Sherlock blinked, his eyes taking in the lazy dance of dust particles through the air. The sound of the water tank filling meant that John had to be awake already and would likely be leaving for work soon. Not that Sherlock minded. With no case, the day was bound to be so boring that the wall would pay the price for a lack of criminal activity. The wall would have it coming. He climbed up out of the bed and headed to the kitchen. Click. The kettle was on and boiling. Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa before disappearing into his mind palace.
"We're out of milk," John stated simply from the kitchen. From the kitchen? The sound of the water tank still echoed through the flat. There was someone else there. Not Mrs Hudson. The hoover could clearly be heard.
"Yes," Sherlock agreed absentmindedly, surfacing from his thoughts just enough to reply, before diving back into his mind palace. There was a loud click as the door to the bathroom opened, and a young woman emerged.
She was dressed in a pair of black trousers and blazer, with a deep purple shirt. Her slightly damp curly, black hair had settled around her shoulders like a pool of ink. She was pale, clearly not having been on holiday recently, and her frail stature was suggestive of some sort of eating disorder. Clearly, she worked in some sort of office, judging by the choice of clothing and the hair tie around her wrist. Perhaps some sort of engineer or scientist. No tie suggested that they were used to picking clothing that wouldn't get caught in machinery…
"Sherlock?" John said. Sherlock jolted out of his mind palace. A client perhaps? Hopeful, he voiced his thoughts.
"Client?" he asked. Perhaps he would have a case today after all. At the same moment, a female voice said "Yes?" Sherlock looked towards the source of the voice. "If you're clients, then you'll be disappointed to find that my interest is currently directed elsewhere. Your case wouldn't be anywhere above a three at most. As you've broken into my flat, you should be able to find your own way out."
"Your flat?" Sherlock said incredulously. Whoever this was, their case had already peaked his interest to an extent. "I believe that you are the one trespassing. This is my flat."
"You don't seem to be lying," the female replied, a hint of intrigue in her tone of voice. Of course, he wasn't lying. "But this is my flat," she stated.
"Perhaps you lived here before us?" John suggested. "Temporary amnesia perhaps? I'm John by the way."
"And I'm Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock informed her. "Now present your case or find your way out and stop wasting my time," he snapped. An interesting case was potentially millimetres from his reach. If he wasn't going to be given the case, then he wanted her out of the flat.
"Perhaps you are the one with amnesia," she said addressing Sherlock. "My name is Sherlock Holmes." There was a slight pause. "Now would you please explain what you're doing in my flat!"
AN: I hope you like the concept for this story. Please write a review to let me know your thoughts. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. :)