Author's Note: Thank you so much for taking time to read this! The story is set before Reichenbach Fall, so probably in season 2. Sorry if I make Sherlock sound a bit dumb, I'm not that good at writing for him, especially when he says something smart. Also, I don't own Sherlock, just my OC Clara, and I apologize for any mispellings, or commas being out of place. This is my first fanfic on here, so I hope you like it! Please R&R! : )
It was a normal evening at Baker Street. With John working on his blog, and Sherlock off in his mind palace. John could have swore he heard someone knocking on the door, but he just assumed it was someone visiting over in the flat next to them.
"Do you hear something?" he finally asked Sherlock, when the knocking seemed to become a loud banging sound.
"What?" Sherlock asked, not even breaking his concentration.
"It's like someone's knocking."
"I'm sure if there was knocking, I would have heard it by now." Sherlock said with annoyance filling his tone.
"I suppose." John shrugged, deciding to go back to his work.
The sound of a gunshot suddenly filled the room, coming from somewhere outside their door. John immediantly sprung up, and ran down the stairs, while Sherlock merely snapped out of his mind palace. He swung the door open to reveal a girl with dark brown braided hair, laying on the step unconsious. John quickly glanced over to her arm, to notice a bullet lodged in it. He quickly muttered an obscenity, before picking her up, and carrying her upstairs.
"Well, looks like we have a new client." John said before laying the girl on one of their couches.
A small smirk tugged on John's lips at the sight of the great Sherlock Holmes looking slightly surprised.
"The bullets not in their too deep, I'm sure I can get it out if I tried." John said before going to find the medical kit he keeps in case one of his roomate's expirements go wrong.
Sherlock studied the girl, before realizing he had met her before.
A month earlier, Mrs. Hudson had been robbed of a ring she owned, leading Sherlock into a chase with a teenage girl. He had finally trapped her in an ally way, eventually pushing her into the brick wall. He had her arm twisted behind her back, making sure to put pressure on it.
"Now, are you going to give me that ring back? Or must I break your arm to get it?" Sherlock said sternly.
"I'd love to see you try." the girl said with a smirk plastered on her face.
Sherlock pushed harder on her arm, only getting a grunt back from the thief. They both turned their heads, at the sound of trashcans falling over in the distance. The girl took the oppurtunity of a distracted Sherlock, to free herself from his grasp, and run off. Sherlock started to take after her, before being cornered himself by two gruffer looking men. One of them pushed him to the ground, and held him at gunpoint. Sherlock put his hands behind his head, while trying to come up with an escape plan. He heared a gun cock, assuming it's one of the men, but notices it's the girl who had stolen Mrs. Hudson's ring. She closes her eyes before shooting the two men down, saving Sherlock. Once she saw they were dead, she ran over to a clearly surprised Sherlock Homes.
"You shot them." he said still clearly shocked.
"Yeah well, you can thank me later." she said before reaching into her pocket, and handing him the ring. "Here."
Sherlock took the ring before looking at her, trying to figure this mysterious girl out. "Why?" was all he could say.
"You're Sherlock Holmes. Figure it out." she shrugged before running off, back into the streets of London.
Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts, as John comes back in with a couple of medical supplies.
"So, any idea who she is?" he asked while starting to work on her arm.
"You could say we've met before." Sherlock shrugged before sitting down in his chair.
"Wait. You know who she is?" John asked looking up from his work.
"Not exactly, though I do know she lives with her grandmother." "And you know that how?"
"Easy. When you brought the girl in here I smelled perfume."
"Sherlock, all girls where perfume." John said.
"Yes, I know that, John. But, the perfume I smelled is one that is commonly worn by older women." Sherlock said huffing in frustration.
"Maybe she just likes the smell of that perfume." John said, not fully understanding Sherlock's deduction.
"Don't be so daft, John." Sherlock said rolling his eyes at how stupid John could be.
"Well excuse me for being 'daft'." he said wrapping a bandage around the girls arm.
John packed up the rest of the supplies, before realizing he was curious about how Sherlock knew she lived with her grandmother.
"Okay, what about the perfume?" he said in defeat.
Sherlock smirked at how he had one this argument.
"When you layed her on the couch, and then preceeded to walk by me, I smelled the perfume on your clothes. Which could only have come from her clothes, and if she only visited her grandmother occasionally the perfume wouldn't have had time to set into the fabric. But, if she were to live with her grandmother the scent would eventually where off into the girl's clothes. Thus, giving off that scent of her grandmother's perfume."
"You got all that from perfume?" John said in both amazement, and confusion.
"Of course I did." Sherlock stated, almost offended that John would think he got it wrong. "I've not even gotten to the wrinkles in her dress."
"The what?" John asked.
Before Sherlock could explain, the girl began to stir. She slowly sat up, groaning at the pain in her arm. She looked around at her surrondings, before seeing Sherlock and John standing there.
"You..." She said looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. John started to say something, but was quickly interrupted by Sherlock.
"Fancy meeting you again."
"Can't say the same about you."
"Who are you?" he questioned.
"And why should I tell you? You're the one's who shot me!" she said getting angry.
"Actually, we found you unconscious on our front steps with a bullet in you arm." John said, finally getting a word in.
The girl glanced at the bandage. "Oh, thank you."
"Now, who are you?" Sherlock said sternly. He hated not knowing things, and this girl definitely had lots of secrets.
She huffed, "Fine. The name's Clara Helmes."
"Holmes?" John said glancing at Sherlock and the girl.
"Helmes, not Holmes." Clara said correcting him. She noticed he didn't seem very satisfied by the answer. "Is that a problem?"
"No." John said quickly. "It's just, I honestly wouldn't be surprised. You two look awfully alike."
Sherlock noticed Clara did share the same hair and eye color as himself.
"Why is somebody trying to kill you?" Sherlock asked, interrupting them.
"What, those blokes? Yeah, they've been after me for a while." Clara said shrugging.
"Why?" John asked, sitting down himself.
"Now hold on, you've not even told me who you all are." Clara said, even though she clearly new who Sherlock was.
Sherlock walked over to her and shook her hand. "Sherlock Holmes."
John also shook her hand. "Dr. John Watson."
"Thank you for fixing up my arm, Dr. Watson." she said putting on a half smile.
"You can just call me John."
"Alright, John." she said before looking at Sherlock. "And what do you prefer me to call you as?"
"'Mr. Holmes' will be fine." he stated. "Now, who were those men?"
"Again, just some blokes that have a few "issues" with me." Clara said, trying to avoid the question.
"What men?" John asked, glancing at the two of them.
"Like I said, John. We've met before."
"Under some, not great circumstances, but I was smart enough to get us out." Clara said smugly.
" Smart? If we're talking about intelligence, I hold a much higher place with intellectual knowledge than you do." Sherlock said feeling challenged.
"Oh really? Prove it." she said smirking.
John put his head in his hands and groaned. "Here we go."
"The scent of your perfume means you obviously live with your grandmother." Sherlock started out.
"Oh really? How do you know I just don't like the scent of the perfume."
John lifted his head up to look at Clara. "That's what I said."
"Because, you're not even wearing the perfume." Sherlock stated.
"Quite right, Mr. Holmes. I would never wear anything that smelled so bloody awful, my grandmother would though. She sprays it on every single item we own, she's convinced it keeps stuff fresher." Clara said, getting almost amused by Sherlock trying to deduce her.
"I also assume she does your laundry?"
"Assume?" John said in confusion, as Sherlock has never assumed anything in his life.
"Yes she does, every morning. Irons it and everything." Clara said, merely ignoring John's question.
"How long has your grandmother been missing?"
"Why would you think my grandmother's missing?" Clara tried her best to throw him off track.
"You said your grandmother ironed your clothes everyday. If she really did, then there would be no wrinkles on your dress, but there certainly is. The wrinkles are very deep, almost weeks since they've been ironed out. Also, the scent of perfume on your clothes is weak, yet not weak enough not to smell it, but still not enough if she would have done your laundry recently. And when I shook your hand, I noticed that the nail if your third finger was chewed, as though you were nervous. But why else would you be nervous, unless you knew something was wrong, like your grandmother was missing. Also by the way you walk and hold yourself, you're 15. Am I wrong?"
Sherlock said, finishing up his deduction. Now it was Clara's turn to surprise them both.
"John, you said you were a doctor, correct?"
John nodded in confusion, "Um, yes."
"Haircut, way you hold yourself, says military. You're a bit tanned, yet there's no tan above the wrists so, you've been abroad, but not sunbathing. So, obviously army doctor in...Afghanistan? And if it were Afghanistan you would have been recruited in Kandahar, Helmand City in the Royal Army Medical Corps. Also, when you walked over to sit down, you slightly limped on your left leg as though you've been injured, maybe shot? But if it were that bad, it seems as though you would put more wait on your right leg, but you don't. So, it's almost as though you foget about it, which means the limp might be psychosomatic. But if you weren't shot in the leg, then where were you shot? " Clara paused before continuing. "Then again, I'm not always accurate with my deductions. Oh, and Mr. Holmes? You are right, my grandmother has been missing for about a week now, and I am 15."
John just sits they with his mouth open in complete and utter shock, while Sherlock's mind is racing on how she had the knowledge to make deductions.
"It is psychosomatic. How did you know?" was all John could get out.
"There's a lot you can learn by merely observing something or someone." Clara said before turning to Sherlock. "I'm assuming that's what Mr. Holmes here does."
"Clever deduction, Ms. Helmes." Sherlock said smirking.
"You're not to bad yourself, Mr. Holmes." she said half smiling, before pausing. "Really, I am sorry for intruding. And thank you again for fixing my arm, John." Clara smiled and headed towards the door.
"Wait, where are you going?" John asked quickly.
"Home of course."
"Is it really that smart to be walking around at night when someone was just trying to kill you?"
"I'll be alright, Dr. Watson." Clara smiled reassuringly.
"Well could you at least give us your number?"
"Sorry, don't have a phone. Well I did, but mum took it away from me when I texted a serial killer. "
John's face scrunched up in confusion, as he tried to imagine that happening in his head. "And why did you text a serial killer?"
"I was trying to solve a case." she said shrugging.
John rolled his eyes, "Oh that's a good reason."
"I could walk you back." Sherlock said interrupting them.
"You want to walk me home?" Clara asked, now being her turn to be confused.
"I don't see why not." Sherlock shrugged.
"Alright." Clara said, while Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf.
The two left, leaving a still confused John behind.
" Hm, Clara Helmes, Helmes...nope, still sounds like Holmes. "