It is Baker Street: A late spring chill is in the air and a few birds have begun chirping as the sun starts to peek around the buildings. The city is just waking up, and is not yet bustling with the day's activities. A woman hesitatingly stands outside of the entrance of 221B. She is of average height and wears her brunette hair in a loose, wavy ponytail tied with a green string to the side. The owner of the café next door has just arrived and started to open his shop. He unlocks the security gate and pushes it back with a satisfying metallic clanking noise that fills the street. He looks over to her questioningly, and she seems to make up her mind as she shakes her umbrella of the last few drops of the morning's sprinkle and rings the doorbell. Mrs. Hudson opens the door after a few moments, as she has been expecting her. Though no words are said, it is apparent that they have been long separated and much missed. After the moment's excitement and embrace, Mrs. Hudson ushers her inside and closes the door with a bittersweet smile on her face.

'I'm sure you'll be fine here until you get your feet under you.' Mrs. Hudson assures her as she takes the woman's coat and umbrella. She hangs them on the coat rack near the door.

'Are you sure you don't-'

'Oh dear, it's not a problem, I wouldn't have offered if I minded; there hasn't been a tenant in that flat for ages anyways. Now come with me and we'll settle you down nicely now.' Mrs. Hudson's voice echoed back up the stairwell as she led the woman to the bottom apartment. 'And of course, you'll have to meet the boys.'

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'Am am sure that I have all the facts I need in front of me, I just haven't placed them in their correct places yet.' Sherlock fretted as he paced across the room. He growled and shook his fists at the ceiling. His pacing back and forth took him slowly closer and closer to the couch, whereupon finally coming to it, instead of going around it, he clambered on top of it and paced back and forth on the cushions as well. 'I am so close to this! I can taste it!' He stepped up on the arm of the couch and off of it with little emphasis and continued winding his way around the room. Sounds from downstairs made its way up and in through the apartment's door that was perpetually ajar. Sherlock snarled at the noises, and stomped over to the door and shut it with a determined slam. He continued to pace around the room, but finally came to rest by the front window in which he peered out with a stern look on his pale face.

John sprawled in the armchair and blearily peered at him in his journey and suddenly felt extremely tired. He wearily rubbed his eyes and yawned.

'I think I might turn in, if it's all the same to you. We've been running around all night; it's morning already and I haven't a bit of sleep. You'd go too, if there was any sense left in you. Perhaps if you sleep on it, it will come to you.'

'No, go ahead, you're no good to me now, all I need now is time to think and no interruptions.' Sherlock said over his shoulder as he took up his violin. 'Do try not to snore this time.' he added. With a little flourish of the bow, he began to play. His eyes closed to the rhythm and the early morning light beamed through the window and lit his face as he concentrated.

John stood up slowly. 'I don't even know why I—'. The music stopped.

'Don't, I didn't mean it like that. You were invaluable tonight.' Sherlock spoke over his shoulder and began playing again after a moment. John blinked several times, shook his head and turned to leave.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door and a spirited 'Hallo!' which quickly informed John that Mrs. Hudson was on the other side.

'Don't answer that.' Sherlock ordered

'But she's our landlady, it's rude not to' insisted John.

'No. What's rude is interrupting my work. I have no desire to meet whoever she dragged up here. Tell her to go away!'

'So you want me not to answer, but tell her to go away? What do you want?' John said exasperatedly.

'Must I do everything myself?' Sherlock grouchily mumbled. 'GO AWAY MRS HUDSON!' He shouted.

'Are you boys alright, having a little domestic? It won't take long dears, I promise!' her muffled voice came through the door.

'Well that worked' John sarcastically said. Sherlock went back to playing the violin. 'Alright! Coming!' said John defeatedly.

He dragged himself to the door and was determined to turn her away as quickly as possible. He, however, was surprised by the addition of a quite lovely lady behind his effusive but charming landlady. He tried to muster an appealing look, but wasn't very successful.

'Ooh, you look terrible, dear,' she cooed to John and patted him on the shoulder and pushed her way in. 'You look like you need a lie-down. I've just wanted to introduce you to my niece, Clarissa Denton. She'll be staying in the flat downstairs for a while, so you might want to keep the racket down boys.'

John extended his hand. 'Nice to meet you Clarissa, my name's John Watson. And Mozart over there,' he motioned with his hand, 'is Sherlock Holmes. You must excuse him; he's not too social at the moment—though it's hard for me to think of a time when he is.'

'Nice to meet you as well. And please, call me Clara. Only Auntie calls me Clarissa nowadays.' She beamed a smile at him, which, to John, seemed to lighten up the room.

Despite his earlier sentiment of being tired, this might have been the reason why he said the following: 'Do you need any help in moving in?'

'Well, I would but it seems that the moving men that I hired are run by a bunch of wild apes, and they thought I was moving in tomorrow. So I have nothing to move in until then.'

'Come by tomorrow then and fetch me, and I will definitely—'

The violin music squealed to a halt, and Sherlock emitted a cry of delight. John looked over, and saw that he had carefully tossed the violin down and was rapidly putting on his coat and scarf.

'John! I've got it, and we've no moment to spare!' He shook John by the shirt collars for emphasis. 'Apes! It was the orangutan!' He then squeezed past Mrs. Hudson and Clara and ran down the stairs in his excitement.

John stood dumbfounded by the smiling Mrs. Hudson and the clueless Clara. 'Yeah… well… of course it's the orangutan.' He slowly admitted and nodded his head. 'Why I have no idea, but it's the orangutan.'

Sherlock bounded back up the stairs. 'It was nice meeting you, Miss Denton; you must tell me all about your blackberry patch back home, but for right now, I need Mr. Watson to come with me. The fate of an innocent nun depends on it!' With this, he tugged a reluctant John downstairs and a left a swirl of mystery in his wake.

'Don't worry, I'll lock up for you boys, but so you know, I'm not your housekeeper!' Mrs. Hudson yelled after them as the front door banged shut.

'How did he know about my blackberry patch?' Clara asked her aunt.

'If there is one thing you must know about Sherlock, is that he's Sherlock; and there's no explaining him.' Mrs. Hudson patted her shoulder as she closed the door. 'After you get that cleared up, it's just the god-awful smell coming from the fridge you've got to deal with. Now, how about that breakfast?'

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