Hey Guys! Its me again. I know I completely failed with my last fic (Sibling Spats) so here is attempt No.2. Not using the same characters, but a similar idea. Ty Formc (Ty being short for Tylena) is Sherlock's new neighbor, moving into the newly renovated 221C (the basement suite, for those of you unfamiliar with the BBC Sherlock series. But I hope you are, other wise you shouldn't be reading Sherlock fic. Anyways.). She is the former lover of Mycroft (even emotionless politicians like to get some once in a while... Besides, how else would he have confidentley made the reply to Sherlock's "Sex doesn't alarm me" with "how would you know?") Well, now you know. Or will know, to be specific.

Anyways. The story is not about Ty and Mycroft. Its about Ty and Sherlock. Yes, Ty did deliberately move into 221C. She has nothing else to do with her time, and knows the younger Holmes to be a bit more active than the older and of the same intellectual level as her, so thinks it would be enjoyable to move into their building and perhaps join Sherlock and John on their cases. The adventures (and sometimes, mis-adventures) will be the main focus of this fic. The relationships may get more intimate (Johnlock/Ty andJohn/Ty and Sherlock) but that is entirely up to the readers.

As always, reviews that include relevant critique and praise are appreciated. Hate mail is not. And again (well, only again if you've read "Sibling Spats") please bear in mind that this is now only my second fic, and although it is meant to be canon, there will be a bit of head-canon here and there, just so I can tweak it to my liking.

DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER

I hope you enjoy.

OH! And I should mention that my word program has no spellcheck, so although I search in vain for any spelling/grammatical errors, I may miss some. People who volunteer to be a vicous beta for me will recieve three flats of jam made from kittens, rage and love.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called out. No answer. He tried again. And again. And again.

Eventually John yelled at him to shut up, because he was giving him a bloody headache.

"I wish to know who it is that's causing all the ruckus downstairs," he shouted back.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, why can't you do as you normally do and just text me instead of yelling. And if you're really so keen on finding out, be a detective and go detect!" John yelled back, with a few other idea's as to what Sherlock could go do.

The latter ignored the former and decided that he could wait until Mrs. Hudson got back, as she had apparently left the premises.

(Outside Sherlock's flat)

A mover walked up to a tall woman in a dark coat with waist length hair, her hair being her only outstanding feature about her.

"Where should I put this, miss?"

She looked up at him from her phone that she was texting on.

"Its written on the box, isn't it?" she replied shortly, and turned away. After being up all night, her tolerance was running rather low.

"I know. But I'm not sure which room you've decided that you'll be using as your bedroom."

She turned to him, incredulous. "There is a room that has a bed in it. That is the bedroom. Now, if you'll excuse me…" she turned away from his, once again, and murmured to herself, "… I have no patience to deal with idiotic adulterers today."

Apparently the mover had no patience today either. "Excuse me, what did you just call me?"

"You are an idiot and you cheat on your wife. My apologies for using four syllable words," she snapped. She knew that the last half, well, really, the whole sentence was unnecessary, and that there was no need to get angry, but it had been a rough month. Year, actually, and all of it came back in a wave with him standing in front of her.

"Well… You… How… How do you know?" The woman rolled her eyes at the fact that he didn't even bother to deny it.

"When you gave me your card yesterday, I saw that the inside of your wallet was full of cash and you had only one credit, hence you don't trust banks, so your wallet is constantly bulging and creates a sizable lump in your back pocket. Today, that lump is much smaller, and as I saw you yesterday evening, its unlikely you went out grocery shopping, so obviously you spent a great deal later that evening. But on what? Well, your wedding ring is missing, there are marks on your belt buckle that are the same color and consistency as lipstick, and a receipt from a bar that is rather notorious for its abundance of… escorts. Conclusion: You paid for sex, which makes you an adulterer when you're married; and, from what I can tell, you have a faithful and doting wife, and because you cheated on her that makes you an idiot. Psychological evaluation: aggressively masculine male in dire need of a sound what-for across the face. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have better things to do with my time, such as taking this call." With that, she spun on her heel, about to stalk away, when she stopped short.

She had turned around to find a rather short, sandy-haired man standing on the stairs leading up to 221B, with his mouth agape.

"Yes?" she asked rather pleasantly, despite the rather vicious telling off she had given her moving-man just moments ago.

"There's more of him?" he asked in a hoarse, whispery voice with an incredulous look on his face.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about…."

"Oh God! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that… out loud. I'm John, by the way," he said, extending his hand with a completely fake smile plastered on his face. Probably to cover up the shock

"Ty Formc. Ty being short for Tylena. Use either, it doesn't matter to me," she smiled back, with an equally fake grin. It was only to be polite, really. It did matter which name he used. She hated her first name, and so shortened it to Ty. Fortunately, most people chose to call her that because they thought it "quaint"

A tall, dark haired man came gracefully barreling down the stairs, "John, what in God's name is all the racket? Where did you put my cigarettes? Oh! And Lestrade called with a new case for us-" he stopped short at the sight of Ty.

"This is Ty Formc, she's moving in, hence the racket; not telling you; and what is this case about?" John replied without batting an eyelash. Must be used to it, Ty though, good for him.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. You could practically see the gears turning. "I know you," he finally stated.

"I know your brother, and he knows me… Rather well, I might add," Ty replied, a tad smugly.

"Well, that would explain why sex doesn't alarm him."

"Yes, I think I could claim credit for that," she teased back.

"You two know each other?" John finally broke in.

"Yes," Sherlock answered. Ty was surprised at the mildness of his answer. With other people, a snide remark on their slowness would've practically been an order. Ty smiled to herself as she wondered about the… extent of their relationship.

As if he could read her mind, Sherlock immediately said, "No."

John only looked from one to the other, wondering at what had just passed between them, then went back to politely smiling at Ty with a thinly veiled look of amazement on his face. Probably he was trying to decide what was more shocking, Sherlock having a female acquaintance, or Mycroft having sex. Most likely both, Ty (and Sherlock, unbeknownst to her) concluded.

"So, what is this case I heard about?" Ty asked. She needed a distraction from the madness that was, to her, sheer idiocy occurring in her new flat behind her.

"It's a murder…" Sherlock seemed to understand where she was going with this conversation. "I'm not sure it would be of any interest to you."

"But," John quickly interjected, "You could tag along, if you'd like."

Sherlock's, "No, I don't think she would," came at the same time as Ty's "I'd love to!". She grinned wickedly at him.

"Just give me a moment," Ty turned around and yelled to the movers to just leave everything in the living.

She turned back. "Ready when you are."

And it would be a lie to say that she didn't enjoy seeing Sherlock inwardly groan.