Hello! I am Rebecca, Bex, and I love making fanfics! I've made 23 fics in the space of a year and two weeks which is quite surprising for me. Maybe you check them out sometime. I am British, from the UK. And I love Sherlock so this is my first fic of this and I hope I do it to your standards. Please note, I am specialized in other genres.
Disclaimer: Do not own Sherlock. BBC does. I own the plot and any characters that the show do not own.
Henley's POV:
I woke up and smelt the fresh air from the window at the far side of my bedroom. Smiling, I got up, pulling my silk nightgown on. Today was going to be... special. I knew it. I knew it so. I checked the site I had been following for a couple of months now. Made by some guy called 'Anderson'. He believed that dear Sherlock was alive. The question is... Do I? He updated it. I sighed. Same old, same old. Someone had spotted Sherlock Holmes in a certain country. Anderson said that he was going in a pattern and that England was next. Well, I'll be ready. I'll be so ready.
My servant came and gave me my freshly cleaned towel. I thanked him with a kiss to his cheek. I felt him squirm under my spell. "Run the bath." I whispered. He nodded quickly and ran to my bathroom. I smiled to myself and walked in to find him feeling the temperature of the water. Satisfied he put his hands out. I took my gown off and gave it to him. He left my bathroom to leave me to strip off completely. Dipping my feet in the water, I put my head back, sighing in relief.
I rang the doorbell of 221B Baker Street. John Watson opened the door. I put my right hand out to him. "Henley Thorne. At your service." I said, smoothly. He just stared at me and I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Could he read me? No. He wasn't as good as dear Sherlie. He shook my hand and tilted his head.
"I don't think I need your service?" He said, confused. I smiled and scoffed, pushing gently through the door. "Urm, excuse me?" He said. "What do you think you're doing?" He closed the front door and followed me upstairs to the living room. So this is where Sherlock spent his days. I smelt in the faint cologne he used. Well, the one I thought he used. I hadn't smelt him in years. I snapped out of my reverie and went to his laptop, opening up Anderson's Blog. "That's... Who did you say you were again?" He said in realization before ignoring his speculations.
"Henley Thorne. I am your partner. Only temporary." I said, looking through the recent posts.
"Did Sherlock ask for you to do this? Or the police?" He asked. I looked up at him. Smiling, I sighed.
"I was guessing you needed someone to help you solve cases." I said.
"I gave up that when Sherlock Holmes died." He said bitterly. I scoffed and he looked at me, confused.
"Is that what you believe, John?" His heart seemed to stop when I said his name.
"How do you know my name?" I rolled my eyes.
"TV. Blogs. Sherlock's Blog." He nodded in realization. "I can profile you." I smirked.
"Pardon?" He asked. "Profile me? What...?" I didn't wait for him to continue to be dumb.
"Ex-Army doctor. Sister. You don't get on much. She drinks. Has falling outs with her partner, Clara, is it? Oh, Harry's a Harriet, by the way. Used to use a walking stick but your leg's perfectly fine now. People think you're gay but you're happily married." I finished.
"How did you...? Who are you?" He stepped away from me. "How did you know all that stuff. How did you analyze me? Who...?" He was really confused. I stood up and walked up to him.
"John, is that you, honey?" We heard someone say. A woman in her late mid-thirties came up and stood there, looking at the both of us. "Who's this?" She asked. I walked up to her, hand out.
"Henley Thorne. Associate of Sherlock Holmes." I introduced.
"So that's who you are, now, huh?" John spat at me. "Associate? How come he never spoke of you?" He asked. I looked down.
"He thought I was out of his life forever. Him and Mycroft." I told them.
"What's his brother got to do with this?" John asked as his wife, I analyzed, sat down and looked at me.
"Because she's our sister." Said a voice. I grinned as we all shot towards the one who had spoken.
"But... you're dead!" John's wife, stood up, saying.
"Faked. I am Sherlock Holmes for God's sake, woman!" He shouted, coming up to me and grabbing me by my arm. "How did you find me? Where have you been for all these years?" He hissed.
"Dead." I laughed. "Faked too." I said.
"Look at you. You're rich, manipulative, busy, cold, ice, clean and warm...?" His eyebrow furrowed in confusion. "No... You're never warm. You're cold-blooded like the rest of us, aren't you Hen?" He smiled, scoffing.
"I missed my older brothers." I tried.
"More like missed getting them into trouble." Sherlock shook his head. "I despise you. Why are you here?" He asked me again. I stayed quiet and stared at him. "ANSWER ME, HENLEY!" I jumped when he raised his voice at me.
"Sherlock, if you can just calm down and let us take this all in." John said from across the room. Sherlock told him to shut up. John nodded and sighed, looking at his frightened wife and comforting her.
"Mother's dead. I want you to help me solve her murder. And when you finish with that, I want to join in with the adventure. You get a kick out of this stuff, don't you, Sherlie? I want to feel that same adrenaline you get when you solve all these impossible cases. I want a bit of you." I said, my face close to his.
"Father hates me." He whispered.
"Father hates me too." I retorted, gently. "Well...?" I asked.
"It's Elementary, Dear Sister." He said, kissing my cheek. "Sweet, sweet elementary. My answer's yes, by the way." He said, walking off to John's laptop. I let out the breath I unconsciously held in. "Well?" He asked.
"Oh! Yes, Mother's murder." I said, rushing to him with my Gucci handbag.