at some point, much to his dislike.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Is your goal to simply try and get me in on the more difficult situations MI5 has to deal with?”

“Well, you’re already a shoe-in for Holly Peters,” she replied. “Might as well see if you can do the other ones. You dealt with the underground terrorist network-”

“Very true, I did-”

“With my help, of course. Let’s not forget that,” Katrina chastised him.

“Oh yes, how could I?” he smirked. “You’re the brains at MI5, after all. Don’t tell Mycroft that in one of your weekly tea sessions.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. He’d start pouting and you do enough of that when you’re sulking… I’m not dealing with another Holmes boy and his pouting.”

“I don’t pout!”

“I’m not getting into this in the middle of the street - we’re nearly home.”

She didn’t even bring it up again once they were home, mainly because she was just happy to go and lie down on the sofa. She popped her still half full coffee cup on the floor and sighed in contentment when she got comfortable on the sofa. Home again, home again, and she had never been more pleased to see the dustier than usual flat.

“I could fall asleep here,” she murmured into the pillows where her face was half smushed.

“Yes, well, you can’t. You have a bed.”

“I’ve been in a bed for what? Three days more or less? Maybe I want the sofa.” Katrina wriggled out of her coat and scarf, discarding them on the floor.

Sherlock sighed, setting down his coffee on the table and picking up the clothing and going to hang it up alongside his own coat.

“I’ll allow it for today. Don’t ruin the routine,” he huffed.

“Ah, there’s the bedside manner I love,” she chuckled, rolling onto her back so she could speak to him properly. “Practical but somewhat nice, I guess?”

“I’m only nice to my friends - and you’re one of my best friends, so it comes with the title…” He grabbed his coffee and went to settle in the blue armchair; equilibrium was restored to 221b once again. Well, they needed John in the red armchair and Mary at the desk and then equilibrium would be restored fully. Sherlock in the blue chair and Katrina lounging on the sofa would do for now, though.

Either way, Katrina’s heart skipped a beat when he said she was his best friend. That was odd - she’d never had that reaction to him saying that before. Oh right, yes, she was pretty much in love with him at this point so now she figured any compliment or nice phrase he sent her way was going to melt her into a puddle.

How the hell was she going to navigate that?

Should she try and get over the crush at least?

Because she couldn’t talk to him about it - not yet. Unless of course he was going to deduce it out of her… could Sherlock recognise that sort of emotion in someone else? Katrina didn’t know, but she suspected he’d know something was amiss with one of his best friends. God, she didn’t want to deal with this right now. She had a week’s worth of medication to get through so her blood viscosity could go back to normal. Sherlock had the prescription bag in his coat - she’d get it shortly.

“Thanks, by the way,” Katrina filled the silence. “I realised I never said - thank you for saving my life.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “I’ve done it before and I’d do it again. Easier than solving a case.”

He said that last part so softly that she wondered why he felt the need to say it so softly. As Katrina stared at Sherlock, she found it odd there was a light crinkle in his brow and his gaze was more towards his coffee than her, as if he was struggling to compute something in his own brain. A case that he couldn’t solve just yet. Then he shook himself out of it as if he hadn’t been thinking so hard that she could hear the cogs turning.

“What do you want for lunch? The fridge leaves something to be desired so I’ll have to go to the shops - or we could both go. Whatever you want.” Sherlock was being blasé again. Katrina didn’t know how to feel when he was being blasé. It meant he was hiding something and she couldn’t figure out what the hell it was.

Maybe she should try and make it obvious that she was into him; it’d be more funny than anything trying to get the least emotional man in the world to clock on that somebody fancied him.

Specifically, her.

Except Katrina knew that deep down he probably wouldn’t catch on. It was Sherlock, after all, and he had more or less only just gotten to grips with the idea that she cried and preferred his comfort when she did cry. She only hoped that she’d be able to recover quickly; being grouchy and upset from being this ill was not something she wanted to deal with, nor did she want to pin it on Sherlock for whoever knew how long. Whilst his unique bedside manner was appreciated, it would certainly prove to make things weird between them eventually.

Ergo, him acting nonchalantly, Katrina concluded.

“I don’t know,” she finally mumbled in response. “The thought of food… I don’t- sorry. I think that’s gonna be harder to get over than actually being unwell.”

“You do need to eat.”

“Said the ex-bulimic,” she murmured.

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “A slightly low blow, but there might be a point behind that.” He stretched out his long legs, assuming his usual languid form as he lowered his hand back to the armrest. “Do as I say in this instance, not as I do. I’ll even eat on cases so you don’t have to eat by yourself and we eat the same thing if that’s the main issue…”

“Yeah, I don’t - I don’t wanna think about that right now.” Katrina’s coffee was forgotten on the floor as she went to rest her hands behind her head. “I just want to enjoy being home for a moment.”

“Try not to fall asleep; you need to take your medication in a couple of hours. Two tablets a day, three times a day for the next week.”

She groaned. “That’s so much.”

“It is. But you need to do it. And you need to eat. You can’t - you can’t be like me, Kat,” he said ever so softly. “Not when we’re grown ups in our thirties.”

“Age hasn’t stopped either of us with our vices when it’s come down to desperation though, has it? I had alcohol in two thousand and eleven. You had your morphine in two thousand and twelve! Twice, mind you,” she pointed out.

“And the razors?” he asked.

“What?” Katrina sat up properly now.

“You told me once about your self harm scars. Have the razors come into play?”

She took a moment before answering. Katrina hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a turn and go so personal, but she had brought it on herself. “No,” she then said. “They haven’t, which I find surprising. It’s a little bit tempting sometimes.”

“You… mean to tell me you still think about it now?”

She laughed a little uncomfortably. “I - I have thoughts. I have impulses that I don’t ever act on. But I want to. Why else do you think I have a false identity? Because what if one day I want to up and run from this place? What if one day I decide that I don’t feel like myself enough and need to take a breather?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted left and right as if he was trying to figure out the correct response to that. Clearly troubled, he straightened up in his seat.

“I… effectively did that for two years. Albeit, I didn’t ask for a pseudonym as my full name was enough for it. ‘William Holmes’ or ‘William Scott’ worked well enough,” he started off. “Do you often think like that?”

“Not actively, but it feels like it’s always just… there…” Katrina made a vague gesture around the side of her head. “A lot of people probably think like that,” she added with a smile in an effort to turn the conversation more lighthearted.

“Most normal people don’t think like that.”

“So thank god neither of us are normal people,” she said, her smile widening. She knew she could take this moment to drop any sort of hint towards him. She’d almost died for crying out loud, might as well take a chance whilst she still could. “It’s probably why I like you so much.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he tried to find the subtext in her words and failed miserably. “I - well - yes? We do get on very well, it’s why we’re able to live together, go out on occasion - oh! That reminds me: I was going to ask if I might join you at the pub on Friday?”

Katrina had no idea how to respond to that. Clearly she’d made him short circuit with what he said, but now she was experiencing the same thing with the question of coming to the pub. Sherlock never offered to come to the pub, so why now? The easy answer would be that he was trying to be a good friend, all things considered, but it felt so left field to her that the smile dropped from her face as her confusion finally matched his. She blinked a few times in rapid succession, hoping it wouldn’t come across as stupid.

“Why do you wanna come pub on Friday?” was what her response ended up being.

Yeah, good job, Kat, question why the guy you like wants to spend time with you and your colleagues… not as if Sherlock is terrible at reading cues anyway, he’ll probably misread this one.

“I’m… trying to be friendly,” he said carefully, and realised he liked that answer. “Yes! That’s it. Being friendly. I quite enjoyed that night out at the bar with you. I did also find your colleagues… not irritating. So let’s spend a little more time together.”

“Oh! Okay. Yeah, then - then feel free to come along on Friday. Um… you can meet us outside work so you don’t have to feel weird about joining mid drink or something…” she mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of her head as she did so. This was weird - this was so incredibly weird - how could something as innocuous as going to the pub together seem like such a huge deal? Was it because of when he held her hand in the hospital? He rested his forehead on her shoulder? The amount of physical contact that had happened in such a short space of time was certainly a big step for Sherlock in showing that kind of concern for a friend - let alone one he had fingerfucked once upon a time.

The worst part is that neither of them typically were this weird about talking to each other and having a normal conversation.

“Sounds like a sensible plan…” Sherlock nodded, before rising from his seat. “I’m going to go to the shops. If you don’t want an actual lunch, there’s bread to make toast. Let’s have dinner - well, um - you need to eat… dinner…” He shook himself out of whatever fuck up of words that were currently residing in his brain and trying to force his way out. Katrina was hoping that the blush creeping up her neck at the phrase ‘let’s have dinner’ wasn’t becoming too obvious.

“Can I watch you cook?” she asked.

“What?” He was utterly baffled by the notion.

“Or - or help you cook? Not that I don’t trust you-”

“No, no, I understand where anxiety is coming from,” he assured her. “Of course. You can help or watch or… make a drink… Shops!”

“Yes. Shops. I’ll probably upstairs - you’re unfortunately right. I can’t nap on the sofa. I do miss my bed. I’m gonna have my first couple of tablets and go for a sleep. I’m not exactly well rested after being sedated for two days…”

As Sherlock went to put on his coat, he took out the rather crumpled paper bag that contained Katrina’s prescription medication in it and handed it over to her.

“Thanks,” she said, standing up and trudging after Sherlock into the hallway. “See you later.”

“Bye…”

Sherlock went down; Katrina went up, and she promptly collapsed onto her bed, kicked off her shoes and crawled under the blanket. She didn’t fancy getting under the duvet fully clothed right now.

Sprawled across the double bed on her front, Katrina fell into an easy sleep without setting an alarm. Her dreamless sleep proved to be much needed as when she woke the sun had gone down and the only source of light in her room came from the glow of her bedside table lamp.

She sat up and frowned, rubbing her eyes as she did so.

She didn’t turn the lamp on before going to sleep.

Katrina patted her jeans to look for her phone and realised she had left it downstairs in her coat pocket on the floor-

Her phone was on her bedside table.

Gingerly (suspiciously) she picked up her phone to check the time to see it was gone five o’clock.

Oh, there was apparently a glass of water on her bedside table as well. Fuck! She hadn’t taken the meds before dropping off to sleep. She’d fallen asleep with the bag in her hand and it was now magically on her bedside table, with two pills popped out of their respective packet right by the water.

She took them. Swallowing them was a job and a half - they were quite big pills.

Katrina understood was a fucking idiot, and shuffled downstairs to find Sherlock typing away at his laptop and clearly working. She hovered in the doorway and cleared her throat to get his attention; he looked up at her briefly before going back to whatever he was doing, unsurprised by her current state of embarrassment.

“I suppose I have you to thank for leaving me my phone, putting the lamp on, and actually making sure I took the pills?”

“You were out for the count. I debated waking you but considering you didn’t move at all when I took the bag out of your hands so I left you. How do you feel about steak?”

“Steak?”

“Yes. I thought you could watch me cook it to your liking and we have that for dinner this evening.” Sherlock finished up and closed his laptop. “You’ve not eaten since leaving the hospital.”

“And you’re the world’s most annoying flatmate. Thanks, though - for - sorting me out, I guess… steak sounds good.”

Their usual routine ended up having a few additions to it across the next week. Katrina was so incredibly wary around food that she would either have to cook it herself or watch Sherlock like a hawk as he did so. He didn’t mind either way: he understood the paranoia behind it, but within a few days it became glaringly obvious it was developing into a problem.

Katrina picked at her food, her mind racing every time she had to eat. She tried to eat as much as possible - especially under Sherlock’s watchful eye - but if she wasn’t around him she skipped meals where she could without being caught so brazenly. Work was fairly straightforward since she never had lunch with her colleagues anyway, but her avoidance of Pret was noted by the baristas there. They were more than happy to see her for her afternoon coffee with Daniel, but they asked her why she hadn’t shown up for lunch for a few days. She waved it off and ignored Daniel’s questions about it.

Which led to the fact that whilst they all knew she had been in hospital, Katrina had failed to tell them why. It wasn’t something she wanted to go into again and would rather forget about the whole debacle. At least Mycroft was tactful enough to only give her an update that Holly Peters was back where she belonged in Sherrinford and that security had been tightened to the extreme so that her escape couldn’t happen again.

There had been another turnover of staff because of it.

Still, the end of the week meant that Katrina was on the final few doses of her medication and she was allowed to drink on it anyway. In fact, she was quite pleased that she had been able to carry on as normal whilst on the medication - usually there were always so many rules like you can’t eat grapefruit or no alcohol whilst taking these tablets or have these at the exact time of day everyday and it was always so frustrating, but not this.

Of course, the only difference is that eating was an absolute struggle for her and she didn’t know how long that was going to realistically last.

She’d managed half a sandwich from Pret that day so that there was something in her system before heading to the pub because she didn’t want to end up getting too drunk too quickly. That would alert Sherlock to what was going on outside of 221b, he’d probably tell Mycroft and Daniel, and she’d be pissed off with him for meddling, decide that actually it was quite sweet he was looking out for her like that, and her crush on him would grow tenfold.

Katrina would just rather skip to the part where her crush would grow because then she’d at least feel emboldened to make it more obvious she had a thing for him. Everyone at the pub seemed to clock onto her blatant feelings for the man with the way she hung onto his every word when he spoke - few and far between - and kept trying to get him involved in the conversation even when he was merely content to observe with his little half pint.

“You came all this way just to sit and not say anything?” Katrina then teased him when she was halfway through her third drink and found that it was hitting far too hard and fast.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you,” he remarked, taking a sip of his own drink. “You should order some chips.”

Katrina shook her head. “I’d rather eat later at home.”

“What have you eaten today?” he asked her with a scowl.

“Does that matter?”

“She had half a Pret sandwich,” Daniel piped up from the opposite side of the table to them. “Which is the most Kat’s eaten at work this week.”

Well, that was one way to ruin her good mood.

“Oh - fuck you! Fuck both of you! Have you got him spying on me?” Katrina snapped, rising from the table and pulling on her coat before grabbing her bag.

“You don’t eat breakfast at home anyway, I wanted to at least know-”

“Are you Mycroft?” Katrina cut Sherlock off. “Because I was very much under the impression you were Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn’t spy on his friends like his brother does!”

The whole table had gone silent as Katrina grew steadily louder and redder with anger. When Sherlock didn’t say anything in response but merely remained stony and impassive, she huffed and stormed out of the pub into the early night. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, but the dark night of the February winter made it feel like it was much later. She headed in the direction of Vauxhall tube station, arms folded and shoulders hunched against the slight bitter wind that had picked up.

The air had acted like a punch to the face: the two and a half drinks and lack of food was prevalent as she struggled to walk in a straight line at first. The anger she had at Sherlock secretly using Daniel to spy on her balanced it all out and soon enough she was power walking her way to the station.

“Kat!” Sherlock called after her. “Katrina!”

“Piss off!” she shouted back over her shoulder.

“Hardly going to happen!” He ran the last few paces to catch up to her and cut in front of her, beginning to walk backwards at her pace so he could face her. “You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Unfortunately,” she told him coldly, barely looking him in the eye.

How had she gone from being utterly enraptured by him to not wanting to speak to him at all?

“Katrina…”

“Sherlock…” She gave him a wry smile and shoved past him, her anger slowly turning into upset as her bottom lip trembled. No - no, she would not fucking cry in front of him. Not right now.

He trailed behind her. “I knew you were hiding something from me. Fortunately on my part I had Daniel’s mobile number from when we all went to Winter Wonderland.”

“Is that why you wanted to come to the pub? So you could see for yourself if I was being a good girl and eating at work? To see if I was being as worrisome with my thoughts like I had explained to you?” she spat in response. Of course he would have always had an ulterior motive for coming out that night - and it wasn’t to spend time with her at all.

“No - well - yes! Maybe - I don’t know, Kat!” Sherlock replied, his voice laced with a fretting that she didn’t know could exist within him. “I did like your colleagues, and I - I like you too! You’re my best friend, my flatmate!”

“Stop trying to bring it back!” Her voice wavered ever so slightly. “Admit it! You fucked up by having Daniel spy on me and tell you if I was actually having lunch or not!”

“Fine - I fucked up,” he replied as calmly as possible, reaching out to her and grabbing her by the arm, pulling her to a stop. Katrina spun to face him and ripped her arm from his grip, resuming her closed off stance but she didn’t walk away this time.

“Why?”

“It’s been over a week and you’re barely eating-”

“And I’m fine-”

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out to her gently. “You’ve had two and a bit drinks and you’re not tipsy, you are drunk. That’s not normal for you. I’m surprised you haven’t become ill from it, but then again… I forgot things of that nature take time.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, a singular tear dripping down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away. “I’m not - I’m not you in your twenties. I’m not a drug addicted, functional anorexic.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, stood tall, and immediately turned his back on her to walk towards the main road. Katrina watched him for a moment with her brow furrowed before realising that she had said something that would be considered as a low blow.

“Wait, Lock…” she called after him. “Lock!”

“How about you piss off?” he called back to her. “If you don’t want my help, fine!”

“I never asked for your help!”

“You never do!” He stopped and turned on his heel to shout that at her. “You’re a hyperindependent, stubborn girl who refuses to admit when she’s in the wrong!”

“Oh go fuck yourself!”

Katrina marched on towards Vauxhall again without a care in the world for Sherlock at the moment. He was capable of getting home in a cab, she was capable of getting home on the tube. Shaking with rage and distress, she allowed herself to start openly crying as she walked. She hadn’t meant any of it. She hadn’t meant for that to blow up. Sherlock was one of the last people she wanted to hurt at this point in time, and there was a very good chance she had.

When she reached the tube station she wiped away her tears and pulled herself together for the half an hour journey home, shoving her earphones in and turning her music up as loud as she could stand it. She caught her reflection in the window opposite her as she sat down, set and stony only to be betrayed by her bottom lip occasionally quivering. She had half an hour or so to calm down.

Deep breaths and paying attention to nothing. She had to completely zone out or she’d go insane. She knew she shouldn’t have said what she said to Sherlock. She needed to apologise. They’d talk about it in the morning, right? The tube switch at Oxford Circus gave her something else to think about as she weaved in and out of people more drunk than she was as she walked to the Bakerloo Line.

A pit built in her stomach the moment she stepped on that line. Only two stops left before she had to face maybe running into Sherlock again before going to bed. It’d be an awkward dance but it would be fine for the most part, they’d say a quick and uncomfortable good night or just ignore each other entirely and go to bed.

What Katrina hadn’t expected was to see him sitting on the front step of 221b when she finally got home.

He’d been waiting for her.

She sighed when he stood up, and sobered up almost immediately.

“Why are you out here?” she asked quietly.

“Because it’s Friday,” he said as if it were the most simple thing in the world. “You come home drunk and I reheat the leftovers from dinner.”

She gave him an odd look. “That doesn’t explain why you’re outside? I was a bitch. I expected to just… I don’t know, talk about this in the morning?”

“Do you want to wait until morning?” Sherlock offered.

Katrina shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.” She paused for a moment, her foot dancing in nervous circles on the ground. “I’m - I’m sorry for calling you a drug addicted, functional anorexic. I didn’t actually mean it.”

“I know you didn’t, so there’s no need for the apology.” He waved her off.

“Lock-”

“Kat. I shouldn’t have spied.”

“Hmm. You could have just asked.” Katrina knew she wasn’t going to get the words ‘I’m sorry’ out of Sherlock, and that was okay with her for the time being.

“Precisely.”

Silence fell between the two of them for a few moments, and Katrina adjusted her bag on her shoulder so that she had something to do in that time.

“I’m trying,” was what she ended up saying. “It might not seem like it because I’ve completely nose dived, but I am trying. It’s why I had half the sandwich today… I didn’t - I didn’t want you to know I was fully spiraling over this whole thing.”

“I know,” Sherlock nodded, and offered out his arm to Katrina as he stepped down next to her. “Come on,” he said.

She tentatively took hold of his arm, her anger beginning to fizz out and be replaced by the usual warmth she felt when around Sherlock so closely. Once he was certain she wasn’t going to let go, he started walking her back the way she had come and towards Marylebone Road.

“Where are we going?” she murmured.

“There’s a Chinese takeaway close by where one of the cooks owes me a favour,” Sherlock explained. “It’s incredibly unhealthy and the exact opposite of what you realistically need after barely eating for a week, but they’ll let us watch them cook it. We can figure it out from there. How does that sound?”

Logic. Problem solving. A small bout of kindness. Everything Katrina needed after being a secretive stubborn so and so for the past week. She latched onto his arm a little tighter as the love for him came rushing back into her heart.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

Notes:

Hints, hints, so many hints about Katrina's mental state/mental illness that are gonna be important and prevalent during the Magnussen arc.

And a mini Shertrina argument? Oh yes, low blows from each of them there... but at the moment they can't stay mad at each other for long... which uh, changes a bit in the Magnussen arc.

I fear that arc will be the end of all of us. :)

Hope you all had a lovely weekend! x

Chapter 54: Mutual Attraction

Notes:

TW: restricted eating and mentions of other eating disorders.

I don't know why, I come to these parties anyway
The only thing that happens
Is I end up saying shit I shouldn't say
I don't know why, I come to these parties anyway
Hiding all my feelings
You're the only reason that I came

 - Parties, Tom Odell

---

“I take it Kat’s blood test came back all clear?” Mycroft asked.

“Hmm, yes. She’s still not eating properly. Do you think that you could offer a gentle shove towards therapy? Or some sort of subliminal messaging?” Sherlock suggested. “She’s started having to pin her trousers at the waist.”

This was one of the rare occasions where Sherlock and Mycroft were having a civil conversation in the latter’s office at MI5. It had been two weeks since the minor argument after the pub and thus two weeks since Katrina’s blood test to make sure she didn’t have to have another round of tranexamic acid. Despite the all clear, her relationship with food had taken much more of a nosedive and Sherlock considered it a miracle if she even had half a meal a day at this point.

Mycroft had noticed the lethargy that was beginning to accompany Katrina everywhere she went around the building and the endless cups of coffee that he could tell were being used to stave off hunger for longer. Whilst her performance hadn’t slipped, it was only a matter of time before the cracks began to show and she’d have to admit that something was horribly wrong. Ergo: speaking to his younger brother in person.

“Are you suggesting an intervention for your flatmate?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, his hands clasped behind his back as he slowly paced around the office. “What else is there left to do? Let her slip into an eating disorder that was triggered by something far worse than what I ever had to deal with? You had to deal with me before - help me deal with Kat now!”

Mycroft stared down Sherlock. “Little brother, are you getting emotional? I did say your attachment runs much more deeply than friendship-”

“And what would you know about deeper attachments?” Sherlock hissed in response. “Lady Smallwood, perhaps? Or is that strictly professional?”

“My personal relationship with Lady Smallwood is much more different than what you and Katrina have - and quite frankly, it’s none of your business,” he explained calmly. “You’ve never had feelings for anyone before, Sherlock, and it’s obvious that you do for this one woman. Acknowledge it. We can discuss it. And perhaps you won’t fall victim to the usual nature of love.”

“Love?” Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t love Katrina! I care for her very much, and I would be rather upset if anything happened to her. Self inflicted or otherwise.”

“But you do have an attachment to her that goes beyond platonic, yes?”

Sherlock came to a stop in his pacing, standing in front of his brother’s desk much like a schoolboy who had been caught doing something naughty and had been sent to the headmaster’s office.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, now sitting back down. He folded his arms with a huff. He hated talking about feelings with Mycroft. He’d much rather be having this sort of conversation with Katrina. “For once I have no idea what to do about it - this isn’t my area at all.”

“It’s neither of our area, Sherlock, but something’s got to give. Has Kat indicated anything of a similar nature?”

Sherlock hummed and shrugged. God, he felt like a teenager all over again with this line of interrogation. He’d never had crushes or feelings for girls when he was younger, but Mycroft still subjected him to the same questioning as now, just to be sure that his judgement wasn’t clouded and he was able to get through school in one piece without romantic attachments.

“Well - she did say something about the fact I’m not normal is why she liked me so much,” Sherlock then said. “Contextually, it was to do with the fact neither of us are normal. I assumed it was just her giving me a compliment - she does that every now and again.”

Mycroft was very quiet for a moment. “Sherlock…”

There was a beat where his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he laughed. “You can’t seriously think-?”

His older brother sighed and dropped his head into his palms for a moment before looking up at him between his fingers.

“Kat was - Kat was trying to hint that she liked me more than a friend?” Sherlock elected to clarify, entirely baffled by the notion.

“Well, you do enjoy it when she’s forward with her emotions-”

“That’s not forward, that’s cryptic! God!” Sherlock threw his hands up in the air as if to say he gave up. “This was meant to be about making sure she’d get better.”

“Which stems from the fact you don’t want to see her harmed in any way, shape or form,” Mycroft pointed out. “Not quite a typical desire from best friends and flatmates. Wanting her to get better is one thing, but actively getting involved with secretly trying to get her into therapy is another. Didn’t you have an argument about secretly keeping tabs on her?”

“Yes, and she called me a drug-addicted-functional-anorexic, and in turn I called her a hyperindependent-stubborn-girl,” Sherlock rattled off quickly. “With a heavy emphasis on ‘girl’ in this instance. She wasn’t happy. Neither was I. We were both justified in our behaviour at the time. We went for Chinese food so that she could see it being cooked and she barely managed a few mouthfuls. It’s been troublesome, to say the least.”

Sherlock was massively bothered by Katrina’s lack of looking after herself the past couple of weeks. He knew he couldn’t keep bringing it up with her because it would likely cause another argument and she definitely didn’t have the capacity for that right now. It’d probably make her issues worse, if anything. All he could do at the moment was mind his business to the best of his ability and have dinner with her in the evenings. It seemed like the best course of action for the time being.

“Hmm. Perhaps an intervention isn’t unreasonable,” Mycroft mused, resting his chin atop his now-steepled fingers. “Although you’ll have to tell Kat you’ve spoken to me because you were worried. She’ll get angry again otherwise.”

“Quite. Well. This has been… enlightening…” Sherlock stood up again and grabbed his coat from the stand in the corner, throwing it on along with his scarf. “Mind if I stop by Kat’s office on my way out? I’ll  tell her now what we’ve been talking about - omitting the part where I apparently have feelings for her.”

“Quite right. Goodbye, little brother…”

Sherlock didn’t say anything as he left to wander the halls of MI5 until he found Katrina’s office. He knew vaguely where it was, but he’d never been there before. Typically he was much more used to going to Mycroft’s office and back out again.

But then he found the door that said Katrina Jenkins.

He knocked, but nobody answered. Sherlock frowned and looked at the time on his watch. She wouldn’t be out for a coffee. Maybe she was in a meeting.

“Oh! Hi Sherlock,” Daniel said from just further up the corridor, a smile on his face and approaching Katrina’s office too. “Didn’t realise you were stopping by to see Kat.”

“I was here to see my brother, but needed to speak to her on the way out. Is she in a meeting?”

Daniel also checked his watch as he slowed to a stop by Sherlock. “No, she shouldn’t be. Definitely not out for coffee either… let’s have a peek.”

Sherlock opened the door to Katrina’s office to find she was fast asleep at her desk: head in her arms on the desk itself, not a care in the world, but a little paler than usual.

“Fuck,” Sherlock hissed, turning to Daniel. “Keep this to yourself. Well - tell Mycroft I’m taking Kat home. He’ll be able to guess why.”

“Uh. Right. Yeah. Sure.” Daniel scurried off and Sherlock closed the door, leaving him alone with the sleeping Katrina in the privacy of her office.

As he went to her desk, his heart skipped a beat.

He stopped short. That was odd. Why would it do that? Oh, yes, right - he must really like her, and he clearly felt some wave of sympathy for her current plight.

Sherlock perched on the edge of her desk, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to rouse her. “Kat…” he murmured. “Come on now, wake up girl…”

She stirred ever so slightly, but then went back to sleeping.

He sighed, and very gingerly placed his hand atop her head, stroking her hair in an effort to get her to wake up instead.

“Come on, Kat…” he spoke a little louder, and this time she actually opened her eyes. Sherlock ripped his hand away from her before she could realise he’d been stroking her hair and she sat up confused, rubbing her eyes as she did so.

“Lock? What are you doing here?”

Whilst Sherlock estimated that she had been out of it for at least an hour, he could tell that eating half a meal a day for just over three weeks was beginning to take a toll on her. Her eyes were heavily lidded and she was struggling to focus on him.

“I came to talk to Mycroft as we’re both a bit worried about you, which is certainly a surprise on his part. Didn’t want to go behind your back about it so came here to tell you. You were asleep. You’re not well, Kat, let’s go home.”

She was very quiet for a moment before speaking. “Can I sleep more at home?”

“That’s not the most pressing-” Sherlock cut himself off. Not worth the argument right now - not whilst she was still at work. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

He hopped off the desk and grabbed her coat, helping her put it on when she stood up. He also elected to tidy up the belongings from her desk and pop them in her back before practically escorting her out of the office (slowly) and up out of the building. He offered her his free arm, guiding her towards the main road so they could get a cab home.

She rested her head on his shoulder once seated, drifting off to sleep pretty much immediately.

Sherlock’s phone dinged and he got it out to see a text from his brother.

What happened? -M

Asleep at her desk. In a cab home. -SH

Tell her to take tomorrow off as well. I’ll speak to her on Monday. -M

She won’t be happy about that, but I’ll say it’s an order from you. -SH

That’ll do the trick. -M

Sherlock pocketed his phone again after that.

He glanced down at Katrina to see she was out for the count and no fast driving through London in this cab was going to wake her up. What the hell was he going to do? How was he meant to navigate this with the knowledge that anything she considered overstepping a boundary as her friend would cause her to get angry again like the other week? All he knew was that her issues were something along the lines of either orthorexia or avoidant and restrictive food intake - all of it stemming from fear of poison and death. Not like a typical eating disorder which he most definitely veered into at university in an effort to chase his highs and keep looking… trim.

He shook himself from thinking too much about it. He needed to focus on getting Katrina home and resting properly. Waking her up once they were outside 221b was a little difficult, but Sherlock paid the cabbie quickly enough and helped Katrina out of the vehicle where she practically clung to him as they slowly moved up the steps and inside the building.

The next obstacle was the stairs up into the flat.

Sherlock hoisted her bag properly onto his shoulder before picking the half asleep woman up bridal style and carrying her straight up and into his room, feeling somewhat reminiscent of when he carried her to Irene Adler’s flat from the pond in Hampstead Heath. Only this time, she wasn’t half choked to death.

He set her down on the bed where he pulled off her shoes and coat, helping her lie down and covering her with a blanket. She was back asleep within seconds, and Sherlock knew she was going to be out of it for a few hours. He ran her workbag up to her room before he discarded his own coat, scarf, and shoes before going to settle in the navy armchair with a book for the next however long.

He couldn’t possibly play the violin, nor did he feel it right to distract himself with a case. As he read, his eyes kept flicking up towards the hallway at the back of the kitchen that led to his room. It almost made him glad for the more open plan style of 221b where he could keep an eye out for things like this. He knew that ultimately Katrina would wake up confused, drag herself out of bed around six o’clock, and be rather annoyed with herself for allowing the events of the day to transpire in the way that they did.

Calling her ‘hyperindependent’ may have been a stretch - independent, yes, but not to that extent. Katrina being the one to initiate the routine they had in the flat was her asserting the independence she had known for years that Sherlock could not take away from her, but she also knew when she needed help. Therefore not so hyper about it in the first place. But this was going to leave her embarrassed for certain.

Time ticked by faster than he expected and right on cue, she was dragging herself out to the living room as if she had woken up in another timeline. He’d put on some of the lamps when the sun had started to set, so it was rather funny to see her trudge through and collapse into the red chair opposite him.

“We’re not talking about this,” she mumbled, dropping her head into her hands and rubbing her eyes with the base of her hands. “I was in your bed!”

“I wasn’t going to carry you up two flights of stairs,” Sherlock retorted, snapping his book shut and setting it on the small table between them. “Mycroft has ordered you to take tomorrow off and he’ll talk to you on Monday. We’re both concerned, which is usually a stretch for my older brother but this is you we’re talking about.”

“I just said we’re not talking about this-”

“We need to,” he cut her off, and she sat up straight but huffed and folded her arms instead “It’s been three weeks. You’ve lost a small amount of weight but enough for you to start safety pinning your work trousers to remove excess bulk from when you add a belt. I know I won’t be able to interest you in an actual dinner, but will jam on toast suffice once we’re done here?”

Katrina didn’t say anything for a moment, but nodded. “It’s embarrassing - being this frightened of eating food.”

Bingo.

“Logically, it’s actually justified. Granted, I don’t know why you’d think I would tamper with your food.”

“You did slip me Valium that one time.”

He sighed. “And I’m not going to do it again - if I ever have plans to drug you for whatever reason, I’ll be very blatant about it. How does being jabbed with a syringe sound?”

It was impossible for them to have a serious conversation without it straying from normalcy. Even funnier was Katrina’s face as she actively considered the question.

“Yeah, I’d uh - I’d rather that. Right in the neck,” she mimed the motion of it. “And show it to me after, I guess. Anyway… yeah, maybe it’s justified, but it’s also embarrassing. I’m aware that it’s an issue, I’m probably too stubborn to face it… although falling asleep at work and waking up in your bed is definitely an experience.”

Sherlock frowned. “You don’t remember leaving work or… getting to bed?”

She shook her head. “No, not really… although… did you - did you say you carried me to bed?”

He’d said it so casually that they had both glossed over that point entirely. He shifted awkwardly in the chair and nodded. “I wasn’t - I wasn’t - um…” Sherlock had no idea how to address it. Should he address it? Because carrying her to a place of comfort was the easiest thing he could have chosen to do in that instance. “You were tired, you needed somewhere to lie down, and my bed… was… closest…”

“Right…”

Sherlock could feel a heat creeping up his neck that was entirely unfamiliar to him, and for that he was grateful for his collared shirts. Even though he never fully wore his shirt entirely buttoned up, it wouldn’t be so easy for Katrina to see how he was reacting to this conversation. His heart did that annoying thing again where it skipped a beat at the general thought of Katrina being in his bed, something he realised he wouldn’t mind happening again under less unfortunate circumstances.

“Toast!” Sherlock suddenly announced, jumping up and going to the kitchen. “Tea to go with it?”

“I could do with a cuppa, yeah…” Katrina agreed.

As he busied himself in the kitchen, he heard the television go on and the movements of his flatmate-best friend-apparent crush going to the sofa to get more comfortable. He couldn’t remember what the hell she was watching at the moment because she’d finished the latest season of Game of Thrones. It was what? Coming up to March? He didn’t care for television so much but she did and he was trying to remember what sort of thing she’d be watching this time of year.

When a funny Southern twang started echoing through the living room, he elected to make conversation.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, True Blood. Vampires. It’s by HBO as well, so I thought whilst I was waiting for Game of Thrones to come back I’d watch this…” she replied. “There’s quite a bit of sex in it. I don’t think it’s your thing. You don’t like the television I watch. It’s why I’ve been watching Netflix up in my room most nights.”

Well, that explained a lot.

“I could… give it a go?” he suggested nonchalantly. Oh good, he was back on his usual demeanour in an effort to show interest in what she liked - how paradoxical.

She laughed. He made her laugh! Whilst she wasn’t well! First time in weeks that had actually happened, so that was progress in his mind.

“Yeah right,” she said. “It’s too horny for you.”

He was spreading jam on the freshly popped up toast at this point and the kettle had finished boiling. There was enough water for the both of them, so he made himself a strong coffee and did her a tea. He brought Katrina’s sad little meal in first before he joined her on the sofa with his beverage. She eyed him oddly as they sat at opposite ends of it and he shrugged.

“If you like it, I won’t make comments about it like I did with Game of Thrones… that was mainly because it was based on books that are far better,” he then said.

“In that case, when Doctor Who comes back later this year you can very well shut up about that too,” she told him with a raised brow before eating her toast with very little issue.

Give her food whilst she’s watching something she likes. Distraction. She’s not thinking about the food, she’s too engrossed in the television show.

Sherlock stored that mental note for breakfast the next day.

Was it akin to Pavlov? Most likely, yes. But if it worked, it worked.

He tried it the next morning by getting her favourite pastry from Pret for breakfast as a surprise. He had the television prepped for when she woke up a little later than usual due to not going to work, and she ate half of it. That was a good sign, surely? But then it didn’t quite work at lunch time when he attempted to get her to eat a sandwich he’d made for her (he ended up having that himself) and dinner she managed more than half (so it worked then).

Maybe it was down to her general mood? Or perhaps she really was just stuck in a psychological rut that he couldn’t quite get her out of.

At least she wasn’t falling asleep at her desk. She did go to bed earlier that day and on Saturday morning had regained a tiny bit of colour in her face but it was still the same routine as Friday: half a pastry, and just over half of dinner.

Katrina promised to speak to Mycroft on Monday, and hadn’t realised what Sherlock was attempting to do to get her to eat more than she had been for the last few weeks. At least, he was certain she hadn’t noticed what he was doing.

When Monday rolled around, Sherlock had been out on a case with John so ended up arriving home at the same time as Katrina to find she was incredibly disgruntled.

“Mycroft’s sending me back to therapy - only weekly this time,” she rolled her eyes as they went inside.

“You’ve been sort of eating breakfast, that’s some kind of progress.”

“Oh yeah. You think you can Pavlov me.”

Sherlock stopped short for a moment behind her. “Ah.”

“I appreciate it. I realised it was working so let you keep doing it. And you’re enjoying True Blood, right?”

They were about halfway through season one now, and Sherlock had not complained at all.

Katrina had been right in that it wasn’t really his kind of show to watch, but there was something addicting about it that made him want to keep watching. He enjoyed the guessing game of who the mystery killer was and he knew he was going to correctly deduce who it was before the reveal. Whilst the sex scenes were a bit much for him and the pair of them made small talk over them, Sherlock liked using the time to watch that strange show to spend more time with Katrina.

“It’s fine, I suppose…” he murmured as they went up into the living room. “When do you have to go in for therapy?”

“Wednesday,” she sighed. “But it’s fine. Winter’s nearly over. Maybe things will be on the up once the sun starts to come out a bit more.”

“Weirdly optimistic for you.”

“I’ve been stubbornly wallowing in my own fear according to Mycroft,” Katrina winced at that very notion, and Sherlock didn’t blame her for it. Mycroft was harsher with his words than Sherlock ever could be. “So that was a nice slap in the face. But um… what if I cooked this evening? We’ve got steak in the fridge, right?”

“You want to cook?”

“You’ve been doing it for over three weeks, I should probably pick up the slack.” She paused. “And Mycroft pointed out that if I attempted to cook something for myself then I might actually eat more of it. Therapy started early, it seems.”

“And you want to cook steak…? Wait, no, hang on-” Sherlock racked his brains for a moment. Considering the tiredness and pallor Katrina was exhibiting, as well as suggesting red meat as the first thing she cooked. “Iron deficient anaemia. I’m not usually one for self diagnosis but that makes sense all things considered. You’re craving iron.”

“Lovely deduction and I hate that you’re probably right.”

“Have you gone back on your birth control yet?”

She winced again, hanging up her coat. “Don’t tell me you’ve clocked what phase I’m in now that I’m not on it.”

“Irritable. Would you like dark chocolate?” He decided to have fun with his newfound knowledge and be very tongue in cheek with it.

“I will turn your steak into a barely edible tyre.” Katrina scowled at him before heading into the kitchen. “And no peppercorn sauce either!”

“Go back on it once your next period is over!” he called back from the living room.

“That was the plan!”

He couldn’t help but laugh to himself a little. Oh, Katrina was stubborn as anything but it was nothing he couldn’t handle, no matter the state of mind she was in. Obviously, she didn’t mean what she’d said about his steak and they ended up binging at least three episodes of True Blood that night. They were close to the end of the show and yet Sherlock was nowhere near closer to guessing who the killer was.

The best part was that Katrina had a full meal that night, and Sherlock went to bed with a smile on his face over a woman for the first time in his life.

Oh dear.

He definitely liked her more than he was letting on.

Notes:

3 more chapters of waiting until SOMETHING GIVES!! Sorry for the lack of schedule, I got ill again (is it my turn to suffer from the AO3 author curse?) and it's been a busy week anyway... I'm hoping there'll be some sort of schedule soon!

Shertrina really just live in my brain rent free at this point, I hope it's the same for all of you.

Chapter 55: Not If It's You

Notes:

TW: mentions of restrictive eating/weight loss

Katrina didn’t hate many things in life but she had accumulated a list recently that was making her rethink her philosophy on not hating too much about living.

One thing she hated was the weekly therapy sessions that Mycroft had her doing at work every Wednesday. It certainly made the month of March more irritating for her, and there was no way of telling if talking about what had happened in the fake restaurant was even helpful. All it happened to do was take time out of her usually busy Wednesday, but trying to reschedule was a nightmare that Katrina didn’t want to deal with so she simply put up with it, stubborn as ever.

She did notice, however, that it broke up her day and made her slow down, thus easing her body out of winter and into spring as it waited for summer to roll around again - every fibre of her being seemed to often scream for summer even when she didn’t know it. Katrina would run towards summer if she could: not because she wanted to skip over the horrid parts of life, but for the joy of the sun on her skin and the less than gracious thoughts slipped away down the river Thames on a hot day, never to be seen again.

Alas, it was barely spring. She couldn’t skip through spring in the same way she couldn’t skip through therapy.

Another thing she hated was actually experiencing a proper menstrual cycle for the first time in years around Sherlock, no less. She wasn’t entirely keen on the fact he knew about her fibroids either, except they had always been bound to rear their ugly head at some point or another during this temporary phase and thus her menstrual pain was worse than she could have imagined it to be. Not absolutely horrific, but bad enough to spend three evenings curled up with a hot water bottle on the sofa and feeling too sick to actually eat anything which ultimately led to making her psychological problems surrounding food a little rougher around the edges temporarily.

Sherlock was rather nice about the entire ordeal though. For a man who deduced an awful lot about people and made them very aware of it, he merely decided to just try and cheer her up. They spent most of a Tuesday evening quietly on the sofa watching True Blood - they had managed to get to the fifth season within a few weeks and the show had become much more enjoyable for the both of them now that there was less sex and more of a plotline. It was distracting enough from the pain for Katrina that didn’t want to go away, and more importantly it kept Sherlock’s mouth firmly shut.

She knew that any potential invasive remarks would have been made purely out of trying to understand the situation better and some concern, but she didn’t want to hear it. He was already doing far too much for her - in her opinion - in an effort to get her back on track after the fake restaurant incident, more so than a typical best friend and flatmate would. She appreciated the effort though, noting that he was starting to simmer down ever so slightly since she got back into therapy.

But one thing Katrina well and truly hated the most?

Dress shopping.

Unfortunately, as one of Mary’s bridesmaids, she had to participate in it with a smile on her face and not a single complaint uttered.

“You’re taking the day off work for this?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Katrina over his newspaper as she pulled some freshly baked croissants out of the oven. Oh yes, she had also learned to bake croissants in an effort to eat breakfast.

Sherlock wasn’t complaining though. The pair of them had done a run down of their finances for the fun of it one night and discovered a lot of their outgoings were at Pret. They needed to be sensible at some point, and now was as good a time as any.

“Mary couldn’t get a booking for a weekend, so yes… I am unfortunately taking the day off work for this. Ow - hot!” Katrina had immediately picked up a piping hot croissant to pop onto a plate, only she dropped it less than elegantly back onto the tray. She found a pair of tongs in the utensil drawer (that was underneath the cutlery drawer, thank you very much) and used those to pick it up and put it on the plate instead. She did the same for Sherlock and twirled round to the kitchen table and set them down.

He grabbed his plate and pulled it towards him. “And you still chose to get up at this hour?”

“We’re starting at nine. Apparently they can go on for hours. How does it take hours to choose a wedding dress?” Katrina mulled over her own sentence. “Okay, yeah, best day of your life and all that - I can see why she’d be fussy - but all day?! There’s usually free prosecco at those kinds of things, right?”

“From what I’ve gathered from pop culture and general eavesdropping, yes…” Sherlock flipped a page in his newspaper. Before he could get stuck in, his phone beeped. He gave the screen a cursory glance. “Oh dear.”

“Mycroft?”

“Hmm. He’s asking if you can pop in and plug a leak before it happens.”

“First off, there’s plenty of capable people at work that can deal with the issue. Secondly, he can text me about it himself. Why’s he asking you?” As much as Katrina fancied bailing on the whole dress shopping thing, she knew she couldn’t. 

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m not going to respond to my brother being petulant. What’s the leak?”

She scoffed. “I can’t tell you that because then I’d be the leak. Well - hmm - Mycroft’ll tell you at some point anyway.” Katrina gingerly picked apart her croissant, the steam shooting out of it as she did so. “At the moment it’s a rumour to do with a bit of a cabinet reshuffle that’ll happen in the summer. Emphasis on rumour. There’s a very disgruntled civil servant threatening to go to Magnussen with the news. I’m not really on the politics side of things but I hear the civil servant has a very interesting digital footprint.”

He made a face of disgust and finally put down the newspaper. “So you’d be blackmailing him?”

She shuddered. “No, nothing like that. They’d be brought in for a chat about cybersecurity that’s all. Plus a reminder that Magnussen’s one of our clients so it’d be a massive conflict of interest if he tried to sell out the government and all that. I don’t know. Mycroft’s side of things confuses me and how we all end up involved.” Katrina finally dug into her croissant now that it had cooled somewhat. “Anyway, Mycroft can cope.”

“He usually does. What time will you be back?” Sherlock also started eating.

“Dunno. Why?”

“Uh… no reason. Being nosy. Can I be nosy? I can be nosy as your friend, right?”

Oh, and another thing Katrina hated: there was a weird tension in the flat between the two of them that had stemmed from the fact Sherlock had been sort of looking after her. The whole ordeal had brought them closer together - even through the odd argument they had - and now they didn’t really know how to act around one another. The routine in the flat had become a strange little dance that neither of them knew how to stop or add flair to. Watching a television show together was a break from that insanity; work was a getaway.

“Yeah. Sure,” she agreed with him. “You can be nosy. Not too nosy. You always look like you’re gonna ask me something weird, like… I don’t know, like you’re gonna ask me about the birth control pills.”

“Well-”

“Tomorrow! I’m back on them tomorrow.” Admittedly, Katrina shouldn’t have brought it up. “It’s fine. I’ll stop being grouchy.”

“I never said you were grouchy-”

“I have been grouchy and you’ve been putting up with it.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not really. Eat your bloody breakfast, Lock.” Katrina forced herself to eat two fresh croissants that morning because if prosecco was going to be involved she needed a decent amount of carbs to line her stomach before lunch - a lunch she didn’t know what time it was happening or where.

Katrina met the other women in Marylebone. She liked Beth and Janine well enough; they were pleasant women who were good friends to Mary. She just knew she’d never see either of them again after this wedding. It wasn’t like they were a group of gal pals who regularly got together for dinner and drinks and theatre shows and everything else London had to offer. Individually, the four of them led very separate lives. Katrina considered herself lucky that she had Mary as a close friend; one that - granted - she hadn’t spent too much time with recently, but it appeared that didn’t matter when they saw each other that morning.

“You’ve been holing yourself up!” Mary chastised her as they embraced warmly. “How you doing though?”

“I’m fine,” Katrina said stiffly as they broke apart. Beth and Janine were still on their way - she and Mary had been a few minutes early. “It is what it is - I’ll get there eventually.”

“You know where I am if you need me.”

“I know,” she offered a small smile. “I hate being like this and inflicting it on other people… but it’s fine, I’ve been having therapy at work.”

“Mandated by Mycroft?”

“Oh yeah,” Katrina laughed along with Mary. “I can’t escape his orders it seems - which is fine, I guess. The day I do it’ll probably be because I’ve fucked up somewhere and done something very naughty that I shouldn’t have done.

“And I thought you left that life behind?” she teased.

“Oh, I have, but you never know…” Katrina played along with it considering it did bring a smile to her face. Realistically, she couldn’t picture herself doing something to risk her job and Mycroft’s trust. If she did, she’d likely never be allowed to work in any form of cybersecurity or tech again. She shook herself out of that train of thought. “So apparently we get prosecco at these things…?”

“Of course that’s the first thing you’d ask! But yes.”

“I’m not really a dress kind of woman… so anything to get me through this. I adore you - I love you - but this isn’t my kind of thing.”

“I know - and I appreciate you being here. Especially ‘cause you had to have time off work.”

Katrina waved it off - no bother to her, really.

“Might as well go in,” Mary then said, indicating the bridal shop. “The other two won’t be here for another twenty minutes.”

And thus the day of dress shopping began: starting with Mary, of course.

It occurred to Katrina that she had a very different sense of style from Mary who opted for a more vintage, traditional look. She personally wasn’t keen on the choices she was making when trying on the wedding dresses and had to take a sip of her drink in an effort to help her say something nice. It took at least two and a half hours in the one shop before Mary found something she actually loved for her dress and decided to go with it.

For the most part, Katrina kept fairly quiet aside from the encouraging comments. Beth and Janine were far more suited to this than she was. It was fine though, she was doing it for Mary. She didn’t exactly have many female friends which meant she had to at least try with this particular group. Well - she didn’t have to try with Mary. Beth and Janine on the other hand? She had to rein it in with the odd sarcastic remarks about her job. She’d kept doing it throughout the morning again.

Thankfully, Katrina realised that prosecco kept her mouth occupied when it wasn’t needed for nice comments.

Heading to the second shop meant it was time for the bridesmaid dresses. Mary wanted everything uniform so they would all be wearing the same style of dress in-

“Lilac?” Katrina raised an eyebrow as the dress was presented to her. Mary had told her to have her fitting first so that she could be on her merry way if she wanted to. “Never worn lilac before.”

For a brief moment her mind drifted to Sherlock wearing his deep purple shirt with its top two buttons undone as always.

“First time for everything…” she then added brightly and took the dress from the assistant before making her way into one of the changing rooms.

Dress shopping for herself was a daunting task, more so than she expected because of the unintended weight loss. Not that she was unhealthily thin but trying on the strapless dress highlighted the fact she had gone down a dress size and her collarbones were poking out a little bit more than she expected. The dress was nice though: ankle length and flattering but not figure hugging, Katrina commended Mary on the choice for the bridesmaids and maid of honour.

Oh god.

The maid of honour.

A knot formed in her belly when she remembered that John had picked Sherlock as his best man recently (the story behind it was rather funny and she hoped it would be told at the wedding reception), and that Sherlock would have to walk down the aisle with Janine. She didn’t know why the knot had formed. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt sick at the idea of seeing Sherlock linking arms with another woman, but the feeling was there and it was difficult to make it go away with just a few deep breaths.

Her eyes welled up with tears for a moment as she cinched in the dress to make it fit her better, thinking about the fact that Janine likely didn’t have all these ridiculous mental issues to deal with, she was the right amount of curvy, and Sherlock would probably enjoy her company on the wedding day more so than Katrina’s anyway. He probably needed a break from all her nonsense.

She furiously blinked back tears and changed back into her normal clothes, stepping out of the dressing room with a false smile on her face as she murmured to the assistant she’d either need the dress in a smaller size or at least taken in a few centimetres here and there. She was assured that it would be easier to alter the dress rather than get another in a new size because of costs and whatnot. Katrina nodded, her smile becoming ever tighter.

At least she was able to hide it through lunch, even if she was a little quieter than she had expected to be. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to Janine unless absolutely necessary. She noticed Mary side-eyeing her but she merely shook her head as if to say another time. Katrina didn’t want to be that person to ruin someone else’s day.

Thank god after lunch they all parted ways and she could go back home.

But home meant seeing the best man who would walk down the aisle and dance with the maid of honour that wasn’t her.

Why was that such a horrible thought?

Katrina couldn’t help but stand in the doorway and stare at Sherlock once she got home, her head tilted to the side ever so slightly as tears filled her eyes once more whilst he played the violin with his back to her. He knew she was there, though. A momentary pause from his dancing fingers and bow that was barely a millisecond let her know that much.

He stopped altogether after a few more minutes, lowering the violin.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asked in a low voice.

“Sorry,” she said, straightening up. “Thinking.”

Sherlock turned on his heel, setting the violin down on the desk after he did so. Now it was his turn to tilt his head to the side slightly as he surveyed her.

“About what?”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with all my nonsense,” she murmured, the tears threatening to spill over. “There’s - there’s so many better friends and flatmates that you could have and yet-”

“Where - where is this coming from?” Sherlock cut across her with a frown on his brown, slowly approaching her. She started to head towards him too.

“I just…” Katrina couldn’t tell him that she was maybe a little jealous of Janine. A sane woman with a sensible secretary job and didn’t have an insane history of terrible choices and mental health issues. “Why would you put up with my nonsense, especially recently?”

“Katrina… you are my friend - one of my best friends - so of course I would…” Sherlock shook himself back to something more stoic. “Perhaps there are better people out there I could live with. I lived with John Watson for almost three years before you moved in here. If you’re going to quantify who’s a better person because you’re pitying yourself then I’ll play along: he is better. He’s surprisingly stable, he’s going to be married, and he and his future wife have a mortgage. Steady jobs too. That’s not me though, is it? Why would I want all that? I’d rather… John is one of my best friends and Mary is on her way to that status too, but I have different desires in life to them. I don’t care for a mortgage right now. I don’t care for stability when I grew up so privileged. If I didn’t want to live with you or be friends with you or want to deal with your nonsense I would have said so a long time ago.”

As harsh and truthful as his words were, Katrina was unable to respond. She was rooted to the spot in surprise, blindsided that there was a kindness within those words that was meant to settle her heart and mind - somehow, it worked.

“Sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologise. You find it difficult when others care for you. It’s not a burden to me,” Sherlock said to her. “Not if it’s you.”

Her heart sped up at those words. “Right.”

“Tea? With a shot of whisky in it, perhaps? It looks like you could use something naughty to calm your nerves.”

A sly smirk on his lips and a pep in his step, Sherlock strutted off to the kitchen without waiting for Katrina’s answer.

She felt no need to cry after that.

Notes:

Ah, life has been crazy busy recently! I usually try and write everyday but it's just not been possible... typically I try to sneak some in at work but we've just been so non-stop I've not had a chance to do writing on the sly, ha! A shorter one I'm not keen on, but it's leading us closer to The Moment.

Have a good weekend everyone!

Chapter 56: Jealousy

As spring well and truly blossomed, so did the general mood in the flat.

Whilst Katrina was still cautious around food, towards the end of March and melding into early April she was eating at least two small meals a day and slowly becoming less obsessive over who had cooked whatever she was consuming. Pitying herself less and not needing to rely on Sherlock so much anymore, she felt like her old self again - which certainly came to fruition when the pair of them finally caught up on True Blood and had their thoughts on the season six finale on a random Wednesday night.

“It’s all been downhill since episode six,” Sherlock started off rather respectfully. “They killed off his vampire sister and that was the turning point.” He had wandered off to the kitchen to grab a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

“They’re slowly but surely undoing Eric as a character - and he’s the best one!” Katrina threw her hands up in frustration, following after Sherlock and watched him pour a couple of thumbs of whisky into each glass at the kitchen table. She swiped one and necked it back fast as anything. “If it turns out he’s dead next season… well I wanna see the email chain about it. I want to know who made that decision!”

“Oooh, is Jak going to come out to play if that’s the case in a few months?” Sherlock asked with a sly smirk, electing to sip on his alcohol but pouring Katrina another. She paused for a moment as she considered the question.

“Probably shouldn’t, but… it’s very tempting. Very irresponsible though…” Katrina had a small sip of her drink this time around.

“Very irresponsible.” Sherlock appeared to be egging Katrina on with the tone of his voice and she narrowed her eyes at him. In response, he gave a very exaggerated, supposedly innocent shrug and carried on drinking.

Katrina pursed her lips, slowly sauntering her way around the table to Sherlock. “What if… I went and got my bad girl laptop now and we had a dig for the production documents for season seven?” She leaned an elbow casually back on the table so that she was looking up at her flatmate.

“Oh, you are a bad girl, aren’t you?” Sherlock’s voice had dropped in pitch ever so slightly, the sentence coming straight from his very chest.

She stopped short, her words catching in her throat as if someone had pressed the stop button on her voice and the start button for blood flow to head up towards her face instead. She gulped, shuffling ever so slightly closer to him and never broke eye contact. Her lips were parted in shock, swollen with want.

A small knot formed in his brow, his hand resting on the table casually inching closer towards her elbow. “Well?” Sherlock quietly broke the thick silence that had formed between them.

Katrina blinked a few times. “Well - well, what?”

“You’re-a-bad-girl-” Sherlock’s words had all combined into one half a second sentence as his brain very visibly shorted out. His eyes widened. “I mean - laptop?”

“Right. Laptop. Right…” Katrina straightened up, electing to look towards the clock on the microwave. “It’s late, though, I shouldn’t really - I shouldn’t be doing that over something so trivial…” Laughing nervously, she downed the rest of her drink and went to rinse the glass. She then filled it with water and chugged that down breathlessly. “Who’s idea was it to get you into a good bit of a telly?” Her laughter was still stilted and anxious.

She hadn’t heard Sherlock creep towards her at the sink over the sound of the running water, and she didn’t dare turn around. But she could feel him standing barely centimetres from her, as the air behind her felt warmer; more claustrophobic. Her heart was hammering away so fast she was certain he could feel it through her back.

“Would you mind?” His arm brushed past her waist as he insisted on passing his now empty whisky glass to her so she could fill it with water too. He was pressed against her back now, and it was only when she took the glass from him he backed off as fast as he was there.

Katrina turned around to pass him the water to see he was leaning against the countertop. He took the glass from her, his fingers lightly ghosting over hers.

“Your idea to get me into good telly. Which - granted - has turned bad.”

“Right.”

Oh god, the silence had grown awkward.

“I think I might go to bed,” Katrina said, electing to take the route through the kitchen that wouldn’t mean being in such close proximity to Sherlock again. “Like I said - it’s late!” she called back over her shoulder.

“Another time then,” Sherlock said with a gracious smile. “Get some sleep, girl.”

“You too, Lock.”

Neither of them spoke of the incident and the next morning wasn’t as stilted as it could have been. Aside from a few curious glances thrown each other’s way, everything was perfectly normal at breakfast.

Well, as normal as it could be for Katrina considering she had spent the previous night masturbating over the incident in the kitchen before she had inevitably dropped off to sleep. If anything, it had gotten it - whatever it was - out of her system and meant she felt no qualms about their quite intimate moment at the sink.

Things went on as normal throughout the next two weeks after that.

Their routine never strayed from what it was even after the moment at the sink, only they had to find something new to do together in the evenings since they had to wait for the finale season of that damned vampire television show. Though it quickly transpired that Sherlock had very little interest in another show so went back to his own devices in the evenings and made some snide comments about whatever Katrina watched next: they counted it as spending time together as flatmates.

Then the most peculiar case popped up for Sherlock.

Peculiar because he wasn’t the only expert that Scotland Yard had brought in to deal with it.

And Sherlock was not at all happy about it.

Katrina’s phone did not stop pinging the entire day she was at work.

There’s some other detective here - his name is Jonathan Creek. Have you heard of him? -Lock

I have no idea who he is. -Kat

Look him up? -Lock

What? No! I’m at work! -Kat

Exactly… -Lock

Are you serious? I have other things to do! Like protecting the country? -Kat

I’m sure Mycroft can cope on his own for what? Ten minutes? If that? -Lock

You’re a dickhead. -Kat

I try my best. -Lock

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair before electing to look up whoever the hell Jonathan Creek was and why he would have been needed for a case with Scotland Yard. Must have been some sort of consulting detective like Sherlock - but that couldn’t possibly be right as Sherlock was meant to be the only one of those!

So Katrina dutifully did some digging to get her flatmate to shut up.

Except she ended up having to call him to break the news.

“What is it? Couldn’t you have text?” Sherlock hissed at her.

“No, uh - this needed a gentle voice…” Katrina paused. “Look, he’s not a detective… he’s a magician. Well - he makes up all the tricks for magicians.”

“I’m sorry, what?” He was incredulous. Three words, and she could tell he was pissed as anything that someone who wasn’t a detective was there.

“Been doing it for years, by the looks of things. Did Lestrade call him in to help? Creek supposedly only does the really weird cases. Like - weirder than what you do. What’s happened?”

“Locked room mystery. Cluedo party went wrong last night it seemed and it was only an hour or so ago they found the missing party member. Dead, I might add.”

“Yes, I think the ‘dead’ was implied…” Katrina said. “Anyway, he’s a bit of an oddball and I mean that in the nicest way possible considering I live with you-”

“Careful-”

“You’re my favourite oddball. But he’s an oddball in a different way, I’m sure you’ve discovered…”

“He’s meek and irritating. I don’t see how he’s actually helpful. Come down here? Lestrade’s taking forever with the CCTV footage of this hotel, I don’t suppose you could nip by Baker Street and get the bad girl laptop?”

She sighed, sinking back in her chair. “We can’t keep calling it that.”

“Why not? You’ve never had an issue with it before.”

“Yeah, well, that was before - you know what, nevermind. I can’t just skive work to do a case! I’m not John!”

“Oi!” said the man in question.

“Oh my god, you were on speaker this whole time?” Katrina winced. John had heard her call Sherlock her ‘favourite oddball,’ suggest he needed a ‘gentle voice’ to break news to him, and to top it all off, there were going to be questions about the bad girl laptop and why they shouldn’t keep calling it that.

“Hi Katrina,” John said, rather amused. “What’s wrong with your bad girl laptop?” He was teasing her. God, he barely liked her as a friend and he was fucking teasing her about what was a private in joke he never should have been privy to.

“Oh for fuck’s sake… Nothing! Nothing is wrong with the - with the bad girl laptop. Just a very - uh - you know what, not the time. I can’t just skip work for this!”

“I’ll text Mycroft,” Sherlock suggested. “Get down here.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Get down to the crime scene before I end up on the news because of Jonathan Creek.”

“Sherlock!” John hissed.

“Urgh. Fine. Get down to the crime scene and I’ll spike your hot evening beverage with the appropriate alcohol of choice.”

“Yeah, alright. Text me the details and I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Katrina hung up without another word.

She quickly dropped a line to Daniel to say that she would be leaving now to go assist Sherlock and that Mycroft was aware. As she got ready to leave and headed out of her office, it transpired that Mycroft had been on his way to see her, so fell into step beside her as she walked towards the elevator.

“I hate your brother.”

“Hmm. Hardly. Otherwise you wouldn’t be going to assist. Are you using the power of MI5 to help?”

She side eyed him. “Something like that.” Katrina hoped the discomfort didn’t show in her voice. Technically not a lie, but she wasn’t exactly helping out through the usual channels. “I can make up the time another day.”

Mycroft waved the offer off as they approached the lift. “No need. You did plenty enough work during the underground terrorist network incident - we’re in debt to you for your extra hours and days.”

“I’ll take it.” Katrina pressed the button to call for the lift. “You ever met Jonathan Creek?”

“No, can’t say I have,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why?”

“Lock’s on case with him. He’s not happy about it. Didn’t he mention that in his message to you?”

“Of course he didn’t - he doesn’t care to share those details, not when he needs your attention.”

A furtive look and an eyebrow raise from Mycroft had Katrina shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and unable to respond. She wished the lift would get here faster so that she didn’t have to engage in any more weird conversations with Mycroft about his brother. She couldn’t have him catching on. That would be much more embarrassing than if she were straight up honest about having a crush on Sherlock.

Crush.

The word was so juvenile that it left a bad taste in Katrina’s mouth but there was no other way to describe it, unfortunately, so she had to settle for it.

Before the silence between them became too long, the lift arrived and Katrina hurriedly got in. Mycroft remained behind and merely gave her a singular nod as a goodbye just before the doors closed. Her phone pinged with the address just before she lost signal, and Katrina surmised it would take approximately an hour for her to retrieve her laptop and then make her way there. Not bad. She’d be quicker if she took her bike, but she didn’t want to have to get done up in her leathers. No, she needed to look like an MI5 official.

So once she had retrieved the laptop, she took a cab to the location instead. It was some fancy, old fashioned hotel that had one of their many glorious looking meeting rooms booked out for said murder mystery party. Plus - going by the things she overhead as she headed up to the fifth floor and weaved in and out of police officers in search of Sherlock and John - all the guests participating had stayed over. No wonder it had taken some time to find the dead party member.

Eventually she found Sherlock and John in a corner of the meeting room that served as the main crime scene, the former grumbling away and sulking with his usual pout, actively avoiding looking in the general direction of one Jonathan Creek standing in the opposite corner quite pensive and shy. However, when he made eye contact with her, he straightened up a little.

Katrina turned her attention back to her friends, where Sherlock was suddenly bristling as he stared over at Creek.

“Well, I’m here,” she said dryly. “Laptop’s here too.” She patted her bag.

“Bad girl laptop?” John noted with amusement.

“You don’t really have the right to call it that. Why do you need the power of MI5?”

“More like the power of Jak…” Sherlock’s voice was somewhat distant. “Oh for goodness’ sake…”

Creek had started shuffling over to them.

“You - you with Sherlock, then?” he asked Katrina, trying to come across more confident than he actually was. “I couldn’t get hold of my mates to come along.”

“More like Sherlock’s with me,” she replied coolly, causing John to cover a laugh with a cough. “I’m MI5.”

His eyes widened in shock. “I didn’t mean- that’s not-”

“I know,” Katrina laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. “Don’t worry. He just needed someone with better clearance than the police, so here I am.”

“Yes, yes, here you are - now can you look into what’s been going on?” Sherlock snapped. “This is an in and out situation, I don’t know why we needed to call in the magician.” He scowled at Creek who didn’t quite know what to do under the scrutiny.

“It’s alright, Lock…” Katrina went to set up her laptop at one of the spare tables nearby. “In and out. Easy solve. John can blog about it. What’ll this one be called?”

“Board Game Case?” John suggested after a moment’s deliberation. “Boring, but it’s a pun itself.”

“It does the job, I guess…”

“Could you do your job?” Sherlock muttered.

“I’m not above punching you in front of all these policemen because your brother will get me off the hook for it. Shut up, Lock. And stop being tetchy, Jesus…”

Granted, the case was boring.

Katrina had a vague understanding of why they wanted to bring in the guy who worked for magicians to help solve it, but it just added another person to the room that didn’t need to be there. Besides, it didn’t help that he and Sherlock were butting heads or that the latter would keep throwing very offputting remarks towards the man who was, actually, quite sweet and she couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“I need their room numbers…” she told Sherlock at one stage. She was already combing through the CCTV footage which had Lestrade in absolute disbelief that she had gotten hold of it quicker than any of his lot could. He murmured something about bloody Sherlock and MI5 before heading out for a cigarette whilst the rest of the force carried on with taking statements and combing through the crime scene.

“What are the chances it was one of them who did it? There’s no other way in or out once that door’s locked. We’re six floors up!” Creek interjected. “It wouldn’t make any sense. And how would one of the guests have ended up in here anyway?”

“Hiding out before it all got locked up,” Sherlock said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You think it was pre-meditated?”

“Of course it was! There’s hardly anything mysterious about what happened here. The room searches are still happening as we speak!” Sherlock really didn’t like Creek. “We - meaning John and I - need to speak to the guests.”

“You’ve been here for what? Two hours? And you still haven’t done the basic detective work?” Katrina checked with a raised brow. “Really? Your first port of call was me?”

Silently, Sherlock drifted away from where she was working. Whilst John held back yet another laugh, she rounded on him.

“Oh, shut it, Watson, you’re meant to be the helpful one!” she grumbled. It only made him want to laugh harder, but John knew better than to piss off Katrina when she was in the zone with her work and already irritated with Sherlock.

As John followed after his friend, Creek took the opportunity to strike up another conversation with Katrina.

“So… MI5? How’d you end up involved with someone like Sherlock Holmes?”

“His brother is my boss. And Sherlock’s my flatmate,” Katrina replied with a smile. He was being sweet - she couldn’t be too mean to him even if the questions were a little annoying.

“Mates then?”

“For a few years, yes. Oh!” Something interesting had popped up on the CCTV. “Well, Sherlock was right. Someone did hide out in here.”

Creek hovered too close over her shoulder and she did her best to ignore it.

“Not the murder victim, but our suspect,” he mused. “So how did the victim get in here? How did the suspect get out?”

“And why on earth did they take a murder mystery party far too seriously?”

The pair of them glanced at each other.

“Not bad,” Creek said with a smile. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders! No wonder Sherlock wants you around”

“I’m no detective,” Katrina said. “But I am clever. Six floors up… you know - Sherlock and John had a case years back where someone scaled the side of a building to send a message to a banker. Then they went to the banker’s flat and killed him. Again - scaled the building. Very different situation and skillset to what’s going on now, but at least we know Sherlock can solve it. Maybe whoever did this has rock climbing as a hobby. Loads of Londoners seem to do that.”

“I’ll go find Sherlock and John to see if they’ve found out anything.” Creek decided to make himself useful and disappear, leaving Katrina to breathe a sigh of relief. Bless that sweet, poor man. He needed somebody at this crime scene to be somewhat friendly to him if Sherlock, John and the rest of them were being absolutely no nonsense - so she was it. That was fine, she supposed, she was happy to be a friendly face even if the prospect of her being MI5 did startle him a bit.

Not long after Creek left her be, Sherlock made a rather hasty return, eyes narrowed and his coat collar turned up.

“We’re done here,” he told her coldly, spinning on his heel.

“What?” Katrina was rather taken aback. She’d been here barely half an hour after he had practically begged her to come down and help after all his whining.

“You heard - we’re done here. Get your laptop, we’re leaving.”

John and Creek came running back into the room.

“Sherlock, apologise-” John started but the detective cut him off.

“And why would I need to apologise?” He scowled and went to hover by the door as he waited for Katrina to pack up.

“It’s fine if he doesn’t apologise,” Creek said, watching Katrina intently with some semblance of worry as she popped her laptop back in her bag. “I’ve got it from here anyway. It’s more my thing than his.”

Sherlock sighed deeply from the doorway. “Come on, Kat, don’t waste your time with the magician.” There was a hint of venom in his voice that she didn’t appreciate.

“I’m sorry, since when do you tell me who I can and can’t waste my time with?” she challenged him, rising from her seat.

“Since he’s…” Sherlock cleared his throat instead of finishing the sentence.

Katrina laughed mirthlessly. “Go on. Finish.”

“I think it’s a bad idea if he does that, Miss…?”

“You didn’t even ask for her name,” Sherlock snorted at Creek. “And you really thought - no. No, I won’t go there.”

“Oh, please do go there, Sherlock,” Katrina hissed at him.

“Guys, we’re at a crime scene - take it home, I’ll finish up here,” John piped up.

“Ah yes, befriend the magician too, why don’t you? Everyone wants a bit of the magician!” Sherlock stormed off.

“Well, good luck!” John gave Katrina a thumbs up as she stormed out after Sherlock.

“Fuck off!” she called back after him. “Sorry!” Katrina then added after a moment - John didn’t deserve her vexed attitude at that moment no more than he deserved Sherlock’s. So much for trying to help solve a case - she couldn’t believe he’d walked out on it. That wasn’t like him at all!

He was waiting for her by the lift to go down.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Nothing,” he murmured, barely giving her a sideways glance. “You and Creek seemed to get along.”

“You and Creek seemed to not get along.”

The lift dinged and they got in, Sherlock pressing the ground floor button.

“Not relevant.”

“Neither is the fact that I did get on with him for the half an hour I was here. What a waste of my time, Sherlock!”

“Why are you annoyed with me?” he asked with a frown.

She looked at him in disbelief, her mouth agape for a fraction of a moment before she spoke. “Seriously?! How can I not be annoyed with you after you begged me to come down here-”

“I didn’t beg-”

“Yes you did. You begged me to come here and you’ve stormed out because you couldn’t handle sharing the case with someone else! He was the sweetest guy, Sherlock, and you weren’t very nice to him!”

“Oh, he’s a grown man, he can handle it,” he paused. “You know, you stopped calling me ‘Lock’ when you became angry with me.”

“I fucking wonder why…” Katrina grumbled, following him out of the lift once the doors opened at the ground floor.

“Yet you entertained him,” Sherlock added as they marched through the lobby to the street.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“You heard me.” He shrugged, electing to hail down a cab. “Easy for you considering your history with men and women.”

Even more taken aback than she had been before, Katrina was stumped for what to say as Sherlock held open the cab door for her after one pulled up. Lips drawn into a thin line, she took a few steps back from him.

“You think I’m getting in a cab with you right now?”

“We’re going home, Katrina.”

“Oh look who’s annoyed now. I’m not ‘Kat’ anymore! Piss off. I’ll get the next one. Maybe sitting on your own might mean you actually think about why what you just said to me was hurtful!” she shouted at him, marching off further up the street, undecided about whether or not she was going to go home right away via tube or cab, or if she was going to go and get a stiff drink somewhere.

Either way, when she glanced back towards Sherlock and the cab were, they were already speeding off up the road.

Notes:

Ultimately decided that the case wasn't the important thing here... I had notes of a FULL thing with Jonathan Creek (I LOVE HIM!) but didn't want to go for that in the end, and instead have him be an outlet for Sherlock's jealousy.

Are you ready for the big chapter next?

Chapter 57: How To Break A Dry Spell

Katrina had elected for a stiff drink in Mayfair before heading home. A dirty martini at that too; so crisp and cold it sailed down her throat smoothly enough she was able to do it in pretty much one go. With her courage received, she took the bus home up to Baker Street. No need for a cab when she was close by enough for that, but too far to walk after a dirty martini.

On arrival back home, her feet dragged up the stairs because she absolutely did not want to go into the living room and face Sherlock. What an utter prick of a man! How dare he imply that she would entertain anyone who batted their eyelashes at her! And the fact he had been green with jealousy that he didn’t see how it had upset her made how she felt even worse.

It had gone beyond simply being upset: she was incredibly angry about it.

Certainly she was surprised to find Sherlock pacing the room anxiously on her slow arrival. She dumped her bag down, kicked off her shoes, and hung up her coat. The thud of her shoes going across the room haphazardly brought Sherlock out of his nervous stupor and he came to a stop, glancing down at his watch as he did so.

“You took two hours to get home! Did you lap central London?”

Katrina folded her arms defensively, electing to remain hovering in the doorway. “That’s what you’re concerned about? That I took two hours to get home? Normally I’d think that was sweet of you, but today I think you’re missing the point.”

“Which is…?”

“Jesus fucking Christ - you hurt my feelings! Normally you’re the last person I’d expect to do that, but wow - wow, having your ego bruised by another man certainly made you forget what our friendship is.”

Sherlock scoffed. “My ego was not bruised-”

“At least you admit you have an ego-”

“And I don’t have an ego, Katrina, but my, you certainly do.”

She wished she hadn’t kicked her shoes across the room. She desperately wanted to throw something at him for that remark.

“I do not have an ego!” she shouted at him.

“Admit it: you liked the attention Jonathan Creek was giving you today.”

“How would you have noticed that when you were too busy in a dick measuring contest with the man?”

“Please…” Sherlock was surprisingly calm at that statement. “We both know who’d win and it’s certainly not magician boy.”

“You are missing the point. Again!” Katrina wished she had had another drink. She was far too sober for this argument.

“He’s an oddball though, so wouldn’t you go for him? Since you like oddballs so much, hmm?”

She finally stepped away from the doorway, reaching behind her to pull the door closed too. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you see the way he was looking at you? It was hardly professional!” he said.

Katrina laughed without mirth, her eyebrows in her hairline. “Are you serious? You really think Jonathan fucking Creek was interested in me?!” she was in disbelief. “You jealous, is that what this is?”

“No!” he told her through gritted teeth. Sherlock turned away, ruffling his hair and taking a deep breath to pull himself together before facing Katrina again, who had not moved from her spot by the door. “Why on earth would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know, Sherlock!” She threw her hands up in the air, unable to determine whatever the hell was going through his head. “But even if you were - you have no right to be! Besides, Creek looking at me unprofessionally or not has nothing to do with me at all!”

“It’s attention from an oddball,” he rolled his eyes.

“He was just being friendly!” she insisted. “And you - you were dismissive of him! You can’t be dismissive of people just because they’re not at your calibre, not when they’re trying to help! I would have - I would have thought that a few years worth of friendship with me might have taught you that. You are jealous! You’re jealous because you wouldn’t be caught dead looking at me like that - and I’m not saying he did look at me like that, but it’s because he has the capacity to do it.”

“Hmm, nice try, but no. No, maybe there were just too many of us at that crime scene.” Sherlock spoke so quickly she wondered if he was trying to claw back control of the argument - and argument that was about to become very circular very quickly.

“I know in my gut that’s not the case. He really was just trying to make friends there because you were too much of twat to be one for a few hours so you could solve a case.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn for the humourless laugh. “Do you really think you can trust your intuition on this one, Katrina? Hmm?”

“Yes,” she told him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because unlike you, I have experience with men. With women. With dating.”

“Ah yes, the wonderful reminder that you were a self-professed whore in your twenties,” Sherlock spat.

“Self-professed whore? Lovely. That’s a great way to find out what my best friend truly thinks of me! That’s why he thinks I’d be good at entertaining some oddball detective!” Her voice grew shrill again.

“Why not? It was either that or nymphomaniac-”

“At least I had the ability to fuck!” Katrina replied coldly. “Do you even have the parts?”

“You would know considering what happened in Rome,” he reminded her. “Left high and dry with a semi that I couldn’t stop thinking about for days so needed to eventually sort myself out.”

“Wow! I’m shocked it worked! But don’t think that you getting off to the thought of me once two years ago gets you off the hook for calling me a whore.”

“Retired whore-”

“Precisely why I wouldn’t be interested in Jonathan Creek,” she told him bitterly.

“Well, you’ve had a bit of a dry spell, so I wouldn’t be shocked-”

“Shut the fuck up, Sherlock!” she shouted. “You are - you are such a dickhead sometimes, I swear to god! But I only powered through it because I have a fucked up thing for you and you’re actually a good friend!”

Katrina didn’t even give him a chance to respond before storming off up to her room and slamming the door. Yeah, what a way for her to confess that she liked her best friend more than just a friend. They’d been dancing around it for some time now - he just needed to admit he was jealous of the way Creek had been looking at her and it would all be fine. Right?

She had no clue. This was Sherlock and her. Nothing was ever going to be as straightforward as it needed to be. She could hide up here until she absolutely needed to leave her room - likely for a late night quick fix dinner of toast - but for now she didn’t want to be anywhere near that man. At least she could kick back and forget about him for a while and watch Netflix on her laptop.

So that’s exactly what Katrina did.

She got into her pyjamas, pulled on a fleece hoodie, and got under her blanket to sulk whilst she watched It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Couldn’t go wrong with a funny television show about horrible people. It was easy to binge and take her mind off of everything to the point she dozed off at one stage and woke up to find it was just gone eight o’clock at night with her stomach growling.

The ‘are you still watching?’ button had popped up on Netflix. Katrina shook herself more awake and stretched out before closing her laptop and deciding to head downstairs for some toast like she had initially planned.

Thankfully, all the lights were out which meant Sherlock was in his bedroom. Or maybe he had just gone out of the flat entirely for a walk. She didn’t know - she didn’t care right now. The light from the street lamps outside drifted in through the living room windows and served to light her way to the kitchen where she switched on one of the counter top lights.

She winced at the harsh, LED nature of it, but got over it quickly enough and set about popping a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and finding the strawberry jam in the door of the fridge. Katrina leaned on the counter, drumming her fingers on the surface as she waited for the toast to pop up. She really paid attention to her fingers, noticing that they were bonier than she remembered.

A sad sigh escaped her lips. She’d really not been good to herself recently, but at least she was working on it a lot better than she had been at first.

Footsteps behind her alerted her to Sherlock’s presence.

“Tea?” she offered. “Oh wait. You probably don’t accept kind gestures from whores,” she then added dryly.

“I’ll wait. Don’t want to get an infection.”

The toast popped up. Katrina grabbed it so she could begin spreading excessive amounts of jam on it.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been tested. You won’t catch anything.” She swiped her plate from the counter top and began to head upstairs without so much a glance in his direction. “Do the dishwasher, would you?”

“You could have put the jam away…” he muttered just as she got to the stairs again.

For two more days they partook in the horrid back and forth whenever they were in the same room, if only because neither of them refused to let the routine they had had in place for months now break.

“Good morning, my favourite sexless robot,” Katrina chirped as she wandered into the kitchen once she’d showered.

“Ah. My favourite human glove. Coffee? We’re out of sugar, but I’m sure it won’t be any more bitter than you are,” Sherlock smirked at her.

“No sugar is fine,” she said, taking the cup he handed to her. “My cunt’s sweet enough.”

His smirk fell and he gulped nervously.

She shot back a sickly sweet grin, heading into the living room to enjoy her coffee. She had a little extra time before she had to get to work and the sun was rising earlier now. She perched on the window ledge to admire Baker Street getting progressively busier by the minute.

“Even if it was as sweet as you say, I have no intention of marring our friendship for it.” Sherlock had found his cool again as he now read the newspaper from his usual spot in the kitchen at this hour, causing Katrina to choke on her coffee from the unexpected nature of his comment. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“I can’t stand you at the moment.”

“And I, you.”

Katrina took no meetings at work that day and buried herself into her computer to keep her mind off of everything and stimulated at the same time.

Unfortunately for her, Mycroft had sensed that something was going on.

“Are you arguing with my brother?” he asked after she allowed him entry into her office. He did a once over of the room. “Good lord…”

In the few days she had been arguing with Sherlock, Katrina’s physical paperwork had become a mess in her office, and her bin was overflowing with takeaway coffee cups. She’d also covered up the smoke alarm so she could smoke; Mycroft had entered into a slight haze of smoke.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Was it to do with the case he walked out on?”

“How do you even know this?” Katrina reached for the packet of cigarettes for the third time that day. “Want one?” she offered Mycroft.

“May as well,” he replied, pinching one between his own slender fingers that weren’t too dissimilar to Sherlock’s. Katrina lit their cigarettes and they smoked in silence for a few moments. “Clever,” he said, indicating her covering of the smoke alarm. “I’m surprised you’ve not smuggled in illegal substances.”

“I’m at work, Mycroft, I’m not an idiot.”

“So if you’re not an idiot, you’ll realise you can’t win against my brother in the way he cannot win against me. You can certainly try, though,” he added brightly. “How did it all start anyway?”

“I thought you knew?”

“No, no, only that he walked out of a case and you two are arguing. I messaged him when I expected him to have solved said case, but he made an offhand remark about nymphomania-”

“And you understood me and him were arguing. Right.” Katrina pinched the bridge of her nose and took another drag of her cigarette. Sherlock never usually went running to his brother in a sulk, except this time he really had a bee in his bonnet about something to do with her and the light attention she had received from Jonathan Creek. “Sherlock needs to get over himself.”

Mycroft surveyed her for a moment, tapping off the excess cigarette ash into the dregs of an old coffee cup she had clearly been using for that very purpose. “Why is he referring to your twenties so crudely?”

“He reckons the other detective - sort of detective - on the case yesterday had a thing for me. Implied I’ve had such a long dry spell I’d go for anyone at this point. I wouldn’t,” she said firmly. “He knows me well enough now. He’s being a dickhead about the whole thing and he has no right to. If other people want to pay me attention then fine. He can’t get mad about that just because he doesn’t know how to look at a woman!”

Cheeks suddenly aflame, Katrina dropped the remainder of her cigarette into the cup where it burned out in the old coffee. Hurriedly, she rose and started to tidy the papers around her room much to Mycroft’s own entertainment.

“Do you want my brother to look at you a certain way?”

“No,” she said quietly, feeding some of the papers into the shredder she had in the corner. “You told me once not to get a crush on your brother. That the world couldn’t take our combined ego. Urgh - he told me I had an ego! I don’t! I just - I crave a bit of validation, sure, and Creek was impressed by the fact Sherlock could have access to someone like me. Not that I ended up doing much in the end. He takes me for granted, I think, he’s so used to me being around.”

Mycroft discarded his cigarette too, going to open a window to let out the accumulated smoke. “He doesn’t take you for granted,” he said gently, staring out across the Thames. “Trust me. He wouldn’t have been so worried about you since the restaurant incident, or sit and get invested in that television show you were watching.”

She froze, turning on her heel and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

How much was Sherlock telling Mycroft?

“Does he ever worry much?” was what she ended up asking.

“Only about you and John Watson. Even then - he never wanted to worry about you. And neither did I. You’re the anomaly for us Holmes boys,” he chuckled. “And we’re both extraordinarily grateful for that.”

Heart pounding in and the red cheeks fading, Katrina sniffed when she realised she had tears in her eyes she was desperately trying to hold back. In an effort to remain professional, she folded her arms and leaned against the wall casually. “Don’t you get sentimental on me, Mycroft Holmes. Otherwise I’ll have to give you a nickname.”

“My own mother has tried over the years to call me ‘Myc’ despite the fact she was the one who named me.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t get any ideas.”

A half smile drifted across Katrina’s lips. “You call me ‘Kat.’ Otherwise I’ll have to start using ‘Myc.’”

“Well…” Mycroft turned to her. “You aren’t my mother.”

“Do you think Lock will get over himself?” She switched back to the topic at hand, not wanting to press too much on if he was giving her permission to call him by a shortened version of his name.

“With time, yes. He’s as stubborn as you are but with less of an awareness about his own emotions. I highly doubt he’ll apologise, but he’ll likely do something to indicate that he is sorry. Besides, you’re clearly trying to find middle ground again.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You have a sentimental heart, Kat, and you referred to him as ‘Lock’ again.”

“That may be, but I’m not extending the olive branch first.”

Mycroft harrumphed lightly, electing to take his leave. “Do clear up in here before the week is out, stop avoiding your colleagues, and perhaps take your smoke breaks outside.”

“Yess, boss…” Katrina couldn’t help but smirk watching him leave. He had a point. Letting her personal life spill over into how she presented herself at work couldn’t happen again, so she spent the afternoon tidying up and airing out her office and decided that she’d show face to her colleagues tomorrow when it was a brand new day. Nothing of note had happened in the time she had elected to bury herself in meaningless admin and smoke her life away, so she left half an hour early to make her way home.

The same melancholic tune that Sherlock played on New Year’s Eve greeted her ears as she made her way up to her room, where she changed into her pyjamas with the fleece hoodie. She didn’t feel like having a proper dinner tonight - at least not right now when Sherlock was still very much present in their shared living space. She wanted her usual cup of tea, though, and figured three minutes or so in the kitchen would be fine.

He was facing the window and therefore didn’t notice her creep down - or maybe he did but pretended not to considering how obvious it was she was avoiding him for the time being. She didn’t fancy another verbal sparring match with him. A quick glance at his attire suggested he’d remained at home all day as he was barefoot in his blue dressing gown, meaning that he had his own pyjamas on underneath. Typically if he’d been out he’d have his shoes on still and merely changed into the gown for a small bit of comfort outside of his blazer.

Katrina set about making tea, the noise of the kettle drowning out the beautiful tones of the violin that she did not care for that evening. She hardly noticed the fact that when the kettle finished boiling that the violin had stopped; she was that focused on making her tea and getting out of the kitchen.

“You’re not a whore.”

Sherlock’s voice from behind Katrina made her jump out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ!” she shrieked, her heart in her throat as she pressed her hand to her chest in an effort to calm herself, turning around to face Sherlock.

He was standing by the fridge with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Not even a retired whore, not a nymphomaniac, you’re just… you, Kat,” he said quietly, taking a cautious step towards her.

She scowled and folded her arms. “Is that an apology? Because what the hell has this all been about?”

“I don’t - I don’t do feelings, Kat.”

“I know you don’t. So can you admit what the hell’s been going through your mind to think it’s okay to refer to me the way you have been?”

“That’s hard for me to do-”

“You are thirty three years old. Grow up. Say it. Or I’m done for the night and we can procrastinate over this and try again tomorrow.” Stubborn, too stubborn, but she needed to hear it from his own mouth.

He nodded slowly. “I did not like the idea of someone such Jonathan Creek fawning over you. I was jealous. Perhaps I have taken you for granted, and seeing someone so openly admire you reminded me of that fact. I can’t just call you at work and expect you to drop everything.”

She softened, her arms dropping to her sides. “Okay… that’s a start.”

“I shouldn’t call you names either.” Another small step towards her.

“No, you really shouldn’t.”

“Like I said - I don’t do feelings, but it’s become apparent that I have made an exception for you,” he admitted. They were standing inches apart from each other now, and she dropped her defensive stance, standing up as straight as possible.

“So… so why didn’t you say as much earlier?” she asked quietly.

“Jealousy is hard to admit, but admitting I like you more than a friend is even trickier,” Sherlock replied just as softly. “Being angry over Jonathan Creek was easy. Being angrier with you? Even easier. I trust - I trust you with my feelings, Kat. The emotion to my reason. You can understand it all and not begrudge me for it.”

“Unless you upset me,” she elected to remind him. “Which you did.”

“I did.”

“Not an apology.”

“I know,” Sherlock lessened the gap between them even more, his hands coming to rest uncertainly on Katrina’s waist.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

What was he doing?

“But I have reason to believe this might be good enough.” Sherlock’s head dipped ever so slightly and he captured her lips with his.

Ever so slightly surprised, Katrina flailed for a moment before looping her arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing her body flush against his. His lips tasted of mint masking the bitter coffee he had clearly been drinking before he’d decided to brush his teeth as if in preparation for this moment. As he nervously moved his mouth against hers, his teeth coming out to play and nipping at her bottom lip like he once did in Rome, Katrina pulled him so impossibly close to her so that she could tangle her fingers in his hair. 

Everything about this kiss was a dream come true - perhaps an unrealised dream, but it had been sitting at the back of Katrina’s mind all the same. It made sense that the notion of another man being interested in her when Sherlock had been putting in all the hard work would be the trigger for him to come clean and admit that yes, maybe, he did in fact like her. Words between a sociopath and an emotional woman were always going to be skewed and complex; with heavy meaning or none at all, but the sparring match from earlier didn’t matter. Not with Sherlock’s hands with a bruising grip on her waist, his hips pushing against hers to the point she was certain the countertop was going to leave a mark through her clothes across her skin.

Her tongue danced across Sherlock’s lips with a gentle let me in, and he allowed her. Oh, she could taste the coffee more prevalently now. She wondered what her breath tasted like to him considering she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She hoped it wasn’t festering. Teeth occasionally knocked together but they both chuckled about it through the melding of their mouths.

They broke apart, gasping for air and their foreheads pressed together.

“What - what was that about having no intention of marring the friendship?” Katrina whispered, cupping his face between her palms.

“Hmm. You’d made your angry confession regarding how you felt about me a few days ago, so I assumed what you said about being sweet was an invitation.” His voice had dropped in pitch. It was coming from somewhere in his chest; a growling sort of purr that had Katrina clenching her thighs together and he noticed. “Something wrong?”

“Your voice…” Katrina pressed a kiss to his jaw, then his neck. “It’s gone straight to my cunt.”

Sherlock hummed; with how close they were pressed together it vibrated through Katrina to her very core and she shuddered, feeling the ache between her legs grow along with a wetness she hadn’t felt in quite some time. Her hands trailed down to the hem of his shirt, but as she was about to slip them under to explore the skin there, he grabbed her wrists to stop her.

“I would suggest we take this out of the kitchen.” Sherlock kissed her on the lips again, savouring the moment before breaking away and leading her by the hand to his bedroom.

Katrina felt giddy as she walked, beginning to wonder if any of this was actually real. Her cheeks were aflame and she was keen to get her pyjama shorts off because she knew for a fact they were absolutely going to be ruined by now, and nothing had even happened yet.

Once they were in his room, Sherlock closed the door and barely gave Katrina a moment to breathe before his hands and mouth were on her again. He pulled the fleece hoodie off of her with ease, pushing her back onto the bed where he manoeuvered them so that she was against the pillows and headboard, her long curly hair splayed out over the pillows.

Sherlock’s hands went to the bottom of her tank top, his long fingers teasing as they ran under the hem and gently over the skin of her belly. She twitched, and he stopped in his motions and detached from her mouth. Their faces were centimetres apart, their heated breaths becoming one in the same enclosed space.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she gasped. “I just - I uh… wow. I’m in bed with Sherlock Holmes.”

“You’ve been in bed with me before.”

“But not like this,” she pointed out. “Do you want to fuck me, Lock?”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Obviously I don’t mind,” she rolled her eyes, grabbing his chin and giving him an intense, chaste kiss. “Now shut up, touch my tits, and maybe put your mouth to use. Have you got condoms?”

Sherlock sighed and leaned over towards his bedside table, opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a box of condoms and crudely slammed them on said bedside table top. Without another word uttered, he did as Katrina requested.

He took his time with it though. He continued to run his hands up under her tank top, allowing it to naturally hike up until her breasts were exposed before him. Katrina’s nipples were pert and begging for him to touch them. He lightly grazed his thumbs over them at the same time, and she let out the smallest mewl ever. Oh, he may have only shagged Irene Adler once, but it was clear to Katrina that he had stored some information away.

“Thirty four B…” he muttered. “Used to be a thirty six-”

“I cannot stand you-”

He shut her up by means of taking her tank top off entirely and leaving her top half entirely exposed before him. He took the moment to get rid of the blue robe he was wearing too, tossing it to the floor somewhere along with her top. Katrina arched upwards into Sherlock as he ran his hands up and down her sides, kissing and sucking at her neck and collarbone in an effort to leave small bruises in his wake. Katrina’s chest was heaving with anticipation when he pressed a kiss in the centre of her chest before electing to take one nipple in his mouth and roll his tongue over it whilst pinching the other between his thumb and index finger.

She moaned a little louder this time, her legs coming to wrap around his waist. She finally slipped her hands under his shirt and began to prise it off of him - which he complied with happily. They were skin to skin, the heat between them beginning to build and Katrina started to wonder where she ended and Sherlock began. He snogged her again, and she could feel him growing hard between her legs, where he started to grind against her.

She ran her hands up his chest and interlocked her fingers behind his neck so that she could bring him down to keep kissing her as they found a tune with each other’s bodies before progressing any further. Katrina could have stayed like that with Sherlock forever - halfway to being intertwined in the comfort of the flat that they shared, blissfully ignorant of the world around them.

His hands were at her hips again, this time trying to peel her shorts off. So Katrina let him and he threw them to the floor as well. Katrina unhooked her legs from around Sherlock as he set back on his knees for a moment as he drank her in. She leaned up on her elbows - her hair a total mess - and cocked her head to the side with a dizzying smile on her lips.

Katrina was not one to be embarrassed in bed. She wasn’t embarrassed now. But it had been some time since anyone had surveyed her like that and as hot and bothered as she was already, she felt a blush creep over her entire body.

“Are you trying to deduce me?” she asked him demurely.

Sherlock snorted. “I wouldn’t dare do that to you. What do you like? I’ll try.”

“I like my cunt being eaten by someone with a good tongue,” she told him with a shrug.

“You like to say the word ‘cunt’ don’t you?” Sherlock slipped off the edge of the bed and grabbed Katrina by the ankles, pulling her towards him. She squirmed as he pushed her legs a little wider apart, his hands massaging her thighs once he had her in the position he wanted her in with her legs draped over his shoulders. “Down, girl.”

“I prefer it over saying ‘pussy’ if you want to know.” Katrina was back to leaning up on her elbows so she could look at him.

“Hmm,” he agreed. “Fits the mood better.” Sherlock kissed her inner thigh and she trembled again. “It’s just me.”

“I know.” Her voice was shaky. “And you’re about to eat me out.”

“It’s a good thing I haven’t had dinner this evening, then.”

“You couldn’t have said all this a few days ago?” Dear god, he was really creeping up to the top of her legs now. She could feel his breath across her entrance that was practically dripping already.

Another kiss to her thigh. “We’re as stubborn as each other and I hadn’t quite worked out what the hell was going wrong in my mind. Now: tell me what you like and I’ll try.”

“You haven’t eaten someone out before? What the hell did Irene Adler teach you?”

He sighed, his breath so warm on her skin that she jolted in surprise again. His hands clamped down on her hips to stop her from squirming. “Isn’t there some sort of bedroom etiquette not to talk about other partners? But no. Never oral sex. Why do you think I was so good with my fingers in Stockholm?”

“Oh. Okay. Well - just put your tongue on my clit and take it in slow circles. That’s always a good way to start. You’ll be able to tell when I like something,” she said, lying back fully on the bed now.

“Is that all I’m getting?”

“What was all that on your website about the science of deduc-” Katrina was cut off rather rudely by her own moan as Sherlock did exactly as she said. “Fuck,” she gasped. He was working his tongue delicately on her and his hands had a vice-like grip on her hips to keep her from writhing so much on the bed. Every lap, every swirl, had a heat building in her core. He was rather good at this. Then again, he could run his mouth well enough without her guidance, and she expected he knew that she would tell him if he were doing something wrong.

For someone so inexperienced, he took her simple instruction well. Katrina’s eyelids flickered between open and closed and she glanced down at him at one stage to find that the sight of his head between her legs was one that only made her more wet.

He paused when that happened. “Kat…” he gasped. “Aren’t you keen?” His voice vibrated right through her, and he carried on with his previous task. She had no retort for him. All thoughts were gone from her mind as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, the knot in her belly tightening until-

“Lock!” she breathed when it snapped and her thighs locked his head in place when he made her orgasm. Fast, yes, but she had been through a dry spell. It was expected. Not as if she hadn’t been frequently masturbating over the thought of Sherlock doing this for a while now anyway. As he carried on through her orgasm, his hand came to rest on her lower belly almost instinctively, stroking her bare skin as if to try and soothe her or calm her, but it only served to set her alight.

Katrina unclamped her legs from Sherlock and shuffled back away from him slightly so he knew the physical cue to stop. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled up on the bed, still between her legs and towering over her as he leaned down to kiss her. She grinned when she could taste herself on his lips; when she could feel his erection through his joggers. She grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped them so that she was sat atop his hips, slowly grinding against him.

Sherlock grunted and really leaned his head back into the pillow, his hands resting on her waist.

“Barely a moment’s rest,” he said though gritted teeth. “I thought I was meant to fuck you?”

“Let me be on top, I’m breaking my dry spell…” Katrina reached over to the bedside table and managed to get a condom out of the box, setting it down next to Sherlock before electing to kiss him again. They were both beginning to sweat, the scent of it lightly taking over the both of them. She nipped at his lip ever so slightly and he squeezed her waist in response before letting go so that he could at least start attempting to get his joggers off.

Once they were far enough down his thighs, he was able to kick them the rest of the way off so that Katrina barely had to move an inch off of his lap. He sat up for a moment, embracing her fully and she revelled in the feeling of his cock upright between them, already dripping with precum.

“You’re keen too,” she remarked, clasping her hands behind his neck. “You nervous?”

“No,” he replied, picking up the condom packet and tearing it open so he could actually put it on. “I’m with you after all. Do what you like. I’ll tell you if I’m not a fan.”

“Okay. Sounds good,” she pecked him on the lips before raising herself up to then promptly set herself on his cock. She didn’t even go slow despite the fact she should have, but that didn’t matter. Sherlock let out a guttural moan and came undone right there and then, his forehead going to rest on her shoulder as he panted at just the mere feeling of Katrina around him. He went to grab her hands and pull them away from his neck so he could intertwine their fingers.

“Fucking hell,” his voice was raspy. His grip on her hands tightened.

“It’s alright, just lie back down…” she coaxed him gently, and he did as she said but never let go of her hands either. Katrina surveyed Sherlock, amused seeing someone usually so stoic and logical turning into a mess of a puddle before her and she hadn’t even started to fuck him yet. “I was a bit - a bit enthusiastic…” She did one cursory grind against him so he could get used to the movement she intended to pick up pace with. “Sorry about that.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less…” Sherlock placed her hands on his chest, and rested his own on her waist. “Go on. Break your dry spell for good.”

Katrina got to work like it hadn’t been literal years since she had fucked someone.

She was careful with Sherlock though, raising and lowering herself on him at a steady pace so as not to entirely overwhelm him and short out his brilliant mind more so than she had already done so that evening. Every time she leaned down to kiss him he pushed her back up, clearly wanting to focus solely on what he was experiencing with no other distractions.

As she rode Sherlock, Katrina had the rather possessive thought of wanting nobody else to do this to him - but also nobody else to do this to her. Being filled up with him was something she had only imagined before and never expected it to become reality. The heat radiating from both their bodies only served for her to go faster. She didn’t care if at that point she didn’t orgasm again, as long as Sherlock had one then they were both even for now.

“Kat…” he murmured, pulling her closer to him so he could kiss her across her cheeks and lips and neck and jaw. “I’m - I’m nearly there.”

She sped up, hands going from his chest to cup his face so that when Sherlock did finally reach his peak with a loud gasp of her name once again, she captured his mouth with her own and swallowed the noise to fuel her so she could rinse him for all he was worth.

“Slow - slow down,” he said after he broke away from her. “Fuck, Kat…”

She did as he asked and then stopped all together.

“This might feel a bit sensitive,” she said and got off of him. He moaned as she did so, taking a few deep breaths to centre himself so that he didn’t completely get lost with the stars. Katrina leaned up on her side next to him, pressing a few kisses to his cheek and resting her palm on his chest. His heart was racing as fast as hers. “Lock?”

He merely nodded a few times, taking hold of her hand and raising it so that he could kiss her palm. He closed his eyes and caught his breath, which she watched with some interest. She never knew him to be overwhelmed like this before, but this wasn’t really his area. She should have expected it.

“I’m fine,” he told her, his voice was back to normal and she let out a sigh of relief. “You should go have a piss. Wouldn’t want you to get a UTI.”

Oh, he was fine alright. Katrina rolled her eyes and got off the bed to go and do just that - as if she didn’t know that’s what she needed to do anyway. She came back into the bedroom to find that Sherlock was in the process of putting the condom in the bin, giving her a rather lovely view of his arse.

“What do you usually do after sex?” he asked her, picking up his blue robe from the floor and pulling it on. Katrina grabbed the burgundy robe and did the same.

“Cuddle, usually. Go to sleep. But it’s too early in the evening for that.”

Sherlock closed the gap between them and snogged her in a chaste manner. “I interrupted your cup of tea.”

“You usually make them for me anyway.”

“Come on then,” Sherlock said, taking her by the hand and leading her out to the kitchen. He even went so far to dump out the old water in the kettle and replace it with fresh water, and get a mug out for himself. “If we do that again, I’d like to be on top.”

Katrina was taken aback by the frankness of the statement for one thing, and then the fact he was keen for another session too. “Er - yeah - sure.”

“What?” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“You - you wanna do that again?”

His eyes darted left and right a few times before he answered over the noise of the kettle boiling. “We both like each other more than friends but have no inclination of wanting to date so… I assume we’d at least want to have sex now?”

“Okay. As long as we’re on the same page about that. You were quite… you were overwhelmed, Lock.”

He shrugged. “To be expected from a man who’s only ever had one shag in his life. Wouldn’t mind doing it a few more times with you. It was - it was good. Really good. You were holding back.”

“I didn’t particularly want to shag you to death on what was your second one.”

There was a moment of silence and then they both burst out laughing.

“Imagine if you did shag me to death,” he mused.

“Wouldn’t that technically be death by misadventure?”

“Hmm. Very good. You do pay attention.”

“I try…” she said sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “I think we need to start locking the doors if there’s a chance we might go for one. Don’t want Mrs Hudson to walk in. Speaking of, were we loud?”

“No,” Sherlock reassured her. “I might have been had you not snogged me at the right moment. What are the limits?”

“I don’t really know, it’s been a while. Maybe we just explore and find out? Although, actually, no hard BDSM. I love a bit of dirty talk and some light… spanking… so to speak.” Katrina could feel herself turning red again, which Sherlock ignored as he set about making their tea now that the kettle had boiled. “Stuff like that.”

“You also like praise,” he pointed out. “I suppose I’ll have to figure out what I like. Try not to choke me to much with your thighs though.”

“Oh god! Sorry - it - it just happens,” Katrina winced and went to take a look at his neck. “You’re fine. It’s a bit red so maybe put some ice on it.”

Sherlock waved her off and handed her the cup of tea. “We’ll figure it out. We typically do.”

“True. As far as apologies go, that was pretty good. I do prefer the actual words.”

“Next time.”

“As long as the next time you owe me an apology doesn’t involve the fact that you called me a whore, then I’m sure it’ll be a very easy apology to accept. You definitely put the work in for this one, so I accept.”

“Thank god,” Sherlock sighed. “It’s not nice we’re at each other’s throats.”

“Made for some decent first time sex with other.”

They clinked their mugs together at that and had a few gulps of their tea.

“So… cuddles?” Sherlock carried on the conversation.

“Yes.”

“Do you want dinner and then maybe… jump in with me tonight so we can cuddle?” He was trying his best to see what was going to work.

“Let’s just stick with dinner for now. Staying in bed together after sex needs to come more naturally,” Katrina offered gently.

“Sounds like a plan. Oh and by the way - don’t make it obvious at work tomorrow that you’ve had sex. You’re quite an obvious read. Even Mycroft’s so called ‘goldfish’ would be able to tell.”

Notes:

Surprise! Bet you didn't expect me to update this early! I just couldn't wait with this chapter... because (to some degree) THEY'RE FINALLY TOGETHER! There will be more follow up conversations between Sherlock and Kat about all of this... it's a whole journey they're about to go on now.

But! I hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you for all the lovely comments as per usual. I've been having a really tough time with my mental health and this fic is the only thing keeping me going. Sending love to you all if you're experiencing a rough time too. x

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The Game of Favoursverse