Hey Guys! I'm new to this, so it isn't my best work.
Part One: The Client and the Detective
Sherlock
It was a typical afternoon on Baker Street. I, Sherlock Holmes, was putting on my trench coat, and flipping up my collar, when the doorbell rang. I knew right away that it was a client, because Watson had just left for a lunch date. I could tell from the knock that it was a woman, someone high up in the government, judging from the length and abruptness of the knock. I quickly got the living room ready, setting out a chair and removing my coat. I opened the door, and the woman in the entryway was, I daresay, attractive.
Katerina
Hello. My name is Katerina Evensa, yes, Evensa. Sorry about that, don't mind it. A bit about myself, hmm, let me think. Well, I work in the government. I am Mycroft Holmes's secretary. The media calls me his second in command. Your first question is probably 'What is she doing at 221B Baker Street, then, unless on orders from Mycroft?" No, Mycroft did not send me in his place to talk to Sherlock, or have me search his house (I can do that). Well, now that you know that, let's go back to drooling Sherlock.
Sherlock
As I led the woman in, I discovered something very, very, odd. I couldn't read her! Usually, someone walks into a room, I can tell instantly who they are, their job, everything about them. I could tell from her knock that she worked in the government and wasn't nervous. That's it. I tried not to stare, but my mind was totally blank. I led her to a chair, where she sat with impeccable posture. She was still beautiful, anyone could tell that. To describe her, well, she was striking. She was wearing a royal blue trench coat with abalone buttons, a black 3 quarter length henley (also with abalone buttons), and a black pencil skirt. Her smoky makeup was done perfectly, and her royal blue stilettos were the perfect height.
Katerina
Oh, yes, the reading. Yes, Sherlock was staring. Sociopaths and Psychopaths can only read normal, not each other. Psychopaths can read emotions, and sometimes minds, but Sociopaths are limited to normal everything. I am an adaptive psychopath. Basically, a psychopath with a nice adjective in front. Sherlock, high functioning sociopath, according to him. So, he can't see anything I don't want him to know, and I can know something about him. But he doesn't know that, does he? Anyway, I sat in the chair and began to recite my story.
Sherlock
The woman's name was Katerina Evensa, a name I recognized from the news. The images were everywhere. Mycroft biting his nails, her comforting him. According to the press, she had mysteriously appeared, worked her way up the ranks, and became one of the most important people in England. The funny thing about her was that there was no major knowledge about her past. Previous jobs, colleges, anything. Look her up, and all you'd see is rumors. Anyway, her story was interesting. Apparently, someone had broken into her office and stolen some very important government info. I didn't find it very interesting, and I rejected the case. Then, she told me the rest.
Katerina
I knew right away he'd reject the case. Government papers being stolen was just an excuse for "Mycroft needs you". Mycroft does worry about Sherlock, and needs him, but to Sherlock, Mycroft is important, but can also be annoying. Typical siblings. He sent me out with a basic "Mycroft can solve his own problems. Tell him, will you?" I laughed and said.
"Yes he can. This isn't about him. Now, before you interrupt me again, I suggest you listen to the rest of my story, eh?"
That got him to shut it. I began again. I told him about how the criminal had been seen, but just as police were about to apprehend him, another figure shot the thief dead.
Sherlock
Why had the thief been shot? Perhaps the killer wanted to save the police some trouble? I simply didn't know, and I hate not knowing. Watson was having a lunch date I told Miss Evensa that my assistant was out and that we'd come by tomorrow. Several hours later, Watson came to the living room, where I was playing my violin, thinking intensely as I played Bach. It wasn't my favorite piece, but it helped for the circumstances of this case.
John
Hi. I'm John Watson, Sherlock's assistant. I help him, share a flat with him, and deal with his peculiarity. I walk into 221B Baker Street and find Sherlock playing his violin. I knew instantly that he was thinking. Despite his determined expression, I defiantly decided to make small talk. I do this to gain information.
"So, how was your day."
"Shut. Up. I'm thinking."
Four Hours Later: 5:00 PM
John
After 2 hours, he finally told me about the case. Usually, he's all over me, telling me about the case and what to do. This time, he just told me the basics. At first, it seemed easy, but then the more I thought about it, the more confusing it became. I had settled on the theory that the murderer and the thief were enemies, or linked in some other way. I realized that I couldn't hear the violin anymore. Had Sherlock left to investigate without me?!
Katerina
Sherlock's face was genuine. That way his eyebrows rose, and his lower lip slightly puckered over the upper one. He was utterly confused. After leaving him to confusion, I thanked him, gave him my address and my number. Then, I walked out. Now, as I sat (in my armchair) in my ransacked office, I waited. I knew he'd be here sometime. About ten minutes later, after pulling my office chair for Sherlock to sit in, I saw a figure in the street. I couldn't see a face, but I did see a long, dark coat, which I recognized as Sherlock's. The figure disappeared, probably coming up to see me. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps in the hallway and a knock on my door.
Sherlock
I left John to his thoughts. After finishing the symphony, I put away my violin and started my walk to Katerina's office. I had decided to walk because it would give me more time to think. I wanted a theory to present her with. As I opened the door and looked out onto Baker Street, I was half-tempted to go and get John. "No, He'll just slow me down." I stepped onto the street and closed the door. I pulled up my map of London in my mind, but as I walked on the wet sidewalk (it had rained last night), the mental image kept flickering. Replacing the image of the map was a face. Her face.
John
I can't believe Sherlock left without me on a case. I mean, he always drags me along or lets me come along. I think back to our last case to see if we fought or something. Nothing. He's been in a good mood lately, so there's nothing that would provoke him. Mrs. Hudson always thinks that Sherlock and I are dating. We aren't, and I'm not gay, but I think, lately, that I might actually have a crush on him. I've only known him for a year, but that's long enough, I think. I'm not sure.
Seven Minutes Later
John
I'm just going to call him. I thought I could tolerate this, but he CANNOT leave me. I am his ASSISTANT, for god's sake! I rip my phone out of my pocket and dial Sherlock's number. He picks up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Sherlock, it's John"
I don't want to sound worried or anything, so I plan my words carefully.
"Hi, John. What's up?"
"Nothing, just wondering where you are? Sorry, I must've fallen asleep."
"Oh. I'm going to check out Miss. Evensa's apartment. I decided to walk, so I'm not there yet."
I try to keep the anger out of my face. I want to snap at him, just be like, "Oh, and and you forgot your assistant"
"Okay. Where are you? I'll be there soon.'
Sherlock
I don't want John along. I can hear the underlying tone in his voice. I suppose I could bring him along, because he does help me, and I'm not telling him that he'll slow me down. I can't think of an excuse though. Whatever.
"Okay, I'm on Lincoln street. If you'd like, just call a cab to her office." I give him her address, apologize, then hang up.
Katerina
I open the door, opening it slightly then quickly moving to the wall with a flick of my ankle. I stood to the side. Sherlock didn't take his coat off, and he walked in quickly. Something was definitely not right, and I didn't even know Sherlock. "The figure" or impostor, really, picked up a book and threw it at me. I caught it the second it came into my reach. My impostor theory was proved when the figure spoke.
"Nice reflexes" the figure said.
"Thank you. What the hell are you doing here." I replied, trying to keep the fear away.
"Oh, just checking up on you."
Only a second later did I realize that I had been speaking Russian.
Before I could reply or kick him out, he spoke again, this time in English.
"Why? Because the thief wasn't killed by someone outside, was he. You slipped up, Volchitsa, didn't you."
Volchitsa meant "she-wolf" in Russian, and I knew the name. That name was never supposed to be uttered again. Ever.
"Get out. Never come back. Ever. Understood?" I said, gritting my teeth as to not STRANGLE HIM!"
He he plot twist!
MORE LATER! or will there be? Who was Volchitsa!? These questions will haunt you until the next update...