Save Yourself

I spent the next few days poring over newspaper ads and often finding myself upstairs in Sherlock and John's home to borrow John's laptop. Finding work was proving difficult, but I hadn't expect anything less.
Pen in my mouth and tea in my hand, I furiously scribbled all over the newspaper that lay in front of me, completely fed up. In my furor, I managed to spill the tea all over one of my nicer dresses.

"Again?" Sherlock asked, not even looking up from the book he was reading. He was laying on the couch across from me, eyes flitting back in forth over the paper. I tried to avoid eye contact with the small inch of his stomach that would reveal itself every time he took a breath, for he would surely notice.

"Shut it, you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, his signature annoyance at my clumsiness, before closing his book and throwing a dish towel neatly in my lap, wiping the hot tea from my thighs. He seemed entirely unbothered that his hands were between my legs, meanwhile my face was glowing hot and I had to fight the urge to ask him to go higher.

"Thank you very much, I can do this myself," I took the towel from him, finished the job where his hands shouldn't go, "I'm not usually this clumsy, you know."

"I know. Just around me."

Sherlock stared down at me, eyes reading me as they always were. I still hadn't found out why he didn't mind me being around, our few conversations over the past week had often been about how much he dislikes being around people. Part of me still believed he felt sorry for me, but the other half wished hopefully I was beginning to grow on him.

"Am I growing on you, Sherlock?" I teased.

"Like a mold."

"You can be cruel to me all you want," I teased more, while standing up and taking a step toward him, "But I know what you really want."

I placed my hand on his belt, for a split second he showed the first emotion I'd seen - he looked terrified. However, he'd not yet caught on to the games I like to play - instead of allowing my hand to trail where I truly wanted it to go, I tucked the towel in his belt and turned on my heel. A sigh of relief was heard behind me.

"So," Sherlock cleared his throat, now throwing the towel in a corner, "Has the ex contact you in any way?"

"Do we really have to do this now?"

"You said we'd do this now. When John is out running errands. Because you don't want him to know."

"But I don't want to do this now."

"You have to do this sometime! Even if he doesn't catch up with you, the terror is going to keep you up all night, which is keeping me up all night."

I stopped pacing in his sitting room, "What do you mean?"

Sherlock almost seemed embarrassed. Almost. If this were any other man, maybe. But I knew better.

"You toss and turn all night in your sleep. Sometimes you moan. I can hear you. It's quite distracting, actually."

"Well, a good set of sheets and a blanket only go so far," I smiled. The small half-grin Sherlock would typically display when he was hiding secrets spread across his face. Though, I was in on this secret. "Listen, I really am appreciative of your help - even if you're only doing this due to your interest, not for me, but it's not something I'm ready to relive again. I have more scars inside of me than you can see on my body."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me the rest of your scars, then there's a good deal less for you to tell me."

I gulped, "They are literally everywhere, Sherlock. In places you don't want to see and I haven't got the best figure anyone else would want to see..."

He scoffed, walking across the room to meet me, "Anyone would agree you have a perfect figure, well within the suggested BMI."

The air seemed to thicken and the sounds of the street outside seemed to mellow out. I nodded my head, agreeing. I wasn't sure why I agreed to undressing in front of a man I'd known for a little over a week. Maybe because I knew, much as I desired it already, it wasn't going to turn into sex. I knew he wasn't trying to take advantage of me, that he simply wanted what he said. Part of that gave me relief, and the other half sadness - what had happened in Sherlock's life that he simply wanted nothing to do with women? He didn't strike me as gay, which would be perfectly acceptable, however that meant something... had to have happened. Or maybe he was purely a gentleman. Clearly I couldn't deduce as well as he could.

I started by removing my jacket, which immediately displayed the scars on my wrists and arms in a better light. Sherlock nodded as I did so, biting one corner of his lip in thought. I turned around to face the wall, prepared to ask, but I never really had to spell things out to him - he stepped forward, unzipping the back of my dress slowly and helping me out of it. His hands were cool and soft against my warm skin, sending a shiver throughout my body.

"Well, that's all." I said, turning around and shrugging. There was no need to remove the underwear as the scars didn't extend that far, thankfully. Though, somehow I truly did not feel exposed in front of him. It wasn't like a doctor examining me, more like an old friend you didn't mind changing in front of. Who, of course, was examining me. That thought made me laugh to myself.

"You're nervous," Sherlock stated, taking my wrists in his hands, "But you have no need to be. I've done this before."

"I'm nearly naked in front of a well-attractive man. Anyone would be."

"Would it make you feel less nervous if I removed my clothing as well?"

I gulped, "Probably not."

That smile again. Sherlock had to know he was absolutely killing me.

"What if I just remove the shirt?" He asked, fingers now trailing over the scars on my shoulder, "I can show you my scars, too."

"Well, I guess..."

"Normally, I wouldn't do this, Josephine," Sherlock stated, letting go of my shoulder and stepping back from me. He rarely said my name when we had our few conversations but when he did he always said the full name and it always flowed from his lips like liquid gold. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and as expected it didn't make me any less nervous, but like any other hot-blooded woman, I enjoyed it, "But I... would like you to feel comfortable. I am aware being exposed, especially for women, can be difficult. "

I felt confident, "So, that body is supposed to make me less self-conscious?"

Sherlock laughed, placing his shirt where my clothes were and returning to me. He didn't answer. Nearly a foot taller than me, I kept my eyes focused on his chest as his eyes continued to roam my body with his fingers, clucking his tongue as if to signify the motors in his brain clicking into gear. When he reached my stomach, I inhaled sharply. He paused for a moment and I knew exactly what he was going to say. Something I'd, in a way, completely forgotten he could figure out by my body.

"You have a child."