A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who are following this story! Your reads and reviews mean so much! *big hugs*

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Bijoux.

Every game has rules. Whether stated or implied, they're always there. I've always had issues with rules. With authority in general, really. Probably because I always believed in those fairy tales about being taken care of and that "best interests at heart" nonsense. It is an illusion that abusers always use to give you false hope. "I'm doing this for your own good." "Look at what you made me do." "It's all your fault." Ironically, The Jaguar lived by his own set, yet hated authority almost as much as I did. Structure in chaos, he called it.

"There are only two rules by which you must abide while you're here. And by here, I mean living here," he said. He wandered through the flat and I followed him like some damn lost puppy. He made me feel so weak and I hated that, but what choice did I have, really? He walked into his bedroom and went to the wardrobe, pulling out a teeshirt and loose, striped pajama trousers. "One: there shall be no drug use of any kind. Nothing that will alter your mind or body chemistry. No morphine, cocaine, no oxy-contin. Not even so much as a paracetamol without my say. No smoking, no alcohol, no caffeine. Understood?"

"Wait. No coffee? I'm sorry, that's impossible," I replied.

"No. Just improbable."

"What about you? You smoke. I've seen you."

He snickered. "Silly girl. These aren't my rules. They're yours. When you're clean, you might have new ones." He tossed the pajamas at me. "You can wear these for now. Just until we can get you something more appropriate."

"I have clothes at my flat—"

"Surely you must have deduced by now that anything of value at your former boyfriend's flat is long gone, either in the dumpster or on the back of his latest victim. " He turned and left the room, expecting that I should follow. I paused, wondering how I'd found myself in this situation. Marveling that I would even consider the Jaguar's strange offer. Especially considering I didn't even know his name. "Bijoux!" he shouted impatiently from the other room. I followed, finding him in the bathroom. He leaned over the tub, turning on the tap until the water was steaming. "There is but one other rule: you will do everything that I ask without question or argument."

Oh. Now I get it. He's a perv that stalks junkies. I looked him over, taking in the lean but surprisingly muscular form. His alien features were intriguing and the thought of submitting to his weirdo sexual whims wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it would be nice not to be right just once. "Okay, deal breaker," I began, dropping his pajamas on the tile and turning on my heel. "Thanks so much for saving my life, but I really must be on my way," I called over my shoulder as I rushed down the hall to search for my shoes. He followed me, but strangely didn't seem disturbed by the sudden cold feet. He leaned in the doorway, watching me tear apart the flat looking for the beat up Doc Martens I was certain that I'd been wearing upon my arrival.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. He was unmoving, his arms folded over his chest.

"Oh I'm not frightened," I said, snorting derisively. "You're not the first sexual deviant to cross my path in the last twenty-eight years, Mr… uhm… whoever you are. But I think I'll pass on the freaky stuff. Ring me later when I'm less sober." My words were tumbling faster and I could have kicked myself for sounding like such a blabbering idiot. He didn't seem to notice. He just stood there with an almost amused expression.

"You assume that my requests would be sexual in nature?" he asked.

"Well aren't they?"

"My, you are broken, aren't you, little one." I noted the way his lips lingered on those lazy consonants. Just the tone was enough to ignite that little flutter deep down in my belly, but I wasn't going to fall for those blue eyes or unruly curls that framed his face. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know. I'll figure that out later. What do you care anyway?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps I'm just intrigued. Like a movie you don't really want to watch, but you can't bear to look away from until it's done."

The hard exoskeleton I'd come in with flexed again and I rushed up to him, my fingertip pressed against his sternum. "Look, I don't like power games. My life might be shit, but at least it's my life. And I'll never let anyone else take control of it again." I was suddenly acutely aware of how much larger he was than me. His delicate frame was deceiving. Now that I was here, so close and alert, I took inventory of the breadth of his shoulders, his height, and the strength that was evident in the musculature of his arm. "You got me? Never." I tried to sound more confident than I was, but his smirk let me know very quickly that he wasn't buying it.

"Poor darling," he said. His tone was so condescending and sarcastic. I wanted to punch him, but I knew that I'd only succeed in breaking my hand. "Is this what you call control? Letting yourself be abused? Drowning yourself in drugs to take away the pain? Trust me. That's not control. You have no idea what control is."

"And you do?" My words were laced with venom and I could hear the tears behind them. If only I could just vanish.

"I know what you need, Bijoux. If only because I remember." He took my hand and this time I let him, staring down at the blue veins and delicate bones that lined the back of his wrist. "You need so badly for someone to take care of you. You keep seeking it out and falling miserably short. Not that it's your fault, really, but you need something to hold on to. Ballast to keep you from floating adrift. But you can't anchor to drugs or abusive lovers and the more you try the farther afield you wander. When I ask that you acquiesce to my every request, it is because I'm requiring your complete trust."

I could feel the hot, salty liquid on my cheeks and I angrily brushed them away, digging my fists into my eyes as if it might stop the tears. "I don't trust anyone. Besides, this little contract of yours doesn't seem to have you doing much acquiescence."

"Of course it does. I promise that I will never ask anything of you that would bring harm or discomfort. Nothing that you would be unable to perform."

"And if I refuse?"

He stepped aside and gestured toward the stairwell. "The door is open."

I considered his words carefully. After several moments, I came to the conclusion that I was absolutely terrified. Intrigued, but terrified. Why was he so keen to help me? No one had ever been this determined. "How… I mean… why? Why would you want to do this? I mean, I don't even know who you are."

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said and suddenly it dawned on me. I knew I'd seen him before. I'd seen him a thousand times in the newspapers. The clever detective that faked his own death. "My friend said you needed my help. I agreed. I don't generally save someone's life only to let them die a week later. Then all my time would have been wasted. Much like it's being wasted now. Make your choice." He didn't wait for my answer, but turned his back and stalked back down the hallway to the bath. I was running out of time and options. It was apparent from his demeanor that he was not a patient man. But he was right. He was right about every single thing. This was risky, but my only chance at salvation. All the other options would surely lead to death. Slow or fast, what did it matter? What choice did I have but to follow?

The bathroom was a welcome warmth. The steam rising from the water he'd run for me made the air sticky and close, but it was better than the chill I'd been feeling since my arrival. Very different from my first visit to this room when I had been glad of the cool blue tile against my feverish body. There was even a faint scent of rose petals and patchouli that hung in the mist. Had he actually poured bath oil into the water for me? He didn't seem like the bath oil type, really. More of a shaving lotion, tobacco and expensive whiskey type. "Give me your clothes and get into the bath," he said.

"What? My clothes?"

"Yes, didn't you hear me?"

I stammered. Surely he didn't mean for me to disrobe in front of him. "Well… yes, but… aren't you going to leave so I can bathe?"

"Of course not."

"Why? I mean… I…" I could feel the flush in my cheeks and the trembling was back in my hands. "I'll be naked."

"Problem?"

"Well… yes. I need a little privacy."

Sherlock snorted, a disdainful smirk on his face. "Privacy is a luxury that you haven't earned just yet. Besides, I'm a scientist, Bijoux. I can assure you that you don't have anything I haven't seen before."

The muscles in my arm tensed as I clenched my fist. His nonchalance stirred the rage in my belly once more and I wanted to lash out. "I knew it," I snarled. "A pervert taking advantage of a poor junkie girl with nowhere to go. The last time I checked, this body was still mine."

"Wrong," he snapped back, taking my wrist and roughly pulling me closer to him. So close that I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. I was so cold. I wanted to lean into his warmth, but the fear and anger coursing through me wouldn't allow it. I did the only thing I could. I fought back, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He held fast so that I couldn't escape his gaze. Despite his sudden crudity, his voice never rose, never wavered. "Your body is mine. Evidently you don't give a shit about it anymore, so one of us has to. So take your fucking clothes off and bathe." He dropped my arm and stepped back, sitting down on the closed toilet and pulling a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. "I can assure you that I won't be aroused in the least."

I took one more look at the door. I was free to leave at any time. He'd said so. Part of me wanted to grab my shoes and run, but the other part was intrigued. So intrigued by this dark figure. Was he truly so unaffected? He seemed so. His fingertips were still as he held the cigarette to his lips and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs. I searched his face and manner for signs of anger, but there was nothing. He was just as still and calm as he had been before. And it was unnerving. I wanted to do something to make him react. Shout at me, hit me, kiss me… even just a hitch in his breath would be enough.

I turned my back and slowly began pulling my dingy clothes off. The smell of them was nauseating. They smelled of sweat, grime and the sour scent of burning drugs. Crack cocaine was the worst, followed closely by methamphetamine. Both of them smelled of rot and decay. I had been offered both many times, but never partaken because of that stench. Now with these clothes, it was all I could smell. It motivated me to get undressed faster, almost forgetting about the stranger that sat on the toilet seat behind me. Soon I am naked and try to cover myself, but of course there is too much skin to cover with these thin arms and hands. My heart pounds in my chest and I'm was so embarrassed. Humiliated. He is probably standing behind me watching, disgusted by my waifish and grubby form. Thinking how it would be better just to get it over with, I stepped over the lip of the tub.

"Stop. Come here," he said, gesturing with an outstretched hand. With my head down and my fists clenched to stop the shaking, I obeyed. His expression did not change. He didn't seem to be angry or aroused or even moved by my nudity. He reached out and took my hand, looking my body over with the clinical eye of a scientist. For some odd reason, I didn't feel dirty or ashamed at his examination. In fact, when he touched me, my pulse slowed and my breathing evened out into a slow, laborious pattern. After several minutes, he nodded and lit another cigarette, motioning toward the tub.