Chapter One
Lestrade went over everything the best he could with the uninterested and impatient consulting detective. Sherlock wasn't interest in photos, test results, conspiracy theories. He just wasn't having it.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm thinking. You're being too loud."
"Any ideas?"
John just watched back and forth between the two men as they shared dialogue. When they started to bicker though, is when he paid attention to what Sherlock was not.
"None in particular."
"So no one knows anything, then? No witnesses?" John asked. He was kind of bored sitting there too.
Lestrade looked at John as his urge to punch Sherlock had risen to immeasurable peaks. "Well, that's the thing…"
Sherlock turned his attention half-heartedly to John.
Lestrade continued. "We actually do have a witness…"
"Have they spoken? Where are they?" Sherlock asked with a loud sarcastic tone. He stood from his chair and circled the table. "Bring them in already!"
Lestrade sighed as he looked to Donovan and she knew to go retrieve the witness.
"How did this witness come about?" John asked.
"She's actually a victim. You have to be gentle with her; she's all shaken up and is barely coherent. And we will be the first men to encounter her since the attack. Usually targets of rape are against seeing the opposite sex. She will be very afraid, Sherlock. Be nice."
"Nice?" Sherlock gave a quirky smirk as the door opened again.
Donovan poked her head in the door. "She won't follow me. She's asking for you to go to her. Said she feels safer in the other room."
The men all shared a confused glance before exiting the room. They stalked down a few halls and got to the room the woman was supposed to be in. Lestrade looked at Sherlock and mouthed the words 'be nice.' Sherlock raised his hands in annoyance.
Inside the room sat a timid looking girl behind a table in one of the steel chairs that happened to be all over the place. Her head snapped up to look at the incoming people, but seemed to relax once she saw Lestrade. He must have been the one to comfort her earlier.
"How are you feeling?" Lestrade asked the girl.
She shrugged in response. John watched her antics with two eyes wide open. Something seemed weird right off hand with him.
"Boys, this is Emilia Hayes. She's our witness."
She stood and offered a handshake to John to which she received, but when she held her hand to Sherlock he stared at it. John knew what he was doing. He was analyzing her.
Bakes a lot. Stressed out. Indication of where a ring used to be for years on end. Cuts from encounter with murderer? Indentation on fingertips.
He started to scan over the rest of her frame.
Wears glasses. Hair is occasionally dyed. Bites nails. Hasn't slept. Still in the same clothes she was attacked in.
He finally took her hand after he got bored with analyzing her. What was with him today?
"Sherlock Holmes. Now tell me what you know."
Emilia looked nervous and then to Lestrade. He handed her a pen and a pad of paper.
"You're in shock. You can't speak," Sherlock thought out loud.
John nodded when he felt the uneasiness lift off of him. So that was what was weird.
Emilia wrote on the paper. It's nice to meet you. I don't know very much.
Sherlock frowned. "Tell me what you do know and prove your usefulness."
Emilia frowned. I was attacked on the street. Drugged, brought to a place I didn't recognize. I escaped after being tortured with a knife, a gun pointed to my head almost the entire time. The man was covered in clothes from head to toe, and no noticeably determining features. Male voice.
John read from beside Sherlock and then looked to Emilia. "At least you're safe for now."
"She's about to be a whole lot safer now," Lestrade started, as he tried hard to suppress a grin. "We need to put her in a witness protection program."
"We have one of those?" Sherlock murmured as he reread the note.
"We do now. She's going into your care."
"What?" was the combined exclamation from both of the flat mates.
"We don't know what else to do for now, and this time we'll actually pay you."
"We don't have the accommodations to deal with her!" Sherlock argued.
John was quite partial to the payment option. That was new.
"You're going to have to, Sherlock," Lestrade returned. "We don't have the extra man-power to look after her. With you and John watching her we—"
"I will not have it!"
Lestrade didn't see a way to argue with Sherlock, so he looked at John. "You do it. I place her in your custody."
"What?" John could only manage to say again.
"Emilia is your responsibility. Keep her with you at all times. I can trust you better than Sherlock as an overseer."
"I get paid, though?" John fumbled with his fingers sheepishly.
"If you do a good job. I'll check in regularly. I've already talked to Emilia," Lestrade looked to the girl, "she's okay with it. She knows about you two. The blog, and all."
"You read my blog?" John asked her. This was starting to feel like a really good day.
Emilia nodded with a small smile.
"That's nice. That's fantastic."
"Didn't I tell you to quit using that word?" Sherlock growled at John, who returned the gesture with a mischievous smile.
The next thing the boys and Emilia knew, they were in a cab and on their way back to Baker Street.
"Give her to Mrs. Hudson, she'll be in the way up here. We don't have room."
"Can't you manage to be nice for a few minutes? You've been more… Sherlock than normal."
"Definitely more than usual," Mrs. Hudson commented. "Don't worry about them, make yourself at home, darling. I'll get you some things, now."
"Could you get me a cup of tea, while you're at it, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock retreated to his chair and sat with his violin.
"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!" She started the kettle up anyway, then retreated downstairs.
John took the next steps. "I'll give you my room for now. I can sleep on the couch. Please make yourself welcome, okay? And ignore Sherlock as much as possible."
"Avoid me as much as possible."
Emilia accepted John's graciousness with an inviting smile and small sounds from the back of her throat. She motioned her hands for a pen and paper. He retrieved such objects from Sherlock's desk, earning himself a trailing gaze that followed his every movement. Emilia then wrote.
If it's not too much to ask, I need a shower.
"Go on down to Mrs. Hudson's place. She could help you more than we could, as our shower is," John cleared his throat and looked around embarrassed, "kind of occupied right now."
Oh, alright. You're a doctor, right?
John nodded to her. "You have a question?"
Many, once I come back. I won't be long.
Emilia handed the paper and pen to John and she waved a goodbye and went downstairs. Sherlock went to the doorway and peered out the window to watch her silhouette retreat down the stairs, then looked at John.
"You're not protecting her, why aren't you protecting her?"
"Oh, come on already. She'll be fine with Mrs. Hudson. And it's your fault for having another experiment in the bath. And why are you concerned all of a sudden? You didn't want her here to begin with."
"We're getting paid."
"I'm getting paid."
"If she's going to stay in our flat that income should be split."
John was hearing the words 'punch me in the face' again. He sighed. "Let's just calm down. It probably won't be that long of a time of her staying here."
"She plays violin. I wonder if she's good. Well, some kind of stringed instrument. Her neck was covered by a scarf, I couldn't see if she had marks from a chin rest. It could even be a cello. Maybe even a guitar or something, some kind of stringed instrument."
John tilted his head in interest. "What else did you see about her?"
Sherlock gave John a sideways glance, then started toward his desk with a smile hidden to himself. "Well, being the victim of the situation she was in, she still appears as stressed as the moment the incident happened, god knows how long she's been like that. There are many wounds hidden away along her arms and slightly poking out from under her scarf. She's a natural brunette but has insisted for over eleven or twelve years now to dye her hair blonde. I think she wears contacts based on the violet hue in her iris's, but her nose also showed signs of wearing glasses. I couldn't look into her eyes. She has trust issues, and is quite the insecure woman. She hasn't been home yet. Previously engaged or simply wore a single ring on her finger for years, possibly an heirloom, and most recently forcibly removed from said finger. I believe it was stolen. Her hands are worn thin in areas from heat abrasion, she obviously likes to cook and bake. I feel we may benefit from her in that area. Or at least Mrs. Hudson. As I did mention previously, she plays a stringed instrument."
John's eyebrows raised in surprise. That was a lot, he had to admit. "I think she's kind of pretty."
"Don't think about it. She just was a victim of a male's evil and idiotic desires. You'll hurt her."
John then caught it. "Are you… caring for another human?"
"Come off it. I need some tea. The kettle should be ringing soon."
And right on cue, the kettle whistled.
Downstairs Emilia was in the shower, all clean, but reflecting under the water. The shower was warm, and nice, and just what she needed. She was exhausted. It's been less than seventy-two hours since… The memories flash in her head and cause her panic and tears… Cries were coming out of her mouth, but quietly and almost not vocal at all. How long will the shock render her voice useless?
She turned off the water and dried off with the towel Mrs. Hudson had provided her with, then covered her body in a robe. Emilia at first was afraid to see her reflection, but knew she'd have to face it anyway. She wiped the steam off the mirror and gasped as she got the look at the real her.
Her right eye was blackened, a few cuts across her face, where the man grabbed her around the throat was all purple, there were deep gashes up the sides of her arms, and many various bruises. There was one stab on her leg though that seemed to be the only thing Scotland Yard had decided that needed immediate treatment. In other words, superglue and a bandage. A poor man's stitches. Maybe John could fix that.
She had to admit being thrown into the very two men she had only heard rumors about was quite the shocker. The best thing she could do was stay out of the way and be the least amount of a burden as possible.
Mrs. Hudson had even gone to the trouble of lending Emilia a dress that she actually adored. Emilia had written down her promise to return it once she can acquire some of her own clothing. Whenever that may be. It isn't too late, so maybe John could walk her to her flat and back? She'll ask him when she gets to speak with him. Otherwise, what would she sleep in?
Back upstairs, Sherlock was plucking at the strings of his violin quite violently. Emilia looked for John, not wanting to disturb the man. John was in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge. Emilia peeked in and a gasp escaped her mouth. John was startled by her noise, and looked at her quickly. She pointed at the fridge, then to her fingers, and threw her hands in the air.
"Yes, they are… human… fingers and such…"
Emilia rolled her eyes and turned to look at Sherlock still in his mood over there. She stamped her foot to get his attention and pointed at the fridge. He didn't look at her, but closed his eyes.
"If you have something to say to me, it better be with your voice. Until then I will waste away in this chair until you do."
Emilia looked at John with an incredulous expression, and he just shrugged.