Hi guys. Welcome to the new Bondlock collection. In Bond and Bach this will be connected one-shots all about Sherlock, James and the Violin - maybe with a baddy or two thrown in for good measure. :)

As always (well, nearly always) these fics will be femSherlock and set during the time of the hunt for Moriarty.

This chapter and the next four are all stories that were originally posted on my tumblr account - griffinquillsandoctopusink dot tumblr dot com

Enjoy! :)

Part 1 - The Purchase

The first time it happened James didn't think much of it. Well, more than was necessary. They had been stuck in a ratty one bedroom flat for nearly two months before the move to another city and a much nicer living area. The upgrade was vastly appreciated by Bond, who had developed a whole new love for working kitchen fans after a near disaster with an apparent 'experiment' courtesy of his slightly unhinged (he was certain there was something wrong with the girl) ward. He was sure he would wake up dead one morning thanks to one of her scientific investigations. So, he was actually grateful when she stayed in her room all day – the door locked securely. He left her too it. She may be crackers but she was still a woman, and women, nuts or not, still needed 'alone time'. He was glad of the quiet.

At least, he was glad until the late afternoon when he heard the rattle of a key in the lock to their door. He had tensed, standing in one smooth motion and reaching for the gun sitting harmlessly - for the moment – on the coffee table.

He positioned himself behind the wall, with a clear view of the door.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

He stepped out, aiming and ready to fire and then froze when he saw just who the intruder was.

The girl didn't look at all frightened with having a weapon pointed at her head. In fact, once she had closed the door she actually had the audacity to lift an eyebrow in an expression that could only be translated to mean, 'Really?'

She sighed and turned away from him as she locked the door and he lowered the weapon.

"Where the hell have you been?" he snarled as she turned to face him once again, "I thought you were in your room,"

"Never assume, Mr Bond," she told him cooly and went to walk past him.

Now, James was well aware that they hadn't known each other for that long and that between the two of them they weren't the most forthcoming pair on the planet, but this was beyond the joke.

He shot out a hand and gripped her by the arm.

He needed her to realise that this was not a game.

"You didn't answer my question," he hissed.

She said nothing

"Where were you?"

She looked at him and then down at his hand gripping her arm and then back up at him.

"Nowhere you need worry about," she told him.

"Now," she spoke through a forced smile, "Let. Me. Go," she spoke softly, but the words were full of venom, "Before your chances of having children drop to below average,"

He stared into her eyes. Such a pale blue they reminded him of ice.

He released her but in his own sweet time. It wouldn't do to have her thinking she could threaten him just with hints whenever she felt like it.

—

James had hoped that was the end of the sudden disappearances. Once was quite enough. What if something had happened to her? How was he supposed to explain to those at the top that she had died on his watch because he thought she was in her room when actually she was gallivanting around their city of the week? That meeting would not end well for him.

It took a few more weeks of normality – well, he had learned that 'normal' was subjective in his line of work and it had become even more so since he had begun babysitting Sherlock Holmes – before she vanished once more, again with him not knowing where she had gone.

And again.

And again.

It was getting ridiculous. It didn't matter which city they were in she always managed to find the opportunity to elude him. He would lecture her upon her return about safety and each time he did his words just seemed to go over her head.

The girl it seemed just had a knack for getting out of their flat/hovel of the day and sneaking off to wherever she went to.

After five months, ten flats and six cities he finally caught onto her and trailed her from the flat – definitely on the nicer side of the accommodation they had been staying in. He couldn't understand just what she was trying to do. Her wanderings seemed to be just that. There was no pattern. It all seemed aimless. But if there was one thing he had learned about the young woman it was that she never did anything without a reason. He followed her through alleyways, through streets, car parks, the city greenbelt (a pleasant area)… All the while she was peering under dumpsters, up trees and down drains.

This went on for the whole day until she stopped mid stride past an alleyway and did a turn. He quickly ducked inside a doorway and watched as she walked slowly into the alley, crouching slightly.

What the hell is she doing?

He stepped away from the door and made his way to the entrance of the alley. He peered into it.

She was leaning down and calling a name. Holding something out in her hand.

"Come Bruno. Come," she was talking softly but firmly and he saw for the first time that there was some kind of dog treat in her hand and several feet from her was another treat on the floor, and several feet from that treat was a dog.

Bruno?

He tensed and reached for his gun, more that prepared to shoot the dog if it turned vicious. It was a large dog with Rottweiler in it if he had a guess and he didn't fancy Sherlock's chances if it decided to go for her.

Much to his surprise the dog came up to her after gobbling the treat from the street and then took the treat – a long chew he noticed thankfully – from her hand. The dog then plonked itself down in front of her and leaned forward, obviously expecting to be petted for its achievement.

Sherlock did so, moving her hands slowly and making sure the dog could see what she was doing with them at all times. She roughed up the coat telling him how clever he was while running her fingers under the collar and squinting at the identification tag.

James watched in confussion as she pulled a lead from her coat pocket and clipped it to the collar. All the time she made a fuss of the animal telling him he was 'such a clever dog', and he would be 'home soon,".

It was the most…human he had ever seen the girl act.

He stepped into the shadows as she walked past, accompanied by the dog and followed her once again. The girl had stamina he would give her that. She had been waking all day and then to top it off proceeded to walk the dog for another good hour to the outskirts.

It was a nice neighbourhood that she led him to and he had had a few close calls with her nearly catching him. But he made it all the way to the end of the final street where from the shelter of a bus stop he watched Sherlock knock on a door and be invited in my the enthusiastic owner who showered attention upon the now barking dog and even hugged Sherlock before she disappeared through the door.

Sometime later and after apologising to three annoyed bus drivers who had stopped thinking he was in need of a lift (only logical he supposed, he was standing at a bus stop after all) Sherlock finally left the house. She had obviously been shown to the door by the still ecstatic woman who had answered the door some hours before.

There was plenty of energetic handshaking and more hugging before Sherlock managed to escape the woman's affectionate clutches and began the long walk back to their own flat. He followed her some of the way and then once they were close enough to the flat for him to feel comfortable leaving her he dashed down a side street and ran ahead.

By the time he heard her key in the lock he was on the sofa with the telly on and performing a maintenance check on his gun.

He didn't look up or say a word as she locked the door behind her and put the chain across the bar.

Then silence.

There was no sound of Sherlock moving to her room or the kitchen (as he would expect after such a long day). There was just nothing.

He broke and looked up to find Sherlock leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest. She was staring at him, an amused look upon her pale face.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked calmly, a little smirk on her face.

She knew.

How did she know?

The answer, 'Because she is Sherlock Holmes' came to mind but he cast it aside immediately and decided he must had slipped up somewhere.

Your losing your touch, old man.

He turned back to his maintenance.

"I went out for a walk,"

"Indeed," she sounded amused, "It was fine weather for it,"

He had to agree there. While a little nippy in the shade (or in those damn alleyways) it had been a fine, warm-when-in-the-sun day.

He made no reply.

She said no more.

They both went to bed after a dinner of microwave curry.

—

The disappearances stopped after the case of Bruno.

She didn't volunteer any information and he didn't ask anything of her.

It wasn't until the next flat in the next city and one month later that an explanation – of sorts – was finally given and he was dragged into a music shop by a firm grip on his hand. To say that she was nothing but skin and bones the girl had more than enough strength in her to get him through the door.

He stood, shocked for a moment or two in the doorway as she released his hand and proceeded to coo over sheet music and instruments like one would a baby.

Getting his bearings he edged away from the door and began to look around the shop himself, never very far away from he girl he was growing increasingly fond of despite himself.

It was like any other music shop he had ever been in – not many true – but they always had a feel of neglect to them. Like they had been there from the dawn of time and would be there still come judgment day. He glanced behind the counter. The old man sitting there definitely looked like he hadn't been far behind the shop. Comically large glasses were perched on a long nose with a forest of hair protruding from each nostril. His ears weren't much better and looked as though they were in need of a prune. It seemed the old man had hair everywhere but his head.

James didn't often give much thought to aging. In his line of work retirement was often viewed as more of a fairy tale than anything actually achievable. But now, met with the sight of the old man who seemed more caricature than real, he wondered what he would look like should he ever reach the grand old age of a thousand and one. For one he doubted he would ever be able to look anyone in the eye. With everything that his body had been put through, the shooting, the torture, the countless near death experiences… It was truly a miracle that he was still walking up right.

A sudden exclamation had him seeking out Sherlock who was standing over a display case. After doing a quick sweep of the area he walked up behind her as the old man came hobbling from behind the counter, armed with a sturdy walking stick – that looked as though it weighed more than he did – and a keen eye for making a sale.

James stood back.

He didn't know what Sherlock was playing at but she wasn't leaving the shop with anything that was a certainty.

James had an emergency fund to access for food and immediate needs while they had access to various safe houses in the current city they lived in. They had a bag of clothes each and that was it. No extra.

So James couldn't quite fathom, how, after fifteen or so minutes of what to him sounded like utter babble (but obviously made sense to the old man and Sherlock) the old man was taking something – a violin? – from the display case and handing it to Sherlock.

She looked at it from every angle.

Plucked the strings.

Tucked it beneath her chin.

Looked at it again.

"I'll take it,"

James watched, gobsmacked. As soon as the old man had turned away to begin the limp back to the counter she reached down her top and pulled out a roll of money.

Where the hell had she gotten that?

Five minutes later they had left the shop. Sherlock was now the proud owner of a violin (and assorted necessities) while Bond was just confused. Very confused.