They say everyone will always come across a fork in the road. Each path will result in different outcomes of one's life. One path is bright, clean, the obvious choice. Risks may be high but lead to a fast way to success, happiness. The other flows into darkness where uncertainty and danger awaits with open arms. To watch in amusement as you struggle to break free and claw your way back to the light. But what if you weren't dealt that choice? What if both paths lead to darkness, where no matter what choice you made, death would ultimately follow and there was no where else to turn?

The soothing sound of Diana Damrau's 'Addio Del Passato' flowed from the speakers of the laptop, easily filling the small hotel room. As she lay on the bed, a small smile pulls at her lips. Despite the depressing lyrics, the melody was soothing to her. Closing her eyes, she took a slow deep breath before focus once more on the file in her hands.

33 Years old. Works at a clinic with his wife, Mary Watson. Sister, Harriet Watson. Worked as a doctor for the British Army. Proficient at firearms and unarmed combat.

She nodded to herself as her eyes skimmed over the page. Most of what was on the pages were nothing new having read up on John Watson's blog during the flight to London. Frankly she found the blog more insightful than this file. It was definitely more entertaining and she couldn't help but become fascinated with this Sherlock Holmes. A man who not only seems to be extraordinarily intelligent, arrogant (based on the last blog post), socially inept, but was viewed in the highest regards by Dr. Watson.

The next page laid out his movements from the following week. Aside from the days when he wasn't running around with Holmes, his days were like that of any 9-5 worker. Habitual.

Letting out a sigh, she sat up and placed the file down. Her eyes drifting to the two photos on the bed.

The first photo was of John Watson and a woman with blond hair walking side by side.

This must be Mrs. Watson. She thought, chewing on her lower lip as she picked it up to get a better look.

Their hands interlaced. Her body turned slightly inwards, pressing up against his side as they stare at each other. Their steps in sync. Their smiles genuine that to any passer-by it is obvious the couple was in love.

"Love. That's funny." She scoffed tossing the photo aside.

The second photo. A blown up side profile of Dr. John Watson. Despite the smile, she could see the stress lines, bags under his eyes. She's seen it before with other men who had come back from war. It always made them look older than they were to here. The patches of gray hair didn't help much either.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a beep from her laptop. Ignoring the way her stomach dropped at the sound, she casually got off the bed. Grabbing the black scarf from her table, she quickly covered the lower half of her face before sitting at the desk.

No sooner had she sat down did the webcam switch on, as if knowing her exact movements. It was a very unsettling idea, but one she had no doubt was very possible with this client.

M_You know how much I hate when you hide behind that scarf.

The message made her shudder.

M_Do not hide yourself from me.

She suppressed a shudder as she hesitantly pulled the scarf down. Blotched scarring, from 3rd degree burns, revealed running from just below her cheekbone and down the left side of her lower jaw and neck. Without thought, she raised her hand to cover her mouth as if it could hide the long scars of the glasgow smile.

M_That's much better. Now you know what I want.

Forcing her hand down, she nodded.

M_Good. You have three days.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of? That wasn't in the file."

M_You are The Siren. Just do what you do best.

A quick nod and the instant messaging box vanished. She turned off the webcam, ignoring the way her hand was shaking. It scared her that she knew very little, if anything about this man. Yet the first time he messaged her, he knew everything about her. Still, she owed him.

Shaking out of her thoughts, she grabbed the manilla folder from the bed and flipped to his schedule.

He has lunch at noon at St. James Park.

Shifting her eye to the time on the laptop, she released a small sigh of relief. She had another two hours til noon. Not wasting anymore time, she pulled up the park on google maps to research the layout.

It took almost an hour to walk to the park and another 15 minutes to actually spot Dr. Watson sitting on a wooden bench on the other side of the pond. He wore the same black jacket and tan slacks as in the photo. Had it not been for the red button up shirt, instead of the maroon checkered one, she would have assumed the photos were taken today. Taking in her surroundings, she noted his wife no where to be seen. While she knew nothing of his wife, she didn't want anything that would complicate things and having the woman he cared most about around, would definitely complicate things. . The park was quiet, though she wasn't sure if it was because it was only a Wednesday or if it was because of the clouds that loomed above. Glancing around, she noted ossible fifty, maybe sixty people were scattered within view. It wasn't ideal, but she had been in worse situations.

"Just do what you do best." Right.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way over to the cement bridge. The closer she got, the more her body began to shake.

Come on. It's no different than the other times. It's no different.

But it was. Singing was part of her lure. Intimate, private. Not so public. Her eyes moved back to her target. He still hadn't noticed as he took a glance at his watch before looking around. In that moment, his eyes met hers and her heart nearly stopped fearing the worst. His eyes narrowed and she knew he suspected something.

Have to do this now! Can't screw this up.

With no choice, she moved to the left side of the path and bent down, dropping her bag down in front of her. Slowly she flipped the flap over. Silently she cursed as her shaky hands made it difficult to loosen the strings. A deep breath in and slowly out, she finally opened it wide enough to search for anything she could use. Ruffling around through the spare clothes, two rounds of ammo, laptop, files, she was just about to give up when she fished out the spare black military scarf. While it wasn't a cup or hat, it would have to suffice. Closing her bag, she lay the warn cloth on the ground. Ignoring the feel of the doctor's eyes on her, she stood.

Now or never.

A curt nod and a deep breath, she opened her mouth and began to sing the first song that came to mind.

"Quando men vo.

Quando men vo soletta per la via,

La gente sosta e mira

E la bellezza mia tutta ricerca in me

La gente Da capo a pie'...

Ed assaporo allor la bramosia

Sottil, che da gli occhi traspira

E dai palesi vezzi intender sa

Alle occulte beltà.

Così l'effluvio del desìo tutta m'aggira,

Felice mi fa!

Felice mi fa!

E tu che sai, che memori e ti struggi

Da me tanto rifuggi?

So ben:

le angoscie tue non le vuoi dir,

non le vuoi dir, so ben

Ma ti senti morir!"

At the sound of applause, her eyes snapped open, although she didn't remember ever closing them. A handful of people stood watching her with smiles on their faces. But more importantly, John Watson was watching from his bench. With a small bow and tight smile, she watched as people walked up, dropping a few coins on her scarf before backing up waiting for her next song. She inwardly cringed, wanting so desperately for them to just walk away.

Her irritation was short lived when she felt sudden vibrating against her leg. Taking out her phone, there was a text from an unknown number. Lifting a brow, she flipped open the phone and opened the message.

Your voice is captivating as ever my dear Siren. But what do you say we speed this along? - M

Her head shooting up, she frantically scanned the park. None of the remain six people standing around held phones in their hands. A young woman, just a tad older than herself, was talking on the phone. However with her fingers twirling her hair, it was apparent her attention was on the person on the other line. Another vibration and her attention was back on the phone.

It's adorable how you're trying so hard to find me. Finish this job, and perhaps I will end your curiosity my sweet Siren. Remember, bring him to me unharmed. - M

Remembering where her loyalty stood, she pushed aside any fear or doubt, as she once again began to sing.

"Addio, del passato bei sogni ridenti,"

Turning her head to John Watson, their eyes locked.

"Le rose del volto già son pallenti;

L'amore d'Alfredo pur esso mi manca,"

Pouring her heart into each lyric, she took a step towards him.

"Conforto, sostegno dell'anima stanca

Ah, della travi-"

Her voice cut out as something hard slamming against her head. Dizziness sent her to her knees as she vaguely made out the sound of coins banging against one another, along with foot steps running farther away from her and shouts of anger.

Any attempt to get up is stopped by a pair of hands gently guiding her to lay down as soft voices tell her to remain still.

"Move away, people. Give her some room!"

The hands release their hold as people shuffle away and for a moment she thinks they've actually left. However their hushed voices and a man kneeling before her, only prove that she must endure more humiliation.

"Miss. Can you lift your head for me?"

Failure was never an option. It had been drilled into her countless of times. So much to the point that the idea alone made her sick. However the look on the strangers faces, on her targets face, as she looks up. The gasps and choked cries. She would gladly face the consequences of failure. Anger, shame, fear. The emotion so overwhelming, she reacted the way a normal person would. Grabbing her bag, she quickly stood up.

"Shit."

The world around her tilted and suddenly her legs felt like jelly. Had it not been for Dr. Watson catching her in his arms, she would have once again been on the floor. Help was for the weak and the idea of her target helping her stand made her skin crawl, she didn't fight him.

"Ok. Fuck off! She doesn't need a bloody audience, so go bother somebody else!"

The outburst was startling but effective as people walked away, muttering curses about him being a dick. But he seemed to ignore them as he maneuvered her to sit on the bench. Taking his position in front of her once more.

"I'm sorry about that. It was rude and you didn't deserve that."

What?

The apology had her meet his gaze as he offered a tight lipped smile before continuing.

"What's your name?"

Hairs rose on the back of her neck at the question, snapping her out of her daze. Angry about her moment of weakness, she hastily pulled the scarf back over her nose, as she shot to her feet.

Bewildered, he quickly stood up as well, placing cautious hands on her shoulders.

"Wait! Do you know where you're at?"

She recoiled back as if the touch had burned her. Staring at the man through narrow eyes, she knew it would be easy to shove past him. But the nagging feeling at the back of her mind made her pause.

"Let me pass."

"Look. I'm a doctor and I'm...I just want to make sure you're alright."

"Why does it matter?"

John's mouth dropped, staring at her agast. "Why...it matters because a water bottle was thrown at your head. Please, just let me check and then you can go."

For once she was at a loss for words. Staring into his pleading blue eyes, the gentle touch on her shoulders, she felt something break inside her. An ache in her heart that felt vaguely familiar yet completely new at the same time.

So distracted by these feelings, she didn't notice the soft touch of his fingers to her temple. Unconsciously she turned into the touch. But only at the slightest pain as his fingers grazed the bruise, did she realize what she was doing. In one shift step, she quickly pulled out her folding knife and flicked it open as she brought it to his neck.

His eyes went wild with fear and held his hands up in a surrender position.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Don't touch me!" She hissed through clenched teeth.

Pressing the blade up just enough to touch his somewhat tanned skin elicited a small whimper from him. Turning her head to the side, she smiled under her scarf, enjoying the way his adam's apple bobbed.

"John!" "John!"

Shifting her eyes to her right, 10 feet away stood a tall man in a trench coat with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes holding back a blond haired woman. Both staring on in fear and astonishment.

"I'm fine, Mary. Sherlock just stay back."

So this is the famous Sherlock Holmes.

"It was my fault, I was checking out her head and -"

"John, shut up! What do you want?"

Her smirk faltered. The fear drained from his face, replaced by a calm and dangerous glare. Casually, he took a step forward, he held out his hand keeping Mary back as she pressed her folded hands against her lips. Another step resulted in her tightening her grip on John's collar, he paused.

"You're not going to kill him. If that was the case you would have done it already... Unless you didn't want to be seen. But if that were the case, why here. Why not his office, or his flat? Somewhere more private."

"Stay back!" She cried out.

"Sherlock, I told you, she was hit in the head. It wasn't like she planned this."

"You're right, she didn't plan on getting hit, but she did plan this. Well, if it was a plan, it was poorly executed. But this isn't her first. This was all about opportunity wasn't it. Quick and quiet, that's how you work. Keep to the shadows, draw men in with your voice, kill them before they know what hit them."

Her grip faltered slightly at his words.

"Sherlock?

"The Siren. American assassin although I'm not sure what brought you to London."

He smirked. Irked by his statement, she desperately wanted to ask how he knew. But she held her tongue. A soft buzzing sounded off in her side pocket. She didn't have to look at her phone to know who it was, nor would she be surprised to find him disappointed with her. Overwhelmed with shame, her lower lip quivered as she struggled to keep her eyes from tearing up.

"Look, you don't have to do this-"

Sneering, she pressed down on the pressure point between the collar and neck eliciting a cry from his lips as he fell to his knees.

"John!"

Mary rushed forward only to be stopped once again by Sherlock.

"Mary stay there! I don't care what you do to me but...Don't...Don't hurt them." John whimpered.

"Please don't hurt them. I'll do anything! Please!"

Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to shut out the cries that so vividly echoed in her mind. Chest heaving, she shifted her attention to Sherlock and Mary. Both fearing for the man in front of her, silently praying she would let him go. She didn't understand. Quick movement in the distance behind Sherlock caught her eye. Several figures running towards them, guns drawn.

Shit.

"Please. I'll do whatever you want."

Her attention drawn back to John. The man both confused and frightened her, but as her phone vibrated again and the sounds of shouting getting closer, there was no other option. Shoving him to the ground, she took off running.

Across the bridge, to the left. Chancing a glance behind found herself being closely pursued by Sherlock Holmes, a man with gray hair and a young black woman. Forcing her legs to move faster, she dashed down King Charles St. She had no idea why so many people were out now, but she held in her curses as she weaved between the crowds.

Reaching Abingdon St, street, she skid to a stop as she tried to remember which direction the bridge was. Taking a step right, her breath caught in her throat as Sherlock turned the corner at the end of the block. In a matter of seconds his head turned in her direction and their eyes locked. Not waiting for him to chase after, she dashed across the street. How she managed not to get hit, she didn't know nor did she care as she raced past the parked cars only to find an iron gate in her way. Not bothering to take the time to see who was following her, she took a few steps back before running towards the pillar. The momentum enough for her to swiftly and safely scale over. A quick leap down had two older women jump back with a fright. She ignored them as she straightened up. There to her right stood the bridge, her chance at escape.

Pulling her hoodie up she made her way across the street and towards the bridge. Trying to blend in was not really possible. With her leather backpack, baggy black hoodie, not to mention the scarf, she might as well had worn a sign that read "I'M RIGHT HERE!". Still she willed herself to take even breaths as she kept close to the wall along the river. Each step filling her with hope. Fate, however, was not on her side as she spotted Sherlock Holmes at the entrance of the bridge standing off to the side of the group of officers. Their focus on the man with gray hair who was chasing her earlier.

Taking a few steps back, she ducked behind a tree before checking to make sure she wasn't spotted. Holmes no where to be seen. She craned her head out a bit, trying to catch sight of him, but gave up as she watched the other officers spread out. Two sprinted down the bridge. The gray haired man, presumably the man in charge, and the black woman heading in the opposite direction as her. Another man with slick black hair waved over two other officers before jogging in her direction. Spinning around, she lowered her head, pressing herself as close to the tree as possible. As the sound of boots on pavement got closer, she inched over to the right. Their steps grew faints, and taking a chance, she looked up. With the bustling of people and the traffic of cars moving back and forth, she saw no trace of them.

A slight tap on her shoulder. She yelped, spinning around. Her heart racing as the person who tapped her took a step back. Instead of finding Holmes, there stood a young man, not 6 inches taller than her, with a wide apologetic smile on his face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Do you happen to have a lighter?"

Taking in his blue jeans, white v-neck shirt and black and red "London" baseball cap that had the British flag design on the right side.

Tourist.

She felt a small wave of relief roll over her as she shook her head.

The man nodded.

"Damn. Well tanks."

Irish tourist. Cute.

She nodded back, as her eyes drifted back to where the cops were. Still no sign of them. Reaching into her side pocket, she pulled out her phone and flipped it open.

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to ruin the fun. Two more days. Don't fail me. - M

Looking up from the screen, she noticed the man still standing next to her. What he was waiting for she didn't know, nor did she care. A click of her tongue, she slipped the phone back into her side pocket and pushed herself away from the tree, slowly making her way towards the bridge again. The Irish tourist, to her relief didn't follow.

Just a few feet away.

Humming to herself she turned the corner and stopped. Leaning against the wall of the bridge, Sherlock was staring at her. A small smirk pulled at his lips.

"Got you."

"Fuck!"

It was deja vu. Spinning on her heels, she ran back the way she came. Concern for being noticed now replaced with panic as she shoved random strangers out of her way. But even the worst criminals have a limit and for her the limit involved a mother, pushing her infant child in a stroller as she spoke to her friend. So caught up in the conversation, they were completely oblivious to the chaos before them, forcing the young criminal to side step to the right colliding into another passerby. With the momentum and pole or tree to grab hold of, she and the stranger plummeted into the Westminster River.

Breaching the water, she began to panic as she still felt like she was drowning. Remembering her scarf, she quickly yanked it off, as she gasped for air. Desperate breaths became more calm as she opened her eyes. Walls of concrete, victorian style buildings were no where to be seen. Instead all she saw were trees. Giant, green trees standing at the bank of the river. No clouds around to block the sun, shining in directly above her. Even the air smelled like different. Fresh.

The sound of splash accompanied by someone gasping startled her out of her thoughts. Immediately she sunk into the water so it came up to her nose before turning around.

Jerking around in the water, taking in their surroundings, was the Irish tourish. Now with no hat, his short dark hair whipped around.

"What the hell?! Where am I?!"

His jerking stopped as he spotted her. "What did you do?!"

Not wanting to risk showing her face, she shook her head wildly as she silently prayed he understood. It seemed to work as he calmed down a bit before he swam to the river's edge. She waded in the same spot watching closely as he stood up out of the water. Turning to her, he nodded her over.

"Are you just going to stay there?"

The air from her nose created gentle ripples as she considered his question. As much as she hated the idea that couldn't really use her scarf, she disliked the idea of wading in the water even more. Slowly she kicked her way over to him.

He held out a hand to help her up. His act of chivalry was rebuked as she shoved his hand away. Turning her back to him, she hastily zipped up her hoodie over her nose.

"I'm sorry. For snapping at you."

"It's fine." She shrugged, tugging on the straps of her backpack.

For a while neither one spoke to the other. The sound of the moving waters, the wind gently rustling the leaves, occasional chirps as birds fly from one tree to another. Not a street lamp in site. No sign of any kind of modern technology anywhere.

Technology.

"Shit! Shit, shit shit!"

She attempted to pull out her cell phone, but in her frantic movements failed as the sown down pocket flap kept getting in the way. Shoving the pocket aside, she managed to get it out. Flipping it up, her fears held true. The cell phone was dead.

"No!" She whimpered, falling to her knees.

"What's wrong?"

Lifting her dead cell phone was her only response.

"Oh. Mine too."

"It's over. I'm a failure. I failed him." She muttered, staring blankly at the wet dirt.

"Look it's not that bad. I'm sure we can find a place that-"

"Shut up!" Jumping to her feet, she grabbed him by the collar shoving him against the nearest tree. "I failed! I'm-"

Upon seeing the shock in his face, did she realize her scars were very much visible. She slammed him against the tree again before pulling away, throwing the very damp hoodie over her head to hide what she could.

"Nevermind. You wouldn't understand."

Slowly standing up, his wince didn't go unnoticed and again, guilt gnawed at the back of her mind.

What the hell is wrong with me?! First I let John Watson, my target, touch my face. Now I feel bad because...it was normal. I'm a freak. Anyone would react this way...But Dr. Watson...he…

"I'm sorry."

His voice shook her from her thoughts. Her brows furrowed, puzzled once again. Standing with his hands shoved in his drenched pockets, head lowered. Had it not been for the five o'clock shadow that began to show, he would have reminded her of a young child.

"I have a way of pissing people off."

Another pang of guilt, and she was really starting to hate emotions. Chewing on her lower lip, she shrugged.

"It wasn't...You...It's fine."

He slowly nodded in understanding, although his shoulders were still slumped over. Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry...that I got mad. At you."

Lifting his gaze, the corner of his mouth turned up. "It's fine. So does this mean we're good? No more slamming me into trees?"

There was a brief hesitation before she nodded.

"Great. So I don't know about you but I think introductions are in order."

Stepping up to her in just a few strides, he smiled and held out his hand.

"I'm Jim."

Authors Notes: So this is my first crack at a Sherlock crossover...actually my first time writing a Sherlock fanfic period. So please be patient with me as I will be trying my best to stay as true to the most of the characters as possible. I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter.