I didn't stay in the apartment with the boys much; I'd leave early in the morning and come back late at night. I mainly went down to visit Mrs. Hudson, only because she was the only other person I knew in London, and I knew she wouldn't turn me down if I came knocking on her door. She eventually began to question my frequent visits. I felt like I had no choice but to tell her what had happened between Sherlock and me. She had listened, waiting until the very end to share her comments. She was a bit surprised by Sherlock's attitude but wasn't at the same time. She was shocked to hear that I had once been involved with Moriarty, and she was glad that I was free of him.

I couldn't tell you how many times I told her I wanted to move in with her. She'd smiled at me and told me that it would take Sherlock some time before he would warm up to me.

"I don't know," I had told her wearily, "he's dead set on the idea of me being Moriarty's spy. He thinks that's why I sought out Baker Street. He even said that my reason for being here is a lie." My throat had tightened.

"What reason is that?"

"I was hoping he'd help me find my dad. I never knew him, and my friends figured Sherlock could help me." I had snorted. "There's no chance of that now. I guess there never was."

"Don't be so down, dear," Mrs. Hudson had encouraged me. "He'll see he made a mistake. A man like him doesn't like to think he's wrong."

During the times Sherlock and I were in the same room, John had to be as well. I knew he was watching us both, making sure Sherlock didn't pick at me, and that I didn't find the nearest object and attack Sherlock. Believe me, those urges came on pretty often, and that was just by staring at the man.

The only way I had escaped the insanity of London was by Amanda calling me. She made sure to call at night where I was, because it was still afternoon back in Maryland. When she had first called, I had told her everything that she didn't already know (she had found out about the break-ins via Google News). I made her promise me that she wouldn't tell the others. I knew it killed her and me to keep things from Madison, Kendal, and Darien, but they weren't close like Mandy and I were.

One day I had gotten a Skype call from them all, as Mandy had invited them over. I didn't give away where exactly I was, because I was sure Kendal and Madison would have heart attacks if I did. I was bombarded with questions: How is London? When are you coming back? Did you meet Sherlock yet? Is he as handsome in person as he is in newspapers and TV?

Those last two questions were from his fan club. I was glad those two hadn't come along for the ride, they would have fainted on Baker Street before even getting the chance to knock on the door, let alone meet the consulting detective.

Before we knew it, the time had come: Moriarty's trial was today.

I sat at the now-clear dining room table, staring at the refrigerator. I was wrapped in a blanket, like usual. Even though I had been so determined to attend the trial today, now I wasn't so sure. Did I have it in me to go there and watch? I would have said "yes" in a heartbeat weeks ago.

Now, my answer was up in the air.

Unlike me, Sherlock and John were dressing up for the occasion.

"Are you sure you don't want to come along?" John asked me for the second time this morning. He was fixing up his tie in the mirror hovering above the fireplace.

I blew out a quiet breath. "I'm sure. Besides, if I go there, it'll only make Sherlock think I'm still with Moriarty." The name left a bitter taste in my mouth. "I'm already on his bad side, I don't need to get on it more. If I do, I'll be sure to get kicked out."

"You won't be, not as long as I'm here."

I tried to smile. "Thanks, John. You don't know how much I appreciate you letting me stay here, even if Sherlock constantly wants to throw me out." I rose from the chair I was sitting in; noticing the area around me was empty. "Did you guys eat anything? I can try to whip up something really quick."

"Don't worry about it; we already ate. By the way, good luck trying to find something edible in here. We don't have a lot."

"Not even in the fridge?" I sauntered over to open it. I sighed through my nostrils when I noticed John was right. "I have a feeling if I look through the cabinets those will be empty too."

"Be thankful there's nothing in it, the fridge, I mean."

"Why?" I turned to look at him.

"Sherlock has a tendency to do experiments that...involve body parts."

I shivered. "Don't say anymore, please. I don't want to ruin my appetite."

John chuckled. "All right, I won't." He stood in the way between the den room and the kitchen. I leaned against the fridge; the decision to stay behind pestered me.

"Do you think it was a mistake coming here, John?" I asked him timidly. "Do you think I'm wasting my time hoping that Sherlock will help me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know, Rachel. He's not an open book. He's unpredictable. For all you and I know, he could be helping you—he just won't tell you."

I scoffed. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know. But what I do believe is that he is a nutter. I mean, you, a spy for Moriarty?" John shook his head. "That's like saying I'm a spy for him."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course I do. I knew from the first time we met that you were in a bad place. I knew you were one of his victims."

One of many.

"Listen, if you change your mind, you know where to go, right?"

I nodded. "The Old Bailey Courthouse, right?"

"That's the one."

I went back to my mute state once Sherlock strolled into the den room, passing the kitchen. I kept my head down, wanting to avoid any eye contact with that man. Nothing had destroyed this wedge his accusations had made between us. I wondered if it would even shrink. If I had any chance of finding my dad through Sherlock, that wedge needed to be gone, or at least shrunk. I needed to get in his good books. But how can I when he's so convinced I'm with Moriarty?

I was enveloped with silence once John and Sherlock left me alone in the apartment. I exited the kitchen, snooping around out of curiosity. I didn't find much interesting, aside from the skull and the smiley on the wall. The place was pretty nice, actually. I was glad Sherlock had removed the hanging dummy when I'd first settled in here.

I'd almost considered venturing into Sherlock's room, but sure enough, if I tried, he'd know. He would somehow know, probably by seeing faint impressions of my feet on the floor or something ridiculous like that.

I paced around the apartment. Bored, I cranked up Pandora on my iPod. While I had the music going, I managed to pick out my phone going off amongst the noise. I reached through my suitcase to retrieve it. I was shocked that Sherlock hadn't confiscated it to see if his theory—his incorrect theory—was right. There was no way that man believed in privacy, especially the privacy of those he was suspicious of.

"Hey, Mandy," I answered casually. "What are you doing up early?" She had a tendency to sleep in late, like everybody in the world wanted to.

"I thought you wouldn't answer."

"Why?"

"I thought you'd be at the trial."

"You remembered?"

"Rachel, it's only been talked about for forever," she reminded me.

I plopped a seat on the loveseat. "I thought about going."

"So why aren't you there? You'd have the best seat in the house to watch him be torn to shreds!"

I swallowed. "I maybe could go..."

"You should. You'll see him get what he deserves! Go! I expect updates from you; I won't trust anything from the media."

"How is everyone else doing?" I changed topics.

"Darien's sick, she's worried it'll hurt the baby. We've told her she's overreacting, but you know how first-time mothers are. They worry about everything."

"I guess so." I wrinkled my nose before scratching it. "And Madison and Kendal?"

"They're still sane."

"So they haven't established a fan club for Sherlock yet?"

"Shocking, isn't it?" Mandy laughed. "Maybe they're waiting for you to come back so you can be founder of the group."

"Please. I would be the last person to do that."

"I know." Amanda remembered I told her everything, how Sherlock's accusations made me cry one night in the bathroom. "I better let you go before I talk you past the time the trial starts." Before I could even say another word, she hung up.

I held the phone in my hand. I instantly looked around the apartment, waiting to see him appear out of thin air. The reason why: I heard his ringtone. "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. Stupid Pandora radio.

The universe was sending me all kinds of signs. Message received, world. Looks like I'm heading to Old Bailey.

* * *

I hadn't expected to be staying at 221B for so long, let alone attend a trial of a psychopath. Well, that's what happened when Sherlock Holmes didn't help you.

I'd rummaged through my clothes to find things that made me look the most presentable. I put on another turtleneck, this time it was a black, and dress pants. I slung my hair back to be in a high ponytail. I'd put on barely any makeup.

The Old Bailey Courthouse was swarming with news crews when I'd arrived. I slipped in, surprisingly undetected. I'd never been in a courthouse before. I never thought I'd ever have to be in one.

It was easy to get lost and not recognize anybody in Old Bailey. I felt underdressed, many people wore suits and women wore blazers and such. Suddenly, I felt the urge to run back to Baker Street and change, or to run to the nearest clothes store and buy something more appropriate.

I felt a little more comfortable when I spotted John. Feeling a little light, I flitted to him. "You came," he said nonchalantly.

"I had a change of heart." I looked around; realizing John was without his consulting detective. "Where's the witness?"

"In the loo."

"The what?"

John cleared his throat. "Bathroom."

"Guess I could have lived without knowing that information. Have they made any announcement yet?"

"Not yet, no." John's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you want to be here, Rachel?"

I nodded. "Do I look uncomfortable?" My brows knitted together.

"You look anxious."

"I'm hoping for a good outcome." The turtleneck suddenly felt constricting.

"I'm glad you left later, we were swarmed with the press when we left."

My eyebrows rose. "Really? There were still news crews outside when I got here. I wasn't seen. If I was, they probably thought I wasn't worth interviewing." I folded my arms over my chest. "Are you worried?"

"About the trial? No. I'm worried about what Sherlock's going to say to land him in trouble."

"Well, he is unpredictable, like you said," I reminded him.

"I tried to tell him to not be clever, and to keep it simple and brief."

"Are those words even in his dictionary, 'simple' and 'brief'?"

John let out a breath. "I don't think they are."

"Crown versus Moriarty—please proceed to Court Ten," an announcement boomed in the courthouse. John and I exchanged looks.

Side by side, we proceeded to head to the courtroom that would hold the trial everybody wouldn't stop talking about.