Well, Sherlock story, take two. Cheers. Hi, I'm Ali, I write random shit and publish it on the interwebs. Nuff said. So, here is my new brain child. Have fun.

UPDATE: Seeing as two people had problems with the language, I'm going through and cleaning it up. You're welcome!

Disclaimer: Yes, I own Sherlock. THEY'RE MIIIIINE. Okay, really no. I just rent them to be my little flesh-puppets.

Well, one thing is official. My dad is a complete jerk. Mycroft Holmes. Why did he have to go get my mom knocked up? I mean, I've heard of some crappy dads but he most certainly takes the cake.

Curse my life.

Maybe I should back up a bit. This is all probably as confusing to you. Hell, it's confusing as to me. And I have to live it. So here's the story of my incredibly screwed up life. God, why do I have to be a Holmes?

The name's Larissa. No middle name. And up until quite recently, no last name either. Just Larissa. Thanks, Mom. Never got to meet her. My mom, I mean. She apparently had an one-night thing with father dearest and got preggo with me. My guess is that alcohol was involved.

Anyway, Mom dies and says in her will that I'm her child. She doesn't leave me anything, though. She just acknowledges my existence. Hello, you're my spawn, won't you tell me your name sort of thing. You know, maybe it is a good thing I grew up in an orphanage. Both sides of my family seem pretty screwed up.

So, back to my childhood. I grew up in an orphanage, which sounds much worse than it actually is. People did actually care about each other. More than care, actually. None of us had anywhere else to go, so we learned to put up with each other. I was still the loner, though. While other people were putting up Justin Bieber posters, I was blasting Metallica whilst putting up my ameture drawings of Eddie. Drawing is basically my only talent. Well, art in general. From a young age, it just clicked for me. Tablets, sculpture, jewelry, paints, pencils...it just works.

Besides for that, I really have no redeeming features, personality-wise. I really don't care about school, my musical talent is non-existent and I'm arguably the most pathetic athlete to ever walk the planet.

Looks-wise, I have pitch-black, curly hair that is terrible to control. My nose, mouth and cheekbones are all sharp and pointed, with definite lines. You can basically see through my skin, it's so pale. The fact that I told the sun it could kiss my ass probably doesn't help, though. I've always been taller than the average person, so all eyes are immediately drawn to me. My eyes are this grey that look like the sky right before it decides to dump six inches of rain on you. I look intimidating and more than a bit scary.

I honestly have never cared about how my face is laid out. There's nothing I can do to change that. That doesn't mean I don't take pride in my appearance, though. Even if I don't blend in. I take my fashion inspiration from Joe Elliott. Sue me.

Anyway, that was massively off-topic. Point is, I most certainly am not made to be a Holmes. Yet here we are.

My dad is apparently very busy, due to the fact that he sent me to live with my uncle without even meeting me first. Oh, and when I say live with, I mean he gave me the flat below theirs. Feeling the love yet?

You know, maybe this won't be so bad. I get to blast my music whenever I want to, eat whatever I want to and just screw around. As soon as I get there.

Buildings fly from behind the windows I'm gazing through, waiting to reach my new home. All my furniture will already be set up, so I'll just have to unpack. Shouldn't be too hard.

Just as I complete this thought, we pull up to a building. 221 Baker Street. Home sweet home.

An elderly woman is standing at the door. She has been waiting for us, I can tell.

"Oh, hello there! You must be Sherlock's niece. You look just like him!" she grins at me before wrapping me in a motherly embrace. I awkwardly pat her on the back, but a slight smile touches my lips. Maybe things will be okay.

After a few more minutes of the necessary pleasantries, I'm finally taken to 221 A Baker Street. My new home. The walls are covered in some flowery black wallpaper. I make a mental note to cover my walls with as much stuff as possible.

I walk in further and am met with a side hallway, which turns out to be my kitchen. The thought makes me smirk, seeing as I can barely cook ramen. The front hall leads to a big room, which has a plain black table and a comfortable-looking couch, as well as a few chairs and a telly.

There are three doors branching from there. I open the first one and am met with what looks to be the laundry room. Washer, dryer...yepp. All my clothes go here.

The second one opens into a completely blank room. The floor is made of concrete, a stark contrast to the wooden floors that permeate through the rest of the flat. Mrs. Hudson says something about contractors not having time to finish the room, but I barely hear her. I'm too bloody enraptured by this place. A small window is on the wall, providing ventilation. The walls are a plain white. This will be my art room. It's utterly perfect. I could do whatever in here and not damage anything.

My bedroom is behind the third door. It's cozy and has a nice, cream-colored bed. There is potential in this room. A door opens to a bathroom and my tour is complete.

"Let me know if you need anything, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiles before leaving. I smile back before turning to face the boxes that need unpacking. But you know what? I've had a long day. So I ignore them and turn to the TV. Doctor Who will be on soon. Life can wait.

Okay, that's it. Float me a review if you like it, please! Oh, and about the chapter titles. I'm going to name them after songs that sort of fit the mood and then put a little reference to the song in the chapter. This one should be pretty obvious :) Updates come Fridays. So, review, love, bye!