Ok, this is my first published fanfic, so please be nice. I know that I've taken some creative license with Mr Holmes, but if you don't like it don't read it. Not in any particular time frame, just a bit of fun. R and R please. Sherlock Holmes and Co. do not belong to me no matter how much I'd like them to.
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Sherlock Holmes was bored. He hadn't had a decent case in months; or was it only weeks as John had insisted this morning? In any case it'd been too long and he was bored.
"I'm going to take the next case that walks through that door, no matter how tedious." He announced.
"No you won't." John said from the table where he was typing away at his infernal blog. "You say you will, but it'll be something small and silly like someone has lost their dog and you will tell them it was run over or ran away and make them cry."
Sherlock paused from his violin playing.
"Yes, you're quite right but more likely than not I will also be right. I don't produce the fragile mental state they're in and it's not my fault if they don't want to hear the truth."
John sighed."You are a mean man, Sherlock."
Sherlock opened his mouth for a smart ass reply, but was interrupted by some one leaning on the door bell.
"Ha! It's somebody new!" He exclaimed as he carefully put his violin down on its stand.
John raised an eyebrow. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Not right now, my dear John, we have company!"
Sherlock threw himself into his over-sized green felt armchair with boyish glee on his face.
He heard Mrs Hudson and their guest coming up the stairs. From the footsteps he could tell that it was a woman of a slighter than average build, that she had bruised ribs and no shoes on. He also heard the footsteps of a dog that was medium large, between the sizes of a Labrador and a Wolfhound. The dog wasn't on a lead and wasn't used to walking up stairs.
This is going to be a good one. He thought to himself.
Mrs Hudson knocked at the door and Sherlock quickly composed his face into an expression of disinterest. John noticed and rolled his eyes as he got up to open the door.
Standing in the door way was the most beautiful creature either man had ever seen.
Her blond, waist length hair was pulled back into a messy braid. Her skin was porcelain and her perfect cheekbone was marred by a blue black bruise coming up. Her lips were soft looking and a little too red where she had a fat lip.
The woman had noticed him searching her face intently and brought her hand up to cover her injuries. In doing so, she brought attention to the broken and bruised skin across her delicate knuckles. She was wearing a police issue tracksuit that hung off her under-fed body.
Sherlock looked away. He'd seen all he needed to.
"So you were attacked. From the state of your hair and the bags under your eyes I would say you were drunk and your attacker was not. You lost the fight, which is evident by your bruised ribs and your embarrassment of your injuries. If you had won you would by proud of them, it's basic human nature. You fought back, but you weren't strong enough to fight them off even with the adrenalin that would have sobered you up considerably, indicating that the attacker was male and much larger than you. I would expect there was some sexual assault as you stepped back when John answered the door, and you are obviously not wearing your own clothes."
He paused for thought and a much needed breath. There was a stunned silence. Mrs Hudson threw a very disapproving look in his direction and patted the woman on the shoulder.
"He's always like this, dear. Don't take any notice, he means well."
Sherlock ignored this obvious white lie and asked, "Where is your dog?"
As if invited, the dog in question trotted through the door, goofy expression on its face wagging its tail slowly as it appeared to survey the situation. Not finding any menace in the man lounging in the chair, it growled quietly at John and lay down at the woman's feet. He, Sherlock noted, looked up at his mistress' distressed face with a worried expression on his face then licked her hand.
Sherlock had never seen a dog with such human expressions before.
"Mr. Holmes," the woman said quietly, "I have no idea if what you say is true. Which is why I'm here. I need you to find out who I am."
He knew it. He had told himself this would be a good one. He listened carefully to the woman's short, succinct story with appreciation. She told him how she had woken in an alley behind the pub just down the road completely naked, and how the dog she named Munchkin had been standing over her growling at the police officer that had been trying to cover her up, not really knowing where to put his eyes. She had pushed Munchkin off her and taken the blanket from the blushing policeman. They had both gone to the police station, where she had been given some clothes and had made her statement. It was about then when she realized that she didn't know who she was. Missing persons had been notified but there was no report of anyone matching her description, so she had been brought to Mr. Holmes.
Nothing indicated she was lying about her amnesia and Sherlock was no longer bored.
"You should stay a couple of days." He said, to the shock of both John and Mrs Hudson.
Munchkin thumped the floor with his tail. He liked this man.
"We will have to call you something until we find out who you are. What would you like to be called?"
The woman thought about it for a moment. Her emerald eyes danced around the room for inspiration.
"How about Madeline? Do you think that would suit me?"
John, who had not yet gotten over her appearance, nodded dumbly.
"It's a lovely name, dear." Mrs Hudson assured her, when Sherlock just shrugged and picked up his violin again.
"Sherlock's just run out of interest for humans today. I'll make up the spare room downstairs for you. Come down and we'll have some tea."
Sherlock had not lost interest. Quite the contrary. He just needed some time to think about Madeline and her Munchkin.