Neeve
AN: This is my first 'Sherlock' fic and I have spent quite a long time on it. If it's well received then it will continue so, please, tell me what you think.
Also, a big thank-you to .Chaos for helping me to clean up the chapter.DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Sherlock.'
Chapter 1
Sherlock let out a sigh; there hadn't been any decent cases for about a month now. What was the world coming to? Perhaps the police had just gotten smarter in the New Year and no longer needed him. He scoffed; highly unlikely. Not with Anderson still on the team, anyway.
"Bored?"
John's voice made the dark haired man look up. He merely mumbled something incoherent in answer to his flat mate's question.
"What about the case that Lestrade came up with last week? Any ideas?"
"Don't you pay attention?" Sherlock inquired whilst looking over his friend who was hunched over his laptop.
John made to answer but was interrupted—
"No. Too busy blogging."
At this statement, John shut the laptop down (Just a little bit offended) and sent an inquiring look toward the taller man.
"Go on then. How'd you solve it?"
"There was nothing to solve." Sherlock bent forward and picked his violin from its case, "Two drunken teens accidently push a friend onto a railway track."
"Not suicide then? Or murder?"
"Nope." Sherlock sighed, "Hardly worth my time."
He plucked at the strings in boredom. John sighed.
"Could you not do one of your experiments? I don't know…" He paused; thinking, "How long after death do a person's teeth fall o—"
"Thirty days." Sherlock tilted his head, "Give or take."
Looking over at his friend as he, once again began tugging, rather aimlessly at the strings of his instrument, looking much like an extremely bored child, John stood and pulled his on his coat. He began making his way out of the door.
"Where are you going?"
John exhaled, in slight annoyance; the man could be very difficult to live with.
"For a walk."
Sherlock nodded, before calling after the doctor—
"We need milk!"
There was a 'click' as the door to the building shut.
)()()()()()(
He made his way down Baker Street. He had no preference as to where he was going; he didn't really mind. Looking up towards the sky, watching as each breath he took hung effortlessly in the chilled air, he turned the slight corner at the end of the road and began to walk the length of the black railing border lining the park, well, it was more of a green with a few trees and some flower beds. Although this was the case, it was used quite a lot; dog walkers, joggers even the occasional picnicking family. It was always empty at night though. It was about half past nine; John had checked his watch. This was one of the main reasons that he was confused to hear sound coming from behind the dark railings.
Someone was having a conversation. No; after further listening it was almost definitely an argument. It didn't sound too domestic either. John hurriedly made his way towards the gate of the park and stepped in. A few metres away a young girl, about seventeen, eighteen, perhaps, was pinned to a tree by a taller man, clearly a few years older than her. The man had his lower arm pushed against her throat; keeping her in place whilst two other men searched through a medium sized suitcase. The girl's lip was bleeding profusely and a large cut on her forehead seeped crimson liquid, her dark hair was in disarray but she didn't look scared. No. She looked angry as the larger man who had her pinned reached inside her dark coat. He pulled out a slim black device; the girls mobile. Even from where John stood, it looked awfully expensive.
He took this moment to step in—
"Hey!"
The three men looked his way and, clearly too flustered to realise that he was alone and therefore probably was no threat to them, ran. The larger man dropped the mobile to the ground. It hit a root of the tree and smashed.
She immediately knelt and examined the dark pieces at her feet.
"You idiot!"
Now, that really wasn't the reaction he was expecting. He stood, a little dumbfounded.
"What the hell were you doing?"
John faltered for a second before regaining his posture.
"You needed help."
The dark haired girl scoffed as he made his way over to help her up.
"I was doing fine on my own!" She claimed.
John ignored her outburst and made to tidy up the mess that the men had made. She also scrambled towards the suitcase that had been rifled through.
The mess wasn't huge; Clothes littered the ground as well as a few books and the odd piece of makeup. The girl straightened a little and desperately rummaged through the larger area of the case. She visibly relaxed and sighed deeply in relief. John helped her to place her things back into the black bag, whilst doing so, he spotted what she was relieved about; a set of straighteners and curling tongs lay on a lilac towel at the bottom of the case. He frowned before speaking—
"Where are you headed?"
Okay, so this girl clearly didn't like him all that much and she definitely needed to sort out her priorities, but she needed help. She did look rather shaken.
"Uhh, Baker Street." She paused, raising a questioning eyebrow at him, "Why?"
"As I said; you need some help."
She copied him, "And as I said; I'm fine."
Man, this girl was stubborn.
"Look," John reasoned, "Just let me walk you. I'm headed that way anyway."
A low groan escaped her lips and she visibly rolled her eyes.
"Fine."
"Okay." John stood and helped her up; she wore dark, heeled ankle boots which was odd as she had clearly been traveling.
He held out his hand once she was steadied.
"I'm John. John Watson."
"Neeve." She stated simply, ignoring his outstretched hand.
Definatly not a 'people person.'
)()()()()()(
The two walked, side by side down the road. Neeve had been quiet the whole way so far; the only noise emanating from her being the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement. Her hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of her dark, poncho coat (For John carried her case) and she appeared to be sulking. Her lip still bled, as did the cut on her forehead but, other than that, she appeared to be un-harmed.
"Sorry."
It was quiet, and barely audible, but he just about heard it. She continued—
"For… ranting about the phone. It's just… Y'know… it was expensive." She paused, taking a deep breath, "It wasn't your fault."
It sounded as though she wasn't one to apologise often.
John nodded, "It's not a problem; you had a shock."
She mirrored his action and remained quiet until they came to 221b.
"Just in here." She mumbled, gesturing to the front door.
John did a double take.
"Here?"
She nodded, "My Gran lives in the bottom flat."
"Mrs Hudson?"
She smiled slightly. "Yeah. Do you know her?"
"She's my landlady."
"Oh."
The two stood in an awkward silence before John spoke up. Sounding surer than he felt; Mrs Hudson had never mentioned a granddaughter.
"C'mon then."
As soon as the two of them stepped through the front door, a voice sounded from upstairs; Sherlock.
"Did you get the milk? I fancy tea."
"Didn't get that far." John answered whilst placing Neeve's suitcase on the carpet.
"Yes." Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs, "You didn't take nearly long enough."
"Sherlock, dear, don't shout down the stairs."
Mrs Hudson had now joined the two in the hallway.
Neeve shied a little closer to John, a sheepish look plastered firmly on her face. Mrs Hudson merely stared at the young girl, clearly shocked. John glanced up to see his flat mate watching the scene unfold with interest.
Sherlock studied the dark haired girl; a bleeding lip and forehead, tousled hair, that and the fact that John had carried her suitcase in led him to believe that she had been mugged, or something along the lines of.
"Neeve?"
The girl in question gave a small nod of her head.
"Gran."
Mrs Hudson threw her arms around the brunette and held her for a total of about a minute. Neither spoke a word until the older female held Neeve's face in her hands.
"What happened?"
John stepped in—
"She was mugged, she's fine, though."
"Yes. John Watson," Sherlock mumbled disdainfully, "forever the hero."
Neeve wrenched her face away from her grandmother and scowled at John.
"Almost mugged." She corrected him, "My phone's gone but that's fine."
John frowned as she brushed off what she had previously had a tantrum about.
Mrs Hudson ushered the two of them into her kitchen.
"John would you clean her up, please? Those cuts look ghastly."
John nodded and picked up the case at his feet before following the women through.
)()()()()()(
"Ow!" Neeve shied away from John as he applied the wet cotton wool to her forehead.
Sherlock stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the wooden frame whilst Mrs Hudson busied herself with making a round of tea. She spoke on about what had happened since the two had last seen each other. Apparently it had been a total of seven years.
"You were blonde, then, too." The landlady finished.
Neeve smiled slightly; evidently uncomfortable with the man in the doorway constantly staring at her.
"How old are you?" John questioned, obviously trying to distract the brunette.
"Twenty two." Sherlock answered for her.
She turned to him; surprised. Sherlock continued—
"But people tend to think that you are younger. That is why you wear those ridiculously high heels; to make yourself look taller." He gestured to her feet and she merely stared at him, "You left your parents… two days ago."
"Whatever for?" Mrs Hudson questioned as she sat opposite her granddaughter.
Once again, Sherlock answered first—
"An argument with your mother… no; Stepmother. Someone your age wouldn't just leave an actual parent after one argument so; stepmother. Your father is wealthy. So wealthy, in fact, that you believe that his wife is only in the relationship for his money-"
"Sherlock." John tried to stop him but he still continued—
"You have a younger sibling but he does not live with your father. He lives with your mother; that's why the homemade bracelet on your left wrist is the cleanest thing on your person, although most of your outfit is almost immaculate, that is always kept the safest; you rarely see him. Chances are that your mother is abroad otherwise you would have gone to her. Being unable to afford the flight unless on 'daddy's credit card' meant that you came to the next closest member of your family, even though you haven't seen her for years; your grandmother."
"Okay…" Neeve spoke slowly, scrutinizing the dark haired man in the doorway, "The bracelet, I get but the wealth?"
"Oh, please." Sherlock began, "The shoes; expensive. The jacket; definitely out of most twenty two year Old's price range and your make up, although subtle is evidently from an expensive range. Your whole presence practically screams 'little rich girl.'"
The room fell silent as Neeve looked at her feet and bit her lip. John sent a glare his flat mate's way. Sherlock merely shrugged. Mrs Hudson broke the silence—
"There is a small spare room on the top floor, Neeve." (She gestured to John and her granddaughter) "John if you could carry her case up I'm sure she'd be grateful."
Neeve nodded before picking up her mug of tea and following the landlady up the stairs. John followed behind with her suit case.