A/N: Hey everyone! Here I am again with yet still another Sherlock fanfic. I've had this idea for a little while, and recently decided to pick it up thanks to my dear friend, epicfangirl10.

A lot of this dialogue is thanks to another friend sherlock'sthename (not on this site). She's been absolutely fantastic in helping me with this! :D

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Sherlock. Don't s'pose I ever will.

Cover is edited by me. Source image I found via pinterest, so I don't know the owner. If you are/know the owner, lemme know so I can give you credit!

The Girl Named Sherlock Holmes

CHAPTER ONE: BORED

John ran up the stairs and flung the door to the flat open. "Sherlock!" he yelled, stopping right inside the door. "Not again," he groaned. "Mrs. Hudson is going to evict us."

Sherlock hung upside down off the sofa, his eyes closed. "I don't care." He raised his gun and fired at the wall just above John's head.

John ducked. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock pulled the trigger again, but the gun just clicked; all of the bullets emptied into the wall. He gave a huff of exasperation and threw the gun across the room without opening his eyes. It collided with a vase on the mantle, knocking it off.

John dove for it, just barely catching it. He set it back on the mantle gingerly, then turned to Sherlock who now had his feet propped up on the wall.

"Sherlock, seriously..." John sighed.

"Seriously Sherlock what," Sherlock mumbled.

John shook his head. "Nothing to do?" He took the gun off the mantle and dropped it into Sherlock's chair. He sat down in his own and picked up his laptop, opening it.

"Obviously," Sherlock scoffed. "I'm in the midst of a huge, wonderful murder case. I'm hot on the trail of the criminals, but I decided to take a break in the middle of it and lounge about the flat in my dressing gown and shoot the wall."

John rolled his eyes. "That was more or less a rhetorical question."

"Then why did you ask it?"

"Because... oh, never mind." John shook his head again and pulled up his blog, planning on ignoring his moping friend.

"Boredboredboredboredboredbored," Sherlock grumbled.

John looked up at him. "Then find something to do."

"Like what?" Sherlock suddenly flipped over and stood on the sofa. "There is nothing to do. Nothing. No crimes committed, no cases, no nothing."

"No nothing is a double negative, Sherlock. You must really be bored, you're making grammatical mistakes now." John tried his best to hide his grin as Sherlock huffed and grumbled something unintelligible.

A ring at the door of the flat echoed through the room. John looked up, relieved and hoping for Sherlock's sake- and everyone's- that it was a client. Sherlock flopped over onto his stomach and let his face fall into a pillow.

"Tell Mycroft I'm busy." His voice came out a bit muffled from the pillow.

John set aside his laptop and walked across the room towards the door. He shook his head. Why on earth did Sherlock think it was Mycroft? He went down the stairs, and opened the door... and found Mycroft standing there, leaning against his umbrella.

"Mycroft," John said, unable to hide his surprise- both at Sherlock's deduction, and Mycroft coming to the flat- a rare occurrence.

Mycroft nodded. "John."

John decided to completely ignore Sherlock's instruction to tell his brother he was busy. "Won't you come in?"

Mycroft nodded and followed John up the stairs.

John walked into the room, finding Sherlock in the same position as when he'd left.

"I told you to tell him I'm busy," Sherlock mumbled.

"I have a case for you, little brother," Mycroft said, sitting down in the chair John motioned to.

"Not interested. Busy."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, for crying out loud, Anderson would be able to tell you aren't busy right now."

Sherlock sniffed, though whether in humour at the jibe at his least favourite member of Scotland Yard, or in irritation John couldn't tell.

Mycroft definitely looked irritated, but continued on anyway. "I expect you remember Baskerville?"

Sherlock snorted, head still in the pillow. "First you insist on badgering me even though I told you I'm not interested, and then you insult my memory."

John thought Mycroft's scowl was going to become permanent. John studied the elder Holmes brother and to his surprise, saw the slightest sign of bags under his eyes. He didn't need Sherlock to tell him that that was an indicator that he hadn't been sleeping well lately.

John wondered briefly if he had actually deducted something before Sherlock had. Since he hadn't looked at his brother since he had come up...

After a moment of tense silence, Sherlock asked, "What about Baskerville is depriving you of your beauty sleep? Or is the lack of sleep just a side effect of the new diet you're on?"

So much for that idea... John wondered for the umpteenth time if Sherlock could read minds.

If Mycroft had been irritated before, now he looked positively angry. Something that surprised John, because Mycroft usually kept a calm face. "I need you to investigate Baskerville."

Sherlock actually rolled over onto his side. "Why?"

"I have reason to believe that they are not reporting everything to the government as they are supposed to."

"And you want me to play the babysitter and go and check up on your little wayward child?"

Mycroft wrinkled his nose. "If that's the way you want to think of it; then, yes."

"Not interested." Sherlock flopped over on the sofa so his back was to his brother.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice had a hard edge. "Please."

John looked up sharply. Since when did Mycroft ever use "please"? Especially with his brother.

Sherlock let out a small laugh. "Very amusing, brother dear. Now just go away."

John opened his mouth to try to get Sherlock to see reason, but Mycroft stood. "Something is going on in Baskerville, Sherlock. All I ask is that you look into it. Should you choose to accept the offer, contact me and I will make every power available to me at your disposal should you need it."

Sherlock said nothing, just remained in his curled up little ball.

Mycroft turned. "I can see myself out, John." He walked down the stairs and a moment later, John heard the front door open and close.

John let out a sigh and turned to his bored and insufferable flatmate. "Sherlock..."

"Not interested, John."

John huffed. If Sherlock wanted to lay about the flat moping, fine. But he wasn't going to stick around for it. He stood and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and started towards the door.

Sherlock popped his head up. "Where are you going?"

"Just because you're going to sit and pout in the corner doesn't mean I have to," John said.

"Pout- seriously, John!"

"Seriously John what?"

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh.

"If you want to stay here, fine," John said. "I'm going out for something to eat."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Angelo's?"

John nodded. "Fine."

Sherlock rolled off the sofa and walked towards John. John held out a hand. "Ah, no."

Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You may have gone to Buckingham Palace in a sheet, but I am not going to be seen with you in your dressing gown."

Sherlock looked down, then looked back up.

"I'll wait five minutes," John said.

Sherlock smirked and went into his room, coming out a few minutes later fully dressed.

John nodded. "Much better."

The girl kept her head down and walked past the two men standing on the sidewalk. The one, shorter and blond, was obviously a former military man... army doctor. She nodded slightly. Still doctor, though.

The other man nearly made her stop in her tracks. He was tall, thin (borderline unhealthily- eating problem? No... not weight conscious at least.) and had dark curly hair. His sharp eyes seemed to take in every detail of her as she walked past- something only she thought she was capable of doing.

The blond man also noticed her, but it took him a moment. She already walked past them when she heard him let out a small utter of surprise.

She stopped and turned around. She walked back to them and stopped in front of the men, staring at them coolly. "Something the matter, mate?" she snapped, pulling her long, dark coat tighter around her purple shirt. The cold evening wind whipped around them, ruffling her dark curls.

The blond man stared at her, his mouth open slightly, then turned to the man next to him. "Sherlock, she looks like... like you!"

The girl stiffened. "Sherlock?" She echoed, drawing her eyebrows together.

The man called Sherlock looked at her hard. "Brilliant observation, John." He hesitated a moment, then stuck out his hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance... Sherlock."

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of the girl's lips. He was at least somewhat as observant as her. She reached out and shook his hand. "Likewise, I'm sure."

John continued to stare at her. "You... Your name is Sherlock, too?"

The girl gave him a smile that eerily looked like one of Sherlock's "people-are-so-cute-when-they're-stupid" smiles. "And a pleasure to meet you, Doctor." She extended her hand."And yes, that is my name. I'm Sherlock Holmes."