Hello, this is my first fic on Fanfiction, and really my first anywhere.
Please understand that I don't own Sherlock Holmes, if I did I wouldn't be
writing this would I? Anyway, I love reviews! So please enjoy and tell me
what you thought about it.Or die.(heh not really but it sounded so dramatic
and cool)
He watched her from across the crowded bar, his eyes watering from the thick layer of smoke that seemed to always linger in the air. He would eventually bring her the drink she'd conned him into getting for her, but for now he was trying to do what she did to find things out about her. She was always able to tell so readily about a person, just from looking at them, and he wondered if he could do that. She was sitting at the bar nursing what they both assumed to be a broken finger from the way it was already twice its size and purple. From far away she didn't look as dangerous as she was, hell from far away she didn't look dangerous at all. She looked like a somewhat punkish china doll. She was currently wearing a tank top with a back fishnet undershirt that hooked around her thumbs. She was wearing his army pants since her pants had gotten ripped in the fight that broke her finger. She had a black collar on with steel spikes dangling from thick rings. Through the mesh you could barely see the tattoo on her shoulder, a dragon, and now that she was waving at him you couldn't see the Chinese characters on the back of her hand that read Strength, Adventure, and Mystery. He knew of other tattoos but with her long pants you couldn't see them, and the way she was sitting the one to the right of her bellybutton, he knew though that it was of a four leaf clover. She'd wanted tattoos since she was ten and since she was eighteen she had gone crazy with tattoos and piercings, though only ever on her ears, she refused to get pierced anywhere else.
Her hair was a very the color of caramel and cut short so it hung just a little past her shoulders. Her eyes were brown, a light brown that was like the color of brandy. She was smiling a bright smile that seemed to glow with a light all its own. When all he did was stand there looking at her somewhat lost in though she took matters into her own hands. She cupped her long pale hands around her mouth and screamed across the bar and over the football game in one corner, "Hey Raiken!" He sighed and walked over and she snatched the glass from him, scooping the ice out and holding it to the swelling digit. She seemed so happy it was hard to believe that a moment before when her life had been in danger. She had been coming here to meet him because he wanted her out of her house, away from her books, her computer games, everything that kept her locked up in that apartment. He had heard the yell and come running in time to see her flip her attacker. That wasn't where she hurt herself. Her opponent down for the count and the police on the way, she had waved to him tripped over the body and trying to catch herself it had bent under her weight, crushed between her and the pavement.
Only her. . .Only her. . .
After all how many people could survive an attack by a serial murderer and then trip on their own feet trying to make it to her friend?
He still remembered the first time he saw her, well met her. She was in prison, nothing big, and her conviction was reversed and it was expunged from her record later on. But he was there just for the day and night for indecent exposure and being drunk and disorderly. While there another man had nearly beaten him to death. She walked in and the burly monster stopped and looked at her.
"Hiya Link." She said sauntering over. The joys of a co-ed prison.
"Hello Tima." The man hissed making the name sound more like an insult. She smiled warmly and for a moment Raiken feared she would join in on the beating. Instead she drew closer and Link, more like the missing link, drew away.
"My name is Artimus, only my friends can call me Tima." Her foot flashed and kicked him in the face with the laces of her tennis shoe catching on the wrinkles in his flesh. He fell to the ground but was not down for the count. He grabbed her ankle and she twisted as she fell and her knee rammed into his chest. He coughed up blood and fell. He wasn't getting up for at least a few hours. She looked at him and helped the bloody mass he had become up. "You okay?" She asked sweetly. He was still staring at Link. "Oh don't mind him, he has a stick up his ass because I am the prison champ now and not him. Time to take you to the nurse." She said helping him to walk. And when they came to stairs he knew he could not climb she had lifted him onto her back and carried him. That had kind of scared him but it was also three years ago and he was much more used to her now. He would normally have been able to fight the guy himself but he was in prison for being drunk, and a hangover did not improve your fighting abilities.
He sat down beside her finally and started talking about the normal things siblings from another mother would talk about, their love lives, their free time, and their jobs. Well, not their jobs since they worked together. Finally he brought up the question all friends dread to ask each other.
"How long has it been since you went on a date?" She glowered at him and stuck her tongue out at him.
"It doesn't matter. There are no good guys around and I refuse to date for the hell of it." She said nobly. He sighed shaking his head and laughing a little.
"That long eh? Oh and you have a job. London, some guy wants the guy who raped his kid dead." He said rooting around in his pockets for the PDA he had this kind of stuff stored on. She was rambling before he found it though and in a moment he was going to have to have her look through her pockets, wondering if he'd left it in those pants.
"Gotta love those ones for noble reasons." She said sarcastically. "Oh wait? London? Spiffy. I can take a mini vacation before I make the hit and stop buy for souvenirs after I get paid." She said smiling at that. "When do I get the file and tickets?" She asked just as he triumphantly pulled it out of a pocket in his coat, where he had stored it so he did not forget where it was.
"And how much is it worth?" He asked for her. "Tomorrow and he says at least the normal fee plus expenses, so long as you don't end up buying Her Majesty's Theatre, and a bonus if you can get him charged for the crimes. He wants it too look like suicide, can you handle that?"
"False evidence?" She asked with a sneer of disapproval, not wanting to go on if that was required of her, what could you say? She had her scruples, even if she did profit from other people's suffering. If the person she killed had family she'd usually send them money saying it was a friend or something.
"No, he says just get him in his home and the police will be able to find evidence that will prove it. As apposed to hitting him with your car or getting a car to hit him." Raiken explained. She shrugged and popped the half melted ice cube into her mouth fishing out another for her finger.
"So I get him in his house and they give me more money? Perfect." She said pushing another ice cube against her finger. "Anyone else hired that I should know about?" She asked. After someone had hired her and another hitman for the same person she asked that question for every job as a paranoid precaution. Raiken shook his head. Remembering how when the man had attacked her at a dinner as they fought over the mark she killed him with a fork.
"Naw this guy thinks you're the best, he won't hire anyone else." He assured her. She shrugged and cracked her knuckles, swearing violently when she remembered one was broken the hard way. Raiken laughed and ordered some drinks for the pair, a Corona for him and for Artimus a Root Beer. Yeah, after watching her mother drink herself to death and her brother OD on cocaine she didn't drink or do drugs. "Hey while in London do me a supreme favor and get laid, you could really use a good relationship. I mean the last one you had was in college right before you got into The Business." Raiken told her, as if she needed to be reminded of the last boyfriend she had. That had ended badly though. She had been ready to go that one step further, and he had tried to rape her before she was completely ready. Oh she was fine but it had scared her off men for a good long while and the guy? Well he had faired much worse than her to say the least of it. Artimus was not a bad person, she could just get a little violent sometimes and since she'd been into karate and weapons since she was seven it usually wasn't pretty when she got violent.
They talked until the bar closed and once more Raiken was crashing on her couch. He didn't get stone drunk often, the kind of drunk she feared, the kind that lead to alcoholics, but when he did even get slightly sloshed, the first thing he forgot was where his keys were. Usually in his car, locked in. So since not many people will come to help with that at three in the morning, he'd have to come home with her. Then in the morning she'd use her standard hangover cure and send him on his way. That night though was different. She usually couldn't sleep and mostly went to bed at four and woke at nine
It had always been that way for her, and her body was used to it but tonight she fell asleep and didn't wake up until long after 1 in the afternoon, she'd slept too much and was going to be tired now. She had to get on a plane that night so she threw some things into a bag, her equipment she would buy once over there from a friend of a friend. Before she could go though she heard the phone ring. One of her friends had become a doctor and since she got shot sometimes and normal doctors had to report that she and he had a deal worked out and he was her doctor. Only problem was he knew her well enough to know when she was lying about pain. She heard his voice on the other end, nagging her about her finger, damn Raiken, and asking her to come see him. So she grabbed her suitcase and purse, scratch that it was too big for a purse, it was more like a backpack, and left her apartment and headed to the elevator. She sighed and shivered, she hated elevators, not for any rational reason, she just hated them. Her favorite knife was in her bag, a big old bowing knife from her grandfather's hunting days, and she would probably have to mail it to herself, which wasn't too much trouble, but she didn't like to part with it.
She walked into the elevator and dropped her bags, one hand grabbing the rail and the other pushing the "G" button for ground floor. It moved slowly and dinged past each floor until the shinning doors slid apart and let her out into the ground floor of the lobby. She loved her apartment building. It was probably the last brick structure left in all of the downtown Seattle area. And she loved it, with all her heart, but she did not form attachments. The memories would always be in her head to cherish no matter where she was.
No matter where she was she could call up an image of her home, of the soft dove gray clouds outside her window, the constant rain. She loved the rain, and the storms, that was why she had moved here. Seattle didn't disappoint, for as she headed out into the bustling noonday streets she saw those skies she loved so much and felt the cool raindrops cascade over her flesh. She smiled and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, wishing away the cold, but not the rain. She stuck out like a soar thumb but that was what she wanted. Plenty of people looked like this now and those who would blame her for crimes because of her look couldn't tell any of them apart, other things drew their attention other than looks. It was a good disguise for her like of work; that much was very certain.
Her black coat covered black pants and a black shirt making her look like she was trying blend in with the shadows themselves. Her hair was beginning to stick to her neck and forehead, the rain forcing it down onto her pale skin. She grinned and giggled as she stuck out her tongue and caught a few drops, relishing in the taste and then continuing on walking a few steps before hailing a cab. Her finger was fine and she had a flight to catch, she had to do the job Tuesday and it was Thursday now so she figured she'd get up there Friday and that would leave her with two days to sight see and one to set everything up and then the job and then she could head out and shop. She was defiantly elated as she hailed a cab and told him the name of the airport.
It was 12 hours later that she actually arrived in Heathrow Airport, which was absolutely teeming with activity, though at an airport that big, when wasn't it busy? She yawned and her eyelids drooped as she prayed for a bed, even a futon would be welcome at this point. She clambered into a cab and muttered her destination. Her head kept drooping forward as she fought to stay awake, not having gotten much sleep on the plane. He pulled up to her hotel and she thanked him and pulled out some money to pay him. She'd gotten it changed into pounds at the airport, and shouldered her bags as she headed into the hotel. She was half asleep as she fought off the valets and headed to the front desk. As unsafe as it was for someone in her profession she just didn't pay attention and wondered to her room, flopped onto the bed, kicked off her shoes and fell asleep.
She was woken by the shrill sound of her cell phone, rolling over and groaning she answered it with a acknowledging sort of grunt. When she heard her doctor friend's voice she asked him what time it was where he was.
"It's about 9 in the evening why?" He asked confused by her odd behavior.
"I'm in London, it's two in the morning here." And then she hung up and turned off her phone, rolling over and going back to bed. She needed sleep, then when the world was functioning and it was a normal time she would go out and sightsee. When she did wake up it was seven in the morning and she hunted around for the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Once done she pulled on her clothes and looked at the map she'd acquired, seeking out the few points of interest she planned to visit and the nearest Underground Stations. That done she pocketed her camera and headed off to her first destination.
~~
It was night, the cool air of the morning had shifted dramatically to be a harsh cold that burned her lungs. She was sitting on the roof across from the home of the man she was out to kill that cold, cold evening. She wore tight black pants and a black skintight sweater, while her hair was pulled back into the tightest bun she could make. She was ready, and everything was planned out perfectly. She just had to wait for her shot. It came and she aimed her gun only to feel cool metal on the back of her neck. There was a soft clatter as she dropped her gun and stood slowly, her hands raised calmly. "Well Morrison, nice to see you again." She said as the pressure was removed and she was allowed to turn.
"Nice to see you too Artimus." He said in that sickly sweet voice of his. He was a rival of hers. One who wished her dead more than to be the better assassin; he wanted to be famous for her death.
She took a step back as she spoke, "You can't win, I'll always be better and killing me will only ensure that. So why don't you cap this guy, it'll be a good start to being officially better than me."
"No. I think I would rather kill you." He said cocking the gun. She took another step back and he grinned. "You wouldn't." He hissed. She tilted her head smiling and flung herself off the roof. She would rather kill herself than give him the pleasure. The wind rushed past her and she waited for the crack to her back that would no doubt end her life. But instead there was a soft thud as though she'd been set somewhere and nothing, other than a soft movement beneath her and a noise much like horse hooves on cobblestones. Terra Firma; she was fine?
She opened one eye and then the other. She was face to face with a man about her height with thinning hair and dark eyes. He was old, about forty and dressed in the finery of the 19th century. She was in a carriage, or was it a hansom cab, and on the opposite side of him. Shrugging she smiled and offered out her hand, which he tentatively took in a handshake. "Hello, I think-sir-you just saved my life. Though at this point I am unsure as to precisely how that happened." She told him as he offered her a thin smile in return. "I'm Artimus." She gave him her name willingly, considering the circumstances, she was more grateful than scared and figured if he was out to get her she could kill him easily, her knife was still tucked on the inside of her thigh.
"Professor Moriarty, at your service." He said kissing her knuckles. "And taking your entrance into my life into consideration I would enjoy learning your half of the story." He said. Well, at least he was handling this as well as she was, though for different reasons. She supposed that seeing a twenty-eight year old woman in skintight black drop from-not through-the top of your cab would be convincing enough evidence, as much as her thanks that she was not dead and so here was better than hell.
"Well I can hardly tell you how I got here until I know where here is." She informed him smiling. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew what the answer was going to be, he did introduce himself as Professor Moriarty, who she should hate since she knew he was bad, but she'd never been into Sherlock Holmes so she couldn't hate him for trying to kill the detective and, well considering her occupation she had no right to judge him. He actually laughed at that, not hard but more than she assumed he usually did.
"Very true. You've a head on your shoulders. The year-I assume you would like that as well-is 1886-it is November 1st and though I do not currently know our precise location I do know we are in London and on our way to Kensington. Now could you share some more about you?" He asked kindly. She sat back and thought for a moment and then shook her head and sighed.
"My story is a bit complex so I would like your opinion on it before I try to understand it myself." She said and he nodding, urging her on in his own way. "I was in London, near Kensington, on a roof doing my job in the year 2003. If you can imagine." She muttered the last part more to herself than to anyone else. He peaked his fingers and sighed.
"What job were you performing?" He asked, looking at her clothing. She smiled an evil, wicked sort of smile.
"I killed people for money." And she sat back waiting for his reaction. His eyes widened and she continued. "Oh yes, it's still illegal, it's just that women may also do it now, if that was what had you so startled." She corrected. He nodded and smiled.
"It's certainly not what I would have guessed though that knife looks quite dangerous. If one knows how to use it." He said as though it were a challenge.
"Well I know how to use it, I can cut you from nuts to nose-if you will pardon the America expression-and then stitch it back up if I have the tools." She responded with a Cheshire-like grin.
"It is refreshing to speak to someone with intelligence, especially a woman. Normally if I am subject to speaking with them it is something I soon regret." He said kindly.
"It is refreshing to be around a criminal genius other than the petty crooks I usually get stuck with." She said, "You're quite famous even where I am from." She finished. He was surprised at first and then considering the other events of the evening he seemed able enough to accept that.
"How much do you make at a job like that?" He asked, trying to make small talk. She relaxed and cracked her neck.
"Well I make ten thousand dollars American plus expenses which can get rather high if I am traveling out of the country. The most I collected on a job ever was just over two hundred grand." She offered. His eyes grew wide and she was quick to remind him of the time difference.
"You know, I think that you and I could strike up quite the deal though I doubt I would be able to pay you quite that much." He offered stroking his chin softly. I shrugged.
"Well being that I am stranded here with no money, no home, and no appropriate clothes I think we could give you a discount for help in those areas, however I do have binding contracts." She said, dropping into her business mode so that she could handle this possible client. The cab halted and Artimus prayed for shock absorbers to be invented before her next cab ride. They got out and he took her hand to assist her down, while the driver looked at her with a cross between curiosity and lust. Moriarty helped her into the small domicile he occupied and lead her to a small sitting room.
"You know about me so I assume that you know about the one man who can cause me problems." She nodded that she knew of whom he was speaking, "Well I would like you to dispose of him for me." She sighed and thought about this for a moment and when she spoke next it was to ask for paper and a pen. He called to his maid and had it brought to her as well as some hot tea. She knelt on the floor before the table, ignoring Victorian manners and scribbling quickly. She often looked up and asked him a question and then went back to scribbling. Finally when the page was full she presented it to him, her signature already scrawled across the bottom next to a space for his own.
He read it over silently and had to ask her a question or two about the language, but in the end it was satisfactory and they agreed. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the paper with a flourish. She took it back and read it over one last time, as was her habit.
The contract said that in exchange for services rendered the party of the first part would pay the party of the second part with money for room, a few outfits that he would help her pick out to fit in around this world, and upon completion of the services of the party of the second part the party of the first part shall present 1,500 pounds. A mutual agreement being reached between the two and he would keep up her lodgings with a yearly salary of one hundred pounds plus a standard fee of one thousand pounds upon completion of any and all jobs completed that the party of the first part may offer. Should the terms of the contract be violated it is nullified and should it be nullified in good faith there will be a severance pay of two thousand pounds.
Then below were some terms about breaking the contract and special assignments. This would be her job here, his private hitman and he would help her adapt in this new world. She had read 'Hound of the Baskervilles' once when she was in the tenth grade and then she'd seen a couple movies, okay, she'd seen 'The Great Mouse Detective,' and then there were modern references so she knew enough about the people but it wasn't as though she cared about any of them. Well, she cared about Moriarty but that was because he was now supporting her completely.
"Until you get lodgings near him I welcome you to stay here, I have a spare room, tomorrow we'll go and get you some clothes." He said standing, she took that as her cue to retire for the evening, and she was tired, so she followed him to the offered room and he was about to present her with a gown to sleep in she waved it off.
"I'll sleep in this for tonight, then we can just pick up a nightgown tomorrow with everything else." She offered as he smiled and nodded, walking down the hall to speak with his maid before retiring himself. She pulled off her boots and pulled off her bra, god she would miss that, and climbed under the covers. She figured to herself, just before she fell asleep, that her first encounter in this world could have been worse. She had a job, she had food, a home, and clothes, hell she was doing better than most people of her time. Math was not her strong suite, but she figured that with the US to Pounds conversion rate and with the time difference she was doing better than she had in her time, more money and hey she had job security here. Back home she just did the jobs that fell into her lap and here she had a boss who paid her constantly and extra when he used her services. Ha on everyone who ever said she wouldn't achieve anything.
She sighed and breathed in the soft sort of dusty scent. It seemed so long ago she had been ready to die, so long ago since she'd gotten smashed in a bar, so long ago since she'd flown to this country from her home. Thoughts along that line though drove her to wonder at what her few friends were doing back there, in that world. She wondered if given the chance she would go back and realized something that surprised her. When she was a child and dreamed about coming to another world as she had done, she always thought she would stay. But now, now this cold shell that was so ready to get up and move if people knew her for what she was, this version of her didn't care. She liked it here because she had job security, a constant salary, but back home she got more money per hit. Home had movies and video games and guns, nice guns with laser sights. What did here have? Here had that security and here had people less equipped to fight back. Here she assumed she was stronger, used to working out, used to much harsher conditions that she had practiced to be the best in a world where plenty of people knew different ways to fight back. She doubted main people here knew to take their house keys between their fingers in a street fight.
~~
She awoke with the pink light of dawn filtering in through pale white curtains. On a chair in the corner of her room was a neat pile of clothing she shook them out and smiled, a long green skirt and a white shirt with blue pinstripes. The perfect outfit for a day of shopping in Victorian London with the scum of the Earth, at least she thought so, she could be wrong, she had often been told that she couldn't tell the difference. She pulled this on, struggling a bit with the articles of clothing she had no clues about what they were. Sighing heavily she pulled on her own undergarments and then what pieces of clothing she could figure out how to pull on and headed out into the hall looking for food. The air was cool in the early morning, even inside and she was grateful for all the layers she had just spent an ungodly amount of time putting on. She finally found the kitchen to see the maid working at making coffee so she set about to help and essentially get her addictive substance sooner. She didn't even bother with cream or sugar or anything she normally doctored up her coffee with and downed it in three scalding sips.
Well that wasn't quite true, only the first one burned, after that she couldn't even feel the next two. She was on her second cup when her new employer entered and raised an eyebrow at the ways she was chugging the substance. She glared and set the cup down. "I need the caffeine if you want me to be able to function." She snapped glaring.
"Catharine? Pour her another cup of coffee." He said looking to his maid who giggled behind her hand. His smiles were cold, but then again so were hers. She liked being able to know that there was someone else out there who smiled though it never looked real. It was not her fault that after years of surviving of the deaths of others that she had closed herself off from the world. When the coffee caught up with her and she found a need to use the facilities she closed the door behind her and sighed in relief, thanking every god she could think of.
"Indoor plumbing." She whispered joyously.
It was another hour before the two were headed out into the London streets. He took her all over town shopping for clothes. She found a nice dress, for dressier occasions that was a deep forest green, plus three everyday outfits, a nightgown and an everyday outfit for around the house. She hated dresses normally and probably hadn't worn one since she was baptized but here it was that that would let people here overlook her and that was what she needed more than anything.
"So why don't you kill this guy yourself it sounds like you're more than capable." She asked as they walked through Trafalgar Square and discussed how he wanted the mark killed. She had found that killing was a highly personal thing and that people always had a dream way for this person who had wronged them to die. He sighed and stopped.
"I think that it is mainly that it is you who is doing it for me. That it will be a woman who is his undoing." She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest and sighed heavily. He ignored the motion and spoke up once more. "I want him to suffer before his death." He told her, "I want him to be a broken shell when he dies. I do not care how you do it, but break his spirit, destroy him." She winced at the sudden cruelty this revealed in him, not that she was unaware of the fact that he was considered a villain. It was simply that she was used to at least showing the soon to die a little respect. She sighed and took a small step away from him, promising herself she was never going to get him that angry with her.
~~
Holmes was sitting alone in his sitting room playing his violin with more passion than someone who was admittedly without a heart should be able to muster. He pulled the bow across the strings eliciting such sweet sounds that surely someone passing by would think it one of the classics and not something he had just thought up. The sun was shining brightly for the November morning and his apartments at Baker Street seemed so empty with Watson no longer around. He didn't understand what was special enough about Constance to make Watson marry her and move to Kensington.*
He sighed and put the instrument down, and reaching for the seven percent solution he allowed himself on these boring afternoons. Just as his finger brushed against the cool glass there came a knocked at what was now only his door. Knowing that Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her family so he headed towards the door, down the seventeen steps and opened the door himself. There before him stood a woman smiling pleasantly, wearing a hand- me-down outfit and holding a small suitcase.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson, she is the landlady is she not?" She said in an American accent that was already being replaced with a British one. He looked her up and down and said,
"She's in Liverpool visiting family, she'll be back later this afternoon." He responded. She nodded and allowed herself in through no prompting by him. He shut the door and followed her up, wondering what it was that made people think women were anything but devious.
"Well then I'll wait here for her, I have no where else to go after all." She announced entering the sitting room. "I'm Anna Winters." She said sticking out her hand. He shook it and introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes. He then looked at her and thought for a moment.
"What do you do for a living?" He asked, as though not believing what his well-trained eyes told him.
"Ah I guess you are as good as you say. I haven't quite found a job just yet but back home I was raised on a ranch. My brother was sickly so I learned to shoot, to throw a knife, to do all that stuff ranching sons usually learn. That's why I am somewhat less equipped to survive on my own than others but I would like a chance at being me other than the son my father wanted. So I came here to London and I found in the paper than Mrs. Hudson is renting rooms for my price range so I came to find her. But the paper was well." She pulled it out of a pocket in her coat and revealed it was slightly tattered and looked as though she had found it on the side of the road, which he did not doubt she had.
"So I knew you lived here. I came to see if you could tell me where to find her and apparently you have. Thank you. Now, seeing as it is rather cold out there and I am slightly without the clothing to battle said cold, may I stay here?" She asked motioning to the sitting room around her. He sighed and sat down motioning to an empty chair she sat with a smile and thanked him.
"Are you simply going to move in and hope you get a job?" He asked looking her over. She sighed and shrugged chewing on one of her nails in a nervous habit.
"I don't know how to do much that would get me a job but my father's ranch had some workers from Mexico and I learned Spanish from them and where as that is not as popular as French but it may come in handy to teach children or something. I suppose I could be a writer, I've always wanted to do that." She wondered aloud. Smiling, it was all lies, not that Holmes knew that, the clues all pointed to the story as true, and she knew that, it was why she had chosen the story.
They talked only when it seemed to them they had to for about an hour when I finally returned to the residence, going to check up on Mr. Holmes. I was always afraid not to check on him, he often got so wrapped up in his work he would forget everything but what he was working on. When I entered the familiar sitting room I saw a woman I did not know across from him. Her hair was short and a deep blond color and her skin tanned. She smiled and introduced herself, then asked about a room I had for rent. I took her to see it and the dear absolutely loved it, asking to begin renting it immediately. She was such a joy compared to how Holmes could get. I too often found myself patching up bullet holes in my walls or hiding a burn mark on the floor. Most of the time I would not put up with it but he always paid in full and on time so I really could not complain.
And that is the real story of how Artimus neè Anna Winters came to live at 221 C Baker Street though it was hardly the most interesting thing that happened with her around. No, the whole story is much more interesting than just her showing up at our door. It would just turn out to be a very different adventure than anyone had anticipated.
~~
*If you look in 1886 Watson married Constance Adams from San Francisco and moved to Kensington. She dies then just a year later and he moves back with Holmes until he meets Mary in 1889 and moves to Paddington with her. Okay I really do have a life but this information was collected off the Sherlock Holmes timeline that I bought at the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London. I assume that's right considering the source so no complaints please, though you may complain to the people at the Museum.
He watched her from across the crowded bar, his eyes watering from the thick layer of smoke that seemed to always linger in the air. He would eventually bring her the drink she'd conned him into getting for her, but for now he was trying to do what she did to find things out about her. She was always able to tell so readily about a person, just from looking at them, and he wondered if he could do that. She was sitting at the bar nursing what they both assumed to be a broken finger from the way it was already twice its size and purple. From far away she didn't look as dangerous as she was, hell from far away she didn't look dangerous at all. She looked like a somewhat punkish china doll. She was currently wearing a tank top with a back fishnet undershirt that hooked around her thumbs. She was wearing his army pants since her pants had gotten ripped in the fight that broke her finger. She had a black collar on with steel spikes dangling from thick rings. Through the mesh you could barely see the tattoo on her shoulder, a dragon, and now that she was waving at him you couldn't see the Chinese characters on the back of her hand that read Strength, Adventure, and Mystery. He knew of other tattoos but with her long pants you couldn't see them, and the way she was sitting the one to the right of her bellybutton, he knew though that it was of a four leaf clover. She'd wanted tattoos since she was ten and since she was eighteen she had gone crazy with tattoos and piercings, though only ever on her ears, she refused to get pierced anywhere else.
Her hair was a very the color of caramel and cut short so it hung just a little past her shoulders. Her eyes were brown, a light brown that was like the color of brandy. She was smiling a bright smile that seemed to glow with a light all its own. When all he did was stand there looking at her somewhat lost in though she took matters into her own hands. She cupped her long pale hands around her mouth and screamed across the bar and over the football game in one corner, "Hey Raiken!" He sighed and walked over and she snatched the glass from him, scooping the ice out and holding it to the swelling digit. She seemed so happy it was hard to believe that a moment before when her life had been in danger. She had been coming here to meet him because he wanted her out of her house, away from her books, her computer games, everything that kept her locked up in that apartment. He had heard the yell and come running in time to see her flip her attacker. That wasn't where she hurt herself. Her opponent down for the count and the police on the way, she had waved to him tripped over the body and trying to catch herself it had bent under her weight, crushed between her and the pavement.
Only her. . .Only her. . .
After all how many people could survive an attack by a serial murderer and then trip on their own feet trying to make it to her friend?
He still remembered the first time he saw her, well met her. She was in prison, nothing big, and her conviction was reversed and it was expunged from her record later on. But he was there just for the day and night for indecent exposure and being drunk and disorderly. While there another man had nearly beaten him to death. She walked in and the burly monster stopped and looked at her.
"Hiya Link." She said sauntering over. The joys of a co-ed prison.
"Hello Tima." The man hissed making the name sound more like an insult. She smiled warmly and for a moment Raiken feared she would join in on the beating. Instead she drew closer and Link, more like the missing link, drew away.
"My name is Artimus, only my friends can call me Tima." Her foot flashed and kicked him in the face with the laces of her tennis shoe catching on the wrinkles in his flesh. He fell to the ground but was not down for the count. He grabbed her ankle and she twisted as she fell and her knee rammed into his chest. He coughed up blood and fell. He wasn't getting up for at least a few hours. She looked at him and helped the bloody mass he had become up. "You okay?" She asked sweetly. He was still staring at Link. "Oh don't mind him, he has a stick up his ass because I am the prison champ now and not him. Time to take you to the nurse." She said helping him to walk. And when they came to stairs he knew he could not climb she had lifted him onto her back and carried him. That had kind of scared him but it was also three years ago and he was much more used to her now. He would normally have been able to fight the guy himself but he was in prison for being drunk, and a hangover did not improve your fighting abilities.
He sat down beside her finally and started talking about the normal things siblings from another mother would talk about, their love lives, their free time, and their jobs. Well, not their jobs since they worked together. Finally he brought up the question all friends dread to ask each other.
"How long has it been since you went on a date?" She glowered at him and stuck her tongue out at him.
"It doesn't matter. There are no good guys around and I refuse to date for the hell of it." She said nobly. He sighed shaking his head and laughing a little.
"That long eh? Oh and you have a job. London, some guy wants the guy who raped his kid dead." He said rooting around in his pockets for the PDA he had this kind of stuff stored on. She was rambling before he found it though and in a moment he was going to have to have her look through her pockets, wondering if he'd left it in those pants.
"Gotta love those ones for noble reasons." She said sarcastically. "Oh wait? London? Spiffy. I can take a mini vacation before I make the hit and stop buy for souvenirs after I get paid." She said smiling at that. "When do I get the file and tickets?" She asked just as he triumphantly pulled it out of a pocket in his coat, where he had stored it so he did not forget where it was.
"And how much is it worth?" He asked for her. "Tomorrow and he says at least the normal fee plus expenses, so long as you don't end up buying Her Majesty's Theatre, and a bonus if you can get him charged for the crimes. He wants it too look like suicide, can you handle that?"
"False evidence?" She asked with a sneer of disapproval, not wanting to go on if that was required of her, what could you say? She had her scruples, even if she did profit from other people's suffering. If the person she killed had family she'd usually send them money saying it was a friend or something.
"No, he says just get him in his home and the police will be able to find evidence that will prove it. As apposed to hitting him with your car or getting a car to hit him." Raiken explained. She shrugged and popped the half melted ice cube into her mouth fishing out another for her finger.
"So I get him in his house and they give me more money? Perfect." She said pushing another ice cube against her finger. "Anyone else hired that I should know about?" She asked. After someone had hired her and another hitman for the same person she asked that question for every job as a paranoid precaution. Raiken shook his head. Remembering how when the man had attacked her at a dinner as they fought over the mark she killed him with a fork.
"Naw this guy thinks you're the best, he won't hire anyone else." He assured her. She shrugged and cracked her knuckles, swearing violently when she remembered one was broken the hard way. Raiken laughed and ordered some drinks for the pair, a Corona for him and for Artimus a Root Beer. Yeah, after watching her mother drink herself to death and her brother OD on cocaine she didn't drink or do drugs. "Hey while in London do me a supreme favor and get laid, you could really use a good relationship. I mean the last one you had was in college right before you got into The Business." Raiken told her, as if she needed to be reminded of the last boyfriend she had. That had ended badly though. She had been ready to go that one step further, and he had tried to rape her before she was completely ready. Oh she was fine but it had scared her off men for a good long while and the guy? Well he had faired much worse than her to say the least of it. Artimus was not a bad person, she could just get a little violent sometimes and since she'd been into karate and weapons since she was seven it usually wasn't pretty when she got violent.
They talked until the bar closed and once more Raiken was crashing on her couch. He didn't get stone drunk often, the kind of drunk she feared, the kind that lead to alcoholics, but when he did even get slightly sloshed, the first thing he forgot was where his keys were. Usually in his car, locked in. So since not many people will come to help with that at three in the morning, he'd have to come home with her. Then in the morning she'd use her standard hangover cure and send him on his way. That night though was different. She usually couldn't sleep and mostly went to bed at four and woke at nine
It had always been that way for her, and her body was used to it but tonight she fell asleep and didn't wake up until long after 1 in the afternoon, she'd slept too much and was going to be tired now. She had to get on a plane that night so she threw some things into a bag, her equipment she would buy once over there from a friend of a friend. Before she could go though she heard the phone ring. One of her friends had become a doctor and since she got shot sometimes and normal doctors had to report that she and he had a deal worked out and he was her doctor. Only problem was he knew her well enough to know when she was lying about pain. She heard his voice on the other end, nagging her about her finger, damn Raiken, and asking her to come see him. So she grabbed her suitcase and purse, scratch that it was too big for a purse, it was more like a backpack, and left her apartment and headed to the elevator. She sighed and shivered, she hated elevators, not for any rational reason, she just hated them. Her favorite knife was in her bag, a big old bowing knife from her grandfather's hunting days, and she would probably have to mail it to herself, which wasn't too much trouble, but she didn't like to part with it.
She walked into the elevator and dropped her bags, one hand grabbing the rail and the other pushing the "G" button for ground floor. It moved slowly and dinged past each floor until the shinning doors slid apart and let her out into the ground floor of the lobby. She loved her apartment building. It was probably the last brick structure left in all of the downtown Seattle area. And she loved it, with all her heart, but she did not form attachments. The memories would always be in her head to cherish no matter where she was.
No matter where she was she could call up an image of her home, of the soft dove gray clouds outside her window, the constant rain. She loved the rain, and the storms, that was why she had moved here. Seattle didn't disappoint, for as she headed out into the bustling noonday streets she saw those skies she loved so much and felt the cool raindrops cascade over her flesh. She smiled and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, wishing away the cold, but not the rain. She stuck out like a soar thumb but that was what she wanted. Plenty of people looked like this now and those who would blame her for crimes because of her look couldn't tell any of them apart, other things drew their attention other than looks. It was a good disguise for her like of work; that much was very certain.
Her black coat covered black pants and a black shirt making her look like she was trying blend in with the shadows themselves. Her hair was beginning to stick to her neck and forehead, the rain forcing it down onto her pale skin. She grinned and giggled as she stuck out her tongue and caught a few drops, relishing in the taste and then continuing on walking a few steps before hailing a cab. Her finger was fine and she had a flight to catch, she had to do the job Tuesday and it was Thursday now so she figured she'd get up there Friday and that would leave her with two days to sight see and one to set everything up and then the job and then she could head out and shop. She was defiantly elated as she hailed a cab and told him the name of the airport.
It was 12 hours later that she actually arrived in Heathrow Airport, which was absolutely teeming with activity, though at an airport that big, when wasn't it busy? She yawned and her eyelids drooped as she prayed for a bed, even a futon would be welcome at this point. She clambered into a cab and muttered her destination. Her head kept drooping forward as she fought to stay awake, not having gotten much sleep on the plane. He pulled up to her hotel and she thanked him and pulled out some money to pay him. She'd gotten it changed into pounds at the airport, and shouldered her bags as she headed into the hotel. She was half asleep as she fought off the valets and headed to the front desk. As unsafe as it was for someone in her profession she just didn't pay attention and wondered to her room, flopped onto the bed, kicked off her shoes and fell asleep.
She was woken by the shrill sound of her cell phone, rolling over and groaning she answered it with a acknowledging sort of grunt. When she heard her doctor friend's voice she asked him what time it was where he was.
"It's about 9 in the evening why?" He asked confused by her odd behavior.
"I'm in London, it's two in the morning here." And then she hung up and turned off her phone, rolling over and going back to bed. She needed sleep, then when the world was functioning and it was a normal time she would go out and sightsee. When she did wake up it was seven in the morning and she hunted around for the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Once done she pulled on her clothes and looked at the map she'd acquired, seeking out the few points of interest she planned to visit and the nearest Underground Stations. That done she pocketed her camera and headed off to her first destination.
~~
It was night, the cool air of the morning had shifted dramatically to be a harsh cold that burned her lungs. She was sitting on the roof across from the home of the man she was out to kill that cold, cold evening. She wore tight black pants and a black skintight sweater, while her hair was pulled back into the tightest bun she could make. She was ready, and everything was planned out perfectly. She just had to wait for her shot. It came and she aimed her gun only to feel cool metal on the back of her neck. There was a soft clatter as she dropped her gun and stood slowly, her hands raised calmly. "Well Morrison, nice to see you again." She said as the pressure was removed and she was allowed to turn.
"Nice to see you too Artimus." He said in that sickly sweet voice of his. He was a rival of hers. One who wished her dead more than to be the better assassin; he wanted to be famous for her death.
She took a step back as she spoke, "You can't win, I'll always be better and killing me will only ensure that. So why don't you cap this guy, it'll be a good start to being officially better than me."
"No. I think I would rather kill you." He said cocking the gun. She took another step back and he grinned. "You wouldn't." He hissed. She tilted her head smiling and flung herself off the roof. She would rather kill herself than give him the pleasure. The wind rushed past her and she waited for the crack to her back that would no doubt end her life. But instead there was a soft thud as though she'd been set somewhere and nothing, other than a soft movement beneath her and a noise much like horse hooves on cobblestones. Terra Firma; she was fine?
She opened one eye and then the other. She was face to face with a man about her height with thinning hair and dark eyes. He was old, about forty and dressed in the finery of the 19th century. She was in a carriage, or was it a hansom cab, and on the opposite side of him. Shrugging she smiled and offered out her hand, which he tentatively took in a handshake. "Hello, I think-sir-you just saved my life. Though at this point I am unsure as to precisely how that happened." She told him as he offered her a thin smile in return. "I'm Artimus." She gave him her name willingly, considering the circumstances, she was more grateful than scared and figured if he was out to get her she could kill him easily, her knife was still tucked on the inside of her thigh.
"Professor Moriarty, at your service." He said kissing her knuckles. "And taking your entrance into my life into consideration I would enjoy learning your half of the story." He said. Well, at least he was handling this as well as she was, though for different reasons. She supposed that seeing a twenty-eight year old woman in skintight black drop from-not through-the top of your cab would be convincing enough evidence, as much as her thanks that she was not dead and so here was better than hell.
"Well I can hardly tell you how I got here until I know where here is." She informed him smiling. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew what the answer was going to be, he did introduce himself as Professor Moriarty, who she should hate since she knew he was bad, but she'd never been into Sherlock Holmes so she couldn't hate him for trying to kill the detective and, well considering her occupation she had no right to judge him. He actually laughed at that, not hard but more than she assumed he usually did.
"Very true. You've a head on your shoulders. The year-I assume you would like that as well-is 1886-it is November 1st and though I do not currently know our precise location I do know we are in London and on our way to Kensington. Now could you share some more about you?" He asked kindly. She sat back and thought for a moment and then shook her head and sighed.
"My story is a bit complex so I would like your opinion on it before I try to understand it myself." She said and he nodding, urging her on in his own way. "I was in London, near Kensington, on a roof doing my job in the year 2003. If you can imagine." She muttered the last part more to herself than to anyone else. He peaked his fingers and sighed.
"What job were you performing?" He asked, looking at her clothing. She smiled an evil, wicked sort of smile.
"I killed people for money." And she sat back waiting for his reaction. His eyes widened and she continued. "Oh yes, it's still illegal, it's just that women may also do it now, if that was what had you so startled." She corrected. He nodded and smiled.
"It's certainly not what I would have guessed though that knife looks quite dangerous. If one knows how to use it." He said as though it were a challenge.
"Well I know how to use it, I can cut you from nuts to nose-if you will pardon the America expression-and then stitch it back up if I have the tools." She responded with a Cheshire-like grin.
"It is refreshing to speak to someone with intelligence, especially a woman. Normally if I am subject to speaking with them it is something I soon regret." He said kindly.
"It is refreshing to be around a criminal genius other than the petty crooks I usually get stuck with." She said, "You're quite famous even where I am from." She finished. He was surprised at first and then considering the other events of the evening he seemed able enough to accept that.
"How much do you make at a job like that?" He asked, trying to make small talk. She relaxed and cracked her neck.
"Well I make ten thousand dollars American plus expenses which can get rather high if I am traveling out of the country. The most I collected on a job ever was just over two hundred grand." She offered. His eyes grew wide and she was quick to remind him of the time difference.
"You know, I think that you and I could strike up quite the deal though I doubt I would be able to pay you quite that much." He offered stroking his chin softly. I shrugged.
"Well being that I am stranded here with no money, no home, and no appropriate clothes I think we could give you a discount for help in those areas, however I do have binding contracts." She said, dropping into her business mode so that she could handle this possible client. The cab halted and Artimus prayed for shock absorbers to be invented before her next cab ride. They got out and he took her hand to assist her down, while the driver looked at her with a cross between curiosity and lust. Moriarty helped her into the small domicile he occupied and lead her to a small sitting room.
"You know about me so I assume that you know about the one man who can cause me problems." She nodded that she knew of whom he was speaking, "Well I would like you to dispose of him for me." She sighed and thought about this for a moment and when she spoke next it was to ask for paper and a pen. He called to his maid and had it brought to her as well as some hot tea. She knelt on the floor before the table, ignoring Victorian manners and scribbling quickly. She often looked up and asked him a question and then went back to scribbling. Finally when the page was full she presented it to him, her signature already scrawled across the bottom next to a space for his own.
He read it over silently and had to ask her a question or two about the language, but in the end it was satisfactory and they agreed. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the paper with a flourish. She took it back and read it over one last time, as was her habit.
The contract said that in exchange for services rendered the party of the first part would pay the party of the second part with money for room, a few outfits that he would help her pick out to fit in around this world, and upon completion of the services of the party of the second part the party of the first part shall present 1,500 pounds. A mutual agreement being reached between the two and he would keep up her lodgings with a yearly salary of one hundred pounds plus a standard fee of one thousand pounds upon completion of any and all jobs completed that the party of the first part may offer. Should the terms of the contract be violated it is nullified and should it be nullified in good faith there will be a severance pay of two thousand pounds.
Then below were some terms about breaking the contract and special assignments. This would be her job here, his private hitman and he would help her adapt in this new world. She had read 'Hound of the Baskervilles' once when she was in the tenth grade and then she'd seen a couple movies, okay, she'd seen 'The Great Mouse Detective,' and then there were modern references so she knew enough about the people but it wasn't as though she cared about any of them. Well, she cared about Moriarty but that was because he was now supporting her completely.
"Until you get lodgings near him I welcome you to stay here, I have a spare room, tomorrow we'll go and get you some clothes." He said standing, she took that as her cue to retire for the evening, and she was tired, so she followed him to the offered room and he was about to present her with a gown to sleep in she waved it off.
"I'll sleep in this for tonight, then we can just pick up a nightgown tomorrow with everything else." She offered as he smiled and nodded, walking down the hall to speak with his maid before retiring himself. She pulled off her boots and pulled off her bra, god she would miss that, and climbed under the covers. She figured to herself, just before she fell asleep, that her first encounter in this world could have been worse. She had a job, she had food, a home, and clothes, hell she was doing better than most people of her time. Math was not her strong suite, but she figured that with the US to Pounds conversion rate and with the time difference she was doing better than she had in her time, more money and hey she had job security here. Back home she just did the jobs that fell into her lap and here she had a boss who paid her constantly and extra when he used her services. Ha on everyone who ever said she wouldn't achieve anything.
She sighed and breathed in the soft sort of dusty scent. It seemed so long ago she had been ready to die, so long ago since she'd gotten smashed in a bar, so long ago since she'd flown to this country from her home. Thoughts along that line though drove her to wonder at what her few friends were doing back there, in that world. She wondered if given the chance she would go back and realized something that surprised her. When she was a child and dreamed about coming to another world as she had done, she always thought she would stay. But now, now this cold shell that was so ready to get up and move if people knew her for what she was, this version of her didn't care. She liked it here because she had job security, a constant salary, but back home she got more money per hit. Home had movies and video games and guns, nice guns with laser sights. What did here have? Here had that security and here had people less equipped to fight back. Here she assumed she was stronger, used to working out, used to much harsher conditions that she had practiced to be the best in a world where plenty of people knew different ways to fight back. She doubted main people here knew to take their house keys between their fingers in a street fight.
~~
She awoke with the pink light of dawn filtering in through pale white curtains. On a chair in the corner of her room was a neat pile of clothing she shook them out and smiled, a long green skirt and a white shirt with blue pinstripes. The perfect outfit for a day of shopping in Victorian London with the scum of the Earth, at least she thought so, she could be wrong, she had often been told that she couldn't tell the difference. She pulled this on, struggling a bit with the articles of clothing she had no clues about what they were. Sighing heavily she pulled on her own undergarments and then what pieces of clothing she could figure out how to pull on and headed out into the hall looking for food. The air was cool in the early morning, even inside and she was grateful for all the layers she had just spent an ungodly amount of time putting on. She finally found the kitchen to see the maid working at making coffee so she set about to help and essentially get her addictive substance sooner. She didn't even bother with cream or sugar or anything she normally doctored up her coffee with and downed it in three scalding sips.
Well that wasn't quite true, only the first one burned, after that she couldn't even feel the next two. She was on her second cup when her new employer entered and raised an eyebrow at the ways she was chugging the substance. She glared and set the cup down. "I need the caffeine if you want me to be able to function." She snapped glaring.
"Catharine? Pour her another cup of coffee." He said looking to his maid who giggled behind her hand. His smiles were cold, but then again so were hers. She liked being able to know that there was someone else out there who smiled though it never looked real. It was not her fault that after years of surviving of the deaths of others that she had closed herself off from the world. When the coffee caught up with her and she found a need to use the facilities she closed the door behind her and sighed in relief, thanking every god she could think of.
"Indoor plumbing." She whispered joyously.
It was another hour before the two were headed out into the London streets. He took her all over town shopping for clothes. She found a nice dress, for dressier occasions that was a deep forest green, plus three everyday outfits, a nightgown and an everyday outfit for around the house. She hated dresses normally and probably hadn't worn one since she was baptized but here it was that that would let people here overlook her and that was what she needed more than anything.
"So why don't you kill this guy yourself it sounds like you're more than capable." She asked as they walked through Trafalgar Square and discussed how he wanted the mark killed. She had found that killing was a highly personal thing and that people always had a dream way for this person who had wronged them to die. He sighed and stopped.
"I think that it is mainly that it is you who is doing it for me. That it will be a woman who is his undoing." She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest and sighed heavily. He ignored the motion and spoke up once more. "I want him to suffer before his death." He told her, "I want him to be a broken shell when he dies. I do not care how you do it, but break his spirit, destroy him." She winced at the sudden cruelty this revealed in him, not that she was unaware of the fact that he was considered a villain. It was simply that she was used to at least showing the soon to die a little respect. She sighed and took a small step away from him, promising herself she was never going to get him that angry with her.
~~
Holmes was sitting alone in his sitting room playing his violin with more passion than someone who was admittedly without a heart should be able to muster. He pulled the bow across the strings eliciting such sweet sounds that surely someone passing by would think it one of the classics and not something he had just thought up. The sun was shining brightly for the November morning and his apartments at Baker Street seemed so empty with Watson no longer around. He didn't understand what was special enough about Constance to make Watson marry her and move to Kensington.*
He sighed and put the instrument down, and reaching for the seven percent solution he allowed himself on these boring afternoons. Just as his finger brushed against the cool glass there came a knocked at what was now only his door. Knowing that Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her family so he headed towards the door, down the seventeen steps and opened the door himself. There before him stood a woman smiling pleasantly, wearing a hand- me-down outfit and holding a small suitcase.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson, she is the landlady is she not?" She said in an American accent that was already being replaced with a British one. He looked her up and down and said,
"She's in Liverpool visiting family, she'll be back later this afternoon." He responded. She nodded and allowed herself in through no prompting by him. He shut the door and followed her up, wondering what it was that made people think women were anything but devious.
"Well then I'll wait here for her, I have no where else to go after all." She announced entering the sitting room. "I'm Anna Winters." She said sticking out her hand. He shook it and introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes. He then looked at her and thought for a moment.
"What do you do for a living?" He asked, as though not believing what his well-trained eyes told him.
"Ah I guess you are as good as you say. I haven't quite found a job just yet but back home I was raised on a ranch. My brother was sickly so I learned to shoot, to throw a knife, to do all that stuff ranching sons usually learn. That's why I am somewhat less equipped to survive on my own than others but I would like a chance at being me other than the son my father wanted. So I came here to London and I found in the paper than Mrs. Hudson is renting rooms for my price range so I came to find her. But the paper was well." She pulled it out of a pocket in her coat and revealed it was slightly tattered and looked as though she had found it on the side of the road, which he did not doubt she had.
"So I knew you lived here. I came to see if you could tell me where to find her and apparently you have. Thank you. Now, seeing as it is rather cold out there and I am slightly without the clothing to battle said cold, may I stay here?" She asked motioning to the sitting room around her. He sighed and sat down motioning to an empty chair she sat with a smile and thanked him.
"Are you simply going to move in and hope you get a job?" He asked looking her over. She sighed and shrugged chewing on one of her nails in a nervous habit.
"I don't know how to do much that would get me a job but my father's ranch had some workers from Mexico and I learned Spanish from them and where as that is not as popular as French but it may come in handy to teach children or something. I suppose I could be a writer, I've always wanted to do that." She wondered aloud. Smiling, it was all lies, not that Holmes knew that, the clues all pointed to the story as true, and she knew that, it was why she had chosen the story.
They talked only when it seemed to them they had to for about an hour when I finally returned to the residence, going to check up on Mr. Holmes. I was always afraid not to check on him, he often got so wrapped up in his work he would forget everything but what he was working on. When I entered the familiar sitting room I saw a woman I did not know across from him. Her hair was short and a deep blond color and her skin tanned. She smiled and introduced herself, then asked about a room I had for rent. I took her to see it and the dear absolutely loved it, asking to begin renting it immediately. She was such a joy compared to how Holmes could get. I too often found myself patching up bullet holes in my walls or hiding a burn mark on the floor. Most of the time I would not put up with it but he always paid in full and on time so I really could not complain.
And that is the real story of how Artimus neè Anna Winters came to live at 221 C Baker Street though it was hardly the most interesting thing that happened with her around. No, the whole story is much more interesting than just her showing up at our door. It would just turn out to be a very different adventure than anyone had anticipated.
~~
*If you look in 1886 Watson married Constance Adams from San Francisco and moved to Kensington. She dies then just a year later and he moves back with Holmes until he meets Mary in 1889 and moves to Paddington with her. Okay I really do have a life but this information was collected off the Sherlock Holmes timeline that I bought at the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London. I assume that's right considering the source so no complaints please, though you may complain to the people at the Museum.