It was a frosty morning a few months later, and Sherlock and John were walking brusquely from the café they had just met a client at. Sherlock had made a scene and they'd left quickly, John apologizing profusely for the uproar. They were walking down the busy street at an easy pace, deciding to head for the tube rather than try to hail a cab in cold weather.
Sherlock was quiet and he easily cut through the crowd, his height giving him a slight advantage over the rest of the crowd. John was having a little more trouble, having to dodge and weave away from Sherlock several times.
"Bloody people on their bloody mobile phones. No consideration for other pedestrians." John huffed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.
He walked right into the back of someone and began to apologize before he realised it was Sherlock. He was just stood there, frozen in the middle of the street. John frowned and followed his line of vision. Sherlock began to walk again, quickening his pace, suddenly travelling with more purpose.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you going?" John called after him.
Sherlock ignored him, following someone into a side alley. John had to run to catch up with him. The alley was grim, overflowing bins spilling their contents onto the grimy floor. Steam billowed out of vents from the café's and restaurants that lined the main street, all of them giving off the feint smell of cooking. Sherlock was stood at the entrance to the alley watching someone walk down it.
"Annie." he called, loudly.
The person he was following spun round, her curly dark hair whipping round her. She was wearing a shabby grey cardigan and shorts with slightly opaque black tights. She didn't seem very cold, but she was very shocked. Her mouth was open slightly, and her eyes were wide.
"Annie Christmas." Sherlock thundered, walking up the alleyway, his coat whipping around him.
John mouth the name, recognising it but unable to place it. Then it hit him like a punch to the gut, and a look of confusion spread over his face. The woman stood there, her fingers twitching by her sides, just like Sherlock's did when he was thinking. She fixed Sherlock with a sad little look.
"Sherlock…" she sighed, a slight whine to her voice.
Sherlock froze at the use of his name. He looked completely stunned by her presence. Her eyes began to brim with tears.
"You're dead." he said, a little breathlessly.
"Sherlock…" she sighed again.
They looked at each other for a long while, then she took a timid step forward. Sherlock didn't move as she took another one. She was stood right in front of him now, looking up into his eyes. Then she burst into tears and threw her arms around him. To John's surprise, Sherlock held her close, letting her sob into the lapel of his jacket before taking it off and wrapping it around her shaking body.
They managed to flag a taxi down and the three of them sat in the back in a slightly uncomfortable silence. John drummed on his knees the whole way, chancing looks at Sherlock all the way back to Baker Street, but Sherlock kept his eyes forward the whole way there. Annie kept dabbing her eyes with the hem of her cardigan, sat in between John and Sherlock.
Sherlock swept Annie up the stairs of 221B and sat her on the sofa in a flash. Then he disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. John sat on the chair and smiled at her awkwardly.
"Do you have an ashtray?" she asked, casting an eye around the piles of books hopefully.
John frowned a little.
"Sorry, did I say something funny?" Annie asked giving John a confused look.
Sherlock entered the room, pressing a coffee into her hands.
"No. John and Mycroft have seemingly banded together to stop me from smoking. However I know that there's a packet in the base of the plant on top of the toilet. You forget John, I miss nothing." Sherlock replied quickly.
"Oh… wow. That was brave of you." Annie said, raising her eyebrows at John.
John gave a slow incline of his head with a grim little smile. For a moment the room was silent, Sherlock scowling like a petulant child.
"How are you still alive?" Sherlock sprang on her.
Annie sighed and took a sip of her coffee. John looked at Sherlock who was looking down at his old friend with a raised eyebrow.
"I had to disappear." Annie shrugged, keeping it simple.
Sherlock fixed her with a look and she looked away from him biting her lip. Sherlock sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees.
"It was for your own good. He was going to kill you, so I had to pretend to be dead. To save your life." she continued.
Sherlock rocked back in his chair, still looking at her wordlessly. Annie put her coffee down, untangled herself from Sherlock's coat and drew the cardigan around her. She gave Sherlock a look that could have melted ice then went to sweep out of the room. Sherlock grabbed her wrist and swung her round to face him.
"Who?" he said quietly.
Annie blinked a few times.
"You'd know him as Moriarty." she replied.
"Him again?" John growled, folding his arms and looking pensive.
"You, you met him… then how are YOU still alive, Sherlock? He said if he ever met you he'd kill you." Annie replied, her eyes wild.
"He tried to." Sherlock replied with a sigh.
Annie sat down on the sofa heavily her eyes wide. She looked exhausted, her eyes red and bloodshot.
"When I found the blog on the internet, I knew I had to find you. I followed you today. I don't think you quite needed to throw your tea cup at the wall." she said with a slightly amused smile.
"There's another café we'll never be welcome at again." John sighs.
Sherlock looked at him with a hint of a smile, and Annie smirked into her coffee.
Sherlock sat on the end of his bed his hands pressed together and the tips of his index fingers grazing his lower lip softly. His face was half hidden in shadow. Night had stolen into London and it carpeted Sherlock's room making deep shadows in the recesses of his room. He would have sooner died than admit it, but he was shaken by the sudden appearance of his old friend. What she'd told him had shed light on Moriarty, only a thin sliver, but it was enough for now.
There was a gentle knock at the door, to light to be John and too brusque to be Mrs Hudson. The door opened a crack and Annie peered round the door, a soft smile on her face.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" she asked.
"Said the dead woman." Sherlock replied coldly.
Annie looked at him reproachfully, her eyes betraying the hurt of the comment. Sherlock's face softened as he looked up at her.
"John said I could sleep on the sofa. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world. I miss the sofa at the old flat." Annie said, hovering in the door.
Sherlock inclined his head to his bed and Annie sat down nervously. He got up as she sat down, going to his chest of draws. He pulled out one of his shirts and threw it at her. Annie held it up and smiled at him.
"You're skinnier than I remember." she sighed.
Sherlock turned his back and cautiously Annie changed into the spare black shirt, buttoning it up quick as lightning. Annie's hand creeped onto Sherlock's shoulder, and turned him round. She hugged him, tears silently streaming down her face.
"I thought you'd hate me." she whispered.
Sherlock placed a hand on her back letting her cry onto the shoulder of his dressing gown.
"How could I hate you? You were protecting me. It's an honourable thing what you did, if a little stereotypical." Sherlock sighed.
"Sherlock, everything to you is stereotypical." Annie smiled.
Sherlock let her go and pulled his dressing gown off, sliding into bed. He looked at her expectantly, nodding at the empty side of the bed and Annie raised her eyebrows at him.
"Tongues will wag." she said, climbing into the bed next to him.
"Would you prefer the sofa?" Sherlock replied.
"No. Thank you."
"Goodnight, Annie." Sherlock said, rolling over and turning the light off.
Annie remained sitting up in the bed for a moment, then she slid down, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
"Goodnight, Sherlock." she whispered.
John yawned wildly, pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes as Mrs Hudson busied herself with making tea and a considerable amount of coffee. Annie wandered in her hair in a wild knot, Sherlock's shirt on show under his best dressing gown. Sherlock followed her a few seconds later, looking equally as tousled haired, but much more tired.
John frowned and looked at the sofa where the makeshift bed for Annie had been left untouched. His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. He threw a look at Mrs Hudson who looked completely stunned and just shrugged at him in polite surprise.
"Sherlock." John said, inclining his head to the dining table as Mrs Hudson intercepted Annie at the fridge.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and frowned as he followed John into the living room. John looked at him expectantly, awaiting some form of explanation.
"John, you're looking at me strangely. What is it?" Sherlock asked.
"You… and Annie, did you…?" John said, nervously cutting his sentence short.
"Are you deliberately trying to be cryptic?"
"You… slept together?"
"She slept, I pondered. She kicks in her sleep. I think I have bruises on my shins. Would it be strange to wear shin pads to bed?"
"Yes. Yes, that would be weird. So you just… she just… slept?"
"Well, what else did you expect her to do?"
"And the shirt? The dressing gown?"
"She's only known you five minutes, John. I highly doubt she would be comfortable walking around in her underwear. Especially with your wondering eyes. Don't think I haven't noticed that you find her attractive. Although I think she might be, how would you put it? Out of your league." Sherlock said, walking off to pick up his breakfast.
John stood there in shock, his mouth hanging open, just blinking rapidly.