Behind me, a door opens and closes. I don't move an inch.
"Who are you?" a cold voice asks.
"Mr. Holmes. It's wonderful to see you again." I respond, not turning around.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"It's been years, Sherlock!"
"It's Mr. Holmes to you. Who are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?"
"Sherly, Mrs. Hudson left me in. I told her I was a potential client, which I am. As to who I am, figure it out yourself or have you forgotten how to?"
"You call me Sherly, only my family calls me that. You do not fit the description of any current family members, so you must be close to Mycroft. You've been traveling, the baggage tag on your suitcase says New York. You're British accent has a hint of American. So, either you're American with a very good British accent or you're British and spent a considerable amount of time faking an American accent. I'd say the latter case is true for you. The photo taped on your journal says that. By the look of you in the photo and the wear of the corners, I would estimate it's nine, ten years old. A tourist would have taken the picture two feet to the right to get a perfect view of Big Ben. You on the other hand, made sure to capture a little cafe on the other side at the expense of Big Ben, you're a 're sentimental. The battered pocket watch makes it obvious. It's relatively cheap and at least twenty years old. It would have cost less to buy a new one than the number of times you have had it repaired. Your glasses are more for look than actual use, the frame is thick as is the style now, but the prescription is so low that I'd say you didn't need them. Also, you're not wearing them in the photo on your journal cover. You wear them extremely close to your face. I'd say because you're hiding some undesired blemish on your face," Sherlock explains quickly.
"Good, now what's your deduction to whom I am?" I ask.
"A person who moved to America several years ago and then moved back here. I'm not completely sure why, but I have a few ideas. Do you care to explain?" he asks. I turn around and face him.
"Close, very close. I'll correct a few deductions for you. I was always closer to you than to Mycroft or have you completely forgotten about me? The photo is eight years old, however, it has been exposed to the elements more than an average journal would be. As for why I returned, I want you to find out who and why someone tried to kill me," I say as I remove the glasses to reveal a faint scar where a knife had been poised, ready to kill me almost seven years ago.
"Esme," Sherlock whispers.
A/N: Time for the legal garb. I'm only saying it once. Most characters are from BBC's Sherlock. Esme, however is my own creation as are a few other characters that will appear later in the , I haven't watched all the Sherlock shows, so I'm going to consider this (as they call it in the Doctor Who fandom) an AU (alternative universe).