Summary: Rather than encountering him in Sussex after his retirement, Mary Russell meets Sherlock Holmes in London at the height of his career. While she still becomes a major part of his life, the dynamic of their partnership is drastically altered by this timeline change. Adventures and drama ensue! Less boring than this makes it sound! :-D

Author's Note: This is based on a story which I began writing a couple of years ago and discarded. After reading Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series, I adapted it to fit that character (I liked her much better anyway).

A note on chronology: there's a load of disagreement out there on the exact timeline of Holmes and Watson's adventures. For my purposes, I will mostly be sticking to the timeline created by Brad Keefauver, with minor adjustments as necessary. I apologize in advance if I do not follow your envisioned chronology but, for the sake of my sanity, I need to have something off of which to work. I'm also going with King's altered canon in that Holmes was 21 when he began his detective career, which I'm taking as 1880. Thus, when the story begins, he is 26.

Also, I will be sticking to modern American spelling/grammar in this story, as I honestly don't have the time to look up alternate spellings based on region and time period. I sincerely apologize for this inaccuracy but I will try to keep to a tone appropriate to the time.

Any inaccuracies besides those discussed above are welcome to be pointed out in the comments! Otherwise, dear readers, please R&R.

Chapter I

On that day in 1885, though it was the middle of March, a deep fog had descended over the whole of London, and I could barely see the crumpled copy of a newspaper which I clutched in my hands. I had scraped it up from the street, damp and dirty, because of the promising article on the front page: "Man's Body Found in Thames, Brutally Stabbed." If my aunt would not let me read these accounts of crime and murder as I wished, I would have to find them myself.

I threaded through the foot traffic effortlessly despite the opaque yellow miasma, working more off of sound than anything else. I turned a corner, descended a flight of steps, and sidestepped a cab without ever taking my eyes off of the page.

My aunt. Even thinking of the woman made me twist my mouth in disgust. Now that she was my caretaker and in charge of the money which my parents had left behind, she was completely free to relocate us to the smelly London flat which we were currently inhabiting. I missed the house in Sussex, though I had only been there a month before we moved. The place held fond childhood memories of walks over the downs with my family, and the farm staff were kind to me. Now my only escape was to the crowded, grimy streets, where I knew no one and wandered solitary.

Just as my scanning eyes reached the end of the article, I collided head-on with a tall young man in a dark coat. I looked up, surprised, just in time to see the scornfully condescending glance he threw my way. "Watch where you're going, young man."

I lifted the brim of my cap with my free hand, just barely allowing my long blonde braids to slither down over my shoulders. "Yes'sah, sorry sah." I couldn't help but smirk at the man's expression of shock as my expensive glasses, Cockney accent, and long hair all registered with him. I had only turned as I walked, though, and a few steps later the man had disappeared back into the fog.

I allowed myself a laugh, sharp and clear in the thick air, as I straightened my spectacles and tucked my hair back under my cap. I understood perfectly London's abundant dangers for any young woman walking by herself, and had found long ago that male dress, along with being more practical, allowed me to slip unnoticed through the narrow streets.

I tossed the newspaper off to one side and continued towards my destination: a crowded, run-down bookshop by the name of Sidney's. The low building materialized in front of me as I crossed the last street and I opened the door, relishing the familiar jingle of the little bell which always welcomed me inside.

Sidney himself leaned against the counter, wizened and ancient, surrounded by teetering, unorganized piles of books. When he squinted through the dim light and recognized me, he grinned, revealing his few remaining teeth.

"Why Miss Russell! What can I do for you today?"

I chuckled. His question and my answer were always the same. "I don't know, Sidney, what do you recommend?"

The old man's eyes lit up and he dug through a few of the smaller piles beneath his counter. Sidney was the only person I had met so far in London who accepted, even encouraged, my habits of male clothing and wandering by myself. He knew little about my background but had probably guessed much. As far as he was concerned, I was welcome to spend the whole day reading in his dingy little shop, and I often made good use of that.

He reappeared moments later clutching two worn volumes. "A little Virgil for the young lady," he said, eyes twinkling as he set down the first book, eliciting a small cloud of dust. "And," he added, pretending to look thoughtful, "what might the date be today?"

"March the thirteenth," I responded automatically.

Sidney grinned. "Beware the Ides of March!" He waved the second book, an ancient copy of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, before setting it on top of the first.

I laughed again, comfortable here at least. "Many thanks, Sidney. My aunt has been in quite a mood lately and I expect these to be useful when I'm shut in my room for the next week."

I paid, wishing that I could linger but knowing that I was expected back, and warily began my journey back through the invisible streets to my aunt's home.

A mere hour later, I stood in my bedroom and examined my transformation. My cap and plaits had been exchanged for a simple bun, my shirt and trousers with an old but functional blue dress. My aunt had spared me a cursory glance and said that it almost matched my eyes- "But not quite."

Until I turned twenty one and my inheritance was mine to do with as I wished, I had to make a living somehow. My reading habit alone was more than my meager allowance could support, not to mention cab fares across the city when I was fed up and wanted to get away. I had given my name and information to one of those ladies' agencies who disdainfully mentions appropriate names when housekeepers come inquiring after maids or governesses. Finally, after nearly two months of waiting, a telegram had come asking for my presence at an interview.

I sat silently in the hansom as it rattled its way towards the agency's building. I would have taken the Underground- Oxford Circus was barely three blocks' walk from the flat- but my aunt would not allow it. She was perhaps more determined than I was that I should find employment, because it would only keep me out of the house and allow her to supply me with even less money than she already did. She had adamantly insisted that I must arrive without the disheveled hair and unseemly smell which, in her opinion, would invariably follow a ride on the train.

I desperately hoped that the situation was a governess for a particularly bright child. At fifteen, however, some maid position was infinitely more likely. I folded my hands in my lap and tried to imagine what a dignified young lady would look like. As far as I knew, I had never spent more than a few minutes in one's company since I had returned to England. Good posture, I thought, and a prim expression. My spectacles must certainly be straight and my accent perfect; no slipping into my father's American drawl.

When the cab shuddered to a stop, I gingerly stepped down and surveyed my surroundings. The fog was still dense, but less so here, farther away from the river. Two ladies in fashionably uncomfortable dresses cast their eyes over me without breaking the rhythm of their steps or conversation. Even with so little regard for others' opinions of me, I still felt an angry flush creep up my neck. I had no wish to enter this world of manners and order and rules.

"Mary Russell," I muttered to myself as I made up my mind and stepped purposefully towards the building, "You are probably brighter than anyone else in the room. Keep your wits about you and nothing can touch you."

I was so absorbed in my self-encouragement- and in not tripping up the stairs in my impractical shoes- that, for the second time that day, I ran full into someone. This someone was an older woman, shorter than I was and rather rounder, and her surprised exclamation had just a hint of Scottish in it. Out of habit, I scanned her up and down to learn what I could. The practical bun of white hair spoke of something which required functionality. Housekeeper? No, the expensive rings and brooch said otherwise. But something with similar duties, if her short fingernails and slightly calloused hands were anything to go by. Landlady perhaps?

"Are you Miss Russell?" she asked, startling me out of my observations.

"Why yes," I admitted, trying to smile sweetly and probably grimacing horribly. "Are you Mrs. Hudson?" The telegram had only given the name of my potential employer with no other details.

"Indeed, Miss Russell." She glanced back towards the imposing agency. "I was rather unimpressed with the running of this organization and had just made up my mind to leave." She must have seen my face fall, because she added, "However, the position is still open."

"What kind of position?" I asked eagerly, forgetting all pretenses.

"Maid duties, mostly." Again the disappointment must have shown on my face. "I have a rather difficult lodger, you see, and I'm not able to keep the place quite as orderly as I would prefer. But there would be some cooking involved, and perhaps some special duties for Mr. Holmes."

My interest roused, I stood up straighter. If these 'special duties' were simply an extension of the housekeeping, she would have said so. The way her eyes broke contact with my face spoke of something infinitely more interesting.

"You were hoping for someone older, I suppose?" I asked bluntly, and she looked startled. I made a vague gesture with my hand and made something bordering on a wild guess based on her reaction. "Some danger involved with the position?"

"Why Miss Russell," she exclaimed, "How could you have known that?"

I shrugged in a way that I hoped was mysterious. "Please explain."

There it was again, the way her gaze slid away from my face to somewhere over my left shoulder. "Mr. Holmes has his chemistry experiments," she began cautiously, "and he has clients in at all hours. Sometimes odd people."

Clients? I thought excitedly. That sounds more than promising.

"Well, I do have a certain knowledge of chemistry," I assured her. "I'm quite well-read." I cast about for anything else I could offer up. "And my aunt, my caretaker, would not mind my assisting you or Mr. Holmes at odd hours. She barely notices when I'm home as it is."

"You do sound like you would fit in well," she admitted, and smiled suddenly. "Especially with your ability to make impossible deductions. I think that Mr. Holmes will like you, which, heaven knows, is as important as anything else for my peace of mind."