Hello, thank you for the reviews for Surrounded By Wolves… It was something I simply needed to write, no matter how painful. The reviews really touched me and that means so much for me. I am working on a sequel. This is not it. Enjoy. This is a totally different story. Mental Hug ~Moonunit

Warnings: Has some dark themes. Yet there is humor throughout the story. Mostly, I focus on John's and Sherlock's friendship instead of plot. I tried to do everything in a respectful tone. Thank you for letting me share my love of fanfiction and these wonderful characters…

Notes: I do not own these characters or the brilliant show that is 'Sherlock'. I am simply an obsessed fan that wants to share a little tale, be it good or not.

Also, Sorry this story has *NOT* been beta'd. So yeah, that means this will probably be the worst story *ever*. You have been warned!

~*~Part 1~*~

~The 'he' is Sherlock, and the 'I' is Watson~

'Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?' he asked, anxiously.

'It depends on the player,' I answered. 'A well-played violin is a treat for the gods-a badly played one…'

'Oh, that's all right,' he cried, with a merry laugh.

-'A Study in Scarlet' by Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock Holmes calmly played his violin. The notes beautiful and very precise, which held an almost haunting feel to it.

He glanced out his window to notice a nicely dressed young woman standing outside his flat. He rolled his eyes as he thought she just might be there about a doomed love affair. Yet as he gave her another look there were things about her that instantly changed his mind.

He turned away from the window and quickly tried to finish the song he was playing. He hated stopping. He was not a man to be ruled by something as silly as feelings yet to stop in the middle of the music he created felt off. So very wrong. As if the universe was suddenly out of balance.

So perhaps much like a mad man his fingers danced and his bow moved faster. Knowing that any second his possible client would ring his blasted bell with that shaking finger of hers.

She was a very nervous and fearful woman. The young lady had looked around her as if she was worried about being followed. Also a weapon was concealed in her handbag…

So she was definitely not here about a doomed love affair. Could be interesting, perhaps not at all boring. There was always a good reason to be hopeful, even if it didn't involve a good murder.

The bell rang.

The song he played moved along at an even faster pace. The song was not meant to be played this way but he was determined to finish it.

Plus, he knew that if the bell rang out once more there was a good chance Mrs. Hudson, his landlady never his housekeeper, would answer the door and lead her up the stairs to his rooms. She knew he was playing and would not stop until he was ready too, or at least until the song he played was finished.

The bell rang once more.

He continued to play as he waited…

He eyed the doorway, calmly, and it wasn't very long before he saw Mrs. Hudson.

"Client!" She informed him as if he hadn't already realized that fact. She moved to the side to reveal the young woman he had watched from his window. Mrs. Hudson moved her hands as if she were a model showing off a grand prize.

He turned his back on them both and allowed his song to continue, slowing it down to its normal beautiful pace.

"Just go on in, my dear, and sit down. He'll talk to you when he's ready." He heard Mrs. Hudson say over the music he made.

He closed his eyes; he knew the song was coming to an end. At least when it was done he'd have a new game to play. It wouldn't be music but there was hope that maybe the new game, new case would be an interesting one.

There was, however, a chance that the case will be too stupid to take. If it was, at least, he had some feet he could experiment on that just so happened to be in his fridge.

Sherlock gave a soft sigh as the last note played out. He removed the violin from where it had rested; his hand still held it and his other hand held the bow. He turned around to face her, to notice that she had stepped into his room yet stood there silent, to curiously look around her new setting. He quickly moved towards her to use his bow as a pointer to let her notice his sofa.

"Sit." Sherlock just as suddenly moved away from her to his case that sat in John's chair. He placed the violin very slowly in its case as he thought about what he just witnessed. What his great detection skills told him.

She had jerked away from his as if she almost expected something violently bad to happen and the wide-eyed terror in her brown eyes.

Sherlock turned his head to look back at her. She now sat on his sofa. Sitting almost as close to the door as possible, feet aimed towards it. She sat right on the edge as if at any second she would be willing to spring out it and never to return. She nervously clutched her handbag that rested in her lap.

He closed the lid and he knew he'd have to play at being a nice, charming host.

"Like some tea?" He questioned softly. He wanted to calm down his unwelcomed guest.

She blinked at him in complete surprise as if she hadn't expected him to be such a wonderful, delightful host. Really? Simply because he never offered tea to any of his other clients before didn't mean that he was a bad host. Nor was he planning to ask that question to any of 'them' ever again. If no one liked it they could simply go away.

He took a few steps backwards to sit in his own familiar chair. Distance would perhaps make the girl feel safer. He turned his head to attempt to patiently await her answer. How long does it take to decide on some blasted tea anyway?

"Um, if it's no bother that would be lovely."

"No, it's no bother at all." Sherlock said in a soft voice before yelling at the top of his lungs, "MRS. HUDSON! TEA! NOW!"

He noticed his client's startled jump.

"She always has some ready." He explained in a normal tone before yelling once more, "AND BRING A CUP FOR YOURSELF!"

His fingers tapped impatiently upon the top of his armchair. Feet moving restlessly, hating to wait but knew Mrs. Hudson should be in the room before his client felt comfortable enough to share her story with him.

She seemed to know this or perhaps she was trying to find the correct words to start her tale. Some clients needed time. Some even seemed to know that if the story wasn't interesting enough he'd reject them very quickly and send them on their way.

They sat in silence before they heard the sound of cups lightly rattling as Mrs. Hudson carefully climbed the stairs. She entered with a look of exasperation on her sweet face.

"Sherlock," She scolded him. "Really, must you yell?"

She sat down the slightly heavy tray.

Sherlock shrugged as she poured the tea. "You never seem to hear me if I ask for you in a normal tone. Plus, the last time I texted you, you didn't respond to my request." He said the last bit of that sentence with an offended glare.

After handing the cup of tea to his client she quickly handed him one.

"That's because you texted me at one in the morning! I was asleep!"

"As if that is a reasonable excuse, you still should have replied. John, no matter what time I text, he replies. Even if it's to tell me to piss off and not to text him for another five hours. Really, Mrs. Hudson, it's so very rude of you not to reply."

"Oh, like you're one to teach me manners!"

"Someone should." He muttered darkly, before sipping his hot tea.

She sighed with a shake of her head before asking curiously, "You requested that I bring a cuppa for myself?"

He gestured towards the sofa. The empty spot near his client. "Go sit. Seeing that she's a victim of rape a woman's presence will help things along. Make her feel safe and what not. Let's hope whatever she has to say won't be boring. I do have some feet in the fridge that I'd like to get to at some point today."

"H-How did…?" His client questioned dark eyes wide and face sickly pale. Her slightly shaking hand pushed some of her dark hair away from her eyes.

Mrs. Hudson sat down next to her with a heartfelt sigh, "Don't mind him, dear, he's a bit of a show off. His best friend keeps reminding him not to be so showy but he never listens. One day someone is going to punch him in the face, and then perhaps he'll listen. That or he'll be too unconscious to hear anything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before sitting down his cup of hot tea. "Do, please, shut up."

"He knows things instantly about people," Mrs. Hudson continued, "The 'Science of Observation' he calls it. John finds his skills simply amazing and wonderful, which they can be, though others find it quite annoying."

Sherlock took the time to glare at her with narrowed eyes. "I call it the 'Science of *Deduction*' not observation. You'd know this if you had ever spent time on my website."

Mrs. Hudson shrugged before replying, "Oh, right, because I really need to know about the differences of over 200 types of tobacco ash and the different types of wool or perfume."

"They are interesting subjects!"

"To some people, maybe, to me, I can't say I find it at all fascinating."

"Do you want to know what I find fascinating? You and Mrs. Turner went out last night and got yourselves bikini waxes and it's not even swimsuit season!"

"We are going out on a double date tomorrow. They're brothers! Twins no less. Handsome, really. We are both hoping for some fun…You know, it's been so long since I've had—"

"Brothers!" Sherlock cut her off, pressing his fingers together near his chin. "Twins! Yes, that just might explain so much."

Mrs. Hudson tilted her head questioningly, "Explain what, dear?"

"Moriarty." He stated with reverence.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but I'm still here." His client stated nervously.

Sherlock allowed himself to glance her way. "Yes, that is so very obvious. Anyway, tell me, has Mrs. Hudson's calming presence helped make you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you so much, Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson."

"No problem, dear." Mrs. Hudson told her kindly.

"Please Mr. Holmes tell me how you knew I'd been…um, you know…"

Sherlock reached over to pick up his tea with a smile. He did enjoy showing off, what John would call his amazing talent.

"The way you jumped when I took as few steps towards you. The fear I saw, well most women don't act that way unless I point a harpoon at them. Your body language also told me that the shaking of hands would not be welcomed. You carry a weapon in your handbag. A gun, your father's, I'm guessing seeing that old military charm on your bracelet. In honor of his service no doubt. Perhaps you even have other family members who have served or are serving. The fact that the charm is close to the charm that says 'Dad' tells me that it's very likely that he's the main one you wear that charm for. Military men also are known to keep weapons such as a gun even though they are not supposed to. I can also tell that you are diabetic. You tested your blood a while ago. I can see a faint mark on your finger where you poked yourself. You must not have liked your glucose numbers for you walked quite a long way going by the two different types of fresh mud on your shoes, instead of taking some type of public transportation. The little bit of frosting on the edge of your sleeve and the crumbles on your blouse tells me that you had a breakfast not really appropriate for a diabetic but you needed a comfort food did you not? For you were about to go visit a stranger, a man you were completely unfamiliar with, for help of some sort. You also have a cat. Black, long hair. Tell me, was I right about anything?"

Sherlock enjoyed the stunned look on the young woman's face.

"Um, only about the cat, Bumbum belongs to my friend who's out of town for a month. I get the mail and check in on her most days before I get started on the rest of my day. You were, however correct on everything else."

Sherlock sighed, "There is always something…Anyway, go ahead tell me what you want and start with your name."

"Stephanie Owenson," she informed him quietly. "I want you to find the other man who…who…hurt me."

Sherlock glanced over at her in concern and spoke just as quietly back at her, "The other man?"

She gave a shameful nod, looking as if she wished she was somewhere else. She swallowed hard and breathed a little shakily. Looking at her pale clinched hands upon her handbag, she continued, in an even softer voice, "I was fourteen when it happened. I had been at the library and stayed later than I should have. Mum always told me I had to pay more attention to the time…Anyway, on my way home a man grabbed me. Him and his friend. They took me to what seemed like an old abandoned factory. They…They did things, Mr. Holmes."

Mrs. Hudson reached out her hand to lightly place it upon the younger woman's hand. The hand she touched let go of the bag to clench the friendly hand that was freely offered.

"It…It was a nightmare. Pure hell. I still remember how they laughed at my screams and…" She cut off momentarily as she shook her head. The memory obviously still painful, forever burning around the edges of her mind. "It was bad. Real bad. They stabbed me a few times with a knife afterwards. Will always have the scars. Always. They left me for dead. The police told me that those two had abducted other girls before, some even younger than me. I was lucky or so I was told. Only one to have survived out of all the other cases. They found one of the men. There was even a trial and he went to prison. Thing is he swears his friend and partner jumped off a bridge and killed himself."

Stephanie stopped and looked up. Her tears made her cheeks wet, but now there was a slight hardness in her red eyes that hadn't been there before. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as a thought began to take shape. His client's voice now harsh as she continued…

"The police, they investigated, and found some witnesses that stated that, yes, he jumped off that bridge. Thing is they never found a body, Mr. Holmes. I also know that you happened to fake your own death. Right off the roof of Bart's Hospital. People saw you do it and yet…here you are! I'm sure this man isn't as brilliant as you but I feel my fear is reasonable. Plus, over the years, I swore I've seen him. My therapist tells me that I'm mistaken, mind playing tricks…For the times I've seen him have been glances or moments…Hard to explain really. Sometimes I feel as if I'm being watched…and once, I was riding a bike in the park and I could have sworn he was behind me. He kept a reasonable distance on his own bike. When I stopped, he would stop. I don't like feeling like I'm still his prey. I'm no longer one of his bloody victims! I want proof that he is dead or proof that he is alive. If he is alive I want him found…"

"And given over to the police…" Sherlock stated almost too casually.

Stephanie shrugged, "Sure, though if you find him…please…give me a chance to hit him. I need to face my demon, Mr. Holmes. He's haunted my dreams and all my waking moments, I-I…need some peace. Please, Mr. Holmes, please help me find it."

Sherlock slowly blinked at her, to study her intensely. Quiet for a long time, after a while, he looked back to John's chair. His fingertips pressed together, resting under his chin…

For an odd moment, he thought his best friend was there. Sitting comfortably in front of him, staring back at Sherlock, and waiting for his answer.

"Of course, I'm taking the case." Sherlock told John.

He didn't bother to notice Miss Owenson's overwhelming relief over his statement.

As if there had ever been a question or even a doubt, that he'd not take this case.

The feet in the fridge would have to wait.

Sherlock Holmes had a monster to find.

~*~End of part 1~*~

Another part will be coming soon! Maybe even tomorrow… Have a great day~