She sat, back perching forward in the tall tree, her hands firmly wrapped around the rear grip of her Barrett M82 - also recognized as the M107 by the U.S. government army - with her right eye against the scope of the rifle. A man descended the steps of the lavish looking, modernist home, looking around with a glass of wine in his hand. Her fingers tightened around the trigger, while her mind raced infinitely debating whether this was the right or wrong thing to do.

Her breathing grew strained and heavy, as sweat trickled down her head. She had lost track of time while internally fighting a battle with her consciousness. It was too late, she was losing the battle to her own consciousness. Her fingers loosened around the rifle and she stopped. Her long, dark brown hair fell in front of her face on top of the rifle and she scrambled to tuck it back behind her ear, all the while keeping her eye on the scope as she watched the man turn and start towards the steps on his porch and walked forwards. She still had a chance. She could shoot him in the back of his head right here and now. She closed her eyes and disregarded her consciousness questioning her behind the morality of what she was about to do, and placed her fingers back on the trigger, and her unnatural grey eyes squinting back in to the scope. The man was gone. She panicked and started looking around the exterior of the estate with the scope of the firearm, unable to see her target.

Her heart stopped. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a small red light at the bottom of the tree, making it's way to her. It was the red target light from another sniper. She looked around frantically, trying to find her rope in her duffel bag. She knew it was foolish to try to run away now, but she could not die this way. She refused to die at the hands of the likes of him and his men. Her hands found the rope, but failed to stop shaking due to her panicking, and they fell to the ground with a loud thud as she looked down in horror. It was then that she noticed the red dot on her navy blue tank top, dead centre of her chest. Another red light appeared right next to the first, followed by another, and then another. One pointed to her head, two on her chest, one on her stomach, and the final one above her pelvic bone, trailing lower playfully to her groin region. She closed her eyes in disgust and defeat, and one tear trailed down her flushed, left cheek.

"You've been a very, very bad girl, Ana."

She refused to open her eyes to look at the man, knowing exactly who it was. She let go of the rifle and stood up on the thick branch of the tree. Eyes still closed, she spoke. "What are you waiting for? Why prolong my suffering?"

"Open your eyes, Ana."

She didn't.

"I'm not going to kill you. But if you don't open your eyes immediately as I have instructed, I'll have my men shoot them first, one after the other, considering you don't wish to utilize them when the opportunity arises, and then you'll never see what you hold most dear in the world ever again. And you won't have anyone to blame but yourself."

She bit her lips, and opened her eyes. The man she sat looking through the scope of a Barrett M82 for two days stood at the bottom of the tree, looking up at her, along with 4 heavily armed militant looking men who held rifles pointed at her. The fifth rifle was held by the man

"Now be a good girl and get down. You've caused me a lot of inconvenience for the past two days, having to pretend I didn't know you were there and for that, I need to punish you."

Her eyes opened to an infinite darkness as they tried to adjust to it's settings. There was happy, celebrating yelling all around her, and she could not make out from whence it was coming due to the darkness. Was she underground? She lay on a cold, brick surface with her left cheek pressed against it. There was smoke forming slowly but surely all around her. She was unable to move her mouth to speak, nor move her legs or arms. She looked down to make out why that was so, but saw no type of restrains around her arms that were on the ground in front of her, nor around her ankles. She tried to scream as the smoke started to get more frequent and the darkness around her started to fade as a bright light engulfed all around her. Fire.

Please! Someone help me! Please get me out of here! I beg you, please, I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die.

No words escaped her mouth, not even a sound. Tears rolled down her expressionless face

She started to feel a tingle in her back, something pushing against her up and down in a very hasty and scared manner. A…hand? It was then that she realized there was someone else placed next to her, that he was most likely placed back to back with her. She could not turn her head to see who it was, nor was that her concern at the moment, for the light started to get brighter and the smoke and heat started to make their way in to her nostrils, mouth and eventually her entire body. She could not even cough due to whatever it was that was stopping her from moving.

Her vision began to blur and then the light started to fade, as she felt drops of something wet trickle down her face, increasing in quantity second by second. The liquid made it's way down her face, and in to her mouth down her throat. Water! It was water! The darkness around her began to fade as the material she was under was lifted from on top of her by a cloaked figure, who clawed at her surroundings desperately. It was then she could make out that she was engulfed by a fortress of wood, and she was now able to move her head a few inches to look to her left. She saw a blonde haired man, passed out behind her and she felt her own head getting lighter due to the ember she had inhaled. Just as fast as she had moved her head, she felt it fall back to the ground and her eyes shut tight as the cloaked figure grabbed the both of them and pulled them by the waist both, out of the wooden grave.

The distinct smell of a hospital creeped in to her nose as her eyes flung open and her senses returned. She looked down to her feet first thing, and watched as she wriggled her toes, then to her right arm as she stared at the second degree burn marks that painted her sleeves and wrists. That arm was placed on top of her left arm, thus - she deduced - would have been caused more damage upon than the right due to the heat. She lifted her left arm and stared at the next to little damage done on it. With it, she lifted the sheets placed carefully on top of her and stood, walking over to the floor mirror next to the bed. She stood in front of it to inspect her body. Removing the hospital gown, she stared at herself, standing confidently nude in front of the mirror. Well, almost nude. She wore coral underwear with black florals. She inspected the wounds. It could have been worse, she supposed. There were some light burn marks scattered on her legs and stomach, but nothing that would leave a scar in the future. Something she could not say the same about regarding her back.

The door flung open behind her, as she stared at the mirror still. A man who had his right fist placed on his chin in a thoughtful manner walked in, wearing a black coat with a purple scarf. He was unaware of her nudity and locked the door behind him as he entered. He lifted his eyes up from the ground to be greeted by her bare back and his expression quickly became blank as he set his eyes on the portrait in front of him. He was entranced by it, in fact. She did not turn, simply looked at him from the mirror, aware of her own state and of his.

"Hello." He was the first to speak.

"Hello." She said back, with a hint of an American accent underlining her now British accent.

She brought her arms forward and covered her breasts, still staring at the mirror, before turning to face him. He kept his eyes glued on her back in the mirror, as she walked forwards towards him. She was now only a few inches from his face, however he continued to look at the mirror rather than her. Whether it was out of curiosity or disgust, she was unsure. She pressed forward on his chest, her hands causing a barrier between his lower chest and her breasts.

"Do you want to touch them?"

She stood almost a foot shorter than he was, and had to look up at him. His eyes now fixed on her shoulders. She could tell he was uncomfortable retaining eye contact with her. Most people usually are due to her eye colours. He nodded. On cue, she turned her back to him. His index finger of his right hand went over the multitude of scars on her back. She closed her eyes and felt his fingers trace the whip and burn marks; each one twice.

"How?" He asked, one eyebrow raised. She noticed his eyebrows were much lighter than his shaggy, curly dark brown hair. Her hair was only a shade darker than his.

"You haven't even bought me a drink and you're asking such personal questions already? You are a confident one, aren't you?"

He smirked. "I'm not the one standing practically nude in front of someone they've just met."

"Technically, we met last night," she turned, "...thank you for saving my life. I'm in your debt."

She walked to the edge of the hospital bed, and bent over in front of him to gather the gown she had thrown on it earlier. Whether this was to tease or unintentional, he was unsure. He continued to look on to her tan back, still curious, not acknowledging the fact that her bare, pink buttocks were right in front of him. She stood back up with the gown in her hand and slid in to it as if it was an every day occurrence. Her eyes closed, she heard a rustle and looked to see him sit on the couch in front of the bed. She sat on the bed, legs crossed and the gown carefully placed over her knees so not to have him see her privates.

"Why were you drugged and placed strategically in the bonfire along with John?" He spoke quickly, looking at her with his hands placed on his chin.

It took her a moment to register who John could be, until she remembered she was next to a man in her "wooden grave."

"I can't recall the events leading up to the bonfire, but -"

"Who did it? Who are you?"

"If you'd have let me finished, I'd tell you," she didn't want to tell him as that would only lead to further questions about her past, ones which she was not comfortable providing answers to momentarily. Regardless, she continued to the best of her abilities, making sure not to give too much about herself away. "If I'm correct, it was a friend of a man called Charles Augustus Magnussen. I do not remember the events that led to my being put in the bonfire as I'm sure I was drugged, but I do not have a good history with the man thus his reasons would be justified. As for who I am, it does not concern you."

She shifted positions in the bed, her burned arm getting tired of being in the position it was in, so she got off and started pacing around the window, holding her burned arm with the other. She was pressing down on it to cease the desire to itch the burns as they were uncomfortably tingling her. The man got off of the couch and exited the room only to come back in within the mere span of two minutes, holding a tub of a vaseline-like substance. He walked over to her and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him.

"Stretch out your arm." He ordered, looking at her eyes and not removing his gaze until she was willing to comply. She did.

"It's an Aloe vera and salt solution for burn marks such as yours. It should relieve your need to itch and scratch. My own concoction, before you ask. You involuntarily saved a very dear friend of mine from acquiring the likes of the burn marks which you now have simply by being placed in front of him," Placing the jar on the window sill, he removed his scarf and coat first and undid his cuff links, lifting the sleeves of his lavender shirt up with his left hand. He picked up the jar with the same hand and dipped his right hand in to the jar. He continued, "…whether this was intentional or not by whoever placed you both there, I do not care. I am simply…thankful."

She felt his fingers run along the burns carefully as they both looked down on her arm. The concoction immediately soothed the burns and her shoulder sank lower in satisfaction as she let out an involuntary moan. He smiled to himself when he thought she was not looking, continuing to apply it all over her arm. Her eyes remained closed through out his application of the gel, allowing him the chance to mentally scrutinize her as he would anyone else while she did not notice. Alas, nothing. He could not deduce anything about the women that was not already obvious. He was so totally and completely entranced by her scars, still, that he only wanted to know more about them and her. Her eyes flung open. She looked at him first and then back down her arm which he held in his as he applied the gel, very carefully and elegantly. Finally, he took in how odd but interesting her facial features were. She was a frail looking woman, however the scars all over her body and her vanity contradicted that. She had seen battle, if you'd call it that, however she was not of the military. Her posture was too laid back and her tone was neither assertive nor obedient enough to be a military woman.

He stopped the circular motions he was making on her arm, after having decided he had lathered her everywhere the gel was required and then some. She did not remove her arm from his, aware of this fact, and he simply held on to her hand.

"My name is Ana. Ana Vincent." Finally, she slid her arm down his, finding his hand, and shook it softly.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He said proudly.

This is my first time doing a FanFiction for this website in over 6 years. My previous account was lost, regretfully, and I never got to finish what I once started. Hopefully, it will not be the case this time around. Review and let me know what you all think, please and thank you. I love input and what people would like to see, etc. Thank you for reading. Have a good day.