A/N: I forgot to mention and for some reason it didn't come up but this is set in 2007: meant to be around two years before Sherlock and John meet if my timeline is correct.


'221C Baker St. Cozy, one-bedroom, basement flat in Marylebone. No pets. EIK. W/D. Call Ms. Hudson.'

Though not particularly descriptive, Thatcher Greene found herself calling to inquire about the ad anyway. The flat was within her price range and in an ideal area of London. She made an appointment to visit and inspect it in person and though she liked the sound of her possibly new landlady, it almost seemed too good to be true. She immediately put the information into the calendar on her phone and set an alarm for the morning. Hopefully this would finally be the place she would call home, at least for the next few years. It had been two days since Thatcher arrived in London and none of the apartments she had seen impressed her.

'To be fair, one of them did but there was no way I could afford it,' she reminded herself, rolling over to lay on her back in her hotel bed.

At 23, Thatcher had been a student on her own for almost five years. She worked tirelessly for her high G.P.A. to keep her scholarship and generously her parents had paid the rest. Anything else she wanted to do or needed was of her own expense so living on a limited budget was something she had gotten good at. After completing a year of her graduate studies in the US she knew she had to get out. Thatcher had always planned on traveling the world and it would be a lot easier to do once she took the first step. The move was not a popular one among her friends or family but she didn't care; she had been admitted to Barts and The London School of Medicine and Dentistry and would be able to complete her research under the leading scientist in the field.

'The genetic basis of disease,' she thought to herself, crossing her arms on the pillow above her head. 'Saving lives one gene at a time.' She chuckled to herself, recalling her advisor saying those very words only six months ago. In fact, he had been one of the few people supportive of her decision.

"Nope, nope, nope," she muttered, rolling over and reaching into her bag for a book. Thatcher refused to let her mind drift to that man for any reason. Sighing, she opened Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and felt herself relax as she sunk into Wonderland for the umpteenth time.


Standing at the base of the stairs at 221 Baker St, Thatcher took a deep breath and took a moment to push her blonde bangs out of her eyes. Not wanting to be rude, she used the knocker on the large black door rather than trying the door knob. Faintly she could hear a man's voice bellow, "Mrs. Hudson!" and then a few seconds later, hurried footsteps in her direction.

The door swung open and before her stood a middle aged woman, looking rather anxious but still smiling. "Hello, dear. You must be Thatcher. I'm Mrs. Hudson, please come in. You must be freezing."

"Thank you," she replied, hurrying in, grateful for the warmth. Moving in the winter was not ideal but she hoped that since it wasn't exactly a peak season it might cost less. "It's very nice to meet you. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet so quickly. I've been staying in a hotel and I'm dying to get out."

Mrs. Hudson nodded knowingly, ushering her past the stairs to a door that was padlocked shut. "Anytime, dear," she said, unlocking both the padlock and the door. "I must warn you, it is the basement so you will be a bit cooler than the rest of the house."

"Oh, that's fine. I'd much rather be cold than hot," Thatcher said, following her down the stairs.

It was cleanly kept and definitely cozy. 'But you don't need a lot of space.' She touched the wallpaper hanging on the wall in the living, instantly in love with the pattern. "There's a fireplace?"

"Yes. It works, too."

"Good, good," she mumbled, leaving the living room to inspect the other three rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen with an eat-in area. Though it would definitely require a bit of cleaning it had been kept up well and everything seemed to be in good condition. "I'll take it."

Mrs. Hudson did not look pleased. "I'm so glad you like it. However, before you make your final decision, I'm afraid there is someone you need to me. You're upstairs neighbor, in flat B."

"Oh, okay, that's fine," she said, shrugging lightly and still smiling. There was nothing that could deter her now. It was an incredible flat for the price and she could deal with a strange or annoying neighbor considering she really wasn't planning on spending much free time at home anyway.

Thatcher followed the woman back up the stairs to the main level and then up again. The door on the landing was open to reveal a large living area that was scattered with many things. 'Hoarder?' she wondered, raising an eyebrow at the strange items littering the apartment.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called out. After getting no reply, the woman walked in to the apartment and glanced around, apparently not finding who she was looking for. She turned back to Thatcher and called for him again. "Sherlock! Come meet your new neighbor."

"I'll be out in a minute!" a voice boomed from one of the back rooms.

Sighing, Mrs. Hudson walked out of the apartment and motioned for Thatcher to go in. "Make yourself at home, dear. I'll go and make us all some tea."

"Uh," she started but it was too late. The woman was already hurrying back down the stairs. "Okay…" She took a few slow steps in, unsure of who or what she might find. Whoever it was definitely had an eclectic taste: there were two pieces of leather furniture, a rather old over-stuffed arm chair, a desk covered completely save the space for a laptop, and bookshelves on either side of the mantle. Everywhere she looked Thatcher would find something new to interest her.

"Whoa," she uttered, glancing at the long table situated in the kitchen. Though the equipment was by no means new, it looked as if someone was attempting lab work. Thatcher gingerly touched the eye pieces of the microscope, her curiosity about her neighbor rising by the moment. She looked around her once more to make sure she wouldn't be caught and turned back to the microscope, turned the light on and peered in.

"Back away now," a male's voice said calmly from behind her. Thatcher stood up straight and took a quick breath before turning to face who she assumed to be Sherlock. "Why are you in here?" He reached around her quickly, turning the light in the microscope off, his expression unreadable and his eyes staring unwaveringly into her own.

As she opened her mouth to speak, she felt her words catch in her throat. She liked to think that she wasn't intimidated easily but this man was doing a good job of proving her wrong. She cleared her throat and said, "I'm waiting to meet you, actually. I'm Thatcher Greene-I'm looking at the basement flat. Mrs. Hudson told me to wait here, she's making tea."


To say Sherlock was bothered by the woman's presence in his kitchen would be an understatement. His eyes scanned over her, picking up as much as he could. Judging by the way she treated the adjustment knobs on the microscope, it was definitely not her first or even her hundredth time using one; her delicate motions were the sign of someone well-versed in microscopy. She was about six inches shorter than him and rather slim.

He walked from the kitchen and took a seat in the modern style leather armchair, outstretching his arm to offer her the seat across from him. He brought his hands together, fingertips resting gently under his chin as he observed her. Normally Sherlock found that people were uncomfortable under his gaze but she didn't seem to mind. Instead of looking away she either met his eyes or seemed to be trying to read him back.

"Your mother or father?" He asked, watching her face.

"What?"

"Which one is from London?"

"Why would you think-?" she asked, her attention completely focused on him now.

"Your accent. Obviously American, from the Midwest. Some of your pronunciations, however, are obviously not. Though not enough to indicate you've lived in London previously. Must be a close family member; parents or siblings though parents is more likely."

Thatcher's eyes widened and a small smile played on her lips. "What else?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, enjoying her response. "You're a scientist, though obviously not a microbiologist from your under reaction to what you observed. You're thin but have lost weight recently-your clothes are baggy and considering your chosen profession and the fact you are meeting with a potential landlady, today was not a day to underdress-it was unexpected and you haven't had time to get clothes that fit. Ink on the side of your hand; you're right-handed and writing constantly: if you had poor hygiene and simply refrained from washing your hands, there would dirt under your nails but there isn't. You're a graduate student here to finish your studies. Was it an ex-boyfriend or a falling out with your parents?"

Thatcher raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, the smile still on her face though it no longer reached her eyes. Sighing lightly, he continued. "If you were this bad at handling stress you wouldn't have made it this far so something has happened to increase your anxiety. So which is it?"

"Neither," she answered easily, shrugging at him. She was lying and they both knew it.

"Boyfriend then."

"What makes you think that?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"Your necklace: you have it cleaned but not proud enough to display it. Either you don't like it or you wear it as a silent reminder to yourself. You've reached up twice unconsciously to touch the chain since we have sat down so it obviously means something to you. A gift from someone who has hurt you, possibly your parents but more likely someone with a romantic attachment. Recent enough you haven't moved on and stopped wearing it but you keep it hidden beneath your shirt so you don't have to look at it. The fact that you still have it at all suggests you were the one to end the relationship. Yet you're also the one who left the country." Sherlock uttered in a single breath, his gaze only moving from hers when he noticed Ms. Hudson coming up the stairs holding a tray for tea.

"You two look like you're getting along?" Ms. Hudson said carefully, handing Thatcher a cup of tea. She smiled and nodded in response, taking a sip of her tea and grateful for the moment's rest from Sherlock's company.

"He's definitely…perceptive," Thatcher said after another moment of silence. The alarmed look she had seen earlier returned to Ms. Hudson's face.

"Oh, Sherlock," she started, shaking her head at the man as he spooned sugar into his tea.

"She'll take it, Ms. Hudson and be moved in by the end of the week." Sherlock told her before she could continue scolding him.

"Oh, good! I'm sure you'll love it. Let me go get an application to collect your information and we'll get started!" Mrs. Hudson said excitedly, moving quickly after having seen Thatcher nod in agreement to Sherlock's statement.

They sat alone together and silent for almost a full minute before either one of them spoke. "It was both," she said, watching him as she took another sip. "Both of my parents are from London. I am a graduate student. And I did recently go through a break-up."

His eyes lit up, utterly pleased with himself.

"Thatcher, dear, would you come down and fill these out?" Mrs. Hudson called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Of course, I'll be down in a moment." She set aside her tea and stood to leave. She was in the doorway when she turned back to ask, "You're not a microbiologist, are you?"

He looked up from his tea. "Sorry?"

"Just…can you do me a favor and not bring Bacillus anthracis to the building anymore? I'm not a microbiologist either but I do know that I don't want Anthrax." With a small smile and wave, she turned back and went down the stairs.

Sherlock sunk a bit lower into his chair, smiling as he raised the cup to his lips. He always enjoyed the clever ones. He wasn't sure how long she would last in 221C but he had a feeling this interaction would not be their last.


A/N: Please please please let me know what you think! I'm relatively new to the Sherlock fandom and I so desperately want to make sure that I'm writing him correctly! And before you run away, I promise you this story is not going to be a romance novel by any means. The focus is the relationship between the two and how it develops but believe me, it is not what one would call romantic!