Hello my wonderful readers! Sherlock is my latest obsession and I knew I had to write something on it! Fans of my Narnia and Merlin stories, never fear! I will upload more in time, I've just hit a bit of a creative block with them, so in the meantime enjoy this one!

Please review! I've never written a mystery before and I would love constructive criticism :)

Enjoy!

Chapter One

List your fears:

1. Small spaces

2. Blood

3. Heights

4. Choking

5. Needles

6. People standing behind me

7. Guns, knives or weapons of any kind

8. Complete silence

9. Dark alleyways

Anna paused. She wondered if they meant all, absolutely all of your fears. She continued.

10. Being backed into a corner

11. Fire

12. Very loud noises

13 .Being alone

14. Failure

15. Drowning

Anna looked at the long, embarrassing list and sighed. She highlighted it all and erased. In its place she wrote one single word:

Everything.

Was this questionnaire designed to make one feel humiliated, or was it just protocol in such establishments?

Or perhaps these people were targeting her in particular.

Anna shook her head

Paranoia, they said was one of the first signs of madness. And here she was, sitting alone in her apartment, thinking that the evil doctors were out to get her. She couldn't help but hear her younger sister's voice in her head.

"Anna, you need help. I'm afraid any day now you'll tip over the edge,"

Anna's nails dug into her palms, something she did when she was stressed, or under pressure. She breathed deeply and flexed her hands as she stood from her chair. Her apartment walls bore the calming colour of sky blue, a colour that Anna associated with her now deceased mother, and memories of home and love. It was sparsely furnished, as too much clutter tended to panic Anna. She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of sugar free orange juice. Sugar made her heart race, and she tried to avoid this effect. She poured a glass, wiping any spillage as she went and replaced the juice in the exact same place that she got it from. She returned to her seat at her desk and stared once again her computer screen.

Why do you feel you need help?

Why indeed? Her sister was convinced she was crazy. Her perfect little sister, married with two golden haired children, who looked down upon and pitied her older sister who surely had the makings of a spinster. All of her boyfriends had admitted she had serious problems. Even her friends were urging her to get help.

Anna typed an answer to the question, sat back and rubbed her temples.

I don't know my own mind anymore.

"This is ridiculous," muttered detective consultant Sherlock Holmes that very same day. His roommate and friend looked up from his book and surveyed Sherlock tiredly.

"It will do you good to go without nicotine for-"

"Oh I don't mean you hiding my patches under your mattress,"

"What? How did you-"

"I mean," he stood and began pacing. "We live in London. Why has no one been murdered, or nothing been stolen. Or... or something!"

"You need a hobby," John stood and replaced his book, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get any reading done today.

"This is my hobby,"

"Well you need another one,"

"No, I need a case or I may just go mad," Sherlock stopped his pacing and checked his phone for the thousandth time that day.

John laughed softly and mumbled, "You're already mad,"

"I heard that,"

Out of the silence came a beeping that told Sherlock someone had texted him. He picked up his phone and smiled a smile that told John it was either Lestrade or another private client.

"To work then?"

Sherlock looked at John and smiled even wider, if possible.

"No John, now we play,"

The sky blue walls were splashed with what looked like blood, but Sherlock could see it was actually paint. In places the carpet had been ripped up and in the kitchen the floor was strewn with the contents of the fridge and pantry. On the wall behind the desk, one word was written: WHORE. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room and spun around.

"This happened about two hours ago, I can still smell the wet paint," Sherlock bent down and rubbed some dirt on the white carpet. "Whoever did this was a size eleven men's. He was wearing work boots."

Sherlock walked to the computer and felt it for heat.

"They had an interest in the computer," he mumbled, before sitting down and opening it. The screen lit up and Sherlock saw it was open on a questionnaire from a website entitled .uk. "Victim was on the page and left it open when they left the apartment. Arsonist was curious. They know the victim personally."

Sherlock looked around and noticed there was no sign of forced entry, which convinced him even more that the arson had a personal connection to the victim.

Sherlock stood and sniffed the air. He walked to the bathroom to find the mirror fogged.

"Someone has recently had a shower. The arsonist? No, but it was recent," Sherlock turned to Lestrade who had been silently watching him. "When you got here, was the victim-"

"Anna Moore her name is,"

"Was Miss Moore wet?"

"Yes, I believe so,"

"That explains the shower. Why did she shower?"

"What does that matter? What can you tell me," Lestrade demanded.

"Who let the freak in?" Anderson walked in and scowled at Sherlock who closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"Anderson, please leave. You're killing my brain cells," he said quietly.

"Anderson, get out," Lestrade waved his hand.

"But-"

"Out! Holmes, hurry up. I still need you to talk to Anna,"

Sherlock turned and looked Lestrade dead in the eye.

"Miss Moore left her apartment and soon after she was gone our arson broke in. Well, let himself in with his key. Both windows are still locked from the inside and are intact. The arson had his own key, he knew Miss Moore. After he splashed the paint on the walls and messed the kitchen, he found the computer. He looked at the page Miss Moore was on, but didn't change it, possibly interested in her answers to those questions. He then wrote that on the wall and left the way he came in,"

"But that doesn't tell us who-"

"I suggest you look into Miss Moore's dating history. The word on the wall suggests it was a jealous ex-boyfriend, or possibly an admirer who she scorned," Sherlock pulled off his gloves and checked his phone. The time told him it was 2:36pm.

"Lestrade, I think we're done here," Sherlock headed to the door and turned as he reached it. "Miss Moore is waiting."

Lestrade sighed, shook his head and followed Sherlock, calling his team together as he did. John, who had been silently watching the entire time, noticed something that Sherlock hadn't. A photo under the desk. He picked it up and saw a young brunette woman standing in the embrace with a man much taller than her. He pocketed the photo, meaning to show it to Sherlock later.

A sharp pain in her palms told Anna that maybe she had dug her nails in too far. She sincerely hoped they weren't bleeding. She opened her hands and saw, thankfully there was no blood, just little half-moon marks dotted on her palm. She flexed her hands and jiggled her knee. Her hair was still wet from her shower and she felt like a slob in the tracksuit pants and sweater, the only thing she'd had time to put on. The door to the sitting room opened at that moment and the Inspector walked in accompanied by a tall man in a black coat. He had curly, dark brown hair that fell in his eyes, eyes that pierced the room and looked as though they missed nothing. Anna immediately felt uncomfortable under his gaze. He was followed by a shorter man with a walking stick and a kinder gaze. He smiled at Anna, who tried to return it, but was sure the smile did not reach her eyes. Lestrade sat down beside Anna, who flinched visibly.

"Anna, this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. They just need to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?" Lestrade asked patiently. Anna nodded, her heart pounding. The room was beginning to feel quite small. Lestrade smiled and stood, walking to the door. He stopped by that man who was called Sherlock and muttered something that sounded like, "Be gentle," before he left Anna alone with these two men. John came and sat down beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked kindly. Anna flexed her hands and said nothing. She noticed Sherlock staring at her palms and quickly closed them.

"I don't know," she finally said.

"Why did you shower before you called the police?" John asked curiously.

"Mess makes me uncomfortable and showers calm me down,"

"OCD or paranoia?" Sherlock's voice made Anna jump.

"Excuse me?"

"Sherlock…" John hissed warningly. Sherlock ignored him and sat on the table so he was opposite Anna.

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or Paranoia? Or is it both?" Sherlock studied Anna closely.

"I believe Paranoia is associated with OCD," John pointed out.

"Then it is both," Sherlock deduced.

"How the hell did you know that, when I don't even know it for sure?" Anna sounded close to tears.

"Your eyes. They dart around the room, almost like you're looking for a way out. The close proximity of people to you makes you nervous, suggesting claustrophobia. May I see your right hand?" Anna hesitated before putting her hand out. Sherlock took it, flipped it over and ran his finger over the marks there. "You have a habit of digging your fingernails into your palm, it comforts you when you are nervous or afraid," he flipped her hand over and ran and finger over her knuckles, which also looked red raw. "Scratched to the bone by your own teeth. You have an obsession with controlling everything around you, even the contents of your body, so you stick-"

"Stop!" Anna shouted snatching her hand from Sherlock's and standing. She was now shaking and her heart was pounding. "How dare you!"

John stood and made to put a comforting hand on her shoulder but she moved out of his grasp, breathing rather heavily.

"And you hate when people touch you," Sherlock finally said quietly.

"And what does any of that have to do with my apartment being trashed?" Anna's hand hovered over the door handle and she was close to leaving unless this man stopped being a pig and started helping her.

"Everything. You hate to be touched, so you have intimacy problems, your paranoia makes you think you're always doing something wrong. You're obsessed with your appearance, so you periodically starve yourself and then binge and throw it all up. A boyfriend would be concerned about this, but as you're so ashamed of it, you keep everyone at arm's length," Sherlock smiled at Anna, who had a suspicion that he was enjoying this. John stepped closer to Anna, holding his hands up as a sign of peace.

"What Sherlock is trying to say is this incident might be connected with a former boyfriend, or flame," he said. Anna shook her head.

"Why would they do this? It's been ages since I dated anyone,"

John pulled the photo from his pocket.

"Who's that?" he said as he handed her the photo. Anna took it and rolled her eyes.

"My stepbrother and he lives in Ireland, if you must know,"

Sherlock rubbed his chin and stared for a moment at Anna.

"Your job as a waitress must garner you affection and admiration from elder male patrons, especially when you work the later shift,"

Anna didn't even bother to ask how she knew this. She just shook her head.

"I only work the graveyard shift once a week and it's usually only policemen on duty who come in,"

"Is there anyone else?" John urged. Anna nodded to Sherlock.

"Ask him. Can't he just tell you? He seems to know everything else,"

"Alas, if it were only that simple," Sherlock stepped closer to Anna. "This person had a key to your apartment."

Anna's head shot up.

"What?"

"Exactly. Who else besides you had a key?"

"Only my sister and… Henry. Henry West," Anna sighed.

"Henry, who is Henry?"

"I was in hospital last year and he was my doctor. We had a fling for a bit, but I broke it off, for reasons you already know. He seemed fine when we broke up, though," Anna explained.

"He obviously wasn't. When did you break up?"

"Four month ago, I think," Anna suddenly went pale and looked as though she was about to faint. John and Sherlock quickly guided her to the couch and sat her down.

"The letter," she whispered. "I'd forgotten about it."

Sherlock glanced at John.

"Letter?" John said in a low voice.

"Two weeks ago, I found a note in my apartment. It wasn't signed or anything,"

"What did it say?"

"Four words: you belong to me," Anna said. "I didn't think much of it, it could have just been a prank. But now…"

The door opened and Lestrade came in looking annoyed.

"Sherlock, would you mind speeding it up a little?"

Sherlock stood and made for the door. He stopped and looked at Lestrade in excitement.

"What is it?" Lestrade said.

"It appears we have a stalker in London," he clapped his hands. "I haven't had one of these in ages,"