Royalty

Chapter 16: Change The Subject. Now.

(A/N: So hi ...

Okay first of all, let me apologize, because I said a few days, and I believe it has actually been a few weeks. So, I am very sorry about that.

Some of that was genuine story issues (I had to read a bunch of the original stories, then pick one, then start adapting it, which is freaking hard), and some of it was other stuff going on. My cousin came her for her summer visit and we're close, so I've been spending time with her, and I've had my summer flute lessons, and just a whole lot of busy is coming up.

Next week, I have summer camp, the week after that is band camp, and that weekend is an All-State Clinic Camp that I'm attending. And then it's about a week until school starts.

I will try to keep posting, especially since I think I might finally have more of the story figured out, but I can't promise the 1-2 times a day updates. Especially next week, I can't have my laptop at camp.

So, I'm sorry about the longer wait, and the fact that updates will be less regular as I juggle my activities. I hope you understand, and can still enjoy the few chapters I'm hoping to post before leaving!

Enjoy!)

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"Astra, are you absolutely sure --"

"SHERLOCK!"

I shoved a pillow over my head as Sherlock and John continued to bicker like a married couple.

Such were the morning sounds of 221b Baker Street in the morning.

It had been close to two months since a proper case, three months after the incident at the pool. Sherlock was absolutely stir-crazy, and as such was driving John and I nuts, too. Absolutely painful.

And on the subject of pain, my shoulders were a lot better, but still not where they'd been before the incident. I had been going to physical therapy, and while apparently, Moriarty had saved me some muscle damage, I can personally say that getting shot in the shoulder hurts like hell.

Then, and after.

Moriarty had been annoyingly in touch, texting schematics, plans, problems, and anything else he thought I could help with. I didn't see him much in person, two, three times.

I hated how his presence made my heartbeat speed up.

He never actually answered my question.

I'd never told Sherlock, John, or anyone else the revelation about my age, because then I'd have to explain how I knew. Besides, I didn't even know if he was telling the truth. Or was he? I couldn't figure him out, and despite what I'd told myself beforehand, I couldn't just forget, either.

On this particular day, Sherlock was asking for about the seven hundredth time if I was 'absolutely sure' Lestrade hadn't called. Given that my phone had been sitting undisturbed on the kitchen table for a week, I was quite sure Lestrade hadn't called.

And when Sherlock asked for the seven hundred and first time, John started yelling.

Hence, the pillow over my head.

John yanked the pillow off my head and chucked it at Sherlock. "I woke up ten minutes ago," I grumbled.

And then, blissfully, my phone rang. Sherlock stopped short, and looked at me beseechingly. I waved a hand towards the phone as a way of giving permission. John collapsed back into his chair, with an air of relief and incredulity.

He very quickly snatched up the phone. "Yes ... Yes ... Yes ... Absolutely no." He hung up. "That was Lestrade."

"Yeah, we figured," John said sarcastically, already hoisting himself back up out of his chair.