She only removes it if necessary, the necklace. The key attached to it had been given to her by a surly man years ago. Even whilst performing autopsies, the chain remained around her neck, the key always buried beneath her blouses, lying delicately against her warm skin.

It wasn't until a cold winter's night, after a life changing phone call, when the love of her life kissed her breathlessly, unbuttoning her blouse, eager to give her the love she deserves. His warm breath brought about goosebumps on her skin. The slightest intake of his breath alerted her to his revelation.

She looked into his eyes, bright and oceanic, seemingly searching for a reason why. The man in front of her was his true self, no longer surly, but loving. It was her turn to gasp, feeling his light touch as he lifted the necklace, the key resting on his palm as he pressed his lips to her skin where it once rested.

It wasn't just the key to his home–his flat, 221B–but it was the key to her home too. And his name was Sherlock Holmes.