My relationship with John seemed to be on the mend following that night out. We didn't give each other the cold shoulder anymore. In fact, we talked more than we had when I had been with him and Sherlock at Baker Street. We even came up with this little idea that once a day both of us had to tell the other something they didn't already know. Like, for instance, one day John told me he'd played the clarinet while at school. I'd told him my first boyfriend had been Moriarty. It was a rather grim fact when you thought about it, but it was still something John hadn't known about me until I told him.

An ache in my heart grew as I realized I didn't want to leave London. I was having too much fun being with John. True, I could never be Sherlock to him, but I could be Rachel Simpson.

I was lounging on the couch, too lazy to get up and head for the shower. I was tempted to flush the toilet when John was in there, just as a little prank. Oh, that was another thing I had told John. I used to be very rambunctious and a prankster when in middle school. Yeah, who would have thought it, right?

I was tempted to write in the journal again. At least I'd be writing better things.

My ears pricked up when I heard violin music. I whipped my head around, searching for the source. It must be in my head. He's not here. He's...gone. My throat became tight at the reminder. I tried to swallow, to push down the emotions that threatened to consume me. Gosh, it had been some time since I had to fight my emotions. I put my fist to my lips, as if that would calm me down.

Forgive me.

It was amazing, how two simple words could send a person into a crying fit. Hearing Sherlock's deep voice in my head made me lose it.

I remembered thinking that perhaps I saw regret in the consulting detective's eyes that day. Those blue-gray eyes...

Forgive me.

I buried my head into my knees, sobbing into them. I tried to breath, but all I did was hyperventilate. My mind was in a dizzying whirl.

"Rachel?" I barely heard John's voice over my loud weeping. I didn't pick my head up; my despair was keeping it down. "Rachel." I curled tighter into my little ball. "Pick your head up and look at me, please."

Tenderly, I did. I didn't see John sitting in front of me; he was at my feet, beside me. I looked at him through teary eyes. In his eyes, I could see he was fighting back the urge to cry along with me. I laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You brave man, trying not to cry," I whimpered. "It's the soldier in you, John. You can break down along with me, we've already cried once before over it."

"Oh. That again." John didn't say it like it was a negative thing when really it was. "Hold on." I wiped my eyes as he temporarily abandoned me. He came back with an entire box of tissues. I couldn't help but laugh again. "You might want to keep these with you."

I took ten tissues from the box, fiddling with one so I could blow my nose. "When will it stop, John?" I dabbed my eyes.

"I can't tell you that." I found some comfort in him taking my hand that didn't hold the now snot-drenched tissue.

I looked down at the ex army doctor. "I can't understand it, John." I sniffed.

"What?"

"How you can't have a stable girlfriend."

"I haven't found the one yet."

"Don't tell me you're hitting on me." If John turned out to be my dad that would be weird.

"What? No—no, I'm not...flirting with you." He shook his head vigorously. "I can't think of you like that, Rachel. The thought...bothers me." He shuddered.

I took a good, long look at John Watson. He was a lot of things: an army doctor, a former partner-in-crime to a consulting detective, and a very loyal friend. He was also a man who had the incredible strength to carry on with life day after day and put up with me. I held great respect for him.

"I feel like I'll never get back home," I mumbled.

"Why?"

"I don't want to leave." I squeezed more tears out of my eyes.

"Don't feel obligated to stay because of me, Rachel."

"It's partially that," I admitted. "And it's partially because I can't afford a ride home."

John's eyes bugged. "Oh. Money trouble."

"Don't feel obligated to lend me any," I joked.

John cracked a smile, but just as quickly as it came onto his face, the smile was gone. "I've been thinking..." he began carefully.

I sniffed, rubbing my sore eyes. "About what?"

"About what you said to me. About...about Sherlock's theory." My eyebrows rose. This was the first time John had ever spoken the consulting detective's name aloud since his death. I smiled sadly at him, proud of the little progress he was making. "About us being...related."

"And...?"

"I want to test it."

I blinked twice. I didn't expect him to say that. "You mean, like, a DNA test?"

"What other test could there be?" He tried to laugh.

"You're serious." I tossed damp strands of hair away from my face. "But you were so dead set against believing it. You told me it was a lie, and that Sherlock said it because he knew I'd believe it."

"Yes, I know, I remember that quite clearly. But you have to remember I didn't have a clear head that day either."

"I don't think either of us did."

"After...that happened, I thought a lot about what you said. I didn't realize just how much I thought about it. Then I began to think that there was a chance that it was true." I stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. "If I put doubt into your head, I'm sorry."

"But I think you're right, John. It was probably a lie," I said miserably.

John chuckled. "You didn't know him like I did, Rachel. If he told you that I was...am your father, then most likely...he's right. Surely you can't believe that it didn't mean something, what he said, when he told you."

"I did for a while, but then I kind of convinced myself that there was a chance that it was true." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm shocked you came up with the idea."

"Why?"

"I assumed you would never change your mind about it. I'm glad you did." I blushed. "I mean, think about it. What if it's true?"

"I did think about it."

I cleared my throat, trying to calm myself down before I got hysterical. "It's one of those things you want to wrap your head around, but you can't."

"Or it's one of those things that sounds too good to be true."

"I guess that too." I wiped the rest of the tears off my face. I realized how calm I had become by John diverting my attention away from Sherlock. "If you really want to go through with it, then let's do it." My stomach roared loudly. I grabbed at it, embarrassed.

John chuckled. "Let's do the test after we eat. Come on; let's see if we can find something."

"We should really invest in a cookbook to keep around here. I don't think either of us has any clue as to what we do when we try and make something for ourselves."

It was like I had forgotten why I had started my fit in the first place. I'd gone from fretting to hopeful in less than an hour, and that was all thanks to a man named John Watson.

* * *

"When did this turnaround happen?" Amanda asked me later that night.

I was pacing in the living room. I'd just told her about John's sudden change of mind about us being related. Speaking of John, he'd just gone to bed.

I kept my voice low so it wouldn't travel to John's room. "Just out of the blue." I shrugged. "It shocked me too."

"So you're really doing a test?"

"Yeah."

"But, Rachel, what if it..." I could picture Mandy biting back the end of her sentence.

"Isn't true?" I stopped my pacing, sliding an arm under my chest so I could rest my other arm on it. "I don't know. I'll probably head home after."

"Do you still need help with finding a reasonable ticket? I can do some digging if you want."

I grinned. "If you don't mind. Hopefully between the two of us we'll find a decent price."

"I'm guessing things are coming around for you and John now?"

"It seems like it. But I had a meltdown today, thinking about him."

"It'll be like that for a while. Losing someone is hard."

"But I wasn't that close to him, Amanda. That's just it. I'm not even sure what we were, really." I flinched as I heard the apartment creak. Damn place.

"Well, you obviously cared about him if you're hurt over him. Did you...?"

"No, Mandy, it wasn't like that." My tone was a bit biting. I had not fallen for Sherlock Holmes. I could give the man credit for being attractive, sure, but I never had any feelings for him. Sure, I cared about what happened to him, but my feelings weren't strong. They weren't any kind of puppy-love.

"Are you sure?"

"Did you forget my last relationship?"

"That was only one guy."

"Who was a psychopath," I reminded her. "Would you not date again after that?"

"It wouldn't stop me."

I groaned. "You're too optimistic."

"Oh, speaking of relationships..."

My eyes brightened. "Did you finally find somebody?"

"Maybe."

"Oh my gosh, Mandy, that's awesome!" I gushed. I now felt a pang of jealousy. "Am I going to meet him when I come home?"

"I'll make that happen." She yawned.

"Wait. Before you go, can you at least give me a name?"

"Alex."

"I bet he's good looking." I snickered.

"Look, as much as I'd love to stay up and talk to you about him, I really want to go to bed."

I pouted, not that Mandy could see me. "Alright, but promise me you give me a good story when I come back, okay?"

She chuckled tiredly. "I promise, Rach. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. If Amanda was having good luck in the dating department, maybe John could too. Hmm, would it be worth it to give him a push in the right direction? I wondered if I should set him up for online dating. Whoa, okay. I'm not helping him unless he asks for it. I don't want him mad at me.

A loud creak in the apartment made me whirl towards the door. My heart panicked, but I tried to settle it down when I realized nothing was there. I squinted in the dark, taking a full sweep of the place. Nobody was in the kitchen, hiding, or in the bathroom. John's bedroom door was closed so I assumed nobody was in there preying on him in his sleep.

I've got to stop being paranoid. My involvement with criminals is over. I scurried back to the couch, positioning myself so I could face the doorway. I knew it was locked, but people could pick a lock with something as small as a hairpin.

As I settled down, I tried to recreate the music Sherlock had played that night I'd woken up from my nightmare in 221B. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't replicate the haunting melody. Still, I managed to conjure up some form of music in my head. It was oddly soothing.

For the smallest second, I felt like I was back at Baker Street, in 221B, with a wide-awake, very much alive Sherlock playing soft violin music in the background.