"Remind me again why you actually went through with it," Bay repeated through the other end.

I sighed, sitting in my dad's chair. I took a quick look around the room. "I couldn't let them spend any more money on me, and I couldn't give Mrs. Hudson another mouth to feed."

"I'm sure she wouldn't have cared."

"I didn't want to feel like a burden." I curled myself into a ball.

"Why didn't you stay with your dad and Mary?"

"Not enough room."

"So when all other options failed, you decided to stay with the very man who you've hated since he came back?"

I blew air out noisily. I knew my decision to stay in 221B made no sense to Bayley; it barely made sense to me. I wasn't going to stay in a hotel on my own, and I certainly wasn't about to intrude on my dad and Mary. I couldn't exactly go back home to Maryland either, not with Mary wanting to get to know me before she and Dad left for their honeymoon. We'd been seeing each other a little bit here and there ever since I decided to stay with Sherlock. I preferred being with Mary over Sherlock, considering I didn't hold something against her. Even if she did something wrong, how could I? Mary was too good a person to feel negative towards. No wonder Dad loved her, he could never be mad at her.

"It hasn't been too bad here actually," I lied. For the first weeks of staying here at Baker Street, there was the most intense tension and awkwardness circulating throughout the apartment. I mainly stuck to my phone and iPod, and Sherlock was left to being himself, which meant annoying the hell out of me with random violin playing—most of the times while I was trying to sleep. Don't even get me started on the babbling to himself for hours on end. In those times, I simply popped in ear buds and tuned him out with music.

Currently, the consulting detective was still in bed, so I kept my voice low. God only knew what wrath I would face should Sherlock be disturbed by my loud talking. The idea to piss him off was tempting, but not knowing what he was capable of, I decided to not push my luck.

"Rachel, find somewhere else to stay if it bothers you that much to be around him," Bayley suggested.

"I might as well not bother. Before you know it, the wedding will be here, and then I'll be back." I tried to put cheer into my tone. "How is it without me there?"

"Terrible," Bay said dramatically. "I've considered seducing a student."

I gasped. "You haven't."

Bayley chuckled. "You know I wouldn't." I messed with the anniversary necklace on my neck. "Have any of your friends talked to you since you've been in London?"

I groaned. "Let's not get started. Madison and Kendal won't stop. They keep asking me to pester Sherlock about how he pulled off his fake suicide stunt."

"Aren't you curious?"

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. "A little bit, but the last thing I need is to get so worked up that I attack him again." I'd told Bayley how the first day had gone when back in London. He hadn't been surprised by it, considering he said he probably would have acted like I had.

"You haven't talked to Amanda?"

"She's dropped off the face of the earth for me. The last time I talked with her was when we went to that club." I shuddered, remembering my almost abduction. I thought I heard movement from Sherlock's bedroom. "Do you think you'll be able to make it to the wedding?"

"When is it again?"

"May eighteenth."

"That's a Saturday, so unless I'm ill, I'll be there."

I smiled. "Good. Oh, I know the girls probably aren't on the guest list, but when you get yours, extend the invitation to them."

"I'll remember if you remind me."

"I will." I heard the door creak open. "Sounds like somebody's finally up."

"Should I go, then?"

"No, let's see how long it takes before he ends it himself."

"You're really playing with fire here, Rachel."

"Hey, it's payback. He had me convinced for two years he wasn't coming back. He hadn't let me in on his little plan, and Dad was kept in the dark too. Payback is hell."

"Just don't do anything that will come back to hurt you, okay?"

I huffed. "Fine, I'll try to behave."

"I'll let you go, I've got to leave."

"Right." I was a bit crestfallen. "I love you."

"I love you too, Rachel. I'll talk to you soon."

I slumped into Dad's chair, feeling temporarily content.

"You're lucky you ended that when you did," came a groggy voice from behind me.

I smiled slyly. "You wouldn't have done anything."

"Try it again and stick with your theory. I'll prove it wrong."

I looked over my shoulder only to have my eyes widen. I was having a brief sense of déjà vu, only in the sense that I'd made that fashion choice once. "Are we a bit lazy to not change?" I stammered.

"Don't make it sound like you haven't done it before."

"I haven't."

"And you're lying."

"Okay, well, it wasn't out of laziness. I was in a rush to get to my phone," I said defensively. "I'm not exactly open to running around the house naked. Do you do this often?"

"Of course."

"For all that is sane in this world, do not let that bed sheet fall off."

"You're afraid you'll be tempted?"

I burst out into obnoxious laughter. "Hardly." I tried to shove the thoughts of a nude Sherlock from my mind. I didn't want to think of him like that for so many reasons. It was weird, he was my dad's best friend, and I didn't think of Sherlock Holmes like that.

He might be attractive, but his personality dueled his looks.

* * *

Despite my grudge against Sherlock, things felt less tense. It had to be because we were doing our own separate things. I was currently writing in my journal while Sherlock was in the kitchen doing some experiment I didn't want to know about or get involved in. All I knew was that it involved a blowtorch and an eyeball.

At least Sherlock decided to switch out his bed sheet for normal clothes for the experiment.

I could hear the dull roar of the blowtorch being turned on. God only knew what he was doing to that poor eyeball. I was sprawled on the couch, staring at blank lines, thinking of something to write down.

Dear Journal,

My dad is going to get married this May, and I'm living with Sherlock again, temporarily. It's just until the wedding. Yes, I know, I'm not smart for deciding to stay with the man who has caused my family pain. I'm only staying because it saves money.

It's weird to think that my dad is getting married. Now as I write this, I wonder about my adoptive parents back in Maryland. I feel awful for not keeping in touch with them for a while. I should make a habit of talking to them a few times a month, to see how things are going. I should probably get a hold of them and tell them they're more than welcome to attend the wedding.

I wonder what Mary has in store for me as a bridesmaid. The only main concern of mine is the dress. Hopefully it's nothing gaudy that will make me want to try and change her mind. I think I can trust her judgment on this one though. I mean, she has to make good choices considering she found my dad.

I just hope Sherlock doesn't confiscate this and make deductions about my life if he already hasn't by this point. The last thing I need is for things to get even worse between us.

I could have continued further if the sudden outburst of laughter from downstairs hadn't sounded. My brows came together over my forehead. It sounded like Mrs. Hudson. What was she finding so funny? Was she talking to someone?

I could see the laughter even disrupted Sherlock, for he temporarily glanced towards the other exit out of the apartment, the one in the kitchen. He then went back to doing whatever experiment he planned to do with the eyeball and a blowtorch.

A few minutes later, I could see Dad trotting up the stairs. I threw him a smile, feeling better now that I wasn't all alone.

"Where's Sherlock?" were the first two words out of my dad's mouth.

"What was that noise downstairs?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen.

"There's your answer," I sang, leaping off the couch to join my dad as he went to the kitchen. I cringed as Sherlock held the eyeball in a large pair of tweezers. That nauseated me more than the flame from the blowtorch. I was more worried about vomiting than the place burning to the ground.

"It was Mrs. Hudson laughing," Dad explained.

"Sounded like she was torturing an owl."

My mouth dropped, but then I picked it back up. These kinds of comments I should have really been used to by now, you'd think.

"Yeah. Well, it was laughter."

"Could have been both."

"Busy?" I was sure Dad's eyes were on the experiment.

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Just occupying myself. Sometimes, it's so hard not smoking."

"Be thankful it's this and not something worse," I told Dad. I made a face as I witnessed the eyeball slipping from the tweezers, landing into the mug below it. I gagged, putting in a little effort to keep back the vomit.

"Mind if I interrupt?" Dad asked.

Sherlock put down what he was doing, gesturing at the seat at the end of the table. "Er, be my guest." He also flicked off the blowtorch as Dad sat down. I in the meantime hung around, considering I had a feeling this would involve me somehow, and I would end up migrating over here eventually due to my need for eavesdropping. "Tea?" Sherlock picked up the mug, offering it to my dad.

Dad, thankfully, declined the offer. Sherlock removed the glasses he was wearing and set the mug down. I tried to not imagine an eye bobbing in there.

"So. The big question," Dad said awkwardly.

"Mhm," Sherlock said.

I watched Dad as he put his clasped hands on the table. "The best man."

"The best man?"

"What do you think?"

Before I could even whip out a smart comment, Sherlock answered first: "Billy Kincaid."

"Sorry, what?" Dad asked.

"Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter. Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity, never disclosed. Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure and ran the best and safest children's homes in north England." Finally Sherlock took a quick breath, long enough for him to flash a grimace. "Yes, every now and again there'd be some garrottings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrottings, on balance I'd say—"

"That's not what he's asking, Sherlock," I finally butted in. "He's asking about the best man, you know..."

"For my wedding," Dad helped me out. "For me. I need a best man."

"Oh, right," Sherlock said quietly.

"Maybe not a garrotter."

"Gavin?"

"Who?" Dad and I asked this in unison.

"Gavin Lestrade? He's a man, and good at it."

"It's Greg," I corrected, slightly annoyed.

"And he's not my best friend," Dad interjected.

"Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he's nice, um, though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with all—"

"No, Mike's great, but he's not my best friend." Sherlock had a thoughtful look in his eyes as he looked at my dad. "Look, Sherlock, this is the biggest and most important day of my life."

"Well—"

"No, it is! It is, and I want to be up there with the two," I cleared my throat, reminding my dad that I was present, "sorry, three people that I love and care about most in the world."

"Yes."

Dad nodded. Sherlock said nothing, almost as if he was waiting.

"Mary Morstan."

"Yes."

"Rachel."

"Yes."

I heard a small sigh escape from Dad. "And..." He took in a long breath. "You."

Sherlock's reaction was about what I expected. He blinked quickly several times, like people often did when they heard something unexpected.

That was the most normal thing about his reaction.

Things got awkward when it looked as though the consulting detective had frozen in place. He had this odd stare in his blue-gray eyes, like he was staring at my dad but wasn't. Truthfully, the silence was getting very creepy, as was Sherlock's reaction.

"Sherlock," I tried to snap him out of it. He didn't look my way or acknowledge me. It was like Dad's statement had made him a statue.

"That's getting a bit scary now," Dad admitted. I wasn't going to disagree with him on it.

Finally, whatever delay overcame Sherlock had disappeared; he looked to be going back to normal. "So, in fact..." He paused, most likely to gather his thoughts and words. "You—you mean..."

"Yes," Dad said.

"I'm your..." Dad nodded. "Best..." Dad said "man" almost exactly the same time Sherlock said "friend?" I had to muffle my laughter behind my hand.

"Yeah, 'course you are. 'Course you're my best friend."

It was amazing to think how Dad had gotten over his wedge with Sherlock so quickly. I couldn't say the same, as I was still mad at him.

The funny moment was ruined when Sherlock grabbed the mug, taking a sip from it. I shuddered, remembering that the eye was still in there. Maybe this is a small taste of karma for The Fall.

"Well, how was that?" Dad asked.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment, licking his lips, before nodding. "Surprisingly okay."

"Wait, so that means he's got to make a speech," I realized.

"Of course he's got to make one," Dad told me.

"Oh joy." Now I'd never hear the end of it. How dedicated would Sherlock be to this? Would this require more endless talking to himself? I had a feeling he'd used me as a resource at some point.

He didn't seem like a people person. Would this seemingly simple task overwhelm him? I really didn't want to be Sherlock right now, and I was glad I wasn't.

Great. Sherlock and I would have to learn to play nice again.

**So if anyone is slightly confused, I am moving pieces around from The Sign of Three to fit a little better instead of hopping around like the episode does.**