Sorry if Sherlock or Sally is OOC. Also sorry because this is short. It's been going long, short, long, short it seems. I don't have a word limit I just find a nice place to stop thanks for the favorites and the Alertrifacations? And to the one review, even though it's been only a few hours since I put up the first three chapters. Also sorry because I'm an American. Sometimes I just don't nail the British culture and sensibilities as well as I'd like.

Sally sat up and hugged her knees. Her glasses hadn't flown off when he tackled her and for that she was grateful. The frames were cheap pink plastic because she thought she would never even wear these outside. She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose turned her head away from the Freak.

Sally was angry that he'd saved her. She knew she should be glad that Holmes had saved her from a closed-casket funeral; it still didn't make up for the fact that he had insulted her for maybe the thousandth time. With those sentences, though, he'd gone too far. Before, she had many reasons to hate him. After, she had every reason. Then he had to go a save her life. She wanted to throttle him and hug him at the same time. Throttling was ahead by hair.

"Thanks," She said dutifully. She could at least do that much. Thank him for lengthening her time on Earth even if she spent it loathing his existence.

"You're welcome," he replied thoughtfully. He looked over at the back of Sally's head all he could see was her curly mane and his black coat. "Sally, I-"

"No." She said firmly. She turned to glare at Sherlock before turning away again. "No. I won't accept your apology, Freak, so you can just save it for some who cares. Can't be too many I imagine."

He didn't try again. Instead, he just asked, "Are you hurt?" He stood up and held a hand out to help Sally. She ignored it.

"What do you think? I was just tackled by a tall, skinny, high-functioning sociopath."

"From the trajectory of the fall, it looks like you landed on your back and to the left. You'll have bruises, definitely; maybe a bruised coccyx."

Sally rolled her eyes so hard her whole head moved with it. She removed his coat, suddenly repulsed by the feel of it. "What now, Freak? Where do we go now? If every single door is blocked, how the hell do we get out?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She was tired of hearing that question come from the Freak's mouth. "He wants us to continue through that door or he would have made sure it killed us. That was a onetime trap."

"Great, I'm always thrilled to hear that our best option is to go through the door that's least likely to kill you."

"Well we could go through the door that's most likely to kill us, but even someone of your intellect could see that that's a bad idea."

That didn't even bother her. She was used to his abuse by now and nothing could top what he'd said to her earlier. "After you, Freak."

He walked towards the door and eyed the wood. He slipped his coat back on before rubbing his hand of the rough wood.

"Open the door, don't make love to it."

"Donovan, your lackadaisical use of English language never ceases to amaze me."

"My abuse of the English language is nowhere near as bad as your abuse of people."

He swung the door open, and inspected the pistol rig. When the handle was turned, the pistol went off. It was in a complicated harness that made the door heavy. He thumped it and moved on. "Stay close. I can only keep you alive if you work with me."

"I am not a hapless damsel in distress. I can protect myself."

"Clearly."