Well. I'll start from the beginning. You may want to take a seat or make a cup of tea, because…well, it's a long story. It all started with me needing a new flat. Actually, it started with the mould growing up the walls and constant minus temperatures but, you know what I mean. I didn't want something too costly, somewhere I could share the rent, equally. I had been searching for months; getting nowhere fast. I had searched the papers again and again but everyone was either boring or preferred not to have female flat mates. Oh, how rude of me; my name is Elizabeth Marie Sheppard and I'm 26 years of age. So, I continued to live in the cramped, disgusting flat, relieved every time I left the place to walk to work. I worked in a café as a waitress (not incredibly interesting). In my spare time, I write. I have written two stories and I am currently on my third. Of course, no-one had ever read them, apart from me. I didn't really think them of any value; I just did it to pass the time. I am quite enthusiastic and easily inspired. I also like to draw in my spare time, but that's all you need to know at the moment.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, I was looking for a new flat but the idea was beginning to fade. I carried on with the usual routine of working at the café and doing whatever on the weekends. The first time I met him was on a Wednesday. I was running the cash register and it was getting to around six in 6 the afternoon, almost closing time. I had had a busy day, not expecting someone to walk in. He was like a ghost; I didn't even hear him come in. I was leaning forward on the counter, scribbling ideas for a new story on my order pad. I had no idea how long he was standing there and I still don't.

~ Wednesday ~

The rain fell from the sky, dancing around the air and sending repeating patterns down the window. The thunder let out a low growl but no lightning following. Must be a short storm, I thought, as I wiped the counter with a soggy cloth. I'm in a whole other world, ideas racing through my mind. I pulled the order pad from the pouch on my apron and began to scribble. I didn't notice the door open and continued to write on the pad. The ding of the bell on the counter was enough to give me a start and I let out a low yelp. The tall man cleared his throat and stared, sending red to my cheeks. I gathered myself and looked up. "Hello… What would you like," I tried to sound welcoming and pretended that my little episode never happened. He continued to stare at me for a second.

"Just a coffee to go, thank you," He murmured. I turned to the coffee machine, hiding my face form his gaze. I could feel his eyes burning into my back and I blushed again. Why am I so unsociable? Not thinking that I would have another costumer, I had stupidly turned the coffee machine off. Damn it…

"Sorry, the coffee machine will need some time to warm up again," His eyes narrowed and he turned away. Running a hand through his messy curls, he took a seat at one the tables near the window. I leaned against the counter again, writing on the pad and waiting for the machine to beep. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn toward me. I looked toward him, his eyes narrowing and head tilting. If the machine hadn't beeped, we would have probably been there for ever. I hurried over and stuck a waxed cardboard cup under the hot water tap on the machine. I hit the button the start it, not realising I still had my hand on the cup, the hot water poured out, catching the side of my hand. I jumped away and placed a hand over the burn, covering it as it reddens. Before I knew it the mystery man took hold of my injured hand and gently pulled me towards the sink. He ran the cold water and shoved it under the tap. He went round the back and returned with a small frozen bag of peas from the freezer. He wrapped it up in a thin towel and walked towards me. Turning off the tap, he took my hand and placed the cold bundle on top, placing my other hand over it to indicate for me to hold it. Turning to the coffee machine, he finished making it and left some money on the counter top.

"Take a pain killer when you get home. You should try soaking the burn in a salt solution or non-fat milk; to speed up the healing. Also, apply some aloe vera gel and wrap it up in a gauze or some sort of bandage, preferably, sterilised," He said and left. I stood staring after him, totally confused at what had just happened. I lifted the towel and peered at the red mark left on my skin. It was sore and uncomfortable but I resisted scratching at it.

I turned the sign over to closed and went to the coat hanger. I grabbed my satchel and coat. I headed for the door but stopped when I noticed the weather. Great! I hadn't noticed it getting worse but the rain was plummeting down like gravity had increased. I (being stupid) had grabbed my small coat, which didn't include a hood. I decided it would be better to wait it out for a bit, even though the wind was minimal, it still wasn't a pleasant thought to have to walk in it. I went to sit at one of the tables, when I saw a small black object resting on the counter. He must have left his umbrella, I thought, thinking back to the mysterious man. It almost felt as if he had left it there on purpose… I shrugged the thought off and opened the door. He won't need it anytime soon; I might as well use it. Maybe he'll come back another day for it. I opened up the umbrella and locked the door behind me.

When I got home I shrugged my coat off carefully, trying not to catch my still sore hand. I kicked my shoes off and placed the umbrella by the door. After turning on the kettle and heating, I retrieved my first-aid kit. I put the hot water into a bowl and dissolved a tablespoon of salt in the water, allowing it to cool down. Sticking a pencil between my teeth, I soaked the solution over the burn. I bit down on the pencil hard, converting my pain into strength. When I had finished, I rubbed some antiseptic cream over it and wrapped it up in gauze. It still felt sore but I could deal with it.

It got to around nine o'clock and I was sitting at the table, once again scanning through a newspaper. All the flats were just not what I was looking. I glanced at one, catching my eye with some bold lettering.

The ad said:

One room, private. With shared; living room space, kitchen and bathroom. Rent shared between two other flat mates. For more details or an appointment call; 07700 900533

WARNING; those with weak stomachs and/or aren't good under pressure are not suitable.

Address:

221b Baker Street

London, England

NW1 6XE

How interesting… I circled it with a thick marker and stared at it. Hesitating, I thought about calling straight away but it might be too late. I decided to call and dialled the number.

"Hello?" answered a man, not sounding tired in the least.

"Hello. My name is Elizabeth Sheppard. I'm calling about the ad in the paper. Is it still on offer?" I asked, hoping not to sound too eager.

"Uh… sure… I mean, yes, of course. I'm John Watson. Shall we meet tomorrow; I can show you the flat?"

"Yes. That would be great, thank you," YES!

"I'll text you where we'll meet. It was nice talking Ms Sheppard,"

~ Thursday ~

I stood waiting outside the address of a café that John had sent me. I noticed a short man walk towards me, a small smile on his face. I smiled back.

"Elizabeth?" He asked.

"Please, call me Lizzie," I insisted. We walked into the café. After ordering coffees, we sat down and John explained the arrangements in the flat and about what he does for a living. He seemed un-nerved when discussing it but I insured him that I was fine with it. I mean, come on! A consulting detective?! Think of the inspiration I could get from their cases! He then started to talk about the other flat mate.

"Sherlock… Well, he's unusual. He can be… Well, he…" He struggled to find the right words.

"Doesn't play well with others?" I chuckled. John and I continued to talk, telling him about myself and what have you. He then stared down at my hand and frowned.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

"I burnt it on a coffee machine. I think I treated it well. A man was there and told me what to do." I explain.

"May I take a look? I am a doctor."

"Well, that's good. I'm quite clumsy, so, it would be good to have a doctor around," I laughed. I un-wrapped it and John scanned over the injury. He noted that I had done well to treat it and the mystery man had some good advice. We decided to leave so I could take a look at the flat and do the one thing that John dreaded the most. Meet Sherlock.

We arrived at the flat. I pulled my orange curls into a pony tail and entered. The flat was lovely. I looked around upstairs, at the room I would be renting and then John led me to the living room. I entered, taking in the whole room. There was a lovely old fireplace to my left, a sofa to my right and a table in between. The wall paper was a beautiful black floral pattern. Sitting on the chair to the right of the fireplace, was a tall man. His black curls were combed neatly but were still messy. He had high cheek bones and lovely sea foam eyes. They were so familiar.

"Oh. It's you. My saviour,"

"You burnt your hand. It wasn't fatal," Sherlock said, bluntly.

"Yes. Well, thank you. Oh, by the way, you left this," I said, handing the umbrella over. He took it, his cold hand catching my wrist.

"The rain was going to get worse by the time you left. You needed it more than I did," I don't see what John was so worried about. "How long ago did you injure your ankle?"

"A year ago. How do you do that?"

"I look and pay attention to the tiny details. You lean on you left leg but shift onto the right every so often. I was only a sprain," He explained.

"What else can you tell about?" I asked intrigued. John looked at me confused. Had I said something wrong?

"You are in your twenties. I would say…26. You think yourself unique, which you are. There aren't many ginger haired and green eyed women, naturally. You work as a waitress, whom I, of course, already know, but you don't like working there. You have red marks on your elbow and wrists were you lean while writing, you write to keep yourself entertained and use anything and everything to inspire you. You wear bright things because you don't like the dark. Not a phobia, more that you prefer to look at the positive of everything. Probably because there has been enough negativity in your past. The watch around your wrist, it's old. It was someone else's before yours, maybe a parent's. You lost a parent, in an accident. By the look of the scar on your right eyebrow, you were beaten as a child; by your… Father. He blamed you for her death; your mother's death,"

"Well done, Mr Holmes," I clapped. Both man looked shocked.

"That's not what normal people say," Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing.

"What do normal people say?"

"Piss off,"

"Well, I'm not your average person, as you said, I'm unique. But you missed one thing, Mr Holmes. My mother never died in an accident. She was murdered. I'll take the flat and move in tomorrow. Goodbye, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes," I said and left the living room, leaving the two men to stand and stare after me in confusion. I was just in ear shot to hear "What?" escaped John's mouth, before I left.