(Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. If I did, there would be romance involved. :D)
She arrived sometime in midwinter. She was there, on the doorstep, with unfocused eyes and chattering teeth. Mrs. Hudson let her in. She filled her with warm tea and wrapped her in multiple blankets, all the while reprimanding her for being outside with only a thin shirt and jeans on. She'd even been barefoot.
It took over an hour before she was at a point where she could speak clear enough for Mrs. Hudson to understand. She managed to stutter out the words, "Where am I?"
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "You're in London."
The girl's gaze drifted around the room, staring at her foreign surroundings with wide eyes. "And, um, do you know what my name is?"
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "No, I'm sorry."
The girl sighed. She knew she'd been grasping at threads with that question. Of course this woman wouldn't know who she was. Not any more than she did, at least.
The front door suddenly opened and she jumped at the sounds of two masculine voices. "I swear, Sherlock, if you keep popping up uninvited like this—"
"Please, John, we both know that whatever threat you're going to make is—oh, hello, who's this?"
She supposed she probably looked very funny, standing in the hallway wrapped in any number of blankets and trying to not spill her tea as she shivered violently. She tried to ignore this, and took in the sight of the two men in front of her. One of them was about her height, with blond hair and dark eyes. He had a sympathetic look about him. Understanding.
The other one was the complete opposite. He was tall with dark hair and eyes that appeared to be gray. There was no sympathy on his face. No, he was simply curious. She didn't know whether she should be intrigued or upset.
"She doesn't know," Mrs. Hudson said, her hands fluttering in the air in front of her like two pale butterflies.
"Doesn't know?" The blond one frowned.
"Oh, of course," the brunet one said, smiling. "Amnesia. I thought so." The smile wasn't for her, or Mrs. Hudson, she knew. It was congratulatory. Good going, me, I knew you were right...
"Where's she going to stay?" He was John, wasn't he? Yes, she thought. The nice one was John.
Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips together in thought. "I have a spare bedroom she could stay in for the time being."
An odd feeling crept over her. It felt like annoyance, like she wanted to tell them I'm here, please don't speak about me as though I'm not but then she thought better of it, seeing as they were being fairly hospitable so far. Even though she didn't know who they were and they didn't know her. She glanced at Mrs. Hudson.
"I'd like that," she mumbled. She felt eyes on her, and resisted the urge to glare up at the dark haired one who must be Sherlock. "Maybe a good night's sleep will bring my memory back."
"Doubtful," Sherlock said, shrugging off his coat and tugging at his scarf. John sighed.
"What do you mean?"
"Sleep isn't usually the recommended cure for amnesia."
"I can at least be hopeful, can't I?" She could feel the frown forming on her face.
He turned towards the stairs and called over his shoulder, "What good will that do you?"