This is my first time ever writing Elementary and I'm planning it as I write! I hope you like it!

This will take place with Sherlock and Watson NOT KNOWING about Irene. Trust me, it's going to work out and Joanlock will be end game! It's just going to take a while to get there. Also, the action starts right away because since you're reading this I'm guessing you know a bit about the characters and the plot lines so I don't have to spend four chapters setting all that up. Thank you so much for reading!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize (either character wise or plot wise) I don't own. Yet I own other characters and this plot line! If there's any correlation between my plot and anything that happened/will happen on the show it's completely coincidental! This will be only time I say all of this because it's a lot to say everything on every chapter.

"Watson!"

Groaning, I rolled over and threw the nearest pillow over my head, trying to block out his booming voice. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before as Sherlock was busy downstairs banging around. It wasn't until he began to play his violin that I was able to succumb to the soft music.

Familiar footfalls echoed throughout the brownstone as Sherlock ascended the stairs and I took a deep breath before he burst through my door.

"Watson! Oh good, you're awake. When you didn't answer me earlier I thought something dreadful had happened."

Rolling back over, I got a glimpse of the small red numbers on my alarm clock. The time read 5:45.

"The only dreadful thing is that I'm actually awake right now." I groaned into the mattress. I couldn't see him, but I heard his quick footfalls make their way toward my closet.

"I got a call from detective Gregson."

The hangers in my closet made soft sounds as they were pushed together.

"You got a call this early in the morning?"

"He was planning on just leaving a message, believing I wouldn't be awake. Imagine his surprise when I answered. Here, these should do for today."

I felt a light breeze as he threw some articles of clothing at me. When I didn't move to grab them, I heard him give a little huff of annoyance.

"Shall I choose your undergarments, too?" He started shuffling toward my dresser and when I realized he had every intention of doing so I quickly jumped out of my bed.

"I'm up, I'm up! Don't you dare open that drawer, Holmes." He stepped away quickly, a look of relief on his face. "What, is the great Sherlock Holmes scared of bras and underwear?"

"Generally? No. Am I scared of yours? Yes."

Intrigued, I asked, "Why?

"I know that if I come anywhere near them without your consent I will be yelled at or hit."

"Both."

"Exactly. So do hurry. Gregson said there's a murder in a nearby neighborhood. And frankly, he's quite stumped."

"Why?"

"Dress first," he stated, gesturing quickly at my sleep deprived state. "Then we'll talk."

He practically skipped out of my room and didn't bother to close the door behind him. Sighing, I glanced at the light blue sweater and black leggings that Sherlock had thrown at me. Despite the early morning wake up call, I smiled. He chose my favorites.

A couple minutes later, I stepped down he stairs as the smell of coffee reached my nostrils. I found Sherlock in the living room, gently lowering a piece of lettuce into Clyde's cage. Clyde eagerly reached up his neck to grab his breakfast.

"One of the cups on the table is yours," he said without turning around. I glanced to the table to see two cups of coffee steaming. I immediately grabbed the closest one.

"Thank you." I took a quick sip and grinned. I may make the best breakfast, but Sherlock did make great coffee. "Now, why is Gregson stuck on this murder?"

"The man's a ghost." Sherlock replied as he stepped away from Clyde's cage and grabbed his own coffee. He already had his long coat on and his shoes. I shook my head at his impatientness.

"What do you mean a ghost?"

"They can't find anything on him. He was found in an alleyway between two households, shot twice in the chest. No identification, no wallet, nothing. They ran his fingerprints and found nothing. His face will probably be sent out everywhere soon to try to identify him."

"Weird," I muttered as he walked by me toward the front door.

"Very," I followed him and watched as he set his coffee down and grabbed my coat. I set my half drained cup next to his empty one and allowed him to slip the material over my arms.

"Any evidence?"

"None. The casings were taken and no weapon was recovered."

"We've got our work cut out for us." I said sarcastically as Sherlock threw open the door.

"Most definitely. Quite exciting, isn't it Watson?"

I could see the light behind his eyes and barely smiled at his childlike excitement.

"A man is dead."

"The only downfall," he shrugged.

"Come on detective. We have a ghost to identify."

"And a murderer to catch."

The ride was quick and it wasn't long until we found the flashing lights. Gregson was standing on the sidewalk, talking to an uniformed officer. Once he saw us approaching, he waved the officer away.

"Thanks for getting here so quickly." He grinned at me as I yawned. "Late night, Ms. Watson?"

"You could say that," I muttered, sending a glare toward Sherlock who was already walking around the body. Gregson chuckled in understanding.

"Gregson!" Following Gregson under the yellow tape, we found Sherlock kneeling by the man's hand. I quickly saw what had caught Sherlock's attention. A white rose laid in the man's had, with small droplets of blood staining the pure white.

"Yeah, we don't know," Bell's voice came from behind us. "That's the only clue we've got."

"Any idea about it, Holmes?" Gregson wondered.

"Not at the moment. Any case files with flowers left behind?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I've got guys looking into it."

"Come here, Watson." Shuffling around the body, I squatted next to Sherlock. "See here, look at the petals."

Looking close, I noticed that while most of the rose was white, the tips were red. "So, either it was a red rose stained white or it's a white rose and the killer stained the tips red. Why does it matter?"

"Since they took the time to stain a rose at all, it's possible that this is the killer's MO. Meaning, he or she will probably kill again."

"Great," Gregson groaned.

"What do we do with it?" I asked. Sherlock looked like he was about to answer but then closed his mouth.

"I haven't the foggiest idea yet."

"Well, when you figure something out, you can let me know. I'm going to take a look around."

He didn't answer, simply nodding stiffly. I left him with Gregson and Bell and walked toward the other end of the alleyway, away from the street. I wasn't finding much, but if I learned anything from Sherlock it was to look at everything twice, maybe even three times. I looked closely at the dumpsters and kept walking, the voices getting quieter behind me. The alleyway went on forever, twisting around other buildings. I soon lost sight of the crime scene and came to a dead end behind an old building with a simple wooden door in the middle of the wall. I door was slightly ajar so I walked a little closer. Something glittered on the ground so I bent down to investigate. It was a small shell casing and a closer look at the door's lock proved that the killer must have shot off the lock to get inside and that's how he or she escaped. Standing and turning around, I opened my mouth to yell to Sherlock, but before I could I felt something cold and hard press against my back.

"Come quietly and quickly, and I won't harm you. Yet."

I didn't dare turn around and I didn't dare scream. I allowed him to pull my slightly backwards and just as I was about to brace my arm and strike, he raised his arm and struck me in the back of the head. I laid on the ground in pain for only a moment...then everything went black.