Chapter Text
It was the worst 27th birthday in the history of the world. You thought last year’s debacle was bad, now this? Having to get a restraining order on your crazy ex-husband was bad enough, but now he was free to be as close to you as he wanted! At least your marriage was official annulled – it was a blessing that it was as easy as it was. After two months of wedded misery, you had to fight your way out the door and into court.
Now, a year later, he was free to do as he pleased, because of anger management classes and therapy. Probation wasn’t going to stop him from finding your small studio apartment in another country and using his words to hurt you like before. After three days of anxiously waiting for him to knock on your door, you figure it was safe to spend time outside for your birthday. Dressing in simple capris jeans and a yellow button up t-shirt, you take a deep breath as you pull on your trainers and head out the door.
Looking over your shoulder at every turn, you try your best not to look like the world was about to fall on your head – because it wasn’t. You were a long ways from home, and it was going to be fine. Right? Finally entering the calming park a few blocks from your flat, you make your way through the small crowd, keeping your head down and your hair in your face. No need for someone to notice you. Taking a quick peak behind you, you let yourself through an overgrown area of the park.
The grass was halfway to your knees, and the trees looked like they had been left on their own for a long time. You had found this a few weeks ago, on your first day in London. There was a wooden bench a few paces away, holding rather steady for being unused. You feel tension roll of your shoulders as you move around a tree to your private bench, only to tense up at the sight of a tall, lanky man sitting with his hands in his curly hair. You stare at him for a long time, the afternoon sun hot on your forehead. He looks up, finally noticing you, and you let out a squeak. You grip the shoulder strap of your bag tightly in your hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there…” he muttered sheepishly, scooting to one side to make room for you. “I… this is a nice place to privacy, isn’t it?” You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. He’s attractive – dark curls messy on his head, sunglasses over his eyes, and a simple white t-shirt and jeans adorned a sinewy body.
“Y-yes,” you stutter. Your body is frozen, a typical reaction to men you don’t know. Gritting your teeth, you took a breath and cautiously step to the bench. There is no reason to be afraid of this man – your therapist has told you take little steps at being more interactive with men. “I usually come her for the same reason.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, making a move to stand up. You automatically put out a hand and put a hand on his arm, your fingers curling around a muscled bicep.
“No! No, if you want to sit, you can,” you say guardedly. He nods and keeps to his side of the bench – maybe he notices your tension. You sit in silence for a while, focusing on keeping your breathing normal. Anxiety was flooding your veins, and your hands were aching from holding the shoulder strap so tightly.
“Are you okay?”
You jump at his deep voice. You turn to him, watching as he pulls his glasses off his face, looking at you through concerned eyes. You blink, lost for a moment in the swirling colors looking at your face.
“Y-yes, of course, w-why do you ask?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but immediately knowing it wasn’t working. “Oh, who am I kidding, this is the worst birthday I’ve ever had.” You suddenly slouch back, your head falling back so you can look up at the sky. “My crazy ex-husband is free to come find me whenever he pleases, my parents won’t talk to me because of what he’s told them, and I have no idea where anything is here besides this park and the market down the street. The only income I have is from my website, but that’s not going to last much longer.”
“Sounds like a bad day so far,” he replies with a sympathetic smile. You look over at him, sitting up straight again. He looks so familiar, but it could be just wishful thinking.
“Why are you here?” you ask curiously, turning a bit on the bench to face him.
“Moment of peace. This is the first afternoon and evening where I have nothing to do in a long time, but I couldn’t just sit in my flat,” he admits, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looks down at his hands, playing with the pair of sunglasses. You let a small smile turn the corners of your lips.
“Ah, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers, my dear.”
The smile is gone, and you turn your head toward that awful voice. To any other person, it sounded reassuring and peaceful, but to you it was just the calm before the storm. Jackson Crate was leaning against the tree next to the bench. The man beside you eyed him, his body tense.
“Jackson, you need to stay away from me,” you say, your jaw clenched tightly. Your hands are again clutching your shoulder bag strap, and you unconsciously slide closer to the man at your side.
“Come on, I’m good now!” he says with a chuckle and throwing up his hands. They fell back to his side as he walked toward the two on the bench. “Now, why don’t you show me to your place? I feel like we haven’t seen each other in such a long time.”
“I don’t think so,” you say, finally gathering the courage to stand up. You do so, and find yourself toe to toe with the man who had made your life hell for two months straight. You tilt your head back enough to look up at his eyes, your face showing your determination. He smiles easily down at you.
“We never had time to talk through things,” he said softly, moving his hands to your elbows. He squeezes tightly, and you try to pull away. You let out a sound as he squeezes tighter and starts to drag you off.
“Let go of me, son of a bitch!” you cry. Suddenly, a body is pushing Jackson away from you, and then stands in front of you for protection. Jackson is touching his bloody lip with a snarl.
“Please, a privileged actor doesn’t want anything to do with your kind of trash,” he growls. You gulp back a whimper and find one of your hands moving up to clutch at the back of the man’s shirt. He doesn’t flinch as it bunches in your hand at the base of his back. At Jackson’s words, you realize why this man seems so familiar – he’s Sherlock! You have only seen the show once, so it hadn’t imprinted in your mind.
“I suggest you leave now,” the man says, his voice a bit threatening. Jackson stood straight, his fists clenched at his side, and stares the man straight in the eyes. They were the same height, but Jackson had a bit more weight on him.
“I need to discuss some things with my wife,” Jackson says in the same kind of voice.
“I’m not your wife!” you exclaim. Jackson’s eyes shift to you, and you press your lips together at the menacing look in them. The stranger’s arm next to you raises a bit to push you protectively closer to his back.
“Paper doesn’t mean a thing, sweetheart. We made vows to each other, remember?” Jackson asked, his tone sickly sweet. You peak around the stranger to watch his face turn from a snarling viper to an innocent man. “That should mean something.”
Jackson took a step towards you, and the man pushes you fully behind him. You hear the wind rush as someone throws a punch, Jackson, and the stranger dodges it. You cover your gasp with both your hands when the stranger throws a direct hit to Jackson’s jaw. You hear a grunt from your ex-husband, and a growl from your protector.
“I’m going to the police,” Jackson growls, now laying on the ground, trying to push himself back up.
“Make sure to tell them I’m the one who did it,” the man calls back as Jackson stomps off around the trees, into the cleaner side of the park. You let out a giant whoosh of breath as your protector turns to you, making sure not to make any sudden movements. “Do you need… anything?”
“No,” you whisper back, your legs suddenly weakening. They give out and you fall on your behind in the tall grass. The man’s hands reach out to catch you, but you push them away as you cross your legs on the ground. You lean forward, your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. “I can’t believe it got worse.”
“What’s your name?” the stranger says, crouching down next to you. You mumble your name, not looking at him. “Do you want to contact the authorities?” he asks softly. You shake your head, still in your hands, trying to keep a sob from coming out of your mouth. “Do you want me to take you home?” You nod.
He helps you up, and you keep your eyes down as he walks closely at your side, leading you through the abandoned area to a deserted parking lot, overgrown with weeds. You spot a lone gray car, sleek and new but not overly expensive. You slow down your pace so he walks slightly ahead of you and glance around the area. The only people who came near were the people on the other side of the alleyway walking on the sidewalk.
“I can call a cab if you want – no pressure,” the man says from the driver side door.
“It’s fine, just… it’s fine. Thank you,” you say, walking around to the passenger side door. You both get inside the car, buckle up, and you tell him where your small flat is. He starts to drive, pulling out of the parking lot and making his way to the main street.
“My name is Ben. If you didn’t know,” he comments as you stare quietly out the window. You turn to him and smile shyly.
“No, I didn’t know. I do know your face, though,” you admit, turning back to the window. The silence was thick, uncomfortable, and you just wanted to get home so you can hide safely. Ben keeps glancing at you with concerned looks. It makes you frown and you began to get irritated. “Stop looking at me with pity. I can handle this.”
“No! I’m not, I’m sure you can, I just – just… okay, I’m sorry, I won’t… yeah,” he stuttered. It was a silent ride after that, and when he pulled into the parking lot of the building, you unhook your seat built quickly. As you push the door open, his voice stops you. “If you need anything, please, call me.”
You see a pen and scrap of paper magically appear in his hands. You sigh, but feel obligated to take his number.
“Thank you. But I won’t need it,” you stuff it in your purse as you stand fully outside the car. You pause and then lean down to look at Ben. “Seriously, though, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”
Without waiting for an answer, you shut the door and hurry into your building.
You don’t see it, but you feel Ben watching the building for a few more moments before he pulls away.