A/N: Hey guys, so this is my first Sherlock story, and I'm just testing out this idea. I already have a plot in mind, but I'd like to see what you think of it first! Let me know in a review if you would like to read more :)

P.S.

The gorgeous cover was made by DangerousDraco589 at TDA :)

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The wind whipped through Eleanor's light brown hair as she walked down the cobbled street, sending the stray locks up into the corner of her eyes. She didn't bother in swiping them aside, though, as her mind was too preoccupied in figuring out where she was. Her head felt heavy, and she fought to keep her brown eyes open.

Eleanor winced as a particularly cold gust of air hit her from the side, and she couldn't suppress the shiver that rolled through her. But the motion disturbed the bruises on her ribs, and she inhaled sharply at the sudden pain.

Her steps slowed until she stopped by the edge of a street corner, and she gently pressed her fingertips to her bloodstained shirt. This time she couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped her mouth as another jolt of pain shot through her. She bit down on her lip, and clenched her eyes shut.

She hadn't planned on this. On any of this, really. She really had just been walking home when Ethan showed up, emerging silently from the shadows to stand in front of her. Eleanor had completely forgotten that that was his street corner, and that the last time she saw him she told him to leave her alone in some very foul language.

So she had paid for it, and now she was limping away and trying her hardest to stay conscious from all of the injuries that she had sustained. Eleanor knew that she didn't have enough time to get to any real help, and even if she could, she never really liked hospitals. They reminded her too much of... well, bad memories.

But she was going to pass out in just a few minutes, for she had lost too much blood and taken too many blows to the head to remain upright for much longer.

And that's why she was trying to remember the address. She knew it was close to where she was, but it would do her no good if she showed up on the wrong doorstep. And besides, she didn't even know how he would react, if he would take one look at her and decide to slam the door in her face. She wouldn't blame him.

But at this point Eleanor had no other choice.

So she shuffled onwards, clutching at her abdomen, which had been the recipient of many well aimed kicks. Her lips turned up into a bitter smile as she nearly tripped over a small rock, thinking that nobody would notice if she died until morning. It was nearly midnight, and for some reason the streets were deserted.

Normally there would be some stragglers roaming the streets, and for sure there should be car passing by, but for some reason Eleanor found herself alone. Alone and cold. Unfortunately it was a familiar feeling for her, being by herself, either freezing or too out of it to notice.

Her head lifted slightly as she noticed the street that she had turned onto; Baker Street. Her eyes widened, and the memory of reading the news came back to her. She tried to pick up the pace, but it seemed that her legs weighed a ton, and she kept tripping with every step.

As the door came into sight, she fought even harder against the darkness, and slammed her open palm into the wood three times. Her breath was now coming in short pants, and her eyes seemed determined to slip shut.

Eleanor could hear footsteps coming from behind the door, but the more she listened the more the sound seemed to fade away. Suddenly, the door was opened, and she couldn't help but to flinch at the bright light that came from beyond it.

And there he was, looking so similar to when she last saw him that she almost smiled.

Almost.

For when she tried, she found that her lips didn't respond to her commands, and that the edges of her vision were turning dark.

She could hear him say her name as she collapsed, and then nothing more.

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John's POV

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John was quietly sipping on a cup of freshly made tea when he heard the knocking. His head shot up to the clock on the wall, noting that it was nearly midnight. His mind raced through all of the people it could be, but knowing that he didn't have the skills of his detective friend, gave up rather quickly and instead looked to Sherlock for the answer.

Sherlock was still lying on the sofa in the same position he had been an hour ago, but this time his blue eyes were open as they stared up at the ceiling. John frowned, and lowered his cup of tea.

"Are you expecting anyone?" He asked cautiously. John was no stranger to midnight interruptions thanks to his flat mate, but something about this seemed off.

Sherlock didn't move from his spot, but turned his head slightly to look at John. His striking light eyes seemed to search for something, before he sat upright and frowned at the wall across from him.

"No one that we know," Sherlock spoke. "Female. Twenty seven to twenty nine, wearing a ring on her right ring finger. She's either short or hunched over, though judging from the force put into the knocks as well as the position of her hand, I'd say the latter. She's injured."

John frowned and sat up in his seat, but Sherlock continued.

"A few cracked ribs, one broken, her right shoulder is dislocated and she-"

John shot up from his seat and rushed downstairs, pulling his robe tightly around his torso. Once he reached the door, he quickly unbolted it and ripped it open.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks, and all of his thoughts seemed to momentarily pause at the sight of the wounded woman in front of him.

"Eleanor?"

He gasped, but the woman didn't have a chance to respond before her knees buckled. John's instincts kicked in right at that moment, and his arms shot out to catch her before she fell. His eyes widened as he took in her features, confirming his suspicions.

John noticed her shallow breathing and pale complexion, as well as her many injuries, and quickly lifted her into his arms. He frowned at how light she was, and shut the door with his left foot, before sprinting up the stairs.

He barged into the living room, and frantically motioned for Sherlock to move off of the couch. Sherlock was about to protest, but upon seeing the worried glint in John's eyes, did as was asked of him. John gently lowered the girl's form onto the cushions, and knelt beside her to examine her wounds.

Sherlock stood back and studied both the girl and his friend, and frowned yet again.

"Who is she?" He asked.

John glanced up at Sherlock briefly, before turning his attention back to treating the woman.

"I don't recall ever meeting her, and she doesn't look like the type you usually chase after. Though it is obvious you genuinely care for her, so perhaps an old girlfriend from a few years ago. And yet you have never mentioned her before. Someone you care about, and yet haven't spoken to for several years. I wonder..."

"Sherlock."

"If you haven't mentioned her in the time that I've known you, it leads me to believe that there was a major incident between the two of you, causing substantial emotional pain and-"

"Sherlock."

"- distress, which lets me know that you are not yet over her. But why would she come here? Have you two been having an affair recently? Maybe she thought that the rekindling of your old relationship would provide her with-"

"She's my sister, Sherlock." John spoke, successfully hushing his detective friend.

John quickly stood and headed for the kitchen in an attempt to find any sort of medical supplies that he could, Sherlock trailing silently behind. John rummaged through cabinets, finding some bandages and antibiotics that he could use to help Eleanor.

He rushed back to his sister's side, and began putting the disinfectants on her cuts and bandages around her ribs. Sherlock stood to the side and stared intently at John.

"Why haven't you mentioned the fact that you have another sister?" He asked, crossing his arms.

John sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair. He clenched his jaw, and stood to face Sherlock.

"You already know, Sherlock. Everything that you... that you deduced, was right, except for the fact that she's my sister. We've had our... problems in the past, and I haven't seen or talked to her in over seven years. So before you ask, I don't know why she's here, I don't know why she's hurt, and I don't know what the HELL is going on!" John snapped, throwing his arms out to the side as he shouted.

Sherlock paused, taking in John's form and studying his urgent tone of voice, before realizing that his sister's appearance had truly unnerved him. He had never seen John like this, and it was a fascinating experience. So he quickly took note of everything that he could, and filed it away for future deductions.

John sighed, and collapsed into the seat closest to him, burying his head into his hands.

Sherlock hesitated for a second, before cautiously stepping towards his friend and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't know anything about comforting a person in distress, but as this was John, he was going to try anyway.

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Eleanor's POV

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The first thing that Eleanor noticed when she woke was the feeling of soft cushions beneath her, a very different yet pleasant change from her usual mornings. The second thing she noticed were two soft voices speaking somewhere near her. She couldn't make out what they were saying, only the gentle humming of their voices mixing together.

And then she felt the pain.

She sucked in a breath at the pounding in her head and limbs, and then winced as her chest seemed to tighten. She began to panic, gasping softly and bolting upright. But she moved too quickly, and her head spun, making it seem like she was falling.

And then she realized that she was falling.

She flailed her arms about as she fell to the floor, landing on her side. She cried out as the ache in her shoulder seemed to intensify more than she deemed possible, and curled herself into a ball.

"Eleanor?" A man's voice called out, and she could hear his footsteps come closer. She could feel him kneel down next to her, so she opened her blue eyes to see who it was.

It was John.

She gasped as she took in his figure staring down at her, and narrowed her eyes.

"John?" She spoke, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

It was then that the memories of the night before came back to her, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. She clenched her eyes shut, and curled into a tighter ball, attempting to force the images out of her head.

She felt a hand on her good shoulder, and she once again opened her eyes to find John kneeling there with a look on his face that made her heart ache.

Oh, John.

So she had found him, then. She remembered wandering the streets in the cold, trying to find him at the address she had read in the news. And as she looked at him, she saw that he looked better than he had in years. His eyes seemed to be lighter, there were smiles lines on his face, and just the way that he held himself told Eleanor that he had been happy.

Her mind flickered to the last time they had talked, but quickly shut the thought down. She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, with John right at her side. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

I mean, his sister had shown up injured on his doorstep after seven years of not even talking to her. She didn't know how he felt, but she was happy to see him.

So Eleanor acted on her instincts, and pulled him into a hug. She held him close and buried her face into his shoulder, and was delighted to see that he still smelt the same as she remembered. John hesitated for a split second, before carefully wrapping his arms around her.

And for a few seconds, they just held each other, not wanting to speak, not wanting to move. But then Eleanor opened her eyes, and let go of her brother.

It was then that she noticed that there was another person in the room, watching their encounter with curious eyes. She immediately knew who he was, because who didn't know Sherlock Holmes? His light eyes studied her as she sat there, making her slightly uncomfortable. She quickly turned back to her brother, who hadn't taken his eyes off of her.

"Elle?" He spoke, using an old nickname.

His eyes searched her own.

"What happened?" John's voice broke, and Eleanor couldn't help but frown at the pain and hurt that showed through his words.

She suddenly found that her throat was dry, and that words seemed to fail her. She drew her knees closer to her, hugging them tightly. She was still in the clothes she wore last night, simple skinny jeans that were now torn, and a t-shirt that was stained with dried blood. Her hair was a mess, she noted, as she brushed a stray strand behind her ear.

"I-I... ran into an old friend," She spoke, trying to be as vague as she could while still getting the point across. John sighed, and held his head in his hands, and she knew that he understood.

"How long have you been buying from him?" A deep voice spoke from across the room, drawing Eleanor's attention back to Sherlock, who was still studying her with that intense look on his face. His expression had a touch of understanding, though, which confused her.

And then the words sunk in, and she couldn't help but flush from embarrassment. She briefly wondered how he could have known about her habit, but then remembered just who Sherlock Holmes was.

Her hand instinctively found the inside of her elbow, and she rubbed the scarred skin gently. Realizing what she was doing, Eleanor cleared her throat nervously.

"I've been going to Ethan for a few years now. I stopped going to him recently when I quit using, and told him that I wasn't going to buy from him anymore. He was beyond angry, but didn't do anything. Then last night I was walking home from a bar when he... when he caught up to me," She looked down towards the floor, her lips turned into a grimace as the memories flashed through her head.

She swallowed, before cautiously glancing up at her brother. Eleanor didn't know how he would take the fact that she was still doing drugs, as it had caused so much trouble for their relationship before, but when she looked into his eyes she could see only sadness.

"I saw your address in the news, John, and well... I, um, well..." She stuttered, holding her knees closer to her.

"I thought that I'd be safe here."

She almost whispered the last part, afraid that she wouldn't be welcome, afraid that he wouldn't want to see her and would kick her out onto the streets. And she couldn't blame him, but her heart was hoping that he would understand her, that he would love her.

John frowned, and pulled Eleanor into another hug. She inhaled softly at the pain in her abdomen, but melted into his embrace anyways.

"Eleanor, you'll always be safe here," He breathed out, holding her tightly to him. "God, Elle, I've missed you."

Eleanor felt herself choking up at his words, and she tried to smile through her tears.

"I've missed you too, you bloody tosser," She laughed, squeezing him tightly once more before letting him go.

She quickly wiped the tears away, noting that they still had an audience, and attempted to stand. Attempted. Her legs didn't seem to want to support her weight, and she could feel her knees begin to buckle.

John quickly stepped in, giving her a hand in standing upright.

Eleanor smiled weakly, trying to adjust to the soreness that had taken over her body, and stretched her arms out gently. She bit her lip as her right shoulder burned in pain, and slowly exhaled. She frowned, realizing that she was covered in filth and grime from the night before.

"Could I use your shower?" She looked up, directing her question to her brother.

Eleanor figured that she could do with a shower, and John could use some time to figure out what to do with her.

John nodded at her.

"You'll need some clean clothes as well. Hang on, I'll go fetch some of mine for you," He said, before walking off in the direction of his bedroom.

Eleanor suddenly felt very nervous, mainly because of the man that was still in the room with her. Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she had fell off of the couch, his light blue-green orbs never leaving her frail form.

She knew who this was, and knew of some of the things that he could do. She knew that he could probably read her thoughts at this point, which made her more anxious than she cared to admit. So she shook her head quickly, and cleared her throat.

"You're my brother's flat mate, right? Sherlock Holmes?" She asked, her voice wavering.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised at her words, but didn't speak.

Eleanor frowned at his behavior, before nodding.

"Alright then," She muttered, wrapping an arm around herself for comfort.

Eleanor wasn't used to people staring at her like he was; she was always the one to blend into a crowd. She had never liked being noticed, so Sherlock's stare unnerved her. The way that he stared at her made her feel like her mind was being picked apart, like he knew everything that was going on in her head.

"Hmm,"

Eleanor's head shot towards Sherlock, frowning at the noise he had just made. He looked her up and down once more, and shook his head before stalking out of the room.

Eleanor stared in shock at the door he had just walked out of, and found herself choking back a sob. All of the emotions she had held back now seemed to rush right out of her, and she didn't even attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

What am I doing?

Why am I here?

What's wrong with me?

She could hear John's footsteps approaching, so she quickly wiped her tears away, and stood to face her brother.

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A/N: So that was the first chapter, let me know if it's worth continuing!