"Hi Laicee!" came an overly excited voice from the counter as John and I walked into the small diner. I let out an almost inaudible sigh as I recognized Oliver, a freshman boy I'd known since we were in primary. He'd asked me out more times than I could keep track of.

My face flushed as John let out a snicker; father figure or not, he could still be an arse. I elbowed him in the ribs we reached the counter and gave Oliver a smile.

"Hey, Oliver," I said, ignoring the suggestive nudging from John. "We'll have two fish combos to go, and-" I cut off, realizing we'd never asked Sherlock what he wanted. I pulled out my phone. "Two seconds," I apologized.

Fish combo alright for your dinner? LB

"No problem, take as much time as you need," Oliver assured, leaning across the counter. "So, Laicee, I get off at nine-"

John was red in the face from holding in his laughter; I all but dove on my phone when it went off.

I want steak, medium well, fresh greens on the side and a hot cup of tea. SH

"Make it three fish combos," I sighed; a moment later, I got another text.

Fish combo, why not. Seeing as my request won't be honored, anyway. SH

I rolled my eyes as Oliver rang us up.

"Of course, anything for you Laicee. You look really nice, by the way."

"Er, thanks," I mumbled; Oliver gave me a wink and scampered off to fix our food.

I gave John a dirty look as he giggled in amusement.

"Shut it, would you?" I hissed, earning another giggle.

"When's the wedding?" he teased, and I smacked his arm. Oliver came back faster than I thought he would, our bag in hand and a slip of paper in the other. He handed the bag to John, muttering "that'll be 13.50", and then he turned to me. I raised a brow as he held out the slip of paper.

"Text me sometime, and we could go see a movie or something," he offered, giving me what looked like an attempt at a flirtatious smile. Before I could reply, John took the piece of paper from him and slipped a couple of bills into his open hand.

"Keep the change," he said, grabbing my arm and towing me out of there, leaving Oliver looking hopeful and confused. John pushed open the door for me; I grinned up at him.

"You're a lifesaver," I said, stepping outside. I grimaced when I saw the weather. The rain had started up again, and the sky was beginning to rumble.

"He gets off at nine, you know," he teased, leading me beneath the awning of the building next door to keep me dry. He sat the bag of food down beside me and flicked up his collar. "We'll get a cab, I'm not in the mood to get soaked. I'll be right back."

I folded my arms over my chest, shivering beneath my thin cardigan. Sometimes, I really hated London weather. John jogged out into the rain, attempting to hail a taxi before the other freezing people around him got one first. I leaned back against the wall, giving the flashing sky disapproving looks.

A crack of thunder exploded suddenly above my head, and I flinched back into the brick. As I did so, a steel hand locked onto my upper arm and jerked me to the side. I didn't even have the chance to scream before a hand was thrown over my mouth.

My captor held tight to me, dragging me back into the alleyway between the buildings. I struggled violently, trying to scream over the hand silencing me. I felt hot breath on my ear, and then a gruff male voice growled,

"Wallet!"

I nodded vigorously, willing to do anything to get released. The man threw me hard to the ground, slamming me into the turf.

"JOHN!" I hollered the moment his hand was off my mouth, shoving to my feet.

"Wallet!" the man snarled, coming between me and the exit of the alley. I lifted my fists, ready to fight, but he had been expecting that. He lifted a gun to my face, finger on the trigger. My knees went weak, and for half a moment it was my father in front of me. Without hesitation this time, I dug out my wallet with shaking hands and threw it to him. Keeping the gun pointed at me, he fished around my wallet, fingers fumbling in a hurry.

"JOHN!" I screamed again as the man continued to dig; my attacker looked up, his face pulled into a snarl.

"Scream again and I shoot!"

I put my hands up, flinching violently as more thunder exploded overhead. Tears stung my eyes; I was scared senseless. I was being mugged by a man pointing a gun to my face in the middle of a storm; it was as if Satan had rolled all my worst fears up into one moment.

A click rang out down the alleyway.

"Drop it," John ordered, his own gun aimed at my attacker. The guy whipped around and froze. For half a second, he kept the gun aimed at me; without warning, he dropped my wallet and spun on the spot, taking off past me and disappearing over the alley wall.

"Laicee, my god, are you alright?" John asked, rushing forward and pulling me into a hug. I said nothing as I held onto him, my legs giving out; I slumped into him, too shaken for words. John pulled back and looked down at me. I was so upset I couldn't even force myself to stop crying. He stooped and grabbed my wallet, wiping off the mud from the outside and handing it over to me. More thunder cracked, and I flinched down into his hold; John wrapped an arm around me and pulled me out of the alleyway.

Bystanders watched as John led me through the crowd, the cab forgotten. As the rain picked up, John slipped his coat off and wrapped it around me. In the back of my mind, I realized we'd left our dinner lying beneath the awning, but I really didn't care at the moment.

"Lace," John asked again. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking as I pulled the jacket tighter around me. I sounded like a child. I flinched with another bout of thunder, and John rubbed my arm soothingly.

By the time we reached the apartment, the rain had turned into another downpour, and the thunder had become constant. I was shaking so bad I could barely stand. John let us in quickly, and we shut the door, double locking it.

I was glad Ms. Hudson was out for the night; I didn't want her to see me like this. John went up the stairs ahead of me, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

"Sherlock!" he shouted, rounding the corner as I came into the living room. A mop of dark curls poked out from the kitchen, and a frown slid onto Sherlock's face when he saw the state of me. He put down the magnifying glass and shut off the Bunsen burner, not breaking eye contact. I stood in the middle of their living room, sopping wet and bleeding, tears running down my soaked cheeks and a miserable expression on my face.

"What happened?" he asked in a very un-Sherlock like manner. John reappeared from the bathroom with the medical kit, meaning business. He grabbed a towel from the kitchen and cleared a spot on the table, then beckoned me over.

"Laicee was mugged," John said, his voice tight and his face grim. Sherlock's eyebrows twitched at his words; I came up beside the two of them, flinching at more thunder and silently cursing myself. I already looked pathetic enough; I didn't need to be a crybaby over the storm.

John pulled his coat off my shoulders and tossed it to the floor, then undid my ripped and soaked cardigan, casting it aside. His expression softened when he looked back at me; I had to look absolutely pathetic. John led me to the table, and then helped me up. I rested my hands in my lap and stared in sad curiosity at my bloodied arm. There were still bits of asphalt in the injury, and I realized I was getting blood all over the table.

Sherlock came up to us, quietly taking all of me in as John began to clean up my ripped skin. He pressed a finger to his mouth, deep in his world of thought. I winced as the peroxide burned my wounds, and John muttered an apology.

"What did they take out of your wallet?" Sherlock asked, catching both of us off guard.

"How do you-" John began; Sherlock had already launched into an explanation.

"You said she was mugged, but the only two things she would have been mugged for –her phone and her wallet- are both on her. Obviously, they didn't do this just for a fright, so they must have taken something. The phone had nothing on it to take, but the wallet did. The question is-"

"What did he take?" I finished in a shaky voice, grabbing my wallet from my pocket and flipping it open. I thumbed through everything. My money was still there, along with my debit card and my other cards tucked inside the folds. The only thing missing from its spot was my school ID.

"Why take my ID?" I asked Sherlock; the peroxide burned sharper than it had before, and I winced. Sherlock began to pace in the small kitchen, weaving tediously around John and the table.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he asked, and both John and I sighed at him.

"If it were obvious, we wouldn't be asking," John informed Sherlock, and his clear green eyes locked onto me as he suddenly stopped pacing.

"Think of all your ID has on it," he said. "Your name, your grade, your school… they needed information about you. Whoever attacked you is looking for you."

At this, John stopped cleaning up my arm and looked over at Sherlock, a startled expression in his eyes. I looked between the two of them.

"Sherlock, our address is on her ID."

"Exactly," Sherlock said, his face grim. The three of us shared a look; whoever wanted me now knew exactly where to find me.


"I'll stay here until you fall asleep," John promised as I settled onto the couch. My arm was bandaged and healing, and the ibuprofen was doing wonders for my killer headache. John had insisted I stay up in the living room tonight, just as a precaution. I curled up onto my side and pulled my blanket tighter around me.

"Thank you," I told him, giving him a sleepy smile. John smiled back, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he settled down in his chair, book in his hand. The TV was on, the show a quiet murmur in the background. The storm had calmed itself, and now only a gentle rain shower continued outside.

"Do you really think someone's coming after me?" I asked John as I began to slip into unconsciousness. He didn't answer me for a long while. When he finally spoke, I was nearly asleep and his words blended into my dream.

"I hope not Laicee. I pray that for once, Sherlock is wrong."