Hey guys! This is something that I've been wanting to try out for some time now. This is supposed to be set at the beginning of season three, and I'll be doing my own spin on the rest of it as I'm sure you'll notice. My character is called Victoria Quinn, and we'll be learning a lot about her in the next few chapters. Since this is my first Sherlock fanfic, please be kind. If you think it's absolute shit, then you're free to let me know of course. Let me know what you think, and happy readings!

She had never really been a part of his life. In all honesty, Victoria was certain that Mr. Holmes had never intended for her to be something more than what she was. She had seen him for years in her place of work. The bookshop she owned was nowhere near where he lived; nor was there any books that seemed to capture his interest either. She had worked hard for the shop, and had decided thereafter to only fill it with books that she could stand behind. Being a bit of a shut-in herself, the collection of books that she sold grew at an alarming rate. Every single one of them either dealt with historic events, cooking or travelling. None of those things seemed to interest Sherlock Holmes. Despite all of this, he was one of her most regular customers.

He rarely talked to her, not more than a few stuttered sentences that were followed by a shy look and a snide remark about her selection. Even though he wasn't very nice and he always refused to hear her side about the books he nagged at her about, she still found him endearing. For a few weeks, it seemed as if he was getting increasingly easy to talk to – this fact alone should probably have made her question what was wrong. Weeks turned into months, and not before long – she considered them to be quite close. Or, at the very least as close as you could call a relationship with the sociopath. And then, he disappeared. All of the ruckus that was going on in the papers, calling him a sham and whatnot had never bothered her. But then, as she sat down behind her sales counter with a cup of tea and the morning paper in hand – her heart stopped. He was dead. Sherlock was really dead. Victoria was surprised to find that she was in fact heartbroken.

A few days later, whilst she was tidying up around the shop, a blonde man stepped in. He was a bit shorter than her, which wasn't surprising since she was really a tall woman, and he had a terribly solemn expression on his face. She knew him instantly. It was John Watson, Sherlock's best mate and partner. Victoria had never actually met John, nor had Sherlock discussed him much – all for the sake of keeping his life private to her, no doubt – but she had a sudden need to hug the man. He must be hurting quite significantly.

Victoria turned the vacuum off and straightened the blue blouse she wore over her typical black jeans and looked directly at John, who now stood right in front of her. "Hi, Miss. Quinn I presume? My name is…" John started, but Victoria cut him off before he could finish his greeting; "John Watson, yes – I know. You're Mr. Holmes partner." She stuttered, not quite knowing what to say.

"Ah, yes, yes. Listen, I don't know how you knew Sherlock – I'm afraid to say that he never mentioned you, but as you might know he passed away a few days ago." John continued, fidgeting where he stood. Victoria's head dropped slightly and she crossed her pale arms over her chest. "Yes, I know. It was in the papers." She mumbled.

"Of course. Well, the funeral is this Saturday. Before Sherlock… Passed, he sent me a text message urging me to find you. I of course, had no idea what he meant before he died. My guess is that he was well-aware of the fact that he would meet his demise. If you aren't comfortable, then by all means continue on with your life – but I thought I'd give you this." John rambled, before reaching into the pocket of his coat and proceeded to pull out a slightly wrinkled up envelope which he then handed to her.

Victoria furrowed her brows slightly before taking the note. "All of the details should be in there. Might I ask, how did the two of you know each other? See, I always just assumed that Sherlock didn't have any people in his life that I did not know about." John's question was justified, but Victoria had no idea of how to answer it.

"We were friends, I suppose. He's been coming here for a long time, but we only started talking more than him dishing out incredibly rude assessments just a few months ago. He was a tricky man, your friend." Victoria explained, shaking her head slightly at Sherlock's crazy antics.

John chuckled slightly at her words, clearly assessing her himself as they talked. "Well, that does sound like Sherlock. He could make you mad just by talking to you for five minutes."

"Yeah, certainly. He once told me that I should end all communication with my mother just for wearing one of her home-knitted Christmas sweaters." Victoria remembered that time, Sherlock had made her so incredibly angry that she had thrown him out of her shop. But, like clock-work he was there again only a few days later than his normal schedule. He usually went to her shop every ten days, but he kept away a bit longer for that. Right about now, she wished that she hadn't tossed an encyclopaedia at him.

"He could be the most incredible arse. Nonetheless, I hope to see you again at the funeral. Have a good rest of your day, Miss. Quinn."

"You too, Dr. Watson."

Two years later.

"He's what?!" Victoria shouted, nearly dropping the hot tea-kettle she was carrying. She regained her composure at the last minute and strode over to her small, and round kitchen table. Her dear friend Mary, who was sat at the table urged her to calm down with her wide eyes and then sighed.

"I know, he showed up at our date dressed up as a waiter. I thought John was going to actually bash his head in. No matter how many restaurants or shops we went to, John ended up punching him."

Victoria sat down in one of her scraggly chairs, her blue eyes clearly stating her disbelief. She leaned her head down on the table. "Darling, are you alright?" Mary asked. Since Mary had started dating John Watson, Victoria had met more of the man than before. It seemed as if no matter how big London was, it was still small enough for the kind doctor to get together with one of her best friends. Now, they were all good friends. Victoria sometimes wondered if John liked to keep her close in light of Sherlock's demise – well, assumed demise at it would seem.

The thought of John punching Sherlock made her erupt in giggles. She had a tendency to do so in the most awkward situations, but Sherlock paying for what he had done warranted her laughter. Victoria sat up straight again, still giggling. She raised one of her arms to gently rub her eyes. Once she opened them and looked at Mary, she could see that her comrade must think she had lost her mind. "So… He's alive. I must say, leave it to Sherlock Holmes to fake his own death." Victoria replied, still in disbelief.

Mary and Victoria had a long talk, about what they would do now that Sherlock was in fact alive. No matter how ticked John was, Victoria knew as well as Mary that it wouldn't take long for them to make up. Those two couldn't really exist without each other, that much was clear. Once Mary had gone home to comfort John some more, Victoria cleared up some dishes in her small kitchen before releasing a small yawn.

She went to the bathroom and changed into her usual set of nightwear, which consisted of a large Oxford t-shirt that her ex-boyfriend had left some time ago along with a purple robe. As she was brushing her teeth, she heard three knocks on her front door. Who could possibly be at her door at this late hour? Slightly annoyed, Victoria spit out the toothpaste in her mouth and rushed over to get it. A gasp emitted from her as she swung the door open, laying eyes on the most perplex man she had ever met.

Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello, Victoria." He greeted her, his usual trench coat covering his slender body, his arms behind his back. He did in fact look bruised, surely that was a result of John's lashing out.

"Hello Sherlock. You definitely look like you deserved that." Victoria remarked, motioning with one of her hands towards the bruises on his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly before striding past her. Victoria threw her arms in the air, obviously he had no intention of leaving her alone. As she closed the door, she could hear his rumbling about in her apartment.

"You know, in all the time that we've known each other you have never been in my apartment – why start now?" she asked, truly inquisitive of his late visit. Victoria walked over to him, where he had slung his body down on her brown sofa. Victoria's apartment really only consisted of one large room, her bedroom, the kitchen along with a small hallway. It wasn't much, but it was her own. Books of her liking had erupted from the large bookcase that stood along one wall, down to the floor and just about every free surface in the entire flat. Needless to say, she brought her work home with her. Victoria slumped down beside him, sighing heavily. Suddenly, she realized that she was only in a t-shirt and a robe – so she crossed one leg over the other and tightened the robe around her body. Sherlock seemed to watch her as she did so, which made her slightly embarrassed. That man had the most piercing stare, which always seemed to make her uncomfortable.

"I see you still don't have a boyfriend." Sherlock remarked, whilst still staring at her.

Victoria rolled her eyes and turned her head to face him. "Sherlock, please. Can't you just tell me why you're here?"

"Mary is your friend. Did you set her up with John? No, you wouldn't do that – you're too private. All I need to know is that you're not angry with me, which is why I came here. I can see now that you're not, you are just hiding your true emotions behind an appropriate filter of annoyance which in all honesty isn't that believable."

Five minutes back in her life and all she wanted to do was kick him out. However, something stopped her from giving him one of her usual rants. He seemed vulnerable, almost. Obviously Sherlock had expected his return to be something of joy to the few people in his life, and not the reaction he had just received from his dear friend. Victoria might not have his abilities in store, but she was able to read basic human emotions and read off of that. Sherlock was hurting, perhaps not in the overwhelming sense that average people experienced – but in his own way.

"You can't just expect everyone to forgive you for what you did. Mary told me what John said, and I agree with him. Just one word would have been enough. I don't think you realize what he went through whilst you were gone, because, why would you? In all of the utterly strange conversations that we've had, you've never let on to care about what other people think and feel, so why should this be any exception? Mary is an excellent match for him, and I would sooner kill you myself before I let you get in between them. Even if it means that I'll have to keep you locked in here so that only I can be tormented by your endless supply of ill-fitting remarks." Victoria ranted, earning herself a long look from Sherlock. He needed to hear everything. Even if it meant that somewhere deep within, she hurt him.

"I'm sure you've had to keep that in for a long time. He will forgive me soon enough, it's just a matter of him swallowing his pride." Sherlock huffed, clearly not interested in being dealt the truth.

"Alright, well – if that's how you want to play it then I suspect you'll be waiting for a long time, Sherlock. Shall I make up the couch for you?" Victoria asked, too tired to give into his provocative statements. Sherlock simply nodded, which prompted Victoria to stand up and fetch a pillow along with a blanket for him. She tossed it at him, smirking slightly at his surprise. Just before she turned around to head into her own bedroom, she halted in her step when Sherlock called out after her: "How come you're letting me stay here?"

"I suspect you'll need someone to stop you from whatever ridiculous plan you've got brewing. I'm just saving you from yourself, Mr. Holmes. Goodnight."