Two
Refuge

Going back to my apartment later that day was a task I would have preferred to avoid altogether. Sadly though, I realised that returning was something that would need to be done eventually, and thanks to Sherlock's crazy schemes, that eventually would have to be sooner rather than later.

I could no longer spend days away from my home safely tucked in the security of Baker Street. There was now something besides myself living in that flat – only this something couldn't feed or water itself.

It was a few seconds after I opened the creaking door to the living room that it emerged from its cubbyhole in the small cupboard next to the oven that had been left ajar.

"Inigo." I greeted, bending over and scratching the small black cat softly behind its ears. The thing looked up at me warily for a moment, before apparently deciding I was indeed safe to be around. It let out one long mew and started brushing its silky body against my ankles.

If I hadn't known any better, I would have guessed that the blasted creature had actually missed me.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" I asked with a sigh. The cat released a small purr. "Of course you are. You haven't been fed in a day."

I shut the door behind me and, struggling to navigate around Inigo's pining advances, shrugged my coat onto the red couch.

The animal meowed again, this time louder and more fervent.

"I know, I know." I responded, without any of the usual annoyance I felt towards the beast. "Let's get you something to eat."

I emptied one of the pouches of cat food into Oliver's old bowl and placed it onto the newspapered corner of the floor, topping up the water bowl at the same time. Inigo dug in, a happy hum resonating from his throat.

I stood up straight and looked around my small book-ridden flat. A draught was wafting over my left shoulder, but I already knew exactly where it was coming from. The issue was stopping it.

A window was open, as it had been since yesterday morning, and normally I would only be slightly self-deprecating that I had forgotten to shut it while I was out. The cooling fresh air was always appreciated when I was at home. This window, however, I had not forgotten. The chilling breeze it permitted into the building was not one I enjoyed.

It only acted as a reminder of the events of the past twenty four hours.

I stared directly at the gaping door to my bedroom, urging a foot forwards. It needed to be shut. Desperately. If it remained open, then I would remain just as vulnerable. It was how the two hefty guys had gotten in then and would be just as useful at protecting me now.

It was too difficult though – too damn difficult to go back into that room. It was a ridiculous thought, but I just couldn't help the niggling idea in my brain that it would happen again were I to enter.

Slowly, I forced another foot towards the door.

I would feel better once it was shut and I was securely locked up. I knew I would. I had to. This feeling of being downright defenceless inside my own home just couldn't last, could it?

Another step.

Alright, all I had to do was walk into my bedroom and shut a stupid window. That really shouldn't be so hard. Then I could get changed, get something to eat, and collapse onto the sofa with an old Penguin Classic. Simple.

Two more steps.

I was getting better at this. There was something about taking things one move at a time that made everything seem more normal. I would have to go into that room eventually – I bloody slept in there – so now was as good a time as any.

Four bold steps further.

A loud noise made me jump so violently I risked hitting my shins against the corner of the kitchen cabinets.

Inigo was as equally startled and dashed past in a blur into the bathroom.

I sighed and walked over to the desk where my handbag had been sitting since yesterday. I reached inside and pulled out my chirping BlackBerry.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously, not recognising the number that had been flashing on the screen.

"Dr. Hunt, where on earth are you?"

"Sorry, who is this?" I asked, a frown crossing over my features. The concerned female tone was vaguely familiar, but really could have been anyone.

"Patricia…" she said as if it explained things. It didn't. She clearly realised this and added in an insulted voice, "… the PA."

Oh.

"Christ, Patricia, of course." I said, now getting what this phone call was about. I rubbed my forehead. Guilt started building up inside me. "I forgot to call in this morning, didn't I?"

"Uh, yeah." Patricia answered in an annoyed whisper. "Look, I can't lie to Professor Finlayson. He's able to spot it before I even speak. He's going a bit mental that you've disappeared again."

The 'again' on the end of that sentence stung. It wasn't my fault my life had turned into some sort of adventure story about detectives and criminal masterminds! The protagonists in those never had to keep a normal job outside dangerous circles anyway. "I know, sorry. I'm just… really ill at the moment."

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "You've been ill a lot recently. It's not serious, is it?"

"No, no. Just a return of this damn flu." I lied quickly. That was the reason John had used last time I wasn't in, wasn't it? I was pretty sure it was. "I'm sure I'll be better by Thursday."

Patricia sighed. "Alright. I'll let the Prof. know, but he won't be happy."

Was he ever?

My right hand stirred the two teaspoons of sugar into the milky tea, my left adjusting the position of the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear.

"Yes, I know I've been absent a lot recently," I spoke into the receiver, picking the mug off of the counter, "but that's really beside the point."

I stepped through the open doorway into the little hall, listening as I did so. I placed the tea on the floor next to the kneeling man working on the doorstep outside.

"I put my request in three weeks ago."

The locksmith smiled gratefully at me, putting down the screwdriver and lifting the cup to his thin lips. He had the look of a proper British working-class bloke about him; his head covered by a thin dark fuzz, his neck as broad as his face with two clearly separate rolls of fat. His squinty eyes sat above a nose that reminded me of a squashed plum. I smiled back before returning to the living room.

"But it was in writing," I cut back, "and your acceptance was in writing as well. You can't just withdrawal it suddenly – not three days before the date."

Hopefully I'd feel a bit safer after this. I had tried to get by normally for a couple of days, but my focus had been in vain. So far, I hadn't been able to stay in this flat for more than an hour without the panic returning.

"It's my father's retirement party. I had no say in the planning." I said, getting more than a little annoyed at my boss's stubbornness.

My landlord had been extremely kind when I had called him up and informed him that someone had been able to get into the flat without breaking the locks. Of course, he assumed it was just an average burglary, and I wasn't going to be the one to correct him on the matter. The locks would be changed, though, to ones which were more secure and new bolts would be fitted to the windows.

"Well, I assume they thought Saturday would be the easiest day for most people, being during the weekend and all."

It had only taken Mr Price a day to organise the locksmith to come out the following Wednesday. Surprisingly, they had actually turned up on time at ten this morning. Apparently they'd only need to be here an hour to get everything done.

"Ok, I'll come in next Wednesday to make up for it," I consented in agitation, "is that it then?"

I turned on the spot, planning to continue my pacing of the sitting room floor, but stopped as my eyes landed on the intruder in front of me. My eyebrows rose.

"Right," I answered the irritated man on the phone, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

The intruder gazed at me, his face inscrutable.

My expression shifted into a frown.

"Bye." I quickly finished the conversation and hung up, not wanting to have to talk to an angry Professor Finlayson any longer than was necessary. I turned my attention to the intruder. "What is it?"

Sherlock pulled his scarf away from his mouth, but otherwise didn't move. "You've started to assume something's wrong when I'm around."

I rolled my eyes. "That's because it usually is."

Sherlock dug his hands into his pockets – a gesture that might have been a sign of affront in a child. "No, it isn't."

I smiled weakly and leant against the corner of the cabinet behind me, dropping the phone on its top. "Sadly, Sherlock, I'm afraid it is."

Sherlock let out a barely audible huff, apparently deciding to change the subject. "Have you seen John?"

"Uh," I started. And here I was thinking this man could do nothing to surprise me any more than he had done already. "He's in New Zealand. As he has been for a week."

"Oh."

And with that final word in our epic conversation, Sherlock spun around and calmly ambled out of the flat.

I chuckled softly.

The doorbell rang four short times, each high pitch ingraining itself in my ears.

"Hang on a minute!" I called as I finished pushing the delicate gold earring into its butterfly behind my lobe and jogged over to the hall.

I made sure to peer through the peephole before unlocking either of the two newly installed locks on the front door. Nothing could be too careful anymore. While I used to ignore the tiny eyepiece completely, now I would hardly ever even leave the building without checking what was outside beforehand. Everything needed to be checked now. Even the miniscule window in the bathroom couldn't be left open.

I sighed at the sight that met me and proceeded to click the locks into place, swinging the door inwards. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not a particularly nice greeting, Melanie."

"This coming from the boy who refuses to say goodbye." I pointed out. Sherlock peered down at me, his usual dark coat and blue scarf covering his lean form. Something occurred to me. "Hang on, did you ring the doorbell?"

Sherlock gave me his typical I-knew-you-were-dumb-but-I-had-no-idea-it-was-to-this-extent look. "Obviously. Even your acoustic perception isn't that bad."

"Thanks. What I mean to say is that you never ring the doorbell. You just enter."

Sherlock swept past me without an invite, proving my statement correct. I followed him obediently into the living room where he slumped onto the sofa.

"And your question is?"

I suddenly found it more difficult to talk than it usually was. It must have been because of the gritted teeth. I managed to grumble something out regardless. "Why did you ring the doorbell today?"

He waved a hand at me dismissively. "Not important."

Oh, thank God.

If there was one way to ensure your locks were working properly, it was to have Sherlock Holmes attempt to break in and fail.

"We're going to be late."

I blinked. Sherlock's statement had temporarily knocked me out of my happy relief. What was he talking about now? Had he decided to arrange an outing or something and thought it wasn't worth telling me about it? "Late for what?"

Sherlock gave me yet another patronising stare. "Your father's retirement party. If you're not ready in ten minutes, we'll miss the 11:06 train and you'll have to buy another ticket."

My jaw dropped. "Err, what?"

"Ten minutes, Melanie." He reminded me again.

My mouth opened and shut six times as I attempted to think of what to say. My brain seemed to have decided to run away at the most inconvenient of times yet again.

Finally, I settled on, "Since when are you coming to my dad's retirement party?"

Sherlock checked his mobile for the time. "Since he invited me. Nine minutes."

I blinked some more, adding a few more jaw drops for good measure. "He invited you? When?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "Twenty nine days ago when we spoke on the phone. Arthur was extremely polite. It's a shame you didn't inherent his good manners."

But…

How…

Sherlock was on a first-name basis with my fricking parents?

"Eight minutes."

Another instalment for you. Sorry if it got worse at the end there, I'm tired and couldn't really tell.

FYI Irene won't be appearing for another few chapters (or maybe slightly more) of this story. There is, after all, supposed to be a six month gap between the end of The Great Game and her introduction to Sherlock. This story will definitely progress faster than the last, though. If it didn't Miss Adler wouldn't show up until chapter 219, which might have been a bit of a wait.

Thanks for all the reviews last time! Send another, maybe?