Please enjoy the first chapter of my first fanfic: Beginnings, the first of the adventures of SH Squared.
SH Squared
"Beginnings"
chapter one
The winds harshly howled through the charcoal grey skies, whipping at the crowds of London; thousands of people rushing about to get to certain places at certain times. And the best thing about these crowds, these amazing little human beings, is that they keep shuffling along, not stopping for anything, so sure of themselves. Unlike one young lady amidst those crowds.
With every pace, Summer Dame was reminded of each second she was late for her interview. She strode along as quickly as she could, the rain beginning to drip down from the darkened clouds. The rain splattered on each surface with millions of tiny "drip" noises, which, from Summer's point of view, was enough to force anyone insane. As she glanced about the dull setting of the London streets that surrounded her, she pondered a few quick calculations to distract her mind from the interview that...
One: Would change her life if she didn't spoil it.
And Two: She was exactly 17 minutes and 35 seconds late for.
With a huff of annoyance and a quiet cursing of the rain that was persistently soaking her clothes and hair, she used her right-arm sleeve to wipe away the droplets that gathered on the lenses of her black thick-rimmed glasses before adjusting them to a more practical position in which they lay comfortably on the bridge of her nose. Her jeans had darkened with the soaking rain, her red vans now splashed in a large puddle every 13.7 steps (she calculated precisely) and the navy top she wore clung to her curves. With a heaving sigh, Summer pulled her tan-coloured jacket, which had previously been flappjng about in a tedious manner, across her chest so that at least some warmth could be trapped against her body.
As she tilted her head upward, observations blossomed in her mind. The blonde teen that walked past had recently had her heart broken as her true love disappeared and her previous boyfriend refused to accept her back into his life, the young-ish boy who strolled past with his mother was obviously smoking with a gang at school and had experienced 11 snog sessions in the past week with his secret girlfriend and the mother had accidentally run over her cat three days ago and had two fights with her sister in the past month, and the most interesting was a little girl who sprinted by without a word and was obviously looking for her female tabby cat because she let it out of the house and was rushing to find it before her parents came home from their visit to a relative's.
These deductions entertained her for 3 minutes and 14 seconds before she turned off what she liked to call "observation mode" and attempted to continue work on a conundrum she was figuring out for the rest of her 156 steps remaining to reach Scotland Yard. She continued to look down at her feet, which paced along to a steady beat she committed to walking to. Her long, chestnut hair flowed behind her, restricted by her hair elastic that held together the strands in a ponytail. The winds disappeared as quickly as they picked up, fading in and out. Pulsing, even, to an wild, unpredictable beat as the rain dripped from the dark clouds that hung overhead.
That was when she was met with a solid force, a blur of black and a touch of navy. Stumbling back, she gasped almost inaudibly, but hitting this force wasn't the only things that surprised her. Oh, no. The other thing was the steady hand that reached for her arm, quick as a blink, stopping her from falling any further back as it grasped on to her jacket until she was stabilised. Summer directed her gaze upwards to see a tall man in a dark trench coat with icily narrowed blue eyes and black curls atop his head.
Previously That Day...
"Well, that was great, wasn't it, Sherlock?" John commented cheerily as he pushed open the doors of Scotland Yard and trudging on after Sherlock in the freezing cold. "Who would have though it was the dwarf with three wives?" He mused aloud as his hands reached into his pockets for warmth.
How dull. Sherlock pulled up his collar with an ignorant flourish and treaded along the concrete that lay beside the tar roads.
"Mmpf... I suppose..." Sherlock walked on, his pace steady and his coat rapped around his body, giving him a slightly foreboding and shadowy look. His black curls messed in the winds that harshly howled through the town of London as he twisted his lips into a frown of pure concentration.
"Where are you going? Aren't you going to hail a cab?" John called out to him, losing his friend in the crowds of pushing people.
"I'll walk. I need to think." Sherlock waved his hand back to John, who was drifting further and further away into the streets. If the thief wanted something from that museum, it would have been stolen one of the three nights of the break-ins. No, this thief wanted something else, something more.. Well, we're suspecting his male, but I'm missing something, something important, something that's-
"All the way to Baker Street!?"
John. Again. His voice was so distant, so lost in the crowds and the winds that rushed through the streets. Sherlock would probably be too far away to reply now anyway, wouldn't he?
As Sherlock shook John from his mind, the paces of his thudding footsteps slowed as his thoughts deepened. The breezes ruffled his curls and attempted to move him, but the wind did not stand a chance against this immobile detective, so lost in his conundrums. His thoughts rapidly flew through his mind, going through facts and papers and mental pictures of small things left that could mean so much more than they seem. And if-
Present Time...
Sherlock was met with a slightly stronger force than the wind at that moment: a human being, it would seem. Female and a lot shorter than he was.
'Alright, maybe it wasn't a stronger force than the wind...' he mused. Goldfish did make him laugh sometimes.
His gaze flickered down to the girl, who was obviously about to hit the pavement in .36 of a second, so his hand flew to her arm to stop her. Why? Well, the Sherlock he thought he was would have let her fall. But the Sherlock who met John, however... That's another story.
His gaze flickered over her figure, her clothes, her hair, her face, and before he knew it, he was blurting out every observation he could pick off her.
"26, from Cardiff, moving to London, late for an interview, revisiting university, dad died of lung cancer two years ago, lived with her mum until coming to London 3 days ago, shy, intelligent, has a pet rabbit called Lucy and will forever be single. Eh. Boring." His baritone voice rumbled on but soon as the tall man loosened his grip, "observation mode" flicked on.
"Amateur detective, 28, lives in Baker Street, shares a flat with an ex-military doctor, social problem, violinist, preferred drink is obviously black and two sugars, has an overly protective brother and yet I hint a sibling rivalry from your left sleeve, attempts to be emotionless but recently had his heart broken by someone who got engaged before you got to tell them how you felt, an IQ of 190 and..." The words trailed off uncertainly into the icy winds of London as Summer realised the man was just standing there, staring at her blankly. "Sorry, I mean, most people when I do that th-they say-"
"Piss off." Sherlock finished for her, his lips begging him to crack the smallest of smiles. He refused. "They say that to me, too." He explained. He glanced at the papers hurriedly shoved into the tan jacket she was wearing to find one was sticking out. In the very corner, a neatly-written name was smudged from the rain, but it was readable. "Summer Lykra." He read aloud before directing his gaze to meet with hers with a tint of teasing.
"Y-yeah... I just moved to London to finish of my training and become a detective inspector. Before, I was doing chemistry work but then I changed my mind." She smiled, a little awkwardly before brushing her hair behind her ear. "And, uh, do you happen to know..." She reached down to her pocket and ran through the papers before pulling one out in her right hand and shielding it from the trickling rain with her left. "... Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade?" She read out the name on the paper before shoving it back into her pocket to see the man's eyes light up.
"No, I don't know this Gregory, but I do know a Graham. And if that's who your interview is with..." He tilted his chin up and gave a small smirk before wrapping himself in his trench coat. "... Tell him I personally recommend you."
And with that, he began to disappear into the crowds, walking away with heavy, steady steps.
"Wait! I didn't even catch your name!" Summer called after him, and he halted, spinning around with a flourish of his dark trench coat.
"The name's Sherlock Holmes. And you can find me at 221B-"
"Baker Street!" She finished for him with a small smile before he disappeared around a bend.
Hope you enjoyed it! I can't wait to see what you all think of it! Leave a review!
-PartnersInEverythingButCrime