Her heart pounded gently in her chest as she knocked on the door. It was a black door with gilded letters on its face. She looked down at the crumpled bit of paper in her hand with an address inked in blue pen scrawled across it in curvy letters. 221B Baker Street. She looked up at the shiny numerals above the crooked knocker. They reflected the watery sunlight that filtered through the clouds, glimmering softly. A woman's voice could be heard from the other side. "Just a moment, dear." Charlotte straightened up and clutched the paper tightly, crumpling it further. Her heart pounded harder and she found herself short of breath. The door swung open suddenly and an elderly woman smiled out at her. "Hello," she said, her wrinkled face stretching into a friendly grin.
"Hi," said Charlotte, her voice soft and breathy. "Um, I called earlier, about the flat. 221C? It's still vacant, isn't it?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
"Oh, yes! Charlotte Batch, wasn't it? I remember your voice. Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea? It is rather chilly out. I'm Mrs. Hudson, by the way," the elderly lady replied, closing the door behind the young girl and leading her to her flat and into the kitchen. "Have a seat, dear. I'll make you a cupper and then we'll take a look at the flat. It's not much, I must admit. I've had trouble renting it out to anyone," she said, muttering on as she boiled the water on the stove. Charlotte let her mind wander a bit, sitting at the small table against the wall. She knew what type of person this Mrs. Hudson was. Kind, yes, but a babbler. She peered about the small kitchen. The curtains were old but still retained much of their color. The place looked very lived in and homey. It reminded her of her grandmother's kitchen back in the States, except on a much smaller scale. It made her very homesick indeed and she felt herself wishing for the confines of her old bedroom and house. "There we are, dear. A nice hot cup of tea. Milk and sugar?" Mrs. Hudson asked, bringing Charlotte from her thoughts.
"Yes," she mumbled out, sitting up in her chair as the older woman brought everything over. The tea was fairly hot and she nearly burnt her tongue once she had stirred in heaping amounts of sugar and a splash of milk. It was terribly sweet, just the way she liked it. "Thank you," she said once the cup had been finished. "Now, about the flat...?" she asked hesitantly. Mrs. Hudson looked up and nodded.
"Yes, of course. Right this way." The pair exited the flat and went down a few stairs. The door was not too far from Mrs. Hudson's flat and was underneath the flat above, 221B. The elderly woman withdrew a set of keys from her apron pocket and jiggled them in the lock. "This lock always sticks and I just haven't been bothered to get it looked at. Shouldn't be much of a problem, though. Just takes a bit of playing with. Ah, there we are," she said, the door swinging open on slightly squeaky hinges. "We'll have to get those oiled up for you." Charlotte nodded and smiled, following her into the flat. It was dusty smelling and the paint on the walls was chipping a bit, the whole place looking very dated. "I haven't rented this flat out in quite some time. Can't seem to get anyone interested in it. Well, besides you, of course," Mrs. Hudson said. The young woman peered about the room, what probably had been a sitting room. Of course, it was bare but it was spacey. She moved about the flat, poking her head into the other rooms. One bath, small kitchen, one bed, a room that appeared to have been an office, and a cramped laundry room. It certainly wasn't much and there was dust everywhere you looked as well as aged wallpaper and chipping paint and plaster but it felt...safe. By the time she was done poking about, she had a large smile on her face and her usual nervous demeanor was hardly noticeable. "Well, what do you think of it? Like I said, it's not much at all and it will certainly need a lot of fixing up, but I think-"
"It's perfect! Really, I love it," Charlotte said, beaming, her mousy brown hair swishing about her face as she turned. Mrs. Hudson smiled as well.
"Then it's settled, I suppose. I'll have to get some of the old furniture from storage and furnish this little place up as best I can. After all, you're just a young thing and I doubt you've got much to bring in here furniture-wise. We could certainly get you all settled in by next week I think. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful! Thank you so much."
"Oh, don't mention it, dearie," Mrs. Hudson said with a chuckle. "It's you doing me the favor." The two left the flat happily and discussed moving plans for the upcoming days. Everything was soon settled and Charlotte was on her way to make arrangements on her side, her heart light.
It was Saturday, a perfect day to move in. The sky, as it always was, was a pale grey. Stepping from the taxi, Charlotte pulled out behind her a large tote bag. Scuttling to the trunk, she pulled out an even larger suitcase, accompanied by two stacking totes, full of books and other miscellaneous things. She set them on the sidewalk and paid the cabbie before hurrying through the door with the golden lettering. 221B. It seemed to shine even brighter today, as if the little flat held promise for her, held change. She smiled widely, pushing through the doorway and into 221C. The flat smelled faintly of fresh paint, though it had been painted a few days prior. The rooms were now good as new, though the furniture was aged but in good condition. Mrs. Hudson had done the place justice after all. She set down her bag and totes before grabbing the suitcase out on the street. Everything was soon in the flat and she began to unpack and make the place feel like home. Books flew onto shelves and sheets and blankets were tossed onto chairs, sofas, and beds. Dishes were put into cupboards and clothes were folded neatly into dresser drawers and hung on hangers in the closet. By mid afternoon, the whole flat seemed to glow and felt like home at last. Charlotte sighed contently and sank down into a lumpy armchair that was oddly comfortable and flipped on the TV. Some silly talk show was on and she only half paid attention as her mind wandered. Suddenly, a knock came at her door, bringing her from her daydreaming and pondering. Her heart thumped in her chest as she sprang up from her seat and rushed to the door. Her hand rested on the knob hesitantly as she contemplated even opening it. Another knock sounded from the other side and she plucked up her courage and turned the knob. Standing at the threshold of her flat was a short man with sandy blonde hair, flecks of grey spotting his golden head. He smiled warming and offered her a hand. She took it and they shook hands, his firm and regiment.
"Hi, I'm John. I live up in the flat above you," he said.
"I'm Charlotte. Pleased to meet you. I just moved in today." He smiled pleasantly at her.
"Hope I didn't disturb you. Just figured I'd pop in and say hello."
"Oh, you didn't. I was just resting a bit," she said. "Um, would you like to come in? I could make you some tea, if you'd like."
"I'd love to, but I'm actually about to go out with-,"
"John! Who are you talking with? Mrs. Hudson, no doubt," said a deep voice from above, a man's voice. From the stairs that lead to the flat above came a tall man clad in black with dark curly hair, piercing blue eyes, and cheekbones that could cut glass. Charlotte felt her heart thump in her chest a little faster and immediately a hot blush burst onto her cheeks. The man stop in his tracks and stared her down, his eyes scrutinizing her in a calculating manner. She shifted uneasily at the door, wanting to run into her flat and hide.
"Sherlock, this is the girl who just moved in. Charlotte, wasn't it?"
"Y-yes, Charlotte. Hello," she stammered out in a quiet voice, her hands shaking as she gripped the door frame.
"Hm," Sherlock said, a little smile forming on his lips as he continued down the stairs. He took up a place by John in the doorway and stared at her again, watching her, as if she were some scientific experiment. "Just moved in today, I should think, and without a flatmate. Though I suppose that's a good thing considering your anxiety. Makes for less stressful living, though you don't much like it. You're new to the area as well. Not just this street, but the whole of London. In fact, the entire country. You're from the States. But why move to another country? Because you're running from something or someone, most likely someone. An ex fiancee who didn't like you breaking off the engagement, who then threatened to kill you. So now you're here, making ends meet working at the pub a few streets over." Charlotte stood with a stunned look on her face, her shaking stopping all together in her awe. John looked at the taller man with a frown.
"That was really unnecessary. The girl's only just moved in and you've already started," he said. "I'd like to apologize for his behavior. I wish I could say he's not always like this, but he is. Part of the job, I suppose. It was lovely meeting you, but I'm afraid we've got to dash. Good afternoon." Charlotte watched as John pulled Sherlock along, who's little smile had turned into a smirk.
"Hold on just a moment! How the hell did you know all that?" she asked, coming out into the hall, a look of mild anger on her face. The dark hair man stopped in the hall and walked back to her, John shaking his head and following behind. Sherlock chuckled lightly.
"Well, it was quite simple, really. Empty boxes strewn about the room, indicating either a move out or a move in. Shaky hands, a common sign of an oncoming panic attack resulting from anxiety, one which you've seemed to have warded off. Good girl. Accent, one which is quite obnoxious to say the least and very reminiscent of the north-eastern part of the States. You stick out like a sore thumb around here. Tan line on the left ring finger indicates a ring used to be there, but you're far too young to be married and don't seem to possess that kind of commitment as plainly evident by the breaking of the engagement. But, of course, you only broke off the engagement because he was abusive towards you and, when he attempted to strangle you and left you with those lovely little bruises on your neck, you decided it would be best to flee the country. And, since it is impossible for anyone to maintain a flat without income, you found yourself a job at a pub only a few streets over from here, judging by the newspaper sitting on the table there with the ad circled in red. Did I miss anything?" She stared at him again, her face flushed and her eyes starting to brim with tears. She shook her head firmly and looked down at the ground, trying her hardest not to cry.
"Really? Come on, let's go. Leave the poor girl in peace," John said, grabbing the man roughly by the arm and dragging him down the hall. "Be seeing you." Charlotte didn't want to look up but she did anyhow, unintentionally locking eyes with the curly haired man, his smirk ever present and his eyes laughing, though there was a hint of something else she couldn't quite be sure of. They left, the door clicking softly behind them. She felt the tears press hard into the backs of her eyes and she quickly retreated into her flat, slamming the door and flopping down onto the couch. Her face was hot as she buried it into a pillow, the tears she had tried to repress spilling out and trickling down her cheeks. What a dreadful man, she thought to herself. The afternoon dragged on and she stayed in the same spot, not wishing to move or do anything, for that matter. Eventually, at about quarter past seven, a knock came at the door. Reluctantly and stiffly, she stood from the couch, switching off the TV as she did so. Charlotte made her way over to door and, taking a deep breath, opened it. On the other side stood Sherlock, his face serious and unamused, much different than it had been before. Her breath caught in her throat and she immediately went to close the door, not wanting to deal with that wretched man again. He jammed his foot between the door and the frame, letting out a little bit of a grunt.
"John said I should apologize. I'm here to do just that, if you'll let me," he said. She opened the door a crack more, peering out.
"Go on then." He cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt.
"I'm terribly sorry for what I said earlier to you. I realize now that much of what I said must be rather sensitive to you. It was thoughtless of me to so opening out your life in front of strangers, especially when much of it was unpleasant. I hope that you'll forgive me," he said, looking away from her and down the hall. She could tell he didn't do this often, that John must have more than just suggested this to him. However, it was touching, in a way. She opened the door fully, staring down at the ground.
"Apology accepted," Charlotte said, her voice soft. Sherlock smiled a little and turned to go. "How did you figure all that out? I know you explained it, sort of. But how?" He turned back, an eyebrow raised in her direction.
"I observe. It's really that simple," he replied.
"Oh. I guess I'm just an idiot then," she said.
"More or less." They chuckled together. "Well, I had best be going. Good evening."
"Yes, good evening," said Charlotte. He nodded then walked away, up the stairs to 221B. She closed the door gently and leaned against it. Her perspective of him had changed slightly. No, he was not as terrible as she had thought him to be. She felt her heart thumping in her chest like it always did but it was somehow different this time. She walked back over to the couch and settled down onto it. The light outside was fading fast, leaving the room with a honey hue, all the shadows and harsh lines blurred and softened into deep shades of brown. Again, that feeling of content came over her and she felt warm and safe, like life was going to be alright after all.