"You like him!"

Jenna's brother giggled with all the boisterous glee of a schoolboy. Even over the phone, he was as bright and lively as ever.

She was going to throttle him.

"I don't, Fred," she hissed, trying desperately to ignore the damned fluttery feeling in her stomach that had been bugging her for a week.

"Oh please, Jen. Why else would you describe him as 'mysterious'?"

"Probably because I've been living with him for nearly a month and I know next to nothing about him."

"Then be extra nice to him! He might open up if-"

"Don't you think I've tried? All I really know is that he's not gay and that he plays the violin." Jenna pushed her trolley into the frozen aisle of the supermarket. "Which he still hasn't played for me yet," she added under her breath.

"Is he there with you now? Can I say hi?"

"No, he's back at the flat. I'm out on important business." She studied a pack of nuggets, trying to decide what dinners she would make this week. "Ooh, turkey dinosaurs are on offer!"

"...Important business, huh?"

"Oh, shut up." Jenna could almost hear Freddie's smug grin. He had always been so infuriating - the epitome of the annoying little brother. Still, it had been a long time since she'd seen him, and her irritation sank at the thought of his lopsided smile. "I miss you."

"Gross," Freddie replied. Jenna knew he felt the same as she did. "Anyway, I've got to go. Neil and I are going to visit mum."

"Give them both my love. And if you tell them about Sherlock, I will end you."

"...So you do like him?"

"Oh, piss off!"

Sherlock was sitting in his chair when Jenna returned. She often found him like this: eyes closed, head leaning back, his fingers entwined and pressed into his lips. He told her that it helped him think. She wondered what exactly was dancing about in his "mind palace" at that moment.

"Cat!" He exclaimed, as if in response.

"Excuse me?" Jenna laughed as she placed her bags of shopping down onto the kitchen table, taking a moment to move an unidentifiable phial of liquid out of the way first.

Sherlock sprang up from his seat and went to grab his coat. "The cat! Of course. The victim was never smothered, but instead her allergies simply-"

"Sounds like another case cracked."

"Of course. Now that's solved, I'm going to eat. I want chips. Do you want some chips?"

Jenna was delighted by his offer, but patted one of the plastic bags and shook her head. "No thanks. Why don't you let me make something?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in response. "I thought you only cooked when Mycroft comes over."

"I know, but I thought it would be nice to mix things up a bit. I've had pizza delivered three times this week; it's got to stop."

Sherlock settled back down in his chair. "I suppose it will save me time. What will you make?"

She sifted through the bags. "...I fancy pizza, to be honest."

It wasn't long before the pair were tucking into their meal, Jenna sat at the table and Sherlock lounging on the sofa. She had only really spread the sauce and toppings on a store bought pizza base, but she couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph as Sherlock wolfed it down.

She watched him for a minute, wondering how quickly the cogs in his mind were turning, even as he devoured molten cheese. Her mind was working overtime, too. "I've been thinking-"

"That must make a change." Sherlock smirked at his joke, and Jenna rolled her eyes before continuing.

"My brother rang me this morning - he went with his boyfriend to visit mum today - and he was asking about you. We got onto the topic of your violin, and I realised that you still haven't played in front of me."

"...And?"

"Well, you said you'd play for me on our way home from John's the other week. We made a deal. I would help you practice if you would be more patient with me. You said you would do it the next day but you never got around to it, so-"

Sherlock set his plate down on the coffee table with a rattle. "Thank you, but you don't need to help me. Forget about it." He worded his response as if he were simply trying to save her the hassle, but there was a subtle annoyance to his tone.

"I'd like to. It's no trouble." Sherlock jerked his head towards her, but Jenna stood her ground, staring right back at her flatmate.

"I said, forget about it. It was a stupid deal. I don't need to practice. Besides, I have more important things to think about."

"More important things? Like what? Killer cats?" Jenna's voice grew whinier, and Sherlock shifted in his chair, seemingly uncomfortable with her line of questioning. "Why won't you play for me? Are you shy?"

"Why are you so persistent?"

Jenna wasn't sure herself - something within her just yearned to hear Sherlock play. Maybe it was because she was intrigued to hear the kind of music that such a cold and logical man could possibly make.

Maybe it's because you're crushing on him, she thought, before pushing the idea far down and out of sight. No - no way. Just apologise. You're being difficult.

Her frustration softened and she turned from him, finally breaking their gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Jenna." A chill rippled along her spine. She didn't know whether it was due to the force with which he spoke her name or the fact that he said it in the first place, but it left her more than a little jumpy.

"I- I don't know."

"Neither do I - I can't work it out from your expression, so you must be trying to keep your intentions a secret from me. What is it you want? Were you planning to listen and then ridicule me?"

Jenna folded her arms, hugging them tight to her chest as if to squeeze out the sneaking suspicion that this was all due to some silly crush. "No. Can't you just drop it?"

Sherlock sighed, rising to his feet. "For now, I suppose. But that's only because I have to inform Lestrade that the man he's looking for is actually a cat." He pulled on his coat. "Not because I'm being easy on you due to my... attachment."

"Attachment!? What do you mean by-"

He was already gone, coat billowing despite the lack of wind. Strange - whenever they had argued before, Sherlock would usually harass her either until she conceded or he was made to feel guilty.

All her frustration and embarrassment faded immediately away, and she grinned. Sherlock talked about attachment. Attachment! Was he attached to her? If so - in what way?

She clapped her hands together, twirling around the flat. Then, almost as suddenly as this giddiness had started, Jenna stopped in her tracks.

Ugh, what was she doing? Prancing around like a twelve-year-old, that's what. Once again, she'd let someone else dictate her emotions. Once again, she had let herself develop...

She dumped herself into a chair, rubbing her temples with her fingertips and taking a deep breath before sinking into her own thoughts.

I've developed feelings for Sherlock.

It was true. Jenna had always been a hopeless romantic. She seemed to get that god damned fluttery feeling whenever a handsome stranger showed her kindness, whether it be on the train, on the street, or at work.

It always passed, though. She never actually pursued these men; she simply let the scenario unfold in her mind until their face faded away from her memory. The only true exception was Zack.

They met through a mutual friend at university. He a cocky and popular languages student. Jenna considered herself to be his polar opposite: she studied politics and preferred to stay in the background. Still, she was ecstatic when he asked her out on a date, and before long, they were an official couple.

Jenna had always considered herself a feminist. She would tell her friends if she thought their boyfriends weren't treating them right. She knew what constituted a healthy relationship and what didn't. She had still let it slide when Zack would check her phone. She still made excuses for him when he got angry and threatened to hit her. She still stayed with him when he made good on those promises of violence.

And yet, Sherlock seemed different. Sure, he had been abrasive and irritating at first - he still could be - but there had always been a subtle softness behind that stony face. A vague vulnerability that told her his sharp tongue wasn't the result of malice but was a defence mechanism.

He seemed so lonely, and so determined to conceal that loneliness. Everyone constantly told her that he struggled to trust people. She understood how he felt.

Maybe that's why I'm feeling this way. The thought drifted vaguely through Jenna's mind, and she grabbed hold of it. Sherlock and I are too similar for our own good. She needed to show him that she could be trusted and that she felt comfortable with him in return. But how?

She decided to take her opportunity the next evening, when Sherlock returned to the flat after being called out by Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock. Tough day?"

He ignored her, launching himself into the kitchen. "Oh. You've made dinner. Again."

"Yeah - they're turkey dinosaurs."

Sherlock picked up one of the nuggets between his forefinger and thumb, inspecting it from a distance. "...I see."

"So... do you remember when you heard me singing in the flat?"

"Do I remember?" Sherlock practically spat the final word out as he sat at the table, poking at one of the shapes on his plate. "I have a mind palace."

"Right. Yes. Of course you remember, sorry." Jenna sat down opposite to him. He didn't look up. "It's just crazy that you've heard me, because I never sing for anyone."

"You didn't intend to sing in front of me. You didn't know I was here."

"I know, but - I didn't mind. When I found out that you had been listening, I felt alright about it. I trust you, I guess. And I want you to know that you can trust me too."

"This is wrong." He didn't look at Jenna, or at anything else. He simply stared into space.

Jenna decided, as she often did, to fill the silence with a joke. "What? Does one of your triceratops nuggets only have two horns or something? I'm sorry if your dinner isn't anatomically accurate."

"No." Sherlock took a sharp breath. "All of this. The way you treat me. Making my dinners, asking to hear me play the violin. You're too... encouraging."

"Why is that wrong?"

"Because you have no reason to trust or support me. In fact, I've upset you on more than one occasion." After an uncomfortable moment, the detective spoke again, in a low voice. "I can't work you out. Do you know how rarely that happens?"

Jenna felt heat rise in her cheeks. Sherlock could get so intense, so fast. "I'm sure you can work plenty of stuff out about me. You found it easy enough to make deductions about me at first."

"Think back. I worked out that your mother was sick. And I realised how 'Zack' treated you. Those deductions were about other people. Not you." He exhaled, leaning forward to focus on her expression. "What do I know about you, Miss Nightingale?"

"I don't know." Jenna felt a small surge of bravery, as she, too, leaned forward, locking her own eyes onto Sherlock's. "But I have an idea. Why don't you try to work me out right now?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please. Deduce whatever you can about me. I want to know."

Sherlock moved around the table and quickly drew close - closer than he and Jenna had ever physically been. She swallowed hard as he scanned her face and body, intently and yet at a speed that suggested haste.

With great care, he took one of her hands. As he turned it over, he gently ran a fingertip along her palm. "...You're ambidextrous."

Jenna was certain that he could spot her slight tremor, or the way she had jolted at his touch. "I am."

He turned his attention towards her neck - or, rather, the delicate silver chain draped around it. "You've worn this necklace every single day since we've met." He turned over the small bird charm. "And I'd say you've been wearing it for a lot longer than that. The wear and tear suggests about two years. You do love your birds, don't you?"

"It's like my tattoo. A reminder that I'm always free to fly the nest."

"Yes you are." Sherlock took a step back, viewing not only one part of Jenna's being, but seemingly taking all of her image in. She had been blushing before, but by now her cheeks were practically scarlet. If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say a word. "You love to read."

"I've barely done any reading since I got here. How could you tell that I love to read just by looking at me?"

"I couldn't." Sherlock smiled his usual half-smile, half-smirk. "You just seem like the type of woman who loves to read."

She matched his smile with one of her own. "I do. See - you can work out anything you want about me."

"Anything except the reason you would be nice to me. Usually people are much more hesitant to show me kindness, especially when I've acted like such an arse." He looked up at her through dark eyelashes. "You're different, somehow."

Jenna's heart began to pound, and she giggled. "Different? Speak for yourself. I've never had a friend quite like you."

Sherlock tilted his head like a confused puppy. "...A friend?"

Jenna's eyes widened as she realised what she'd said. "Well... I'd like to call you that. If you'll let me. Because all those deductions you made were spot on, but you missed a big one. I care for you."

Sherlock pulled a hand through his thick mop of hair. "But I've treated you-"

"Like crap? Yeah, sometimes. But after that night at John's - seeing how much you care for your friends - I can tell that you have a lot more to offer than just snipes and insults. You're not a bad person, Sherlock."

Now it was his turn to become silent. Jenna saw his vulnerability once again; she saw it in his creased brow and bowed head. This was it. She had finally broken through to Sherlock - he seemed to know that she actually wanted to be his friend.

"Thank you for dinner," he muttered, after what seemed like an eternity. "I take it you have no plans for the evening?"

Jenna shrugged. "Nope."

"Good, because I believe we had a deal..." He crossed the room, picking up his violin case and blowing the excess dust from its surface. "...And you still haven't fulfilled your side of the agreement. You were going to listen to me play and help me to practice."

"I thought you said you didn't need to?"

"Perhaps I was wrong." With great care, Sherlock opened the clasp and opened the case, pulling out the instrument from within. "It's been a long time since I've even listened to music. I miss it. Would you mind?"

"Of course not. Go ahead."

Low, brooding notes swelled and melted away into the space between the two new friends, and the flutter of butterflies in Jenna's stomach grew to a fever pitch. The music was at once dark yet strangely gorgeous, much like the man standing before her. For the first time, she allowed herself to revel in her feelings rather than feel threatened by them.

Sherlock was usually so consumed by crime. Jenna watched intently as he instead became liberated by music. She sighed.

Fred was going to have a field day with this.