Pajama clad and trembling, the woman could have easily been mistaken for a terrified child, had it not been for the blade she was brandishing at them. John stepped forward, his hands out before him, military training overriding his initial shock.
"Dorothy? Dorothy Jenkins?" The girl's eyes widened as ohn stepped forward. She shook her headthe knife shaking violently in her hand.
"Dorothy, We aren't here to hurt you. You recognize us? Yea? It's John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes." She shook her head violently, rearing back and dropping the knife. John saw exactly what she was going to do, and lunged for her. She collided into his arms, clawing and kicking and screeching. Her fingers dug into John's face and tore at his jumper, trying desperately to get away. Sherlock leapt into action, slamming and latching the door, before gripping her wrists, pinning them at her sides.
"Miss Jenkins, please. , calm down." She wasn't listening. Her eyes rolled back in her heas, and she went suddenly limp. John caught her fall, and hoisted her up, carrying her over the couch. He checked her vitals. Pulse slowing to normal levels, breathing becoming even. Recovering. He covered her carefully with a blanket, before standing back up.
Sherlock watched John's actions with fascination. The doctor had seemed to see everything before it happened. Her shock, the panic attack. Her attempt at flight. And then, after she had hurt him, he had kept calm and cared for her. The perfect soldier and doctor. Sherlock shook his head, trying dislodge the distracting thoughts, but his eyes came to rest on the fresh claw marks on John's face, and a knot formed in his throat.
"John. You're bleeding." John reached a hand up and prodded his face, the sting of the cuts finally settling in.
"Seems like it. Could you see if she has any peroxide? And search for what you wanted to while your at it. Best to do that while she's out." Sherlock nodded numbly, not used to being ordered around, but not minding either. Sherlock disappeared into the girl's room, while John sauntered back over to the wall. He had gotten a general impression of it, now he had a moment to examine it in earnest. The Sherlock part of the web really was massive. Some of the articles were from decades before, reprinted from the internet. John skimmed over of few of them.
Ten year old Sherlock solving a murder. 14 year old Sherlock stopping a drug lord. 16 year old Sherlock uncovering a ring of human trafficking in London. There was another picture, this one in color, that caught the doctor's eye. An older Sherlock, around twenty or so, was leaning back against a police car. The picture was obviously candid, as the Detective's features were relaxed. He was gazing out over a beach, police lines and officers scattered about the sand. Sherlock seemed so happy in the picture, a small smile on his lips. John unconsciously traced a finger over the picture. Noting that it was a high quality print. Obviously Dorothy had had it made up. He head Sherlock coming out of the girl's room, and quickly snatched the picture from the wall, slipping it quickly into his back pocket. Later, he would question what possessed him to do it, but right now his only thoughts were on the case.
"I found some peroxide as well as a few interesting computer files." John stepped forward to take the bottle from the detective, but the Sherlock stopped him.
"Sit." John sighed, taking a seat in the chair adjacent the couch. Sherlock knelt before him, his jacket discarded and sleeves rolled up. Shaking a few drops of the liquid onto the cloth, he glanced back over at the wall.
"Why was she frightened? It doesn't fit." John raised an eyebrow.
"Doesn't fit what?" The detective pressed the cloth to John's injured cheek, the doctor hissing at the burn.
"Most obsessive fans would be elated to have their idols see their shrine. They would show it off with pride, and then proceed to try and keep us." John chuckled slightly.
"I don't think so Sherlock. This was obviously a personal thing for her." The doctor hooked a thumb at two canvases leaning against the wall.
"She hides it when she has company. Only someone she was intimate with would know about it, and even then that's a maybe. We obviously didn't do any good breaking in here unannounced." Sherlock nodded, looking up at the doctor with yet another twist in his gut. John was noticing things that he hadn't even thought of, this was most peculiar.
"I had not considered that. You're learning." John blushed slightly at the rare praise, his eyes not dareing to look down at the detective. Sherlock ran his fingers gently over the doctor's cheek, checking for any further marks on either side. John leaned into the cool touch absentmindedly. The detective felt his heart flutter, and went to say something, when a moan came from the couch. The two men jumped apart, both with their hearts beating a touch too fast, and their cheeks a touch too red. The figure on the couch sat up, her eyes focusing on the two men. She put her head into her hands with a groan.
"Ju are really here then." She moaned and Sherlock glanced at John. The doctor mouthed the word 'French' to the detective with a hint of surprise.
"Yes, we are here. You gave as quite a welcome too." The woman looked up at them, her dark features paling as her eyes found the marks on John's face.
"Shit." John smiled, trying to reassure her.
"It's my fault. Should have called ahead." The woman let out a weak laugh, and Sherlock felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Was John flirting with her? The woman glanced at the wall.
"You have come to arrest me, no?" John shook his head.
"No. We just came to talk. " The woman looked him over skeptically, and then her eyes passed over Sherlock. Despite the warmth of the doctor, the detective was cold and even angry looking. Dorothy shuddered.
"Talk about what." Sherlock perched on the edge of John's chair, arms crossed over his chest.
"About your bugging our flat, spying on us and tapping our phones." John winced at the detectives harsh tone.
"I know nothing of tapping your phones." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the statement, and john leaned forward.
"We were simply here to ask you to stop, and to remove any items that were illegal, instead of getting the police involved." The woman looked at them in turn.
"The wall is mine, yes. But I know nothing of tapping your phone." She gestured around her with her hands. "I did send the listening device, but it was only at Anthony's instruction." Sherlock's ears perked at this.
"Anthony?" The woman nodded.
"Oui. He is a friend of mine from school." John sat up.
"School?" The woman nodded quickly.
"I am in my final year at King's college. Anthony is in my class." Sherlock was really getting peaked now.
"Does this Anthony have a last name?" The woman nodded.
"Morgan." With that Sherlock had his coat on and was out the door. John scrambled up. Pausing for a moment.
"Err, get rid of –" He pointed at the wall "That. If you can't destroy it, send it to us, we'll deal with it. Please, respect our privacy, yea?" She nodded, tears pricking her eyes. The door of her flat slammed, and she was left completely unsure of what had just happened.