Disclaimer: I do not own or have any affiliation with BBC's Sherlock or Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. I wish...

The light scent of lavender and vanilla wafted through 221B Baker street just strong enough for Sherlock Holmes, who had just arrived home, to pick up on. He stepped into the sitting form, expecting to find an enemy or someone boring who wanted his help. Instead of finding what he had expected, he encountered a petite woman. She sat on his sofa, mobile phone in her hand; she didn't look up at him, hyper-focusing on the text she was replying to.

"Can I help you?" he asked as he removed his coat and scarf.

The woman on his sofa gave no reply. Sherlock looked her over; she looked neat and professional, but she was obviously not here on business. She was ignoring him, or, at the very least, had selective hearing. The way she focused on the mobile in her hand suggested that the person she was texting was important to her. Sherlock was curious.

A moment later, his phone alerted him to the text he had just received. He pulled out his mobile and read the message.

-Where are you? –JW

-Baker Street. Come immediately. We have company. –SH

-Is everything all right? –JW

-Fine. Just come. –SH

Sherlock pocked the phone and looked back at the strange woman. She was looking back at him this time.

"Hello." she said, a smile spreading across her face.

"Hello…"

"I suppose you would be Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes… Who are you?"

"Christine."

"Christine who?" he asked, beginning to get irritated.

"Just Christine for now."

"You're an American. Recently moved here, I'd say. Why?"

"Running from something."

"Running from what?"

"People who wish me dead."

"People who know what you saw."

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

Christine smiled, "I came to see John. You're just a bonus."

"John didn't mention anything."

"I had to leave the states suddenly, Mr. Holmes. John isn't expecting me."

The two sized each other up for a few moments.

"You're a renowned pianist. Twenty-six years old. You know John because of his blog. When I walked in you were texting him."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes. You can tell all of that just by looking at me?"

"Yes but you knew that. Didn't you, Christine?"

"That and more."
"What more could you possibly know?"

"Coming from you, that's a stupid question." she replied, giving him an cheeky grin.

The sound of footsteps quickly climbing the stairs ended their back and forth for the time being. Sherlock walked off to the kitchen, more than slightly irritated by the visitor. Christine rose to her feet when John entered the room; she could tell that he was slightly out of breath.

"I was at work, Sherlock, what did you-" he stopped mid-sentence when he spotted the familiar face.

"Hello, John. Recognize me?" she greeted, he voice soft and sweet.

"Christine, hi. I wasn't aware you'd be visiting."

"I wanted to surprise you. Sherlock got here first and apparently called you off work. Don't think he liked me being here before he got in."

"How did you get in?"

"Your landlady. All I had to tell her was that I'm a friend of yours and wanted to surprise you with a visit."

John began to smile and pulled her into a hug, "I'm happy to see you. It's great to be able to really touch you. How long are you in town for?"

Christine shrugged, "Possibly for a long time. It isn't a temporary thing, John, I can tell you that."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I recently acquired information that can send my brother and six of his friends to prison. Some of them have been out to silence me."

"What information?"

"Gang rape and murder."

He hugged Christine again, hoping no one would get to her; hoping Sherlock would help protect her.

"I know what you're thinking, John, and it's always a possibility."

"You came to us for help?"

Sherlock sniffed, "No, she came to you for sanctuary. I have no problem with her staying here, John, but she'll be staying in your room with you. After all, she is your pet."

Christine extricated herself from John's embrace and stalked over to the 6-foot-tall Sherlock. She stood toe-to-toe with him for a moment before reaching up and smacking him in the back of his head.

"I am no one's pet. Say it again and you'll get much worse than a smack in the head."

"Well, well, you're feisty aren't you?" he mocked.

The two irritated each other to no end it seemed. Sherlock was having fun, though he'd never admit it; Christine enjoyed it as well, but never let it show in John's presence. For the remainder of the day, John kept his visitor away from the detective as well as he could. That night when John went upstairs to go to bed, he found Christine waiting for him. He swallowed hard and closed the door behind him. He noticed that she was in nothing but a tight-fitting, black tank top and shorts. Her thin, petite form was outlined almost perfectly beneath the fabric.

"Like what you see, John?"

"Very much, yes..."

The playful smile that spread across her face did nothing to calm him down. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. All of the different ways he could have her ran through his mind at once. Christine could see his mind racing and rested her hand over his. She shifted to lie on her back; she moved his hand to her waist and watched him closely to gage his reaction. Slowly, as if he were unsure of himself, John leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. When he felt her respond positively, he began to get rougher. He ran his hands over her clothed body, longing for skin-to-skin contact. He moved his moth against hers, tongue brushing against her lower lip. She sighed into the kiss and allowed him access to her mouth. After playing with her tongue for a bit, he pulled away quickly and looked down at her.

"Christine, I'm sorry about Sherlock. You'll get used to the way he acts after a while."

"I expected him to act that way after everything you told me. I'll try to play nicely with him from now on."

John climbed over her and flopped down on his back, pulling her into his arms. She slipped her hand into his shirt and lightly ran her fingers over his chest. He shivered and rested his hand over the lump in his shirt that was her hand.

"Do you know how long it's been, John?"

"How long since what?"

"Since I was last touched by a man."

John froze for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. He swallowed hard, "No, I-I don't know."

"Six years."

"No way that's true."

"Honest, it is." she said.

Christine tilted her head up slightly to get at his ear. She nibbled his earlobe, feeling his body shiver each time her teeth scraped against his sensitive skin.

"Enjoy it now that I'm actually doing it to you?" she asked playfully.

"You have to ask?"