"I did," Emma flipped a few pages, not looking up, "I also grew up in places that had no locks, and sometimes no doors at all. And then I lived in Storybrooke, where no one needed locks. Do you have a point here, Jefferson?" Her apartment in Boston was locked, always. The house she had in Tallahassee hadn't been locked, but that was her being young and naive. The land of carefree critters and healers didn't seem like it needed her to stress too much about her door not having a lock.
But, apparently, Jefferson was going to panic about it enough for everyone.
"Okay, get your panties out of their wad, jeez." She wasn't about to go into detail about how much had changed since the last time she'd seen him -when Mary Margaret knocked him out of his window, or since he seemed to remember himself either. "At least no one here is gonna drop me off a cliff face like Regina. I didn't even know Storybrooke had cliffs." Because only Jefferson ever mapped Storybrooke and no one could ever find him when they needed to go traipsing through the woods.
The book looked stupidly complex though, for something being 'the basics', "That's if I can even do anything anymore. It might all be gone."