Chapter 1: Calling All Skeletons

'I'm sorry who are you?'

The tiny brunette stood in the doorway of the messy living room. Sherlock Holmes was lying on the couch, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. Clutched in one hand was a weather-beaten skull.

'Is that real?' asked the woman.

'Of course it's real. What do you want?'

'Are you John Watson?' she asked.

'No'

'Oh. This is his house though, isn't it?'

'I suppose it is'

'Are you expecting him soon?'

'I have absolutely no idea'

'That's ok I can wait,' she said sitting down in the armchair opposite him just as Mrs Hudson bustled in.

'Oh hello Sherlock, I just bought up some biscuits for the young lady, are you a friend of Dr Watsons?' she asked the woman.

'Um, sort of,' said the woman. 'He was friends with my brother. Stan told me to look him up if I ever came to London'

'Oh isn't that lovely,' said Mrs Hudson placing the tea and biscuits next to her.

'Can I have some?' Sherlock asked, finally opening his eyes.

'I'm not a housekeeper Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson replied as she bustled back out of the room. The woman smiled sweetly at him as she sipped her tea.

'Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? I knew he worked with you, I didn't realise you two lived together,' she said. 'Are you an item?'

'Who are you?' he repeated. She took a bite out of a cookie and leant forwards so their eyes were at the same level.

'Don't you already know, Mr Holmes? I thought you would've had me all figured out by now,' she said. He narrowed his eyes at her, scanning.

'Oh go on, you know you want to,' she said. He completed his look and threw himself back in the chair.

'You're Australian, grew up on the east coast. You've just arrived in London with no money, which isn't surprising since you're a writer. You used to dance, but you were too short to pursue it professionally. You don't like me, which I can only assume is because you feel threatened by a being of superior intelligence. Your brother was an old army buddy of John's, killed in action in Afghanistan. And you're here because someone is trying to kill you too.'

Sherlock sat up. 'You're right that did feel good'

'Very good,' she said approvingly. 'And right on all accounts except one'

'And what was that?'

'I dislike you because you're arrogant, not because you're clever,' she replied.

'Close enough,' he shrugged, leaning over to grab a cookie. Mrs Hudson returned carrying another tray, slapping his hand away from the plate.

'That's enough Sherlock, the poor girl is skin and bone! I brought you a sandwich dear and some more tea,' said Mrs Hudson.

'Oh thank you so much, Mrs Hudson. You're a gem,' smiled the woman.

'You're very welcome. Oh I miss the company of ladies, something we don't get a lot of round here,' said Mrs Hudson pointedly to Sherlock.

'That's quite enough, thank you Mrs Hudson,' Sherlock ordered. The landlady bustled back out of the room muttering under her breath.

'Do you piss everyone off?' the woman asked as she ate the sandwich. Sherlock snatched the plate of cookies away and nibbled one quickly.

'Apparently'

They sat in silence as they each finished their plates.

'How long have you been receiving death threats?' he asked.

'Two days,' she replied.

'Oh well that's nothing to worry about I get them at least once a week,' he said offhandedly.

'Oh of course, I'm clearly overreacting,' she said, pulling down her shirt to reveal a stab wound. 'The guy who did this must've just tripped through my bedroom window whilst cutting up some steak'

'You have a kitchen in your bedroom?' Sherlock asked, peering at the wound down her shirt.

'It's called sarcasm Sherlock,' came a new voice. She looked up to see a sandy-haired man standing in the doorway holding a cup of coffee. 'Are you alright?' He looked at her strangely, trying to place her.

'Oh my god, are you Kitty? Kitty Daniels?' John asked. Kitty nodded and jumped up, throwing her arms around the doctor.

"Kitty?" mouthed Sherlock.

'I can't believe it, you look just like Stan,' John said. 'He would go on and on about you'

'You too. Look I'm sorry I to drop in unannounced like this, I hope you don't mind,' Kitty said as he sat beside her.

'Of course not, it's no trouble,' John said smiling. 'Your brother was my best friend, he saved my life more times than I could count'

'Someone is trying to kill Kitty,' Sherlock said.

'What?'

Kitty reached into her bag, pulled out an envelope and handed it to John.

'It's from Stan, I got it three days ago,' she said as he opened it.

'Three days? But how? Stan died-'

'Eight months ago, I know,' Kitty said. 'Read it. He knew something was going to happen to him'

John scanned the three pages of the handwritten letter, dated one week before Stan's death.

'Sherlock you need to look at this'

He handed the letter to the detective.

'How did your brother die?' Sherlock asked as he read the letter.

'It was a roadside bombing, Stan and three other soldiers were killed on their way to a Bedouin village,' said John.

'Where's the key?'

Kitty held up a small silver key attached to the strip of leather around her neck.

'He said John was the only person I could trust, so I looked you up, found your blog and booked the next flight to London. Someone attacked me yesterday morning, so I figured it was an even better reason to get out of Sydney,' Kitty explained. 'The only problem is I don't know where to find what this goes to'

'You did the right thing,' John said. 'And you can stay here'

'What? No absolutely not,' said Sherlock sitting up.

'Sherlock! Someone is trying to kill her,' protested John.

'Exactly! I have enough to worry about without having her assassin coming here too,' said Sherlock.

'I've made up the guest bedroom for Miss Kitty,' said Mrs Hudson bustling in again. 'Oh hello doctor'

'Look you must be exhausted, go have a shower, get some rest and we'll figure things out in the morning,' said John. 'You'll be safe here'

'Thanks John, Sherlock, Mrs Hudson,' Kitty said. Mrs Hudson grabbed her bag and ushered the petite brunette up the stairs.

'I'm not taking the case,' Sherlock said.

'Then it's a good thing she didn't ask for your help then, isn't it?' replied John snatching the letter back.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

'What do you know about this girl?' Sherlock asked.

'Not much. She's a couple of years younger than Stan. He was away when their parents died and sent money to her when he could. He kept a picture of her on him, I think he said she was studying art or something,' said John.

'How did he know you'd still be alive?' Sherlock asked.

'It was after I hurt my leg, I was discharged the day before he was killed,' John explained.

'What was he working on?'

'I don't know, but I'll make a few calls,' said John pulling out his cell phone.

Sherlock inspected the letter, it was postmarked from London the previous week.

Who had sent it? And what was Stan Daniels trying to hide from beyond the grave?