The week passed both quickly and slowly at the same time. The detective didn talk much, didn't eat, didn't sleep, played painfully long hours of violin - he just was. His grief for The Woman had caused him to emotionally and mentally retreat to his mind palace. Even after having almost resolved his and Elizabeth's issues, here he was growing ever more distant once again.

And Elizabeth grew ever disenchanted with Sherlock because of this.

On New Year's Eve, he had appeared in the living room extra early just to find himself lamenting through the use of his violin. This had woken Elizabeth up much earlier than she had intended and she found herself trudging downstairs to find sanctuary in Mrs Hudson's flat.

Hours later, he was still playing, still mindlessly staring out of the window. Perhaps not mindlessly. No. He searched for Irene in the street below, hoping his Pied Piper tune would lure Miss Adler's spirit back to him. But why did he care? Just because she was a series of question marks to him? An enigma? Because he couldn't deduce her? Or because she had brains as well as looks? Because admittedly there was something about her that caught his eye?

Was this cheating?

Was thinking about The Woman in this way, cheating on Elizabeth?

But The Woman was dead. Could you really cheat on someone with a dead person's memory?

His eyelids clasped shut as he began to play a different tune, one born out of pure sorrow, one fully dedicated to The Woman.

Behind him, the world of 221B continued.

John had made his way downstairs while Mrs Hudson and Elizabeth had also migrated back upstairs to cook breakfast in the hopes he would eat today. They had cooked everyday and everyday food was wasted by the detective. Perhaps today would be different. At least, that's what they said to themselves.

John, Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson ate breakfast.

Sherlock played the violin.

John, Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson finished breakfast.

Sherlock played the violin.

John went to get ready for the day, as did Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock played the violin.

Sherlock's food remained on it's plate, now cold.

And still Sherlock played the violin.

When all three returned, their heads practically teeming with the pain of sound-induced headaches, Mrs Hudson went over to the table to clean the dishes (having given up on the hope of Sherlock eating) and John and Elizabeth fetched their coats. They intended to go food shopping as they so often did.

When he suddenly stopped playing just to make a notation on his music sheet, you could practically hear the sighs of relief.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven't heard that one before." Mrs Hudson meekly said, not really expecting a reply but hoping it would stop him from playing again so soon.

"You composing?" John asked.

Sherlock finally spoke for the first time that day, "Helps me to think."

Sherlock lifted the violin to play again  and this time Elizabeth spoke up, in the hopes of providing a distraction:

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock spun around, placing his violin and bow on his chair and pointed at John's laptop, dismissing Elizabeth, "John, the counter on your blog is still stuck at one-thoudand-eight-hundred and ninety-five."

"Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it."

"Faulty - or you've been hacked and it's a message." Sherlock whipped out Irene's phone to input the number.

"Hm?"

He pulled a face when the passcode was denied, "Just faulty."

"Right..." John shared a sympathetic look with Elizabeth as the detective returned to his violin. He spoke louder, "Right, well, we're going out for a bit."

"Going on a date." Elizabeth spoke bluntly.

John looked at her stunned and perplexed by her statement but then it dawned on him that she was merely trying to get Sherlock's attention. When he looked back over to Sherlock though, he saw that not even that had ellicited a single wrong note on the violin. Ouch, he thought, mentally consoling Elizabeth who turned away with frustration lacing her features.

As the two headed into the kitchen, even Mrs Hudson gave Elizabeth an apologetic look for the behaviour of the detective. And it wasn't even her fault.

"Listen. Has he ever had any kind of...boyfriend, girlfriend, a relationship, ever, before Elizabeth?"

"I don't know." Mrs Hudson shook her head.

"Why did you put it like that?" Her eyes narrowed at John unhappily, "You make it sound like he liked Irene - like that."

"I didn't mean anything by it." John assured her.

Elizabeth looked at the floor, "Mycroft mentioned he liked someone in school. He never said what age."

"Okay, but nothing more recently?" He aimed this at the landlady.

Again she shrugged.

"How can we not know?"

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at the detective as he continued to compose his violin piece. Was this what it would always be like? The moment there was some sort of emotional inconvenience? Would he always retreat into himself? Because if so, the futures in which she saw herself remaining with the detective became less and less.

"He's Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, "How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?"

"Right." A sad smile crossed John's lips, "See ya, Mrs H. Come on, Elizabeth."

She left the flat first, practically bounding down the stairs as though she couldn wait to get away. Shopping would be much needed time away from Sherlock and his music which, on any other normal day, she may not have minded so much.

Having walked out of the door first, she waited on the pavement, pulling her jacket around her tighter as she faced the road, watching the traffic zoom past. When John came out, he turned to lock the door but as he turned left to join Elizabeth, another person called his name from behind:

"John?"

"Yeah." The doctor turned to see behind him, "Hello?"

A woman wearing an all black attire, approached him with a suggestible smile. John took a moment to absorb the sight of the woman standing before him and his head tilted to the side. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

John said again, "Hellooo..."

"So, any plans for New Year tonight?" She asked.

"Er, nothing fixed." John seemed to look her up and down, "Nothing I couldn’t heartlessly abandon. You have any ideas?"

She smiled, looking over her shoulder, "One."

"Sorry, who are you?" Elizabeth interrupted their little conversation.

Yet she was ignored. John groaned as he followed the women's gaze to a black car that pulled up beside them.

"What?" Elizabeth questioned John, "What's wrong?"

"Mycroft, that's what's wrong." John shook his head, aiming his next words at the lady in the black, "You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex."

John opened the car door to get in and Elizabeth moved to get into the car with him when the stranger closed the door before she could do so.

The nameless woman smiled tightly at Elizabeth, "Only John."

"But - "

"It's okay, Elizabeth." John had rolled the window down to speak with her, "Mycroft probably just wants me to run him through what's happened lately. I'll be back soon. We can go shopping after."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It's fine. Here," John handed her the key for the front door, "Happens more than you think. Probably best you don't mention it to Sherlock."

"Okay."

And with that the car pulled away. She sighed. She guessed she wouldn't be getting much time away from Sherlock then. Best to get inside before someone had a go at her for being outside without the detective or the doctor.

Once inside the apartment building, Elizabeth heard bounding down the stairs and turned to see Sherlock.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" She asked as he raced by her to the door.

"Out."

The door slammed behind him.

And then he too was gone. On any other normal day, he would have maybe brushed the top of her hands or her cheek, maybe even pressed a little kiss to her forehead before leaving. But now she was treated like she was barely even there.

Without a word, she headed back upstairs. Mrs Hudson met her by the door of the flat.

"Oh, Elizabeth. I thought you left with John."

"Uh, no. Mycroft sent a car for him - did Sherlock say where he was going?"

"I'm afraid not. I was actually hoping you would know."

Elizabeth shrugged, "Brushed me off like I wasn't even there."

The landlady's eyes softened sympathetically as she squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder. She said nothing but her silence was oddly comforting. Then Mrs Hudson left for flat downstairs.

"I have some cleaning to do, but if you need anything, dear, just call."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

Elizabeth shut the door behind her. She had the flat to herself now and yet no idea of what to do. Perhaps she could catch up on some sleep? No...she didn't feel tired. Didn't want to risk messing up her sleeping schedule. She walked over to Sherlock's violin sheet music stand to investigate what he was composing.

Her sapphire eyes practically turned green when she saw the title: I.A.

Irene Adler.

He was writing a song for The Woman.

She turned away from the stand, feeling the irrational frustration bubble and boil inside of her. Her fists clenched as she tried to take a breath, attempting to calm herself down.

He barely knew her.

He barely knew her and yet he was composing music for her.

So it seemed he was like one of those men. You just had to walk in naked to make a lasting impression and then Bob's your uncle.

What was she thinking?

Irene was dead. He was just mourning. He was just expressing his sorrow. Elizabeth shook her head, humiliated by her impulsive thoughts. Sherlock being like this stressed her out. She just wanted to be there for him, they all did. But Sherlock kept pretending like he was fine.

But none of what he was doing was fine.

"HELP! SOMEONE - "

The scream from downstairs grabbed her attention rapidly.

"ELIZABETH! SHERLOCK! HELP!"

The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard making their way up the stairs.

She looked to the fireplace, right at the metal poker and hurried to grab it, heading straight for the little corner between the living room and kitchen.

Poker raised, she waited for someone to open one of the doors.

The floor creaked.

The lock clicked.

She heard Mrs Hudson crying for her, John and Sherlock.

Footsteps quietly landed on the wooden floor.

Elizabeth raised the poker.

The floor creaked again.

And she turned and swung it out at the intruder!

The metal poker connected with his temple, and caused him to drop the gun she didn't even know he was carrying. But she didn't hit hard enough to incapacitate him. And by the time he was stood up straight again, gun back in his hand, more men had shuffled into the flat, one of them holding Mrs Hudson at gunpoint, the other being Neilson - their little ringleader and the one who had done the talking at Irene's place too.

The thief frowned, "You?"

"Good morning, Miss Parrish. Sorry to barge in like this but I believe you are currently in possession of an item of interest to us. You know what I'm talking about don't you?"

"No. I don't actually, so maybe if you clarified what you're looking for, maybe then I could help."

"Miss Adler's phone."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, puzzled, "We don't have that."

"But other sources say you do. And I believe them more than you. Where's the phone?"

"I'm telling you I don't know." She backed away slightly, still pointing the fire iron at them.

"Miss Parrish, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Because I'm a reasonable man, I'll let you choose." Neilson put his gun down and kicked it off to the side, "I have no intention of killing you yet, if that's what you're worried about."

But that was exactly what she was worried about. They wanted information and something told her that they were going to get it by any means possible.

"Stay the hell back." She growled as they neared her.

"Mr Davis, put your gun down. We don't want any accidents to happen."

The man whom she had whacked, and now had a red stream falling down the side of his head, dropped his gun and kicked it to the side also. Again, they stalked towards her slowly as she backed into the kitchen. Mrs Hudson cried at the men to leave her alone but was promptly threatened by the man holding a gun to her.

Of course she heard a little scrape of the chair on a floor behind her. Her head had barely looked over her shoulder before two strong arms reached around her to grab the poker and pulled it back against her throat, pinning her body to the man behind her. She struggled against the goon, her knuckles turning white from the effort she was using to get the metal bar off her neck.

As a last resort, she kicked him in the shins and the guy keeled over with her. They fell to the floor and she got up fast, gasping for air, but only made it onto her knees when Neilson slammed her head into the side of the kitchen table, frustrated by her antics.

Elizabeth found herself on the floor again, her vision blurry from hit, but still she tried to drag herself towards the metal poker. She had to try and fight, not only for herself but for Mrs Hudson too.

Neilson stepped on her hand and she whimpered, "Miss Parrish. I did give you a choice. Please know that what happens next is simply your own fault."