"John?"
John Watson grumbled into his pillow, frustrated at being wrenched from his sleep.
"John?"
The tired doctor found the voice to be especially irritating this morning.
"John!"
John was soon lying on the floor, blearily looking up the lanky consulting detective. "What the hell, Sherlock?" He glanced at the clock. Quarter past seven. On the weekend. He should be sleeping. And then wake up, on his own terms, around nine, have a cup of tea, read the paper... But no. Instead he was on the floor, pushed out of bed by a cranky Sherlock. Great.
"Not my fault. Mrs. Hudson dragged me away from my experiment because someone was practically beating the door down. I thought they would eventually go away..." Of course you would, John thought. "But you know Mrs. Hudson. Brought the woman in. She was pretty much in hysterics. The woman, that is. She's downstairs. Mrs. Hudson's just heated up some tea."
Sherlock looked expectantly at John, who just stared back. "So?"
The consulting detective simply turned around and headed toward the open door. "So," he drawled as he walked away, "get dressed. We have a case." The smug smirk was just oozing into his tone. John swore as he stumbled out of bed; that man was just so infuriating.
John found his usual seat to be occupied by a woman, dressed all in black and with a sombre expression. Streaks of grey appeared prematurely in her otherwise luscious hair. Sherlock sat across from her, his eyes constantly shifting as he analyzed their possible client. John grabbed a chair from the dining room (well, part Sherlock's "chemistry lab", i.e. he ran out of room in the kitchen, since John asserted they couldn't survive solely on Chinese takeout).
Mrs. Hudson came in, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. Worry furrowed her brow. "Oh dear," she said, looking toward the shivering girl, "Is it too cold in here? Sherlock here insists on some constant, cool temperature for his experiments." She eyed the kitchen with distaste, remembering all the various body parts in the fridge, jars, cupboards, microwave, sink, etc.
The woman gave a quick shake of her head. "Oh, no. I'm not shivering because I'm cold. I'm simply terrified." Three heads cocked to the side, confused and curious. "I don't know; my hands, my body, they keep trembling."
With a smile of pity and concern, Mrs. Hudson gently insisted the girl have a cup of tea. In his usual manner, Sherlock gazed at the girl, hands folded underneath his chin.
"Miss..." John began.
"Stoner. Helen Stoner."
"Miss Stoner, why are you so scared?"
Before Helen could take a breath to start her story, Sherlock interrupted, "It must be urgent. You must've come from somewhere around Surrey; quite aways from here." The woman looked shocked. John just rolled his eyes, hiding his usual amazement. He was still miffed at Sherlock for dragging him out of bed.
"You took an early train, yet took some filthy cab to get to the station first." John fought the urge to slap unintentional show-off as Helen's eyes widened and looked to John for some explanation. Sherlock, master of observation, just noticed Helen's surprise.
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, dumbfounded. By God, he would never understand normal people.
The woman shook her head. Sherlock sighed. John internally groaned.
"You had half of a train ticket stub in your hand; you just put it down on the tray when you took your tea. And though your clothes are dark, I can still distinctly see the various kinds of dirt and dust. You also smell a bit like..." Sherlock inhaled deeply, seeming to relish it. "cigarettes."
The woman absentmindedly smelled her dark cardigan. She crinkled her nose in a Mrs. Hudson-like fashion before looking back up at Sherlock. "Uh, wow. I had to start early, to avoid any questions. I have to run some errands anyway, so I can simply use that or traffic as an excuse." She paused, twisting her sleeves slightly. "Anyway, I came to you at the recommendation of Mrs. Farintosh. If you could help her, I'm pretty sure you could probably help me." John looked to Sherlock, confused. He had never heard of this Farintosh woman.
Sherlock waved his hand carelessly, not taking his eyes off the client. "Old case. Before I met you. Quite an interesting one. A tale for another time." He waved to the woman with the air of a commander. "Continue." John quietly scoffed.
"My case is a bit vague. Maybe I'm just paranoid, like my stepfather keeps telling me. But as you can see," she held out a trembling hand, "I'm quite frightened." She began twisting the ends of her sleeves more frequently and fervently, as if she were a school girl about to be caught for doing something naughty.
John's anger at Sherlock ebbed at the sight. With a gently voice, he said, "Please, Miss Stoner, tell us what happened."
Comforted by the blonde man with the kind eyes, Helen Stoner told them about her tragic, sheltered, and unfortunate life.