A/N: First Sherlock fiction I ever published. I'm not yet sure where the story is going exactly, but I hope you guys will like it. Constructive criticisms and reviews are very much welcomed!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, him and any of the series' characters.

Chapter 1 Snow White

It was half past eleven when the doorbell rang for just under a half-second. Interrupted, Sherlock who sat on his chair deep within his mind palace, looked up and stared at the door.

Client.

"Mr. Holmes?" a feminine voice barely whispered at the other side of the door.

Mid-twenties. Scared.

Sherlock got up from his seat and opened the door, and with it came the frail looking woman. He caught her as she bumped against him and her knees buckled under her. And she in turn clung onto the front of his shirt like dear life depended upon it.

Pale. Chapped Lips. Blue nails. Undernourished. Fair skin. Deep black eyes. Natural black hair. Eurasian. Very heavy and pained breathing. Warm skin. Cold sweat. Dilated pupils. Poisoned.

She looked up at him, black eyes staring at steel gray ones. "Help me…" Her eyes then lost focus and dimmed, her head lolled to the side as she lost consciousness.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called. He eased the unconscious woman into his arms, adjusting her frail body to better carry her.

The landlady, roused by the bell and the detective's call, exclaimed a short prayer as she ran up 221B Baker Street's steps and saw the woman in Sherlock's arms. "Is she–? "

"No! Not yet." He barked at her. "Get me Watson!" Sherlock picked up the insensible client and brought her to his room, carefully maneuvering around the various objects in disarray on his floor. He carefully lay her down, and then checked her pulse.

Mrs. Hudson dialed John and Mary's home number and anxiously waited. She followed Sherlock into his room and took a good look at the young lady who was apparently dying. "Sherlock, if she's—"

The glare he sent her way was enough to cut off her words. "If she wanted to go to the hospital, she wouldn't be lying here on my bed, would she?" He then turned his attention to his dying client, and shook his head upon taking her pulse. Sherlock abruptly stood up and pried the mobile from Mrs. Hudson, just as John picked up.

"Watson, I have a heavily poisoned client who needs your medical attention."

"Sherlock, if—" from the other side of the line, Watson groggily commented.

Sherlock grind his teeth together. "Stop cutting me off, Watson! She's barely holding on, you're a doctor. It's your duty to come to the aid of those who need you!" He screamed angrily. Unsolved cases were regrettable, but clients dying at his doorstep were completely unacceptable.

"Okay Sherlock, calm down. Mary's calling a cab right now."

For a second, he thought that it was probably not a good idea to bring the very pregnant woman along, but then, he only shrugged. "Okay John, you're on speaker." Sherlock got out of his room, put the phone down on the kitchen table and then paced to and fro in the living room. "The poison may have been given intravenously or thru inhalation or a bite," he spoke aloud. He then paced back into his room with the intent of checking up on his theory, when the landlady stopped him short from the doorstep.

"I'll take it from here." She said, eyeing Sherlock warily. He frowned at her, then turned on his heels, back into the living room. Mrs. Hudson carefully shut the door. After a few moments, she opened the door again, "She has no marks on her whatsoever. She didn't inhale anything. Her mouth is clean but there's some kind of smell."

John who was patiently waiting from the other side of the line tutted. "Sherlock, I think it would be best to call an ambulance and bring her to a hospital. "

Sherlock ran into his room, sat down at the side of the bed and unceremoniously opened the lady's mouth and stuck his nose near her face. "Strange. Very strange." He then rushed out and went to a pile of stacked books and papers at the corner of the sitting room. "Mrs. Hudson! Did you touch my things?!" He irritably chided.

In the background, John's exasperated sigh can be heard. The landlady paled by a small measure. "I put some of your books neatly in your shelf; the loose papers are in a box behind John's chair."

Sherlock stormed to the shelf and picked out a few of the books. He laid them on the kitchen table and hurriedly skimmed through the pages.

"Sherlock, Mary and I are on our way. Speak to me." John hollered over the phone.

Sherlock pursed his lips and continued leafing through the books. "Very slow pulse, Watson. Dilated pupils. It may have started as food poisoning, and was then deliberately continued." He exacted a cry. "There's so many things she could have been poisoned with!"

Mrs. Hudson busied herself with the unconscious patient as Sherlock continued what he was doing. She was brushing the young lady's hair when the unconscious started to stir.

"Hey, darling, it's okay…" the landlady muttered.

The woman then opened her eyes with a start. She looked at Mrs. Hudson and cried out in a hoarse voice. "Leave me alone!" She sobbed. "Leave me be, demon!" The raven-haired woman dragged herself away from Mrs. Hudson who only looked on.

"She's back!" Sherlock exclaimed rushing into his room and seeing the woman cringe away from the landlady. "Hah! Hallucinations! Watson?"

Mary, who was also listening into the conversation with John on the other line, cleared her throat. "Does she have blue nails and chapped lips?"

The consulting detective rushed out of his room and into the kitchen where he left Mrs. Hudson's mobile on the table. "Yes and yes, familiar Mary?"

Mary looked at her husband, and though he frowned at her he urged her to go on.

"Yes, poisoning by Bella donna seeds. Well, I just—"

"Thank you, Mary! Watson and I will do our best that she won't turn out like that." Sherlock's face turned grim. He carried the phone with him back to his bedroom and looked at his client.

Mrs. Hudson looked up at him as he entered the room. "She blacked out again."

He eyed his unconscious client. "You fixed her hair? Lipstick?" He inquired, raising his brow at her.

The landlady looked at him, and then at the unconscious girl. "Yes, she looked awfully pale. I thought it would make her look less…pale."

Sherlock strode to the bedside and checked the lady's pulse again. "Coffee, Mrs. Hudson, if you please."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and shuffled out of the room to do as he bid.

"Fascinating," the detective muttered to himself. "A real life Snow White."