Hi guys, I'm new to and this is my first fanfic. You can expect regular uploads from me, and I appreciate any feedback, positive or negative. Enjoy!

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were sat in 221B Baker Street, the former somewhat reluctantly, as they had just finished solving a case about a missing painting. Child's play for the great detective, really. Now, though, now the great Sherlock Holmes was bored, and he hated being bored.

"I need a case, John." He said to the short man sat opposite him. At first, John didn't answer, so Sherlock cast his eyes over to his friend. John was tired, this much was obvious from the way his eyelids were drooping, and his body was slumped in the chair, not the way the former soldier usually held himself. Even though Sherlock himself was not yet tired, he couldn't really blame John for being tired if he thought about it. They had been wandering round London for the past twenty four hours, after being called in by Lestrade to find the missing painting, and it had been pretty much non stop from there. Truth be told, he could have solved the case a lot faster, in fact he had a hunch right from the start, but he didn't see the point in rushing and ending up back in 221B with nothing to do, much like he was now. Now, he was bored, and he wanted a case.

"John?" He asked impatiently, knowing that the Doctor would hear him this time. Just as he predicted, John's gaze turned to him as he spoke.

"What, Sherlock? Oh, let me guess, you're bored?" Sherlock's silence was conformation that he was right. "No surprise there, I suppose. The great consulting detective who never sleeps needs another case. Why don't you go and find one yourself? " John muttered sarcastically, although Sherlock had stopped paying attention when he realised that John was in a bad mood due to lack of sleep. Instead, he had taken to staring vacantly out the window. It had been days since he had had a decent case to solve, either from Lestrade or a client, and he was finding it incredibly dull. He had even phoned Mycroft and asked for a case, but of course his older brother had declined, saying that government problems were not the responsibility of 'outsiders'.

"Sherlock? Are you listening to me? Sherlock?" John's voice broke through his reverie. The detective turned to face his friend.

"Yes, John?" He didn't want to make John any angrier, so he decided to be polite. Well, as polite as a Sociopath such as himself could be, anyway.

"Sherlock, since you've announced you were alive the press have been having a field trip. Whenever I check your Inbox is always bursting with cases. Have you looked in your inbox for a case, Sherlock?" Truth be told, Sherlock had been regularly checking his inbox for cases and messages, but all of them were the same. Something had either gone missing or been stolen. There were the odd few every now and then about a missing person, but emotions and love always seemed to be involved, and Sherlock deduced that it was what couples call 'a lovers quarrel' and he had no time for that. He longed for a good murder, something he hadn't had in a while. He knew people found him weird as he liked murders and crimes, but he didn't really care what others thought of him. He never had and probably never would. Except, the consulting detective knew this was a lie, for there were a select few people who's opinions he valued. John. Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. Molly. He would go as far as to say Mycroft, but that would mean he would have to feel sentiment towards his brother, and Sherlock Holmes didn't do sentiment. He smiled to himself, quite aware that John was watching.

"What's so funny?" He asked, eyeing his friend curiously. In all his years of knowing him, including the two he thought Sherlock to be dead, John Watson had never been able to completely figure out his friend.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking." Was Sherlock's blunt reply.

"Anything Interesting?"

Sherlock replied without hesitation. "No." Then, he decided that he wanted some air, a stroll around London, perhaps talk to his homeless network and see if they'd seen anything out of the ordinary lately. He had to do something to keep himself at least somewhat preoccupied.

"Off out. Don't know when I'll be back. I suggest getting some sleep." He directed his words to John whilst pulling his blue scarf around his neck, before pulling on his beloved black coat.

"Do I even want to ask where?" came the reply.

"Probably not." Was the answer the Doctor got before his friend walked out of 221B Baker Street.

John

What just happened? One minute he was bored and asking for a case, and the next he's off out? That's unusual, even for Sherlock Holmes. Despite what he said earlier, John also wanted a decent case. He knew that Sherlock had solved the whereabouts of the painting almost straight away, but he didn't let on that he knew. Ever since his friend had come back, had revealed himself to the public eye, he'd had the constant attention of the press and paparazzi, and John knew that Sherlock, with his 'High functioning Sociopathic' ways, didn't like the attention. Although John would have to say that he'd rather a bored Sherlock than no Sherlock at all, and he knew what that felt like. However, since his return Sherlock had… changed. Not a lot, but he'd still changed. Sherlock thought John hadn't noticed, but he had. Sherlock seemed more open, if that were even possible. He had taken to having regular conversation, not just with John but with Lestrade and Mrs Hudson as well, about anything and everything. John even heard him having a conversation with Mrs Hudson once about cooking. Cooking? Sherlock Holmes? He was also much more careful about what he said. He'd still deduce people the moment he saw them and let them know what he saw, insults and all, but if it was someone he knew, an acquaintance, or even in some cases not, he wouldn't be as insulting. As sociopathic. This was particularly the case with Molly when he first returned. John remembered Molly telling him, as he hadn't been there himself.

"Molly." The mousey haired girl spun round at the sound of the totally familiar and instantly recognisable voice. He was supposed to be dead. Of course, she knew he wasn't she had helped him, but he was still meant to be in hiding, allowing everyone to think he was dead. Yet, here he was, standing before her in his coat and scarf, looking at her intently.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in hiding?" She asked. It seemed that the two years without Sherlock had worked wonders for her confidence, because she could now look him in the eye without blushing, and her voice didn't falter. Of course, Tom might also have something to do with that.

"It was time to come back. There's cases and crimes to solve." Was the reply she got.

"Does anyone else know? Your back, I mean?"

"Only Mycroft. You're the first person I've seen except him." At his words, Molly Hooper felt a surge of pride and happiness within her. He'd come to see her first. He'd come to see her above John. Above Lestrade. Her!

"Oh. Okay. Well, it's good to have you back Sherlock, but I'm guessing you're here for a reason?" She knew there was no way he'd have come here without a reason. This was Sherlock Holmes after all.

"Two." Sherlock said, now staring intently into Molly's eyes. "I'm here for two reasons, Molly." At this, he took a step forward.

"Do you want to see a body or something?" It didn't come out rude or sarcastic, more curious and confused.

Sherlock smiled. "You know me too well, Molly Hooper, that is indeed one of the reasons why I'm here."

"What's the other reason, Sherlock?" She really didn't know. Sherlock only ever came here to see a body or to use a lab, so what other reason could he possibly have for coming here? She had no idea.

"To say thank you, and to apologise." At these words, Molly Hooper almost did a double take. Sherlock Holmes, apologising? Thanking her? Surely she hadn't heard right. Could she?

"You heard me right, Molly." Sherlock had obviously deduced how she was feeling from the shock in her eyes. It was visible for even the most unobservant person to see. 'First of all I want to thank you for what you did for me. It meant a lot to me at the time and it still does. Not many people would go that far out of their way for me, but you did, even with all the rumours flying around about me. I've said it before, but I'll say it again. Moriarty slipped up, he thought you were the one person who didn't matter to me, but you mattered the most. It's thanks to you that I'm here, Molly Hooper, so thankyou." As he finished, Molly noticed that he was standing perfectly straight, and his arms were by his sides. She could also see that Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable, as expressing his gratitude in such a manner was not something he'd ever really done before, even with John, and to have him doing it now, in front of her, shocked her more than she could say.

"Honestly, Sherlock. It was my pleasure. It was the least I could do." Although it was the truth, she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"That's just it though, Molly. I've never done anything to deserve your loyalty. I've never been anything but remotely civil with you at best, and yet you still did what I asked you too, so I shall apologise now, Molly. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you other the years, and I have now come to realise that it wasn't fair and was not the right thing to do. So, Molly Hooper, from now on I shall treat you the way you deserve. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. You deserve to be happy, Molly Hooper." Molly was left utterly flabbergasted and speechless. This man in front of her couldn't be Sherlock Holmes, could he? Sherlock wouldn't have just said that, would he? But he'd seen the ring on her finger, knew she was getting married. Well, she figured there was only one way to find out.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Now, how would you like to see that body?" She watched as his face lit up like a child's on Christmas day. Oh yes, this was definitely Sherlock Holmes.

At first, John didn't believe Molly when she'd told him about the encounter, but after a while he began to believe her. Sherlock was constantly apologising to John for leaving for two years, which was something the old Sherlock would never have done. One time, he'd even gone out to fetch the milk and some Chips for tea, which Sherlock Holmes never did. Not to mention his sudden appreciation for everything all of his close friends did for him. Sherlock Holmes was becoming more human.

And with that thought the Doctor drifted off to sleep.

Rosalie

She ran through the emptying city streets, the twilight sky lighting her way, as she fled. Her lungs felt like two giant boulders inside her chest, weighing her down, and her mouth was open as she was gasping for precious breath. She'd been running a while, longer than she'd ever run before, but she knew she couldn't stop, not with her pursuer gaining on her. How could she? If he caught her she'd be dead. But she didn't even know why. Being a criminal psychologist, she prided herself on being able to understand a criminals mind, but this was something completely new to her. She couldn't understand why he'd broke into her flat, gun in hand, and tried to kill her. Luckily, she was agile enough to be able to push past him and run, but that didn't stop him from chasing her throughout the city streets. She wasn't as fit as she used to be, but she was still fit enough to be able to run at a decent pace for a few blocks, but now she was realising that she wouldn't be able to go much further before she collapsed. She cast her eyes up in front of her, and realised that she was approaching the Inner City. Maybe I can get help there? There has to be people there. A new wave of determination ran threw her, causing her to propel her legs faster and take deep steadying breaths until she reached her destination. Instinctively, she turned her head behind her, her eyes roaming the street for her pursuer, and to her utter dismay she saw him a few meters behind her. When he noticed her looking at him he grinned evilly. Oh no.

In her haste to get away, she inconveniently took a wrong turn, and ended up in a narrow, darkened alleyway, piled with rubbish and overflowing bins. However, it wasn't the alleyway itself that made her heart jump out of her chest… It was the dead end in front of her. God, no! Please, she thought to herself as she tried to double back on herself, running the way she came, but she didn't get far before a set strong arms grasped her by the waste and started to drag her deeper into the alley. She already knew it was the man who wanted to kill her. As he continued to drag her into the alley, she got a good look at his features, as she had been too busy trying to save her life before to notice what he looked like. He was about her age, with a muscular, athletic build and broad shoulders. His blond hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, although he didn't seem out of breath at all from the run, which suggested he was used to long distance sprinting. The thing that scared her most though was his eyes. His dark brown eyes seemed almost black in the darkness, like they were empty. And it scared Rosalie, more than she'd care to admit.

"Now then, Miss, I suggest you behave whilst I play with you, or it'll only make it worse for you." A dark, low voice chuckled sinisterly in her ear, and Rosalie tried fighting his grasp once more, afraid of what was to become of her. She was about to scream, about to cry out for help, when his hand clamped tightly over her mouth, momentarily cutting off her air supply, before loosening a little.

"Now, now, Rosalie, you should know better than to scream, although if you did no one would find you." How did he know her name? That was the least of her worries as she felt her back slammed violently against the wall, knocking the wind out of her once more. She waited there, his hand still clasped tightly around her mouth, for what seemed like hours, before her attacker grinned in the dark, his pearly white teeth glinting in the light, and pulled out a knife. Rosalie's eyes widened. She began to fight back against her captor frantically, knowing if she didn't she wouldn't leave this alley alive. After a few seconds, she managed to get her mouth free from his hand, and released a high pitched scream, praying someone would hear her. No one came.

"Well, you shouldn't have done that darling. Now I'll just have to kill you faster, but don't worry because I'll make sure it hurts just as much." He sneered, his coal eyes widening with glee, as he raised the sharp silver dagger.

"Hey!" Rosalie, who had closed her eyes as she waited for the blow, despite knowing she should stare down her killer, turned to face the direction the masculine voice had come from, but all she could see was a tall shadow as the darkness of the alley obscured him from her view.

"Damn! Don't worry, I'll be back sweetheart." Cursed her attacker, before stabbing the knife into her abdomen, and fleeing. Rosalie watched as her attacker ran towards the shadowed figure, and knocked the figure down in his pursuit, obviously having no intentions of stopping. Then, black spots started to form in front of her eyes, and she could feel the wet, sticky blood oozing from her stomach. She knew she was going to die. The black spots in front of her eyes grew larger and larger, and the last thing Rosalie saw before she passed out was the shadowed figure running towards her.

Who do you think the shadowed figure is? What's gonna happen next? Please review! I'll take criticism too!