This is my first Sherlock fic because I've always viewed it as difficult to write but fuck it I'll give it a go & I hope I did well (obviously reviews and/or your constrictive criticism is welcome.)

I'm sorry about this chapter it's not the best, but I think it has to be done. I view this as a bridge really but let me know what you think I hope it's okay

So yes, I hope you enjoyed my wonderful readers you!

Sherlock didn't know what made her special, he could read her like an open book. An image of her terrified expression still in his mind and he found himself making her a room in his mind place. Just like he had for John.

Except it as all wrong. He'd only known her for moments but he had already noticed her mannerisms, and mesmerized her face. The way her dark brown hair flowed over her shoulder, obviously her natural colour. Her porcelain skin making the bruises over her body more pronounced. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking, or the way her eyes were always aware. Her body tense as if she was a cadged animal.

He paced around his room slightly as he thought, boredom leaving him as he pondered this girl. There was something he was missing and he could feel it on the edge of his tongue almost tangible but every time he almost caught it, it ran away.

"Damnit," he growled as he continued to pace. His ears prickling as he heard John speak. Barely able to catch his words so he knew he'd have no hope in hearing Katias. He allowed himself to venture back into his mind, lost in his thoughts until he heard Mrs. Hudsons voice.

"Katia dear, what are you doing here?" he could hear Mrs. Husdon cry, and he opened his own door. Eger to see the exchange between the two of them.

"I, uhm," she muttered, looking as if she wanted to shrink into the chair. Sherlock easily assumed that she couldn't see the joy screaming from every part of Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh dear," the older woman fussed as she stepped into the room. "Are you okay sweetheart? I hope the boys didn't give you too much bother?"

"No," she replied, and Sherlock was pleased to see a warm smile gracing Katia's face. "They were nice."

"Well that's good isn't it. Good," she repeated, sitting down opposite Katia, where Sherlock sat moments ago. And for a second Sherlock wished he'd never left his seat. He wanted to carry on seeing the warm smile.

"I was wondering Aunt Kat, is it okay if I stay?" the small woman muttered almost unintelligibly. Followed by a hurried stream of words of 'it's okay I've changed my mind, you don't have to say yes,' until Mrs. Hudson leapt over the table and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Sweetie, of course you can," she straightened herself upright in her seat. Sherlock could practically see Mrs. Hudson swell with love as she looked at her. "I want you to know, all those years ago deary, I was never mad at you. It was your Mother marrying you off at sixteen and then when you kept going to Russia, your Mother cut me off." Silence followed for a few more moments, before Mrs. Hudson tapped Katia on the hand and pulled herself to her feet. "Well I'll get you a sofa bed tomorrow dearie and you stay for as long as you need."

"Nonsense," Sherlock spoke up for the first time, trying to smile comfortingly although he assumed it didn't look that way. "I slept last night, I won't need to sleep for a few days she can stay in my bed."

"Well thank you sweetheart," Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly at him, clearly not noticing Katia tense. Although he did also note that she didn't say anything, instead she just began gnawing nervously on her lips. Tugging on the hem of her scruffy jumper as she pulled her knees closer to her chest.

With one last smile Mrs. Hudson left the room, and left Katia with the boys with the promise to make some warm food, and a gentle reminder that she wasn't their housekeeper.

"Sherlock, thank you but I can't take your bed," Katia muttered as soon as she heard Mrs. Hudsons door shut downstairs.

"Nonsense," he began but she spoke over him. Her voice still barely louder than a murmur but somehow she commanded all of the attention in the room.

"I'm not," she shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulders. "I can't I'm sorry."

"Oh no," John interjected, standing up as he placed a soft hand on her shoulder, all too aware of her flinch as he made contact with his skin. "Not like that. Neither of us. Now," he said, trying to brighten the tone. "How about some clean clothes and a shower before dinner."