Welcome to Baker Street

46. Dangerous people

John clenches his jaw and leaves him, descending the steps two steps at a time. Once he lands on the ground floor, he takes a deep breath and gently knocks on Giulia's door.

"I don't want to talk, John," she speaks from inside.

He flinches. "How did you know it was me?"

"Was there an actual possibility that it could be him?" She says sarcastically, but her voice cracks towards the end.

He doesn't talk back. She is right: Sherlock would never show up at her door after what he just said.

He tries again. "Can I come in?"

"Frankly, I'm too busy to stop you," is her frantic reply.

When John opens the door and steps in, he finds the room in complete chaos; clothes and books are scattered all around the small entrance. Giulia is whirling around the small place like a hurricane.

He walks to her, who is fiddling with the zip fastener of a suitcase. "Slow down. What are you doing?"

"I am packing, John. I'm leaving," she points out the obvious.

"No, don't." He takes her hands in his to stop her, a sudden sense of urgency in his tone.

She fixes her eyes on his; hers are veiled with tears.

"Didn't you hear him? I think he explained his desires very clearly." She slips her hands out of his grip and goes back to her luggage.

"He's just angry and discouraged. I'm sure he didn't mean the things he said," John clumsily tries to find a justification for Sherlock and a reason for her to stay.

"Of course he did. What is more, I think he's right," she says, emptying her closet. Her words resound firm; she is just acknowledging the brutal truth.

"You can't say that."

"After all, he has every right to want his old life back. And maybe you should too. Perhaps I made a mistake; I should have never come here a few months ago." She looks hurt and lost, but she's trying her best not to break down.

"Please, stay," he begs, as his voice drops.

"What for? He doesn't want me here anymore, and this is his home."

"I live here, too. Do I have a say in this? Why is my opinion always ignored?" John complains.

She steps forward and puts her hands on his shoulders, looking for his eyes.

"I'm not ignoring you. I simply think you should agree with him; you should ask for your previous life, too. Everything is going to work out in the end. Trust me, you'll be fine."

"And what about you?"

She smiles feebly at his concern for her, but doesn't reply. She lifts a hand to caress gently his unshaved cheek.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, John. You've always been kind to me: you took me into your house, into your life. You allowed me to live stunning adventures with you."

"And put you in grave danger too," he recalls.

"It was part of the game, wasn't it? Now I'm not a player anymore: my time is over. I will never get to thank you to the fullest, so I think I'll just stop here," she murmurs, taking a step backwards.

He stands still, arms down at his side, fists clenched, upset.

"You're very welcome for everything," he pushes out the words.

She is turning away, but she stops as if she was reminded of something.

"I- I'd thank him, too, you know, but I'm not sure he would listen to me right now. So, could you—" She hesitates but forces herself to complete her sentence. "Tell him I've met many men in my life, and he's surely one of the most flawed. But in the end, he turned out to be one of the most extraordinary, as well. And I am truly sorry for all the trouble I caused him, with my arrest and everything."