AN: What? What is this? No...no it can't be! NOOOOOOOOOOO! IT IS! She's back! Cait701 is back~!

Chapter 1

"Look at the beautiful view!" My mom exclaimed as we pulled up to the semi-seaside manor. It was an old Victorian home that looked to be more than three-hundred years old. My family and I came to England from D.C. and are now living in the countryside. I actually didn't mind moving, I felt out of place back home. Home. What a strange word. It feels so eccentric on my tongue.

I have friends back at home but, I never really felt like I was one of them. I mean like, I'm the extra wheel. I guess it's normal for a fourteen year old to feel excluded from her peers. Though I wouldn't say I'm normal.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Rowan. Rowan McNally. I come from a long line of Irish people, can you tell? Anyway, my dad got a new job in England. He is supposed to be this representative or something for the bank he works at. He is now working with the bank on 221B Baker Street. I've always wanted to go there, just so I could see the place where the great detective Sherlock Holmes lived. I know, he's a fictional character, but that's just what he wants you to think.

"Come on Rowan! Let's go!" Mom called as she grabbed another box from the back of the car, she handed it to me saying, "This is yours. Now go pick out your room."

I took the box from her carefully (it had my chemistry set in it) and slowly made my way up the walk. Looking from side to side I took in my surroundings. On one side of me, my left, there was a forest made up of Birch and Hazel trees. On my right was the spring green hill side, dotted with horses, sheep and small cottages. The grass was a bright green, dew drops reflecting off their surface. The peace of the scenery consumed me. All I wanted to do was lie on the grass and listen to the wind blow through the trees. I reined in that urge and went through the double doors to be greeted by a large staircase.

The sound of my sister's running steps met my ears and I quickly sidestepped so I wouldn't get knocked down by the energetic ten year old. She had never liked the fact of us moving, though she eventually warmed up to the idea when my father mentioned both of us would get our own rooms. She mounted the steps excitedly and by the sound of the slamming door I knew she had found her room.

The task at hand now was to find my own room. I lighted up the steps; the only sound I made was a minor squeak on the fifth step. That was duly noted in my mind. I walked through the hallways looking for an isolated corner as far away from my sister as possible. My sister, Sue, and I argue a lot. We've shared a room together ever since she was born so we both kept bull pups.

I walked down the far end of the hallway until I was looking through a window towards the ocean across the hills. It was a beautiful view. The sun gleaming against the sea, the gulls screeching above, it was a sight to behold. I forced my eyes away from the beautiful scenery once more and looked around.

"My arms are getting tired. I need to find a room before I break a beaker."

A door creaked open down the hallway, its maple wood dirty and scratched. How did I miss that? I walked towards it, a mixed sense of unease and curiosity befell me. Once facing the door, a pair of steps led up to a room above. Climbing up the steps I noticed there were etchings on the walls, all of which were formulas. At the top of the steps was another door. It was closed and I wasn't able to put down my kit when I reached it. The minute I was about to turn around and go back downstairs the door slowly opened. The room inside was not what I was expecting.

It was the most extraordinary place I have ever seen, almost as if it was meant for me. It was a circular room, plated with wood, almost like a tower. Actually, that was exactly what it was. I wasn't able to see it from the outside but if anybody did it would look like a decoration. It smelled faintly of sulphur and pipe smoke; odd. The room didn't seem to have been used in years. It was lined with bookcases and shelves, all mostly filled. The bed was on, what appeared to me, an enormous shelf, a platform of sorts, with a stepladder leading up to it. The platform looked new, maybe only a few years old. Next to the door that I walked in through, was a small mantled fireplace. A medium sized window was next to the fireplace, as was a trunk underneath the window. In the middle of the room was a long wooden table, worn with use. Against the wall beside it was another table, this one lined with peculiar instruments. I placed the box gently on the wooden table and went over to the bed. Underneath the platform were a small table, almost a desk, and a couple of chairs. I opened up the window to let some fresh air in the stuffy room. Below the window, only a foot or two down was the flat part of the roof. I was sure that if I climbed out the window and turned a left I would be able to see the car and moving van.

"Oh crap! Mom is waiting for me to get my stuff out of the car!" I turned to leave; I was almost out the door when a thought struck me. I poked my head back through the doorway and said, "If anybody is here I would like to thank you for showing me this room. I hope it's not too much to ask but, I really want to stay here." And I left. Though I could have sworn I heard someone whisper, "Hmpht! MRS. HUDSON? It appears we have an unexpected visitor for tea!"

"When did my books get so heavy?" I grunted as I came to the top of the hidden stairs, the door was closed. When I reached the top step, just like last time, it opened for me. An overwhelming scent of pipe smoke filled my nose… and then I was sucker punched with the strongest aura I have ever encountered. The box of books I was carrying clattered to the floor and I doubled over in pain and shock.

This is what I meant when I said that I'm not your typical, run of the mill, teenager. I can see auras. I feel them, see them and experience them. The auras that I see and feel are made up of past experiences. Well, that's what I think anyway. I can literally see life pass before my eyes. This gift I have is what allows me to see, touch and speak to spirits. Although, not without a price.

I saw his life pass before me with every blink of my eyes. All the emotions I felt, the pain, the loss, the anger, fought with the most wondrous emotions of happiness, love and kindness. The loyalty and knowledge of this aura was especially great. It flooded over me like a tidal wave, drowning all of my original thoughts and replacing it with its own briefly. I couldn't take it. I shut my eyes tight trying to block it out, but these emotions matched my own. A cry rang out from the spirit in the room with me.

" P- Please, I beg you, turn it down." I managed to get out. He won't know what to do. I thought despairingly. Squeezing my eyes tighter and gritting my teeth I tried putting up a barrier, a brick wall to shield my mind, it was to no avail. My strength started to drain as I tried once more, yet again to no avail. I couldn't risk a third time so I stayed where I was. All hope for me was lost until it suddenly subsided, the loss of strength causing my knees to give out. I was surprised that I hadn't landed face first on the ground, but hovered over it slightly. I opened my eyes to find that my nose was inches from the ground. I turned slightly to see a worried pair of grey eyes staring back at me.

"Madame, are you alright?" The spirit holding me came from what appeared the 19th or 18th century, he was British, that I knew of and he rolled his r's in sort of a brief drawl. His hair was slicked back and he wore a tailored suit, a gold pocket watch chain with a coin strung across his stomach. His face resembled one of a hawk's. He looked old enough to be my father. I knew who he was the minute I had entered the room.

I moved out of his arms and rolled onto the floor. Kneeling I proceeded to put the books that were strewn across the floor back into the box. Without taking my eyes off the task at hand I answered him.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes for asking, I'm alright." I said.

"Madame I hardly think you're alright I mean you almo- wait a moment. What did you just call me?"

I turned to find a startled Holmes staring at me. I held up my copy of The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

"The hair, hawk like features, grey eyes, coin on the pocket watch chain, pipe smoke, it all fits your description. What's wrong?" His eyes glowered and he snatched the book from me, swearing softly.

"This is all Watson's fault."