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He dug his heels as Sir Scary let out a muttered curse and started to yank him forward.

“I’ll scream I’ll convince everyone you’re kidnapping me you can’t make me get in there!” Alessio threatened barely in a whisper, his voice beginning to border hysteric. Almost instantly a fist landed a hair’s breadth from his head as he ducked, catching the fist. Sherlock’s fist.

He glared, preparing to return a blow when there was a loud smash across from them.

“I’ve decided I need some exercise to get out of this horrible drama so I’m taking the stairs!” Arsene crooned, swiping a hand over his hand with theatric despair. Whatever he broke, it made the box unworkable or something because everyone groaned and cursed.

Alessio released a shaky breath, compulsively clenching and unclenching his trembling hands as if to work out the tension. It’s ok now it’s ok he won’t get trapped in – he blinked back all-too-vivid bloodied, stenching images. Why did Arsene do that?

Alessio made eye-contact with the robber giving a grateful look despite himself. He relaxed just a little, still processing, when a girl who he’d only just seen in the corner of his eye swung her fist at a guy who leered behind her suddenly.

Her punch didn’t have much of an effect, she retreated a couple steps with a nervous smile, her hands slipping to something on her waist. A knife? She was clearly lost and isolated – if someone were looking for easy prey, she’d fit the profile. Now she was saying something but all Alessio could sense was her anxiety.

“Hey, is there something you want to say, sir?” Alessio said without thinking, faintly menacingly, as if to make it very clear what might happen if he scared this complete stranger Alessio just compulsively adopted.

Devils, why did I do that?

They’re all going to kill me…

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