I am a bad person, publishing new stories when I haven't updated any others. But I just can't seem to be able to hold these stories back! XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock characters; however, I do own Penelope Fielding.
John Watson was tired. Sherlock had spent half the night screeching on his violin and the other half shooting poor Mrs. Hudson's walls.
It was currently 5 in the morning and there was no way he could fall asleep now. With a sigh, he pulled himself from the bed and into clothes. He entered the living room to find Sherlock curled up on the couch with his back to John. Passing Sherlock with little more than a glance, John decided to take a walk. He wound his jacket tightly around him and ventured out into the brisk morning air.
The doctor made his way to a small coffee shop not too far away. It was situated on a corner and was fashioned with wrought-iron tables out front. He was surprised to see someone sitting out front. He thought he recognized the woman, long, curly black hair and warm green eyes. She sat at the table, the umbrella above her throwing her in what little shade there was this early in the morning. Her head was bowed and her hands were tangled together with worry. She wore a black and white striped sun dress and a gray handkerchief to hold her hair away from her gentle face.
As John approached, the woman raised her eyes to him and their gazes locked.
"Are you alright, miss?" he asked concerned.
A small smile touched her lips as she replied, "Yes, I'm fine. But, by any chance, could you give me directions?"
"I could try. Where is it you need to go?"
"I'm heading to my newest employer's place. Today's my first day and I am incredibly lost. I'm looking for 221B Baker Street, do you know where that is?"
John's eyes widened in surprise! "Actually, I can do better than that. I can take you to 221B. I live there, you see."
"Oh! Would you be so kind?" He nodded and helped her up as she smiled wider. "I'm Penelope Feilding."
"John Watson," he said and they shook hands. "If you don't mind me asking, who's your employer?"
She rifled through a bright red purse John had just noticed beside her, as they began to walk in the direction of Baker Street. "A Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the woman replied as she read the pink post-it in her hand.
John's steps stuttered and he almost tripped as he regained his stride. "Sherlock?" his eyebrows almost jumped off his face at her nod. "What exactly do you do?"
"I clean."
Well there you go! A sort of pilot I guess! Review and let me know what you think... :)
