Title: Snowy Selene
Summary: John meets a girl with incredible deduction skills and knowledge about Sherlock
Author's note: This story revolves around an O/C, a girl related to Sherlock (i will not reveal her name just yet, spoilers!) and she interacts with him, John, Mary and other characters. The events take place after HLV, so if you haven't watched the series and/or don't want any spoilers then sorry... bye bye my friend.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters
"Sherlock!" John called from the hallway. "There's a young girl here to see you."
The girl looked at him, insulted; her wavy, dark hair encircling her pale face.
"Young girl?" she repeated as if that were so hard to believe. Her accent wasn't exactly British, although it still sounded alike. "Blimey, how old are you? I must seem like a fifteen year old." She scoffed.
"Yes, well… yes" John thought about it. "Are you a client?" he finally asked.
"A client? Lord, no! Is that what he does now?" she looked intrigued. "Well, won't you look at that… Old Sherly solving crimes with his-" she stopped and looked at John, examining him from head to toe. "-muse." She concluded.
"I'm not gay…" he mumbled irritated.
The girl raised an eyebrow as she walked past him and started going up the stairs. She stopped halfway and turned to face him.
"Just for the record, I'm twenty six." and then, continued running up the last steps.
"Twent- hey, hold on a minute!" John hurried after her still wondering who she was or why she was even there.
When she reached the door, she opened it without asking for permission, like she was entering her own apartment.
"I see you've applied the usual messy techniques." She noted, somehow amused, then looked back at John. "Do you have a lighter?" she asked almost imperatively.
"I don't-" John started.
"-smoke, I know, but your boyfriend does." She interrupted him.
"My…? Sherlock is not my boyfriend!" he protested with an annoyed expression.
"Oh, please!" she looked away. Something in her voice made it clear how sure she was about everything she was saying. After a moment John continued.
"Sherlock doesn't smoke. Not anymore at least." He said with certainty and even pride.
"Nicotine patches, I know… well, so long." She counter argued.
She walked towards the couch and leaned down. She put a hand under one side and when she took it out again, there was an old, pointy shoe hanging from her finger.
"It's a shoe." John stated the obvious, more annoyed and disturbed than amazed.
"I know." She responded slowly as if talking to a kid. She then slid the other hand in and presented him with a bunch of cigarettes tied together with a thin thread.
At this point John was indeed amazed or maybe taken aback.
"How did you-" he started but was quickly interrupted.
"The cloth covering the couch is slightly set aside right there beside the foot, but the fact that you can see the curve where people sit" she said while pointing at the couch. "as well as the huge amount of dust all over it mean that it's hardly used anymore. That's why you've got the chair. The only place where there is no dust, but instead is clean, is down there which means that the cloth it's regularly moved only at this spot. Also, the light coming from the window creates a cast shadow of the shoe. You can't clearly see it at first because it blends in with the shadow of the rest of the couch, but after simple observation it's obviously something pointy, completely different from the soft cover. So, it's a hidden object, or lost, but probably hidden, considering Sherlock. You, of course, wouldn't hide anything here, unless" she considered "you didn't want your wife to find out" she looked at him, eyes half closed, thinking. "but you're devoted to her, you wouldn't need to, sentiment comes in the way." She rejected it with a wave of her hand.
"So, it's Sherlock's hiding place, but look at the state of this place!" she gestured at the rest of the apartment. "Surely if you left anything around here, it would work as a hiding place. No, this is more serious" she said the word mockingly. "Well, in Sherlock's manner of speaking anyway. He wants something hidden, obviously, but not from anyone, you in particular. Because he wants you to maintain the image, he needs you to always believe in Sherlock Holmes…" her voice faded away as a half smile climbed up her face and her eyes, glass like, observed every piece of dust in the window, as if she were dreaming while standing.
"Always the drama queen." she said after a few seconds, her look still distant. Then she shivered like she was waking up from a deep sleep and turned to look at his reaction, curious.
John was staring at her in disbelief and anger. The last time this had happened to him was when he had first met Mycroft, only the girl looked much less powerful with her black jeans, boots and 'Death Note' shirt.
"Yeah, ok, I lied." she explained. "I do know pretty much everything about Sherlock. Mike filled me in during the trip here. I had to read seventeen thick files to catch up, but what can I say? I'm a fast reader." she offered him a seemingly honest smile, but John wasn't convinced.
He could still see behind the mask, or at least he thought he could.
"How could you possibly know that there were cigarettes in there, or that Sherlock is smoking?" he was tired of people showing off and angry at himself for not seeing it in the first place.
"Previous knowledge." The girl stated jubilantly.
"Sorry what?" his eyebrows were raised not is surprise but in anger.
"Previous knowledge." she repeated.
When John didn't respond, she looked irritated.
"Oh, for God's sake!" she swore. "How old do you think this shoe is?" she asked, lifting up the shoe again. Then, without waiting for an answer, she continued as if John had already told her. "Exactly, very old! I remember this little thing." she started walking towards the fireplace. "Sherlock always used it to hide stuff from Mycroft, same thing with the skull. Although the old one was smaller… and plastic. Ich!" she touched the dirty, old skull and shivered, disgusted. "Also, the kitchen smells of burnt wood and cement. You hardly use the fireplace and Sherly's experiments would induce different and peculiar smells. Once again, you don't smoke, your breath is clean except for some homemade bread and…" she leaned towards him to smell him. "jam, is it?" she considered the possibility. "Oh that's nice! You should bring some here and tell your wife she's a good bread maker." Without stopping, she added, her eyebrows mingled "I think I'm freaking you out, although I gathered you'd be used to it by now."
"Who the bloody hell are you?" John tried to contain his rage.
The girl tilted her head and looked away, eyes wondering. John could have sworn he saw amusement in her honey, brown eyes. She walked toward the window leaving the shoe on the table. Then, she turned to face him with an evil, half smile.
"Your new nightmare…" she said quietly, almost without a sound.