AN: This is my first Sherlock fanfiction. I hope you guys like it!
The evening was quiet. The only sounds that could be heard was the heavy patter of rain drops on the window, and the occassional rumble of thunder in the distance. It had been raining all day, and the storm that was now settling over London wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Outside, people hurried through the streets, clutching coats and hats to their bodies, trying to stay dry. There were a few people who attempted to use umbrellas but they didn't last long, not in the wind that was starting to pick up. All over the city, umbrellas were being blown backwards, and deceptively deep puddles were being stepped in by unwary pedestrians, who swore under their breath. Traffic was heavy, as it always is in the evenings, but because of the weather, it seemed to be so much and lines of traffic barely moved, whilst their occupants got more and more agitated. A lightening bolt cracked across the darkened sky, as John Watson glanced out the window. The weather wasnt bothering him. He had no reason to be out and about on a evening like this. He sat, comfortable, typing up his latest blog entry. The case itself had only been solved that morning and John was relieved that it was over. Triple knife crime in one of the poorer areas in London, set up to look as if it was a gang crime. Sherlock had managed to pinpoint the culprit not 36 hours after the initial crime. And so, John clacked away on "The Misplaced Earring". He sipped his tea, and he found his gaze wandering towards Sherlock, who was perched on the armchair beside the cheery fire that Mrs Hudson had so kindly lit several hours ago. Sherlock had sheets of paper strewn about him on the floor, and with his eyes closed, seemed to be contemplating something. Every so often, he would reach out for his violin, which was resting on the coffee table, and play a few notes, make either a face or note it down. John smiled to himself. He was happy, and comfortable, both in the physical sense and the metaphorical sense. He loved living here, being with Sherlock, solving crimes, and generally getting up to all sorts. It made life worth living, even if Sherlock could be an insufferable git at times.
Another roll of thunder, and the sound of a soft rapping on the door, shook John from his musings. Mrs Hudson popped her head round the door, "Anything from the shop, boys? I've just noticed I have no milk left. I know, its an awful evening out there, but I just can't go an evening without my tea. What will I have when the soaps are on?" She shook her head, unbelieveing that she could sit and watch "Cornonation St" without her Earl Grey and Hob Nobs. "There is suposed to be someone coming around to view 221c" she continued, "but they are already 2 hours late, and if i don't go to the shop now, i'l never get there! If she arrives, just let her into the hallway, I shan't be long. Ta - ra!" Mrs Hudson fixed her rain hat in place, and waved as she closed the door behind her. She was gone before John had the chance to offer her some of their milk. She must have assumed they were out of it. It wouldn't be the first time.
Sherlock didn't appear to have heard her at all. John sighed and shook his head. He would listen out for this caller, but wondered why Mrs. Hudson just didn't phone her. Two hours was an awfully long time to be late. Thats not even late, thats just rude, he finished, inwardly. He drained the last of his tea and stood up, stretching.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock gave him no notice, and continued making scribbles on the lined sheets all around him. John rolled his eyes, crossed in front of him, and proceded to throw more wood onto the fire. The fire reacted noisily, licking the wood, and sparking viciously. Sherlock quickly moved his sheets away, and looked at John crossly "It nearly landed on this!" he said, waving the sheets around. "I've been working on something all afternoon and -" Just before Sherlock could truly launch into his speech about John nearly destroying what well could be his masterpiece, his answer to Wagner's Ring Cycle, the sounds of someone knocking, quite heavily, echoed in the room.
"That must be the new tenant." said John, as he crossed the flat, and quickly walked down the stairs. Who ever it was must be soaked at this stage.
Sherlock stared after John. What new tenant? He followed John, and stood at the top of the stairs, bending his tall frame to get a better look.
John opened the front door. Standing in front of him stood a very wet woman. Her hair was plastered down, and tiny water droplets fell from loose strands. Her face was shining with water, her black glasses covered in rain drops. Her black coat seemed to cling to her body, saturated with rain. Across her back was slung a bag of some sort, and she was wheeling a small suitcase, little more than an over night bag. She seemed to be tucking her head towards her chest, and the hand that was clutching her wheeled suitcase was red and raw. John heard her clear her throat nervously.
"Hi.. um... I hope I have the right address. I'm supposed to meet a Mrs. Hudson here?"
John noticed that she wasn't English. He had spent enough time in Dublin to know an Irish accent when he heard one.
"I'm afraid she has had to step out. She won't be long though. You can wait inside if you'd like?" John opened the door wider, and pointing over his shoulder.
The woman looked slightly undecided for a couple of seconds, and as another rumble of thunder sounded, she nodded, and scooted past John into the hall.
John struggled slightly, closing the door. The wind was starting to blow harder. He turned, and saw the woman standing, in a slowly expanding puddle in the carpeted hall. She looked embarrassed.
"I'm very sorry, I seem to be tracking wet all over the carpet" she said, apologising, as she carefully lay her bags down, trying to avoid the rain soaked coat. She slicked her hair back, and wiped the wet from her glasses. "I'm Liz. Well, Elizabeth really. Liz Flannery." She extended her hand out to John, who accepted it. "John Watson. Nice to meet you. Would you like a cup of tea? You look positively chilled."
Liz smiled gratefully, and took her coat off. John watched as she arranged it so it dripped onto the tiles closest to the front door, and not the carpet. She turned and glanced up the stairs, where Sherlock had remained quietly throughout this exchange.
John followed her gaze. "Ah." he said, "that would be my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. He's a bit... eccentric." John finished, hesitantly. He motioned for Sherlock to come downstairs. Sherlock glided downstairs, and stopped in front of Liz. John watched his eyes, and found them to be flicking over Liz incredibly quickly. He was working.
"Sherlock..." John said, in a low, warning voice. "Behave."
Sherlock made no notice of him, just continuing to take in the figure in front of him.
Liz took a step back, nervously extending her hand. "I'm Liz Flannery."
Sherlock didn't speak. John elbowed him in the ribs, and hissed "Be nice!" under his breath.
Sherlock flashed Liz a smile, and caught her outstretched hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Welcome. I hear John is making tea."