Save Yourself

Sherlock took the package in his hands, long fingers trailing over the taped sides. He clucked his tongue as he examined it, making an unrecognizable face here and there. After a moment, he motioned for me to follow him back up to his flat. I'd probably be terribly nervous about the situation earlier and being back inside if it weren't for that brown rectangle in his hands.

"I assume this means you're finally accepting my help?" Sherlock asked, after a few moments.

"I don't have anything to pay you with, Sherlock. If-"

"I don't need money."

"As I told you before, it's very high risk-"

"Even better."

"You could get killed."

"I don't mind."

"I could be killed."

Sherlock paused in thought, finally looking up from the package to me for a few moments.

"I won't let that happen."

I shook my head, sitting down in my usual spot across from him. As usual, I couldn't tell if this was a caring, flirty tone or if he was just so arrogant he thought he could save my life. But I wasn't really in the position to argue with him.

"I hope not, but I don't want you killed, either. Or John. Or Mrs. Hudson. We're all in danger now if he's seen me interacting with any of you. And the fact that you and John are men makes matters worse..."

"Stop talking, I'm trying to think." Was his only response. He could be rude when he wanted to. "It is definitely from the states."

"Sherlock, we know where it came from even without your weird brain on steroids, just tell me there's not a bomb or anthrax in there."

"Only one way to find out!"

Before I could protest, he grabbed a letter opener from the table and ripped open the brown packaging of the box. I nearly screamed.

"Sherlock, we could have died!"

"No, we couldn't have." I glared at him. "Not heavy enough for a bomb."

I sighed in relief and both anger, but knew I could trust him. Even if I knew he was smarter than four of myself combined, it didn't stop my nerves. No manner of x-ray devices or tests could stop my fear from what could be inside that box.

Sherlock continued to open the box, finally pulling out a white piece of paper. He stared at it for a few moments, before handing it to me. While it appeared to be a blank piece of paper, it was instead a picture. Something more terrible than a bomb, it was a picture of Abigail.

"Abby..." My throat croaked and tears began to well in my eyes.

"Your daughter."

"I haven't... She's so..."

I pressed the picture into my chest, as if somehow that would bring her back to me. Somehow, knowing she was still alive was harder than thinking she'd actually been dead as Derek told me. That would have been better than her suffering with him.

"She's alive." Sherlock said, and I didn't dare question how he knew this, because I knew it, too. The picture of Abigail was recent, she didn't look like that the last time I'd seen her. "And you weren't aware of it."

"No," I shook my head, "He told me she'd been killed when I didn't cooperate, and that's when I ran."

I began to cry, in response Sherlock placed his palms together underneath his chin and began pacing around the room. I wasn't sure if he knew what to do and felt I was making him uncomfortable, so I tried my best to stop.

"Josephine, if I am to help you, I need you to tell me everything. Every detail, every hairpin note. Your scars cannot tell me everything. Understand?

"Yes, I understand. It's not really a choice at this point," I responded, walking over to him. I grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand into mine. He seemed to flinch at the contact, "But I need you to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"You won't get hurt and you won't let Abigail get hurt. If there comes a time where you need to choose between me and her, you choose her and yourself. Promise?"

Sherlock stared down at me, a crease forming in his brow. I know the contact was making him uncomfortable and I'm sure he hadn't been faced with a question like this - or if he had, the answer was easy for him. I could tell he cared about my fate, if even a little bit, and having to choose was something he was not used to.

"Promise." Was his response, to my surprise. I dropped his hand, walking back over to the picture, so he couldn't see.

I'd expected something reassuring, maybe even slightly romantic, but I should have known better. This man was in this for himself, not for me. I had to remember that. Some romantic lovestory about how Sherlock entered my life and saved me would not happen, I had to save myself.

"Glad to see you two are clothed again." John said, re-entering with the groceries from earlier.

"That wasn't what it looked like, John." I sniffled, and he immediately placed the bags on the table and sprinted to me.

"What's going on?"

"We have a case." Sherlock answered.

Like a polar opposite from Sherlock, John immediately wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward him. Almost instinctively, Sherlock looked away, and I wasn't sure why.

I couldn't get the words out, but I knew John would have to know. He would have to know nearly as much as Sherlock, because Sherlock wouldn't work with anyone but John and I simply couldn't muster all the capabilities he has. Plus, they were a team that seemed to work well together. I was just the girl who lived in the moldy basement with a possible lost cause.

Sherlock filled John in on everything so far while I settled into their couch and tried to compose myself. I knew there was a long story ahead of me and I had to get all of the details correct. They spoke softly in the kitchen while I played with a threat on the blanket. Since John had held me, Sherlock hadn't spoken a word again or looked at me, but perhaps I was imagining it.

Both men returned to the sitting room, sitting in their usual places. John had his laptop in hand for notes, whereas Sherlock only needed his brain.

"Start from the beginning," John urged, "Stop whenever you need to."

I took a deep breath, "It started when I was sixteen..."