Author's note: So, here it is - a multichapter!

Firstly, I have to thank L., once again, for reading and re-reading and giving suggestions, and just being incredibly patient with me and this story.

Secondly, this story will be updated every day, seeing as I have it all done and wrapped up, so I see no point in dragging out the updating process. If a chapter is short or I feel two chapters are best read in continuity, then I will upload two. There will be 12 chapters, plus a prologue and an epilogue.

To begin with, I'm posting the prologue (which is really just a snippet) and the first two chapters, because I feel they are best read together.

I can't even describe how much joy and pleasure writing this fic brought to me, so I hope it will be just as enjoyable to read :)

If you prefer complete suspence, I suggest you skip straight to the fic now... If not, then I just want to say that, although there is certainly no lack of angst in this fic (well...it's mine, afterall), it will end on a lighter note. Originally I planned to end it differently, but I simply couldn't, mostly because it broke my heart and because people in this fandom are already served angst on a daily basis, so I didn't really think I needed to contribute to that ;).

The story will eventually contain Johnlock, however, there will be nothing explicit really, so no worries if it's not really your thing.

Well, for now that's all. Oh wait, it's not.

A disclaimer - if I were Steven Moffat, Sherlock would be an all-year-round show. If I were Mark Gatiss I would be studying drama. If I were Sir Arthur Connan Doyle, I'd be sporting a dashing mustache. But it's not and I'm not, and thus I don't own Sherlock!

Now it's all. Enjoy your reading! :)

He can already see all the tell-tale signs. The tensing of upper-body muscles, further tightening of fist, a breath being sucked in and released through the nose – last (futile) attempt at maintaining self-control and calming down -, lips pressed into a harder line, upper and lower teeth grating lightly against each other. They are the signs of a decision being made. In the fragment of a moment that it takes him to observe all this, Sherlock finds himself surprised by the words that flash through his mind, unannounced.

"Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth, too."

The last word barely finishes resonating in his mind, echo of a voice that isn't his, when the fist connects with his face, smashing his lips sideways against his teeth, delivering a blow to the line of his dentition, top two knuckles catching his nose in the process.

What would you make of this then, Miss Adler?