Author's Note: Hi! This is my first attempt at writing a Sherlock story. It's primarily a romance, but I'm going to do my best to write an interesting case/adventure for the characters as well. This OC and loose threads of this story have been floating around my brain for ages now, and I figured it was time to give it a shot. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to BBC's Sherlock, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories.
...
I stand back as John says his final goodbye to the man who was so important to us both. Gazing at him standing in front of the fresh grave another wave of tears escapes from my eyes and I raise a shaky hand to wipe them away. A few minutes later John finishes up and walks over to me.
"Did you want to...?" he asks awkwardly.
I shake my head. "Not right now. I think I'll come back later. Privacy, you know." I don't tell him that's only half the truth, that I don't think I could handle it right now without breaking down completely. That my heart is shattered beyond repair and it's all I can do to keep the rest of me from shattering with it.
"Right, of course," John replies.
We stand in silence for a long moment before I slip my hand into John's and squeeze; he tightens his fingers almost painfully around mine and, both giving one last look at the headstone, we turn and walk away.
...
Twelve months later
"Adrianna?"
A small smile crosses my face at John's surprised tone; this is hardly the first time he's come home to find I've broken into the flat, but he's always surprised. John never notices the signs, not like Sherlock used to.
I feel a pang as I think of Sherlock, same as every time he crosses my mind. It's been a year since he died, but I still miss him terribly. I'll probably never stop.
Rising from the sofa, I cross the room and embrace John. "Good to see you again."
He returns the hug. "You too. What are you doing here? When I talked to you last week you were in Egypt."
"Lestrade called me. Said it was important."
John raises an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't helping them anymore."
I shrug. "I did refuse initially. But he's apologized so many times, and I can tell he's being sincere. He really does regret what happened."
We both fall silent for a moment, and I know the events of a year ago are running through John's mind as well. Then I shake it off and wink cheekily at him.
"Plus, the few details he gave me were just so interesting. Want to come with?"
John hesitates. "I've got a proper job now, and I haven't done anything like that since..."
I interrupt him before he can put that life-shattering event into words. "Alright John. First off, I know you miss it. And second, you don't have anywhere you need to go today. Now, I can tell you exactly how I know those things, or you can save us both the time and just agree to come with me." I smirk. "Because we both know you're going to anyway."
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, huffs, and shrugs his shoulders before finally nodding. "Fine, Anna, I'll come with you. You happy now?"
"Happier," I reply, slipping on my coat. "Let's go."
...
One short taxi ride later John and I walk into Scotland Yard and tread the familiar path to Lestrade's office. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead and ignore all the looks we're receiving from the assembled officers; I don't particularly want to speak to any of them. Reaching Lestrade's office I knock and then, without waiting for a response, open the door and stride in with John right behind me.
"This better be good, Detective Inspector," I say. "You dragged me all the way from Cairo."
Lestrade looks up from his desk. "What were you doing in Cairo?"
"Business," I reply vaguely. "Why am I here?"
"Because I need help, and you're the only person I could think to turn to."
The unspoken implication hangs heavy in the air between us; everyone present knows that I wouldn't have been his first choice, if he'd had a choice. Partly because I can be so hard to track down, partly because I'm just not quite as good as he was. I can come close, but no one was as good as Sherlock Holmes.
"Right," I say, choosing not to comment on it. "What have you got?"
Lestrade slides a file across the desk. "Serial killer. Two bodies in two weeks, both killed by a severe morphine overdose."
I pick up the folder and flick it open, but keep my gaze on Lestrade. "Two murders isn't enough to call it serial."
"Take a look at that, and try to tell me there won't be more."
I shift my gaze to the file in my hands, flipping through the photos and notes inside. After a couple of minutes I pass it to John and sit down across from Lestrade.
"Okay, you're right," I say to the DI. "This guy is not finished. What else have you got?"
"Not much," Lestrade replies. "That's why I called you in."
I stand back up. "I'll need to see the bodies."
...
Two hours later I walk out of the morgue at Bart's, followed by John and Lestrade; John and I examined the bodies of the two young women, but hadn't come up with anything of use. Too much time has passed and too many people have gone over the bodies.
"Unfortunately, Greg, there's not much I can do until the killer strikes again," I say to Lestrade. "Much as I hate to say it, I need a fresh crime scene."
He sighs. "That's what I was afraid of. Thanks anyway, Anna. I'll be in touch."
He walks off and John and I head back to Baker Street to go over the case files again, hoping some realization will pop out at us to move things along.