221B was quiet for the first time in weeks. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs baking scones and Sherlock Holmes was out at St. Bart's hospital to pay a visit to his favorite pathologist. Angelica and Charlie had immediately taken advantage of the adults' absence.

Angelica was curled up on the couch with a textbook set in her lap and a notebook open, resting on the space next to her on the couch. Black ink curled across the lined pages. Angelica Holmes was a spitting image of her father. She had long, raven curls and steel grey eyes that changed color with the light. Her skin was pale and stood out against her dark hair and black robe. Underneath her robe, she wore a pair of her brother's sweatpants and a white tank top. Blue rimmed reading glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

Charlie sat at the desk chair with the window wide open. He leaned towards it as he released another puff of cigarette smoke. The white stick dangled from his pale lips as he watched the taxi's closely and listened to the sound of Mrs. Hudson's footsteps on the floor below him. He couldn't risk getting caught by her again. She always reacted worse than Charlie's father to his habit.

Charlie always noted how lucky his sister was to be able to look in the mirror every day and not be somewhat annoyed. Even though Charlie and Angelic shared the same basic facial structure, Charlie was cursed with ginger curls and hazel eyes. It was their mother's hair. Their mother's eyes. He couldn't stand it. He did his best to ignore it, always wearing the same grey beanie over his head. It was an odd look when paired with his usual outfit being a suit like his father's. However, today he wore only his boxers, much to his sister's protests.

There was a soft ping of a phone which caused Charlie to swear. Angelica smirked as she fished the mobile out of her pocket.

Flatmate. – F

Angelica took a deep breath as she snapped closed her textbook and set it on the table in front of her. She copied the action with her notebook and placed the pen atop it. All the while, Charlie was hurriedly attempting to find a place to put out his cigarette.

"Where, where, where," Charlie mumbled to himself as he searched for his father's ashtray.

"He'd notice the extra bud, Charles. Especially one that's unfinished, Father hates to waste the nicotine," Angelica's voice was emotionless as she moved towards the kitchen to start the kettle.

Charlie swore as he spun around, finally accepting his fate. He then froze and looked towards Angelica with a wicked grin. Pulling up the end of his shorts, he successfully scorched his skin as he put out the cigarette on his upper thigh. He swore before tossing the cigarette out the window into the street. He shut the window and then rushed down the hallway.

"Shirt as well, Charles," Angelica called after him, "Father's bringing home our new flatmate."

"Finally, I was afraid Mrs. H would kick us out if we missed the rent again. Me working at Speedy's isn't ever going to be enough to pay for this place," Charlie replied. He entered the kitchen a few minutes later, now dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a red button down. Angelica rolled her eyes as he struggled to button the cuffs. She assisted him and he smiled as thanks.

The fifteen-year-olds froze as they heard a knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson said she would be only a moment which caused the pair to spring into action. Charlie fetched the remaining tea bags from the top cupboard as Angelica moved to get two bugs. Angelica placed the mugs on the counter just as the kettle whistled. Mrs. Hudson was just opening the door as Charlie dropped the teabags into the mugs. They could hear their father's voice downstairs as Angelica quickly poured the boiling water into the mugs.

Charlie picked up his mug and made his way down the hallway towards their shared bedroom as Angelica put the kettle back down. She then moved to the fridge in an attempt to ease drop on the conversation her father was having with their new flatmate in the room over.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." She heard the man say.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," Sherlock replied as he looked around the room happily. Angelica went and picked up her mug, about to make an entrance. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh," The other man spoke simultaneously. He paused, embarrassed, when he realized what Sherlock was saying. "So this is all..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," Sherlock spoke quickly. He walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece. He picked up a knife and stabbed it into them before moving towards the coffee table where he stacked up Angelica's textbooks neatly. He went to relocate them before noticing the owner walking out of the kitchen. John had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted his cane to point at it.

"That's a skull." The man said, oblivious to the teenager in the room.

"Friend of ours," Angelica said before lifting her mug to her lips, grimacing as the drink burnt her upper lip. The man spun around and faced Angelica for the first time. She took the opportunity to let her eyes scan over the stranger.

The man was three inches shorter Angelica but most likely weighed twice as much as she, judging by his muscles. He had sandy blond hair and navy eyes. He stood straight, appearing oblivious to the cane in his hand - which one would expect him to lean on - meaning his limp was most likely psychosomatic. He wore jeans, a soft jumper, and a shocked expression. He glanced between Sherlock and Angelica.

"Uh, hello, Dr. John Watson," He introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake.

Angelica ignored it. "Afghanistan and Iraq?"

"Are you his sister?" John asked.

"Angelica Holmes," Sherlock introduced her. "My daughter."

John's eyes widened at the word. Angelica smirked as she returned to her earlier position on the couch.

Sherlock sniffed the air and moved towards the window. He opened it and leaned his head towards the wooden pane. He sniffed again. Angelica smiled now.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and picked up a cup and saucer that was resting on the table near Angelica's books. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Angelica bit her tongue to keep from making a remark about John's level of grooming.

"Of course we'll be needing two." John's brow was furrowed.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Charlie's brought home a boy before." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

John looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John were not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what's being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Angelica.

"Oh, Angel. The mess you've made."

She went into the kitchen and started tidying up, and John walked over to one of the two armchairs. He plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who was still sniffing the wood and looked more annoyed by the second.

"Can I yell at him?" Angelica asked and Sherlock frowned.

"You let him smoke," He said as he stood up straight. "I should shout at you as well. Your library trip tomorrow is no longer happening," He said before storming down the hallway, roaring his son's name. "Charles Sebastian Scott Holmes!"

John turned towards Angelica. "Is it always like this?"

Angelica shrugged. "Charlie likes to smoke and I enjoy seeing my father scold him for it. In actuality, he's merely a hypocrite." Angelica smirked as she watched Charlie sulk into the sitting room and plop down into the space next to her on the couch. His beanie was now missing, revealing his curly red hair.

"Why'd you let me smoke?" He asked.

"Because she enjoys seeing me frustrated with you," Sherlock responded as he reentered the room as well. Sherlock grasped Charlie's hat in his hands. "Dr. Watson, my son, Charlie."

Charlie stuck out his hand to shake John's. John accepted it and gave Charlie a polite smile.

"Don't worry, I won't be deducing you anytime soon. I'm the normal one around here," Charlie said causing John to nod slowly before looking towards Sherlock.

"I looked you up on the internet last night," John stated.

Sherlock became somewhat excited. "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction," John continued.

Sherlock smiled proudly. "What did you think?"

John threw him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look. Sherlock appeared hurt as Charlie let out a slight chuckle at Angelica's identical expression. She had put a lot of effort into helping her father through his analyses.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg," Angelica stated.

"Your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone," Sherlock added.

John shook his head. "How?"

Sherlock smiled and turned away. Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Angelica grinned when he spoke. "Four."

Angelica placed her mug on the coffee table and rushed down the hallway to get dressed. She could see the flashing lights on the roof of the car as she passed the window. She quickly changed into a pair of slack and a red blouse. She pulled on a pair of men's dress shoes that her brother had outgrown shortly after he was gifted them by their uncle. They were more her style anyway.

"There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time," Angelica said as she reentered the room. John gaped at how quickly she had changed.

"A fourth?"

Sherlock turned as D.I. Lestrade entered the flat. He appeared flushed and was slightly out of breath. John watched the exchange between the two men and young woman. Charlie ignored the Inspector and reached forward to pick up a small chapter book from the table. He flipped it open to the last page he had dog eared and began to read.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get us if there wasn't something different?" Angelica questioned.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yes."

"This one did. Will you come Sherlock? Only Sherlock," Lestrade emphasized the last part.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

"It's Anderson."

Sherlock grimaced. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade commented.

"I need an assistant. Which is why I won't come unless Angelica is allowed there as well," Sherlock insisted. John's eyes widened at his comment.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face. "Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Lestrade looked around at John, Mrs. Hudson and Charlie for a moment before heading back down the stairs. Sherlock waited until Lestrade had reached the front door before leaping into the air and clenching his fists triumphantly. He spun on his heel and lifted up Angelica by the waist, twirling her around as she mirrored his grin.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

He set her down, grabbed Angelica's coat and tossed it to her. He picked up his coat and scarf. Angelica pulled on her trench coat; the soft dark grey material hugged her curves and ended just below her knees.

"Mrs. Hudson, Angelica and I'll be late. Might need some food," Sherlock called.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper," She replied whilst Charlie mouthed her exact words.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Charlie, don't touch my cigarettes. I'll know. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said before following Angelica out the door and down the steps.

"Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same," Mrs. Hudson said causing Charlie to crinkle his nose in disgust. John grimaced but was slightly thankful for Charlie's reaction as well. Mrs. H continued. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

John slammed his hand on his knee. "Damn my leg!" Charlie laughed as Mrs. Hudson turned around and stared at him in shock. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" He bashes his leg with his cane.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She turned towards the door again..

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson said as Charlie once again mouthed the words.

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."

"Not your housekeeper!"

John picked up the newspaper on the table and begins to read the article about the apparent suicides. On the page were a photo of the victim and even a photo of D.I. Lestrade. Charlie looked up from his book and smiled softly, it wasn't often he got quiet company that wasn't his landlady or a blood relative. His smile vanished when he saw his father's presence return. Charlie may not be as intelligent as the rest of his family, but he definitely was not stupid. He was about to be left alone.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor," Sherlock stated.

"Yes." John stood to his feet and faced the consulting detective.

"Any good?"

"Very good," John said.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Charlie mumbled more to himself than to John.

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John told them.

Sherlock smiled. "Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes," John almost sighed in relief. He quickly followed Sherlock down the stairs. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out. Later, Charlie."

Mrs. Hudson was stood at the bottom of the stairs. Angelica was already outside hailing a cab. "All three of you?"

Sherlock had almost reached the front door but then turned and walked back towards her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She smiled anyway.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

Charlie stood at the top of the stairs watching the conversation. Sherlock and John exited the flat, slamming the door closed behind me. Charlie sighed and leaned against the doorway. Mrs. Hudson looked up towards him.

"Dinner with me, love?" She asked him with a sad smile.

Charlie shook his head. "Nah. Thanks though, Mrs. H. I'll find something for myself. Your shows on tonight, enjoy it."

With that, Charlie turned and went back in the flat, shutting the door behind him. He slowly trudged down the hallway and pushed open his bedroom door. The room was divided in half, mirroring each other with the furniture; bed pressed into the far corner of the room with a dressed pushed against the foot of the bed, a desk next to the bed and a wardrobe against the wall to the dressers left. But, there was an obvious difference in the two sides.

The left side of the room was obviously Angelica's. The dresser and floor were scattered with various textbooks, notebooks, and science equipment. The blue sheets were perfectly made up.

The right side of the room was Charlie's. The blue bed spread was askew and the pillow had fallen to the floor. Stacks of sheet music and art supplies were on his dresser and a violin hung on its respected hook in the corner. Charlie grabbed his violin and bow and sat on the edge of his bed as he played.

Angelica sat in the middle of the backseat of the taxi with Sherlock and John on both her sides. Sherlock's eyes were trained on his phone as Angelica stared straight ahead, flipping her phone over in her hands repeatedly. John kept glancing towards the pair.

"Okay, you've got questions," Angelica broke his silence.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John said.

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock replied.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

Angelica raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

John spoke slowly and hesitantly. "I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives," John finished.

Sherlock and Angelica shared a look before Sherlock spoke. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Angelica coughed causing Sherlock to roll his eyes before continuing to speak. "Angelica's my apprentice of sorts."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

John raised an eyebrow. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Angelica shot him an annoyed look. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Because Sherlock said the same thing. How did you know?"

"She didn't know, she saw," Sherlock said. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He loudly clicked the 'k' sound at the end of the final word."

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

Angelic scuffed. "You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist."

Sherlock nodded. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock held out his hand. "Your phone." John hands it over. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving."

Harry Watson

From Clara

xxx

Angelica took the phone from her father and ran her thumb over the engraving before speaking herself. "Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John questioned.

Angelica smiled. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

She handed the phone back to him.

"There you go, you see – you were right," Sherlock said.

"I was right? Right about what?"

Angelica spoke whilst looking out the window on her father's side as she nervously bit her lip. "The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock mimicked her actions.

"That ... was amazing," John marveled.

Sherlock and Angelica's heads spun around to look at him. Neither responded for a solid four seconds due to the shock caused by his reaction.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary," John said.

"That's not what people normally say," Angelica grinned.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled briefly at John, who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as the journey continued.

Twenty minutes had passed before Mrs. Hudson came knocking on Charlie's door. He froze, his bow hovering just over the strings.

"Is he here?" He asked.

"Yes, dear. He won't take no for an answer." She said.

Charlie sighed as he loosened his bow and tossed it onto his bed. He placed the instrument back on its hook as he headed out the door. Mrs. Hudson moved out of his way as he exited his bedroom and headed down the stairs. A black car was waiting outside of the flat and he didn't question who was inside before pulling open the back door. Charlie sat down next to his uncle before pulling the door closed.

His uncle silently held out a black knitted hat causing a small smile to appear on Charlie's face. He mumbled a thank you as he pulled on, hiding his curls from the view of the world.

The trio finally arrived at Brixton and exited the cab. Sherlock paid the driver before leading his two companions towards the yellow tape.

"Did we get anything wrong?" Angelica asked.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker," John confirmed causing her to smile.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks as Angelica let out a rather unattractive snort.

"Harry's your sister."

John and Angelica continued onward as the doctor spoke. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!"

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

Sherlock, exasperatedly, continued to walk. "There's always something."

They approached the tape and were greeted by a black woman with well-kept curly hair and a pretty face.

"Hello, freak. I see you brought your freakish offspring as well again," The woman said.

Sherlock instinctively placed himself between the woman and Angelica when Angelica tensed at the woman's words. Angelica wasn't as unaffected by them as Sherlock was yet. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" She remarked.

Sherlock lifted the tape and he and Angelica ducked underneath it. "Always, Sally." He breathed in through his nose and Angelica smirked as he began to get his revenge for insulting his daughter. "I even know you didn't make it home last night. "

"I don't ..." She looked at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock introduced. He turned to John and introduced to two, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" She was actually shocked. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and…" John pointed towards the pavement just across from the crime scene.

Angelica lifted the tape for him. "No."

As John walked under the tape, Donovan lifted her radio up her to face. "Freaks are here. Bringing them in."

Donovan led the trio towards the house. As she does so, Sherlock and Angelica look around. As they approach the house, a man in blue plastic looking overalls exits the building.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock gave him a sarcastic smile.

Anderson looked at him with distaste. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Sherlock took another deep breath through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

Sherlock wore a quirky expression as Angelic smirked. "It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock pointed out. Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?"

Anderson rounded on him angrily, "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock said and headed past Donovan towards the front door with Angelica hot on his trail. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

John goes past Donovan and briefly looks down at her knees. When they enter the house police are all over the place and table is set up with stacks of the blue overalls Anderson was wearing. Lestrade was stood next to the staircase wearing some overalls as well. Sherlock pointed at the clothes. "You need to wear one of these."

"Who's this?"

Sherlock look off his gloves. "He's with me."

"But who is he?"

"He said he's with us," Angelica stressed.

John took off his jacket and picked up a pair of overalls as he watched Angelica and Sherlock pull on pairs of latex gloves. "Aren't you gonna put one on?" He motions to the overalls. Sherlock gave him a pointed look causing John to shake his head.

"So where are we?" Angelica asked.

Lestrade picked up another pair of latex gloves. "Upstairs."

Charlie quietly sat across from his uncle in the fancy restaurant. He pushed the pasta around on his plate as his uncle continued to talk about Charlie's future. His uncle was very persistent when it came to Charlie's education. He often went over looked by his father due to Angelica's intelligence being so much greater than Charlie could ever live up to. His uncle made it certain that Charlie never fell behind and made it possible for him to attend the best private arts school in the country.

Even with his uncle's constant encouraging words – however monotone they were – Charlie couldn't help but despise the thought of basing his life around music. He longed to hold the intelligence that his sister possessed and he knew deep down that his uncle wished Charlie held that intelligence rather than the talent he was gifted with.

"Something's bothering you," His uncle pointed out. "But you don't wish to speak of it."

Charlie chuckled dryly as he stopped moving his pasta about on his plate. "You ever get tired of having to fuss over the stupid one?"

"Sherlock?"

Charlie shot his uncle a cold glare as he corrected him. "Me."

"Charles-"

"My name's Charlie."

His uncle took a deep breath. "Charlie… you may not hold the Holmes intelligence but that does not make you a goldfish. No, you are not your sister; but, simultaneously you are her. She takes advantage of the deductions her mind produces just as you take advantage of a fortissimo run of sixteenth notes or an expensive set of acrylic paints. Sentiment is not an advantage, nephew dear, so stop pawning for his attention."

Charlie shifted his gaze back down to his plate. He continued to push the food around as he propped his left elbow on the table, fiddling with the edge of his hat.