A/N: this is just some derpy thing I've been toying with. It's been a very, very long time since I've written anything but I'm slowly starting to get back into it. I'm a bit rusty. This is only going to be a handful of chapters... so it's not going to be a super complex plot or anything. Sometimes simple is best :)

ALSO... I no longer have a computer and am doing this all on my phone, which you all probably know is a pain in the ass. So if there are any odd mistakes or formatting, that is why. I will do my best editing wise.

John had noticed the girl on the corner of Baker Street only a few days ago. He didn't need to be a Holmes to figure out what she was waiting for...she couldn't have been any older than nineteen, and had been there the past few nights in various revealing outfits complete with uncomfortably high heeled shoes. Occasionally a car would slow down next to her and she would saunter over to it, leaning against the rolled down windows to talk to whomever was driving. He would watch from the apartment window as she grabbed cash from the driver and stuck it into her bra before climbing in through the passenger side.

Then they'd drive off.

Shed be back at the corner in about an hour, until another car would pick her up and repeat the process. Most nights watching from the window, John would fall asleep. She was always gone by the morning, and John would feel disgusted with himself. Was he really so lonely that he sunk this low-stalking prostitutes from his window? Maybe he was no better than the dirty old men who picked her up from the Baker Street corner.

If he was honest with himself, the young woman intrigued him. Baker Street was not a usual area for such happenings... Why would she pick this corner? He wondered about who she was and how she got stuck in a job like this.

One particular night, he happened to catch her as she arrived at the corner. At the same time, Mrs. Hudson had come up to wish him a good night.

"Have you seen this?" He asked, nodding out the window toward the girl. "This girl has been out here every night for a week."

Mrs. Hudson made her way next to John and looked out. She let out a small sigh. "I get so worried for these poor girls. Out there in the cold, sleeping with those ghastly men. You know, when I was a dancer, most of the men who came to see me were married. Can you believe that?"

John gave the older woman a questioning look. "Dancer?"

She gave him a simple smile, brushing off his comment. "Good night, dear, " she said before heading out the door and downstairs.

John returned his gaze to the woman at the corner. She looked so uncomfortable, switching her balance from one foot to the other, constantly pulling at her skirt and tightening the small black coat around her body with a shiver.

Mrs. Hudson was right. It was cold out there.

And John felt bad for her.

And John felt bored. And, yes, lonely.

He got up and threw on a jacket and tip toed down the steps.

John stood at the bottom of the steps, hand on the door, ready to open it yet frozen.

What was he going to say to her? Was it wrong of him to assume she needed or wanted to be saved? Maybe it was rude of him to assume she was unhappy... After all, she could like her job and he was just bringing his own judgments into it.

Curiosity got the best of him and he opened the door, and walked over to her, his hands shoved nervously into his pockets.

How exactly does one approach a lady of the night?

She turned at the sound of his footsteps and eyeballed him, and John felt nervous. He changed his mind and walked past her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, John thought. What're you going to do, walk around in the middle of the night until you leave?

He didn't realize her watching him as he walked past and it startled him a bit when she spoke up. "Wanna fuck?"

American. That was a surprise.

John froze.

"100 for an hour."

He turned to face her. "What?"

"Fuck. Its when... "

He put his hand up, shaking his head, interrupting her. "I know what... That... Is... "

She grinned. "I see you watching from the window every night, you know."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, trying to play it off.

She shook her head with a grin. "I'm Lacey."

"John." He held his hand out and she took it, shaking it.

"I was just about to go get a late night bite to eat. Care to join me? My treat. "

She grinned again. "I would, but if I'm eating I'm not earning."

"Then I'll pay for the hour. We'll eat, talk, and then you can come back here."

Lacey looked at him for a moment, studying him. He was a good looking guy, and he didn't seem like a murderer or a creep. "100 for an hour."

John nodded. "Yep, heard you the first time."

He took out his wallet and counted it out before handing it to her. She double counted it and stuffed it into her bra as he had seen her do with previous clients. "Okay, John. Where to?"

"You pick."

Lacey thought about it. "Ummm... Oh, I know! McDonalds!"

John laughed. "McDonalds?"

"Don't hate!" Dorothy cried out with laughter. "I'm an American; what do you expect?"

"Alright then. McDonalds for my American friend."