A/N: So I'm very much aware how in the Millennium Trilogy, Lisbeth Salander was not anorexic but in this story she is. I suppose it could be consider AU on top of the crossover but this is just a heads up that I know how she was in the books versus in this story and it was not an ignorant mistake, it was intentional.

On that note, I hope I won't be the only one who reads/enjoys this fanfic. If you do enjoy it, let me know, okay?

Also, one last thing. If you don't understand the Swedish and there's no hints around, Google Translate is a beautiful thing. And I fell in love more with Daniel Craig in the movie version so that's the version you're going to get in this story as far as Mikael Blomkvist is concerned.

Chapter One

.o.o.

.o.

Lisbeth Salander had just gotten out of Scotland Yard after a long time with the Detective Inspector, discussing a paid position for freelance work to look up information they could use in their cold cases.

It seemed a simple enough task for her, and above all, it helped keep her busy. That's not to say she wasn't busy enough exercising for nearly five hours every day. She needed money to stay afloat, and he even directed her towards two men named Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. That seemed unnecessary, however; she had found a small flat in London, not far from Baker Street.

It had the basic amenities but that was all she needed. She wasn't too concerned with food but she had a bathroom, a bedroom, and a small (but somewhat cozy) living room. It would do for her needs.

She was surprised at how easygoing Greg Lestrade had been with letting her work from her laptop from home. He must have seen her appearance and decided what many of her ex-employers had decided: that she would be less of a distraction to others if no one else had to see her all day, or probably more accurately, she wouldn't scare potential clients away.

She walked quickly home in the light rain and as she stepped inside, she heard her cell phone ring. Lisbeth had cursed herself for having forgotten it earlier when she had gone to see Lestrade. She recognized the name on the caller ID as her friend Mikael Blomkvist.

"Hej?" she asked when she hit the answer button.

"Lisbeth… it's good to hear your voice again. I've tried calling for almost a week. Didn't you get any of my voicemails?"

She wet her lips and looked at her halfway unpacked belongings. "Ja. I have. I just haven't had the chance to listen to them. Jag har varit upptagen."

A sigh from the other line and the sound of a spoon gently hitting the sides of a tea mug. "I know you've been busy but a phone call to let me know you're still alive would have been nice."

She couldn't help but smile a little bit. It was nice that he had decidedly learned Swedish for her. She didn't have to talk in English all the time around him anymore, and there was something calming about talking in her native language. Likewise, however, she made an effort to speak English for him, but more often than not, she mixed the two languages together.

"I'll try harder," she promised, her accent seemingly thick. "Jag saknar dig."

A small pause. "I miss you too, Lisbeth. Have you found a job over there yet or are you waiting for Milton Security to give you one yet?"

"Ja. I found one. I saw a Detective Inspector named Lestrade and he told me I could work the cold cases for him. He said he would pay me."

She could feel her stomach rumbling and the dizziness gave her a strange satisfaction. She had only had a bit of toast this morning and water and tea throughout the day. Being nearly eight-thirty, she had made it almost twelve hours without eating. She felt proud of herself in a sick way.

"That's wonderful! I'm glad you found a paying gig. How are you holding up? Are you eating enough?"

He had only a vague notion that she might be anorexic. She didn't do much to hide her illness from him. Lisbeth had given up her bike to run nearly everywhere and he never really did see her eat much.

"Yes, I am eating enough," she lied through her teeth. "What about you? Are you eating enough between working your eight to eleven job?" She teased lightly, taking the focus off of herself and changing it towards him.

"Don't you worry about me. Ja mår bra."

"Jag mår bra," Lisbeth corrected for him. "It's 'I'm fine'. Ja means yes."

Mikael laughed now. "Right, okay. Yes, fine… I should be getting back to work now but I just wanted to check in on you. I'll call tomorrow."

"Nej! No, you won't! I'll be busy tomorrow. Just let me call you," Lisbeth insisted as she walked into her bedroom with her laptop.

"You better call me. It's just as dangerous there as it is here. Jag oroar mig för dig hela tiden."

She smiled again to herself. His words were out of place with his half English, half Swedish accent but at least he was making an effort. "I worry about you too. I'll call in a couple days. Godnatt, Mikael."

"Godnatt, Lisbeth."

When she heard him hang up, she clicked the End Call button on her cell phone and set it aside before she started to browse online. She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket that Lestrade had given her and typed in the web address he had half-jokingly suggested she visit "if she was bored."

She was met with a green background and a small profile picture of Dr. John Watson and the site contained his personal blog. She scrolled through, reading through them many cases the doctor and his 'consulting detective' had solved and even the ones they hadn't been able to solve. She found it intriguing.

This Sherlock Holmes appeared to be as smart as herself. Quick witted, sometimes stubborn, and apparently had symptoms of Asperger's even though he called himself a sociopath, or rather John wrote how Sherlock thought of himself as such.

Irrelevant in any case. She became bored of the doctor's blog and then did a random search to see if Sherlock Holmes had a blog as well. As luck would have it, he did. She scrolled through and his blog caught her attention more than his partner's had.

Analysis of Perfumes. How to recognize various types of tobacco ash. Experiments of the coagulation of blood over the course of several weeks.

He worked scientifically. Not much was said about the cases he worked on like on John's blog. His mind didn't think that way. Lisbeth realized just then that he didn't solve the cases for fun or as a job. He solved them to distract himself from other things.

What other things though?

Tobacco Ash. He was a smoker. Maybe he had other bad habits though.

She read around his blog until she decided she had been stationary long enough. Looking at the clock on her laptop, she saw it was nearly ten already. She searched for the nearest club and then shut the laptop off.

She should get to know the city better. It was time to exercise some more. Lisbeth changed into black leather pants, a black tank top with selective holes that revealed part of the large dragon tattoo on her back and then put her hair up with bobby pins and a rubber band, letting only a few black locks dangle in front of her face.

She pocketed her phone and then hurried out of the cheap flat before heading down the street where one of the London clubs had showed up online in her searches. As she entered the dark building, Lisbeth could tell that this one of the more popular clubs in London. The crowds surrounded her from all sides and produced a warmth that might have reached her bones if she had eaten more than toast today. Instead, she danced to the beat of the electro music until she could feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck and then walked over to the bar of the club to get herself some water to hydrate her.

She had looked away for a split second before she heard a light voice interrupt her thoughts.

"Can I buy you a drink, Miss?"

Lisbeth looked back at him. He looked kind enough. Short black hair, slim stature although some muscle stuck out from under his gray t-shirt he was wearing. The uncomfortable vibes she was receiving off of him sent alarm bells in her head.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm fine." She grabbed the bottle of water the bartender handed her and unscrewed it before taking a drink.

He gave a small smile and half shrugged. "If you're sure. At least give me one dance? One dance and I swear I'll leave and you won't see me again."

She tongued her cheek and looked over at the people who were on the floor dancing still. "Fine. One dance and then you go dance with someone else, and no touching unless you want to leave here without your hands."

He chuckled and he smiled brightly. "Great. Thank you, young lady! Let's go!"

She watched as he grabbed his alcoholic drink and let him lead her out onto the dance floor before she started to dance to the music and soon she was feeling euphoric. Lisbeth watched as he sipped his drink and they were almost done with the song when she felt cold liquid spill onto her shirt.

She gasped now and examined the damage before she smelled the thick smell of vodka with something fruity. "Jävla idiot! Look what you did!"

He looked genuinely upset now as he tried to use his shirt to dry hers off. "Oh no… I am so sorry! It was an accident, I swear. Let me help you, okay?"

Lisbeth gently pushed him away but then shoved her water bottle at his chest. "Hold this until I get back."

"Yes, yes… of course. I'm sorry again!" He yelled to her as she walked through the crowd towards the bathrooms.

She entered the woman's bathroom and walked over to the sink before grabbing a paper towel and wetting it before adding soap to the towel. Lisbeth rubbed it against her shirt, the smell of flowers and vanilla entering her nostrils thickly as she tried to get the alcohol out of her shirt. She knew it was useless though; she would just need to throw it into the washer.

After moving over to the automatic dryer and trying to air herself out a bit, she staggered out of the restrooms and back through the crowd over to the klutz again. She grabbed her bottle out of his hands now and shook her head in disbelief.

"You can get away from me now. Our dance is over!"

He put his hands up in surrender and then started to walk away from her. She unscrewed the bottle and took a long drink from it before she started to let herself dance again, burning off more calories.

She had gotten through about three songs before she felt strange, detached. Her vision was blurry and everything seemed slowed down. Nausea touched her stomach and she felt like she wasn't in her body, like she was outside it watching herself. She needed to get out of here.

Lisbeth hurried through the crowd and only when she was outside did she let herself empty her stomach near the building, although not much came up. She needed to get home.

Then, without warning, she heard a familiar voice and a hand touch her back. "Hey… what's wrong? Did you come down with something?"

She wanted to feel angry, to hit him, but she couldn't feel much of anything. She felt like she was floating.

"Here, let me take you to my friend's house. He can watch over you tonight and he won't try anything, I promise. I just want you to be safe…"

He drugged you! He put something in your water! Hurt him! Kill him!

Her mind was screaming at her but she couldn't put actions to the words she was hearing. They felt empty, surreal. She wasn't even feeling like she was alive. Wait, was she even alive?

That was a stupid question. Of course she was. But she didn't feel her heart beating. She couldn't feel her skin.

"I'm…. I'm dead. I'm… dying…" she whimpered, hating herself for feeling tears prickling her eyes now.

Lisbeth felt terrified but the man ushered her into a cab, even going inside it with her. "It's okay, lovey. You'll be okay. You're not dead yet. We're almost there."

She looked at every corner of the cab and then looked at the oddly calm man. "You… you did this to me…"

"Me? Why on earth would I hurt you? We're friends, remember?" his voice was laced with hurt and right now in her state of mind, it seemed so convincing.

"We are? We're…. friends… I don't… I don't have friends…" her voice felt empty as well, like someone had hit a slow down button on it. It sounded almost robotic to her.

He placed a kiss on her cheek and then took out a marker and Lisbeth watched curiously as he drew a smiley face on the inside of her arm. "Oh! We're here! Go on, then. Off you pop!"

She struggled against the door, taking several moments before figuring out how to work the handle and opened it. He gently pushed her out of the car but not hard enough to make her fall, before he shut the door and the cab rolled away.

Lisbeth looked around at her surroundings and everything was blurred. Where the hell was she? She saw a door that read 221B and decided maybe they could help her somehow, if anyone was even home.

She went to knock on the door but her hand missed. Lisbeth reached over and pressed the round button for the doorbell instead. She swayed and soon felt a wetness start pouring down on her, as if someone had emptied a large bottle of water over her head. She looked up at the sky, her body still swaying and it wasn't long before she was drenched from head to toe.

Time slowed down and she considered pressing the doorbell again when a shorter man opened the door and looked at her with concern on his face.

"Come inside, we can help you. What's your name?"

A thought came to mind before it disappeared again and only something else made sense to her. "J-Ja…."

He looked at her in confusion and then helped her gently inside the flat before he closed the door behind her.

"John Watson?" She questioned now, recognizing the photo on his blog.

He nodded curtly. "Yes, that's right. Err… what's your name? Are you okay?"

She shook her head as both questions blended together to make an uncomprehensive sentence. "Var är jag?"

He bit his lip now and called upstairs. "Sherlock! Can you come down here for a minute?"

There were footsteps and Lisbeth watched with a childish curiosity as another man, this one taller and almost as thin as herself, came bounding down the stairs. "Honestly, John… this is getting ridiculous! We called for take-out nearly ten minutes ago!"

"Sherlock, shut up for a minute, will you? I think she might have taken something."

It was only now that the consulting detective saw the young woman. He walked closer to her and sniffed, smelling the faint smell of alcohol. He searched her eyes in the light of the hallway and looked at John.

"She doesn't appear to be drunk." He watched as she looked around at her surroundings in a daze before he noticed her swaying slightly. Sherlock snapped his fingers and she looked back at him, surprised. "Miss, what did you take before coming here?"

She blinked a few times. "Ingenting, bara vatten. Var är jag?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise now and he smirked. "Oooh, that is interesting…"

"What language is that?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock heard his friend but didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked back at the woman. "Are you older than eighteen years old?"

"Ja. Är det inte självklart?"

Sherlock smirked wider. "She's Swedish. This is very interesting. Let's bring her upstairs. Maybe we can get more out of her."

"How are we supposed to do that? Look at her, Sherlock. She can barely stand."

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip and then in one fluid motion, he picked her up and started to carry her up the stairs easily, John trailing not far behind. "She barely weighs anything…"

John scratched his chin as he followed Sherlock into their flat. "Let's get her out of these wet clothes. I'll find something for her to wear. Help her out of her shirt." He left them alone and went into Sherlock's room and rummaged through his drawers to find a decent looking t-shirt she could wear under one of his dressing gowns.

Sherlock awkwardly started pulling off her soaking wet black shirt and placed it on the floor before he realized she hadn't been wearing anything underneath it. She seemed to realize what he had done and her eyes went wide in terror.

"Nej! Vad fan gör du?"

Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders to try and calm her as he started to find Swedish in his Mind Palace. He kept it in the same room he kept the other languages he had trained himself to learn.

"Det är okej. Du är säker här. Jag ska inte göra dig illa."

John peeked his head out now and looked at him. "What did you say to her?"

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of Lisbeth and watched as she relaxed slightly and shivered slightly. "I told her that she was safe here, and that I wasn't going to hurt her."

The doctor nodded approvingly at Sherlock's 'bedside' manner before he ducked back inside and started the search again. "Why don't you have a bloody regular t-shirt like every other person in the world?"

Sherlock ignored him and focused on her again, wondering if she knew English. He searched her face. "Kan du prata engelska?"

She looked at him now and hesitated before she nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Excellent. What's your name?"

"I… I'm not sure…" her voice trembled with uncertainty and she pulled her slender legs into her chest before wrapping her arms around them.

Sherlock straightened now, feeling uncomfortable at the visible sight of her spine and shoulder blades. "Umm… John? I think you need to take a look at this…"

John re-entered the room with an old, black t-shirt and one of Sherlock's dressing gowns before he set them down on the couch and moved over to her. He blinked a few times before he looked at her sides and saw her ribcage bones were visible.

"Anorexia?"

John nodded and sighed. "Does she have her phone on her? Maybe we can call someone to come and get her."

Sherlock carefully felt her pants pockets and pulled out a phone. He started to scroll through past messages and then he looked at John. "She has a male friend of some sort but he lives in Sweden. As far as I can make out, she's alone here."

"So what do with her? Take her to the hospital, maybe?" John suggested, sitting down on the couch.

Sherlock smirked again before he helped her into his old ratty t-shirt from his university days, like one would help a child into a shirt. "Hospital? This is one of the most interesting cases I've had in a long time. I think she should stay with us for a couple days until we can get some answers out of her."

John stood up and sighed tiredly. "I'll put the kettle on."