Chapter 1

1887

Sherlock stared ahead of him through the film of smoke in front of his eyes. He had been smoking away on his pipe for the last fifteen minutes now, and had yet to come up with a suitable answer to the woman's query. John sat to the left of Sherlock, frozen in place as his eyes kept alternating from the woman's to his. Normally Sherlock didn't take so long to come up with a marvelous deduction that usually laid the groundwork for their sleuthing, but not today. Today for some reason Sherlock sat frozen in his chair like a porcelain statue. He had the grace and posture of an astute mastermind, but had no words to back it up.

The woman looked at both of the men with a small hint of annoyance on her face. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line; her eyes two narrow beads. She had her legs crossed, appearing like a lady but not conveying it in her attitude. The fact that her legs were crossed caused it to look like her blue dress had come to possess waves in it; waves as turbulent as her irritation towards Sherlock at that moment. She let out yet another cough, as if that would drag Sherlock out of his mind and back to the present. John, sensing the tenseness in the situation, cleared his throat and stumbled to think of words to fill the air.

"I'm not sure if we're the right people to handle your situation," started John off slowly, looking towards Sherlock out of the corner of his eye to see if he'd try to interject.

When John started to speak, Sherlock dislodged the pipe from his mouth and rose to his feet. John leaned back in his chair then, relaxing as he thought that Sherlock's sudden stand meant that he had come up with a revelation at long last. Instead though, John looked on as Sherlock strode towards the door and opened it up. He bowed slightly; his eyes adverted towards the ground as he started to speak.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you'll have to take your case elsewhere."

The woman looked at him with wide eyes, along with John. The woman stammered as she rose to her feet, clutching her purse tightly to the front of her flower print dress as she walked towards the door.

"You've let me sit here for fifteen minutes before telling me this?" She paused at the door. "Have I stumped you Mr. Holmes?"

Shaking his head fiercely in denial, he disputed her fact instantly.

"No, not in the least. Not to worry."

He moved away from the open door then, leaving her to stand there completely on her own as Sherlock disappeared off to his room. John smiled sheepishly at the bewildered woman as he rose from his seat.

"Sorry, miss. Thank you for coming by and thinking upon us for your needs."

Humphing, the woman turned on her heel then and proceeded to leave the flat. The muted sound of Sherlock's voice saying, "watch for the loose board on the stoop," came far too late as the woman let out a small cry and stumbled slightly. John rushed to make sure she was alright, as did Mrs. Hudson who was on her way up with a tea tray at the moment.

"I'm sorry, miss. I forgot to warn you. I thought Sherlock had fixed it by now."

"It would appear as if Mr. Holmes needs to fix quite a lot of things recently," she muttered angrily as she brushed off John and Mrs. Hudson's help. "Might want to start with fixing his mind. It appears that that is what is broken."

She walked down the stairs, faking a limp to get sympathy from John and Mrs. Hudson. John wasn't fooled as he was the doctor, but poor Mrs. Hudson reclaimed her tea tray with both hands and let out a small coo.

"Oh, poor dear. I certainly hope she hasn't damaged her leg."

"She hasn't, Mrs. Hudson. I'm a doctor. If she had even twisted it, she wouldn't be walking like that," said John with a compassionate smile her way. "Now, you're welcome to come in, but you might not like the storm that is currently brewing inside the flat..."

"Oh dear. Are you two having a clash of opinions?" asked Mrs. Hudson. As she entered the flat and placed the tea tray down on the desk, she froze. "Was that woman one of your dates, John?"

He blushed fiercely then, shaking his head. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had been aware of the number of woman that he had been dating in the course of the last few months. He thought he had been more careful to be discreet with it.

"No, that woman happened to be a client. A client that Sherlock turned away..."

"Sherlock turned away a client?" asked Mrs. Hudson in shock.

"Yes, he did," said John, making his posture more rigid as he marched off in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. "And I am determine to figure out why, hence the storm I was talking about."

"Oh, I see now dear. I shall take my leave." She paused in the doorway, turning to look back over her shoulder at John. "Shall I cancel the hansom that Sherlock wanted later?"

"He ordered a hansom?" asked John, quirking a brow.

"Yes. Claimed it was something of importance."

"That's odd..." John said as he turned his eyes to look at Sherlock's closed bedroom door before turning back to Mrs. Hudson, "No, don't cancel it. I'm quite curious to see what Sherlock's purpose for it was."

She nodded before slipping back downstairs. As John listened to her descend the stairs, he marched towards Sherlock's room and threw the door open without waiting to be admitted.

"What was that all about? Why did you turn away that client?"

Sherlock was currently sitting on his bed spread; his back to the door. He had placed his pipe aside on his bedside dresser, the ghost of the smoke wafting through the air and out the open bedroom window. Sherlock shrugged slowly at John's question.

"Why shouldn't I have?"

"She was a client, Sherlock, and with a decent case by the sounds of it."

He snorted at that, turning to face John then; his blue gaze locking on John's.

"Tell me how you would have gone about solving it then, John."

John's mouth opened and shut like a fish, making Sherlock smirk as he spun back around.

"As I presumed. You have not even the faintest clue how to go about that case. How would one ever be able to? She was spouting off absurdities! There is a man in my house that doesn't steal anything, doesn't assault me, doesn't even talk to me for goodness sakes, but that instead watches me through my looking glass!" He massaged his temple then. "There is no way to solve that kind of case, John. The person she should see is a doctor."

"She claimed the man just isn't aware she is there. That's why there hasn't been any communication."

"John, are you listening to yourself? Can you hear how absurd it is? She needs to talk to a doctor. She is mad."

John thought back on that then, thinking back to the moment when he had helped her out on the stoop and she had proceeded to fake a limp downstairs. That was an act of manipulation, and an act of manipulation took a sound mind, not one that was demented or believing in delusional fantasies. Clearing his throat, John walked a bit closer to the bed to stand near Sherlock's side.

"I believe you should reconsider taking the case," said John softly as he stared out the window and not at Sherlock.

"Oh?" asked Sherlock, quirking a brow in question. "And why is that?"

"In my medical opinion, she does not demonstrate the symptoms of one who is mad. If her mind was not sound, she would not have been able to be manipulative in her actions. On the stoop when she tripped, she faked a limp down the stairs to garner more sympathy. Even while she was here in fact, her intermittent coughing was manipulative in the way of getting you to pay attention to her in some vicinity."

Sherlock slowly turned to look at John then; an odd look on his face. John knew that that look was because he was shocked that the woman wasn't mad.

"Are you sure on this point?"

"Positive," said John. "I think it's worth a second look. Besides, it's not like we're swamped with business at the current moment."

"I suppose you do have a point there," muttered Sherlock then. "Very well. I shall take a second look at this woman's case, but if I find out that she indeed is mad and that the only reason you wanted me to take a second look at the case is so you could make advances towards this woman, I will not be happy nor amused in the slightest..."

"Why do you and Mrs. Hudson both think that I'm going to make advances towards the woman?" spluttered John, turning to look at Sherlock then. "Am I really so far off my game that I am now hitting on clients?"

Shaking his head with a slight smirk, Sherlock rose from his position on the bed as he looked at John.

"Mrs. Hudson and I just happen to know that you'd like to mate, and that you're looking in every possible place for one," commented Sherlock. "There is a difference between us thinking that you're desperate and thinking that you're on the lookout."

"You just don't stop, do you?" asked John rhetorically as Sherlock moved around the bed to grab his coat which was lying draped over the open door of the wardrobe.

"Don't pretend as if you find this annoying, John. I also know that you happen to like when I deduce things of this nature. You like it when I spout off my genius."

"Spout off your genius like a know-it-all..." muttered John under his breath as he straightened his jacket and moved to follow Sherlock from his room, following Sherlock's flapping coat tails. "Sherlock, I have a question for you before we go off to track down this woman..."

"Yes, John?" asked Sherlock as he paused to exit the flat. "What question might that be?"

"Why did you order a hansom for later this evening?"

Sherlock chuckled then as he moved to make his way down the stairs, making his way around the loose board on the stoop.

"Can't you figure that one out, John? I thought you might have by now."

"Stop acting so obnoxiously and answer my question," stated a terse John as he followed on Sherlock's heels.

"I ordered the hansom for you later, John," said Sherlock, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

John could see Sherlock trying to hold in a chuckle and angrily stated back, "Now look who is being absurd! Why would I need a hansom this evening? I was planning on staying in."

"For the client," said Sherlock. "I was under the assumption, after finding out that it was a lady caller, that you might...well, connect the dots there. It's rather simplistic..."

Seeing Sherlock begin his chuckle in the doorway, John grabbed an umbrella out of the umbrella stand by the front door and swatted Sherlock's back with it. Sherlock merely hunched over slightly to try to protect himself against John's gentle beatings, still laughing like a boy. Seeing Sherlock still chuckle, John couldn't help, but laugh himself then. The umbrella soon fell limp in John's hands and he placed it back in the stand.

"Are we ready to head out now then or are you going to continue beating upon me with the umbrella?" asked Sherlock with a small smile as he straightened up once more. "Next time I'll remember not to be so helpful."

"Yes, I think we are ready, and if that is helpful..." John cut himself short then, shaking his head slowly. "Lets just say that I'd prefer something different next time."

Sherlock chuckled once more as he opened the door, admitting the raucous noises of the horses and people outside. Sherlock grabbed his hat from off the rack by the door and placed it on top of his head as John reached for his bowler. Making sure it was on straight, he called above the racket towards Mrs. Hudson's door that she could go ahead and cancel the hansom for that evening. Sherlock was already out the door by the time John turned back around and he quickly raced after him, dodging the people as they milled about and trying to get into the carriage before it took off without him.

2012

"Are you seriously cleaning?" asked an agitated John as he stared at Sherlock, who at the current moment was perched on a chair on one leg, reaching up to the top of a book ledge to dust it.

"Yes, and your problem is?..."

"You never clean. I have the statistics. They are very telling."

Sherlock snorted, placing both feet back down to rest on the chair before stepping down from it. "I'd love to see these said statistics, John...Oh, wait. They don't exist outside your head. How foolish of me to have forgotten?"

"Your sarcasm is so amusing, Sherlock. I know that you're up to something. You never do this sort of activity voluntarily."

"Maybe I just thought it was time for a change of pace. Did you ever think of that?"

"A change of pace? Yeah, okay. Not believing that either."

John made his way towards the desk to claim his laptop before plopping down into his chair and flipping it open. Sherlock was dusting the ledge of the kitchen entryway when he saw John madly typing away. He froze as he quirked a brow in John's direction.

"Typing another blog entry?"

"Yep."

"About what?..."

"Not telling," remarked John as his fingers continued to fly across the keys. "I'm sure that you can put two and two together."

Sherlock placed the feather duster down by his side and strode quickly over to John's side to peer down at the laptop screen. John chuckled as he craned his head to see Sherlock quickly scanning the page. As soon as Sherlock had finished reading it, he pointed a demanding finger at the screen and said, "Delete it," as he walked back off to start cleaning again.

"No. Why should I? I mean, these people, our fans, crave the truth, Sherlock."

"Well, sometimes they don't need to know the whole truth. Besides, what you wrote isn't even truthful."

"Sure it is! What about it isn't?"

Sherlock brought the duster up again and started to dust once more as he quoted, "'Sherlock Holmes, being bored in the ways of consulting detective work, has decided to become skilled in the art of cleaning. One wonders what he might turn that talent towards. Could it be possible Sherlock is actually learning to interact with the human world? Are we seeing a more human side of Sherlock? Or one that just wants to figure out how to handle things unseen?'"

"Don't you like it?"

"No. Hence the reason why I told you to delete it."

"Then how about we strike a bargain. You tell me what you're up to, and then I'll delete it."

"What if I lie to you about my reason?"

"I know when you're lying to me, Sherlock. I'm not as naive as you like to believe."

Sherlock chuckled as he entered the kitchen, calling behind his shoulder in at John, "I am cleaning because we are to entertain company of the highest order."

"Oh brother," sighed John as he pressed the 'delete' key. If Sherlock was lying on the sarcasm like that, it usually had to do with his family. "Mycroft coming over again?"

"Better, John. My parents and Mycroft. It's like a family gathering at the flat."

"Shall I make plans to be gone this evening then?" asked John.

"Nonsense. You're welcome to join in the horrors of politely conversing over topics of little significance."

"No, I shall take a pass. I think I'll spend the evening in my room if that's alright. I have to finish typing up the blog post over our latest case after all."

"What? No date tonight?"

John's cheeks reddened as he shut his laptop, holding it to his chest as he walked into the kitchen to see Sherlock cleaning up an experiment he had left near the sink.

"No, I don't."

"Ah, such a shame..." said Sherlock with a small chuckle.

"Why do you patronize me about my dating? So what if I go on a date with a few women..."

"Thirteen, John. And that's just these past two months," remarked Sherlock as he turned to look over John's shoulder. "You're ready to mate, and looking for someone to mate with. It's nothing to be ashamed over. I just thought you might be on the lookout again tonight."

The tips of John's ears turned red at Sherlock's belligerence, and he clutched the laptop tighter to his chest.

"I'm not as desperate as you might assume."

"I didn't say you were desperate. I said you were looking."

"'Thirteen, John. And that's just these past two months'," parroted John as he copied Sherlock. "You can't possible tell me that you weren't calling me desperate with that statement."

"I'm not going to say anything to that, John," said Sherlock.

John muttered under his breath as he turned to go towards his room, pulling up short when he heard Sherlock remark, "After you blog about the case, if you're looking for something else to blog about, instead of writing about how cleaning makes me more human, you could write about the woman you claim you keep seeing in the looking glass in your room."

"I swear she's there, Sherlock, and before you even start, it is not my desperation for a mate making me envision her there."

"I didn't say that. John, I just want you to be aware that just because you snagged that mirror from a flea market sale doesn't make it magical. It's just like saying if you bought a lamp at a flea market that there must be a genie inside. I'm pretty sure things of that nature aren't on their disclaimer."

"I'm going to my room," said John as he walked away, "Have fun cleaning for the highest order."

"Wait! Can't you help me make something to eat for them first?"

"Nope. Ask Mrs. Hudson for help."

Sherlock had just filled his lungs with air to call out to Mrs. Hudson to ask for her assistance when a faint echo of, "Not your housekeeper, boys!", echoed up the stairs. It loosened the tension in the room and caused them both to laugh. Shaking his head, John entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him. As he took a seat on his bed with the laptop, his eyes fleetingly went towards the mirror. There she was again. Ever so faintly, but definitely there, was the ghost like image of a woman. She was wearing a blue dress today, and she looked sad. Frowning, John plopped onto his bed and opened his laptop.

"Maybe she's sad because no one believes her..." muttered John. "Just like Sherlock doesn't believe me..."