No matter how hard he tried, Sherlock Holmes could not let sleep overtake him that evening. He lay on his bed, wearing his green pyjamas and even his blue dressing gown to keep him warm, but he was tossing and turning and unable to drift into the dream world. But he didn't know why. His body was physically tired, but his mind was active. But wasn't it always? Well, tonight would seem to be the night his mind would choose to work overtime. The main thing which kept going through his head was a certain blonde who was sleeping on his sofa in his living room. Why had they taken personal items from her? Sherlock couldn't help but think it was extremely random and out the blue. It was almost as if they wanted to learn more about her life. But why? That was the question which Sherlock couldn't find the answer to. Of course he had multiple options running around his head but he didn't want to commit to one.

"Sherlock," a sudden voice squeaked out and the man sat up, bolt straight, as he switched his light on and looked over to his door before quickly jumping from his bed and rushing over to it, opening it wide to see Scarlett stood there. She had changed from her previous clothes into grey sweatpants and a white vest top, her hair in a ponytail as she looked worriedly at the consultant who raised a brow in expectation;

"I heard something...from downstairs...at the door...like hushed voices..." she told him and he placed her body behind his own;

"Stay here," he said lowly to her before walking out and looking down the steps to the front door, where he too, did indeed hear voices. Slowly he saw the door creak open and the man at the bottom of the steps noticed the consultant as he raised his gun. Sherlock quickly stepped back from the steps, hearing the first shot echo as it whizzed past his ear. Scarlett screamed in fright before Sherlock ushered her back into his bedroom, barricading the door with his small desk he kept in his room and then grabbing his phone, he grasped Scarlett's wrist and pulled her to the floor, dragging both their bodies to hide underneath the bed.

"What's going on?" Scarlett asked as Sherlock simply began to phone for 999, asking for the police.

"I don't know," Sherlock told her and then another gunshot was heard before banging on the door came. Scarlett instinctively moved closer to Sherlock as her cheek rested on the floor, just below Sherlock's head. He felt her breath on his bare skin and he could feel the fear radiating from her body as he simply just allowed one of his hands to hold onto hers. Footsteps were soon heard and then there was nothing. Scarlett looked up at Sherlock who simply released his hand and bent down to her ear;

"Stay here," he ordered her. "I'm going to see..." he said and slowly wriggled his tall body from under the bed and out onto the floor, moving to the door where one tiny bullet hole had entered the wooden frame.

"Well that's just disrespectful," Sherlock heaved before opening the door and finding that the coast was clear.

"It's okay," he called back into his room and then he found Scarlett, stumbling from under the bed, her hair in disarray in its bobble as she adjusted her sleepwear and moved out into the hallway to stand beside Sherlock, her eyes fixing on the bullet hole in the wood before she looked at the consulting detective;

"What the hell is going on?" she asked him and Sherlock pursed his lips, simply looking back at the young woman as her body began to shake.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he retorted and then heard the sound of sirens and John walking down the steps, his eyes half closed;

"Did I hear shouting?" he yawned and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at his friend;

"So you managed to sleep through that entire performance?" he snapped. "We just had someone in here who tried to kill us and you continued to sleep like a baby?"

"What?" he became more alert as the sound of 'police' ran out into the living area and Sherlock took the lead;

"You're too late," he told them. "He's gone."

...

"You appear angry," Sherlock commented at three in the morning when he and Scarlett had given statements and were then too pumped to sleep. Scarlett was sat on an armchair, her feet curled up awkwardly beneath her as she continued to narrow her eyes at Sherlock.

"You know that ever since I've known you I've been shot at and burgled?" she told him and he remained stood, leaning against the fireplace as he racked his brain and listened to her speaking to him.

"I am aware, yes," he replied. "But in all fairness this may not be tied into me."

"What?" Scarlett gasped. "I...I've never done anything to anyone before...nothing to hurt them and warrant death anyway...you on the other hand...you warned me you was dangerous."

"And yet here you are," Sherlock exasperated, finally managing to give her eye contact.

"You told me I would be safer staying with you instead of going home," Scarlett retorted and the consultant blinked several times;

"I never said that," he informed her. "I said if you didn't feel safe going back to your home than you could come here...not that it would be any safer."

"Evidentially it isn't," she sneered. "This is crazy."

"I'd agree with you on that," Sherlock muttered.

"I...I need to go...get out..." she said and stood up before moving to place her flat ballet pumps onto her feet and then covering her body with her winter coat and scarf before hurriedly packing away her things into her bag as Sherlock watched her;

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Anywhere but here...I should have listened to you," she told him. "I should have paid attention when you said you could get me killed..."

"And you're back onto assuming it was me who is getting you into this bother," Sherlock replied and she stood up straight and looked at him;

"You said so yourself!" She snapped back at him. "I haven't...it can't be me...no one..."

"Oh I don't know," Sherlock sneered. "Maybe your one night stand realised how cheap you'd been and so decided to get rid of you?"

And that was when Scarlett Jenson broke down. She looked at Sherlock for a moment and he looked back at her, realising he had said the wrong thing as soon as it had escaped his lips.

"Scarlett-"he began but she raised her hand, silencing him and shaking her head;

"Forget it," she whispered. "I don't care," she denied but the tears rolling down her cheeks told Sherlock otherwise, slamming her bag over her shoulder, she hurried for the stairs and ran down them, Sherlock looking after her and then realising he had to catch her up. Quickly, he rushed down and grabbed her arm before she could unlock the door with her quivering hands.

"Scarlett," he half heartedly pleaded with her, his face frowning. "I didn't mean it...I...I kind of lost it."

"No," she shook her head, sniffing. "You're probably right."

Sherlock saw her manage to open the door slightly, and taking control of the situation, he outstretched his hand and slammed it shut, watching as Scarlett turned around to glare at him, his hand still resting on the wood, not allowing it to budge. Suddenly a new voice entered the hall;

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson squeaked out and Sherlock turned to look at her and he shook his head;

"Not now Mrs Hudson," he responded to her. "The police have left, everything is fine."

"So why do you have Scarlett pinned against the door?" Mrs Hudson wondered and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the woman;

"I said not now Mrs Hudson!" he snapped. "Can you leave us for a moment?" and with that the elder woman looked at the couple and then wandered off.

"I have to go Sherlock," Scarlett sighed. "I have...paperwork...at my house...I need it," she lied and Sherlock looked into her eyes;

"You can't lie to me," he said. "I can read through you."

"Okay then," Scarlett gathered a bit more anger in her voice, "maybe I actually can't stand here and not want to punch you."

"At least you're being honest," Sherlock shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"Why did you even say it if you didn't mean it?" Scarlett asked. "Because I know what I did...but I wanted to forget it and I thought you was being genuine when you said you understood."

"I was," he said deeply and lowly. "I still am...you just annoyed me."

"Oh," she flapped her arms to the side "so every time someone annoys you then you snap at them?"

"No" Sherlock denied "you was just really annoying me...you think I don't know it is my fault you're in danger?"

"You said it could be my fault," she pointed out and Sherlock simply just shook his head;

"We both know it isn't," he told her. "But you going on about it didn't help...and I snapped...and I apologise."

"Is it any wonder I was going on?" Scarlett replied back to him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "I was almost killed."

"As was I," Sherlock said.

"It's a new experience for me" she retorted and Sherlock sighed, shrugging one shoulder;

"I wish I could say the same," he said honestly and elicited a small smile from her lips as she dropped eye contact and then he placed a gentle long finger under her chin and made her look up to him;

"I am sorry," he said, those three words were not spoken from him enough. "Just...don't go...not tonight...God only knows what could happen out there."

"I don't know," Scarlett hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other as Sherlock took her bag from her shoulder and began to walk back up the steps with it;

"I know," he said cockily, but not cockily enough like he usually sounded. Scarlett sighed loudly and trudged back up the steps where John was sat in the living room;

"You two have a lovers tiff?" he asked and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his friend;

"Shut up," he snapped curtly at John, much like he always did. Scarlett reappeared in the doorway and John smiled at her;

"Everything okay?" he asked her and she nodded and smiled forcefully;

"Fine," she said and John nodded once and then stood up;

"Well I'm going back to hit the sack. See you two lovebirds in the morning," he joked.

"I swear to God John that if that assassin comes back then I shall personally see to it that he finds your room first," Sherlock vowed as John chuckled to himself and moved back to his room. Scarlett sat down on the sofa and looked over at Sherlock who was stood up and placing a nicotine patch onto his arm. Scarlett raised her brow quizzically at him; her eyes still cold after his sudden outburst;

"I didn't know you smoked," she commented and Sherlock shook his head;

"I don't," he replied. "They help me think...meditate if you like," Sherlock shrugged.

"Right," Scarlett simply whispered. "Do you want me to take the couch again?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "I'd prefer it if you took my room...it's further from the door," he said "and...after what I said...well..."

"Forget it," Scarlett replied. "We all make mistakes."

"I had no right," Sherlock responded. "I didn't want to hurt you"

"Well you did," Scarlett promised him. "But...I know you're sorry...I'm still mad with you though," she assured him and stood up from the sofa.

"I did save your life perhaps," Sherlock pointed out. "Doesn't that help dissolve the madness?" he tried and Scarlett simply smiled sweetly at him with a sad smile and shook her head;

"Afraid not," she said, brushing past him, but before she could contemplate moving any further, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her, stepping closely to her;

"I am sorry," he said seriously. "And...well...I don't say that to many people."

"I can imagine," Scarlett responded dryly and Sherlock chuckled.

"Goodnight Scarlett," he said.

"Goodnight Sherlock," and he released his hold on her, as she walked she stood in the doorway and turned around for a moment, resting against the doorframe as she knocked on the wood once.

"And Sherlock," she said before he took to his sofa. "Thank you...for tonight."

...

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