Disclaimer: Okay, if I actually owned Sherlock, then I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. This would all be cannon. Also, I would hang out with Mark Gatiss and Benedict Cumberbatch.

Lestrade was having another slow day at the office. He was about to head out and get lunch when he got a phone call. The voice on the other end was instantly familiar. This sly, female voice apparently spoke in representation of "an interested party" that got him assigned to certain cases. He got paid extra on the cases that The Voice (as he had come to call it) had assigned him to. Lestrade guessed that the person was a contact of Sherlock's, as Sherlock had to be called in on nearly all of those cases. Maybe that was why he got paid extra. He's one of the only people that can put up with Sherlock.

The voice told him to go to a domestic violence crime scene on Clay Street. "Domestic violence? That's not my division," Lestrade said, confused.

"It would be of great importance to the party that I represent," said the voice. "After all, you'll get the bonus in your paycheck, and you'll finally have enough saved to buy that new mattress for your bad back."

Lestrade sighed. He could almost feel her smirking. "I suppose I'll stop by during my lunch break." Since it was domestic, Sherlock wouldn't be anywhere near it, which would be a fresh change. It was too boring for Sherlock, and far too much sentiment was involved.

Lestrade flashed his badge at the police officers and slid under the tape. He looked around. It seemed normal. Neighbors were being interviewed, a middle aged woman with sandy hair was being put into a police car, all regulation. He wondered why the "interested party" was so intent on him looking into this case. Then he noticed a familiar set of black curls sitting in an ambulance with a shock blanket. He practically ran over, wondering why in the world Sherlock Bloody Holmes was at a domestic violence crime scene.

When he got about five feet away from the ambulance, he realized that the person with curly black hair was much smaller than Sherlock. A few steps later, the curly head lifted, and he realized that it was a girl. She cocked her head to the side, taking in his appearance. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she said calmly.

Lestrade swallowed hard. "You look like someone I know, that's all."

She nodded knowingly. "When can I leave?"

"Erm," said Lestrade. "Have they taken a statement yet?" he asked. Then he remembered the shock blanket as she nodded. "I'm afraid I can't take a statement when you're in shock," said Lestrade. "It's regulation."

She tossed the blanket aside immediately. "I was just wearing this because it's cold and they won't let me inside to get my coat."

"We should still wait until the paramedics say that you're okay to question." said Lestrade.

She opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then the medical department came to examine her for injuries. She held out her right arm and said "Sprained wrist, broken pointer finger. No signs of a concussion, and the only other injuries are just bruises." Lestrade raised his eyebrow. "My uncle is a doctor. Plus, I'm a dancer, I'm used to injuries."

However, the EMTs demanded that they check her themselves, so Lestrade stood by while they wasted five minutes proving everything that she had just said.

Once they had given Lestrade the word that she was in a clear state of mind, which meant that he could take a statement, he cleared his throat. "Are you going to stay with the uncle that you mentioned while this is worked out?"

"He's my only family besides Mum," she said, "so I suppose I'll have to." She reached over with her left hand to pull her phone out of her right pocket. "I should probably give him a notice ahead of time," she added as an afterthought. She sent a text with astonishing speed, considering she was typing with her left hand.

Lestrade cleared his throat again. "Are you ready to give your statement?"

"Yes," she sighed. "What do I have to say?"

"First, I need your full name and contact details."

"My name is Alexandria Harriet Watson, call me Alex, and my number is 555-4129"

Lestrade blinked. Watson? No, it was probably just a coincidence. There's probably LOTS of Watsons, like that actress woman.

After a few moments, she waved her hand in front of his face. "Are you all right? You have that ghost face again." She looked behind her, as if to confirm that there were no ghosts. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She picked it up and read the text out loud. "'I'm working till 7:30, but I'll text my roommate and landlady,' Ooh, I get to meet the crazy roommate, 'One of them will let you in. Do you need the address?'" She started saying her response as she typed it. "Yes, I need the address. Thank you, exclamation mark, smiley face."

Lestrade smiled a little. This girl was kind of cute in her own, quirky way. "And now I need the full name, contact details, and address of your uncle."

"Doctor John Hamish Watson, 555-7183. I'll tell you the address once he texts me back."

Lestrade froze again. A lot of questions jumped to his mind, but the one that stood out the most to him was, "John's trusting Sherlock to look after a teenage girl?"

She stared at him. "Seriously, are you all right?"