A/N - Hey, this is my first Sherlock FanFiction. I hope you all enjoy it! I know the characters stray slightly from being cannon but where's the fun in sticking the the rules? ;) Well... that's my excuse! Cx

Chapter 1 – The first encounter.

Sherlock POV

Walking up the stairs with my colleague, my flatmate and my best friend Dr John Watson laughing and joking was a regular occurrence. We were on our way to a crime scene again. The police called us when they were out of their depth, which was stupid, the police are always out of their depth… they might as well just have us on a permanent station. Anyway, we were walking up to the top of a block of flats when a female voice floated through the door.

"Dead man and woman, in their 20's, probably romantically involved even though he's been beating her up. The noose around the woman's neck is all for show, she was strangled and then stabbed. He died from stab wounds into his abdomen. Self-inflicted? Possibly. Then there's the window that was opened. Perhaps for someone they knew."

My mouth dropped open. That voice, it sounded so familiar… Where did I know it from? John turned to look at me, shock plastered all over his face.

"She…she's a female you!" He managed to stumble out before rushing up to the steps and into the room above. With a sigh I gave in to curiosity and followed him, coming face to face with a tall, elegant redhead wearing jeans and a black 'military coat' with her long hair tied up, presumably to stop it being whipped into her face in the harsh winds, the loose remains tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were surrounded by a dusky eyeliner, accented by a silver glow and her eyelashes curved up with a tint of blue, hiding the late nights she stayed awake. She reminded me of someone but I couldn't work out whom…

"Whoa whoa whoa! Wait a minute! Where are you getting this all from?" Lestrade's deep voice inquired.

"Well, on the inside of the woman's ring it says 'to Katy, love Kurt xx'. If I open the guy's wallet his credit cards all say Kurt Tyler. Kurt and Katy were supposedly 'in love'. However, the excessive make-up on her cheek suggests bruises that she didn't want anyone to see. They were presenting a united front in public yet in private Kurt was whacking her about. Why are they presenting public unity? She's pregnant perhaps or there's been a recent family death, waiting for the right moment. The noose around her neck is too loose. It couldn't have possibly strangled her but Kurt's hands are about the right size to fit around her neck. Making this a murder/suicide. Or is it? The angles of these wounds are too severe to have been self inflicted. It's an obvious conspiracy gone wrong. If the window was left open for someone else Kurt had planned to murder Katy and-"

"pass it off on some gang member who jumped into the flat when they turned on him and stabbing him to death…" The last words of her sentence left my mouth before I could stop them and the room turned to look at me.

"Ah, Mr Holmes. You're late. We've been expecting you!" The mystery woman crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at me. It was as if she was attempting to read me.

"Who, may I ask, is the we you refer to?"

Cienna POV

A smile played across my lips. Holmes was here. Just as she wanted. It was all falling into place.

"We being Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and myself!"

Turning back to the bodies off the two young people I suppressed a sigh. They were too young to die. What kind of an age is 21? Nothing… a drop in the ocean. They had their whole lives ahead of them. What a stupid man, I bet he never expected that to happen! An electrician apprentice, wire coating under his fingernails and an electric burn on one finger. I'm not surprised it all went wrong. I can't see him being a man with a degree.

"I wasn't exactly joyous at you arriving…." Anderson muttered. What an insolent man. I despised him and I'd only known him 5 minutes.

"Oh shut up Anderson!"

Was that? Did we? No, we can't have done. Lestrade looked between Holmes and I baffled.

"Did you two just… say the same thing… at the same time?" He looked perplexed.

"No!"

There we go again! I glanced over at Holmes and saw him studying me so, straightening up, I turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to keep a face of innocence.

He sighed, starting to walk a circle around me.

"You intrigue me, I am sure I have never seen you before in my life yet I think I recognise you from somewhere. I can't put my finger on it…" He put his hand over his mouth, his fingers stretching up round his face. "It's obviously a woman you remind me of. Yet I know hardly any females. It's not Molly, you're too clever and it defiantly isn't Donovan, you aren't that insufferable. So who is it?" He looked frustrated. Poor guy. I know who I remind him of, who I remind everyone of, yet I'm nothing like her… I'm a good girl… most of the time.

"Anyway, never mind, it's not who you remind me of it's who you are. So who are you? You stay up late, you come from a windy place, you like long hair but you hate it getting in your face, and you're a perfectionist by the neatness of your clothes. Straight, down to the last badge. You studied at Cambridge, blue university ring on your necklace. Cambridge colours, maybe studied Physics? You play the piano, long fingers; some slightly bruised, descripts the attempted to play some wide apart chords and kept catching your fingers on the keys. You've been sat on a train for a couple of hours. Straight from Cardiff? You recently re-hemmed your coat. It's precious to you, gift from a loved one? You don't want to get rid of it so when it unexpectedly shrank, your flat-mate tumble dried it, you simply had it readjusted." He's good, very good, but not good enough… I smiled at him. I may as well play the game.

"I'm Cienna, Cienna Hall-Owen." I was going to have to remember that. "Born in Wales, moved to Falkland Islands, moved back to Wales, very windy. I'm a night owl, I always have been and you're right about the perfectionist thing! The Piano soothes my mind and helps me think. Perfect for the more… complex, mind." A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Realistic? I think so. Convincing to Holmes? I'll find out soon enough.

"Hmm. nice to meet you Cienna… Hall-Owen. I suppose you're with the police?" He continued to walk a circle around me, slowly dragging his heels with each step.

I breathed a small sigh of relief. He seemed to have accepted my lies.

"Yeah, I'm here one, like, a transfer. I just got assigned to Lestrade's division today." I smiled sweetly at him; technically this bit was true… I just need to sweeten him up. After a brief hesitation he didn't scowl back! He's obviously deciding to at least try and be civil to me.

"Well, that makes one thing that's Lestrade's division" John chuckled lightly. Doctor John Watson, an interesting man. He genuinely seemed like a nice guy, you know the type, kind, quiet, funny and loyal. Yet he hung around with Holmes. He seemed to like the unsociable, sharp-tongued Sociopath… how unusual.

Sherlock POV

She continued to examine me. I should really at least try and give her a chance, after all, John will shout at me if I don't.

"Are you wanting something?" I couldn't hold out any longer. She turned and smiled, Resisting the urge to scowl I waited.

"Just trying to get a read of you…" This seemed to be funny to Lestrade.

"You, find something from Sherlock! Please! No one can find anything from that man… he is unreadable… unbearable!"

She continued to smiles.

"I wouldn't say that. Far from it in fact. See here, His trousers have massive creases in them; they suggest he hasn't been up long. Late riser? Maybe so, maybe he just went back to sleep after a late night of experimenting and was woken up to come here by Dr Watson, who has much lighter creases in his, suggesting he's been up a while and gained these from sitting in a cab for half an hour, Kensington nice? I heard about the overturned bus. You started your journey around Baker Street. Not too sure with section but about the 200 mark. You have a housekeeper because even though neither of you iron, your trousers have recently had folds ironed into them and have been hung up neatly. Not quite your forte. The grease on your hands shows you play a stringed instrument, violin by the red depression under your left chin. You take good care of it and you play regularly. You cleaned the bow just before you left in a hurry; it's starting to crust so I'd say that was about half an hour ago, ties in with the creases formed on John's trousers. You're right handed, or at least a right handed player. This could suggest you were awake but weren't dressed appropriately -"

"Pah! Sherlock, dressed inappropriately… well that's a first!" John sniggered. " - to arrive at a crime scene. One last thing, you have plaster dust in his hair, but that, I have no idea about. New flat? Building work nearby?" She reeled off still staring into my face attracting open mouthed stares from the members around.

"Actually, he shot the wall…" John started to say before trailing off at my expression.

"Bored? Most probably. So Holmes, how close am I?" She leaned back against the door frame pushing her fringe that she intends to get cut out of her eyes.

Sighing I looked around the room before answering.

"We don't have a housekeeper, Mrs Hudson is our Landlady, I've been awake since 3am, I always dress appropriat-"

"Since when did nothing but a sheet count as appropriate for Buckingham palace?" John snorted.

"Just a sheet…. No pants? Dear God freak that's, that's gross…" Donovan looked extremely sickened.

"-ely and I've lived in the same flat for almost 8 months now!" Ignoring all off the other comments I kept correcting her. The vile woman in the corner.

"Well… while we're on the subjects of mistakes, I didn't study at Cambridge, Cardiff was just a train change and the coat's been re-hemmed more than once." With a sweet smile she turned to walk out of the door. "Oh, by the way, Happy Birthday Mr Holmes!"

"I didn't know it was your birthday…" John tried to supress a smirk. "Well, it looks like Sherlock's finally met his match. Or at least one on the right side this time…"

I turned up my coat collar and stalked out of the door. Irene, Irene Adler. That was who she reminded me of. Hailing down a cab I supressed a scowl. Her real name definitely wasn't Cienna Hall-Owen, she had been lying about most things. I absolutely loath her.