The wedding was rapidly approaching. Things were getting done, and cases were popping up. It didn't surprise me, seeing as Sherlock was back to stay for good in Baker Street.

I continued to share the apartment with the consulting detective. Dad and Mary came along every now and again to drop by, but Dad was more of the visitor. Usually when he dropped by, Sherlock was ready with a case. I was sort of glad that he never asked me to tag along, but at the same time I hated him for it. Dad didn't need to go running on cases. Maybe he was doing it because he realized he wasn't going to able to for much longer.

The holidays weren't exactly great, being that I was away from America. Bayley and my adoptive parents missed me the most. I felt bad about being apart from them, but I made sure to have lengthy talks with them over the phone. I needed to have some contact with my other home.

Speaking of Bayley, he wanted me home more than anyone else. It was partially from being lonely. I couldn't help but notice the other reason why was because he didn't want me around Sherlock. He probably thought I'd be brought along on the special cases, risking my life. I'd thought it was for that reason at first, but then as Bay voiced his discomfort the longer I was in London, I figured out a bigger, more concerning reason.

Bayley was jealous. He'd gotten so paranoid to where he actually convinced himself that Sherlock was a threat to our relationship. I'd laughed obnoxiously, telling Bayley that that was the last thing he needed to worry about. Sherlock might care about few people, but that didn't mean he'd fall in love and have something serious.

Speaking of the consulting detective, we seemed to find comfort in mutual silence. Of course, he would be the one to ruin the quiet time before I would. But his way wasn't one I was annoyed with. From the few times I'd heard him play the violin, the music was welcoming. It was that at first until I realized what he was doing.

He was composing a song. You could only guess how many times he experimented with different notes for hours to days on end. No high volume music on my iPod could bring me away from his composing sessions. It was those times I debated leaving Baker Street to get away from him, but I was slightly paranoid that Sherlock would lock me out once I left. It was something he would do to annoy me. I wouldn't blame him, as I had been annoying him these past few months.

Today was going to be no different. With the wedding nearing, Sherlock hadn't focused on the most important aspect of it for him: the speech. That's what happened when you're as busy as he was. I was very tempted to bother him early this morning, but I weighed how important the speech was. I considered leaving it alone.

But I couldn't.

"Why?" was the question that left my mouth. I was in the kitchen, finishing a bowl of cereal. Sherlock sat in the other room, sitting in front of his laptop. He'd been doing that since I got up, so he'd been at it for a while. He acted as though I didn't exist, which did happen from time to time. I tapped the spoon against the bowl irritably. "I've asked you how many times now, and you still won't tell me?"

"It's not important," he muttered.

"I'm pretty sure it is." I stopped the clatter before putting the bowl and spoon in the sink. I stretched. "Think of it this way—once you tell me, I'll back off."

"Unlikely. I know what question would follow."

I scowled. "I'd ask that later on."

"You wouldn't. Shouldn't you be out, doing something normal?"

"Shouldn't you be writing your speech that you've neglected?" I retorted, walking into the living room. "Have you even gotten a word down?" He didn't answer. "You know, I'm a walking resource. I can help."

"Doubtful."

I shook my head. "You just don't want my help; you want to be Mr. Independent."

"I can do this on my own, Rachel."

"Seriously? You won't even consider it? I've gotten to know him for that time span you disappeared. What do you need?"

Sherlock heaved a sigh. "Do you have any funny stories about him?"

"I can't think of any. I don't think we had any," I said quietly.

"And you wonder why I don't ask for your help."

I huffed. "You better have something written—a letter, a word, a sentence, something, by the time I get out of the shower."

"Or you'll do what? Write the speech for me?"

"Don't tempt me."

While Sherlock continued to endlessly stare at the laptop and hope words wrote themselves, I headed for the bathroom. I wasn't too worried about Sherlock catching me in a towel afterwards; he'd probably focus on the blank screen and not have a care in the world.

I realized I hadn't talked to any of my friends much since coming back to London. As water spilled over me, I began to feel neglectful. I was being a pretty crappy friend to Darien, Kendal, Madison, and Amanda. I wasn't keeping in touch. Well, neither were they. They probably think I'm solving mysteries with Sherlock all the time. Maybe that's why nobody's really talked to me for a while. It was a reasonable explanation.

My mind jumped from friends to the wedding. Mary and I had some good chances to bond since I was tricked into staying in 221B. The dress shopping was my favorite part. Though I wasn't all for the bridesmaid dresses, it was what she wanted. The best part about that time was seeing the bride's dress.

If I could have anyone be with my dad, it would be Mary Morstan.

The bridal shower had been a little less fun, but I got some time to get to know some of the other bridesmaids. I wasn't pissed that Mary hadn't made me the maid of honor; I honestly didn't want the honor. I'd gotten a chance to know the maid of honor, though. She and Mary were friends, so I could understand why Mary chose her over me.

With hair dripping, I slipped out of the bathroom to travel to my luggage for clothes. As I was digging, I noticed Sherlock hadn't moved. I shook my head. Once his mind was on something, he wouldn't let it go.

"What's going on?" a voice asked breathlessly.

I wrapped the towel around me tighter as I heard the voice. My eyes snapped to Greg, who looked like he'd just run from Scotland Yard to Baker Street. His brown eyes widened slightly at my appearance.

"What are you doing here?" I stammered, feeling my skin heat up.

"He told me he needed help."

My gaze turned to Sherlock. "What for?"

"This is hard," he murmured, rubbing his temple with his hands.

"What?" Greg pressed.

"Really hard. Hardest thing I've ever had to do." I made a noise of annoyance as Sherlock showed Greg and me the title of a book. How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech. "Have you any funny stories about John?"

"Are you kidding me?" I snapped. "I'm right here, and you ask Greg if he knows any stories about my dad?!" I smacked my forehead, still keeping hold of the towel with my free hand. "I swear..." Outside, I could hear sirens wailing. "Sherlock, what did you text Greg?"

"He made it sound urgent," Greg panted.

"I need anecdotes," Sherlock said. He finally pulled his eyes away from the screen. "Didn't go to any trouble, did you?" He threw this question at Greg.

I peeked out the window, hearing more sirens coming closer to Baker Street. The dull roar of a helicopter also came into my ears. I threw Sherlock a dirty glare, but he was paying no mind to it, as usual. An open window beside me let in the air that the helicopter gave off, making the curtains billow. Some random pieces of paper were knocked off a stand. Hastily, as best as I could in a towel, I scooped up the papers. I kept them in my hand, figuring it wasn't worth trying to set them down.

Greg called off the backup he'd called in for the "emergency" while I quickly got changed. I walked Greg down and out of Baker Street afterwards.

"How do you put up with him?" he asked me.

"I should be asking you that," I retorted playfully. With the helicopter gone, there was no breeze. "You've known him longer."

"I don't get why you're staying with him."

"It's not for much longer. Once the wedding is done, I'm heading back to Maryland."

"How are you affording all these trips?"

"Dad and Mary paid for the last one, the other times I've had the money." I scratched the back of my neck. "Hopefully this doesn't happen again."

"I hope it doesn't."

"If something like that happens again, call me. If I'm with him, I'll tell you if it's a life or death situation." I smiled. To ensure that plan, I quickly typed my number into Greg's phone, that way he had it and didn't have to go through other people to get it.

* * *

"Who was Irene Adler?" I probed Sherlock later that night. He was back to composing a song on his violin. I figured I could dig through some more posts on my dad's blog in the meantime.

Sherlock didn't answer. I decided to wade deeper into the water: "She must've been very clever if she could almost bring a country down to its knees." Sherlock played a few notes, ignoring me again. "I get nothing about her, but any other case you'd be more than happy to tell me everything about. Why not hers?"

Again, it was like he was alone. I pursed my lips. There was one idea that came to mind, but it couldn't be associated with a man like Sherlock Holmes. He cares about few people. Was—is—Irene Adler one of those people? I had a feeling this was dangerous water, that I was risking a bit by daring to even think about crossing the line.

"You were interested in her, weren't you?" I whispered, waiting for Sherlock to respond. He strung a few notes. I sighed. "You just don't want to admit that you felt something human while on that case. That's probably it, isn't it? You've...you've probably never felt something so deep and strong for someone before her."

Sherlock wasn't giving in, and neither was I. I was determined to get him to talk, even if it was a word.

"I bet it felt strange to you, that emotion. Have—have you even been with someone before? Ever kissed anyone?"

I had a feeling Sherlock was occupying himself with his thoughts, tuning my interrogation out. I clicked the iPod screen off, setting the device in my lap. I sat cross-legged on the couch, eyeing Sherlock in his chair.

"Okay, I get it. You aren't a personal kind of guy. But you know what I want to know. I just want to know why. For now, that's all I want to know." If I couldn't get him to open up about Irene Adler, maybe I could push an old question on him again. He had to cave sometime.

Sherlock didn't play, so there was a chance I got his attention. His blue-gray eyes didn't meet my green ones.

"It was necessary," he murmured.

"How do you figure?"

"You weren't there, you don't understand."

"Then help me to, Sherlock."

"If I didn't do what I had, others would have paid with their lives."

I blanched, having a scary feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Are we talking an entire country or a few people?"

"Those I cared about."

I made a careful list in my head. "Mrs. Hudson, my dad, and Lestrade."

Sherlock now turned his head to me. "You could have been the fourth."

"Why? What use would I have been to Moriarty dead? He wanted to deal with me once you were taken care of."

"I was testing you."

I felt a bit proud of myself. "And I'm sure I passed. So, you saved three people, not to mention countless others. You're a hero."

"Don't associate me with the word, Rachel. I'm not one."

"Okay, I won't, then." I hesitated before asking another question. "Is the song for a special occasion?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Doesn't it ever tire you?"

I shook my head. "Does solving crimes ever tire you?"

"Does being annoying become exhausting?"

"Okay, you win."

"No warning for me to stop playing late at night?"

"I'm used to it, so there's no need."

While Sherlock continued to strum notes together, I turned away, burrowing into the couch.

Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe constantly asking questions was really tiring after all.

**Rachlock is a hard brotp of mine, for those who ship it otp.**