Anja fled her home country when it became hard to survive even while living under the radar. People died every day. People were shot when she fled even. She barely made it out and from there instead of taking her to Paris something told her to go beyond, to England, even though she didn’t know why.
Even London was still buzzing with worry of what had transpired in her country, still reeling with what was happening, a coup d’etat or revolution they called it. Terror, Anja called it. To her own surprise she spoke almost perfect english, german and french on top of her own language. She had no idea why, but it helped her a great deal in London. It helped her to find a job easily.
By recommendation of a Mrs. Hudson, she picked to clean the private practice and living areas of a recently widowed Doctor. It was safe, it was stable, it earned her enough money to have a small apartment and food on the table.
As Mrs Hudson had insisted she tried to be as invisible as possible. She barely saw him. She knew he had a patient that day when she was cleaning his living room, the dog walking circles around her to get her attention and pets when she heard a loud bang, like a shot.
A Shot. Anja screamed in terror and fell to her knees. She saw herself surrounded by blood. The dog started barking madly, panicked by her reaction. It was never a shot. It was just one of these ne automobiles backfiring outside….And somehow it sent her into a horrible flashback of shots and death and blood.
First he lost Sherlock, them he lost Mary. Things were looking rather grim for John. During Mary’s funeral, Mrs. Hudson offered John to move back in, considering he had moved out and now lived on his own, but there were too many painful memories there to be there for him to permanently stay there, though he appreciated the gesture. For weeks after the funeral, all John did was spend time in his practice room in the apartment he lived in, barely taking care of the actual living space. He discovered that working distracted him, so he took care of patients that came to him.
For cleaning purposes, he hired a young woman, Anja, to clean the living area for him. She did a good job, never asked any questions, and Gladstone seemed to like her as well. Given that he was barely there, John rarely saw her.
It all indicated towards just the usual afternoon, John having a patient in with what seemed to be the first signs of lung problems when first there was a scream from the living room, then Gladstones panicked barks. The man he was treating jumped in his seat while John jumped up, grabbing his care as first line of defense and quickly limping over to the living room, expecting assailants left and right when it was just Anja on the ground, nobody else around her.
John knelt down next to her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders, not wanting to get her in an even more panicked state than she already was. “Anja... Anja,” he tried to get her out of her panicked state. Clearly something must have caused this. “It’s okay,” john said gently. “Nobody will harm you.”
