Hello everyone! Welcome to my new story. This will be finished very soon because I know exactly where I want to go with it and also...it's summer break! This is the first of hopefully many stories to come this summer. Reviews are, as always welcome, and I will respond to any questions that are asked.
This is a Sherlock fanfiction. There WILL be spoilers for series one and two, so if you have not seen them (you should, first of all) and do not want them ruined, do not read until after. I haven't yet decided if my OC is going to end up with Sherlock or Jim...regardless, there will be a story for each of them eventually so keep in tune for that.
I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters in the story besides my OC. Please, enjoy!
Preface
It was not in the slightest her idea of a perfect day. A perfect day would be spent entirely alone, playing the piano, reading books, writing and sitting in her chair thinking about how everything around her was totally, completely and utterly ordinary. No but of course that couldn't happen; not today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, not ever. The more she thought about it, it was highly unlikely, wasn't it? In a world made up of billions of people she was bound to have contact with at least one everyday. The rest could typically be worked in somewhere, but not nearly as much as she would hope.
Boring. Everything was boring. She could only withdrawal into the database called her mind for so long until she become dreadfully bored. She could only play the most complex pieces on the piano until she grew tired of the same dreadful notes, and even after she composed her own pieces she could only do so for so long. Reading and writing, they were entertaining because there are, after all, an infinite amount of subjects to be studied. The more she read, the more she could experiment, which lead her to learn and therefore expand her database and think more. It was, it seemed, a never ending cycle of learning, experimentation, and thought. It had been so since she was young, even as an infant she enjoyed the extensive process of learning, experimenting and thinking. But as she grew, so did her intelligence. Her parents could hardly deal with her, as was the same with her siblings. By the age of sixteen, her IQ had been rated at about 186. It would be higher, if she didn't block out senseless information that was not useful to her.
Her siblings and peers despised her for her talents. Ever since she was younger they'd despised her. Her siblings hadn't been born with the same intelligence she had, and the other children she attended school with were pathetically ordinary. In fact, those around her were so ordinary it almost made her laugh. Her teachers were daft in comparison to her, it wasn't long before she was smarter than the insolent adults that were paid to "teach" her. The teachers, by the time she was eight, began to resent her as well, and her parents were forced to pull her from conventional schools and keep her at home to teach herself. Her parents soon, however, could also not deal with the burden of a gifted child, so they too began to withdrawal any affection they had ever given to her and avoid their own child altogether, focusing on their ordinary, normal children.
Sarisha would never understand why humanity was so content with being normal and ordinary when even those born as such could accommodate themselves with knowledge and, hopefully, improve their intelligence and self worth at least slightly as to not be dreadfully boring. But that's all anything was. Boring. Dull. Droll.
Many would say it's not right for a woman, let alone a woman under the age of thirty, to be living alone. Even in the modern day, women were expected to be boarded up with a man by the age of twenty-five so their lives could become a new kind of dull. The name of that dull lifestyle? Domesticism. The domestic life was a life Sarisha Marie Hodell had thus far avoided. She managed to make good enough pay as an esteemed author. But living in Dublin, Ireland had gotten dull. Everything did. Dublin had been the most recent of many moves since she was eighteen and old enough to do as she pleased. But recently, she had been called to London, England. She didn't quite know what called her there, but as soon as she stepped foot in the city, she knew she had made the right decision. For a highly functioning sociopath who was incredibly cut off from her emotions, the moment she stepped in the city she knew she was home, and she had just completed the last move she would ever need to make. She felt at peace and maybe...happy? Yes, she was certain this was an emotion most people felt everyday. And with her stepping foot in London, her adventures began.
*****Chapter One*****
I'd been in London for all of an hour and I knew it was my home. While typically being in a large city with thousands of people would make me uneasy, there was a sort of calm that washed over me. The rush of the city was not a bother, the crowds of people that seemed never ending not terribly horrifying and the ever raising volumes unmaddening. I knew I would never have to move again, unless something horrible were to happen to her...not likely seeing as she never left her flats.
Her flats...well, that was the first problem, wasn't it? I didn't have one now. I did have a man in a truck waiting with her things on call for when she found a flat, but it was proving to be a challenge. I had been walking around the streets for now a little over an hour, and I could not find anything. I was close to giving up, but I decided to take a break in a small cafe on a strip called Baker Street...it seemed quiet enough in the cafe, so I could take a moment for some tea without being terribly bothered.
As I was walking in, however, I was terribly bothered, for the moment my body entered the door, I ran into a man.
He wasn't very tall, I deduced within seconds he was only 1.69 meters tall, which was significantly taller than my height of 1.6002 meters, but for a man he was definitely below average. His dark blue eyes were kind, the eyes of someone who strived to take care of people., therefore his profession must have dealt with people, probably a doctor or educator. His hair was blonde with the beginnings of greying, but he did not appear to seem very old. He must be under stress, possibly from his job but more likely from previous life experiences. Upon looking at the cut of his hair and the stitching of his jacket, she concluded the stress came from being an army man, probably in Iraq or Afghanistan. I concluded he was an army doctor. He was clean kept and looked very healthy, though the bags under his eyes said he had not slept a full nights' sleep in quite some time. Regardless, the man offered me a warm smile.
"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't see you coming into the shop." His voice was warm, and I couldn't help but smile lightly at his friendliness.
"No need to apologize, I didn't see you coming out. It would seem we both are to blame." Upon me speaking, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little. I was puzzled by this, the look in his eyes told me he recognized me, but I knew I'd never met this man before. "Have I startled you?"
"No...no, my apologies...it's just." His eyes became ever curious as he gazed into my own. "Your voice...the tone you use. It reminds me of a fr-...my flatmate. I've never met anyone with the same tone, let alone anyone like him and oddly enough, you remind me immensely of the man..."
"It's lucky you have a flatmate. I'm new into London, I haven't found myself a flat yet. Been looking for an hour...no such luck."
"My landlady...she has an available flat in our basement. No one has ever wanted to rent it out because...well, it's in the basement and my flatmate can be a bit...disruptive. It's in the building right next door, 221 Baker Street. She's in 221a, I'm in 221b with my flatmate and 221c is available. She doesn't charge much, and I'm sure she'd welcome you in." I must have been giving a perplexed look, because his eyes quickly became worried and apologetic. "I'm very sorry, it must be odd for me to be telling you this...you barely know me, after all, I forget since my move in with my mate it's customary for people to know each other before such things..sorry. I'm Doctor John Watson."
He smiled warmly and held out his hand to mine, which I gently shook in my red leather gloved one. It wad very kind of him to offer me the flat below his, but he'd probably revoke it after my next words to him.
"Barely know you? Doctor, I'm afraid I know much about you already. I knew you were a doctor already, but what you failed to mention in your introduction was that you are a military doctor, army specifically, of course. You are just back from the war, though you've began treatment at a therapist for a nervous tremor and limp from a bullet wound, although I regret to inform that the limp is psychosomatic. You suffer from sleep loss, possibly from nightmares due to the war. The nervous tremor is assumed to be because you suffer from post traumatic stress disorder, although I can tell you it's because you miss the war. The nightmares are actually dreams, because again, you miss the war and are trying to remember it as best you can. You miss the excitement that either Iraq or Afghanistan brought you, I can't tell which it is. Your new flatmate is what interests me deeply, you smell of many scientific chemicals, but you're still unemployed which means you have to be in touch with these chemicals at home. You don't seem like a man to experiment, which means your flatmate is the one using all of those chemicals. The chemicals I recognize the scents to interest me, they are chemicals only a highly intelligent man would use in his own home. And by your previous observation of the tone in my voice, I can assume the man is as intelligent as I believe his, because my voice is laced with intelligence." I finished lightly and looked into his eyes again. His entire face was marked with surprise and shock, his jaw slacked and eyes wide. "Oh and...for what it's worth, my name is Sarisha Marie Hodell and I am very much so interested in flat 221c."
