Nobody hurts Mrs Hudson. Not annoying Mrs Hudson from downstairs who has the bad hip and an annoying habit of talking when you didn't want her too. So when Sherlock returned home to find the door chipped and Mrs Hudson's cleaning supplies abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, anger began to rise inside of him. Seeing the wall did it for him. He knew there had been a struggle and poor Mrs Hudson was in danger. As the possible scenario ran in his head he could picture her screams. He figured there were at most three men. Glaring upstairs his breathing became harsh.

Sherlock knew that this wasn't going to end nicely. Whoever it was, more than likely some government officials, obviously not the from British Government, they knew better; they weren't going to get out of this in one piece. Even though occasionally annoying, Mrs Hudson was the heart of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had helped her through a lot and she was always there for him. Screaming when she found toes in the fridge or bullet holes in her wall. Always cleaning up after him even though she wasn't their 'housekeeper' and answering the door for him. It was nice having her around, he even yelled at Mycroft, with slightly more force than expected, when he had told Mrs Hudson to shut up. She had become part of his routine, very much like John had and to some extent Lestrade and no way was anybody going to harm her. Quickly scribbling a note, he attached it to the front door before bolting upstairs (hiding an aerosol of Zil within his coat).

The green door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into this usual living quarters. His eyes quickly spotted the man positioned by the window, the other near the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson held down to a chair, a pompous American pointing a gun at her. Of course he had to be the American. The choice of suit and hair cut said it all (and there was the previous encounter). Her outcry of his name quickly followed. He didn't wish to worry her any further and was determined to keep his usual stature. He kept his tone 'normal', for Sherlock Holmes that is, as he went on to reply to her. "Don't snivel, Mrs Hudson, it'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." The whimpers of Mrs Hudson hit his ears again. "What a tender world that would be." Mrs Hudson spoke some more but Sherlock was blocking her out currently. Any wrong word from her and he would be unable to save her.

"I believe that you have something we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it." Sherlock moved closer to the woman sat firmly down on the chair. He gently took hold of her wrist, shaking with fear, and pulled down the sleeve to look at her skin. The American continued to ramble on whilst Sherlock looked over Mrs Hudson. Her right shoulder sleeve had obviously been ripped with some force and there upon her cheek was a form of gaze. Blood upon the surface. The surrounding area was red. On the same side the American held the gun to her head. The hand holding it wore a silver based ring. It looked more platinum to Sherlock but that wasn't what interested him. What interesting him was the distinctive presence of blood on it's surface. Glancing up, Sherlock began to scan the man over, searching for any weak points he may be able to find. The eyes were open and his rib cage was a soft spot. He knew what they were looking for, no point denying that. It was obvious they had searched and not found it. Obviously not smart enough to figure it out. "I believe I do, first get rid of your boys."

"Why?"

"I dislike being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupid in the room." There was no way he was going to stop being his usual arrogant self, that was for sure.

"You two, go to the car." The car? Seriously? Did he think Sherlock was a moron?

"Then get into the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn't work." Stating the obvious, not really what Sherlock liked doing. These simple minded Americans thought their guns and the art of 'intimidation' would work in their favour. He'd pity them but they weren't worth it. Standing back up straight again he stood strong in front of the three men. Two of them leaving. He knew they would run. That left the 'main' man. The idiot pointing the gun and with blood on his ring. "Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?" Why did they always think he'd point a gun at them? There was no point. If they knew who he was, they'd know what he could do. He was extremely trained in Judo amongst other things.

"I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist." His assumption of this moron was correct. Left alone to search him. He obviously thought highly of himself. Opening his arms the American finely left the side of Mrs Hudson. First part accomplished. The American began by checking the inside pockets of his coats. Too obvious if he was going to have a weapon. As the man padding his back down Sherlock couldn't repress the eye roll. He was growing bored of this savage. Quickly turning around he grabbed the can of Zil tightly in his hand and sprayed the American in the eyes. Whilst he was momentarily blind Sherlock headbutted him with a great forced that sent the oath flying backwards. "Moron."

That comment was a complete understatement, thought Sherlock, as he slammed the can onto the table and quickly made his way over to Mrs Hudson. He knelt down to look at the side of her, he tried to reassure her that it was all okay now through her thank yous. Her words landed on deaf ears as Sherlock turned back to glare at the out cold moron. Foolish enough to come into his home, to terrorise Mrs Hudson over some petty phone. He had a good ten minutes before that thing woke up. Helping Mrs Hudson up he let her sit on the sofa as he carried the oath to the wooden chair he has seated Mrs Hudson. Grabbing the masking tape he set the work to silence that arrogant mouth shut and to tie him to the chair. Making sure Mrs Hudson was okay, he grabbed a chair and his favourite choice of gun. His watched remained prime. He knew it would only be minutes before John returned home.

Sure enough twenty minutes later he heard the screeching of a car and the heavy footsteps storming up the stairs. About time he got here. Good thing too. Sherlock couldn't handle sitting there to wait before Mrs Hudson was gone to deal with this guy. John's voice reached his ears as the sound of his footsteps got even louder. "What's going on? Jeez, what the hell is happening?"

"Mrs Hudson has been attacked by an America, I'm restoring balance to the universe." He couldn't repress the anger in his voice, he was slightly at John not not being able to notice all the signs. Rising his phone to his ear, he refused to lower the gun pointing directly at the, now awake, American. Blood was already dripping from his nose from the head butt Sherlock has given him already. Sherlock heard John talking to Mrs Hudson and the cries of Mrs Hudson. She would think this was just her being silly but, even to Sherlock, this was justifiable. Still not lowering his weapon, he turned to John. "Take her downstairs and look after her."

More talks of concern as Mrs Hudson finally starting to make her way from the room too. Sherlock could hear John nearing him. The phone was still ringing. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I expect so, now go." John looked at Sherlock and then back at the American. Sherlock could tell that John had heard the seriousness in his voice. Sherlock finally heard the footsteps of John begin to carry downstairs, he still refused to remove his glare. Finally, the phone answered.

"Lestrade? We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Obviously. He didn't want any fools there. He couldn't handle another Anderson right now.

"Oh, no, no, no, we're fine. No, it's the err- burglar, he's got himself rather badly injured…" The American quickly turned to stare at Sherlock. Right now he only had a possible broken nose. Sherlock remained the same tone.

"Oh a few broken ribs, fractured skull, suspected punctured lung… He fell out a window." Sherlock lowered the phone and ended the call. He knew he had a minimum of twenty minutes until Lestrade would turn up. Which was perfect. Twenty minutes was all he would need. He went to the desk and placed his gun upon it. He turned around to look at the America. His pupils showed the heightened level of fright. Amusing. So human. "Aren't you a lucky boy? You're just about to see what happens to those who try to trick me."

He began to clean his knuckles of the blood they has recently required. They appeared unharmed. Excellent. The broken body of a man sat limply on the chair. Opening the window wide enough, he went back to the American and removed his tape. Picking him up, Sherlock dragged him to the window. Looking down he figured out the perfect angle to throw the American out. It didn't take long. Soon the echoing sound of a thud reached the second floor as Sherlock disposed of the tape that had been binding the American. Downstairs he heard the gasps of Mrs Hudson and some muffled complaint about the bins. Sherlock chuckled.

Sherlock watched the blue lines pull out into the road, taking the American with him. He had no remorse for him. True to his word the American left with 5 broken ribs, a fractured skull, a punctured lung, a broken nose and a few more minor injuries. Lestrade was standing next to him. He knew that Lestrade doubted this was any form of accident. He didn't care. He knew Lestrade had more sense than to do anything to him. "And exactly how many times did he fall out of the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count." From the corner of his eye he saw Lestrade do that grotesque gesture he'd do when he disapproved of Sherlock's methods, even though he'd say nothing against it. Lestrade walked around. Leaving Sherlock to the rest of the scene. As Sherlock saw Lestrade get into his car, Sherlock walked back to 221.

The beaded curtain got annoyingly in his way as he made his way into Mrs Hudson's kitchen to find John and her sitting there at the table. Mrs Hudson looked fine, unharmed but slightly shaken. Thankfully. If anything else had happened he doubted the American would have survived the 'fall'.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight, we need to look after her."

"No, she's fine." Sherlock was sure of it. Hudson was a strong woman. Opening the fridge, Sherlock began to inspect the contents of Mrs Hudson's fridge. He didn't normally eat whilst on a case, he rarely ate at all, but he thought this time was an exception.

"No, she's not. Look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can stay with her sister, doctor's orders." Picking out a mince pie, Sherlock closed the fridge and shot a disapproving look towards John. For a doctor he wasn't doing very well tonight.

"Don't be absurd."

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some stupid camera-phone. Where is it anyway?" Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. How John never figured out the blatantly obvious he would never know.

"Safest place I know." Sherlock said with a mouthful of food, glancing down at Mrs Hudson.

"You left it in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot!" Reaching inside her shirt, Mrs Hudson produced the mobile phone. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

John's face was priceless. As usual he looked dumbstruck. Mrs Hudson was chuckling slightly as if this were perfectly normal. "Thank you." Sherlock walked over to Mrs Hudson and placed his arm around her, staring at John. "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?"

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall." Mrs Hudson chuckled again and rested her head gently on Sherlock, John smiled slightly realising the truth in the matter. Sherlock knew he was right. Without Mrs Hudson nagging him how would he get anything done? Especially in a messy house. He admired Mrs Hudson in a way that a son would a mother. He was speaking the truth when he said that mind. Without Mrs Hudson helping him and John in Baker Street, England would indeed fall.