This is a Sherlock/Dirk Gently crossover fic. The only story on here which has Dirk Gently in I think. Enjoy xxx

Chapter One

Baker Street was unusually quiet but for the dull echo of lone footsteps of an inconsequential passer-by and the hum of the occasional hackney as it drove past and turned the corner, its headlights a glow upon the street as it hit the walls and pavements, casting shadows.

Dusk had made its mark on the day and the soft illuminating light from the street lamp shone on the curtain-drawn window of 221B.

The air was cold and miserable, disturbed by a sporadic, blustery wind, the kind of which flew down the neck of your coat and made you quiver. An empty crisp packet tumbled along the street like an ugly leaf.

In the distance you could hear the buzz of the city as it hit night. It was just coming to its peak of life as people hit the streets for their Friday night introduction to the weekend ahead.

Though in 221B it was silent. The lights were off and inside it was cold and lifeless. Nothing stirred or moved, just silence. Outside there was the rattle of keys, the sound of an opening door, a sudden gush of cold air and then silence as the door was gently shut.

A hand on the rail, a creak upon the stairs. Another door opens, and Dr John Watson sighs irritably at his dark and frosty welcome.

"Bloody Sherlock, now where's he off to? He knew I'd be back, could have left the lights on and the heating. Flaming freezing it is in here. And I bet the flats a right state, and we all know who'll have to clean it up." He muttered shaking his head, placing his jacket over the chair and fumbling for the light switch.

*Click!*

John was suddenly aware of Sherlock who was sitting comfortably on the sofa with violin in hand and the union jack pillow cast aside. His icy eyes glared up at John who stayed perfectly still where he stood.

"I'm not going out actually, and I haven't made a mess and in future if you feel so strongly about it, I'll clean up." He snapped putting down the violin and crossing his legs. John just turned and sighed knowing full well that Sherlock would never agree to anything of that nature.

"You know it irritates me." John said rolling his eyes.

"Of course I do, why else would I leave it?"

"It's very late." John said attempting to sift through the collection of un-opened envelopes which had laid on the kitchen table for a worryingly long time, (in Mrs Hudson's opinion) their contents containing matters which John did not like to think about.

The truth was, John just couldn't be bothered with them at that moment and so he flung them back amongst the many 'experiments.'

"Fantastic observation, John." Sherlock commented, John who had his back turned to him simply sighed. "Lots to drink then?" Sherlock smirked.

"A bit." John grunted opening the fridge door hoping to find something which was actually edible and would fit perfectly in between two slices of 'Best of Both.' Much to his dismay there was only one slice of ham left. Well, it was something, at least.

"Out with Stamford?" Questioned Sherlock, although of course, he knew the answer. John, who had started to butter the bread, chuckled.

"Is that a rhetorical question or are you actually that bored?"

"Rhetorical, of course" Sherlock said. "Did you have a good night?"

"Are we done with the twenty questions now Sherlock?" John snapped before taking a bite out of his freshly made sandwich and leaning himself against the kitchen counters.

"We are now." Sherlock muttered staring at the doorway. John noticed the look in Sherlock's eyes and followed his gaze across the room. Sherlock sunk back in his chair and placed his hands together.

"What is it?" John waited. "Sherlock?"

"Listen." Sherlock whispered.

They kept silent for a moment and then John heard it. Knock. Knock. Knock

"We have a client."

"How do you know we have a client?"

"The knocks are rapid, indicating that the purpose is important. Well to them, anyway. And honestly John who else would be knocking at the door at eleven o'clock at night?" Sherlock half smiled at his flatmates expression and his eyes flickered back to the doorway. How could John still be amazed by such small deductions? John hesitated for a moment. Knock. Knock. Knock! The knocks got louder.

"Well go answer it before they wake Mrs Hudson- she'll never forgive you."

"Forgive me?" John sighed putting down his plate. "They're your clients."

"And when Mrs Hudson isn't available- it's you who answer the door." Sherlock snapped and John did as he was told.

John muttered to himself as he approached the stairs. He went down to the hallway, unlocked the door and opened it. It was a woman who stood before him, shivering in the cold, her coat fastened tight and her hair damp from the night's rain. Her complexion white and her eyes possessing dark circles beneath them. John bit his lip and edged the door slightly as to ward her off. "What do you want?" He asked coldly breathing heavily. The woman lifted her head gently and gazed slowly up at him. Opening her mouth to speak, she said.

"I know what you're probably thinking Dr Watson but I promise I'm not here to cause any kind of trouble. I just…I just want to talk with you and Mr Holmes." Her words were hurried, John presumed them rehearsed. He guessed she knew what he'd say. He sighed biting his lip again and leant down towards her in the doorway.

"You see, the problem here Miss Riley is that I can't trust you. I just cannot trust you…at all." John spoke sternly indicating his view. Kitty Riley nodded once.

"I understand." She waited. "Please... I really need to talk with you and Mr Holmes." She repeated. John sighed.

"So, Miss Riley, what could we possibly do for you?" Sherlock sneered in his typical belittling manner. He stared at her coldly, watching her every move as she sat herself down by the fire opposite him.

"You're the detective Mr Holmes." She said keeping her voice polite.

"Consulting." Sherlock instantly corrected her.

"You said no trouble, remember?" John warned her. She cast him a look.

"As I recall," Sherlock interrupted. Kitty turned her attention fully back to him. "Our last meeting took place quite some time ago now."

Kitty remembered, having the decency at least, to feel a degree of shame and humiliation, after all it was a memory she had tried exceptionally hard to forget. However now, sat once again, before the famous detective himself, she saw herself standing in her living room anxiously flicking through what she'd believed to have been Richard Brook's acting portfolio, declaring his innocence before watching him fly through her house and being pushed aside by Sherlock Holmes himself. Sherlock who had been watching her closely said.

"Painful is it Kitty?" Kitty snapped her head up at him.

"Mr Holmes." She started. "I have tried to push aside that night but it's those events which are partly why I'm here."

"Couldn't it have waited- it is eleven at night?" He pointed out rudely. John gave him a raised eyebrow. Kitty ignored his question and carried on.

"Mr Holmes…" Kitty held herself together though Sherlock had sensed her discomfort the moment she'd entered the room. Her nervous hands constantly rubbing together, her shaky voice and her darting eyes. "I am, very sorry." She breathed out tugging at her skirt perched on the edge of her seat.

"For what?" Sherlock teased- he wanted desperately to keep her at her un-ease. His remarks were clearly succeeding. Kitty sighed and edged about in her seat again.

"Please don't." She said. "Don't play games with me."

"I love a good game Miss Riley; you of all people should know that." He said sounding sarcastically enthusiastic. John looked from Kitty to Sherlock and then back to Kitty.

"I'm sorry." She eventually snapped.

"I didn't quite hear you." Sherlock growled nastily leaning forward in his chair toward her.

"Alright Sherlock that's enough, you're scaring her now." John spoke out loudly. Sherlock looked over at him, his lip curling through anger.

"Get out Miss Riley. Your problems are not mine to solve."

"What problems?" Kitty spat, hastily staring at him shaking her head. Sitting still for a few seconds in silence, Kitty could feel and hear her heart thump within her chest. The nervous sensation caused her to feel dizzy and she felt herself spiralling into nausea.

"You tell me." Sherlock asked.

"I came here to apologise Mr Holmes. I'm sorry for what happened. I've said it once before but I did give you an opportunity. Even so, what happened with Rich…err… Moriarty was…" She started to stammer realising she couldn't finish because she knew not how to. Sherlock never altered his gaze off her. Her discomfort was somewhat pleasing. Kitty gulped staring at the crackling fire which had started to warm her up from the bitterness of the cold outside. "I didn't know about Moriarty, I was tricked into believing Richard Brook and it was the perfect opportunity for me to finally boost and gain publicity within my journalism. The great Sherlock Holmes discovered to be a fraud…even you, Mr Holmes, have to agree that that certainly is one story determined to gain attention." Kitty stopped. She'd probably said more than what she'd ought to, though she didn't really care and she found that saying it finally, felt really good. A weight was taken off her shoulders at that moment. Keeping it bottled up for that length of time hadn't done her any favours. When Sherlock remained silent she continued. "Then of course, you threw yourself off the top of Saint Bart's and well, that did cause a stir…"

"And plenty of juicy journalism no doubt." Sherlock smiled mockingly. "Did you remember to type the part where Rich, oops I mean Jim, placed a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger moments before?" He added. He watched as her face crumpled- revenge was so sweet.

"Sherlock!" John yelled. "Really, I think you've said enough." Raising his hand as a signal for him to back off.

"Miss Riley you said that your truly pathetic attempt at apologising was partly why you came here. Could you perhaps get on with part two of the Journalist's Speech because I'm actually rather tired?" Sherlock muttered waving his hand about for her to proceed. Kitty shook her head biting her bottom lip.

"When I met you," She began surprisingly confident. "I offered to be on your side. Basically I'm here to-"

"Offer it again." Sherlock finished her sentence with a defiant flourish- Kitty blinked once or twice. "You must have forgotten the part where I said- you repel me and the bit where you, ever the comedian, wittingly said back to me, you repel me. Here's a little tip for the future Kitty. Don't use the same comeback. It's not clever, it's weak and ever so slightly boring." And with that Sherlock sat back in his chair and placed his palms together, beating the tips of his fingers against one another like tiny drums.

John recognised this as Sherlock's thinking position. Kitty stared at him in astonishment, quite taken aback (and rightly so) at his recent comment. The room was silent; John let out a sigh.

"Well. Miss Riley I think that's all for tonight." He told her- she simply nodded. Sherlock was still sat in silence- thinking.

"Well," She said getting up and retrieving her bag. "I have enough for a taxi I'm sure." She reminded herself making a move to the stairs. John watched after her. "Goodnight Dr Watson. Thank you for giving me the chance to say sorry, although I doubt it has changed anything between us." With a hesitant smile she went downstairs.

"Oh Miss Riley." Sherlock called. She stopped to listen. "Remember, your problems are not mine to solve."