Exiting her room, he stood a few feet away from her door, shuffling through his coat pocket looking for his phone. A red haired female nurse strolled by him, looking at him interestedly. He smiled, awkwardly, not knowing what else to do but that. The woman winked at him as she carried on walking, however continuing to look at him. Disregarding her as if the encounter did not take place, he pulled out a sleek matte black iPhone 5, dialling as quickly as the cold winter winds would allow him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the nurse's face drop from embarrassment, as she stood waiting for him to look back at her. He had no interest in such endeavours and refused to do so. It was so...human. When it was evident he would not give her the attention she sought, she angrily turned and looked around to see whether someone had witnessed the act or not. Thankfully, it was the latter and she carried on, placing her arms around her body to shelter herself from the cold. The hallways of St. Bartholomew's Hospital were dreadfully, and rather exceptionally, cold on that day due to the heating being replaced and fixed.

He put the phone to his ear, a shiver running down his spine due to the sudden coldness of the metal meeting with his skin.

"Dear brother, to what do I owe the displeasure of a call from you? Is it Christmas?" The voice on the other end of the phone spat out, undertones of disgust present as he hissed the the word 'Christmas'.

"Fortunately, it is not. There's a girl at St. Bart's who mentioned Magnessun. I want you to run her name through your system and text me everything, every little detail, Mycroft. Her name is Ana Vincent." Sherlock spat back, hastily, wanting to hang up just as impulsively as he had called him, but his brother continued to speak.

"Magnessun is none of your concern, Sherlock. However, I will do the check just to make sure she isn't about to become a concern."

"Text me."

He put the phone back in his pocket, and walked to the other end of the hallway. Turning left in to one of the rooms, he watched a middle aged nurse tidy the sheets as John stood getting dressed.

"He's all yours to take home." The nurse smiled at the two of them, winking.

"For God's sake, we are not…no, actually, never mind, I am not doing this anymore. Let's go, Sherlock," John turned to walk out of the room as Sherlock followed behind, checking his phone frequently. They walked down the hallway in silence. John had noticed Sherlock checking his phone more often than usual and even tried to have a peak as to what he could be looking at. Only an empty thread of a text message to Mycroft. Odd.

"There was a girl in the bonfire with you," both stopped walking.

"Yes, I think I remember…there was something I felt down there only briefly when my nerves and senses were coming back just before the fire began to spread and you came to get me. Is she alright? Is it someone we know? Who is it?"

"She's fine. No, nobody we know. That's what I'm waiting for Mycroft to tell me, which is why - as you've noticed - I keep checking my phone. She's in that room." Sherlock nodded towards the door behind John.

"Right, I suppose I should go see her…" John stood in front of the door, hesitating and unaware of what to say and do upon seeing the girl. He put his hand on the door knob, but before he could open the door, it opened from the inside and Ana stood in front of John, looking past him with eyes fixed on Sherlock. It was only a few seconds later when Sherlock broke the stare and looked away, that she realized John was also present.

"Your hair…you must have been the man placed behind me." She said.

"I believe so. Under the strange circumstances, I can't quite introduce myself in a more formal manner," John answered nervously, chuckling and looking at Sherlock for assistance.

"Her name is Ana. If not for her, you would have retained some severe burns yourself," Sherlock chimed in.

She reached her arm out for John to shake. As he went to shake it, he noticed the burn marks from where the hospital gown sleeves ended.

"Oh, God, I hope that's not from the fire. I'm so terribly sorry, that should not have happened to you!"

She smiled back before speaking, "Please don't apologize. You don't know me nor were you the cause of what transpired. I'm happy you're safe, and I'm fine too."

"Would you like to come to our, well, his, flat for some tea?"

Sherlock's phone vibrated profusely in his coat pocket, and he pulled it out just as he heard John ask her to come for tea (that, too, to Sherlock's flat which he no longer shared with John) Sherlock and Ana both looked at John stunned. What would there be to talk about between the three? She did not want to know them longer than she had to. She liked her solitude and her ability to not get attached to people. She pondered over the point of having tea with both of them.

"No, I don't think I would," she flatly said.

John and Sherlock looked at her together. Unconsciously, Sherlock placed his phone back in to his coat pocket. That had to be the first time someone said no to tea, John was sure of it. He cleared his throat, not knowing what else to do. The woman made it quite hard to uphold a conversation. "Right…well…thank you once again…and I do hope you're alright." John turned, starting to walk towards the elevator. John had now entered the elevator, descending down to the lobby and exiting the hospital. He assumed Sherlock would simply be at the morgue and thought nothing of it. Sherlock leaned closer to Ana's ear. She heard his lips part to speak, almost whisper.

"I would like it if you come for tea but don't think it's out of guilt or an abundance of feelings, I merely want to know how you know Magnessun."

"You've seen the scars on my back. No, Mr. Holmes, I sincerely doubt you want to know how I know Magnessun."

That wasn't Magnessun's M.O., Sherlock thought. He wasn't someone who liked to get his own hands dirty. It wasn't making any sense to him. She wasn't lacking in conviction, thus he ruled out she could have been lying about her story. However, Sherlock found himself still stood there assessing Ana. Nothing was adding up.

His phone suddenly vibrated intensely once again in his coat pocket, which was pressed against Ana's leg, who then looked down at it.

"Is that your phone or are you just excited to see me, Mr. Holmes?" She smiled. It was then that he realized how little distance between the two there truly was, and it was also then he felt her hands lingering around above his groin and thigh region, eventually reaching his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

"Ana Vincent," she read the text out loud, "…Dark hair, grey eyes, 5"2, 120 lbs. Attachment: Image The sole late heiress of the Vincent family fortunate in Denmark, a strong family of politicians and journalists, a family of which all members were deemed fraudulent and became bankrupt the very same week Charles Augustus Magnessun publicized the family's involvement in the black market and sex trade and trafficking all over Europe," she stopped at that to bite on her lips, and forcing herself to continue as another text came through, "…Ana Vincent thought to have gone missing since the events three years ago, possibly may be dead at the hands of the women's families who were said to have been sold in the sex trade by Vincent's father, Luther Von Vincent. Father committed suicide following the publication and trials, mother found murdered by two women, and brother also still missing. Brother and sister last seen together in 2010, Scotland.

- MH"

She breathed in hard, arching her head back with great discomfort.

"My family did nothing. Nothing. He ruined us, simply because we were becoming far more successful than his newspaper and we knew he used blackmail and immoral means to get to where he was. There were false testimonies against my brother and father given by women who were paid off by him. Because of his greed, I lost my whole family. Because of his greed."

"Where did you get the scars on your back?" He looked over her shoulders, just as he did earlier. For some reason, him standing over her like that made her afraid, forcing back memories of Magnessun as he prepared to chain and bound her up in the basements day after day for months on end.

"I've told you all I feel comfortable enough telling you. Please, do not make me revisit that."

He didn't.

"Where are you staying?"

"I'm not staying anywhere. I was only brought to London yesterday afternoon."

"Brought?"

"Blindfolded, in a private plane. I know because I felt myself being pushed up a flight of stairs, then being forced to walk while lowering my head and shoved in to a seat, or rather, a seat belt. Then the engines started and I started to get sick as the plane took off, I remember because my head started hurting...then I felt a pinch on my arm, my whole body going numb and blacking out."

"From Scotland."

"No, from Thailand."

"What were you doing in Thailand?"

The question made her squirm. "Please, Mr. Holmes. I don't wish to discuss this matter any further for the day." She put her hand, along with the phone clutched tightly in her palm, in to his coat pocket. She retreated her hand almost instantly, leaving the phone in his pockets. She turned to face his back to him, opening the door to her hospital bed, and entering it. Sherlock did the same, following behind her. She took off her hospital gown, throwing it on the bed. Reflex told Sherlock to look away this time, however she was wearing trousers and a simple long sleeved black top this time around. The tightness of the black shirt made the scarring of whip lash marks and acid burns on her back more prominent, while raising the material, which only perked his curiosity more so.

"I'm a consulting detective, Ms. Vincent."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No, you're supposed to be grateful because you've just become my newest client."