Sherlock sat in 221B Baker Street on the cold January morning with a book in front of his eyes. His pretence at reading it was boring his mind. He had read the book inside out and was not in need of looking at another dulcet word on its page. But there was nothing to do. No thrilling case to go out and solve. He had been investigating one case but he had found it to be far too easy for his mind to even contemplate. No, he was bored. And there was no denying it.

…

"Well I have to say it has taken you long enough," Sherlock grinned as he walked over to DI Lestrade on the Thames Bank, looking onto the sand which his feet were sticking into as Lestrade rolled his eyes and allowed the consulting detective to examine the body of the young blonde woman.

"There have been no interesting cases for you to solve Sherlock," Lestrade replied. "It has been a quiet month."

"There is never a quiet month for the criminal classes," Sherlock frowned. "You're just jumping to wrong conclusions."

"Instead of standing here and having a go at me," Lestrade began, "why don't you find out what is wrong with the body?"

"I thought that would have been obvious," Sherlock muttered. "It's not breathing. That is the clear picture."

"Do you want me to kick you off the case before you've begun?" Lestrade cocked a brow and Sherlock crouched down, picking up her hand, ignoring the detective inspector.

"She's single. Recently engaged by the looks of it too," Sherlock checked the diamond ring and his eyes narrowed. "Of course it's recent. The ring is new and she's also a rather wealthy woman in her mid twenties. I'd say she's marrying into money judging by the looks of her. Her hair has been recently dyed showing she did nothing with it before and her clothes are all new and designer label of course…her hands are perfectly maintained so manual work is out of the question. Going by her shoes she has a job which requires walking around a lot so instead of heels she goes with flats which are more practical. So that means she is possibly someone who works in an office and does a lot of walking. There is also the fact that she has a piece of paper in her pocket with scribbled letters on which shows memos to herself and the paper reads 'J L Accountants."

"You had best not be making this up…" Lestrade warned him.

"When do I ever make anything up?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "All of the evidence points to one thing."

"What is that?"

"She was murdered. Look at the hole in her head," Sherlock pointed at it. "It is a perfect aim. No one normal would have been able to do that. You're looking for someone with experience with a gun and execution style shooting is their trademark."

"And where are you going?" Lestrade called to Sherlock as he saw him walking away.

"To solve the case," Sherlock called back. "Lord only knows you won't."

…

Sherlock stood in his apartment after looking through the case file on the dead woman. He had photos stuck to the wall and mirror and he continued staring at them in a quizzing manner. Why would someone shoot a simple secretary? Why would someone want her dead?

"I've done the food shopping," a monotone voice spoke but Sherlock continue ignoring his flatmate. "Even after a hard day working I managed to get all the shopping done and I imagine I'm going to be the one preparing the dinner too."

"She had found something out," Sherlock suddenly muttered and jumped off the arm of the armchair he had been sitting on.

"Excuse me?" John asked with a raised brow as he placed the groceries into the correct cupboards. "And would it kill you to tidy up in here?"

"But what did she find out?" Sherlock paced up and down beside the fireplace. "It must have been something atrocious for her to be shot but why? Why kill her? Why not let her in on it? Oh! She must have threatened to tell someone! But who would have paid to have her killed?"

"I take it I'll do the cooking tonight then?" John whispered grumpily whilst Sherlock grabbed his coat.

"I need to go the accountants."

…..

"Boss," a tall blonde man grunted as he walked into the office. The office was situated on the middle of West Street, just above a small chain bank. It was nothing conspicuous and nothing that any normal person would pay attention to unlike the large buildings of Canary Wharf. No, this office was small but stylishly decorated and it housed one of Britain's most dangerous women.

"Hmm," the woman asked, sitting behind her desk, a pen in hand as she jotted things down into a new leather clad notebook.

"Miss Lyons has been taken care of," he simply told her, dropping a cheque onto her desk.

"And what was your preferred method of carrying out this task?" she asked again, her eyes still glued to the page.

"Simple shot to the head."

"Oh good," she replied, a smile still not on her face, "nothing too messy then."

"And the payment from the accountants was a nice sum."

"How much is it on the cheque?"

"Five hundred thousand."

"I suppose that shall suffice," she sighed slightly, running a hand through her brown curly hair.

"And what is my cut out of it?" he asked her in a gruff voice and she cocked a brow, her eyes peering up from her work.

"Seventy five thousand," she said simply.

"What?" he snapped.

"Take it or leave it Marcus," she shrugged, sitting up and leaning back, crossing her legs as she did so.

"I had hoped for a little more," he snorted.

"Hadn't we all?" she asked rhetorically. "Your payment shall be given to you in the next few days."

"And may I ask why I had to kill her?"

"No," she replied sweetly, "you may not. The firm trusted me with that information and I shall not pass it on to anyone else."

"So you just expect me to kill for no reason?"

"You're a hit man Marcus," she rolled her eyes. "That's your job."

"How did they even find out about you? It's not as if you're in the yellow pages, is it?"

"Oh I could be," she said sarcastically. "How does anyone find out about my services? They ask."

"And-"

"That's enough questions for today," she sniped back at him and looked out the glass door where a tall dark haired man in a black suit stood and she nodded, indicating for him to come in. "Harry will show you out."

"And my payment?"

"As I said," she drawled, "your payment shall be with you in the next few days once I clear everything."

"Fine," Marcus replied and he stood up whilst Harry held the door open.

"Pleasure as always," she spoke politely and he nodded and left, leaving her and Harry in the room.

She picked the cheque up and grinned slightly at it, her face lighting up for a moment.

"Accountants dealing with dodgy clients can lead to trouble, don't you agree Harry?" she checked, filing the cheque into her drawer beside her large leather chair and locking it up.

"Yes ma'am," he simply replied.

"Shame people can't mind their own business," she sighed. "Oh well, keeps us in a job."

"Speaking of people minding their own business ma'am," Harry began and she looked up from the drawer and into his eyes, intrigued as to what he was saying.

"Continue," she nodded, sitting on edge, resting her hands together on the desk.

"Well after the body was discovered Scotland Yard brought someone…different into the case…"

"A new officer?" she twitched her head to the side slightly.

"No…one of the boys said he was a consulting detective…whatever the hell that is," Harry chuckled lightly and her face fell. The only one in the world was on a case she had provided. But she needed to hear his name before being sure.

"And did this man have a name?" she asked, her voice on edge slightly.

"Sherlock Holmes."

She took a shallow breath and nodded, leaning back in her chair before standing up and looking onto the street through the window- which was becoming dirty- where people continued about their business, moving into shops and out of them, no one paying her any attention.

"Pardon me asking ma'am," Harry coughed lightly, "but do you know of this Mr Holmes?"

She remained silent for a moment, gripping onto the ledge of the windowsill before nodding.

"Sherlock Holmes is one of the most troublesome men you will ever meet." She told him. "He's a problem which needs to be taken care of. At once."

…..

"The firm knew something about her death," Sherlock stated when he walked into the flat, taking off his scarf as he did so. John was sat in front of the TV, watching some melodramatic soap whilst Sherlock spoke aloud. Before John had a chance to say anything Sherlock had walked over to the TV and had turned it off.

"Why did you do that?" John snapped.

"Because the noise doesn't help me think," Sherlock replied. "It's clear they didn't kill her themselves. Far too conspicuous to do so…they hired someone…she found out some dodgy business and they had her killed. But who did it?"

"A man with a gun?" John suggested.

"Witty as always," Sherlock replied in a drawl before hearing a knock at the door.

"Go and get that," he told his friend.

"Why can't you?" John snapped back.

"Because I'm busy," Sherlock hissed, looking at the photos of the bullet in Lilly Lyons head whilst John muttered to himself and went for the door.

"But who do I know who executes like that? Not the Gollum…not the Golden Coast Gun Man either…none of them…"

"Sherlock," John murmured and he walked back into the flat with a piece of paper in his hand. "There was no one at the door…just this with your name on it."

"Hmm?" Sherlock's face went serious as he took the envelope from his friend's hand and looked at his name neatly scrawled on it. He noticed that writing from his days at university. But he had to be mistaken. Surely it wasn't possible. Sherlock gently prised the envelope open and pulled out the small piece of paper which had large loops and letters on it with a simple sentence on it;

'Be a good boy and stay away?'

"What is it?" John asked, looking at the letter whilst Sherlock handed it to him, sure it was her who was the culprit of the letter.

"Do you have any idea who sent this to you?" John asked. "Nice handwriting and all that…so it must be a woman?"He checked, knowing what Sherlock had said about women's handwriting.

"She's the most dangerous woman you can ever meet," Sherlock muttered, looking out the window onto Baker Street. "And up until now I had forgotten of her existence."

"Who is she?" John asked and Sherlock remained silent for a moment before speaking in a deep and low voice to his friend;

"Madison Walters."

…
A/N: So the plot will thicken but this is the first chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. So please do leave me a review to let me know what you think!