Hello readers! Thank you for stumbling upon my first Sherlock Fanfiction. I do love JohnLock, but I wanted to see how John would be as a woman (like in Elementary), but in this case, she grows to appreciate and love Sherlock. This is based off the BBC version of Sherlock. Please review and let me know any feedback! I will be updating again soon. :)

All copyright to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the creators of BBC's Sherlock.

Thank you.

The coffee shop was small, but comfortable, giving off tranquil warmth to the passerby's in the streets. They could escape the endless London rain, and sip a cappuccino before heading to work. Anne Watson was in this coffee shop for different reasons, however. She wasn't waiting to go off to work, either. She was waiting for her friend, Elizabeth Hanks, to catch up a bit since the war.

The topic of war has strangely become just another topic of conversation with her only friend in London. It was like discussing fashion. Like the clothes we where everyday, Anne's life had been pure war for almost five years. Her nursing career had felt a calling in Afghanistan, working with the injured troops. There were times when Anne had to defend herself just like any other soldier. Her skin had become thick after such hardship; death was no longer a shock.

She sat in the corner, a latte in her hands. Her hands shake inconsistently from time to time; her therapist's just blames it on PTSD, yet Anne didn't feel depressed. She did feel endlessly nervous.

The dim lights of the shop highlighted her auburn, curly hair. Her full lips were quivering slightly, as her dark brown eyes watched the door. Anne had been hit on constantly during the war, something she dreaded. Pretty was understatement, some said. Yet, all Anne wanted was to be taken seriously and respected. It didn't take much time for the men to see her more than just a small doll. She knew how to defend herself, armed or unarmed.

Soon, Elizabeth walked into the coffee shop, drenched from the rain.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, Anne. Damn rain gets in the way of everything", she proclaimed, sitting down rapidly.

"Its alright, Liz, don't worry about it", Anne stated, her smile illuminating the corner.

It was as if they had seen each other yesterday. In actuality, six years had passed since they had last seen each other. Elizabeth had been sent to the Sinai Peninsula as a navy doctor, and had been communicating with Anne via letters. Anne had needed this comfort.

An hour passed, talking over their lives, now dull compared to the tremulous events they had endured. Lisabeth had found a fiancée, a humble lawyer from Oxford. The topic then diverged to Anne's personal life.

"Ha, well there isn't much there. Mostly just occupied with finding a place here, getting a job at St. Bartholomew perhaps. I don't really know."

At this, Elizabeth's blue eyes grew wide.

"I have a friend who works there! We can go over there and see if anything's up! Trust me, Molly's a sweetheart. She's works in pathology, but she can give a good word for you."

"Oh Liz, I owe you my life. I need to get off my ars-, well…back. Now, I just need to get a place, and I would be golden. "

"Howard can help with that, love, but that bridge will be crossed another day. Alright then, I've got time. I think we can pay a visit to old St. Barts, how about it?"

"Bless you, Liz," Anne stated, as she hugged her dear friend. Her life wouldn't stop, she thought. She could perchance find meaning in her existence again.

A tall, broad-shouldered man laid motionless on the slap of metal in the cold observation room. Three gunshot wounds decorated his forehead, while a skid mark laid on his chest. Molly Hooper was having difficulty with this case, although the cause of death was obvious.

This case was difficult because she was trying (yet again) to impress the silver-eyed investigator, huddled over the microscope in the room parallel to hers. She didn't dare ask why he was triple-checking the material found in the burn. It seemed it was simple, but things never were what they seemed when working with Sherlock Holmes.

She watched as his hands poured a brown liquid into a flash, causing barely a reaction. Molly wasn't shocked at his frustrations become verbal.

At this, her beeper vibrated in her lab coat. The secretary was letting in her high school friend, Elizabeth Hanks. A shy smile appeared on her lips; it was always nice to see her again.

She walked out of the morgue, going toward the small waiting room on the floor. There, her friend greeted her with a kind hug.

"Molly, lovely as always! How is everything?"

"Oh, thank you. The same old, really, but everything is quite good. You look great. How's Howard?"

"Good, but a nervous wreck. That's not new, though. Oh, this is my good friend, Anne Watson. She's an experienced nurse from Afghanistan; we met before being shipped off. "

"Very nice to meet you, Miss. Hooper", Anne smiled, shaking the shy pathologists hand.

Small talk was exchanged. Molly could see a friend in Anne. The nurse was kind and respectful. She could tell she was a hard worker.

"Now, Molly, my friend here is looking for an opening here in London. I was wondering if you could see if there was anything for her…?"

"Oh, yes, I really would appreciate any position. I'm looking for anything", Anne declared.

"Hmm…I heard the second floor was looking for stand-by nurses. They needed more personnel. I'll tell ya what? I'll see if I can ask around and I'll get back to you. Is that alright?" Molly asked.

Anne's smile was truly infectious. She shook Molly's hand again.

"Thank you, Miss. Hooper. I truly appreciate it. Here's my card, if you hear of anything."

"I'll give you a call immediately th-"

The doors down the hall swung open, a loud thump echoing in the hallway. A tall, slender man was walking towards the women, focusing his attention at a small flask in his hands.

"Now, the first sample proved a negative, but that's was to be expected. It wasn't just tire, as you vehemently believed it was. It smelled of burnt rubber and strangely, lavender. So, discussing the tire, that includes all vehicles as small as the average automobile used in populated cities, such as our own Lon-"

The man stopped as soon as he saw the three women staring at him. Anne caught his eye, an almost silver color to his irises, with spots of gold splattered between the icy blue. Her hands had started shaking again.

His eyes focused on her again.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

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