I'm surprised at how small of a following this new movie has since it's so awesome… anyways, this is a Watson/OC story
"…or why you see fit to completely sabotage my relationship with Mary?!" Watson shouted, earning some annoyed looks from others in the prison yard.
That is only because I do not find her worthy of you, Watson! Holmes thought, but did not say as he did not want his friend even more mad at him.
My name is Abigail Newton, Abby for short. I am currently twenty-two and living in London, England. You might say I like to live a bit on the edge.
I seem to have this in common with my cousin, Sherlock Holmes, though surely not as severe. The two of us would regularly go on adventures as children, many times excluding cousin Mycroft, and all the while sharpening our minds and physical skills. My parents did not like my boy-like antics and sent me off to an all-girls preparatory school when I turned thirteen. When I was finished at age eighteen, I left my parents and their money in order to pursue a life of my own. Wanting to escape, I had gone to America.
I did however grow just a touch homesick for my dear England. Not knowing where else to go, I am now on the doorstep of my favourite cousin, Mr. Sherlock Holmes at 221b Baker Street.
Ringing the doorbell, a woman answered. I became worried that I had the wrong house.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
"Do come in, he's just upstairs. I hope ever so much that you have a case for him… he's been all but going insane in that little room of his."
I walked in from the cold January air and chuckled, "I'm afraid not, but I believe my presence should cheer him up some."
The woman knocked on the door to a room, "Mr. Holmes, there is a young lady here to see you!"
"By all means let her in, Nanny!" a somewhat familiar voice said from within.
Walking in, I saw him sitting by the window, violin in hand. He looked very different from when I had last seen him, but that had been when he was eighteen and I thirteen. His hair had grown a bit and was still rather unkempt and his eyes still looked a little bit strange but good nonetheless. He turned to me and stood up.
"Abby, my dear! It's been what, nine years? Where on earth have you been?" Setting down his violin, he came up and hugged me.
I smiled, "Mother and Father sent me to that dreadful preparatory school and when I was finished I went to America for a while. I only just got back and was hoping I could stay with you since I've been cut off from all funds since I left."
"You're practically my little sister, so I see no reason why not."
"Thank you ever so much, Sherlock!" I smiled widely, "I've heard that you've been doing detective work?"
"Indeed… indeed, and it is rather marvelous the mental challenges it poses… of course it makes the in-between time so much more boring."
"Always the impatient one, hm?"
"In this case yes…" he trailed off then went to the door, "Mrs. Hudson! Find a room in here that is not too cluttered for my dear cousin Abby."
"Yes Mr. Holmes." She said and brought me up another flight of stairs to a small plain bedroom.
Setting my bag upon the nightstand, I walked back downstairs to my cousin's strange room. He had always been the messy one in the family and now that he was living on his own it seemed to have gone a bit over the top. Mrs. Hudson brought us up some tea and we talked for a solid hour or so.
Later, a man came up the stairs and into the room, "Holmes, please tell me you didn't do anything to Gladstone today?"
I giggled, and he seemed surprised to see me.
"I'm terribly sorry Miss, but I do not believe that we have been acquainted," He said smiling rather dashingly.
"I am Abigail Newton, Sherlock's cousin. But please call me Abby." I said shaking his hand.
"My name is Dr. John Watson, and I am your dear cousin's friend, though sometimes he treats me as his nanny. You may call me whatever you like, Abby."
I smiled at him, "Then I hope you don't mind me calling you Watson."
"Not at all."
"Now then, why do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Watson?" Sherlock asked rather gruffly.
"I'm afraid I'm going to be moving back in… Mary and I broke off the engagement." He said rather matter-of-factly.
My cousins next remark was dripping with sarcasm, "Such a shame that the two of you did not work out."
"Indeed, but we mustn't dwell on things of the past. Have we got any interesting cases?"
Sherlock motioned for a pile of papers on the table beside me. I picked them up and began reading aloud the main points, "Let's see… a Mr. Tapulec's sixteen-year-old daughter is missing, a Mr. Montey's nineteen-year-old son is missing…"
"The two have eloped to France, next case."
"A woman was found dead in her apartment with a knife in her back and a puddle of water on the floor…"
"She encased the knife in ice and then fell atop it in order to make it look like a murder."
"Oh this one's interesting… a man believes that his dead wife has become a vampire and has been killing his servants."
"That does sound rather engaging, eh Holmes?" Watson said, unpacking a small briefcase of medical equipment.
"Indeed… Right then, off to meet this man… what is his name?"
"Mr. Thomas Jacobson."
"Right then. Shall we?" He said, grabbing a hat and coat from a pile of clothes.
We left the apartment and got into a carriage to take us to the man's home on the outskirts of London.
About 15 minutes into the ride, Watson suddenly said to Sherlock "Is that my jacket you're wearing?"
"It was no longer yours since you left it at my apartment."
"Holmes! That was one of my favourite jackets!"
"You weren't using it, so I did. And no, you may not have it back."
I decided to intervene, "Sherlock, give Watson his jacket back."
"Nonsense Abby, we used to share clothes all the time when he lived with me."
"You used to steal my clothes when I lived with you! And now I live with you again, so if you'd please give it back?"
"Sherlock, you really should give it back. Just because he left it at your house doesn't mean it is instantly yours."
My cousin grumbled, "I'll give it to you when we get back home seeing as I have no other jacket to wear but yours."
John sighed. I looked at him and smiled sympathetically. He mouthed 'thank you' to me and I smiled again.
We shortly arrived at Mr. Jacobson's house. Ringing the doorbell, we waited.
A very scared looking little woman answered the door. Upon hearing who we were, she let us in and began leading us to the parlor of the house. I noticed that she was walking strangely down the hall, occasionally stepping to the side as if avoiding something she knew was there. I took a step and felt something click beneath my foot. Suddenly, I was tackled to the ground by Watson, who had been behind me. I blushed heavily and when I turned to look why he had pushed me to the ground to see a large ax, wreathed in garlic, had swiped right where my head had been. The servant woman was extremely apologetic, saying that Mr. Jacobson had booby-trapped the house because he thought that his supposedly undead wife was out to kill him.
Watson helped me to my feet. In the narrow hallway, he pulled me upwards and I was right against his chest. He smelled like a combination of incense and musk, a very woody scent that engulfed me and made me feel warm. I blushed and thanked him, then continued down the hallway after the maid.
This would be an interesting case.
Please review and let me know if I should continue! :)