My first fanfic in a long two years. Yup, two years. I just never found time and lost the urge. But after Sherlock returned, I just had to sit down and write (though it's taken me a while to post it ). This is post –Reichenbach Falls, and Sherlock has returned after his 'death'- it's about one year on, and the press and everything have died down about his 'suicide' ;) .
Disclaimer- Does not belong to me, but 'The Moff' and Godtiss, and Arthur Conan Doyle. Sadly ):
'Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.'
'It's such a pleasure to find a young girl like yourself to rent out the basement flat. It's good to get some use out of it. I hope you like it,' Mrs. Hudson smiled at the young woman in front of her.
'Now, I'm just warning you about the two boys I have upstairs. If you hear or see anything rather…unusual, shall I put it, don't fret yourself. One of them is quite…eccentric,'' she said, struggling to describe just who lived upstairs at 221B Baker Street.
'Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I'm used to unusual,' she replied, setting down the last box of her belongings in the open spaced living area.
'Alright, well, I leave you to it now,' Mrs. Hudson said, dropping the keys to the flat into her hand, '' Kyla-Muirne?' she questioned her as she was steeping through the doorway, ' Is that how you say it?'
'Yes- Kyla- mir-na. Thanks again, Mrs. Hudson,' Kyla said, her rosy lips pulling into a smile once again.
'No problem, dear. Just you get settled in,' Mrs. Hudson replied, and closed the door behind her.
Kyla stood in the middle of the living, taking in the flat. She had brought her medium-sized plasma television from her previous home, though there was a small, and quite ancient one already set up. She was glad she found a flat with which it was already furnished with the basics- a sofa and television in the living room, a table and four chairs, a microwave, a cooker and fridge-freezer in the kitchen, a double bed, wardrobe, and a bedside table and lamp in the bedroom.
Kyla looked at the small number of boxes around her. She inwardly groaned at the thought of tidying it all away, when all she wanted to do was sit down and rest after all the moving she had been through, but she knew if she didn't do it now, it would never be done. So, she got to work, tackling the clothes first.
Sherlock resisted the urge to lift his gun and shoot the walls again. He knew he'd receive quite a lecture from Mrs. Hudson and John both. He did have that dagger from the last case though…And what an interesting case it was.
The dagger was the murder weapon, by which an apparently very dead man had killed his wife with. It was, in fact, the husband's twin, that had killed her, because she had had an affair with him, and refused to divorce her husband…What woman would not know her husband had a twin? Had she not met his family? It really turned out to be a poor case.
Sherlock soon discarded the thoughts of the previous case. It was quite boring in reality; the only good coming out of it was the dagger- though John had insisted he give to the museum, as it was some 'ancient Chinese relic'- which he was now amusing himself with by practicing on the wall. The wall now had, not only gun-shots in it, but long, sloping cuts.
'Jesus Christ, Sherlock, will you leave the poor wall alone,' John complained, as he shut the door behind him.
'The wall had it coming. Again,' Sherlock stated, as he skilfully arched his arm, and brought the dagger down upon the wall in one swift, sweeping movement.
John sighed and rolled his eyes,'' Don't know why I try…like a child…find something normal to do…' John mumbled as he searched for his laptop amongst the many newspapers and other articles strewn about the flat.
'Mrs. Hudson found someone to move into the basement flat, if you wanted to know,'' John said, as his fingers went wild typing at the computer.
'I know,' Sherlock said, taking another swipe at the wall.
'Of course you'd know, why wouldn't you know?' John said to himself, as he checked his blog, 'The hit counter's stuck again.'
He received no answer from Sherlock.
' I bet it's some boring, mundane being that's moved in. Let's go meet them shall we?'
John turned around in his chair, looking at Sherlock with one eyebrow raised, 'The Great Sherlock Holmes wants to socialize?'
Sherlock ignored him, throwing the dagger across the room into the other wall, where it stayed.
'Come on. I can't stand being this bored any longer.'
'The last big case was just two weeks ago!'
'Exactly, John. Two weeks!' Sherlock emphasized.
He flung the door open and made his way quickly down the stairs, nearly bumping into Mrs. Hudson. John groaned and quickly followed. He hoped that he didn't frighten away the new tenant- Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be too pleased (nor would she be pleased with the state of the once perfectly, scrape free, gun-shot free wall).
'Oh! Sherlock, dear. Going somewhere?' Mrs. Hudson questioned smiling at the tall man.
'Yes, I was actually just going to welcome our new neighbour,'' Sherlock replied quickly and strode past.
Mrs. Hudson looked somewhat surprised and turned to see John follow, ' Make sure he doesn't scare the poor girl off. I'm glad I got someone like her to take the flat,' she said to John.
'Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I will,' John replied with a smile, and quickly followed Sherlock, who was already opening the door.
'Oh for Christ's sake,' John mumbled, as he followed Sherlock through the door.
There was a young woman in the living area. Her long, chestnut hair was tied up in a bun, some loose strands escaping the hair tie. She was wearing a plain white tank top, and black leggings, listening to her iPod with ear phones plugged in, holding it in her hand, She obviously did not hear Sherlock's intrusion.
Sherlock stood in front of her, as she was set on getting some (what looked like) manuscript paper out, her fringe covering her face. She only noticed Sherlock as she stood up, and jumped, tripping over some boxes and landing on her back, 'Ow…' She groaned, rubbing her back as she sat up. Registering the fact that there were two strange men in her apartment, she leapt up, pulling her earphones out.
Her stomach did a mini summersault -of fear she supposed-at the tall, dark brooding man. She pushed the feeling away, remembering Mrs. Hudson's warning, and recomposed herself, slightly self conscious she was only in her tank top and leggings.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a second at her hesitated reaction, but they returned to normal just as quickly.
'Who are you!' she demanded, glaring at Sherlock.
'Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, and this is my good friend, John Watson,' he replied, acting very un-Sherlock like.
John jumped in, apologizing, 'I'm so sorry about him, we live upstairs in 221B. I'm really sorry, he doesn't really know anything about privacy,' John apologized over again. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, judging them, then relaxed slightly, picking up her iPod.
'Okay... Mrs Hudson warned me about you two…' She trailed off, 'I'm Kyla-Muirne, but please just call me Kyla.'
'Interesting, Irish. Northern I'd say. They have that dreadful accent.' Sherlock said, already deducing her. His statement received a deathly glare from Kyla, ' I'm from a small town about one hour away from Belfast,' she offered Sherlock.
John mouthed sorry to her, hoping that Sherlock would not attempt to further deduce anything about her.
'Kyla, meaning beautiful, implying '' a beauty that only poetry can capture''. Murine, meaning ''high-spirited,''. Interesting,' Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing again.
'What?' Kyla quizzed, wondering what he meant by 'interesting', whereas John was looking at Sherlock- since when did he know Irish Gaelic?
'It's a pity you don't suit your name,' Sherlock said, though she was unquestionably beautiful- the slightest tan, suggesting she had been on a holiday at a warm sunny place, round, large hazel doe eyes, even in a bun her chestnut hair seemed flowing and a perfect model's figure- on the 'outside', she was probably horrible on the 'inside'.
Kyla's lips formed a small 'o', completely and utterly shocked. Anger simmered inside her, but she kept it under control, waiting for him to apologize, but instead, John did.
'I really do apologize- I think your beautiful, not in that way, not that I wouldn't go out with you, if you were older, but…Just ignore him,' John slightly babbling his words, though his composure suggested he was calmer.
'I'd say about eighteen, judging from some of the old flyers for university enrolment within one of the boxes. I'd say you are studying music from the fact you were retrieving some manuscript, and art because of the boxes of paint and the easel in the corner of the room. Your parents are paying for your tuition, whom are wealthy, because of the fairly new and expensive television set here, along with the newest model of iPods, and the iPhone you have sitting on the dresser- though judging by the clothes you are wearing and in that box, I'd say you do not care about designer clothes nor fashion,' Sherlock paused for a moment, looking over her, and raising an eye at her…casual attire.
'It's your first time living on your own as you so carelessly have left the door unlocked because you are not familiar with the responsibility and because of your age. You have no brothers or sisters because there are none in what looks to be a family photo with your parents and grand-parents. You love animals, especially horses, because most of the drawings I caught a glimpse of in the other room are of horses, and from the fact that you have riding gear in the bedroom. You-'
'Okay, Sherlock, leave her alone. I'm really, really sorry about him,' John cut off Sherlock, apologizing once again.
Kyla was staring at Sherlock, her anger which was simmering, was now a full blown bonfire, 'I'm studying Art and Criminology at university actually- I play music for…fun. I'm not an only child and I got in on a scholarship- my parents d- my parents couldn't care about me. I worked as a model to get that TV, and my iPhone and iPod,' she said, her anger dwindling to a small flame again, and a little sadness, because he reminded her of her once happy, perfect family.
Model, Sherlock repeated, his smile ghosting over his lips at his correct deducing, not that he was rarely wrong.
'Criminology? That's interesting, maybe you could help Sherlock,' John joked, smiling but it faded from the venomous look Sherlock gave him.
'I've only started this year, so I wouldn't be much help, I'm afraid,' Kyla said, speaking to John though her eyes were still fixed on Sherlock, as he looked around her things in the flat.
John now glared at Sherlock; even he noticed that Sherlock had hit a nerve there with Kyla, though Sherlock seemed ignorant to the fact.
Sherlock glanced to John then back to Kyla, who in turn was now studying Sherlock. Her short show of emotions soon disappeared, and she questioned Sherlock,' And what is it that you do for a living?'
'I'm a consulting detective, and John is my assistant,' he replied.
'I'm a doctor,' John said and smiled at Kyla, which she returned, but was intrigued by Sherlock's profession.
'A consulting detective? I've never heard of that.'
'You wouldn't have. I created the job.'
Kyla raised her eyebrow, 'You can't just create a job.'
'I beg to differ.'
'What does it involve doing then?' Kyla asked, pushing the boxes she had tripped over earlier into the corner of the room, and lifting the papers that had fallen from her hand as she fell.
'I help the police solve cases, 'consulting' them, since they fail so miserably at their jobs.'
Kyla replied with a quite 'hmmm' at his answer.
'Well, I need to get tidied up, so if you don't mind…' she said in her most polite way.
John understood and nodded, 'Of course, of course. Nice to meet you,' he said, and pushed Sherlock through the door.
'Nice to meet you too,' she said, and closed the door after her, and locked it.
She leaned against the door for a minute, thinking about the two men who lived upstairs. John was nice. He had apologized to her, and was very friendly, offering her smiles…He had the slightest, nearly unnoticeable limp like he had hurt himself, though he was still able to push and keep up with Sherlock's long strides and quick pace, for he was shorter than him.
Sherlock...Sherlock Holmes was the most arrogant, ignorant man Kyla had met, even if it was only for a few mere moments.
But there was…something about him. And it was not anything to do with attraction, or any other form like it. He was far too self-centred, and a show off. She also didn't know how old he was – he could be twenty five or forty five for all she knew- he had that ageless, ethereal look about him. Kyla would never be able to stick with someone like him. Not that I'm looking for anyone, she scolded herself.
Sherlock was interesting, like a mystery. He acted quite…odd, 'eccentric' Mrs. Hudson described him. Kyla could see now why she struggled to describe him. How would you describe Sherlock Holmes? She was determined to unravel him.
Kyla jumped out of her thoughts, and returned to finish unpacking her final few boxes, though her mind still drifted to the two men, every now and again as she busied herself. Who really lived upstairs at 221B Baker Street?
Love it? Hate it? Should I continue?
Please review and let me know! I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes (I changed Kyla's name at least four times in this chapter :P) and I don't have a beta. Hopefully it won't seem too babbly or confusing. I don't think my chapters will always be this length, probably shorter, but I will try to update, hopefully, once a week, but my life is really busy, and I broke my laptop by spilling tea over it, so trying to borrow my aunt's :S. (by the way my A/N's will never be this long in future!).
Anyway, please review!
