A/N: Hi everyone, welcome to my first Sherlock fanfic. Some science...y things may not be accurate but this story is all in fun. Reviews are loved as well as constructive criticism. Flames will be put out with a fire extinguisher and the ashes thrown in the bin. This is set about 4 years time from now so some things may not be right but...pffffft.
I do not own anything from Sherlock, all I own is my story, Belinda Willows and any other made up names. Enjoy!
The water on the road was disturbed by the taxi wheels as the vehicle travelled through the streets of London. Excited blue eyes scanned the historic buildings and she chewed on her lower lip in anticipation of what her new life would be like. She was independent and free; with a little…ok a lot of help, from her grandmother. The lovely old lady had passed away two months ago and gave her apartment and some money to her granddaughter. This had caused friction between mother and daughter and now the two are not on speaking terms.
"How can Mother favour you over me of all people? This is a disgrace, how dare you turn my own mother against me!"
Their relationship was toxic, and she wanted nothing more than to be away from her overbearing and backstabbing mother. Sure, she had a privileged upbringing, but everything was micro-managed by her mother. From her elite boarding school to her attendance at her Swiss Finishing School, her life looked like a dream but was more of a nightmare. And it all came crashing down when one word came out of her mouth and was directed at her mother; no.
Sherlock looked out of the window with the violin tucked firmly under his chin as he played Bach for the third time that day. He scrutinized the items being hauled from the delivery truck and into the apartment directly opposite 221B Baker Street; white furniture, powder blue pot plants, baby pink sofa cushions, antique white vanity table…a young female.
John threw the newspaper he was reading down onto his lap in frustration.
"Sherlock, you may be a brilliant violin player," John began.
"Violinist," Sherlock corrected casually.
"Look, whatever, just take the compliment-"
"And where am I going to take the compliment to? Dinner?"
"Shut up," John said sharply. "Why are you repeating the same tune three times?"
"Thinking."
"Well stop it."
"My brain is not as simple as yours, John. No matter how much I try, I just simply cannot lower my IQ down to your level."
John threw his head back and rubbed his face with his hand. There was no arguing with the detective. There was a dainty knock on their door before it opened.
"Yoo-hoo," Mrs. Hudson chirped as she placed a plate of biscuits on the paperwork covered table.
"Oh, Sherlock, when will you learn to clean up after yourself?"
Sherlock ignored her as he continued to play and look out of the window.
"He's been like this all morning," John said as he grabbed a biscuit. "He won't stop looking out of the window."
"Someone is moving in, a young girl, high class, why is she here in Baker Street?" Sherlock said as he placed the violin down and clasped his hands behind his back.
"And what's wrong with Baker Street?" Mrs. Hudson said defensively with her hand on her hips.
"Nothing. It's an ideal area, close to everything and not a cheap street, but not exactly the safest and she's here by herself, there is no other personality in the furniture except for her own. No, this person has fine taste in her furniture, she's young, far too young to have this much money which means it's either inheritance or a sugar daddy. No way it's lottery money, there has been no news of a young winner and it takes a long time for the money to clear so that rules that out. Though with a small apartment this is probably her first time by herself which means the little bird and flown the nest, good for her. I don't remember seeing a for sale sign or listings in the paper so it's obviously been handed down to her thus almost certainly inheritance."
Mrs. Hudson squeezed past Sherlock and looked at the removal van and her eyes lit up.
"Oh that's Belinda Willows. She's the granddaughter of Florence West. Poor Florence passed away two months ago. She was such a lovely lady. Widowed for ten years but luckily their apartment was paid off before their death. Belinda doesn't have to pay anything to live there now, lucky girl." She said in delight.
"I didn't know anyone died in this street. Did they catch the killer?" Sherlock asked.
"Not every death includes murder, you know," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "No, it was simply natural causes. The dear passed away in her sleep."
"Died in her sleep? How boring," Sherlock scoffed. "Are you sure? No poisoning? Suffocation?"
"She was my friend, Sherlock, she had no enemies. She was such a lovely person. I haven't seen Belinda in years, I used to babysit her. She must be twenty years old. Oh I must bake her some goodies and welcome her!"
Mrs. Hudson almost skipped out of the room with a large smile plastered on her face.
"She seems really happy," John mumbled as he picked up another biscuit.
"Brilliant, John. How did you know? Was it the skipping, the smile or how her voice went up an octave when she realised it was Belinda?" Sherlock sneered.
"Well at least Mrs. Hudson has someone else to talk to and mother now."
"She'll still be here though right?" Sherlock asked with a snap of his head toward his friend.
"Yes, of course she will."
"Oh good, I need my laundry done tomorrow."
Belinda walked through the door to her new apartment once the furniture was arranged and thanked the removalist warmly. The floor was polished wood and the walls were a mix of cream and pale blue. Lace curtains adorned the white panelled window frames. She turned around and looked at the vintage fireplace and imagined relaxing in front of a crackling fire with a box of chocolates during a stormy night. She walked in front of the mirror and tutted to herself.
"Look at your hair, young lady," she laughed to herself. She pulled her luscious raven black hair into a messy bun. Her bright blue eyes twinkled with excitement at her new adventure and her small lips parted into a bright smile that showed her perfect teeth. Simple diamond studs adorned her ears and she gently fingered her silver chain around her neck before she played with the B pendant that had a single diamond in it.
Belinda showered and dressed in white jeans, a pale blue shirt and a pink tweed jacket and applied some lip gloss before grabbing her diary and settled down to write.
Dear Diary,
I've done it, I'm out of mum's grasps. No more verbal abuse from her and no more lady like classes or education. I have moved to 222A Baker Street, far away from her and her socialite ways. Bless Nanna for giving me her apartment. She understood what mum was like. I'll start working on my blog in the next week or so and start earning some money soon. I want to be able to support myself and Nanna's inheritance will not last forever. I could not believe how greedy mum is, can you believe that she tried to wrench the money and apartment from me? Like she hasn't got enough money as it is.
I can't wait to meet my neighbours, I can finally choose who I want to be friends with and explore the world around me instead of from the window. I had to watch the others play from afar because mum said that it was unlady like to squeal and run around. I'm not royalty or anything so who cared? I'll probably bake some shortbread tomorrow and do the neighbour rounds. I'm so excited.
There was a knock on the door and Belinda closed her diary and opened the door.
"Belle! Welcome to Baker Street, my you've grown!" Mrs. Hudson greeted.
"Mrs. Hudson! Oh my goodness, how wonderful to see you again. I've missed you so," Belinda squealed.
"Me too, love, me too. May I come in?"
"Of course, please make yourself comfortable."
Mrs. Hudson looked around the chic apartment. "My, you have certainly brought freshness to Baker Street. I see you have made yourself at home."
"I'm afraid I don't have any beverages as I haven't been to the shops yet, may I interest you in some water?" Belinda offered as Mrs. Hudson sat at the small wooden table.
"Water is fine. I thought I'd bring you a house warming gift," Mrs. Hudson said proudly as he placed a woven basket with muffins and a jar of homemade jam.
"You didn't have to do that," Belinda gasped. "Orange and poppyseed, you remembered!"
"Of course I remembered, Belle. I looked after you for five years. So, tell me, what have you been up to?"
Before Belinda could reply, footsteps thundered up the staircase.
"Sherlock, you can't just barge in!" John's voice lectured from the hallway.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson grimaced.
Belinda stood up and took a defensive stance in front of her old nanny. The door burst open and she mentally kicked herself for failing to lock it. Sherlock stood in the doorway and his eyes flickered to Belinda for a few seconds before finding his landlady.
"Mrs. Hudson, the muffins are not in your kitchen, nor are they in my apartment. Where are th-"
"Relax, Sherlock. They aren't for you, they are for Belle," the old lady huffed.
John appeared behind Sherlock, clearly out of breath and was doubled over trying to eliminate the stitch in his side.
"She can't eat them," Sherlock blurted out. "Muffins contain more fat than most people realise. She'll put on weight."
"Excuse you?" Belinda ground out. "What do you know about me?"
Both John and Mrs. Hudson groaned as they caught the twinkle in Sherlock's eyes as he approached and towered over the new resident. His six foot frame shamed her tiny five foot three inch height.
"You have recently inherited a small but generous fortune, are a young adult, my guess is twenty years old. Your style is very clean and pastel and the way you have styled this apartment indicates that you had a wealthy upbringing and paid special attention to femininity. Your jewellery is simple and dainty yet charming which says that your style is simple. You aren't an in your face sparkle girl and therefore don't care about your status. Your posture is near perfect which they don't teach in normal schools which also tells me that you had etiquette lessons and therefore attended a charm school. Those schools have all closed around here which also tells me that you attended one of the Swiss schools which would not surprise me since they are of the highest quality and you were clearly brought up with nothing but the best."
Belinda looked Sherlock up and down but held her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him despite him invading her personal space. She relaxed her muscles in case she had to defend herself which she doubted but old habits die hard.
"However, at the moment you are not standing like a lady and you have a defensive stance which indicate that you have self-defence training and you are relaxed yet alert so your muscles are free to move if needed. I don't see bruising nor indication of broken bones and your nails are perfectly manicured with the classic French Tip and no dry cuticles."
Sherlock grasped her hand and inspected her nails. Belinda resisted slightly but Sherlock was insistent and held her firmly yet gently.
"Soft skin, no callouses so your training was non contact…how dull." He sniffed her hand.
"Milk and honey scented moisturizer, subtle as if you are blending in the background but it is clearly ingrained into you that grooming is important."
He released her hand and looked at her bare feet. "You had an injury to your heel due to the fact that you are ever so slightly favouring your left side and judging by the scar visible at the end of your jeans, it was a ruptured Achilles Tendon. Your heels are not as smooth as your hands so you have often worn heels though clearly not as high as you wore them before the injury. There is also a diary on your desk so you note down events in your life or your secrets and seeing as you just tensed up and your jaw clenched I deduct that it has secrets…so Belinda Willows…what are you hiding?"
"Sherlock, that's enough," John said sternly as he tried to back his friend away from the young girl. "Mrs. Hudson already told us some of her background so it's not very impressive this time."
"Well you clearly aren't hiding the fact that that you are a show off and can't help yourself and pray for the time when you have an opportunity to do so regardless if asked or not. You just proved that you don't have many friends and Mrs. Hudson and this ex soldier are just holding on to the friendship zone even though you frustrate them constantly. Judging by the grease in your hair you haven't showered for…"
Belinda stepped forward and pinched one of Sherlock's greasy curls and grimaced.
"Three days. Your skin is not in the best condition either. I see dead skin cells so you don't exfoliate and your lips are chapped but you have plenty of things on your mind. Your skin is slightly sallow so you are a smoker and you have barely eaten recently."
Belinda grabbed a muffin and threw it at the detective.
"Eat it before you faint on my floor," she said as she turned to John. "Hi there, I'm Belinda Willows, nice to meet you."
John jumped at being addressed as he was still stunned by Belinda's observation. "Uh, John Watson."
"Ex smoker," Sherlock said as he unwrapped the muffin.
"He's done really well, Belle," Mrs. Hudson piped up. "We keep Sherlock away from the cigarettes and he's been clean for a few months."
"Well he's been lying to you," Belinda smirked as Sherlock bit into the muffin. "There is ash on the inside of his coat collar, not much but noticeable to a keen eye like mine. A few days old, it's been rubbed into the material when Sherlock here has removed his coat or tuned his collar up."
The apartment was silent. Sherlock pursed his lips and licked the crumbs away.
"Impressive. I didn't know they taught observation at charm school," Sherlock taunted.
"They don't," Belinda snapped. "I was taught by someone."
"Who?" John asked curiously.
"Someone I don't care to talk about," Belinda said gently.
"Fair enough, unlike Sherlock, I don't push for answers," John smiled.
"Well now that I have what I came for, I have a human eye to dissect," Sherlock announced and left the room with the muffin.
"Charming," Belinda said bluntly before smiling at John. "A drink Mr. Watson? I only have water I'm afraid until tomorrow."
"Ah...uh…John, please. Water would be lovely. Be nice to have normal water and not worry about being experimented on."
"Oh he doesn't experiment on you still, John?" Mrs. Hudson gasped.
"Every now and then. So, Belinda, what brings you here?"
"I just wanted to get out and be on my own. My Grandmother passed not long ago and I inherited this apartment, much to my mother's disgust." Belinda replied hesitantly and passed John a glass of water.
"Belle's mother, Catherine, was a stereotypical snob," Mrs. Hudson explained as she scrunched her nose in disgust. "She put so much pressure on her to succeed. Belle was in and has won many beauty pageants as a child, Catherine was obsessed with her looks. She shipped Belle off to a Swiss charm school to become a real lady and tried to hook her up with lords, viscounts, dukes, you name it."
"My mother is wealthy. She was a one time beauty queen, married my father who is a banker and has lived the life of luxury. Sent me to the best schools too, but not for my benefit, for hers," Belinda explained. "She used me as an accessory to show off her lavish lifestyle and that she could afford to send me to private and charm schools, enter me in pageants, only let me communicate with offspring of powerful friends. Power and money, that's all that's on her mind."
"I'm so sorry to hear that," John said sadly.
Belinda waved his apology away. "Don't be. Nanna never got along with my mother and saw how miserable I was. That's why she left this apartment to me but mum still tried to take it from me but failed. Daddy has a trust fund for me to access next year but for the time being, Nanna's money will get me by but I want to earn my own too."
"Great for you," John said cheerfully.
"I just need to unpack my pictures and stuff and then go shopping, then I'm all moved in."
"I'll be happy to help out, if you want."
"Oh thank you, John. I really appreciate it."
"Shall we say nine o'clock, tomorrow morning?"
"Sounds great."
"I'll bring some tea and sandwiches," Mrs. Hudson said gleefully. "It is so good to see you again, Belle. I can mother you again." She pinched Belinda's cheek lovingly.
"Don't mother me too much," Belinda laughed.
John raised his glass of water. "Welcome to Baker Street, Belinda."