The Holmes Vortex Chapter 01, a sherlock fanfic

I started posting this in August of 2013, before Season Three of Sherlock aired in America. It is now June of 2014, and after getting past a slow writing period that lasted some months—chapter five was posted September 21, it is now June 10—I am finally making more progress on this story and am making some changes. I am editing a bit of the writing to make it flow better, and I am changing what I have written so far to reflect the events in Season Three. Those of you who are new to reading this, you didn't miss much at all. Those of you rereading this, all of the first five chapters will be edited. By the time chapter seven is posted, all edits will be made. The latest edit date can be found at the bottom of each chapter.

Four short notes before I begin... First, please inform me if you ever think any of my characters are even encroaching on the territory of being a Mary Sue. I already have all the major plot points mapped out, but I will try to edit things to make her a better character if I can. On that note, The Holmes Vortex will contain no non-canon romance. This means that it is John/Mary, and not John/OC, and it will not be Sherlock/OC or Mycroft/OC. I don't know yet about the sequel, but in this story all positive relationships between the main character and the others will be purely friendship and nothing more.

Second, I am American, attempting to write a story set in Britain, specifically London, England. If I get anything wrong, and I'm sure I will, please inform me and I will make the necessary changes (Although the spelling will remain American, sorry; tire will be tire, not tyre, and aluminum will be spelled that way in all exposition and in the main character's dialogue. It will only be spelled "aluminium" when a British character is speaking.)

Third, I can't promise to update consistently, or very often, but I will finish this even if there are months between chapters and you're seeing updates in other stories of mine and not this one. I ask you to be patient with me, as my muse tends to fluctuate, and I hope that you find this story well worth the wait you will encounter more often than not.

Fourth, I mentioned edits to these first five chapters due to the airing of Season Three. I sat down and figured out where to fit this in the timeline given the events of the season, and have come up with a solution to fit this in. The canon timeline looks like this:

However, given what I was already planning for this story by the time I watched Season Three, and the span of time I want it to stretch over, I have decided to alter the timeline a little bit. This altered timeline looks like this:

-November 3, 2013—Sherlock reveals himself to John.
-November 4, 2013—John almost killed in Guy Fawkes day bonfire
-November 5, 2013—bombing of Parliament stopped
-May, 2014—John and Mary become husband and wife; Major Sholto's life is saved; Mary is not pregnant
-Fall, 2014 (month tbd)—Aidan arrives in England
-[redacted]
-[redacted]
-Mid Feb, 2015—Magnussen comes onto the scene
-April Easter, 2015—Sherlock kills Magnussen, [redacted]; Sequel begins

The altered events include Mary not becoming pregnant until later in this story, and the showdown that originally happened on Christmas getting bumped to Easter. The redacted lines will get filled in as the story progresses, and by the end of it all you'll see the complete thing.

I've rambled on enough, now. I hope you all enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

The Holmes Vortex

A Sherlock Fan Fiction

By Falcon's Hyperdrive

Begun 9-17-12

Finished _-_-_

Chapter One

The first time she encountered him on the streets of London, Sherlock Holmes stole her cab. Granted, he was rather distracted and probably didn't even realize what he had done. Then again, maybe he did―he noticed everything, after all. But she didn't complain, and just hailed another. Getting upset would not help matters. Even later, in the months to come, she would still find this the best approach. The man was a force of nature, and would look at you like you were speaking nonsense if you tried to explain how stealing cabs was rude, and then he would do it again in a heartbeat.

She had no idea who he was, at the time, had not been in England to see the news in the papers. Tall, thin fellow with dark brown curls, long coat, and a dark blue scarf. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and- she couldn't tell what else, because he got into the cab too quickly for her to get a good look. He was alone, so after he got in he lost no time in closing the door and giving directions to the cabbie. Then she got into her own cab, which answered her hail, and set her duffle bag on the floor by her feet. All that she owned, or had seen the sense in owning for the past several years.

"221 Baker Street, please," she said, sitting back. The cabbie pulled away from the curb, and she turned to the window to watch London go past.

. . . ... . . .

Her knock on the door reading 221B echoed slightly, and she guessed a hall lay beyond. Women's shoes tapped on the floor—flats, she guessed, listening close—and then the door opened. An elderly woman blinked down at her on the steps, but gave a welcoming smile. "Hello, dear. Can I help you? I'm afraid Sherlock's gone out, so if you're looking for him there's no telling when he'll show up."

Aidan found herself thrown by the comment, but supposed her lack of forewarning would cause the landlady to suspect her to be visiting one of her tenants. This Sherlock must have lots of visitors, in that case. "Yes, actually," she answered, pushing ahead despite her confusion. "I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson, in fact. Are you her?"

It was the other woman's turn to be surprised now. "Yes, I am. Oh, forgive my manners. Please, please, come in. Would you like a cuppa?"

She smiled and nodded, stepping in after the woman and closing the door behind her. "Tea would be lovely, thank you. I'm Aidan Mallory, by the way. I was wondering, were you still interested in renting out your basement flat? 221C, I believe it was."

Mrs. Hudson paused at the door of her flat and turned to face her guest. "Why, yes. Although, I must warn you that it's not in a good state."

Aidan shook her head, causing her blonde bob to brush her chin as strands came loose from behind her ear. "That's quite all right, Mrs. Hudson. I just want a place to sleep for as long as I can rent it, and I don't particularly want to share with anybody. I can work at fixing it up in my free time, even."

The landlady led her into her own flat and got busy fixing the tea. "If you can do that, the rent would be even cheaper, I think, for you. I must say, that place having an occupant is appealing. I must warn you, however, that Sherlock keeps very odd hours upstairs. I have no doubt that you would be able to hear his violin being played at four in the morning—thank heavens John took his pistol with him, or that would be going off, too, the way Sherlock gets in his boredom. I must also warn you that his experiments are quite . . . unorthodox."

Aidan smiled as she accepted her cup and shrugged. "I'd have to experience it firsthand of course, but I'm fairly certain that it wouldn't bother me too much. What on earth does he do?"

"Well, he's a detective of sorts, you see." Mrs. Hudson settled down into the chair across from her and smiled. "Consulting detective, he calls it. He helped me out some years ago, making certain that my husband faced his execution in America."

The young woman was glad she had swallowed her sip of tea as she nearly choked, and lowered her cup to stare at her host in disbelief. A few seconds later, she processed the information and chuckled. "You seem quite fond of him. I have no doubt your late husband was not a pleasant fellow. Well then, at least I'll not have to be worried about my housemate's profession."

"Oh, don't you worry, dear. Dr. Watson, his former flatmate, keeps him in line a bit. Those two are so good for each other. He's married now, so he and his wife Mary will be popping in every now and then. You'd love them, wonderful people."

Aidan grinned. "I look forward to meeting these Watsons, then. So, what would I be paying for the flat?"

"Let's finish our tea, then I'll take you down to see it. You should probably examine the place before we decide on an agreeable price. How did you hear of it, by the way? I've not put an advert in the papers for quite a while."

She sipped her tea as she thought that through. It was rather complicated, and it always took her a bit to get it straight in her mind. "Well, through rather roundabout channels, actually. Apparently Mrs. Turner told Ms. Johnson, who told Mrs. Phillips, who told her husband, who told his niece, who works with a friend of mine, who told me. So Mrs. Turner, Ms. Johnson, Mrs. Phillips, Mr. Phillips, Joyce, Kyle, me." Another sip of the tea, and the cup was empty. Seeing the vaguely flabbergasted look Mrs. Hudson had on, Aidan grinned. "I told you it was roundabout."

"Goodness, dear. You don't do things by halves, do you?"

Aidan laughed. "Not really, no."

Mrs. Hudson finished her tea and set her cup down. "Well, let's go show you. Mind the steps, they're a little creaky."

Excellent, an early warning system of sorts. And, indeed, they did creak as the two women went down to the basement flat. Mrs. Hudson opened the bottom door, and Aidan beheld the barrenness of the place she was considering to have as her new home, of sorts.

She could see why Mrs. Hudson had been worried. 221C was not quite a dump, but it wasn't anywhere near in prime condition, either. It could use a good renovation, for which neither of them had the money. The wallpaper was torn away where it had been peeling, the painted walls were stained from dirt, and the carpet was a few shades darker than it had been originally. It was clear that attempts had been made at cleaning up the place, but one could only do so much, especially an older woman with a hip problem. The smell of must hung in the air, and had Aidan any other choice she might have changed her mind about the place. Of course, she didn't, so she accepted the signs of damp and started thinking about how she could fix it.

Aidan peered around the nearly empty flat and took note of the second-hand appliances, bedroom furnishings, and kitchen table. There was no other furniture in the place, but that was fine and could be fixed over time. She would have a bed, dresser, table, fridge, oven, microwave, and toaster, and that was more than enough for her. She had lived in worse conditions, and had suffered through having none of those amenities once. It was not an experience she would soon forget, not the least what had come with that.

She would buy a cheap chair, of course, so she could have a place to sit. She would get a wooden one, but it needed to be able to go in the cab with her when she bought it. A folding chair, then, would have to do. And she would get a mattress protector and bedding for her room, plus some basic foodstuffs for the kitchen. She would also need some pots and pans, and the necessary cooking utensils―she figured she could wait on those and borrow from her new neighbors in the meantime―along with some cheap dishes and plastic or silverware. Cups, too, would be nice; just some thin plastic ones would do until she had the money to properly stock her kitchen. Yes, a few cleaning supplies on the get-go, and she would be just fine in this place.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting patiently for her as she tested the faucets and poked at the nooks and crannies. Having finished her exploration, Aidan returned to her prospective landlady and nodded. "The damp won't bug me, and I'll see what I can do to fix it. What were you hoping to rent it out for?"

The old woman spread her hands. "To be quite honest, I hadn't ever thought that I would be able to rent it out, especially in this state. And since you're such a nice and wonderful young woman, willing to put up with this place, I'll give you a low price on it all." They discussed costs for a while, smoothing out all the details of the lease. At the end of it all, Aidan stood in Mrs. Hudson's flat again with the contract set before her, pen held above the signatory line in a moment of hesitation.

Her hand trembled briefly as she stared at the document. Was she willing to commit to this? A place of her own; a neighbor and his friends she could be acquaintances with; a landlady toward whom she already felt affection; roots that would grow and grow, making it hard and painful to tear away from should all go south. Could she really take that chance, let herself become close to all of this?

The signature she scrawled wavered not an iota. The prospect made her nervous, yes, but why let that win out?

Mrs. Hudson placed Aidan's copies of her keys into her hand. "Here you are, dear. This one unlocks the front door, and this other one unlocks your flat's door. Do you need help with any luggage? I can't help you, myself―my hip, you see―but I'm sure John would be quite willing to help you if he is here. Sherlock, not so much."

Aidan shook her head and smiled. "Thanks, but no. It's just this bag for now, but I'll go shopping right away and get some things for the flat. Most of it will have to wait until I have more money. I'm sure you understand. Though, more than one chair will have to wait."

The landlady went to file the papers away. "Well, if you ever need to borrow something, just come knock on my door. In fact, you're welcome to use my kitchen until you get your own supplies. And the top floor is for storage, so I should have a couple chairs buried away when you get the time."

The smile turned into a genuine grin. She might have been leery about forming connections, but she wasn't about to stop this now. "Thanks, ma'am. I just might take you up on that offer. Could you perhaps tell me what shops are around here?"

Mrs. Hudson shooed her away. "You go put that in your rooms, then come back here. I'll have a list all written up for you. Do you have a way of looking up directions?"

"Yeah, I can look up maps on my iPhone. Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. You have got to be the best landlady ever."

The woman blushed at her praise, and the beaming grin with which she delivered it. "It's nothing, dear. You're practically a breath of fresh air compared to Sherlock. Speaking of which, no sense in waiting around for him. There's no telling when those boys will get back."

Aidan laughed and picked up her duffel bag. "I'll just go put this away, then. See you in a jif'."

Edited 6-10-14