Hullo! Looks Like You've stumbled on my Fic! Well I hope you all read it and like it, its going to be an epic one (length wise, but i hope in popularity also!) Please leave fave's and reviews as they're much appreciated by me! They help keep me going as a writer! Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sherlock series except for my own characters I've created here. The first few chapters may be a little slow as I set some things up, so bare with me!
Nox
An Affair in Belgrade
Chapter 1
Sherlock Holmes had died 4 months ago, officially. Of course it was just a clever trick, exceedingly clever in fact. He needed to go undercover for an extended
period of time, and it would only be more inconvenient if he was known to be alive. The obvious answer was to kick off for a few years; however it was all
proving to be worthless.
The Great Detective, Sherlock thought to himself, lying in a drug den somewhere in Belgrade. John would be ashamed. He continued to stare moodily at the ceiling,
as he had for the past 3 hours. If I could just find a lead I wouldn't be here in the first place. His hands were steepled under his chin, all-be-it twitching from the
heroin he'd injected. His mind was not clearing as much as he wanted it to, but that wasn't surprising; it never did clear as much as it had the time before.
There had been no leads, no trail, no nothing, for a month, and it was killing him.
"Bored!" he shouted, slamming his head back into the filthy bare mattress he was laying on in an old abandoned building. Several pairs of unseeing eyes
glazed over him, but one pair of dark green ones sought his lank figure alone amongst the multitude of junkies strewn over the floor.
Her eyes focused in on him, noting the growth of his beard and length of his hair, the way his clothes were too large where they obviously fit before, and the
pack of almost empty cigarettes lying next to him. She sighed. This was going to be much more work than she thought.
The sharp sound of heels clicking against the old concrete floor agitated him, probably just some common prostitute looking for a fix, he thought, and his mind
quickly returned to John. I wonder what he's doing at 221B without me, most likely nothing of importance, probably something dreadfully dull like working at some
little clinic or another. Those heels are coming closer. His eyes snapped open, glazed over as they were; they took in the woman suddenly standing above him in
an instant.
"Are you going to deduce me Mr. Holmes? Or are you too high for that?" She asked in a heavy Serbian accent, her brow was lifted as she watched the man
catalog her every detail. Her hand was on her hip as she leaned down over him.
Sherlock's eyes focused in on the woman's face, she was beautiful, but in a way that was understated, as if she herself were trying to downplay her features;
strange for a woman to do, he thought, meaning she wants to remain relatively unnoticed, suggestive of deceit.
"I already have." He looked up at her expectantly, his fingers tingling from his high.
"And what have you discovered?" She smirked, looking down at "The Great Detective", or so everyone called him, she wasn't so sure as of yet. His eyebrows
rose quickly as he stared at the woman leaning over him, she was intriguing, to say the least.
"You're Serbian, although only half, most likely your mother's side judging by your features. Wealthy, and independently so, you very rarely do hard labor, your
hands are smooth and your nails are either recently done or immaculately kept. Former drug user yourself, you've covered up the scars on your arms with
makeup; possibly Heroin, most likely Cocaine. Your hair is pinned up professionally, meaning you most likely work in an office; however your makeup looks fresh
but not overdone, meaning you work irregular hours, judging from the fact that it's close to four in the morning. Most likely a PA for a government official
judging by the security card poking out of your purse." He smirked, daring her to challenge him.
"Excellent Mr. Holmes, you've seen everything I wanted you to see." She smiled at him, with a look on her face that plainly showed she had won the game. His
eyebrows furrowed as quickly as they had risen, and he stared deeply at her for a moment, his eyes calculating her every inch. There was something off,
something he was missing, he could feel it, he just couldn't see it.
"With respect, you're not going to get anywhere dismantling the Serbian side of Moriarty's network lying here getting high. Plus you need a bath." Her nose
wrinkled at him, and she stepped back, giving him room to get up. She moved both hands to her hips while she stared at him, tapping her foot against the
concrete, creating an irritating echo in the large room that drove Sherlock up the wall.
"Come on, you're not going to get anywhere without my help." She stated with her green eyes tinged with just a hint of arrogance.
"If I get up will you stop doing that?" He asked dryly, shooting her with a look that overflowed with disdain. What was he missing? There was something about
this woman he couldn't see.
"If you get up," she repeated slyly, a smirk tracing her lips. Sherlock groaned as the soiled mattress sunk under the shifting of his weight. He bounced up onto
his feet, and stepped into the woman's personal space. His nose was mere inches from hers when he hissed,
"Did my brother send you?" his hands quivered, and his eyes dilated in anger only a high could bring on so quickly. His breath panted against her skin, but her
stare did not waver from his, he noticed vaguely the flecks of brown in her eyes.
"Come now Mr. Holmes, I don't have the rest of the morning to wait out your high, so this would all move much faster if you just do what I say." she raised her
eyebrows, her head tilted and noting his shaking hands. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, who the hell does she think she is?! His mind snapped. He flexed his fingers
in an effort to calm the shaking.
"Did. My Brother. Send you." He spat. The last thing he needed was Mycroft sending his goons in because he couldn't execute a simple task.
She stared at him deeply for a few seconds, gave out a small sigh of frustration, then answered him in a slightly lower voice,
"Mycroft doesn't know I'm here, but he will if you keep throwing a tantrum." She suddenly reached down, took his hand and began to drag him out of the room.
He let out an audible hiss as he yanked his hand away from hers.
"Don't be a baby Mr. Holmes," she said with an eye roll, although she didn't attempt to grab his hand again.
"I am perfectly capable of walking by myself; I don't need to be dragged along like a child." He glared at her, he had no clue who this woman was, but she
seemed to know most everything of importance about him.
"You're behaving like a child." She let out an exasperated sigh, as if this whole business of dragging Sherlock Holmes out of a drug den was entirely
exhausting. She turned on her heel and walked out, without so much of a backwards glance to the man now standing by himself in the middle of the room.
He watched her walk from the den, utterly confused, and completely stoned. He was no longer entirely sure she was Serbian, although certainly she contained
at least some Serb. She knew who he was immediately, knew of Moriarty's network and his brother, and seemed almost completely unconcerned with him. He
glanced around the room, addicts lay strewn about the cold concrete, lying next to the needles he had sought out so desperately just two hours before. What
was she doing here? Why did she think that she of all people could help him, "The Great Detective"? He gave a very long and very annoyed sigh, then proceeded to
stalk out of the room after her, endeavoring to find out.