Save Yourself

"We met while I was in high school," I continued with my story, "Derek was... every girl's dream, in a way. Charming, caring, older, and rich. As a stupid girl, I fell for him. I didn't have the best family life, really, he essentially took me in. Things happened quickly, I got pregnant soon after. It wasn't until later I'd realized he probably did it on purpose, but that didn't matter once she was in my arms."

Sherlock on John stared at me. John with his face full of compassion, Sherlock, on the other hand - I could tell he was fighting the urge to tell me to get on with it.

I sighed, running a finger through my long locks, "Anyway, Derek was always gone a lot, right from the beginning. I knew he was into something problematic, because there was a lot of money and never any explanations. Whenever I tried to question it, he... would get violent," I watched Sherlock's knuckles tighten around his armchair, "Eventually, one day a man came to the door asking where Derek was. I told him. That was the first time Derek tied me up and beat me. I had no idea what I was doing wrong, I told him if he kept me in the dark, how could I know right from wrong? He didn't care."

I stopped again, staring into the cup in my hands. It had gone cold by now, a bit like me. Normally, I'd be crying at this stage. But I couldn't.

"This happened more than once, me giving away the wrong information. Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut. His name started appearing at the news office I worked in, in relation to a drug ring."

"Oh, drugs?" Sherlock asked, "I thought it would be something actually interesting."

"Shut it, you," I half-joked, "But it wasn't drugs, it was something far worse; and I wasn't supposed to find out."

John coughed, uncomfortable, "Well, what was it?"

"If I tell you, there's no going back from this."

Both men nodded.

"The thing is, I don't know exactly what it is. I know it's some kind of weaponry. I thought, at first, they were dealing with nuclear arms, but... it's something new and worse and the moment I caught a wiff of it, I tried to go to the police. They didn't believe me. It was out of my hands. Derek took Abby and I didn't know where she was, I found a place to stay until I could. I saw... I saw our home blow up on television, you could see the flames for miles. They find a girl's body inside, but..."

"But we know now it wasn't Abby." John finished.

"No," I shook my head, hands now shaking, "It couldn't be. She's so much older in that photograph. I fled the country, I'm still a person of interest in her death. I changed my name and destroyed my certificates and everyh-"

"Your name isn't Josephine?" Sherlock interrupted. I shifted in my seats.

"It's one of them."

Sherlock stared at me, hard, I could see the anger in his face, something I'd not yet seen on him. Was he angry at me for not telling him my real name - going so far as to fashion a fake internet presence so no one would question it? Or was he angry that he hadn't figured it out yet, which was so terribly unusual for him?

"I see."

"Anyway," the room was now much quieter, "He shouldn't have been able to find me here. This is bigger than I expected and now that I know Abby is alive, I can't run any longer. I have to get her back. At all costs."

"We'll get your daughter back," John reassured me as he stood up, "But... I need to get some air after this. It's..."

"It's a lot, I know." I sighed, watching him leave the room. The silence that surrounded Sherlock and I now seemed to grow even larger, filling the space between us.

"Well..." He finally uttered.

"Well, what?"

"What is your name, then? If it isn't Josephine."

I smiled at him, "What, you can't deduce that, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly aggravated.

"Why didn't you tell me your name?"

"For one thing, she is dead. And I didn't know if I could trust you," I answered after a few moments, "I know that I can now, but I haven't been completely sure. There's something.. different about you, Sherlock. It's not just your brain, but something."

"You're not the first to say that."

"I mean that in a good way."

"Well, you're definitely the first to say that."

I laughed, standing up and looking at Sherlock. His hands were now in his lap, he was leaning forward every so slightly. Dark brown hair sprawled across his head, I got the terrible urge to push it back and kiss him.

I resisted. He wouldn't like that very much at all.

"You're not going to tell me your name, are you?" Sherlock asked, after a few moments.

My feet carried me to the doorway, though I turned my head ever so slightly back to stare at him. Something about him looked different, but it was no longer anger. It was almost as if he yearned to know my real name, that he had to.

"That, Sherlock Holmes, you're going to have to earn."