Author's Note: Hello, readers! I've recently gotten myself immersed into the Sherlock fandom, and this story is the result of a five minute brainstorm after watching The Hounds of Baskerville. It'll be multiple chapters, but as a writer my inspiration comes slowly. I feel like I'm rambling, so I'll let you enjoy the story!
A very special thanks to Fatal Lilly (my real life friend) for agreeing to be my beta! She's the one that got me into to Sherlock, and I'm the one that likes to destroy her feels... so I'm gonna try.
Cover art is by lizzie9009 on DeviantArt
Constructive Criticism is appreciated!
"Breathing is boring."
Sherlock Holmes was alone in his flat, lying on the couch with his hands propped beneath his nose. Lestrade had utterly failed him. Every case he had called about was so dull; not a single serial murderer. Even Sherlock's experiments had grown dull. He was running low on body parts, he would have to phone Molly about that, but perhaps he could focus on a more immediate issue.
John had been leaving him everyday this week to God knows where, and this frustrated the detective endlessly. John had no reason to leave the flat; they had enough food and they didn't need any other extremities, and he why would he need to dress up to go to Tesco?
"He's trying to meet women. Oh joy."
Sherlock let out a long sigh. John was insistent on finding a girlfriend. Why would he need one? He could be spending his time doing important work like solving cases. But no, the doctor preferred to court a woman, who would inevitably feel ignored due to Sherlock, and dump him, thus starting the cycle anew.
A key jingled in the lock; John was home. Sherlock sat up on the couch, not bothering to look at the doctor as he spoke, "John, I really must say you have to stop trying to get a woman. It's so obnoxious."
John coughed and the detective gave a sideways glance. John had one arm over his mouth and one behind his back, showing obvious discomfort. Standing next to him was a young woman, probably about four inches shorter than John. She had light brown hair, highlighted in red, which ran past her shoulders and there was a small smile on her face.
John swallowed hard, "Sherlock, this is…"
Sherlock rose from the couch and smoothed out his dressing gown, "Entirely irrelevant."
John started to stand straighter, "Excuse me?"
Sherlock waved his hand, "She is a prospective girlfriend, John. We both know that our work will get in the way of your relationship, and she'll dump you within the month."
John glared at the detective, "She still has a name, Sherlock."
Sherlock shrugged, "A name that I don't want to waste my time learning."
The woman cleared her throat, drawing the attention of both men. John bowed his head in a silent apology, having entirely forgotten she was there. She nodded and shifted her gaze to Sherlock, "John's already told me so much about you, Sherlock. I thought the great detective would want to know everything."
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and completely disregarded the statement, "American?"
She sighed, "I've heard it from everyone. I moved in with a friend. Is it so strange to hear an American accent?"
"I find it very interesting," John remarked.
The woman smiled at him and rolled her eyes.
"Is that really how you started a conversation, John? 'Yes, I very much like you accent…so foreign. Care for a cuppa?' She probably doesn't even understand the word. How dull."
The woman turned to Sherlock again, "What do you think about my 'accent', Sherlock?"
He rolled his eyes, "I know much more interesting things about you."
"Oh, really?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow, "What have you deduced?"
John tried to cut in by placing a hand on her shoulder, "Look, you really don't want to…"
She shrugged him off and gave the detective a challenging gaze, "No, John, I want to hear."
Sherlock gave John a sideways glance before staring back into the woman's hazel-green eyes, "For starters, you've highlighted you hair with red streaks. Perhaps it was rebellious phase in your teenage years, but you've carried the habit so you're an attention seeker. Judging by the stains on your fingers you're an artist; charcoal from what I can tell, and it's also stained your sleeves."
In response, the woman cuffed the sleeves of her shirt to hide the stains, but revealed something else to spur Sherlock on once more.
"There are some rather interesting scars on your wrists; a troubled past, and there's also a scar by your left eye. Someone was abusive to you, a fight gone too far I suppose. It helps to explain your artwork; you use it as a creative and emotional outlet."
Her mouth hung slightly open as she went to rub her wrists, but the detective continued, "Your clothes have that…rich trash look. Long sleeved white shirt, tattered denim vest, ripped jeans, tall boots, you've got money to spend so you can look like you shop at a thrift store. I'm assuming money from very generous parents; if they put you through art school they must be crazy enough to pay for your clothes. It's also the reason John was attracted to you. A supposedly stylish young girl with red highlights working on a piece of art in a small place like Speedy's," he allowed himself to smirk, "Did I miss anything?"
The woman's eyes went wide as she opened and closed her mouth, not saying much of anything. Sherlock was contented with himself; he had sped up the inevitable process and ended John's "relationship" before it even started. Sherlock had just saved John and himself a lot of wasted time. She was sure to storm off; Sherlock would have to deal with John's wrath, but that was a minor nuisance.
The woman swallowed hard before speaking, "You think you got me figured out?"
She's trying to be smart. Sherlock nodded, "I know I do."
She chuckled, "What if I told you that you missed something?"
Sherlock's smile fell, "What could I have possibly missed?"
A small smile grew on her face, "Why should I tell you? You're the great detective."
Sherlock stiffened, "You're lying."
The woman walked forwards until she was toe-to-toe with Sherlock, "What? Your great powers of deduction are finally failing you?"
Sherlock lowered his gaze and their eyes met once more. Her eyes were bright with defiance as a smile graced her features.
"She can't have a secret. I analyzed her; she hid her apparent scars. What could possibly be left? There could be nothing left…"
The woman rose up on her tiptoes and whispered, "My name is Cassidy."
Sherlock looked straight ahead, retreating into his mind palace. This woman was cocky, obviously. She would be easy to deduce; he just needed time. Yes…that was it, just time.
Sherlock pushed past Cassidy and glared at John as he swept out of the living room.
John mouth hung open. He hadn't know this woman for more than an hour, but she had challenged his obnoxious flat mate, annoyed him to the point that he had stormed off, and composed herself after Sherlock's barrage of nasty remarks. This one might be one worth having.
Cassidy hadn't moved from her position. She felt proud; she just scared off Sherlock Holmes. A feat John had dubbed nigh impossible. She slowly turned to face John, and started to laugh when she noticed him scaring.
"Astounded are we?"
John blinked hard as he shut his mouth, "I…uh…I didn't exactly expect that."
Cassidy chuckled, "I wouldn't think so," she started to walk over to the doctor, "you promised me a cuppa…whatever the heck that is."
John smiled, "It's tea," John turned to the kitchen, "If you're going to avoid the wrath of every well bred Englishmen, I think you should learn a few things."
Cassidy followed behind him and sat down at the table, "Well I'll start with learning how well you make a cuppa."
Author's Note: And that, dear friends, is Chapter One. This will indeed span many chapters (and possibly a sequel) but tell me what you guys think. I would love to hear about your impression of Cassidy. It took me awhile to formulate her back story, but I'm pretty happy with her character.
Yours till the tea biscuits,
SerendipityDreamer