"Sincerely, S. Holmes"

My life used to be normal, until I met her.

I had a very standard childhood. I lived with my mum, dad, and two drooling English Bulldogs, in a nice home on the outskirts of London, away from unwanted traffic. I knew from a very young age that I wanted to become a doctor like my father, which I am proud to say that I easily achieved. Finding a job at St. Bart's hospital inside the city was even easier. In fact, that where it all started, at St. Bart's.

My name is James Watson, and this is the story of how I met the woman who changed my life forever, and her name was Scarlett Holmes.

"Good morning, James, dear," said my mother, Mary Watson, as I walked into the kitchen one morning.

"Good morning, Mum," I said, kissing her on the cheek then shoving a piece of toast in my mouth.

"Aren't you at least going to sit down to eat?" asked my dad sitting at the table with his newspaper.

"No, I can't. I really must be going. I'll be home for dinner." I grabbed my coat off the hat stand next to front door, and I was gone.

"He's so much like you used to be, John," said Mary laying down a late of eggs in front of her husband. "Except he's missing that not-so-little something."

The commute to St. Bart's has always been a long one for me. I had to walk about a mile into the city before I was able to hail a cab; which wouldn't seem too bad if it weren't for the sickly view. The shortest route in which I walked, I only passed old moldy buildings that appeared to be falling apart from the outside in. So I left home early today so that I could take the longer route through the easier on the eyes part of the city.

But as my walk continued I found another reason as to why I don't come this way more often. Baker Street. Baker Street was nothing much, just a bunch of old flats clustered together on either side of the street. I hated going down this way because it gave me a strange feeling, like I had been here before. Baker Street was ghost, a ghost that I didn't remember but somehow it wanted me to. It was here I decide to call a cab. Once I got one, I looked back at the empty sidewalks of Baker Streets and had a strange feeling I was being watched.

I walked into the hospital, anxious to just get into my office. I got in the elevator and pressed the button that would take me to the 4th floor.

"Hold that door!" cried a nurse, just as the steel doors began to close; I was just quick enough to catch them before they shut. A pretty blond nurse got into the elevator beside me. "Sorry about that."

"No problem, um, Charlotte?" I couldn't believe that I had forgotten her name; I had watched her many times around the building. Wow, that didn't sound stalker-ish at all.

"Oh, please, Dr. Watson, call me Charlie," she said smiling. I was almost shocked that she even knew my name. We stood in awkward silence, until the elevator stopped on the third floor to let Charlie off.

"Wait, Dr. Watson," she said suddenly.

"It's James."

"Right, James, I've seen you around here a lot and I was just wondering if maybe you would like to go out sometime."

I stared at her longer than I should have, for in truth, this was the first time the girl had asked me out. "I would love to."

"Great!" She took out a pen from her pocket and grabbed my hand. "This is my number, call me later."

"Alright, I will," I said as she finished writing the number on my palm. She then left the elevator and the doors closed behind her.

Once inside my office I logged onto my computer. Suddenly, there was a knock at my open door.

"May I come in?" It was Dr. Molly Hooper who worked downstairs in the morgue. She had worked at St. Bart's since before I was even born, she said that she used to be friends my dad.

"Of course, Dr. Hooper," I said. She walked in and sat down quickly in the chair in front of my desk. She looked at me for a long time before actually talking.

"I was wondering, James, if you could do me a small favor and take on a patient I had scheduled coming in today."

"Sure," I said a little unsure of myself.

"Fantastic," she said handing me a file from across the desk. "Her name is Mrs. Hudson. She a bit older for you but very sweet; she called in the other day saying she needed her hip checked on. Well, I must be going, bodies to cut open you know."

"But you just got here!" I called after her, but Molly was already out the door and down the hall. This 'patient' transfer rubbed me the wrong way, mostly because Molly didn't take on real ill patients, unless they were already dead.