I'm sorry Molly, I didn't know what else to do.'

I'm not listening to Sherlock anymore, I'm listening to the tiny heartbeats I'm cradling in my arms, staring transfixed at the tiny breathes rising and falling in a soft rhythm. I am overwhelmed with the need to protect this creature I have only just met, this tiny human life that is now in my hands.

I tried to level out my breathing to match the babies; I tried to keep us in sync as Sherlock started to tell me how this tiny miracle had journeyed into my arms, into our arms. I could not understand anything about Sherlock's compulsion to become involved in this story. Once again, I am scared, I am scared for what I'm about to hear.

'It was raining', he began, 'I was walking home from the tube and I saw a girl, of about nineteen, crippled over, learning hard against the wall.' As he spoke his eyes were shining bright, there was something almost dangerous about their stare, about their movements, about their vitality, something I had never seen their before. 'She was crying, sobbing uncontrollably and everyone was just walking past her as if they couldn't see, as if they couldn't hear. I have always been confused by the actions of others, but these have been largely down to my own failings, this time I was so sure I was in the right, that I was the one about to act in the way all of these other people should act, was going to be the one to stop, to go over, to ask...' I can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't believe these words that are falling freely from his mouth, as if they had been buried for years and only just realised that they were allowed to leave.'

'I walked over to her and I could see her limbs shaking through her clothes. She looked like a ghost and you could tell she thought she was one. She thought she didn't exist, there, on that street, against that wall, in front of me. She was trying to hide in plain sight and if it wasn't for me, she would have been successful. I felt so guilty, as if I was intruding (I was intruding) and for a second a part of me wanted to turn around, to walk by, I can't explain what stopped me, I don't understand it. It was something new, something different, and something that had, until now, been alien to me.'

My breaths are no longer mimicking the babies; I am fighting hard with myself, with my lungs, to not make a sound. I fear that any sound from me may break this spell. That a single, faint gasp will dissolve this scene. There will be no baby in my arms, there will be no Sherlock still shaking at my feet. One wrong move, one wrong sound, and this is all over.

'She didn't look up, so I gentled touched her shivering shoulder. Started, she starred through the tears, through the glass window between us. I didn't know what to do with my face, with my features; I didn't know where to put my mouth or how to open my eyes. I just starred as she lifted her head up and looked straight into my eyes.'

'What's wrong with you?' I asked, and she told me. She told me every single detail. Every secret she had locked in her head became my secret too. She begged me not to say anything, so I didn't. I just helped her onto the cold, chewing gum stained pavement and sat next to her, stroking her hand.