One wheel.

Two wheels.

Three wheels.

All perfectly placed together. The ridges of them lined equally, as they were intended to be in perfect unison with one another. My quick feet rushed me over to the crank on the other side of the door. I twisted it and awaited the noise. Suddenly, like a whistle in silence, the beautiful chime of a bell rung out. I grinned happily to myself. I had finished another invention.

My idea was that if someone walks up to my door and I was in the middle of things, it is exceedingly uncouth to barge in and disrupt me. Most people continue to do so however, so I very carefully elaborated a lock onto my door in which the person outside turns the crank, the crank releases a pebble into a bucket with then tips over, hitting a wheel, which then activates another, and then another, all of which lifts a string... which has a bell neatly hung at the bottom of it.

Pointless? Yes. Very much so. In fact, the whole time I could have simply purchased a lock. However, was it a good way to waste my time besides conversing with people? Yes, indeed. I think so.

"Renadale!" I heard someone shout my name, interrupting my thought process. It was my mother, who always had a keen way of taking me by surprise. My mother Judith was a very charming woman, more in manner than in features, mind you. She was also known as a very loud social butterfly. With her it was all parties, parades, shows, weddings, circuses, whatever she could lay her gloved paws on. However, she was described to be 'big-boned' and rather plain, so I don't know if a butterfly served as the best comparison. "What are you doing up there locked away in that dusty old shack?" I heard her feet approach my door. Staying silent, I wanted to see how she would react to my latest creation. "What's this thing on your door?" She said, annoyed. "You know Renadale, doors are expensive! You drilling holes into them does not help our income!"

I groaned in exasperation as she started knocking on the door. "Mother!" I cried, swinging it open. "The whole point of drilling a hole into my door was so you could turn the crank and try out my new invention." She scrunched her nose up and stepped inside my room, obviously holding little interest for my hobby. "Don't you see? It is so that I know someone is at my door without them pounding on it and distracting me from my work." I tried to get her to take the hint, but she never seemed to notice.

Her small green eyes glazed over my work. "I don't see why you would need that dear. You're up here wasting your time on silly inventions, and then you complain about your health. When was the last time you went outside, hm? A week ago? You're becoming a hermit, dearest."

My mother had a tendency to exaggerate, but she hadn't been in that moment. As I glanced around my room, I smirked as my eyes crossed over the walls filled with pointless creations and boxes stacked ceiling high with useless junk that could one day come in handy. I did feel a tad like a hermit, but I believed myself to be content. "I'm five and twenty, mother," I finally said, bringing myself away from the subject of my crab similarities. "I can do as I please. Besides, my health is perfectly fine."

That was also a lie. Ironically, while saying that sentence I tried my best not to cough in the musty air of my bedroom. "Well, I can tell it's not," she snarled, noticing my wheezing tone of voice. She flapped her hand at me as though I was pathetic. "That's why I've gotten you a job."

My heart skipped a beat. "A job?" I cried suddenly as she started to dust my room. I could feel myself chasing after her like a dog. "I don't need any money!" Well, that, and I didn't like people terribly much.

She cut me off. "I don't care if you need it, want it, or have it. You're taking this job because you need to get out of this house!" Her arms rose above her head as she puffed tiredly and headed out of my room. Her poor nerves were raging, yet I couldn't help it that I was independent. Me? A job? Highly unusual.

My legs took off running for her. "Mother, if you're going to give me a job, it would certainly be rational if you would at least tell me what it was." She paused for a moment, realizing her quandary. My mother wasn't the brightest of women.

"A maid," she replied bluntly. My heart began to ache. A maid? Was she joshing? Had she seen my bedroom? "You're a mess, child. I figured it would be a change if you saw how disgusting some other people could be. It'll give you a bit more self respect."

"How do you even know that they'll be pigs?" I grumbled. I was highly unsatisfied with her sensible response. Her words backfired my original thought process.

She laughed suddenly, having more knowledge to the answer than myself. "Trust me my dear, he's chaotic. Though he is a rising star."

Her last point interested me, but I brushed it off. I was too distracted by that fact that I would be working under someone. Not that I considered myself a high class person, not even remotely, but because I had always been more of a lone woman. And not exactly because I wanted it that way. I would have to take her word on it, though. There was no arguing my way out of this one. Once my mother had her mind made up, the case was closed. There were no more excuses left for me to use. In her defence, it would probably have been good for me. All I hoped was that the man I was working for wasn't…

Perverted.

After all, a young woman working for a man seemed somewhat out of place. I didn't particularly want to be violated.

Old.

I know that sounds a bit harsh, but I get enough of the elderly with my mother inviting her friends over, and the chance to talk with someone a tad closer to my age wouldn't hurt. And most importantly...

Rude.

I didn't like people. That was why I was never around people. Why? Because people are rude, vile, racist, crude and foul. Well, at least the people in the lower side of London seemed to be so. All I hoped was that he was polite enough to give me a nod of his head as we passed in the hallway.

"My goodness, you think too much!" My mom spoke suddenly as I thought over the list in my head in silence. She had probably been watching me stare off into space for a few minutes now. "He goes by Sherlock Holmes and he prefers it if you do not call him 'Mister'." My brows shot up in recognition. "Yes, the same Sherlock Holmes. The one in the papers about the Blackwood case."

"You got me a job as a maid... for a detective?" I asked. "Well, that shouldn't be terribly hard. He's probably never home."

The sentence was somehow amusing to her. "He's in his house more than you are. Not even his house, but his room. His nanny, Mrs. Hudson, was a very sweet woman, but she can't take much more of his nonsense." Her voice lessened into a whisper. "Apparently he shoots at the wall half of the time, and the other time he tries to kill some dog."

Fantastic. My mother had given me a job where my boss was not old, rude, or perverted, but hostile. And how on Earth was I going to work for someone hostile, when I myself was beginning to become hostile? We could just sit around all day and be hostile together. Then I wouldn't get paid and my mother would have a tantrum. "I'm just cleaning his room, correct?" I sighed after looking too much into the situation. "If I have to get to know him, I-"

My mother rolled her eyes and began walking down the stairs, tossing on her emerald coat and black gloves. "You and your prudence. Don't worry. You're a maid. You will clean, cook, wash, and do whatever it is that Mister Holmes wishes." I nodded quietly, avoiding calling out her error of using 'Mister'. "Now, go put on some nicer clothes. You'll be going in an hour for your first meeting." She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and flicked it in my direction. "Take this. It's the address. Do not be late, Renadale. I mean it." And without another word, she left.

I sighed heavily. Today was going to be a long day. I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see it was only noon. Not only would today be a long day, but perhaps the longest for quite some time. That really meant something as well, because every day went by slowly in my life. My eyes skimmed over the paper my mother had given me.

221b Baker Street.

Without a care, I crumpled the paper into the waste basket, already having it memorized as I headed upstairs to get dressed. I shut my eyes with the heat of frustration spreading across my face.

This had better be worth it.