It was cold. Damn cold, in fact. Someone had obviously forgotten to tell London that winter was supposed to be warm this year, because the snow was falling rapidly. The snow was providing a chilling blanket (which is a bit of an oxymoron) around the city. The snow was blocking the roads, which was killing taxi travel and all other car travel. It was Monday, and everyone was having trouble getting to their jobs, which really wasn't such a bad thing, seeing as none of them liked their jobs too much. Besides, what can one little snow day hurt?
One person who didn't mind the snow was a woman named Evelynn Smithe. She didn't have anywhere to be seeing as she didn't have a job. Rather, she had a job, but didn't have an occupation. Evelynn considered writing her job, but she never sent anything to be published, and she didn't work otherwise. She was rather well off with what her parents left her (and the amount she won off the lottery last Christmas) so being out of work wasn't too much of a problem.
On this particular Monday, Evelyn was walking leisurely to her cousin's house. She really didn't have to be there, and she was sure that John wouldn't mind if she cancelled due to the weather. But she hadn't seen John in so long, never mind the fact that they lived in the same city. After about ten minutes, she arrived at 221b Baker Street.
"John!" she heard from inside. "Your cousin is here!"
"How'd you know my cousin- never mind. I'm sort of tied up, you want to get her?"
"Why should I get her?"
"I'm bleeding, Sherlock, have some decency."
There was the sound of someone coming down the stairs, and the door opened. Someone who was most defiantly not John greeted Evelynn.
He was pretty, that was for sure. He wasn't hot, really, but he was good-looking, not cute, so by default, pretty. Handsome, she supposed.
"Evelynn, John's author cousin, I presume?"
"Sherlock, Johns sociopathic flat mate, I presume?"
He narrowed his eyes at me. "John refers to me as a psychopath."
"From what I hear, you're more the 'high-functioning sociopath' type. Wanna let me in?"
He stepped aside and Evelynn was greeted a second time by an adorable old woman (who I later found out was Mrs. Hudson) who offered her tea about a thousand times before insisting that she wasn't a housekeeper. Evelynn loved her.
"Evelynn, John's upstairs. The bathroom, cleaning his hand."
"Alrighty then. See you, Mrs. Hudson."
She made my way upstairs and found John coming out of the bathroom with a freshly bandaged hand.
"Good lord, John, what did you do?"
"Eve!" he cried.
"John!"
She could hear Sherlock mumbling something along the lines of, "Sherlock!", but Evelynn highly doubted this crazy sociopath would even humor her.
"Evelynn, it's been forever, how've you been? Sherlock, don't you dare answer!"
"Fine." He grumbled.
"What- you know what, don't tell me. I'm not sure want to know. John, do you need help wrapping your hand, it's still bleeding. I though you were and army doctor!"
"I had to do it with my left hand!"
Evelynn led John into the bathroom to help him with his hand.
"Oh! Uh, anyone want to tell me why there's an assortment of limbs in the bathtub?"
"No particular reason," Sherlock piped up. "Just an experiment."
"I should stop asking questions."
"You're awful calm. Probably because you used to work with cadavers."
"I wont ask question, I wont ask questions…"
"Hold on," John interjected. "I told you, don't deduce my cousin. Besides, she hadn't worked with cadavers for years, how would you know that?"
"Questions, John." Evelynn said calmly. "Don't ask questions. You'll get weird answers when you ask weird questions."
