Sherlock

John's POV

"John, we need some milk!" Sherlock shouted at me, not getting up from where he was sitting. Lazy arse.

"Alright, alright. I'll go get some." I said, getting up from my armchair, and putting my jacket on. I walkedout of 221B. The brisk, cold March air blew around me. I started walking down to the grocery store when, a door next to me burst open and string of shouts and curse words joined the wind. Then, a woman, probably around 21/22, was pushed out and the door slammed behind her. She was obviously crying and yelling back at whoever pushed her out.

"you selfish-" she yelled, backing into me. I moved out the way, but she tripped backwards, falling. I quickly caught her before she could fall. She stared up at me, her blue eyes staring into mine. I set her upright again.

"Thank you Monsieur," she said with a thick French accent.

"No problem." I said, smiling at her. She smiled back, softly. Her brown hair was everywhere, stuck up and teased by the looks of it. There was something beautiful about her. I don't know what.

"I'm John Watson, by the way,"

"Penelope." she says, quietly, looking at the pavement.

"Well, nice to meet you. Having a problem with your chap?"

"Yeah, he, uh, threw me out. And said he never wanted to see me again."

"Sorry," I said. I probably shouldn't have brought it up. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" I asked, after awhile.

"No," she said. "But I'll find a place. I'm used to this."

"Did all your boyfriends treat you like this?" I ask, strangely curious.

"Yeah, I'm used to bad treatment."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You're just some random guy I've just met. You shouldn't care."

"I guess I shouldn't, but I do."

"Well, thanks. I guess I should be going."

"Where are you going to go?" I felt suddenly protective over her.

"Local pub. I'll be able to pick someone up there." she winked.

"Oh umm alright. Bye."

She walks away from me, high heels in hand. I was mesmerized. She already got me to take her home.

I walk back into the flat, dropped the milk onto the kitchen table and sank back into my armchair. I was thinking about her, Penelope. She seemed so perfect, but not, in so many different ways.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asked me, sitting in the armchair across from me,"You're rarely in deep thought."

"It's nothing. Just some girl," I said, trying to avoid looking at him.

"Who is it this time? A nurse? A teacher? A waitress?"

"Just some girl met on the street," I mutter, under my breath.

"Oh, that's a new one."

"Shut up," I mutter. Finally, I made up my mind and got up.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asks, as soon as I get up.

"Out," I replied, putting my jacket back on.

"Out where?" he inquired.

"To get a drink," I say, walking back outside.

Once outside, I head down the road to the pub. I rarely go there, but tonight I had to.

When I got there, I immediately saw Penelope. Her back was against a wall, a guy was practically on top of her, kissing her madly. She opened her eyes for a second, and saw me. She quickly stood up and pushed the bloke away from her. "Oh," she said, blushing a bit," John. You're here."

"Yes, I am."

"Why?" she asked coming up to me.

"To find you,"

She raised an eyebrow at me, looking confused.

"To-to find me? Why?"

"Because I didn't want you to go home with one of these drunks." I said, not even realizing what I was saying.

"They don't have to be drunk to take me home," she grins at me.

What she said was true, I wanted to take her home. I smiled back at her.

"Well, I'm not letting you stay here, you can sleep at my place tonight," I suggest.

"Oh, alright. Thanks," she replied "I'd like that."

She didn't act like she was trying to get me to do something for her. She just was accepting my kindness. She wasn't trying to seduce me or use me. She was just being... Perfect.