Save Yourself

The door opened, causing me to jump nearly a foot into the air and away from Sherlock. We'd lost track of the time and John had returned home. He stood in the archway, mouth agape, staring at both of us.

"Sorry to interrupt." Was all he could manage, before turning on his heel and walking back down the stairs.

"I think I should go." I mumbled, hastily putting my dress back on and thrusting Sherlock's shirt into his arms without looking at him. I followed John down the stairs, nearly running into my own flat. I rested against the closed door behind me, suddenly aware of how much my body was tingling and how hot my face was.

What just happened? Is he toying with me? And how was I going to explain my daughter?

I should have known allowing him to look at my body was a mistake - he would figure things out. And did I really want Sherlock's help? Could he even help? I'd read John's blog and spoken to them about things, but... This may even be out of his hands. Derek was dangerous, to say the least. He knew people everywhere. This wasn't going to be the last country I'd go to. He'd find me eventually. And I didn't want to put the new people in my life at risk.

The sheets on my bed seemed to call out to me, telling me that Sherlock knew of the risk and wanted to help me; but my brain argued: Sherlock just wants the case. He just wants the thrill or the adrenaline and excitement. It's not about me, it's the high he gets when he is smarter than everyone else.

Or is it?

I barely know this man, my brain continued to argue. This man who rarely shows any emotion is certainly not developing feelings for me. He couldn't and he wouldn't.

Or is he?

"Shut up!" I shouted at my own brain, realizing how incredibly ridiculous I must look. Standing here, face flushed, dress unzipped and shouting at myself. Head shaking, I made my way over to change into a pair of jeans and a button-down top, disposing of the dress in the dirty laundry pile so I didn't have to look at it and wonder. I'd just gotten one guy out of my life - hopefully - I don't need another screwing with my head, especially when he'd shown little to no interest and was well aware of my lack of financial funds. Forget about it, Jo.

More importantly, he'd brought up the topic of my daughter. I had no idea how to explain her to anyone. It was a long and complicated story that no one should have to tell. I was running from her, too, in a way. Or the memory of her. The pain that spread into my chest from the thoughts of missing Abigail were too much, enough to make me subconsciously decide I didn't want to involve any of them.

A knock at the door, followed by Mrs. Hudson peeking her head inside, "This package came for you, dear. I didn't want to bring it up and... interrupt."

"There was nothing to interrupt." I replied a bit too quickly, taking the package from the small woman's hands.

"Of course, dear," She shook her head knowingly, "Of course."

I stood in the hallway, package in my hands, as they began to shake.

"I need you to go get Sherlock. Now."

Mrs. Hudson knew better than to ask questions at this point, or perhaps she was smarter than us all. My feet were rooted to the spot and I couldn't move, nor could I force myself to open the small, brown, unmarked parcel in my hands. I really didn't want to face Sherlock or John after what had just happened, but the contents of this package could be more frightening than any of us could imagine.

Sherlock made it down the stairs rather quickly, his shirt now placed back on his gorgeous frame, but I couldn't think about that right now. All I could think is that this moment, right now, he could possibly have to know everything that had ever happened to me - both of our lives could now depend on it. Mere moments after I'd decided Sherlock couldn't be involved, it was almost as if fate had said "no" and decided for me. I knew I couldn't do this on my own, not if Derek had found me this quickly. It was out of my hands and if he claimed to be the best, I needed the best.

"What is it, Josephine?" Sherlock asked as he reached me.

"This." I answered, thrusting the package into his hands.

"I see the problem."

"What is it, dears?" Mrs. Hudson asked, seemingly not knowing what was going on.

"I haven't given anyone my address."

"Excellent." Was Sherlock's only reply.