"So your brother actually wants people to spy on you?" Scarlett checked as she sat in her living room that evening. Sherlock sat on the sofa, constantly picking up details about her life as he looked around her living room, but he kept the information to himself, allowing her to freely tell him more about her life which was something Sherlock had never let anyone do before. He pleased himself by seeing other people look at him in wonder as he told them things which they had never told anyone else.

"Yes," Sherlock replied simply. "Mycroft and I don't get along as you can possibly tell...he thinks I am some form of risk because of the ways in which I handle my dealings. Truth be known, he has never caused me many problems before though, he has bigger things on his hands to worry about."

"Wow," Scarlett simply replied. "That's...just...wow..."

"Completely different than the relationship which you had with your brother," Sherlock commented and he saw her eyes cloud over as she looked down at the floor and then to the material on her sofa, shrugging as she went.

"I should suppose so," she agreed. "Lee and I...well...we were close..."

"I can tell by the way you have a picture of him with you and then some dotted around. Iraq or Afghanistan?" the exact same question he had asked John the first time he had met him.

"Iraq," Scarlett sighed. "I begged him not to join...selfish, isn't it? Pleading for someone not to fight for their country."

"You could look at it that way," Sherlock agreed. "Or you could look at it in the way that many do, and that is that you don't want a loved one to get hurt. Clearly, he was your only family left and he was the only person you had to rely on."

"So you know my parents died then?" Scarlett raised a brow and Sherlock nodded;

"You never mentioned them," he said. "And by the way you spoke, it was always your big brother looking after you. I'm also guessing it was a car crash by the way your body went slightly rigid when we were in the cab the other night."

Scarlett blinked a few times and moved her feet from underneath her, walking back into the kitchen and setting her cup down, her hand clasping onto the sink as she relived that night for a moment and looked down onto the shiny metal which was full of water. Sherlock remained silent and simply just watched her, worrying ever so slightly if he had said the wrong thing to her.

"You're an impressive man Sherlock," Scarlett said. "Everything you said..."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock replied to her honestly. "I didn't mean to...well...sadden you, I should suppose."

"No, no, no," She replied quickly, raising the back of her hand and wiping away a tear and then turning around to look into his dark eyes as he remained sat on the edge of his seat. "It's fine...I just don't like thinking about it."

"I can tell," Sherlock raised a brow. "But then again, who would like to speak of their deceased family when it makes them relive horrible experiences?"

"No one," Scarlett whispered and shook her head, shrugging out of the blazer jacket she had been wearing and throwing it onto the back of her small dining table chair and then looking at Sherlock with a slight smile;

"Anyway," she changed the topic. "The crime scene last night...you didn't say much about it."

"No," Sherlock agreed with her as he watched her occupy the other end of the sofa which he was sat on, curling her knees to her and tucking them under her chin as she watched him lean slightly to the side, resting against the arm of the sofa and then folding his legs. "Well I didn't want to bore you with such terribly uninteresting things...it wasn't exactly the most interesting of cases."

"You solved it?" she sounded shocked and Sherlock smirked slightly at her, unable to hold it back, liking to hear the element of surprise in her voice.

"Why of course," he replied. "It was ever so simple, her wedding ring had been recently removed and she was covered in bruises, her phone was bunged up with texts from someone begging to talk, a male which means husband. He must have lashed out and she hit her head hard on the bedside cabinet, causing death."

"That's horrible," Scarlett commented. "I mean...I do hear of some cases where there have been some quite grisly murders...but nothing like what you hear I imagine."

"Possibly not," Sherlock mused. "All comes with the job."

"And I also take it you're not a big fan of Anderson and Donovan?" she remembered their names and Sherlock simply snorted, chuckling to himself;

"You picked up on that?" he asked her sarcastically and she smiled back at him lightly before he coughed and continued; "well no...Donovan just doesn't like me in general, she believes the police don't need my help and normally her beliefs are incorrect and that sentiment is true in this case. Anderson...well...he's just a bit of a dim whit who I can't stand to be honest and as soon as he speaks I feel brain cells die off."

"Sherlock," Scarlett tried to sound shocked but she was just laughing at the consultants ramblings on the two people. Sherlock watched her and took a drink of his coffee, laughing lightly along with her as he did so, unable not smile when he saw her looking so happy. And it was at him.

"I'm afraid I have to speak the truth," he told her. "But you shouldn't listen to Donovan...she's just spiteful and bitter...but life with me can sometimes be dangerous Scarlett."

"As in life threatening dangerous?" she asked and Sherlock nodded;

"Maybe that's a story for a different night," he told her, thinking it may be best, not wanting to put her off before he even got to know her.

"Okay," she agreed. "I didn't realise your job could be so dangerous."

"Oh," Sherlock grinned. "It is."

"So who is John?" Scarlett once again changed the topic and Sherlock's grin fell from his face.

"He is my flat mate, works as Doctor and sometimes helps me on cases...he was in the war...nothing much to say about him," Sherlock replied, "apart from the fact he can be extremely nosey."

"You have a flat?" she checked and Sherlock nodded;

"Yes," he replied "it's a nice little place...just what I like...and looking at the time I think I had best be getting back to it" he checked his watch which read ten past eleven and Scarlett looked at her clock on her mantelpiece and nodded to him;

"It is getting late," she agreed. "And I have work in the morning."

"Ah, work," Sherlock spoke, sounding pitying for her. "In that case I shall bid you goodnight," Sherlock said, placing his coat back on whilst Scarlett handed him his scarf and he took it. She stood there and folded her arms across her midriff as she watched him open the door and turn back to look at her.

"Can I expect you to be popping up on me again?" Sherlock asked and she grinned, watching him place his leather gloves onto his hands;

"Would you like me to pop up on you again?" she reversed the question.

"I wouldn't object," he said, sounding slightly eager as she chuckled;

"In that case you'd best watch out for flying coffee cups," she said with a grin and Sherlock moved down her steps, looking back up at her in the doorway as he left;

"I look forward to it."

...

"You've been with her again, haven't you?" John asked excitedly when Sherlock walked back into the flat that evening. The taller man rolled his eyes and began to remove his outside layers, watching his friend who at least had the common knowledge not to occupy his sofa that evening.

"Honestly John," Sherlock began, "you look as giddy as a schoolchild."

"Because I want to meet her and see what has gotten you, Sherlock Holmes, so caught up in her," John said and Sherlock frowned a little and grimaced;

"I'm not caught up in her," he denied. "I find her company enjoyable."

"You never find anyone's company enjoyable," John stated and Sherlock picked up a book and lounged over his sofa, opening it to a page he had previously been on;

"You don't seem to be picking up on that statement," Sherlock said dryly and John rolled his eyes;

"You know you can stand my company," he replied. "But her? I need to meet her."

"You don't need to meet her John," Sherlock replied. "You want to meet her. The word need would imply something bad may happen if you don't."

"It would," John exclaimed, "I think I may go mad."

"I think that's too late," Sherlock mused.

"Sherlock," John complained. "Bring her round one night."

"I don't think she would approve of our mess, taking into consideration her home is spotless," Sherlock informed John. "And the effect your hyper activeness may have on her worries me terribly."

...

Sherlock walked down the streets of London again that morning, fully intent on running into Scarlett in the coffee shop, well, maybe not running into her like last time, but a little bump wouldn't go amiss. As he walked he tried to tell himself to get a grip and not act like some deranged stalker, but he couldn't help it. She was affecting him terribly. Sherlock walked slowly down her street but something he saw caught his eye. He noticed at her home, there was a man crouched down by her open door, fiddling with the inside of it. And then there was Scarlett. She was stood in nothing but jeans, a white vest top, covered by a long grey cardigan, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was pale white. Sherlock stopped by her walkway and only then did she notice him and she gave him a vague smile.

"What's the matter?" he asked her as she switched her large purse from one hand to her other;

"I've been burgled," she said, nodding her head down to the man on the ground. "Llast night...they've taken the most random of things Sherlock...my photos...some films...clothes..." she said and Sherlock could sense she was close to tears as he stood on her bottom step and the locksmith stood up and spoke with her for a moment, before she opened her purse and paid him the money he had asked. Sherlock shimmied past him as he moved down the steps and onto the streets.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked her and she wrapped an arm around her midriff and shrugged her shoulders, her other hand wiping away some tears;

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just woke up and found them missing...but they didn't take any other stuff...like my TV or...anything expensive."

"But you're okay?" he checked, not that interested in goods. Scarlett nodded at him and he looked her in the eye;

"Right then. Did you call the police?" he asked, knowing that they may not have helped her too much.

"Yes," she muttered as Sherlock placed his hand onto her back and led her into the house, shutting the door with a kick of his foot as he guided her to the sofa and sat her down, sitting closely next to her.

"They said that there were no prints or anything...so they can't do anything for me...just look out for my things..." Scarlett shrugged and Sherlock couldn't help but think of the situation as being odd. What type of burglar didn't steal for monetary goods?

"But it all happened whilst I was sleeping," she whispered. Iin my house...I feel sick just thinking about it."

"I know," Sherlock agreed with her. "What are you going to do?"

"Carry on," Scarlett sighed. "Go to work...then come back here..." she said and looked around her home whilst Sherlock caught the way she turned rigid again and he sighed, wondering if he was being far too kind.

"If you'd prefer it...you can stay with me? For the night that is...in your own bed, of course...if you don't feel safe coming here," he said, turning slightly red himself at his blabbering.

"I have to be here Sherlock...I can't keep hiding from my home," she said and he shook his head;

"One night shall not kill you," he said and she looked into his eyes;

"Are you sure?" she asked and he nodded whilst mentally shaking his head.

"The address is 221B Baker Street."

...

Scarlett took a bag of clothes with her to work that day and all the essentials which she would need for a night so she didn't have to get a cab back to her home and then one to Sherlock's. His gesture had taken her by surprise, he seemed like the type of man who enjoyed his privacy and now she was intruding on it. As she climbed out the car to 221B Baker Street, she looked up at the building, paying the cab driver before she walked and knocked on the door. She waited for a few moments before a woman appeared at the door. Scarlett looked at her, wondering if she had the wrong number but the woman simply smiled at the blonde.

"Ah," she sighed. "You must be Scarlett...John has told me all about you..."

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock's voice boomed from the top of the steps as he rushed down them and stood behind the old woman. "Now you don't want to make the poor girl stand on the doorstep all day and fill her head with tales which John has given you because many of them shall not be true."

"So it's not true you like her then?" Mrs Hudson asked and Sherlock moved past the old woman. "Or that you're intrigued by her?"

"Ignore the old woman," Sherlock muttered to Scarlett, taking her travel bag. "Her hip plays her up and she has all these remedies which just make her loopy in the head."

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs Hudson snapped. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Apologies Mrs Hudson," Sherlock drawled. "I'll show Scarlett upstairs...you go take a lie down...after all the nattering you and John have been doing I am sure you're tired," Sherlock said and Scarlett moved into the building as Sherlock began going up the steps. Scarlett nodded at the woman;

"Nice to meet you," she said politely

"And you too dear," she smiled and Scarlett followed Sherlock up the steps and into a room off the first floor. She took in its appearance, from the way it smelt to the way it looked. Everything about it seemed so Sherlock. The way books were lying around and paperwork everywhere. It was rustic and yet went with him.

"Take a seat," Sherlock told her. "Can I get you anything to eat?"

"I'm fine thank you...I haven't been eating much," she said and Sherlock nodded. Understandable, given the day's events.

"Anyway," Sherlock replied. "I apologise for the mess, but you can have my room tonight," he said and she turned red;

"I'll take the couch," she replied. "It's no problem."

"Ah, that it may be," Sherlock said, standing near his bookshelf, "but what type of host makes his guest sleep on the couch?"

"You," a new voice replied and both heads turned to the door where a man stood. He instantly looked at Scarlett and she stood up, taking his outstretched hand;

"Nice to meet you, I'm John Watson, you must be Scarlett?" he checked and she nodded;

"Yes," she replied and Sherlock coughed loudly for a moment, looking at John with narrowed eyes;

"You're home early," he stated and John grinned;

"Not much to do at the clinic," he drawled, removing his coat. "And besides, I wanted to meet the woman you keep going on about."

"Don't be melodramatic," Sherlock snapped at John. "I wouldn't be going on about her if you didn't keep asking me questions about her."

"He would," John assured Scarlett who remained slightly silent as she smiled at John.

"Would it be okay if I use the bathroom?" she asked, and Sherlock nodded, jumping in front of John and placing his hand on her back, guiding her to the door itself, personally.

"What are you playing at?" Sherlock snapped at John when he returned;

"Embarrassing you by the looks of it?" John responded and Sherlock's phone began to vibrate as he glared at John;

"Well there's no need," he snapped before answering his phone and quickly speaking into it.

"We have to go," he said when he hung up, handing John his coat back. "They think the serial killer from Oxford Street has struck again."

"What about Scarlett?" John asked and Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose shut and looked at his friend before seeing the girl walk back in and noticing them in their coats.

"Scarlett," Sherlock began, "we've been called onto a case...hopefully it shouldn't take too long...but you're more than welcome to just stay here and make yourself at home...there is hot chocolate in the cupboard and well...you can find anything."

"Oh," she replied, "if you're sure..."

"I'm positive," he said. "We shall see you soon," Sherlock said and he took the steps quickly whilst John nodded goodbye to Scarlett and walked after Sherlock;

"There's hot chocolate in the cupboard?" John asked. "We never have any of that."

"We do now," Sherlock growled lowly.

...

"So what now?" John asked as he and Sherlock walked back to 221B Baker Street and the consultant shrugged;

"No idea," he drawled lowly. "We wait for him to make a mistake."

"You think he will?"

"I think time will tell," Sherlock said as he reached for his key and unlocked the front door, walking up the steps and into the living room.

"Hey!" John called out, following him at a slower pace, "you don't think that-" he began but was cut off when Sherlock placed a finger to his lips, indicating for him to be silent. John got the message when he saw Scarlett laid on the sofa, her body curled tightly and Sherlock looking down on her. John nodded once and indicated to the stairs and Sherlock nodded, meaning he was just going to bed. When John had left, Sherlock took a seat in the armchair and watched Scarlett sleeping, his fingers lacing themselves together as he remained sat in his coat and scarf. He watched how she breathed lightly and her hands rested by the side of her body as her head indented itself on the cushion beneath it. With one final glance at her, Sherlock removed his coat, noticing there were no blankets, and he draped it over her, the grey material hanging limply over her body. He saw her stir a little as he hung his scarf up and he looked at her blonde hair;

"Goodnight Scarlett," he said, switching the light out and closing the door slightly on her, leaving her sleeping on his sofa.

...

Thank you to anyone reading once again and to anyone who has reviewed my previous chapters! Please leave me a review to tell me what you think!