London was grey and bleak as always at this time of year, the early November chill settling heavily over the city, a slight cold drizzling rain had begun to fall, only serving to increase the sense of gloom. Jane Watson limped with a grim determination, leaning heavily on her cane. She'd been stuck with it since she'd been shot in the war and she still hadn't warmed to the idea of using it. She hated relying on the thing for her mobility, hated the fact that her brain refused to accept the fact that she'd been shot in the shoulder, not the bloody leg. In fact today she hated lots of things, that being invalided home had marked the end of the fast paced life and adrenaline she'd become accustomed to, hated the hollow silence that surrounded her since her return to London, and hated the chest crushing depression that had become her constant companion.
She was still lost in her brooding thoughts when a vaguely familiar voice cut through her reverie,
"Jane? Jane Watson is that you?"
She turned to find that the voice belonged to Mike Stanford, an old friend from her Uni days who'd had a massive crush on her in their first year. He'd gained weight in the years since she'd seen him, he looked more like someone's quirky uncle than the nerdy Med student she'd known so long ago, maybe it wasn't only her who'd undergone major changes. Had she not been brooding over negative thoughts she probably would have avoided this conversation altogether. Instead she attempted to dredge up the happy, outgoing girl she'd been before the war had changed her so much.
"Mike? Hello, it's been ages! How've you been?" Jane asked with a smile that she hope didn't look as plastic as it felt.
"Oh same old same old for me. I'm actually heading out for a coffee now. Would you care to join me?"
After an hour of catching up over coffee and complaining of her inability to find a compatible roommate she'd somehow ended up in a cab with Mike on her way to meet his mysterious friend who'd supposedly complained of the same predicament earlier this morning. Jane wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable sharing a flat with a man but at this point she wasn't in the position to be picky, the broom closet her landlord so charitably called a flat simply wasn't working anymore.
After a brief cab ride Mike led her through the winding halls of St Bart's Hospital. Not that she needed a guide, she could find her way through the sterile, stark white halls completely blindfolded. Her medical training here had burned the layout of the place permanently into her mind. They finally made their way to the double doors labeled as "morgue" and she shouldered them open.
As the doors opened she beheld a figure hunched behind a microscope, his face nearly completely obscured from view, the only thing perfectly visible was a mop of dark brown curls.
"Mike can I borrow your phone? I can't get a signal on mine." The man asked in a deep baritone voice, still not glancing up from the microscope.
"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike enquired.
"I prefer to text" said the strange man.
"Sorry it's in my coat." Explained Mike taking a few shuffling steps forward.
"Uh, here, use mine." Jane said, surprising even herself as she hadn't actually planned on speaking.
"Oh. Thank you" the man said, looking slightly puzzled.
He took the phone from Jane's hand and Mike introduced her as an old friend. Only now did she have a chance to properly look him over. He was ridiculously tall, thin to the point of skinniness. His skin was deathly pale and he had the most angular face of any human she'd ever seen. It wasn't at all displeasing but incredibly striking. The thing that shocked her the most were the blue grey eyes that looked her over with swift assessment. They were eyes that seemed to change color depending on lighting and surroundings. She found it slightly difficult to break his gaze. She'd been about to make a reply when he glanced up at her and asked,
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
Jane glanced up in bewilderment and looked questioningly at Mike who just smirked.
"I'm sorry what?" Jane inquired.
"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked with a slight smirk on his face.
"Afghanistan, I'm sorry how did y-"
"Ah Molly, coffee!" He interrupted, as he turned his attention to a little brown haired woman with a timid smile.
"What happened to the lipstick?"
"It wasn't working for me." Replied the girl as she glanced down at the floor.
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth looks too small now." He quipped, walked away and sipping the coffee she'd brought up.
"How to you feel about the violin?"
It took Jane a moment to realize that he'd been speaking to her.
"I'm sorry what?" She asked, even more confused now than ever.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He said with a quiet indifference as he took another sip of coffee.
"Y-you told him about me?" Jane stammered to Mike.
"Not a word" he replied, smiling slightly.
"Then who said anything about flatmates" Jane asked, getting slightly annoyed with the man.
"I did, I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't really that difficult of leap." He said while he smartly tied a blue scarf around his long pale neck.
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" She asked.
"I've got my eye on this nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there . Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He announced then started striding for the door.
"Is that it?" She asked angrily.
"Is that what?" He equired with cool indifference.
"We've only just met, and now we're going to go look at a flat." She said disbelievingly.
"Problem?" He asked innocently.
She only laughed and shook her head.
"We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting, I don't just even know your name." She retorted.
He narrowed his eyes at the challenge and disbelief lacing her voice.
"I know you're a military doctor and that you've been recently invalided home from Afghanistan, I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite right too I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?"
He'd stated all of this in a cool monotone voice, speaking so quickly she struggled to keep up as he read details that no one should have known. She stood there shocked and more than a little amazed, unsure of how to proceed with this strange conversation.
" The name is Sherlock Holmes and the adress is " he winked and shut the door behind him.
He's always like that I'm afraid." Mike said from behind Jane making her Jump.
She was left to turn over the bewildering events of the last few minutes in her mind and decide if she'd actually show up at this Baker Street. She was incredibly unsure of the bizarre man who'd known far more than he should have. Although she got the sense that the boring monotony that had become her life was about to be completely ripped apart.