Sherlock: The Case of a Good Man

by xxyzz

A young woman needs help getting rid of an ex and she turns to Sherlock Holmes for help because of John's blog. She's come to admire John through his writing, but she's not so sure how she feels about Sherlock. However, beggars can't be choosers. Sherlock finds himself wondering-what kind of man is John and what kind of man is he?

To preface: I believe one is supposed to say: I don't own anything, beside my own created characters of course.

I write more to explore what would X do if—etc., and in this case I wanted to look at Sherlock and see what he might do if he saw himself through someone else's eyes, and didn't like it. I wanted him to try and gain someone's trust. I also wanted to try and write a detective story and borrowed heavily from BBC and canon.

Apologies for errors—I did try to stay in the realm of things that I have seen and heard.

Apologies again, I couldn't do chapters. I did try.

The story starts shortly before John and Mary's child is born and Sherlock is living alone.

I hope that you'll enjoy it.

##########

It was a crisp spring day, cool, cloudy but not unpleasant. John was hanging out at 221b for the next few days because Mary had made plans with Cathy for a girl's long-weekend before the baby came. Nothing was going to be the same soon and John knew it, but after the CAM affair, both of them knew that it was pointless to try to keep quarters in the suburbs. Neither one of them belonged to that world, and maybe if he could spend more time in town, he wouldn't feel the need to break into crack dens and terrorize the inhabitants.

Sherlock, to his credit, neither condemned nor endorsed this course of action, but when a fantastic opening on a property a block and a half down on Baker Street, at a price they could afford, became available shortly thereafter, it seemed suspicious to John. Mary told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth and they closed on the 2-floor flat in fairly short order. How many favors had he cashed in for that? And how many did he have stored away?

Sherlock didn't appear to understand any hints that were thrown about the subject.

After closing on the house Mary had gone to Sherlock with plans and ideas, and like with the wedding he was commencing with a thorough boarding of ideas. John didn't know whether to be pleased or feel rejected. But Mary would always bring him on board after a while—whether his ideas listened to or not.

He was still Sherlock's sounding board, but things had changed between them. Sherlock had learned that he had to try keep himself in check at times—even when he couldn't always succeed at it, so there were things that he didn't say to John about his doings and goings, not allowing him to be dragged into some of the seedier things that he had to do at times. John tried not to feel rejected about that, he knew that Sherlock was just trying to grow up, to be the man that John knew he could be.

And that is where Sherlock was now, some project he had been called into, a question that needed answering, so John was reading the papers—seeing if he could possibly deduce what Sherlock was up to by the latest crime.

Pedestrian, everything was pedestrian as far as he could tell. Of course, sometimes there were layers there he wasn't aware of and John started rereading the paper when the doorbell rang. He had lived at 221b long enough to know the sound of a client's ring. He heard Mrs. Hudson open the door downstairs and in a few moments a woman appeared at the door.

"Hello." She looked at him closely as she spoke, and before he could say anything, "You're John Watson, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes I am," pleased to be recognized by a potential client without the customary annoyance in that client's tone of voice at not finding Sherlock immediately, "If you're looking for Sherlock Holmes, he's out. I'm sorry, I'm not sure when he will be returning. But if you like—I'll take a name, some information. Please sit down."

She came in and scanned the room, choosing neither the sofa or chair that John sat in the middle of the room but made her way to the table where another chair was with a brief "if you don't mind" and slightly positioned it so it she look at him comfortably.

John claimed no powers of deduction, inferences based on trifles and the like, but he was a soldier and a doctor and he knew he was looking at a person who had seen some sort of combat. She wore the unmistakable signs of PTSD all through her person. And the word 'deer' came to mind as he looked at her. Her eyes, her skin, her near silent movements, and even the small twitch of her body when he inadvertently scraped the chair on the floor, everything told him her nerves were on a razor's edge, and it had been like that for a long time.

He also noticed she chose the chair that was in the deepest shadow between the two windows, back towards the wall, facing the door. That was SOP for anyone who knew what it was like to have their life in peril. John decided one way or another she had to be helped.

"I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself. I'm Anita Williams. Nice to meet you," She stood again for a moment and held her hand out.

"Nice to meet you Anita. You're an American?"

"Yes, I've been working here for a little over two years now—for Fitzhugh and Sound. But, I've read your blog even before coming to London. The old woman that was blown up a few years back—that made the news in the States. I was reading it on the web and there was a reference to your website. I've made a point to check in on it from time to time." Her voice trailed a little bit, "I never thought I'd ever be in a situation where I'd find myself here, not just meeting you, but needing your help."

"Why are you here?" He said quietly.

"I need help getting rid of an ex. But not just any ex, but one—"

"Have you tried calling the police? Police usually are the people you go to in such matters."

John and Anita both had their heart leap in their chest at the sound of Sherlock's voice. He had opened his bedroom door and came down the hallway, completely dressed.

"Sherlock! You left a note that you were going out this morning!"

"I did go out. I came back. It's not my fault you didn't check my room when you came downstairs."

"Why didn't you remove the note? Why didn't you say something when you heard me down here?"

"I had my computer and earphones on, researching the resonance of sound off of marble in a vault. The last call that-" Sherlock stopped midsentence and focused on the woman in the room. "Really, shouldn't you be going to the police to convince your boss to let go? At the very least I think a lawsuit would go a long way to convincing him to see the error of his ways."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't ask how he knew. She really had read his blog, John thought.

"I've already gone that route, and thought I had succeeded. Ever since then my life has not been my own. There isn't a room in my flat he hasn't been in. Not a closet he hasn't opened, not even a drawer. I can't find peace in my own bed when I try to sleep at night. I've stopped using my cell phone except for work. I take the battery out when I'm not using it. And I've moved—nothing's changed. I don't have much time left, I feel it. Something is going to happen to me and it's going to happen soon."

Sherlock had turned his attention to her now with interest, "You believe he's going to kill you?"

"I think killing me might be a kindness in comparison to what he has in store for me."

That's when Sherlock sat down in his chair. She shifted slightly out to bring him into her field of vision, but kept John as her primary object.

"Tell me a full account of how this dream man became your nightmare."

John watched her. She looked at Sherlock, took him in the way she had himself, from his narrow, nearly closed eyes, to his steepled hands and crossed legs and turned her attention back to him.

"I applied for this London branch job when a position opened up because I wanted to travel. It was very exciting at first. But from almost the start though, I thought one the VP of this branch, Jack Sonnes, who took the company into real-time global access through all the branches by the way, had, well, noticed me."

"I wasn't looking to be noticed. I wanted to travel Europe, make my way into Africa, maybe even go to New Zealand or Australia. So—I played it cool. Then one day I got called to his office. He asked if he had done anything to offend me. He looked genuinely hurt. I was so surprised. I explained that I was just trying to keep a professional attitude in the workplace. That's when he looked down at his hands—

"I guess it's kind of obvious that I think well of you."

"I wasn't sure. I mean, I'm new here. I don't know how you usually act. I was erring on the side of caution. I can't afford to—I hope I wasn't being rude to you. I wasn't trying to be rude."

"No, you were never rude. And I can see how you wouldn't want to jeopardize—I'm the one who should be sorry. I don't usually act this way. If I made you feel uncomfortable I am sorry."

He was quiet a beat and then continued "Excuse me for telling you—what I'm about to tell you, it's a bit personal I know but I feel you might understand me better with this explanation. See, I've been in a fog going on two years since my wife died. I go out from time to time, but I guess I'm just not very interested in playing the field. I either like you or I don't. I want to get you know you better or I don't. And yes, it is considered bad form to "fish off the company pier" but I do like you, I want to get to know you better. But I will not mention it again—I promise you that. Your job is secure from any retribution, now or in the future. But I don't promise not to continue to like you. And, if, you decide that you might want to like me too—there's nothing in our rules that prevents it. Just call my assistant and leave her a message. Tell her, that you'd like to have a meeting with me."

"He smiled at me after that, shook my hand, held it an extra moment or two and then I left."

"I suppose you and Mr. Sonnes had a meeting after that?"

Anita had so fully given her attention to John and John had so fully been involved in listening to her that again both of them started when Sherlock's voice interrupted the narrative.

"Yes, but not immediately," she looked at him and saw what John saw, Sherlock's annoyance. At what John wasn't sure. He had asked for a detailed story and as far as John could tell, she hadn't given a flowery account of the situation or tried to slant the story, "and as flattering as it was, my intention was to never have that meeting. This was the best time of my life, why spoil it? And then—"

"And then?" Sherlock repeated.

Anita looked in the air for the words to put to her feelings, "My world turned into a fairy tale. It's the only way to describe it. But not just my world, anything my world touched. The way Jack described it to me later—he wanted me to get to know him. He integrated into the life of the office in a way that made people take notice, and made a difference to everyone."

"He was always a good leader from what I understood, but now he was the champion of our whole division. In his meetings, in the time he took with all of us, the extra interest he put into understanding the needs of the work, it began to make changes in everyone. Once, when we had to stay late to finish up a project, Jack not only ordered dinner for us—he stayed an extra hour and a half to help with some critical phone calls overseas before he left for the night. What was good about us already became great. What was great became extraordinary."

"My heart started to betray me. His kindness was breaking me down and it scared me because I don't believe in fairy tales, I really don't. And even as our rise continued the questions grew. What had made such a big difference in Mr. Sonnes? Whenever he walked in the room I felt like a teenager one moment and wanted kick myself for it the next. I don't know if it was me trying not to act like a school girl, or the kindness in his eyes when he looked at me, even while he kept his promise. He never faded in that." Anita's words stopped and her eyes drifted off into a memory before she turned full on to Sherlock, "When a person gives themselves to you like that, without cost, even to their own determent—it's hard not to respond."

Sherlock looked off for a second himself, when he looked back some of the frost had melted from his voice and manner, "How long did this continue?"

"Six, seven months, towards the end there wasn't too many places in the building where I wasn't deferred to or at the very least given serious consideration. And it hurt because I hadn't earned it. I tried to be dignified and often didn't venture an idea or a plan of action on anything, but people would turn to me to ask my opinion on things that it seemed ridiculous to even consider asking me about. To everyone it was—a fait accompli. In the end I guess it was for me too so, I asked for that meeting. I told him everything I had been feeling—good and bad. He apologized for embarrassing me but not for what he felt. I changed to a team that he didn't have as much contact with and we started seeing each other. But my final stipulation was never being together at work. I couldn't deal with that."

"For nearly a year I was loved in a way that I never knew existed."

"You were loved?" Sherlock countered, "You didn't feel the same?"

"I loved him but-I tried to believe in the fairy tale, I did, but I kept seeing things. But his kindness was something I had never experienced before—"

"You mean his generosity."

"I mean his kindness. I am not a prostitute." Anita countered back, "My love is not for sale. It never will be. And that was part of the problem."

John at first was angry but there was look on Sherlock's face or rather the lack of a look that told him something else was going on.

"What did you see?"

"My life fading away, and everyone approving of it. And still, I couldn't let it go. It was the way he treated me, how do I explain it? I've never felt that from anyone—ever—someone seeing me as precious. I'd look in the mirror and I'd try to see it, but I felt like the emperor with no clothes. Something wasn't right."

"It would come out in crazy ways. I'd come home and I find had new pots and pans, when the ones I had were perfectly good. Or he'd want to take me shopping for some ridiculously expensive perfume or overdone fancy jewelry, and yeah they were pretty things, nice things, but I didn't want them. My clothes, my furniture—he tried to get me a new flat! He was upgrading me like an old house. Trying to change things I didn't want to change."

"You know, his love might have held me—in fact, it probably would have, because I'm fairly certain I'll never be loved that deeply again in my life. And as arrogant as this sounds—he loves me completely—even now. There is no one else in comparison. But I was turning into his Barbie doll and it was driving me insane."

"The final straw came when I came back to my apartment—flat—at a time I generally didn't and ran into my landlord coming from the building. He told me how much he was going to miss me as a tenant."

"Miss me? Are you selling the building?"

"No, aren't you moving at the end of the month?"

"Jack had planned on moving me out like that. I wouldn't live with him, so he was going to take the decision out of my hands," the anger over the situation was just as fresh in her eyes, "I was so messed up over the situation, so messed up. I called in for personal days, just two days. I turned off my phone, I caught a train, I ran away. I kept hearing things he had said to me, things that I had taken as male bravado, but they weren't. They were intentions. They were warnings. And of course they were. How do you become a 'master of the universe' if you don't know how to get your way?"

She looked at Sherlock, she looked at John, but she wasn't asking a question. She looked off from them both, lost in a fearsome thought that had been just as powerful as the loving one a few moments before.

"What makes you think your life is in danger?"

"I woke up the second day at some inn, sometime late morning to a knock on the door. I thought it was staff. It was Jack. The last time I had used my phone on was on the train the day before. I sent a text telling Jack what I'd learned and how I felt about it. I wish I had of quit on the spot." She looked to both men. Didn't they understand? "He found me from a text!"

"More likely he found you from the credit card you used to pay for your room." Sherlock countered.

"What?"

"You paid for your room with a credit card didn't you? You didn't stop at a bank to get cash?"

Anita eyes went wild with a combination of fear and confusion, "I understand IT, he is IT, but who just gives away where I'm using my credit card?"

"Isn't it all linked together?" he said thoughtfully.

"But it's not supposed to be! It's not supposed to be!"

Sherlock had gotten interested in the problem and hadn't noticed that he had gotten the woman whipped up into a terror that had got her up from her seat, things in hand, just as likely to kill herself running into traffic as she was to run to Heathrow and catch the next flight anywhere. John rose, put his hands on her arms, as much to steady her as to keep her from running wildly into a panic. He soothed her as best he could and put her in his chair, and then shot Sherlock a look that told him he needed to watch his words, while he went into the kitchen and looked for a shot of something to give her.

"This story has gone on too long, a few points are all you want." She leaned forward in her chair, "Mr. Holmes, he told me on a couple of occasions that it was as well that I came around, otherwise he might have been forced to kidnap me to somewhere far off, where I'd have to accept him because there would be no one else. He thought it was cute."

John came back with a finger of brandy. She swallowed a portion and continued.

"After we broke up he still kept both his promises to me. He never mentioned it and my job was never in jeopardy, but he didn't tell me that my name would become hated because of how he mourned loud and long. It wasn't exactly hard for people to figure out why. He also didn't say how many times I would find his car across the street in the morning or on a Saturday night. When I took it the police—I found myself with law—solicitors—"trying to work it out." They recommended he seek therapy and he "promised" yet again to leave me alone."

"But that just drove him underground. It was a campaign. I could never forget that he could always get to me. I would come home and things would be moved. I would go out with a friend or run errands and he would walk by. Never stopping, never talking—like I wasn't even seen. So I moved, but it changed nothing."

Anita reached into her bag "This came to me in the mail yesterday," She tossed a large manilla envelope to Sherlock. In it there was a single picture of her asleep in her bed.

"That's my new apartment. It was taken 4 days ago."

Sherlock looked at the frightened woman seriously for the first time.

"I've tried transferring to other branches—they never even get my applications. A month ago I decided to quit outright. Three days later my bank account was hacked. I had no money to even buy a ticket out of town. My credit card wasn't going to get me home. A few days later I had to rescind my letter of resignation. A week later, just after I got paid, my bank called me to tell me that there had been a glitch in the system and my account had been restored. That picture is telling me he's almost ready. Whatever plans he's got for me—he's almost ready and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Then she had a thought. "Mr. Holmes, have you ever seen of the movie "The Long Hot Summer?"

"No."

"It's an old movie. Jack has a copy of the screenplay. He used to read it me in the voices of the different characters. I think Jack fancies himself as Ben Quick. He loved to quote this one little section where Clara is trying to put Ben off:"

"All right then, run, lady, and you keep running. Buy yourself a bus ticket and disappear. Change your name, dye your hair, get lost—and then maybe, just maybe, you're going to be safe from me."

"Mr. Holmes, he means every word of it." She sat back in her chair and immediately a weakness started to claim her. Sherlock was thinking and she didn't care that he hadn't made a reply. She was so tired. She started staring out the window at nothing and quicker than she realized her eyes closed. She hadn't told anyone the full story of what she had been through until just then. John put his hand on her arm and she opened her eyes for a moment in reply before she closed them again. He was sitting in her chair she thought, when did that happen? She wondered if they would give her a blanket and let her sleep, right where she was, just for a little while.

John watched her. In a very short time her body relaxed and her breathing changed into the deep breaths of a desperately needed rest, "You're going to take the case, right?" John asked softly.

"There are some interesting points in it, though the situation itself is rather commonplace."

"Commonplace or not, she won't last too much longer without our help."

"I think she's right. He doesn't want to kill her, though she may hate her life depending on where he takes her."

"No Sherlock. I'm pulling rank as a doctor," John kept his voice low, hoping she wouldn't wake and hear, "Her pulse is erratic at best. There's a vein that's throbbing at her temple. Her skin is cold and clammy. She's sending herself into shock. She could have anything from a stroke to an arrhythmia to a heart attack. He could put her in a palace, if he has the means, but she will not live long in it."

Sherlock looked down at the woman, crumpled into sleep, "Of course I'm going to take the case, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on the two of you."

"What?"

"You've taken quite an interest in her situation."

"Sherlock, this is no time to be funny. All this woman wants is her life back—and she didn't blackmail anyone to get into this situation. I don't think it's too much to ask."

Sherlock gave John a hard look for a moment, then went over and touched her shoulder.

"Anita, we're going to help you. Are you willing to do things a little different for the next few days?"

Anita woke up a little bleary-eyed but quickly roused herself to reply, "Yes, yes I am."

"John is going to take you to upstairs."

John looked to Sherlock, "What?"

"You're going to be staying here for a little while, because what you're saying is true, something is going to happen very soon. John is going to go to your flat and pack a bag for you because you can't go back there right now."

"What?!"

"John, Jack will be looking for her soon if he hasn't started already. She was supposed to be home by now and he won't allow for too much more time to pass before he hunts her down. She can't be left to his clutches at this point. He's too close to his goal."

"But you want me to pack her clothes?"

"Make notes about the place, her apartment. Take just the actual keys to her flat. Take the tube to her place, but leave by the back way and take a cab back. Oh, and use one of your suitcases."

"Why?"

"He knows everything about her, if you come out and he happens to see you with one her bags, he'll notice. If you come with one of your own—"

"-I'm going to see someone there."

Sherlock gave his half smile of approval.

"It was my work ID wasn't it," Anita asked then continued without waiting for an answer, "My work ID is clipped to the outside of my bag. I'm dressed up, but not for going out, must work on a Saturday. I hadn't gone home to change, and why would I wait for the weekend to get help about something so pressing?"

Sherlock then gave her his half-smile of approval, "Most of it."

"I've read your blog."

"Yes, John's blog, apparently the whole world has read it."

"No, I've read your blog, The Science of Deduction, I've read the archives. I think you may be as good as you say you are."

"I am. Now John is going to show you to your room. Give him a list of what you'll need and then I want you to go to sleep. You'll need to get your rest and I'm sure it will feel good to sleep without wondering who'll be over you when you wake up. I'll be down here until John gets back."

Anita gave Sherlock her hand and a quiet, deeply-felt 'thank you' before turning to follow John up the steps.

II

When Anita woke again it was night. She went to reach for her purse, but remembered Sherlock Holmes wanted to examine it, so John had taken it back downstairs. There was a clock on the nightstand and the time showed it was well after 8 o'clock. She never would have thought she could have slept so sound or so long in a strange person's bed, and Sherlock Holmes was a strange person, but had to admit to herself she felt rested. She had forgotten the feeling.

She padded downstairs and when she entered the living room, she found no one was there. She stepped towards the kitchen and Sherlock Holmes sat there with his laptop open, but his elbows were on the table in front of it, his chin on his folded knuckles, eyes closed, motionless as stone. She felt like she had intruded on something important and turned to go back to her room.

"Your clothes are in the bag against the wall over there."

She turned back around, Mr. Holmes eyes were still closed. She looked to the wall and saw the duffle bag on the floor.

"John assured me it wasn't one he used to go to the gym."

Anita smiled and picked up the bag, "I thought you had somewhere to go?"

"I did." He next reached down on the table and handed her back her mobile, "I took your phone with me to St. Bart's, there are no extra tracking devices on it, so you can use it. I did disable your GPS on the distant chance he has access to technology that can turn it on remotely. You may want to buy another phone when this is over, but it should be safe to use."

She took the furthest end of the phone with a thank you and again turned to go.

"John went to pick you up something to eat. You've lost close to 10 1bs I'd say, and these next few days may not be any less stressful."

She looked down at her clothes, then looked at him, "it's hard to eat when your mind is turning over a problem."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her. She just stared back, "can I have my purse?"

When she took it from him she asked if he had looked at her pictures.

"On your phone?"

"No, my iPod, it's on airplane mode," She reached into her purse and pulled it out of a little wallet and gave it to him, "I wasn't joking when I said someone is going into my flat. I'd put my bills on the table by my door when I leave, I'd come home and find them on the coffee table. I'd leave a blouse on the chair in my bedroom to take to the cleaners, I'd come home to find it hung up in the closet. It was making me crazy. So I started taking pictures of my flat. Before I left and when I'd come back. Then I'd check for changes. In Notepad I made entries about the pictures and any other time something weird happened."

"You're a model client," he said as he started to go through the pictures.

Anita picked up her purse and duffle and went into the bathroom. Sherlock watched as she closed the door and went back to looking through her pictures and notes.

She came out again just after John returned with the Chinese food from down the street. She had freshened up and changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt. When she saw John she smiled at him and complimented his food choices and John beamed back with pride and he invited her to sit on the sofa while he got the silverware and the plates. He watched her eyes dart to the window for the briefest moment and he understood immediately and pulled the curtains on both windows before he went to the kitchen. Then he sat next to her on the sofa and they opened the boxes and began to serve each other food. Sherlock watched the whole scene from the table.

John looked up at him, "Oh. Anita-we should probably move to the table."

"No, no, I'm not eating right now. I have to make another trip to St. Bart's then I'll be out for several hours. I should be back before midnight." Sherlock held her iPod up, "I'll need to take this."

Anita nodded and John told him, "I'll be standing guard until you get back."

Sherlock got up to get his coat, "I'll just bet." He said under his breath.

III

It was a quarter to 1 in the morning when Sherlock returned. Anita had gone back up to her room by 11:30 and John felt a real need to stand guard. She was so alone in the world. If for some reason they couldn't help her she was lost. Jack Sonnes was too powerful for anyone else to help her. So when midnight passed and Sherlock hadn't returned he began to worry—though he knew full well that Sherlock on a case had no sense of time. When the door did open John sat straight and laid his hand on his gun, putting it next to him on the sofa.

Then Sherlock appeared, John relaxed, then he saw he was disheveled and there was a small cut near his eye. He blew past John, taking his coat off throwing it on the table and himself in his chair.

"What are you doing with your gun?"

"What happened to you?"

"I got to her flat too late. Someone was already there when I got there. I intended to lay an ambush on whoever this Jack Sonnes had hired."

"That's where you've been all this time?"

"I went back to the hospital afterwards. I examined the mp3's pictures and checked it for any extra tracking devices. I kept asking myself, "Why would a man show his hand like that?" He had to know she'd try and go for help or run away."

"But who could she go to? How could she prove it was him that took the picture?"

"Exactly! There were only two ways she could go—or so he thought—out of town or to him."

"Him?"

"Don't you see, she has nowhere to hide, she has to run. That would limit the places she would go. Train, plane or bus. All those places could be covered. But he was hoping she would come straight at him."

"Try to fight him?"

"Fight or flight, those were her options. But it didn't matter if she did come at him, he was prepared. No need to kidnap her, she'd already be there and she'd just disappear."

"But how was he going to take her in public?"

"Pretend to be cops. Hit her with a poisoned-tipped umbrella. I don't know—but he did. If she'd showed up any of the other places they would have taken her away almost as efficiently."

"Then why didn't they just take her that night?"

"They couldn't. That was the second reason I went to her flat. Even the back door is well lit at night with windows looking down on the door and she doesn't live in a quiet area. There was too big a chance that someone would see or hear something getting her out."

"So how did they get in without being seen you ask? That's what I wanted to find out. I went to Anita's, intending to catch the man in the act of part 2."

Sherlock just looked at him and John looked back, irritated because he wanted him to fill in the blanks. "Just tell me."

"Once the picture was in her hands it was just a matter of time until she did something with it. If she didn't panic she would use it. Whether anyone believed the story she told or not it would cause problems. So, either they had a secondary way of pulling her out of the flat that was a little more risky or-"

"Or he was going to kill her."

"Unfortunately we ended up warning each other. He heard the key turn and I heard him step on a loose floorboard. The streetlight shown off of his knife so I dodged that, but he swept my feet from under me and I hit my head on the corner of something on the way down. He was gone before I could get back on my feet.

John got up to check his eye area for fractures or a hematoma, which Sherlock tried to wave off, but John flicked his ear to make him sit still and told him to shut up for one minute while he checked him out. Sherlock obeyed, but just barely.

"Now comes the most important part—how the man got in. He was lean and little, strong and quick, but he couldn't have gone down the stairs and disappeared that fast. I went down the stairs seconds later and there was no trace of him. There had to be another way in, which turned out to be a dumbwaiter!"

"There must have been a servants' kitchen in the basement at one time because it went all the way down. The whole frame pulled straight out and was made into a plug, so when you looked at it from the outside, it still looked like a boarded up dumbwaiter. That's how the picture was taken! There's no way they could have taken her out that way. And Anita bolted her doors at night so they couldn't come in that way. They HAD to try and scare her out. After that I-"

Sherlock was very pleased with himself and his night's work and in his excitement was getting a little giddy when he looked up and saw Anita reflection in the refrigerator door.

"You should come sit down."

John looked around as Anita stepped from behind the door. "How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Mr. Holmes doesn't exactly come in on cat's feet."

"Tell me about it," John got up from his chair to give it to her, but she shook her head, choosing to lean against the living room wall, arms folded over herself. John still sat in the chair she had used earlier in the day.

"What happened after that Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, by the time I'd discovered how he'd escaped, he was too far gone to follow. I will go to your flat in the morning to see if I can find additional information in and around the house. So, after leaving there I went to the hospital to examine the pictures and your notes. There may have been some points to help me, but there wasn't. It was all just scare tactics."

"Maybe you should go back to bed Anita."

"Thanks anyway John. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to, might as well hear the worst of it," She smiled at him sadly. "I very well might have run to him, as you say Mr. Holmes, because I'm desperate, and it would have been a Hail Mary move to get my sanity back. Instead I ran to John and you, which is why I'm not on a slow boat to China as we speak. Who knew that reading your blog would have been my salvation." She went over to John and patted his shoulder. "Is there anything else you need me to do Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock again had a scowl on his brow, then turned to John, "I think we need to see who these Shanghai-ers are. Anita, your work ID, do you have to present it to someone?"

"There are too many people there for that. We pass by a card machine that reads our card and there is a guard that is nearby in case there are any problems."

"John tomorrow morning, early, I want you to take Anita's card and go to her job and swipe her in. Pass through a back door and come back to the front and wait. Anyone who comes in those doors, take a picture. If you happen to see a car they come in, get that too. But don't be there when they come out."

"Why do I have to be the one to go?"

"You're less conspicuous. Besides, I'm going to be working on something here, and Anita will need to be here to help with that."

John looked in Anita's face and could tell she was at the end of her tether, and decided if there was nothing further to be learned they should call an end to shop talk. He proceeded to make her a tea with milk and knowing she was a fan of his blog, used it to get her mind off her own problems. He filled in stories on some of the cases he had written up, but try as she might, she was unable to get him to say anything additional about 'the elephant in the room.' He even stopped Sherlock from talking about that subject. Two cups of tea and 45 minutes later, she was ready to go back to her room.

Things barely got quiet upstairs before Sherlock said, "So, Anita. Will you bring that up to Mary as a possible baby name?"

John shot him a venomous look. Sherlock could only recall one other time he gave him the same sort of look. He watched John get up and close the doors leading upstairs.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare make this into something it isn't!" John stopped talking and took deep breaths. No one disturbed John when he was trying to regain his cool, not even Sherlock Holmes. He lowered his voice and began:

"When you're over there, in country, you see it happen, especially as a doctor. People who can never shut it down, people who can never let it go. Everyone brings home scars of war, pieces of war. Some people come home completely consumed by war. She's a lot closer to that. That's what I've seen."

He pointed to the staircase, "This isn't the first time she's looked down the barrel of a gun. She doesn't panic easy or stay panicked long. She approaches every situation with her head on a swivel, waiting for the trap."

"Well that's good, it's allowed her to survive."

"But it's not how you live, Sherlock, it's not how you live! That girl, who has never stepped on a field of war knows way too much about how to survive on a battlefield. She never chose war, she has never chosen war, yet war keeps coming to her. You can't survive that forever, even if your body lives through it. I want her to not just survive. I want her to live. I've known people who haven't, I don't want it to happen to her, that's all."

Sherlock said nothing, but he was fairly sure he heard the click of a door upstairs.

IV

The next morning, early, John was dressed and nearly ready to leave when Anita came downstairs. She had a handful of clothes and toiletries, to get ready for her day with Sherlock.

When she had come down, she had gone straight to John, Who was sitting on the sofa, tying his laces. She seemed to neither see nor acknowledge Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair across the way.

"You be careful, John. Your baby is going to be here in a few days and your wife will pound me good if you're not here for that."

"I think she'll dig me up and pound me first," he told her will a grin, but when Anita's eyes saddened a little he added, "I will be careful."

"John call after you pass through the building, then sit tight on the doors until you see people move in," Sherlock said without moving or opening his eyes.

"What if no one comes-or too many people come?"

"Just take pictures of the people going in, but I think you'll know these people, they'll come in a service vehicle or large sedan and I should think it won't stay to the front but move around to a service entrance. When that happens, take what pictures you can and leave—quickly. It won't be long until they realize the mistake."

Anita put the implications together instantly, "You think they'd try to take me in broad daylight?"

"This early in the morning? It's better than in the middle of the night."

John just looked at her, nodded, "call you when I'm in position" he told them both and he was off.

Anita went to the window and watched him walk away, then she looked around, as if remembering something, and moved away.

"You're worried for him?"

"He's a good man. Yes, I'm worried. I don't want anything bad to happen to him because of me." She took a deep breath and turned to head for the bathroom when she heard a "whoo-hoo" coming up the stairs. A light came into her eyes.

"Sherlock, did I see John leaving? Is Mary back in town? I thought she wasn't due until tomorrow. I was going to make you boys breakfast." Mrs. Hudson came into the room, expecting to see Sherlock, only to see a young woman in her yoga pants/t-shirt jammies, with clothes in her hand, and a bright smile on her face, looking better than a woman should be looking first thing in the morning.

"Hello! Who is this?"

"It's a client. Anita Williams, Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, Anita Williams."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Anita said with genuine warmth.

"To meet me?"

"Yes, I've followed John's blog for years. I've always wondered about the woman who could stand guard at 221b Baker Street. She shook Mrs. Hudson's hand, Mrs. Hudson blushed and stammered embarrassments.

"Would you like some breakfast dear?"

"I can't," She looked to Sherlock, who face marked some sort of annoyance, which she knew now, was common for him, but something else was in it, which struck her, "we have a lot to do this morning and I have to be dressed and ready fairly quick."

"Sherlock. You're going to send her out on a scheme without a meal?"

"No really, Mrs. Hudson, it's okay. It would be hard to eat anything right now anyway."

"Well the least I could do is offer you my bath. I know how these boys live and it's not fit for man or beast. Bring your things and come with me."

In keeping with her implied promise, she washed and dressed quickly, in her black cargo pants, a tunic and her gym shoes, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She presented herself to Sherlock, ready to work.

"So what are we doing?"

"Go get your jacket. Shortly John will call and that will be our cue to leave."

Sure enough, just as soon as Anita came back down with her blue jean jacket. Sherlock got a call from John. Together they went downstairs and Sherlock hailed a cab giving them Anita's address.

Sherlock knew she didn't seem to need or want to talk to him without a purpose, something he longed for from various people in his life, who often writhed with unasked questions, making silence with them as hard as their constant chatter. He watched her study the cabbie, his ID, the interior of the cab, the road and the road ahead. She never made any movement that suggested she wanted to ask a question of him. However, as they closed in on her street, she fished her keys out of her pocket and separated out the keys she needed. The cab had barely stopped before she had hopped out of the cab and headed to the house, opening the main door even as Sherlock paid for the fair. He followed her in, but she had taken the steps by two to her floor and had the key in the door as he reached the landing. She turned the lock, then stopped, waited until Sherlock was there, then opened the door without stepping through, letting it swing all the way back, her eyes went around the room and she quickly locked the door behind them after they got in.

The next place she went to was the dumbwaiter. She pulled out the plug and stared down the cavity that lead straight to her house. She didn't put the plug back in, she sat it on the table and moved through the rest of the house. The bathroom, the bedroom, the drawers.

"Anything moved?"

She was staring at the bed, "John's been here, so I'm not sure." She kneeled to the floor and looked under the bed. She pulled out a teddy bear. She fingered his soft black fur, studied it a second or two.

"He's usually on my bed. I don't remember him falling to the floor. But I was moving quickly and not paying attention—I didn't take pictures." She put the teddy bear on the bed, "What are we here to do?"

"We're here to wait."

"Wait for them to come?!"

"No. Wait for them to follow."

Sherlock watched her face harden. Her trust, like the blood drained away from her face. She didn't understand and because she didn't understand she didn't trust. She quickly moved to the other side of him and out of the bedroom.

"What was the original question? What was the original question Anita?"

She stopped and faced him, "How is he always finding me?!"

"Yes. Now, he's rich enough he could hire someone, but you're fairly clever, you'd sniff that out in due time and use it back on him. He hasn't put any devices in your home—I know you've check for that. You don't put things in your home to monitor—I'm assuming for similar reasons. You've done what you could to block him out of your world and yet he keeps showing up—how?"

Her lip began to quiver, she got mad and stopped it, but a tear rolled from her eye, defying her. She stood taller, "If I knew that, I wouldn't have had to come to you."

Occasionally the words, even for Sherlock Holmes, hit home. He looked down at her clenched fist, and back at her face, he softened his voice: "Anita, where is John now, and what does he have?"

He watched her indignation give way to the question, her eyes open with understanding and then she took in a deep breath as implication began to fall into place. But she didn't stop there. She began pulling away, her mind traveling roads he couldn't see, ideas and possibilities were moving across her face.

"Anita?"

"Shortly after the meeting, my card died. He offered to pick up a new one for me. Geo-locating me. It must be a burst, or some sort of touch activation. Everywhere I go, everything I do, he doesn't have to follow me around at all. I bring all the information to him—every times I go to work and swipe my ID. And now he knows I've gone to you. What about Mrs. Hudson, John, your home?"

Sherlock's phone rang.

"I just watched and have taken pictures of 3 men getting out of a flowers van and enter the building. I've gotten pictures of the van and their faces and just as you said the driver pulled the van around the corner to the service entrance, I got a picture of that."

"Get out of there and go back to Baker Street, but don't go in. Wait in the sandwich shop, get a window seat. Anita and I are coming to pick you up. This is what I need you to do."

V

John sat waiting in the sandwich shop, nursing a coffee and a bagel, ignoring people who were giving him the eye for hogging prime real estate. A flower van pulled up and 3 men got out of the van, the same three that had shown up at the job. One was carrying the same flowers that he had seen at the job. They went up to 221b and rang, but only once. One began to watch the street and soon the three men entered the building.

John had started taking their pictures from the moment they arrived. After they went in he left his seat to follow them up to the door and said in a loud clear voice before even the van driver had time to react, "If you're looking for Anita, she's not up there!" and with that he backed away from the door, standing in front of the big plate glass windows of the shop.

They came down quickly, ready for business, when they saw that they weren't alone. People in the restaurant were watching the scene and John gave the men an evil grin, "That's right, she's not there. Pass a message to Mr. Sonnes. We have the picture you took, her ID, and pictures of you lot here and at F&S, and are ready to stand as witnesses at any court proceedings that she may wish to call. Tell him to expect a call in 15 minutes. Now get out of here before I call the cops myself!"

A moment passed where they seemed to want to test him, they could make him back down, they could take him. But John's badger grin didn't fade an inch, and he turned to granite in their faces. There was no way at least one of them wasn't going to go down before they could take him. In unison they broke the stalemate and got in the van and left. John was still staring after the van even as it turned the corner. A man from inside the shop came up to him:

"Is everything okay? Do you need me to call the police?"

"Nah. Just a crazy ex."

The man looked at him, down the street and back at him again and went back in the shop. John pulled out his phone and called, "They just left."

Less than a minute later the cab with Sherlock and Anita pulled up and he got in.

VI

After listening to the story of John's morning, Sherlock reached his hand out to Anita, "I need your phone." She handed it to him and he made the call. It rang once.

"Ah, hello, Mr. Sonnes? This is Sherlock Holmes. I suspect you know why I'm calling."

"No. I don't know any Sherlock Holmes or why you're calling me."

"Oh I think you do. Of course, if this is a mistake I can hang up the phone now, go to the police and together we can find out who has been terrorizing my client."

"What do you want?"

"I want to meet with you," He gave the address and name of a bistro, "I've reserved a table for us under your name. I expect to see you on the hour."

"I can't make it there in an hour. Perhaps later today?"

"If you can't be there, then there is no point continuing this conversation. Your next call should be to your attorney."

Before Sherlock's thumb could move into position he heard: "Okay!"

"Go alone. The flower shop boys don't need to hear this and try not to have us ambushed. Remember, you're not the only one who can have people watched." Sherlock thought the conversation was finally done when he heard: "Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"Is Anita with you? Is she coming to the meeting?"

Sherlock frowned. "Anita is not available to take your call at this time."

"But will she be there? Tell her I need to see her."

Sherlock turned to look at her, "I'm beginning to think that wouldn't be a very good idea for either one of you."

"Mr. Holmes, I've never hurt her, I'd never hurt her. I—please tell her I hope she comes, tell her that." And with that Sherlock hung up the phone.

She looked at him, "I heard. Why aren't we just going to the police?"

"Is that what you want?"

She looked out the window, "I wanted him to leave me alone. I didn't want him to go to jail, but I don't know anymore."

"We could go that route. But I don't think that will work. Not long-term. We have to meet him to force him to see this lifestyle choice has consequences that are far worse than a little jail time, fine and embarrassment."

"Okay then. I'll go."

John reached over and held her arm, "don't worry, we'll protect you."

"No one has ever stood up for me in my life like what you did back there. Thank you. Thank you to you both." John let go of her arm, but he moved an inch closer.

VII

In future years, John would always consider this ride and the meeting that followed one of the strangest ones he ever experienced right there in the public eye. Anita had become stone-faced and fixed in place, waiting. Not one ounce of energy could be spent on anything that wasn't necessary. John had seen that look many times. He next tipped his head back to look at Sherlock, who often had his face in his phone or a thought he was batting around like a cat with string when they were on their way to somewhere during a case. This time he was doing brain work, eyes closed, hands clenched in front of him. What did they know that he didn't?

He knew his role in all this. Royal guard. Just as they arrived he got out, putting his hand on Anita's shoulder until he could sweep the street and topography for any signs of the morning company before he let her out. Sherlock swept out quickly after her to be the first at the door. John positioned Anita between them as they entered the restaurant.

Sherlock acknowledged the host, told her quickly that he saw his table and moved in that direction. John watched Anita position herself behind Sherlock and he followed where her eyes had been a second before.

Never judge a book by its cover, he told himself. This man's face would have never come to his mind as the one who had caused all Anita's distress. That is until he understood this party was coming towards him. He was the typical business man, tall, dark hair, a little soft, but certainly not fat. His phone was on the table and he was nursing a drink, looking across the room out of one of the windows. When he became aware of them his eyes focused, but not on Sherlock. He immediately searched the edges of him, looking for signs of her. John wanted to turn her around and walk her right back out the door.

"Mr. Sonnes." Sherlock's tone was hard and flat and it caused Mr. Sonnes to turn his attention to him.

"Have a seat."

Sherlock took the chair that was next to Jack and slid it close to the chair across from him, at which point he held it out for Anita to sit in. After she was in place he sat down himself, moving still closer to her. This had the effect of making it impossible for the business man to focus his attention on her without including him. John's lip curled in satisfaction as he took his seat. This, he thought to himself, is going to be good.

"What is this about?" the business man asked.

Sherlock looked at her with what John could only describe as a loving look, taking in her whole face. Anita eyes opened wide, then she looked down and across the way, "I can see why you like her," he said in her face and not his, "She's not only pretty to look at, she's smart, she's kind and she is warm," He looked at Mr. Sonnes, "She brings out the best in a man doesn't she? I think she does anyway."

John looked across at the business man, who had not taken kindly to Sherlock's comments at all. His mouth was set hard, but he was trying to keep the anger out of his eyes.

Sherlock continued, "A woman like this deserves a man who knows how to treat her well," he had leaned on the arm of the chair, which closed the space between them still further and reached over and took her hand in his, not just holding her hand, but interlacing their fingers together. John watched Anita try to gently pull her fingers out of his with a "are you trying to get me shot" look, but Sherlock closed his fingers holding hers more firmly, looking in her face, in her eyes, in a way that made her mouth open in an unasked question. She stopped pulling away.

"You're not seeing Anita. You're not fooling me. You're just trying to get me wound up."

Sherlock was looking down at their fingers together, "no, you're right, I'm not seeing Anita. She doesn't believe that I'm a good man. A smart one, obviously, a useful one, evidently, but not a good man. She likes John, she thinks he's a good man, but when I come into the room all the light goes out of her eyes. What could I do to get her to see me in a different light?" Sherlock looked in Mr. Sonnes' face, "Maybe I could be her hero. You see, she needs a hero. You might have won that part yourself, but then you electronically followed her with her ID, you used her personal information to search for her whereabouts, hunting her down when she didn't want to be found. You tried to Svengali her into your demented dream world of what love is and finally you tried to kidnap her. You didn't expect her to come to me." Sherlock smiled and looked at Anita again, "Fortunately for me." He turned back to Sonnes. "Here's the end story, she's safe now. I'm going to protect her and look after her. In short, I'm going to save her and one day she may see me."

"Now she isn't interested in having you locked up, though that would be my first thought. But you do have to stop this—immediately. Not one more 'walk by,' not one more flower van. You will not stalk her, harass her and I'm going to see to that because she can stay with me as long as she needs to—so she can find out who she can trust. I won't let her down." Then he leaned towards Jack Sonnes, lowering his voice, "Don't mistake what I'm saying as a threat. I don't threaten people. She needs to be safe from you. One way or another I'm going to accomplish that. I give you my word."

Now during this interchange John's eyes had been going back and forth between the players. Mr. Sonnes knee was bouncing, while he gripped his glass, his thumb going up and down the side. His hatred was clear in his face and eyes, but he kept a control that even he found admirable. Sherlock had completely taken on the role of hero and cavalier and as well as he knew Sherlock he was still amazed at how thoroughly in love he appeared to be. It was Anita whose face kept drawing him back. After the initial shock, she looked intermittently between their hands, Sherlock's face, Jack Sonnes' face and the table. As she listened to Sherlock's words, her face softened and she laid her free hand on top of his. Her eyes softened when she looked to Sherlock. The business man saw this too and the level of surprise and irritation it brought to him almost overtook him. His mouth opened and closed. John wasn't sure he even heard the last of what Sherlock had said. He looked to Anita instead.

"Nita what do you want?"

She bit her lip, then turned her face to him fully, "You've ruined my life Jack. I can't go back to work. I can't go back home. There isn't a place that I feel safe—and you say to me you haven't hurt me? I want the last two years back. Can you give me that? Can you make it so I don't feel hunted?"

"How come you can't come back to work? The business man looked a little frantic at what she said, "I've never kept you from it, I never would."

"You stalked me with my own work ID! You used it so I could never leave my home without fear. You put people in my home! And then you hired those thugs. Where were they going to take me? What were they going to do to me? How could I come to work after that? How could I look at you and not remember all of that! Until Sherlock began talking just now I didn't realize how bad my situation had become. You've taken everything from me!" She turned to Sherlock with a pleading, searching look, "Sherlock, I think you're right. We have to go to the police. I won't get my life back without it."

The three of them went to stand, Sherlock looking victorious while still holding her hand.

"No!" Mr. Sonnes realized his panicking wasn't helping and brought his voice down, "'Nita, 'Nita, please, you can't. Darling I'm sorry."

"She is not your darling." Sherlock retorted, "Not anymore."

"Please, all of you, please sit down. Please don't leave." Mr. Sonnes looked defeated, worried and scared. Anita looked to Sherlock, prepared to follow his lead and he sat back down, putting his arm on her chair rest, arms as well as hands linked. The three of them looked at to Mr. Sonnes to speak.

"I lost my mind, I admit it. I've done some-some things I'm not proud of. I've behaved poorly—to say the least. I didn't think. But, you have nothing to fear, Anita, I promise you. You don't have to run away." He reached out to touch her arm but instinctively she pulled it away. "What? He's the one you trust now? You just met him. If you don't think you can trust me, what do you think he'll do to you?"

It was her turn to lean in, "Jack, I was asleep in my own bed and you sent a man to crawl into my home to take my picture. You then sent the picture to me to frighten me out of my mind. You thought about all that. You knew what it would do to me and you counted on it. You thought you had figured out all the possibilities of what a frighten Anita would do and you prepared for each eventuality, didn't you? You haven't lost your mind Jack, you've twisted it. There's nothing beyond you. How could my trust be anymore misplaced?" Done, she leaned back, free hand back to the chair arm, ready to leave.

"No, Nita, no—I, I give up. You're—I see it now. I'm starting to see. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry." John thought he saw the business man's eyes water before he hung his head down. "What will you do now?"

"What do you mean? What I have to do. I have to move. I have to find a new job. Are you going to make that hard for me again?"

"No, no. I won't do that. But you'll need seed money—"

"I don't want your money."

"I know you don't want my money, you never did, but you deserve it. You'll need a letter of recommendation, and some seed money, and an apology, a written one. You deserve all that and more. I just beg of you not to go to the police. I'll arrange it all this afternoon. The money will be sent to your account. The letters will be in your inbox before the end of the day."

"I don't need your money,"

"You'll need money, and even if you didn't, it's the last thing I'm going to be able to do for you. Please take it."

Anita's eyes faltered for the first time. She didn't know what to say, "I don't think I should."

"Please 'Nita."

She looked to Sherlock, who had been watching her the entire time. "Whatever you want, but he's right, you deserve it."

She looked back to Jack Sonnes, "Is this some sort of trick? What is this really?"

"It's not a trick. I'm a business man, a successful business man and I got that way, by understanding the cards in front of me. You don't play a hand that's played out. Go through a trial? The embarrassment? The problems for the company? Me losing my job? Why, when I could spend a fraction of that on a good therapist? I don't want to watch the love we had trampled in the press and in the courts. Right now, even now, you still have a kind eye for me, I want to remember you with that eye. Besides, you never asked me for anything. This is my way of saying thank you, because for a while you made me very happy."

John watched Anita soften, and he realized that she was right, he could be kind and he saw the love he had in his eyes, so he wasn't surprised when she relented to his proposal. She didn't ask any particulars, she just told him okay. Then she looked to Sherlock, "I'm ready to go." This time when they stood up, it was final. Sherlock looked down at Jack Sonnes, who looked exhausted and demoralized back at him. Sherlock pulled her close, shoulders touching, and hand in hand, they walked out of the restaurant.

VIII

Philosopher, pirate, scientist, consulting detective. Sherlock missed his calling. Acting, that is what Sherlock should have gone into. If he didn't know him, seen him in action, he would have sworn in a court of law that Sherlock had fallen head over heels with the beautiful girl whose hand he was holding. He walked behind them as they left the restaurant, not envying himself because he knew it was going to fall on him to explain to Anita what the real state of affairs was.

"No, not yet, he'll still be watching."

John turned from looking down the street to see what Sherlock was talking about. He turned away from the scene of them because it scraped at his heart.

Sherlock had been looking for a cab, but had turned back to Anita. He had never let go of her hand, but now he had bent his face to hers and had taken his free hand to hold the back of her head to bring her face close, "This is the most important part. He'll be watching to see if this was an act. What we do now makes or breaks everything." With that he leaned in and kissed her forehead in the tenderest way. She in turn had been looking to Sherlock with doe eyes, faith and trust put in his every word, she held the wrist that held her head and gave a quiet nod. He smiled and turned back in time to flag down a cab. Sherlock opened the door, put his hand to the small of her back to usher her in first, he followed and then John got in.

Well, this was a first, John thought to himself. He looked out the window and watched the world that didn't experience the Baker Street life. Sometimes he envied them. He leaned over to look at Anita. "You knew what he was up to?"

She gave John a shy smile, "I've read your blog."

"And you're not upset."

"He did what he had to do to save my life."

John gave her a big smile, reached over and patted her hand, then leaned back, still smiling broadly. He was immensely proud.

Sherlock sat silent during the exchange and for a few moments after, "Well, I'm happy to see I'm so quickly swept off the stoop, but I think as I am 'your boyfriend,' I have a few words to be said here. Among which is, where do you think you're going now, Ms. Williams?"

She looked surprised at the outburst, "I assumed back to Baker Street. I have to pack, make a list of things to do, find a hotel—"

"Assuming gets you into trouble, it's better for you that you don't do that in the future. The first thing we all are going to do is eat, seeing as neither you or John are going to be able to go too much longer without a meal. I know a good restaurant, good seafood. The manager likes to have me come now and then. I helped him with a situation once. Next, you are coming back to Baker Street, but you're not going anywhere else, not yet. Just because he said he's thrown in the towel doesn't mean he has. In the next couple of days we'll see the letters you receive, the money you receive and if we receive any unwelcome visitors. When you leave Baker Street you won't be wandering around—you'll have a plan."

It was Anita's turn to be quiet. She searched his face, then bit her lip, using pain to distract herself from tears that wanted to well up, "Mr. Holmes, Sherlock, thank you." She had put her hand on his arm and kept it there as she turned to look out the window. But in a few moments she laid her head on his shoulder, not saying a word, still looking out the window.

John who had watched it all, including watching Sherlock staring at her head on his shoulder before returning to working his phone, was now really surprised. He turned his face to look out the window. What did he just see? Honestly, what did he just see?

IX

They didn't get back to 221b until much later than John thought they would have. When they got to the restaurant and the manager saw that Sherlock Holmes had come, he immediately dropped everything else he was doing and pointed him to an excellent table, bringing out the chef to meet his "great friend."

The menu was cast aside, a special 3-course meal was to be prepared for them. Anita looked excited and confused, and a little overwhelmed. Sherlock acted like it was an everyday occurrence, which really wasn't too far from the truth. John watched the two of them. Sherlock seemed unconcerned, maybe even a little put upon by all the fuss, but there was this thing about him. Often when things were the closest to him, was when he acted the most removed.

Anita was harder to understand. Something about her was confused, undone, even as she smiled graciously and made the men of the restaurant fall a little in love with her. She asked about the dishes and the techniques, how long the restaurant had been in business and where the chef had gone to school. Intelligent questions that showed she knew something on the subjects she asked about. And she listened, really listened. They would have gone on far longer until Sherlock intervened:

"Will we have a meal or a monograph?"

The men apologized and scurried away, and Anita looked to John like she wanted to say something, but couldn't. She looked down, her eyes searching, then they stopped. She smiled and looked around, "Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to tell me a story about one of your cases."

"John refuses to let me tell you about 'the elephant in the room.' He's convinced that MI5 will have us in custody inside of 10 minutes if I do."

"No, I don't want a story from the blog. I want a different one, and I know which one. Tell me about your first case."

John was surprised, amazed. Brilliant he thought, absolutely brilliant. One look at Sherlock's face told him that she couldn't have asked for a better case.

"Why would you want to know that story?"

"Because I want one only you can tell me."

John knew, to compliment him about his work, was the same as to compliment a woman on her beauty. And not even he had thought to ask about his first case, his very first one, so he was as intrigued to hear the story as Anita was.

The story ended up being set back in his university days: A school mate, his father with a secret, a great deal of money and blackmail that tore through 2 generations. When Sherlock wanted to he could spin a yarn very well, and he used it to carry them through the meal, with a few judicious questions from Anita. John was beyond impressed by the time they left.

The next stop was her apartment. A place she didn't want to go, but Sherlock insisted she pack a case. While she did that, Sherlock showed John how Jack's man had gotten in. Sherlock contacted the landlord and he had come in and boarded up the hole until he could fix the problem by turning it into a cabinet, where no one could abuse it again.

Both of them looked at it a few seconds, John examined it, disgusted, and Sherlock sat at the small kitchen table.

"What did you mean when you said that this wasn't Anita's first time at war?"

John looked around to the door before sitting down. "It's hard to describe it. There's a wariness, a skill set that you get only in certain situations, because otherwise you feel paranoid. You have to truly believe that something bad is going to happen to you to embrace that kind of behavior. You and I, we go to where the trouble is, so in a way, we're kind of prepared for it. In order for her to be prepared the way she is—the way soldiers in the field are-that doesn't come to from one crazy ex, not even Jack Sonnes could do that.

"But you don't know that to be the truth."

"No, but I suspect that you do."

Sherlock didn't reply, which John didn't mind, in fact, expected. They both went into their separate thoughts until Anita came with her case.

John noticed that once again Sherlock took the middle position in the cab back to Baker Street. He had also walked her case down, but given it to him to put in the trunk. The ride consisted of Sherlock asking her questions about Jack Sonnes and their life together. His questions were clinical and analytical, but his tone had none of the harshness, John was certain it was his version of warmth. But John couldn't see his face or Anita's because Sherlock had angled himself just enough to shut him out. A lot of the conversation he couldn't even hear, because Sherlock sunk his voice in places. Anita's answers had no hesitation. She did try to include John once, Sherlock did nothing to keep him from answering, but he did give him the whale eye, and John bowed out as quickly as he could.

John pulled out his phone and sent a text to his wife telling her briefly that he had quite a tale to tell her when she got back. He ended the text with: "I think our boy is growing up."

X

There were two confused people who got back to 221b, John and Anita. John had taken her case out of the trunk, but Sherlock took it from him and went to open the door. In that couple of seconds it took to do it Anita looked to John wide-eyed. What is going on? John tried to give a very fatherly look with the closing of eyes and nodding the head to try and convey that just give it time—there was a plan in place, but he didn't know what was going on either.

As they reached their apartment, Sherlock reached back with an open arm to move Anita forward up the stairs to her room, while telling John that he'd be back down in a few minutes. Smooth, John thought, wonder where he learned that?

When Sherlock came back down he went through the kitchen door to the bedroom and in a few minutes came out with his laptop, which he brought to the living room table and opened to begin work. Since Sherlock was determined to pretend as though nothing strange had happened that morning, John began the conversation.

"So what's the next move?"

"Excuse me," Sherlock kept his eyes on his computer.

"What are you going to do next?"

"I'm going to see what I can do about disproving this man who supposedly made his last call from a bank vault. I believe he was in a mausoleum."

"You know I'm talking about Anita. What happens next?"

"What do you mean? We're waiting to see what letters we receive and whether we get any further complications from Jack."

"Anita is really going to stay here until then?"

"'Nita may stay here as long as she likes."

John knew he was winding him up with that last statement, and he was loath to take the bait. He tried a different tack. "You don't think Jack is done, do you? Do you think he's still having her watched?"

Sherlock continued typing without answering, and John just watched him while he did for a bit. Finally he just said, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his computer with an irritated snap. "Why? Because I was nice to her? Is that the only reason I could have been nice to her, because I'm working the case? You're the one who said she's been a soldier on a battlefield more than once. Was I so wrong for giving her a meal and a place to rest?"

John was surprised. "I'm sorry." He thought about what was said and continued. "Whatever you're doing, bring her on board."

"Are we still having this conversation?"

"Yes. Yes we are. You wonder at why I'm so interested in her welfare. She wants to trust you, but she gets frightened when she doesn't know what's going on. Trust that's been broken over and over is fragile that way." John picked at a hangnail on his thumb, "I've known people, I knew people, one in particular, in Afghanistan—I didn't know what she had been through. The answers were so easy to me. I didn't pay attention to how she was being affected and—and it didn't end well. Then, I started to remember things she said and did. Afterwards, I learned things I didn't know. She was trying to tell me, but I didn't know how to hear her."

He looked up, "Anita I hear. She's trying to trust you. The more she understands, the more she'll trust. It might even help."

"Help what? Help me?"

John gave a half grin at Sherlock's innocent arrogance, "It may help everything."

XI

The next time that she came downstairs, it was once again after sleeping. She was beginning to think she was making up for months of lost sleep. She hadn't planned on going to sleep. She'd begun putting together her plans, starting with looking for work on her laptop. She had a notebook with random thoughts that she put down as they came to her. There was so much to do. She leaned back on her pillow and pulled out her teddy bear. It may be embarrassing she thought, but not embarrassing enough to give it up. She hugged the bear in one hand and wrote notes in her book with the other. The next thing she knew, she woke up to find herself covered with a blanket and her laptop, notebook and pen on the nightstand. Her teddy bear was still in place. Busted she thought.

A few minutes later she went downstairs with her laptop to find John, who was taking a nap himself on the sofa.

"John, wake up. I've gotten emails."

"What did they say?"

She looked around to see Sherlock coming from the kitchen table. John was waking up, interested and she went to the living room table and sat down, "I haven't opened them up yet. I didn't want to do it alone."

"There were 3 emails. The first one read, "I'm so sorry." She skipped over that one to the one that read, "Letter of Recommendation." The first sentence explained that he was going to mail the original to her, wherever she wanted to receive it. The attached letter itself was complimentary in the extreme, yet it was professional. She read over it quickly, but went over a few of the more touching phrases. John patted her arm. She smiled at him, then closed that email.

"One down," Sherlock said, "which one do you want to open next?"

The third email was labeled CONFIRMATION OF DEPOSIT with a bank name and date. Sherlock leaned over her to look at the email: "That's not your regular account is it?"

"No it's not," She clicked on the email. Though she knew he knew, it was still disturbing to see all her personal information laid out. All the information he used to open an account for her—in the Caymans. The attachment would show the amount in the account. She took a little breath and clicked it.

Only she made no movement when they saw the sum. John's mouth fell open and he looked from her to the screen and back several times. Even Sherlock stood up, amazed. He looked down at Anita, "What are thinking?"

"I'm thinking this is wrong. This is too much money. There's a saying, you probably haven't heard of it, 'you take their money, you take their crap.' Anita looked up into his face, "Sherlock, if I touch this money, what am I saying 'yes' to?"

Sherlock eyes widened, and he allowed himself a small smile, "Good question."

She closed that email also. There was only one left, "Do you want to read that one privately?" John asked.

"No." She clicked the subject line. It went in this way:

"Remember the Caymans? I always will. Seeing you in that blue dress at sunset will never leave my mind. I never wanted that dinner or night to end."

"I went a little mad. I can admit that. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I can see that I did it to myself. It's probably a good thing that I won't see you at work tomorrow because I don't think I could handle it. There are too many memories in my mind at this point and there are new thoughts coming in making it worse. And the thought that I drove you to him is hard to endure."

"Is he really the one you're turning to? How can he be to you what I was? How can you smile at him the way you did to me? He held your hand and he looked at you and I saw his heart was in it, and you responded to him and it was all I could do to not to rip him to shreds. Then I remembered that I did it. I put you there. I put your hands in his. I put your face in his hands and his kiss on your forehead. I'm so sorry Nita. You'll never know how sorry I am. I wanted too much too fast. I couldn't slow down. I was like a man starving. I still am."

"Nita, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Even if you can't take me back, please forgive me."

JS

Anita's hands were shaking and her body was trembling, "He didn't admit to anything that he did," was all that she said at first. John had seated himself next to her and Sherlock had been reading over her shoulder, "I went a little mad?" She glanced at John, "he went a little mad." John's hand was on her arm, but he had no words. He was scared for her too. Sherlock reached over her and closed the laptop and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Come." He squeezed her shoulders, she stood and he moved her to his chair, pulling John's chair close and he reached out and held her hands in his own, holding them tight.

"He's not done with me at all."

"No he's not. This man is a boil that has to be lanced. But we can't give him time to think. We need to apply some heat." Anita gave him a questioning look, "You've been very strong. I need you to be strong a little more."

"What do I have to do?"

"What outfits did you bring?"

XII

Though John knew he couldn't come, he didn't like it. Sherlock was convinced there were new people who were tracking Anita's movements. He didn't have the luxury of time to find these people, he needed to make them come out of hiding. When he saw Jack's phone on the table he was immediately suspicious. When they were outside of the restaurant he saw him pick up the phone and make a call. There was no time to hunt for a specialist. He was going to have to get someone close to home, someone he could trust. And Sherlock was certain that he'd given that person or persons pictures of all of them, including John. He couldn't be back-up, but John's assistance was still vital to the plan.

They sat at the table, completing the plan and then Sherlock had to leave. "Be ready when I get back," he said and a few seconds later he was gone.

"Is he ADHD?" Anita asked John.

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," she said with a little smile, "at least I'm not going upstairs just to sleep. It's seems I'm out cold in a few minutes whenever I get in there."

"I know. Sherlock went to ask you if you wanted tea not too long before you came down. He said you were asleep."

Anita turned to him with a strange look on her face, John thought, but she didn't say anything. She just turned back and went upstairs.

When Sherlock had returned a couple of hours later, rocking the house as he did so, John barely could understand him as he moved past him towards his bedroom when he said, "Is Nita ready?" Did he say 'Nita'?

"Yeah, she's just putting her bag together."

"I'll be back out in a minute."

John went to the stairs to tell Anita what Sherlock said, but he saw her coming down towards him. She had let her hair down and curled it, Wore her knee boots and tucked in pants with a slinky, untucked shirt and a sweater jacket that went almost to the knee, unbuttoned. She had jewelry and make up and perfume added and she looked amazing. John realized that he must have been staring by the smile that she gave him.

"You flatter a girl. Your wife is very fortunate."

"No, I am."

Anita smiled even bigger, "And that's what I mean."

"Do you have everything?"

"She patted her little cross-body bag, "everything is in there." Her smile faded a little, "do you think this will work?"

John looked to see if Sherlock was close, "Sherlock will find a way to make it work."

Her eyes shined a little even as she was smiling and impulsively gave him a big hug, "Thank you so much for everything you're doing for me, all of you. You don't know what this means to me."

Of course Sherlock appeared at that moment, "Oh for heaven's sake. I leave you two together for one minute," he reached over and took her hand to pull her back and inspect, "yes, yes, very first date appropriate," he ignored John giving him a 'what do you know about it?' face.

"Now follow my lead. I may not be able to tell you why I'm doing everything at that moment, just be ready to react."

"Jawohl mein kommandat."

Surprised, he gave her a little scowl. She gave him a big grin. He in returned looked stunned, and a little confused, before he recovered and said: "John, you're a bad influence, you're obviously infecting her with your sarcasm. Be ready on the phone."

"No that's all her," he told them, also grinning, then added as Sherlock spun her around and headed her down the stairs. "You two, be careful."

Anita would have said something, but Sherlock was moving her quickly out the door.

XIII

Hours later they sat in the back of a taxi, heading to a pub to finish off the evening. He had pulled her into the crook of him, his arm over her shoulder, which she held absently, looking out the window. As far as pretend dates went, she couldn't imagine better. In fact, she couldn't imagine a real date being better, and she hated that. "This is not real, this is not real," she kept repeating to herself and it was at the very moment that she received a kiss on her temple. Her heart swelled. That was it, she had to break the spell.

"Have you heard anything else from John?"

Sherlock just looked at her a bit before answering, "Unless something else happens I don't expect to hear from him. I'm going to text him from the pub."

The evening had run this way, they had gone for a light supper, taken the tube to a visual arts exhibition on celebrated criminals in the arts, and now they were going to a pub close to Baker Street. They had taken pictures of themselves and each other throughout the evening, sending them to each other. Sherlock had narrated the whole evening, and Anita teased him for much of it. Though she was impressed by the breath of his knowledge, sometimes she just couldn't resist the urge to pop his bubble a little bit. The best he would do is give her a half smile for a particularly good zinger, but as the evening went on he did seem to relax, the way he did with John. But he may have been acting, she told herself, remembering him at the restaurant against Jack.

"We have a long ride before we get to the pub. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Anita didn't think she did, but then a thought came to her. Her grin grew wide and she turned to Sherlock with eyes bright. At first he didn't understand, but it came to him quickly enough. He actually smiled a broad full smile back.

They had lively conversation through their first beers at the pub, Anita treated the second beers and brought them to the table. Sherlock took the beer without taking a drink, watching her sit. "What?" She asked. "Teddy bear," he replied.

She looked at him embarrassed and amazed at the same time, "You never had a stuffed animal?"

"I have a skull. Never slept with it."

"You know there have been studies. Most warm-blooded mammals need to love something, even if it can't love them back. Besides, a teddy bear is cuddlier than a skull."

He made no reply. In fact, they had both gotten quiet, then Sherlock reached out his hand and she put hers into it. "It's my turn now," he told her.

"To what?"

"I want a story. One that only you can tell me."

She looked down before looking back at him, "You are the great Sherlock Holmes. Inferences based on trifles. The man who not only sees but observes everything. What could I tell you that you don't already know?"

"There was a time I would have felt the same way, I still do most of the time. But knowledge is more than the sum of facts. Facts: You carry mace, you carry a knife, you don't own high heels, you keep a small night stick in your nightstand. The pictures of your family in your mp3 are old and seem to stop long before you left school, much less come to London, You have no pictures of your family on your phone, you haven't gone to them for help. The facts are bleak."

"Yeah, maybe, but here are other facts: I loved school. I had teachers who opened every possible door for me that they could. I had friends that had my back and back doors when I needed to escape through one. Advisors found me scholarships. Employers gave me extra hours and little gifts to get me along. I loved reading and did and still do read voraciously, which is why I decided to follow a little web address in an article I was reading where I found a blog about man meeting a mad, arrogant, charming, 12-year-old-looking genius and the absolutely insane adventures that they went on. Then I read the Science of Deduction and I thought this can't be real. But it was. By the way, you're nicer than your website would lead a person to believe. Anyway, yeah, I've had my bad breaks, but, I've also had a lot of good people there to help me when I needed
them most."

There was again, the second time she'd done it. Words were hitting home, only this time he didn't know what to say. "Well, yes, ah, right," he watched as she started smiling at him, he narrowed his eyes then looked off, finding his footing, before looking back, "So, what happens after this bad break?"

Anita sighed, "This one, this one has been wild. I need to just stop for a little bit I think. I haven't had to be—this 'on' in a long time. It's exhausting. Maybe just stop for a little bit. Perhaps I'll go into a coma somewhere. Then, figure out what I'm going to do." Absently, she reached up and touched the slight scar near his eye.

The touch was light, yet deliberate, with concern on her face as if to say 'it was a bit wild for you too, wasn't it?' without ever saying the words. It felt—normal. "Well—before you go off into your coma, you could meet Mary, John's wife. She'll be back tomorrow."

"John was telling me about her and showing me pictures. She sounds amazing. Did she really help solve a murder at her own wedding?"

Sherlock watched the interest in her face, "almost murder," he corrected, "Mary has many talents. I think—" Sherlock's phone buzzed, he looked at the text and back to Anita, "It's time to head back."

XIV

They walked towards 221b. The weather was slightly cool and the breeze was light. He put his arm over her shoulder and she put her fingers into his. Neither of them spoke. Sherlock noticed something he never had seen before. How people looked at them. Some of them smiled. Somehow together they were more than just two people walking down the street, and it was noticeable to them. He wondered at it. He looked down at her face and she looked up at him, not smiling, but her face had a look to it—he didn't have a word for it. Then she put her arm around his waist and instead of it feeling annoying or constricting, it seemed to anchor the way they moved and their strides became smoother. Life's journey had many lessons he realized yet again in his life. They got to a corner and he steered them down the quieter street, headed towards home.

Just as they made it half way into the block, lights came up from behind and doors opened and before the couple could turn to see what was happening, Sherlock had been rushed on, and shoved to the ground. Anita had been snatched and was being dragged backwards towards the lights of the car. Anita grabbed at the pinky-fingers of the man attacking her, digging her hands in and using his own fingers against him to get his hands off of her. She kicked at his knees and then his groin and after he was on the ground she pulled the mace out of her purse and sprayed him in the eyes. She ran back towards Sherlock and his attacker.

Sherlock had gotten his attacker to the ground, finally getting him into a position to get subdued, when he realized it was Jack Sonnes himself. He hadn't expected him to come to the ambush. That brief hesitation was all he needed to knock Sherlock off of him, and before Anita could spray him with the mace he grabbed the arm and twisted it behind her back, twisting the mace out of her hands and throwing it to the ground. By the time Sherlock stood to go after them, Jack had his other arm around Anita neck, gun in his hand.

"I could have shot you both. I could have just shot you." Was all he said at first, his eye were wild, "I couldn't just let you have her. I couldn't let that happen."

"Sherlock! The other man is David Spears, Jack's personal head of security. I recognized him when I got him with the mace!" Anita said this even while Jack was yelling at her to shut up, "I got him good with the mace!" In fact, he was still writhing on the ground, groaning and useless. Jack tightened the grip on her twisted arm and she yelped in pain.

"We still can leave, together. I have a place they'll never find us. You have to come with me," Jack was speaking low, directly in her ear, insistent and desperate.

Sherlock froze, watching Jack tighten the grip on her neck, pulling her further into the street, he was glancing nervously in either direction.

"They're not coming. Your flower van is not coming."

"Shut up!"

"Your people are not coming to get you. You're all alone, Jack."

"Shut up! Shut up! I could have just shot you," he again said in her ear, "I can't see him with you. I can't do it. I made a mistake Nita. Baby, aren't I allowed to make a mistake?" He was breaking down, devolving.

"Jack. I—I," Anita began.

"How do you think I know your people aren't coming?" Sherlock said loudly, pulling Jack out his spiral, his face back towards him, "Remember when I said that you weren't the only one who could have people watched? What do you think tonight was? It was all for you. From the second you picked up that phone in the restaurant, yes I saw you, I knew you'd never leave Anita alone, unharmed. I have people all over this city. In each place we went to they were watching us and looking out for your people. They took photos Jack. They followed your people to the people they talked to. All the pictures we took, all the pictures they took, John Watson reviewed them all and was keeping in touch with the police. By the time we left the pub, the van was already in custody. That's why you couldn't contact them. That's why you had to come yourself."

"I was coming anyway! I had to make sure—" He was beginning to understand his situation. He looked down in Anita's face, "You did this to fool me? This wasn't real? You don't love him?"

Anita felt like it was her last minute on earth, and from wherever in a person's heart that is, she refused to die a coward, "Jack—I don't love you." And with that, with all her might, she kicked his knee.

Jack screamed. But instead of pointing the gun at her, he aimed it at Sherlock. The kick to the knee threw his aim off, the bullet bouncing off the wall behind Sherlock as he dodged out of the way. Anita had dropped to the ground and the bullet meant for Sherlock ended up in Jack's own shoulder. There was a second scream and the roar of motorcycle in everyone's ears and by the time Sherlock and Anita looked around for the source of that roar they saw Jack Sonnes on the back of that motorcycle, speeding off into the night. It all had happened in mere seconds.

Anita stood up, staring into the dark where the motorcycle had gone, surprised to be alive. She looked to Sherlock, walking to her, he lifted his arm and she walked right in, beginning to sob. He put both arms around her and tried to soothe her a little, but realized it was better to let her cry. If anyone had a reason to, it was her. The sirens came and police appeared and all he did was point in the direction of David Spears, trying to make progress away from the crime scene, blind and in pain. Next he then told Lestrade the last few moments of what happened with Jack, and during all that he let Anita stay buried in his arms, crying. He watched as another group of police went after the motorcycle.

XV

John had a fitful night of worry. He had been working with the police. He had been taking in texts, pictures and phone calls all evening, looking for repeats of people. They had chosen 3 different places from 3 different points in the city in order to make the likelihood of the same people going to the same places as them remote. Sherlock had people working at the restaurant and the pub who were keeping eyes on the situation and a team of his network both in and out of all three locations. Anita and Sherlock taking photos were the means of using the phone to keep up with what was going on. They identified the followers and as soon as they saw them go up a certain van they knew the flower shop boys were still in play and had gotten into position. John gave Lestrade the information and had them all picked up, that's when they texted Sherlock at the pub. The question was what would happen now, were they the only kidnappers?

Sherlock didn't think so because Jack was as brilliant as he was disturbed. He was certain he had a back-up plan in case anyone was made. He felt sure that there would be people for his people. What they hadn't counted on was Jack himself and the motorcycle. It seemed that Jack and his security man were only supposed to be there to watch from the shadows. The man on the motorcycle was called in at the last minute when they couldn't contact the van and he was there to make sure that they weren't thwarted in their attempts, he just didn't get there in time.

As soon as Anita's tears slowed to a trickle she sat in a car with Lastrade and she told him the whole story in her own words. Sherlock called John to let them know how things had ended, much to John's relief. John asked if he was leaving at that point, but Sherlock said no. He was going down to the station with Anita. He had to give his official statement and he'd probably give better descriptions of events than Anita could. Also, because they hadn't caught Sonnes at that point, he wanted her to come back to Baker Street. John was silent.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock knew where he was headed, "John, do me a favor."

"What?"

"Get a towel and wipe that ridiculous grin off your face. We should be back not too long after sunrise."

It took longer that even Sherlock expected to finish up things at Scotland Yard. By the time they got to Baker Street Mary had made it back from her spa vacation. John had been telling her everything that had been happening since she left the hotel for the train station and Cathy had driven her directly to 221b when they got back in town. Mary was quite put out that she had missed everything. John had this vision of Mary running down criminals with the baby strapped to her back. When John told Mrs. Hudson that Anita was coming back to the house she was overjoyed and expanded her breakfast plans to include everyone.

"That girl is special," she said as she went downstairs.

Sherlock and Anita entered a house full of people welcoming them with food and conversation. Anita got a little misty eyed because it had been so long since she'd felt anything like home. She told everyone she was just tired and a little overwrought as she wiped her eyes, but Sherlock saw different. He sat her in the middle of John and Mary and they mothered her right as she told the entire story once again and answered their questions and made sure she had enough to eat. Then John opened the computer and they all moved over to the table to look at the pictures that had been taken. They looked with concern at the people who had nearly kidnapped her and teased the two of them for the 'romantic' poses they struck through the evening. Anita took the teasing graciously. Sherlock didn't counter the comments at all. John noticed. Mary did too, but they pretended they didn't.

Next the conversation turned to Mary's trip and she began to tell funny stories about getting into and out of various places meant to relax you when you're 2 minutes from having a baby and standing and sitting was a skillset of its own.

Sherlock sat in his chair, opened his computer and began working away at something. It had been the better part of the morning and he had things to do and so he started to do them. The rest continued talking and he wasn't the least put out by them. Something about it seemed very right.

He worked away for a quite a while, and then he heard it, the sound of a car door closing. He knew who it was and he was certain it wasn't good. He closed his laptop and looked out the window. Lestrade was coming up to the house. Sherlock met him at the door.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to speak with Anita."

Everyone else was waiting to see who had come and at first was happy to see Greg come through the door with Sherlock. But Anita saw the expression on his face and quickly became somber, "what's wrong?"

"Do you want to talk privately?"

"No."

Since Sherlock wouldn't, John offered him a seat, which he took. No, John thought, this wasn't going to be good news. Sherlock paced in the back of the room.

"Sonnes has disappeared."

XVI

"How could Sonnes have disappeared? You couldn't have been three minutes behind him," Sherlock accused, "I sent the signal the second the lights appeared behind us, where were you, taking a coffee break?"

"We got there as soon as we could, and the reason he disappeared is he had a plan. We went back over the CCTV and they were followed for about two miles and they turned down a road that they must have known didn't have coverage. They never came out again. We sent teams to search every inch of that street. We didn't find the bike, we didn't even find a drop of blood. Are you sure he was hit?"

Both Sherlock and Anita answered, "He was hit."

"Well they found some way out. And as bad as that is, it isn't the worst part of the news."

"There's more?" Anita asked.

Greg turned to her with eyes that made her heart sink. It was bad, she felt it.

Lestrade pulled out his phone and showed her a series of pictures. "Do you know the names Baynard, Crowell or Roberts?

Anita took the phone and Sherlock immediately came and stood over her shoulder to look at the pictures. "Who are these people?" Sherlock demanded of Lestrade, who said nothing.

Anita looked at the pictures a few times. "Baynard looks familiar. I don't recognize the other two."

When we couldn't find Sonnes, we started going into his background. These 3 men are people he has business dealings with. At this point, all dealings appear to be legit, but—"

"Spit it out!" Sherlock demanded.

Anita just looked up at him. She wished she had the strength to rail and holler. You rail and holler when you have hope. Sherlock looked in her face and returned to pacing the other side of the room.

They all have deep crime ties. They all filed flight plans for today on their private planes to Prague, Budapest, and Istanbul for 3 people. They all made emergency flight corrections to places in northern Italy today. Sonnes transferred a considerable sum to each of these men about two weeks ago, along with money to off shore accounts we're still trying to trace. We feel certain that as we continue to go through the finances, we are going to find more ties to these 3 people. This means his reach has expanded further than we first thought. Sherlock stopped pacing. Everyone's eyes focused on Anita face as Lestrade continued, "Do you remember anything about meeting Russell Baynard?"

"I think he stopped at our table a couple of times when Jack and I had gone out. I don't remember any serious business being discussed."

Lestrade was hedging. He didn't want to say what needed to be said.

"Just say it," this time Sherlock's voice had become calm, but was rumbling with anger.

"Anita, we don't think you're going to be safe in your current situation. The amount of money that was spent to orchestrate this pays for persistence through to results. Without Sonnes in our custody, without knowing where he is, we think he'll keep coming after you. We feel, down at Scotland Yard, that you need to come with us and be put into witness protection. His ties to organized crime make you eligible and we believe that you should take the offer seriously."

Anita dropped her head and her body sagged. Gasps came from everyone but Sherlock and herself. Mary hugged her and John put his arms over her shoulders. There were no words that could touch the pain. When Sherlock knelt down in front of her, John and Mary moved back but Anita's head remained down. She didn't want to see his face, the pain would split her heart, she was sure of it. He put his arms around her and she slid into them and onto the floor.

"Everyone leave. I'll let you know when to come back," was all Sherlock said.

Everyone left to go downstairs, John shutting the door behind them. As they went downstairs and the sounds of them faded away, the sobs began and for only the second time since she was a child did she give way fully to her pain. Sherlock rocked her on the floor, never shushing her, kissing her forehead from time to time. When her tears turned into shudders, he moved them both to the sofa and he held her in his arms again like a child.

"Go to sleep, I'll still be here when you wake up."

Her shudders slowed, lessened then stopped as she went into an exhausted sleep. Only when he was sure that she had found some peace did his own eyes begin to burn. Angry tears were all he had to deal with this impossible situation. He had won the battle only to lose the war and he wanted to be able to punish someone for it. For now, he did for Nita what he could. He made the good-bye a little less painful for them both.

It was over 3 hours later before Sherlock said it was okay to return. Even after she woke up, Sherlock gave her time to put herself together before they saw her. He sat and watched her wash her face and comb her hair. She, in turn, looked at him and took a towel to run over his eyes and face. She reached over and kissed his forehead, and once, his mouth.

"It's time to face my future," she told him.

Anita was as composed as she had ever been when they were all together again. Lestrade had left but came back to explain what was to happen and bring her back to the station. Sherlock went with her to pack her case upstairs and together they went with Lestrade back to her apartment to get a few more things she would need for her journey. He held her hand all along the way, though they didn't speak much. She pulled out her mp3 and took a picture of their hands together, another of his face. Sherlock told her to check her email one more time before she closed her account. That something would be in it for her. Then the men came and took her away. When she left so did Sherlock, ignoring Lestrade's attempts to give him a ride back to Baker Street "I'm fine," was all he said without a backward glance as he walked away.

XVII

John breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened downstairs. It had been hours since Greg had called saying Sherlock had left the station. Where he was became more and more worrisome.

"What are you doing here? Where's Mary?"

"She went home."

"You should have gone home too."

"I did. I came back when Mrs. Hudson called saying you hadn't made it home."

Sherlock just looked at John, "You didn't call my brother, did you?"

"No, that was in 5 minutes."

Sherlock took off his coat and threw it on the table as he sat down, opening his laptop, "Well not to worry, I was working a case."

"Oh, the phone call from the mausoleum?"

"No, Nita's case.

"Really?"

"I went to the place where supposedly there was no trace of where Sonnes had disappeared from."

"Did you find anything?"

"Oh, just trace blood and clothing fragments and a series of cars on the CCTV arriving before and leaving after the motorcycle entered the street at timed intervals that most likely carried one of each of the people and the motorcycle, clearly shown in the video as sitting lower to the ground when leaving, showing additional weight was in each of the cars. Scotland Yard may be able to get somewhere with that."

"So that's why I couldn't get ahold of Greg."

Sherlock just looked at him before showing him pictures of Sonnes and his accomplices.

"Do you have more on them?"

"Not yet. But someday all four of these men will sit behind bars for the rest of their lives. Go home John. I'm fine. Tell Mary I'm fine."

John looked down at his friend, his family, and grabbed his coat, "I'll check in on you tomorrow."

"I'm fine."

"Tomorrow." Was John's reply and he went down the stairs.

Sherlock toyed with whether he should tell John about telling Nita the story about the elephant in the room. He decided to save it for a time when it would be particularly annoying. His phone buzzed. A familiar number showed up. Three pictures had been sent to him: One that she had taken of their hands, one of herself and a final one out of an airplane window looking out at a magnificent sunset. Sherlock returned the favor. He sent a copy of all the pictures that had been taken during their "pretend date."

But there was another email he sent. The one he had promised. Earlier, when Nita was still a few steps away, Sherlock had contacted a man that worked at that bank in the Caymans. He had helped him with a problem once. Together they transferred every cent of the money that Sonnes had put in her name to a private, untraceable count. Sherlock sent her an email with the new confirmation number.

When he was done he turned off the computer. He listened to the silence of a room that not half a day before had been full of noise and people. He decided to go up to the room.

The only difference in the room was the folded blanket sitting on the bed. Then he noticed something on the nightstand and picked it up. It was her work ID and she had written into the laminate the words "Thank you." By chance he flipped it over, there was more. On that side she worked into the laminate: "You are a very good man, Sherlock Holmes."

She did it again. She hit home with her words. He smiled at the picture and left the room.