Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Yes, he loves her! But now, to protect her, he has to use her as bait and risk loosing her!

Will he succeed in locking her evil stepmother without loosing his love, or will he be bested by someone he has yet to meet?

Sit back and find out!

Love always,

Avoline


He looked up as she walked in. He had just gotten the tears to stop flowing, and he knew it was obvious. He also knew she would ask, because her gentle heart wouldn't rest until she had at least tried to help. His own heart pounded against his ribs. He didn't want to tell her that she would be the only way to lure her stepmother out. He didn't want to tell her that he couldn't only protect her after putting her on the line.

He didn't want to risk loosing her.

"I needed that nap," she commented with a smile. Her smile soon faded as she met his gaze. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" He took a deep breath.

"Your stepmother didn't kill your father because she hated him," he replied. "She killed him for the insurance money. And now she'll kill you because, as long as you're alive, she isn't entitled to anything." He could see her good mood dissipate. "My brother has agreed to help. But in order for his plan to work..." His lip began to quiver, and tears sprang into his eyes again.

"What," she breathed. "Sherlock, what does he have to do?" He bit his tongue at her words.

"It's not what he has to do," he whispered. She sat beside him. "I have to put your life on the line in order to protect you, and I don't know if I can do it." Her brows knitted together.

"What do you mean," she inquired.

"To do what my brother is asking comes with a risk," he explained. "That risk is your life. I know what she'll do, Annabelle, and I can't risk loosing you. But if I don't do this, I might still loose you." She pulled him towards her and pressed her lips to his.

His heart nearly broke at the action. He wanted the kiss to last forever, but he knew that it wouldn't. Eventually, they would have to breath, and then execute his brother's plan. He was almost sure that it would fail, and he would have to watch her die of anaphylactic shock.

"Sherlock, I should have told you," she soothed. "Dad's allergy was more deadly than mine. Mine is simply irritating." His eyes flew open. "While allergic to the same thing, Dad's reaction was more severe. I just get hives and itch for hours on end."

He let out a bark of laughter before tears of relief fell. He wouldn't loose her. She wasn't in any danger.

But did MaryAnn know that?

"Your stepmother," he questioned as she wiped away his tears. "Does she know?" She shook her head.

"Ignorance of others keeps you alive," she joked. "As long as she doesn't know, this will work." He nodded.

"Mycroft is setting up a social network page for you," he began, his confidence renewed. "He'll post that you're eating at the Regency Cafe in Westminster. She'll slide in and request the seat closest to the kitchen, and as your food comes by, she'll throw a few peanuts in. I need you to take a few bites, and then start acting like you're choking."

"And everyone says that degree in theatre would do me no good," she laughed.

She'll be famous.

"While the rest of the patrons, all actors hired by myself and my brother, flock to help you, Scotland Yard will keep an eye out from outside for her. I'll point her out by her lack of reaction. She'll leave shortly after the commotion, like she's done with the four poor souls before your father." She nodded. "Paramedics will be near by to treat your hives, and will jump once she's been carted off. We can't guarantee she'll go to prison, but she'll never come near the British Isles again. I promise that one." She giggled and flung her arms around his neck. "Plus quite a few job offers."

"As long as I have you, I'm happy," she answered.


"Her allergy isn't that severe, Mycroft," he explained. "She gets hives. She'd need basic care to treat those. She's also got a degree in theatre. She's almost been planning this herself. All we have to do is provide the support cast."

"Excellent," Mycroft responded through the phone. "The page is ready, and I'll post that she's at the cafe tomorrow at lunch. Keep an eye on her, Sherlock. Wouldn't want a repeat of the past." The line went dead, and Sherlock set his phone on the table.

He felt exhausted now. After all the tears, the roller coaster of emotions, it had all finally caught up to him. He started towards the couch.

"Sherlock," Annabelle called from the bedroom. He turned to her. "You're welcome to join me. The bed's more comfortable than the couch." He smiled.

"I'll be fine, Annabelle," he stated softly.

"Sherlock, after today, seeing how scared you were of loosing me, I think you deserve a good night's sleep," she insisted. "And, to be honest, it's easier to sleep when you know for certain that everything you care about to safe. What better way than to hold that in your arms?"

He couldn't argue that one.

He trotted after her, shedding all but his boxers before jumping into bed. She climbed in next to him, but left the lamp on.

"Annabelle, what are you doing," he asked.

"The sun has barely set, Sherlock," she began. "You saw my scars. I'm sure you've got a few yourself. Let me see them." He took a deep breath, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Sherlock, please, let me in."

He hesitated before extending one arm, exposing the scars to the lamp light. Her fingers traced over each line and pressed each dot. His heart was pounding again, this time from fear of rejection. He didn't want her to be disgusted with him. He didn't want her to think the worst of him.

"These," she questioned, tracing the lines along his wrist.

"I felt like life would be better if I was dead, but I didn't have the nerve," he confessed. A twinge of sadness pierced her gaze, and he berated himself for it.

"And these," she pointed out a few dots along his veins.

"Drugs," he forced out, his voice barely audible. She stared at the marred skin.

Then pressed her lips to it.

He froze. He expected her to be disgusted, to yell and scream and order him out of her life. He expected rejection of the worst kind, and to be left brokenhearted and alone. He never expected her to kiss every ugly mark and caress them with such tenderness.

"Annabelle," he croaked.

"Don't," she instructed, her eyes meeting his. "This is a part of you. No matter how much you might hate it, it helped to make you the wonderful man you are today. We all fall down sometimes. And sometimes we don't get back up. But you did, because you're stronger than you think. And this has only made me love you even more." He smiled through the tears.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered. "I don't know what I've done to have earned having you in my life."