It had been a long day for Eleanor Pennington.

Her schedule has been full since she walked into the surgery. After she seemed to have a break, another patient came in. Then another, and another, until she almost had no lunch break. Another doctor took one of her patients to give Eleanor her lunch break. His name is John. John Watson. Eleanor liked him. She didn't fancy him, but she liked John as one of her best friends. She's never had a friend as close as him. Eleanor was more reserved and shy, so she didn't have many friends at school or even now, for that matter. John had always been there for her more than she knew, and she knew she owed him for all those times.

Eleanor wasn't unsociable, though. She wasn't socially awkward, either. She was kind and loving and forgave easily. She didn't hold grudges for long, either. Whenever someone smiled at her, she was always inclined to smile back. Even though she smiled all the time, doesn't mean that she can't be mean. Eleanor can actually be pretty ferocious when she needed to, and controlled her emotions with extreme caution. Eleanor, I guess you could say, she was two-faced.

Thinking of herself reminded her of John and his friend, Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes was his name. He was a genius and an idiot at the same time. John and Sherlock were like two halves to one whole. They were perfect for each other, and if Eleanor didn't know better, she would've thought they fancied each other. Of course, John had explained to her many times that he was not gay. Eleanor believed him, but she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from making a rude remark. John was her best friend and she didn't care if he was gay or not. In fact, she didn't care if anyone was different from her, as long as they respected her as a human being like she does for others.

After the long day at the surgery, Eleanor stopped by John's office to say goodbye. He was just packing up to leave as well. She leaned against the door frame to his office.

"Hey, John, I'm heading out," Eleanor said.

John looked up and smiled. "All right, Nore. I'll see you Monday for work again."

Eleanor turned to leave, but turned back again, forgetting something. John noticed and they stared at each other for a moment. John's eyebrows were raised while Nore's were knitted in thought.

Remembering, Eleanor opened her mouth to speak. Before she spoke, though, John looked at something behind Nore and frowned. She almost spoke, but the deep voice behind her made her freeze.

"John, are you off work now?"

Sherlock. Eleanor remembered that voice. How could she forget? That voice was so deep, it could cause an earthquake. She shut her mouth and refused to look behind her. She, instead, crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Eleanor could feel Sherlock's long, black coat brush up against her, and, judging from where his voice came from, his head was just behind her. His arm was above her shoulders, with his hand grasping the door frame. She was startled from the sudden appearance and jumped, no one seemed to notice, though. Well, Sherlock noticed, but he didn't say anything.

Nore's skin crawled. She hated Sherlock. Something about him irritated her and made her spine tingle and the hair on her neck stand on end. Eleanor hated to admit it, but she was scared of Mr. Holmes. He was conceited and mysterious and could tell you your whole life story at one glance. John had told Nore about it, but she had never been the victim. Sherlock didn't know why he didn't single her out, but she didn't want to find out. She was not in the mood to be tormented and judged. Eleanor just wanted to go home. She couldn't leave, though, because Sherlock's arm was right behind her, blocking her path.

John glanced from Nore to Sherlock. He knew she didn't like Sherlock. John didn't blame her, either. Sherlock was John's best friend, but he wasn't about to choose between the two friends. Eleanor waited not-so-patiently for John to respond to Mr. Holmes's question. There was an eerie silence among the three.

"Er, yeah," John finally said. "Yeah, I was just-"

"Good," Sherlock interrupted. "I need you on a case. Can't work on it right now. Far too busy to solve it; I'm working on my own case."

"What about the smuggler case we're working on? Isn't that more important?" John wondered.

"Not at the moment," Sherlock said. "No leads. Can't decipher the code. I need you to do a case while

"Great," John muttered, then denied the the case, and muttered under his breath about doing better things than to do Sherlock's dirty work. "Do you want to get take-out for dinner, Nore?"

Eleanor did not want to be next to Sherlock any longer. Take-out sounded great. Cooking dinner sounded too laboured at the moment. Take-out was fast and easy. Besides, Nore liked John. Take-out with him sounded great, and it may even turn into a date. Nore couldn't remember the last time she dated someone. Then Nore started to panic. She hadn't been on a date since she was at the university. That was years ago. She worried if she would be bad at it. She feared that she might make a fool of herself. But this is John. What could possibly go wrong?

Eleanor thanked John with her eyes. He pushed past her gently to join Sherlock and they walked side-by-side down the hallway and out the door. She sighed in relief. She was glad Mr. Holmes wasn't breathing down her neck any more. That was terrifying. Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

She dragged herself out of the hospital and into a taxi to follow John and Sherlock. In minutes, they arrived at Baker Street.

"Just need to grab my wallet," John explained. "Hold the cab."

Eleanor just kind of stood awkwardly next to the cab as John ran into the flat. Just when Nore thought she could relax, Sherlock strode up and stood next to her. She looked the other way, trying to ignore the fact that he was going to make conversation. She sent off the cab even though John told her to hold it. She knew John too well to know that he would take a while.

"I have a feeling you don't fancy me," Sherlock blurted.

Nore laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the statement was so utterly true that it was hilarious and Sherlock just said it with a blatant tone of recognition.

"Yeah," Eleanor said. "I can't believe you just noticed that."

"I've observed it," Sherlock insisted. "I just haven't found the right time to have a proper chat with you."

Eleanor forced her gaze to look up into Sherlock's multi-coloured eyes. It was then that Nore realised how tall Sherlock really was. He was a lot taller than Eleanor's five feet eight inches. He looked about six feet tall. No, exactly six feet. His dark, curly hair sat on his head like a mop. His protruding, sharp cheekbones were very British. He was very, very slim, like he hadn't eaten in a few days. Which, he most likely hadn't, anyway.

"Well," Eleanor said. "Here we are. Proper chat."

"Proper chat," Sherlock agreed.

There was a very long, awkward silence.

"Are you and John on a...date?" Sherlock said the word date like it was foreign to him. "Are you two...?"

"No. No!" Nore said quickly. "No, we're just friends."

"Are you sure John knows that?"

Fear and guilt crowded Eleanor's heart. Did John know? She didn't want to crush the poor bloke's hopes and dreams. She liked John as a mate-nothing more, nothing less. If John fancied Nore, things could be...difficult. Eleanor didn't answer Sherlock.

"Ah," Sherlock said. "You don't know. That's new."

Eleanor suddenly felt angry, but didn't show it. She kept her voice from being ridged. "I'm not as observant as you. I don't judge people by what they look like."

"I'm not judging-"

"Yeah, you are."

Sherlock didn't answer. He pursed his lips, but Eleanor could tell that the gears in his head were working overtime, trying to process what she just said. Why would Sherlock take into account of something so insignificant as that? Most of all, why would he even listen to her? Maybe Sherlock was trying to make amends. But at the same time, he could be stuffing her like turkey dinner just to be sliced into little pieces when she's done baking. In other words, he could be pulling her leg instead of actually apologising and getting along. Eleanor shivered. Right now, Sherlock was a creep, and she didn't want anything to do with him.

"So," Eleanor changed the subject desperately. "The case you're working on; is it...difficult?"

"Er, yeah," he stuttered, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and unfolded it, revealing yellow spray-painted Asian characters that Nore didn't recognise. Next to the different letters were numbers written in pen with Sherlock's curly-cue handwriting.

"I can't figure it out, though," Sherlock said.

"Well, that's a first," Eleanor muttered. "But isn't every pair of numbers a word?"

Sherlock looked at Nore like she had green skin. "How did you know that?"

She rolled her eyes and pointed at the paper. "Look, Dumbo. The first two words are all ready translated. 'Nine mill'."

Sherlock looked like he was going to slap himself. He grabbed his hair in fistfuls like he was going to rip it out. "Stupid! I'm so stupid!"

"Finally!" Eleanor exclaimed. "You understand what you truly are!"

"But what book?" Sherlock asked, looking at Nore in thought. "'A book that everyone would own'?"

"The Bible," She guessed.

"No, all ready tried."

"Dictionary."

"No."

They stood there in silence for a moment, thinking. 'A book that everyone would own'... Eleanor was clueless. If it wasn't the Bible or the dictionary, she didn't know any other book.

Sherlock looked around, observing everything. Finally, his eyes grew wide and ran toward a French couple. He snatched the book that the man held and started flipping through it. It was the London A to Z book. Nore rolled her eyes as the French people yelled at Sherlock in French. Eleanor, having studied abroad in France, understood the language and knew what the people were saying, and it wasn't very nice at all.

Eleanor ignored Sherlock and walked into his flat, looking for John. She'd been over a few times, so she knew her way. She walked up the stairs to 221B. She heard clanging in the kitchen when she opened the door.

"John?" she called.

No answer. Was John okay?

"John?" she asked more urgently, making her way to the kitchen.

Before she could turn the corner to look into the kitchen, a strong arm wrapped around her, preventing her from moving her arms. Eleanor struggled and squirmed against the restraints. She tried to call out, but before she could yell out anything, she felt something stab into her neck. As the liquid was injected into her blood, Eleanor grew weaker. Her vision became fuzzy, and there seemed to be two of everything. Her head felt like it was filled with helium. She thought her head would blow up into a balloon and float away. Her limbs went limp. She couldn't do anything. Eleanor collapsed into the attacker's arms and everything went black.