A rock skittered ahead of a black boot, coming to rest against the curb of the sidewalk in the neighborhood. The black boot clad the foot of a young girl, dressed in black jeans, a black tee and a black jacket. Her blonde hair, pulled in a ponytail, was hidden beneath a black cap. To a resident of the neighborhood, she might appear to be a burglar, if not for the slight limp and slouched posture. They all knew the girl, as she lived not too far from where she currently walked. Not a soul dared to approach the poor girl, whose blood was running down the side of her pale face.
The girl's fingers fumbled in her pocket, searching for a phone that she would never find. It was currently sitting on her nightstand, next to her computer. It's probably ringing with text too, she thought forlornly. She had friends from America, where she lived not a year before, that she still talked to.
She stumbled along, the sharp pain in her leg getting worse with every step. Before long, she knew, she'd pass out cold from the blood loss. Have to get to my aunt's, she sighed. At that moment, a cab rounded the corner, slipping to the side to drop off a young lawyer. The man gave the teen an odd look as he got out. The girl tried to smile at him while hurrying to the cab. She gave the cabbie the address and relaxed as he drove.
When they got there, the young girl forked over the correct amount of change and got out hurriedly. A light glowed warmly on the porch, a sign her aunt was still up. She waved to the cabbie and walked up to the door wearily. Three knocks and she waited, swaying slightly. Her vision began to swim as she waited. The door opened as the young girl toppled forward, passed out cold.
John Watson walked into his office, stretching. It'd been a long night until he had convinced his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, to sleep. The infamous detective hadn't slept or rested for a week. He'd barely had anything to eat.
"Good morning John," his boss greeting, looking over a few files on his desk.
"Oh, good morning Sarah." John returned, smiling. "To what do I owe this visit?" The army doctor noted the bags underneath his boss's eyes, and the slouched posture of somebody just wanting to go to bed.
"I…" she trailed off as another pair of footsteps entered the room. John turned to see a young teen limping slightly. Her left leg was bandaged tightly, as was her head. She held an arm around her stomach, and John could see scratches and bruises, old and new, covering the otherwise pale skin.
"Um, hi…" the girl trailed off, looking down. She knew how the bruises and scratches looked to anyone. She was suddenly embarrassed to be around this stranger. Her black shorts and tank top hid the much worse scars she'd never let anyone, even her Aunt Sarah, see. She'd abandoned the black cap from the night before but still favored her hair in the ponytail.
"Hello. Sarah, who is this?" The army doctor turned from studying the poor teen. He felt an immediate sense to protect the young girl from whatever caused her that much pain.
"John, this is my niece, Alex Wilhem, and she needs a place to stay." Sarah looked at her feet at this. The teen, Alex, looked slightly hurt, but understood why she couldn't stay at her aunts.
"Why can't she stay with you?" John asked, oblivious to the reasoning.
"That's the first place they'll go looking for her." Sarah gave a look so severe that Alex felt herself shrink a little. John kept a stubborn look, but understood that asking anymore questions would not give favorable answers.
"I can text Sherlock. Perhaps he could use someone to help with his experiments." John commented after a while, noticing Alex's face light up at the word 'experiments.' The blogger chuckled internally and sent a quick text, hoping the detective wasn't still too busy looking at his microscope like he was when John left this morning.
How would you like some help with your experiments? Sarah's got a niece who's in trouble. She would be eager to assist you. If not, can we still give her a place to stay? She really needs it. Beaten up real bad. –JW
Sherlock, who was busy playing the violin in order to think, sighed and checked his phone as it beeped with a text. A niece? Are we a babysitting service now? The detective thought wearily. Still, if she wants, I could always use some help. And if she's been beaten up…well, we certainly don't want her out on the streets. Sherlock thought it through, weighing pros and cons.
How old is she? –SHJohn looked down at his phone. "Um, how old are you Alex?"
"Sixteen sir," the teen responded, speaking softly.
Sixteen. She's well mannered, well behaved. Smart according to Sarah. –JW"Ah," the detective spoke out loud, smiling at his phone. A girl her age would be useful. And if she's as smart as her aunt says, surely she would catch on quickly to what they were doing.
Send her over –SHJohn smiled at the girl. "He said sure. If you want to go now…" Alex nodded excitedly, eyes dancing with delight. She was finally going to get to help assist with experiments. She loved experiments. Her aunt smiled as well.
The cab Alex had taken dropped her off at 221B Baker street, next to a quaint little café. A tall man with curly black, maybe brunette hair, stood outside, heavy coat draped across his slender frame. He had the sharpest cheekbones Alex had ever seen, which helped define his face. His gray eyes seemed icy and far off. The teen assumed that maybe this was the man she was supposed to meet. He seemed exactly what the army doctor had described to her.
"Ah, Alex I assume?" The man spoke in a rich, deep baritone, surprising Alex.
"Yes sir, you must be Sherlock. Pleased to meet you." She didn't bother to reach out her hand for a shake, as John had warned her he would not comply. "John mentioned experiments, can I really help?"
Sherlock noted the sharp, curious glean in her eyes as she mentioned the experiments. He was already deducing her as they stood, even though she was unaware. He could tell by the bruises and past scars, little less than a year old at the least, were from getting beat, not by other children, though a few did come from them too, but an abusive step-father. How he knew step, was the simple reason the girl ran. Had she any sentiment towards the man, just him merely being her father, she never would have ran, or gotten help at all. She lived a rough life. Bullied, by the obvious restlessness. Sherlock suspected she had a parent die when she was young, which would explain the sadness buried in the depths of her shockingly gray eyes. There was something so similar to the young girl to the likeness of himself at that age that Sherlock immediately liked her. He gave her a warm smile.
"Of course. I think you'd find it interesting, from what John was telling me." Alex's face split into a giant smile. Sherlock chuckled to himself and led her inside the flat, pointing to the microscope. "I'm done for the day, but you're welcome to study the one I just got done with."
Alex nodded eagerly and set to work deciphering his notes. The effect of acid on hair molecules fascinated the teen, and she blocked out the beautiful song Sherlock spun on his violin as she read through the different steps and results. "Wow…" she whispered, staring at the remnants of the experiment with bright eyes. "I have a lot to learn…"
The violin continued to play as Alex tentatively took a seat on the couch, content to listen to the music. She hadn't heard such a lovely, hand-played song since the days before her dad had died, when he would play the guitar or his harmonica. He'd always used them to help lull the girl to sleep. Before long, the teen was closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the couch, allowing the music to pull her back in time.
"DADDY!" A young girl shouted, laughing. Mr. Wilhem picked up his baby girl and twirled her around, kissing her forehead. "I'm home, how about a story and some music?" He wasted no time in helping his wife get their young child to bed. She was only five, and already up past her bedtime. The child smiled and bolted towards her room, climbing into the big, fluffy bed as her father carried his guitar in. He started strumming softly, knowing that's exactly what little Alex wanted. The child drifted off to sleep, smiling with one hand stretched to pet the neck of the guitar.
The teen awoke two hours later, stretched out on the couch with a blanket covering her. She rolled off, yawning. She hadn't had a good memory of her dad in a long while, everything having been blocked by the selfish habits she had discovered of his when she was six. The detective was no where to be seen, though she thought she heard some muttering in the bedroom. Alex shrugged it off and went to the fridge to get something, anything to drink. All she could find in the scare fridge was a head, and a beer or two. She shook her head and chuckled. Down to the café I suppose.
"Oh, you're awake." A deep voice commented, coming from his bedroom. The teen turned around with an embarrassed smile.
"Yea, sorry, when I was younger, my dad always played guitar or harmonica to get me to sleep, and you were playing so beautifully I guess I just drifted off." She rubbed the back of her neck and hoped she didn't sound too stupid.
"Oh? I've been complemented on my music, but never has it been calm or soothing enough for sleep." The detective leaned against the doorway, an amused smile on his face. In truth, he too had grown up with music around the house, and even lessons. He'd always preferred the violin, as it always helped him think or gave him something to do.
The teen blushed and dropped his gaze. "It was beautiful, and sad. Something I can relate to it felt like." She shrugged. The detective studied her some more before smiling and waving a hand downstairs.
"I suppose you must be hungry. Care to grab something downstairs?" He wasn't hungry, despite having had only the occasional apple since last week. He supposed John was going to make him eat later, so he appeared semi-normal to the teen.
"Just thirsty. I don't eat a whole lot." Hardly at all, she thought, laughing.
"Well, I suppose I can get Mrs. Hudson to get some tea up here." The detective frowned in thought for a moment.
"I'll just go downstairs. It's a good time for me to people watch as well, observe the people who come around here." The teen shrugged and started for the door.
"I might as well join you." Sherlock commented after a while, grabbing his coat and scarf. The teen shrugged as if she didn't care either way, but was glad Sherlock was accompanying her. She didn't know what kind of people were around, though she certainly would after an hour or two of just watching, but she didn't want to take the chance of her mum or stepfather seeing her, especially by herself.
The café downstairs had a decent amount of customers for the night. Alex ordered a soda and sat at a table where she could sit with her back to the wall have a perfect view of the street outside. She'd observed a lawyer, judge and cop sitting at the bar, all dressed in normal, civilian wear. Outside walked a teacher, two more lawyers, and a news crew. Alex had trouble wrapping her head around the amount of officials that appeared in front of the small café.
Sherlock watched the teen. She's very observant, much more so than John. And guarded, why? He couldn't completely figure the girl out. She already seemed to trust him, and John, but she immediately put her back to a wall out in public. She's like a puzzle, he thought with amusement.
A man, one Alex had originally deemed as an IT person, looked up with dark eyes and chuckled. He was not loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation in the café, but it didn't matter. He wasn't chuckling for anyone's amusement but his own. His archenemy, the consulting detective Sherlock was sitting with a girl, something he'd never would've guess would happen to The Virgin. His fingers were quick and precise as he typed out a message on his phone, being careful to keep his head down while reading the latest issue of the London newspaper.
Sherlock's phone buzzed with a text. He looked down, thinking perhaps John was telling him he was down with his job for the day. A gasp escaped his lips when he read the message.
I see you're having fun. Is that your new pet? Could John not handle you faking your own death? I can play that game too. In fact, I love to play games, don't you? See you around! –JM
The detective pulled in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. The consulting criminal was suppose to be dead, Sherlock had watched him shoot himself! There on the rooftop. He couldn't worry about Moriarty though as Alex turned a questioning gaze towards him.
"Oh, nothing to worry about, John will just be a bit late." The detective lied, smiling slightly. He could tell right away that the teen didn't buy it. She stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. She wasn't going to push, even if she was curious.
A shot rang out in the startling silence and Alex let out a yelp as fresh blood spattered the wall. For a paralyzing second, she thought it was Sherlock's blood, who had slumped forward as soon as he heard the shot. She didn't understand the sharp pain that blossomed from her shoulder, or the sudden dizziness, as if she was experiencing bloodloss again. She let out a loud and painful scream as she slumped forward, hand clutching the still bleeding wound.
