A/N: As much as I don't enjoy reading stories with OCs, I love writing them. This is one of those that has been in my hard drive for months, but I have finally decided to go ahead and post. Meet Jaime Middleton, a long lost friend of Mrs. Hudson's. While this seems as though there will be a developing relationship between her and Sherlock, DON'T WORRY. I'm too much of a Sherlolly shipper to let that happen. )
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that derive from BBC's Sherlock. Jaime is the only one I can claim.
While on Baker Street
-1-
"221 Baker Street, please," I requested of the cab driver after I had glanced down at the address scrawled in ink across the palm of my hand. I finished situating my luggage and gave him a nod as soon as I was ready to move.
"American?" he questioned as I studied the buildings that passed.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked.
"Not to everyone," he assured. "I'm a cabbie, so I've grown accustomed to recognizing different accents."
"I see," I responded.
"First time in London?" he asked.
"Yes. Visiting a family friend," I told him before he could ask.
"For how long are you staying?" he continued to venture.
"Haven't decided yet," I answered honestly. He must have taken that as a signal to end our conversation because he didn't return with more inquiries. Instead, he let me enjoy the slow ride through central London.
"221 Baker Street," the driver told me as he rolled to a stop outside a sandwich shop.
"Right. Thanks."
"Would you like help with your cases?" he asked.
"No, thank you. I've got them," I said as I stepped from the car, threw one bag over my shoulder, and then drug the larger bag from its resting spot on the seat. I handed the cabbie my payment and turned to drag my bag onto the curb.
"Enjoy London," he called from his window before driving off. I nodded to acknowledge his kindness and then faced my destination, my dirty blonde hair clinging to my face where small droplets of perspiration began to gather. I stared at the sandwich shop until my golden brown eyes rested upon the door to the left of it, and I focused on the numbers there. 221. Yeah, this was it. I waddled my way up the few steps, my bags clearly weighing me down, and knocked several times on the front door. I didn't even have a chance to catch my breath before the door swung open.
"Jaime!" I was greeted excitedly.
"Mrs. H!" I exclaimed as I recognized my family's old friend.
"Come in, come in!" she sang, motioning me forward. I wedged myself into the hallway only to drop my bags and throw my arms around her. She was such a welcome sight.
"I am so glad to see you," she said. "And you're just as gorgeous as your mother."
"Heh, thank you. I'm so happy to be here," I told her.
"You must be so exhausted!" she decided. "And starved!"
"No, I'm not hungry, thank you," I heard a smooth, golden voice recite behind me. I spun on my heels and was greeted by two men: one with a soft face and welcoming smile, the other tall with perfectly carved features and piercing eyes.
"Sherlock! John!" Mrs. Hudson greeted. She amazed me—always happy to see people. I bit back a smile at the thought and averted my gaze from the prying eyes of the tall stranger. "Jaime, this is John Watson," Mrs. Hudson said as she nodded to the man with the kind expression.
"Hello," I said, extending my hand in greeting. He smiled, nodded, and accepted the handshake.
"And this is Sherlock Holmes," she said as she motioned to the other man.
"Hello," I said again, offering Sherlock the same gesture of a handshake. He stared at my hand a moment then moved his eyes back to my face.
"Charmed," he said with a brief, toothless smile while leaving my handshake unreciprocated. The golden voice clearly belonged to him. I blinked and retracted my hand with a bemused expression on my lips.
"They live in the flat upstairs," Mrs. Hudson told me before turning back to the men. "Boys, this is Jaime Middleton. My lovely niece."
"Niece?" Sherlock questioned, his eyebrows pulled together. "You don't have a niece."
"Oh, not by blood, silly," she told him. "Her mother and I were flat mates years ago before she moved to America. Sadly, Grace passed away a few years back." She paused for a moment and then turned to me, lowering her voice. "I'm so sorry, dear, that I wasn't able to make it to the service."
"It's fine," I assured her. "I had everything taken care of."
"Auto accident?" Sherlock suddenly questioned.
"What?" I said. How could he have known that?
"It was an automobile accident by my guess. Your conversation suggests it was a sudden death but nothing too extraordinary. Automobile accidents being one of the leading causes of death, it seemed a feasible assumption. You were the only child. Also the only survivor, your father having been removed from the picture when you were quite young. Your mention of 'I' rather than 'we' revealed as much."
"Sherlock," John interrupted. "This isn't necessary."
"What is he doing?" I asked Mrs. Hudson flatly, expressionless.
"He does that," John said.
"Oh, he's just showing off," Mrs. Hudson declared.
"You're one of those super-perceptive people, aren't you?" I asked. "I've read about people like you. Your brain is remarkable—textbook."
"I know. Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock questioned.
"You tell me," I countered. I could play his game. I may not be able to think like him, but I knew his type. I had read enough about his type while researching my own bizarre brain. He stared at me, seemingly unsure of what to say next. "Let me do your work for you," I started again. "The tags on my bags say I've flown in from Tucson, Arizona. Yes, I'm from Arizona. My demeanor suggests I was raised by a single parent—a female. Yes, my mother, Grace. What about my dad? Well, you can probably smell wine on my breath, which suggests that I have inherited a taste for alcohol, obviously from my father. What condition tends to remove alcoholics from the world of the living? Heart disease or liver disease. I'll make it easy on you and go ahead and tell you that it was the liver—cirrhosis of the liver to be exact."
"Oh, dear…" Mrs. Hudson fidgeted nervously.
"Did I leave anything out?" I asked, completely satisfied with myself. In fact, I was completely in awe of myself. He continued to stare.
"Americans," he finally muttered under his breath. "Good day, Mrs. Hudson." And then he disappeared up the stairs. John continued to stand at the bottom of the steps in the middle of the hallway, studying me with an amused expression on his face.
"Wow," he said. "I think you might have put him in his place." I chuckled at this.
"I had to get to him before he could get to me. It was just a precaution…" I trailed off as I stared up the stairs after him. "I suppose we started off on the wrong foot, didn't we?" I was suddenly a little worried about the coming weeks and living so near someone who had an obvious dislike toward me so soon.
"Don't worry," Mrs. Hudson assured me.
"He'll grow on you," John laughed. "What you told him… are you able to make those observations about other people?"
"No," I answered. "The only reason I was able to do that was because I knew everything was true. If it were anyone else, I would just be guessing."
"Eh, would you like help with your cases?" he asked. I accepted with a smile.