Far From Over

This story takes place a few months prior to TRF for the first chapter and then starting several weeks after. The main character in the story is a minor character normally and I've made her Canadian. I decided to start writing what I know and what I know is Canadian.

I do not own the characters from Sherlock. BBC and ACD do. If I owned Sherlock and John we would never leave the house!

Chapter 1 - 2 months before TRF

It was cold that day. Freezing in fact. Below freezing. The wind had been blowing off of Lake Ontario. Winter had started early and with a vengeance and had continued that way until it felt like there had only ever been winter. Some years snow and winter weather seemed to, not exactly pass Toronto by, but never hit it directly, the same way it did for most of Canada. On the radio that morning, tuned to CBC, the morning weather report had predicted -15 Celsius, with the wind chill making it feel like -25. Now compared to some parts of Canada that might seem down right balmy.

It really didn't matter what the weather was like out, really, She ran every day if she could. Even work had to wait sometimes to run. Running was more exhilarating than going through the workout regime at the gym. She ran to keep in shape, yes, but more to keep fluid, to help keep reflexes automatic. In her business slow reflexes could kill you. She slowed in some places to avoid icy patches and mounds of snow that was waiting to be cleared. She slowed again as she neared her apartment building. Slow down, lower the heart rate, control the breathing. As she approached the front of the old brownstone building she had returned to a walk. She dug her keys out of the pocket on the side of her coat. She climbed the steps, opened the outer door and unlocked the inner door. The temperature rose as she made her way down the hall. She unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in. It was a small, one bedroom apartment, almost obsessively neat. She went into the small, galley kitchen, and removed her toque as she went. She flicked on the kettle and paused.

Something was not right.

She slowed her forward motion and her eyes darted around the room. She moved out of the kitchen, cautiously to where she could see all of the living room. Nothing seemed out of place. Slowly she made her way across the living room, all of her sense heightened. That was where she noticed a faint scent. Aftershave? Yes, expensive aftershave. Interesting. There was no man in her life so someone she probable didn't know had been in her home. At almost the same time she noticed the door to her bedroom was ajar. She always kept it closed.

Now she felt annoyed. Someone had been or still was in her apartment and had been in her room. She felt a slight anger at the intrusion, but she squashed it down. Anger was a distraction. She couldn't afford to be distracted. She could be angry later after she had cleared the apartment. Maybe she could be angry when she found out who had been there. Or if they still were there. She bent down, slowly, near her sofa and pulled out from under it a staff, approximately 120 cm in length. This wasn't her weapon of choice, but it worked well for defense and she could still beat the crap out of anyone with it. The range of motion in the small space concerned her a bit, but she was confident she would be able to subdue anyone in her space. She checked the small bathroom first. There was nothing there so she moved to the bedroom door and she pushed it open with the staff.

The room appeared empty. A quick check in the small closet and then she noticed something on her bed that hadn't been there when she had left for her run. A large manila envelope. She sat on the bed and kept the staff near at hand. She pulled the envelop towards her with a puzzled frown on her face. An assignment? She had quit that life. She hadn't been given an assignment since…well. Hmmmmm.

Intrigued she opened the envelope and pulled out a file. A note on expensive heavy paper was on top. She thought she might vaguely recognize the handwriting.

I need a favour. If you should hear that something has happened to me, I need you to take care of this man in your own, unique way. It is extremely important. I caution you to ensure that he not be made aware of your attention. He is trained in the military, a former army doctor in fact. He would not appreciate your interference. He may be more than annoyed. I cannot give you more information at this time. Use your best judgement on how to proceed. If something does happen you will be contacted with additional information. Your usual amount, plus expenses will be deposited into your account. You will be contacted if your services are not required. I must admit to you that if something does happen I will be saddened that I will not see you again. I have some regret that I have not kept in better contact with you.

A distant friend

She smiled slightly. Interesting that he would call her friend and would feel any emotion. She was amused by the notion.

She put those thoughts aside and opened the file. Inside there was a picture of a man, late thirties, blonde hair going slightly grey in a short military cut. His face was alight with a warm smile changing ordinary looks into extraordinary. The photo was taken far enough away that it was hard to tell eye colour. That would be included in the rest of the information. She put the photo to one side and picked up a piece of paper from underneath. This included height, weight, eye colour (brown). She took note of his military carrier and her eyebrows rose slightly when she saw that he was an excellent marksman. Discharged from the army due to a shoulder wound. He was friends and colleagues with…

Well that explained a bit. She put the information to one side, deep in thought. She owed her "distant friend" so much. It had been a long time ago but he had helped her with a difficult situation and she owed him, plain and simple.

It had been a long time since she had visited England. She was lost in her memories of the time she had handed her life to this man.

A sudden thought pulled her out of the past and she picked up the note again. She reread the second sentence.

If you should hear that something has happened to me…

"Damn it, " she whispered. 'What have you gotten yourself into this time."