Kylie sighed to herself as she glanced up at the street sign above her, verifying it with the ad that she had circled on the paper in her hand.

Baker Street

She took a breath and tried to calm herself. It had been nearly a month. She had to make a more permanent arrangement. She couldn't keep going with the fake names, paying cash for everything, and covering her tracks. She needed a home. She needed a job. She needed to be herself and move forward again. She had to stop running at some point, and starting a life in a new country was a good place to start.

You called in favors. You did your homework. He's not trying to find you.

You are safe.

You are safe…

…For now.

She shut her eyes and swallowed as the London wind blew, blowing her long Auburn locks into her face. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging down her shirtsleeves and tugging up the neck of her turtleneck. Her bruises were nearly gone, but she still didn't want to take the risk of anyone noticing.

That's the good thing about big cities- its easier to become invisible. You are just another body in the sea of people that is the lifeblood of a bustling city.

Just stay invisible.

Kylie straightened and hoisted her bag further up her shoulder before grabbing the small suitcase beside her, rolling it quickly past the café to the door labeled 221.

She found herself pausing, staring at the knocker of the door with interest. It was crooked, so crooked it was nearly sideways. She didn't know why this crooked knocker was making a small smile appear on her face, but it just seemed so… petty. This perfectly nice door and it seemed as if someone insisted on the door knocker being crooked.

She shook her head at herself before knocking on the door, feeling anxiety building up in her once more.

He's not coming after you.

The door opened after a moment, revealing a kindly looking older woman.

"Hi," Kylie smiled nervously, "Are you Mrs. Martha Hudson?"

"Yes," the woman answered perplexed, taking in the younger woman.

"My name is Kyleigha… uh, Kylie. No one actually calls me Kyleigha," she rambled nervously, "Don't know why I said that."

"Are you here for Sherlock, dear?" the woman asked her.

"Uh, Sherlock? No! I came about the flat you had advertised. The basement unit?" Kylie said as she showed the woman the clipping, "I'd be very interested in renting it if it is still available."

The woman looked at her in surprise, "You would like to rent the basement unit?"

"Yes," Kylie smiled, "Is it still available?"

"Yes," Mrs. Hudson said, shaking off her shock, "I'm so sorry, dear. Just rather taken a back someone is actually interested in that old flat. I've been trying to rent it for ages and ages. Come in, love."

Kylie stepped into building, wiping her feet on the mat.

"You can leave that there if you'd like," Mrs. Hudson said as she motioned to the corner by the coat rack, "I just have to nip in to grab the key."

The older woman disappeared into a door labeled 221A, leaving Kylie to take in the dark hallway. She pulled off her scarf, hanging it up before parking her suitcase in the corner by the door.

Loud voices seemed to be bickering in the flat up the stairs. Two male voices if she was hearing correctly.

"I need a case, John!" one yelled loudly.

The other voice responded, but with the closed door, she was unable to make out what the other man was saying.

"Ready?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked back out with a key on a small chain.

Kylie gave one last glance up the stairs before smiling and nodding.

"Right now, its just me and boys," the older woman said, noticing the younger woman's lingering gaze.

"The boys?" Kylie asked a large THUMP came from upstairs.

"Yes, the two men who live in 221B," Mrs. Hudson said as she led her down the hallway, "John and Sherlock. They really are lovely, they just… take some getting used to with their job and all."

Kylie frowned, looking up at the ceiling in confusion.

"What kind of job…" Kylie began to ask as Mrs. Hudson opened the door, effectively cutting her off.

"Here we are, dear," she said as she motioned for Kylie to enter first, "I'll warn you, its not much. Needs a bit of work and that."

Kylie passed through the door, descending down into the small basement flat.

"I've been meaning to fix it up a bit, but with the damp and my hip…"

"I actually was in the market for something affordable in this neighborhood," Kylie lied as she eyed the second door with a large deadbolt and the lack of large windows.

Bout as secure as she could get… with a relatively busy street in Central London? Perfect.

"I could help you fix it up too. That is, if you wouldn't mind me fixing it up a bit?" Kylie asked, "I'm rather handy. My father does a lot of building and refurnishing in his spare time. Taught me a lot about it growing up."

"You'd be willing to fix it up as well?" Mrs. Hudson asked, not believing her ears.

"Yeah," Kylie shrugged as she looked around. "I'm rather unemployed at the moment. While I have savings, I'm looking for a project to do while I look for a new position in London."

CRASH!

A large crash came from the second floor, making both women jump.

"I'll just go have a word with them," Mrs. Hudson muttered, turning around, "Keep looking around dear!"

Kylie raised her eyebrow at the noises emanating from above her.

It's a shabby, affordable flat in central London… what did she expect?

She turned her attention back to the flat. It was secure. A small basement window peaking over the ground floor allowed in some natural light. It was, damp as the land lady had mentioned, but that could be fixed. The wallpaper was peeling off, but some routine maintenance and cleaning could fix that… it was the security of the basement flat that she wanted.

While shabby and in need of a fresh coat, of well… everything, the flat could be quite quaint if she put the effort in.

Not to mention a good distraction.

"Sorry about that," Mrs. Hudson said as she wandered back in, "It was just…"

"I'll take it, Mrs. Hudson," Kylie told the woman with a smile, "That is, if you'll rent it to me?"

Mrs. Hudson looked at the younger woman in surprise once more.

"Seriously?"

Kylie laughed slightly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Yes, I love it. I think it has a lot of potential."

"I'm just…" Mrs. Hudson still said in shock, "Are you sure?"

Kylie laughed again.

"Are you sure you want to rent it?"

"Well, I just figured a pretty young thing like you would want something with a view that was move in ready," Mrs. Hudson told her.

"Like I said," Kylie said with a smile, "I'm looking for a project as well as something affordable in this neighborhood. I strangely rather feel at home here."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at the younger woman.

"Oh, it will be so nice having another woman around here!" she stated, beckoning her out of the flat, "Let's go fill out the paperwork, shall we?"

"How soon do you think I'd be able to move in?" Kylie asked her as they made their way into the hallway, hearing the door to the flat upstairs shut abruptly.

"How soon would you like to move in?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she led her into 221A.

"As soon as humanly possible, honestly," Kylie told her, "I literally have nowhere else to go and I'm rather sick of hostels and motels to be honest."

Mrs. Hudson looked at her in shock.

"You've been staying in those retched places?" she asked in a very maternal tone.

Kylie smiled at the older woman as she bustled around, looking for the appropriate paperwork.

"Yes, I've been looking for the perfect place," Kylie lied.

"Where are you staying now, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked her as she handed her the paperwork and a pen.

"Nowhere," Kylie told her honestly, "I have everything I brought with me."

Mrs. Hudson stared at her in shock.

"What just that small case?" she asked, "Heavens, that little for moving across an ocean?"

"I pack light," Kylie told her with a tight smile as she began to fill out the form.

"Well, don't you worry, dear," Mrs. Hudson said patting her hand as she stood up and made about making tea, "You can move in immediately if that's what you need. Heaven knows you are renting a room and fixing it up for me."

Kylie smiled up at the woman, relief washing through her.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Kylie told her sincerely.

"It's not a worry dear," she told her, "I'll knock a third of the price off as well for the labor of fixing the flat up too."

"That's too much!" Kylie argued.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Hudson said with a wave of her hand, "I have enough money from my late husband. I was never expecting to rent that room to a lovely young woman such as yourself, let alone one who would be willing to fix it up for me as well."

Kylie smiled at the woman.

"You've been too kind to me already, Mrs. Hudson."

"Tell me," Mrs. Hudson said as she handed the younger woman a cup of tea, "Why would a young woman such as yourself leave America in such a hurry?"

Kylie looked up at the older woman in surprise.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at her as she sat down across from her.

"No one brings that little when they move to a new country if they aren't running from something."

Kylie smiled.

Apparently, she was that predictable.

"I had a breakup," Kylie told the woman, "I figured a fresh start in a new place would be best. I ran before I thought, I guess."

.. not entirely untrue…

"Takes one to know one, love," Mrs. Hudson told her reminiscently, "My late husband and I were in America for a period of time. I left when I found out he was running a drug cartel or whatever they are called nowadays."

Kylie's eyebrows shot into her hairline as she stared hard at the form she was filling out, trying her best not to react to the older woman's statement.

"Didn't end well, if I'm honest," the older woman confessed, "But I left him for London again and threw what was nearest into a case and left."

Kylie smiled up at the woman, trying her best not to run out of the room immediately.

"He's not worth a good woman like you," Mrs. Hudson told her as she squeezed her hand again, "I can already tell that about you."

Kylie couldn't help but smile at the woman. There was something so warmly maternal about her, she couldn't help but feel as if she was home in this shabby building.

"Well, I think that it for the forms," Kylie said as she handed her back the paperwork, "Would you mind cash for first and last months rent?" she asked as she began fishing through her bag, "I think that's the last step."

"Cash?" Mrs. Hudson asked in shock once more.

"I know this is more than we agreed," Kylie said as she pulled out a wad of cash she had calculated before walking into 221 Baker street, leaving the landlady nearly speechless, "but you can either accept it as a thank you for lowering my rent, or just add it to my future payments, either is fine with me."

"I'll just get your key now, shall I?"

A few minutes later, Kylie left the flat of 221A with her new set of keys in hand. She looked down at them and smiled to herself.

Here went nothing, right?

She took a breath and grabbed her scarf off the coat rack, making to grab her small suitcase, only to find it was no longer there.

She spun around wildly, searching as a small amount of panic began to overtake her.

She had left it there, hadn't she?

"Sherlock, whose suitcase is that?" a voice asked from the flat upstairs.

Suitcase?

What?

"Our new client's" the deeper voice replied as something was thrown onto the floor with a light thud.

Did the guy upstairs steal her suitcase?

Before Kylie really knew what she was doing, she found herself walking up the stairs, listening in on the conversation as she approached.

"Really?" the first voice asked, "Because 10 minutes ago, you were throwing a fit because we didn't have a case. So much so, that we got told off by Mrs. Hudson."

"So?"

"So, you couldn't have found a client in that time, let alone a suitcase…"

Kylie knocked on the cracked door before pushing it open, peering into the room.

Two men occupied the little flat. A blonde man stood, frowning down at a second, dark-haired man sitting on the floor, examining her suitcase as he pulled each item out one by one and examining them.

"Uh, excuse me," Kylie said as she stepped into the flat, "Not to be rude or anything, but what in the actual fuck do you think you are doing?"

"Sorry," the blonde man asked her, taken aback slightly by her rudeness, "Who are you?"

"Kylie," she said as she crossed her arms, "Your new downstairs neighbor and the woman he stole that suitcase from."

She frowned as the dark-haired man pulled out the one pair of lacey underpants she owned, inspecting them briefly before tossing them aside.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" the blonde man muttered, noting his flat mates' previous action before turning to Kylie, "You're the woman Mrs. Hudson was showing the flat to. I'm so sorry," he apologized, snapping the suitcase shut and picking it up for her, "So unbelievably sorry."

Kylie eyed the dark-haired man who got up off the floor and sat on the top of the black armchair next to him as she picked up the rest of the items he had pulled out off of the floor.

"Here," the blonde man said as he handed her her suitcase, "I apologize again, for him. I'm John, by the way. John Watson."

He offered her his hand, and Kylie shook it with a small smile.

"Where did you serve, if you don't mind me asking?"

The blonde man stared at her, taken aback before glancing at the dark-haired man who was looking at her even more curiously.

"Sorry?"

"I just meant, were you deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan?"

"Afghanistan," John told her, "But how..?"

Kylie smiled, "That haircut, that posture, and that handshake? I'm a navy brat. I know a soldier when I see one."

John gave her a stunned smile as he looked at his flat mate.

"I'll take it," the dark-haired man told her suddenly as he folded his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees.

Kylie frowned as she shoved the remaining items on the floor into her purse.

"Take what?"

"Your case," the man said simply.

"I think you already did that," she said, "and gone through it."

"Don't be stupid," the man told her, "I meant you as a client."

"A client of… what?"

"It's what I do. You need my help."

"Which is what?" Kylie asked skeptically, looking around the flat briefly, "Interior design? Thanks, but I have my own spray paint and bullet holes to put on my wall downstairs."

The dark-haired man stared at her for a moment, smiling briefly.

"Interesting," he muttered.

Kylie raised an eyebrow, "Alright."

"I'm a detective," the man informed her after a moment, "Consulting detective. The only one in the world."

Kylie scoffed.

"So, a made-up job," she told him, "Yeah, I'm unemployed too, mate."

"You didn't used to be."

Kylie smiled at the ground, fully annoyed with this, "Yeah, believe it or not, I have held down a job before."

She turned to leave, attempting to end the conversation, but before she could, the dark-haired man spoke again.

"Yes, up until about 3 weeks ago based on the color of your bruising."

Kylie froze as fear rushed through her.

What did he know? Did he work with Thomas?

Kylie turned to look at the dark-haired man, who was now wearing a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Quit unexpectedly," he continued, "From the FBI."

"Who are you?" Kylie asked him.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man said as he stood, stepping off of his armchair, approaching her with interest, "I told you, I'll take your case."

"What case?" she asked him.

"To help you lock up the man you are running from," he told her simply, "the one who beat you. Boyfriend is my guess. But what I don't understand is how a coroner for the FBI, is trained in combat and carries a gun and two knives on her is running in terror from an old lover."

"Don't worry," Sherlock told her dryly, "I doubt he knows where you are. You covered your tracks well. Staying no longer than one night in each location, paying cash for everything, using false names. Tell me, is Kylie your real name? Or is it another alias?"

"You can't possibly know that," she told him in a hoarse whisper as she tried her damnedest to contain the emotion that was running through her.

"Simple, really," Sherlock said as he turned on his heel, "International move, small case. No one moves with nearly just an overnight bag, let alone overseas. You have cash, a photo album and very little and seemingly random clothing. 3 pairs of those running tights things, 1 pair of jeans, 4 blouses, 1 T shirt, and two sweatshirts. The sweatshirts… Those were the key. One: old and worn, small holes and tears, obviously too large for you, so it wasn't yours originally. NAVY printed on the front in worn lettering. My bet father's based on your earlier statement to John. Second: smaller size. FBI printed on it. Newer, 6 maybe 7 years old. Still worn from a lot of use, so you are proud of it, proud to wear it. Hence your position at the FBI. Why would you leave a position you love and are proud of? You wouldn't, unless it was for your own protection. Now, coroner, how did I get coroner?"

"Sherlock…" John said as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"That came from the journals. The Scientific journals. You barely packed undergarments, yet you grabbed scientific journals? You value science and intellect. The mixture is what was interesting. Medical journal, anthropological journals, and forensics? One answer, Coroner. But I bet you aren't a coroner, are you? No, graduation photo in the album you are wearing the cap and gown of a PhD. Medical doctors don't receive those, but forensic experts do."

Kylie looked down and away, trying to compose herself.

"Forensic Anthropologist"

"Oh, interesting," the man said with a smile before he continued with his rant. "The man who beat you. You were close to him, yes? Based on the photo album. Random pictures were missing throughout it, as if they had been suddenly torn out. As of you didn't want the memory anymore. Boyfriend would be the logical conclusion as I see no ring or tan line from a ring. Strangulation marks are still fading, which is why you keep tugging at your shirt to ensure that they are covered. Makeup can hide the ones on your face only so well, especially near the end of the healing process. The green and yellow is hard to hide… let alone the fear."

Kylie met his eyes.

"I'm not running. You are wrong."

"I'm not wrong," Sherlock told her, "I found pens from at least 4 hotels across London in your bag and receipts made out to 4 different women. You have been moving locations since you arrived. You've paid cash at each location and have a lot of cash on you in your case. Now, why would someone move from place to place, use a fake name, pay in cash, and leave a career they loved and a father they are close to if they weren't running?"

"Sherlock, stop." John said once more.

Kylie just stared at the man.

"But you know you don't have to run anymore," Sherlock said, ignoring John's protests "You know he isn't following you, which makes him that much trickier to put away."

Sherlock paused, obviously waiting for her to ask why or how he knew that, but she didn't give in. Sherlock turned to look at her, slightly surprised that she hadn't asked. Kylie just kept staring at him, refusing to give the arrogant man the satisfaction.

"Are you going to ask why I know this?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Kylie told him and began packing up her suitcase once more.

"Simple really, you actually signed a lease… wait, what?" Sherlock began before he realized what she had said.

"I said no. I don't care. I'm not a client or whatever you call them for your make-believe detective agency, and I don't need your help. I need to move into a flat and not have men with huge egos dig through my dirty laundry, both literally and metaphorically."

"You need my help."

"No, I really don't." Kylie told him as she turned to leave the flat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I now have to install 4 deadbolts on my door to keep you out of my flat and hopefully my life." She turned to John. "John, lovely to have met you."

"You too," John said awkwardly, "And sorry for… you know… him."

Kylie gave him a tight smile.

"You have to do that a lot for him, don't you?" she asked, "Apologize?"

"You have no idea," John told her.

Kylie gave him another small smile before leaving the flat and heading down into her own for the first time.

As soon as she was gone, John turned and glared at Sherlock in exasperation.

"What?" Sherlock asked him.

John just his eyes in frustration before shaking his head and walking out of the room in pure frustration with his flat mate for not the first nor the last time.

Review? I welcome thoughts and feedback!