Woah, so this got a better response than I thought it would so looks like I will be continuing for a bit. I just wanted a strong, confident woman to be paired with Sherlock. And I have her patent leather red and black shoes that I gave her. They were the inspiration.

John was sitting in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to finish cleaning up when the door to their flat banged open down stairs. Either Mrs. Hudson was very angry or someone was out for blood. John stood as he heard bare feet thump up the steps. When he aw who was causing a rucus, he paused, taking in the odd sight.

Standing in front of him, covered in blood, was a very cross and slightly injured Ophelia.

"Where. Is. He?" She spat out. John opened his mouth but she cut him off. "John, where is that bastard, I'm going to murder him." She clutched her side. John made a move forward but Ophelia raised a gun at him. "DO not touch me." Sherlock chose this moment to exit his room and join them in the living room. He paused and took in his friend's state. HE furrowed his eyebrows.

"I thought I heard you causing a ruckus, but I did not expect you to be covered in blood." HE stated. Ophelia turned on him, grabbing the nearest thing, and chucked the item as hard as she could at him. He ducked, letting it fly over his head and into the kitchen. He frowned.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU ARE THE BIGGEST ARSEHOLE I HAVE EVER MET! NOT ONLY DO YOU DRAG ME INTO YOUR FUCKING CASES, YOU HAD MANAGED TO ATTRACT VERY HIGH CLASS KILLERS INTO MY LIFE!" She grabbed something else and launched it at him.

""What are you talking about? Calm down and- DO NOT THROW THAT!" John yelled and moved to grab her arm. She froze and looked at what was in her hand. It was a jar of very flammable liquid. If it hit near the stove or one of the Bunsen burners, the flat would be burnt to the ground. She slowly set it down before grabbing a pillow instead. It hit Sherlock square in the face.

"How did we get people after you?" John asked. She just sighed and flopped her arms, exasperated and tired. Sore too.

"Those guys who were taking the girls? You know they are part of an even larger group that no one can touch right? They heard I helped. They know who I am, they don't like me. Frankly, they aren't the best company either."

"Ophelia, you just are unpleasant by nature." Sherlock added as he sat, crossing his legs in his chair. She pinned him with a glare.

"You wouldn't be a ray of sunshine if they strapped you to a chair for 48 hours either." John's mouth dropped open, who the hell was this woman? Sherlock shrugged, apparently this was old news to him.

"Ophelia, what exactly did you do before you worked at the club?" John asked tentatively. sHe shrugged.

"I was kind of an agent for the british government, I helped where the government couldn't. Made quite a few enemies. I had been well hidden until now." She glared at Sherlock again. He shrugged. "Not our problem. You can handle yourself."

Ophelia flared up again. "AREYOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" She was about to start yelling again when a feminine voice came from the doorway.

"John, what is going on?" Ophelia turned to the voice and everyone was suddenly buzzing in alarm.

Ophelia had raised her gun and held it with both hands, ready to fire at Mary. Mary held her hands at a relaxed surrender, her face neutral but firm. John reached a hand out to the gun and was yelling at Ophelia. Sherlock had moved forward as well, trying to talk to her in a firm tone. Ophelia was too busy yelling at Mary.

"DON'T MOVE OR I WILL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!"

"DO NOT TLAK TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT!"

"SHE'S YOUR FUCKING WIFE?"

"Ophelia, you need to calm down!"

"HOW THE FUCK CAN I CALM DOWN WHEN SHE'S HERE? HOW DO I KNOW SHE WON'T SHOOT ME AGAIN?"

"WHAT DO YOU MENA AGAIN?"

"John,-" mary started but Ophelia stopped her.

"SHUT UP!"

They all went on trying to calm down Ophelia, and trying to avoid a shooting when a figure appeared behind Mary. The figure whistled and go the three's attention. Mary dropped her hands.

The three looked at Mycroft. John was neutral.

"Oh, for God's sake."

"SHERLOCK YOU SON OF A BITCH! NOW HE'S HERE TOO?!" she turned to her friend and dropped the gun to her side.

"Believe me, I did not request his appearance." SHrlock pinched the bridge of his nose. Mycroft stepped forward and Ophelia straightened up, stepped back and held her gun again.

"One more step and I swear to god-"

"Ms. Ophelia, I assure you I am not here to cause you trouble. I am merely relaying news, and providing a solution to a problem." Mycroft stated.

"What news?" She shifted. Her feet were bleeding and it smarted a bit.

"It seems that you are going to be without a home for a while. I am here to offer services to assist you in getting a new place."

"what the fuck did you do to my apartment." She said as she dropped her gun.

"Someone placed a bomb in your apartment. A burglar set it off. The entire building is gone. I apologize for any inconvenience." Mycroft stated simply and twirled his umbrella. John tensed up, waiting for her to just snap and shoot someone. But what she did next startled him.

Ophelia flopped her hands and fell on her back with a groan. She placed her hand on her face, covering her eyes, the gun was on her stomach. "Are you fucking serious? I give up. I am so done. Go ahead and shoot me now." She mumbled. Mary smiled and shook her head. She moved around Mycroft and too the odd woman on the floor. John reached out to stop his wife, nervous but she just smiled at him.

She leaned over the woman. "If you need a place to stay, I am sure you can have John's old room, it's right upstairs. I have spare clothes you can borrow, until you get new ones." Ophelia peeked out from behind your hands.

"You are too good to me, when you aren't trying to kill me."

"Business is business." Mary said shrugging. Ophelia nodded and smirked. "See you got out ok."

"Who said you could offer up the room?" Sherlock said grumpily and moved forward. He nudged her side with his foot. "Get up you are bleeding on the carpet."

"Sherlock!" John stated accusingly. Ophelia lazily raised her gun.

"I will blow your dick off, you pretentious aresehole." She stated. Mary rolled her eyes.

"Ophelia, please, as tempting as it is, I would appreciate it if you did not shoot my brother." Mycroft said stepping closer. Sherlock smirked, completely confident and unfazed by the gun a few inches from his genitals.

"Oh, please she is clearly bluffing." There was a click and everyone jumped. Sherlock's hips went backwards and he fell to the floor, shock clear as day on his face. Mycroft as well was shocked. John started forward.

"Oi!" He called and came to Mary's side, who took the gun from Ophelia slowly. She opened the cartridge. There were no bullets.

"You had a gun with no bullets?" John asked. Ophelia looked confused.

"Im out?"

"YOU WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO SHOOT HIM?" John roared.

"You weren't bluffing." Sherlock stated. She turned her head.

"I don't bluff, remember?" She stated simply. Her hand shot up to her mouth to cover a cough. She groaned and turned on her side. "There, no more blood on your floor."

"WE should have a look at that." John offered. Ophelia nodded. She was tired. And she was safe.

"Mycroft I am still pissed at you." She said and he chuckled. "I expect nothing less. Give them hell for me, would you?" He asked and turned to leave.

"Always do."

Mary sat on the floor slowly. Sherlock got up and went to fetch the med kit. John hd no idea where it was.

"SO you are actually married?" Ophelia asked Mary. She nodded.

"I am pregnant, too." Ophelia's eyes widdend and she sat up, flinching.

"You. Pregnant?" She asked. Mary smiled and nodded. Ophelia grinned and bounced in her seat and laughed, pulling Mary in for a hug.

"Oh my god, congratulations! I am so happy for you! I told you, you could get out. First you didn't believe me, now look at you! Married and starting a family." Ophelia smiled warmly.

"Yes. I see you have started a new life as well, not so family oriented though." Mary nudged the woman playfully. Ophelia shrugged and the men came back.

"Where are you injured?" John asked. Ophelia shrugged and Sherlock sat in his chair.

"Shot in the side, just grazed me. Glass in my feet. Bruised just about everywhere. Nothing serious." John shook his head. "Let's look at the gunshot wound first."

Ophelia shrugged, she really liked to shrug, and with out a word, pulled her shirt smoothly over her head, sitting in a black bra and her black pencil skirt.

"uh, ok then." John muttered, taken aback by her casual indifference to sitting shirtless in a room with two men. HE went to clean up her wound. HE had her lie on her side so she was once again facing Sherlock.

"So, there was something about a spare room."

Ophelia was in the shower. After John patched her up, she insisted she showered. She did have other people's blood on her. She had marched into Sherlock's room and grabbed a few things, like it was her own room before storming into the shower.

She had been storming everywhere lately. This was a tough week. She thought she was done with all the fighting and running. Nope.

sHe sighed. She used to be a very happy person, but lately she was tired. She needed sleep.

After her very long and warm shower, she dried off and threw on the had grabbed a pair of Sherlock's clean boxers and his sweat pants. sHe also nicked his favorite purple shirt.

She quietly padded out into the living room. John had left for takeout and Mary and Sherlock were sitting, sipping tea. Mary smiled at Ophelia when she walked back in. She settled on the couch next to her old friend and Sherlock eyed the two.

He wasn't sure how he felt about her being in his flat. He had been to her place on many occasions but hse had never ever been where he lived. How did she find him? Thinking on what she used to do, it wasn't hard.

Part of him was glad to have her back in his life, even if temporary, but another part was anxious and uncomfortable. He tended to get too attached and then she would disappear for a bit. It drove him crazy. Each time she left, it broke what ever friendship and trust she had built up with him. Whenever she stormed back into his life, she built it back up stronger each time.

And each time it was more and more painful for her to leave.

Damn her and the sentiment.