My eyes fluttered open. The light was so bright. The earth under my cheek was hard and cold. I sat up. Where am I? I can't...I can't remember anything...

"Sherlock!" obviously a man's voice. I looked up to see a short man in a sweater a few yards away from me. He was in a crouched position squinting at me. "I think you might want to have a look at this!" he called over his shoulder at a second man. A taller, leaner, man in a black jacket and deep blue scarf. He came running over and I felt my heart speed up. Why was it doing that? Who are these people? Why am I here? I felt tears begin to stream down my face. I don't know who I am. I don't know who I am!

"Sh sh sh," the sorter man cooed. "We're not going to hurt you, miss. What are you doing here?" he asked.

I choked out a sob. "I-I don't know!" I brought my hands to my face. Cold, unfamiliar hands that I couldn't be sure were really mine. But they moved when I told them to, so they must belong to me. The taller man was beside me now, asking me questions. I couldn't hear over the roar of thoughts and emotions welling up inside me. He grabbed my face with his hands. He had nice hands. Soft, warm, comfortable. I clung to the feel of this strangers skin on mine. The only pleasant thing I had right now. I closed my eyes. He shook me, trying to wake me up probably. I wasn't sleeping. Not yet. He lifted me to my feet.

"Miss, you need to tell us your name. We need something to go on. Sherlock, anything?"

"...No, John...nothing. She-she's clean. No stains, no fibers, fingerprints, anything." I cracked my eyes open to see him. He was looking my whole body over, and suddenly I felt self-conscious. I didn't even know what I looked like! What gives him the right to look at me?! I stopped myself from speaking. I'm being ridiculous.

"That's impossible though. No one can go throughout their lives without coming in contact with something at some point..." he began muttering to himself inaudibly.

"What's your name?" I stopped to listen this time. My name? It took a moment but it came to me.

"...Lily. I think..." I told him quietly.

"Great. You have a last name Lily? And why are you laying alone in the middle of a junk yard a thirty miles out of town?"

I blinked. My last name? I don't know...I think it might have started with a 'P' but I'm not sure... I glanced around myself. I didn't realize I was in a junk yard, but I see it now. All the garbage and old furniture tossed about in random piles. I didn't know how I got here any better than they did. I started crying again. I then squeezed my eyes shut and fell. Just collapsed. I never hit the ground. Someone caught me. Someone with soft hands.

I let sleep take me.


When I woke up next I was in a flat. A place called 221B on Baker street. That's what they told me. Sherlock and John were there names. They were flatmates. Sherlock solved crimes and John blogged about them. There was something about how those two worked together, just how they functioned side by side that I found beautiful and fascinating.

Sherlock was a genius. He really was. I saw him in action a few times in the past few days that I've been here and let me tell you; He can tell you what you ate for dinner by the color of your shoes. He's that good. Which is why it is so funny that he still hasn't figured me out. No one has. John has deducted that I have amnesia (thank you captain obvious.) but aside from that, we don't know anything other than my first name. And there are a million Lily's on the planet.

"Lily…" Sherlock held my hand in his, gently. I sat in his chair among his cozy mess of books and loose sheets of paper in his homey flat. He knelt at my side, boring his curious grey eyes up into mine. I adored that face. The one he made when he didn't quite understand what was before him, what was going on. And he very very rarely didn't know. That much I do know.

But I was stumping him. Me. I had amnesia, I didn't even know who I was. But I couldn't be that interesting.

"Who are you?" he ran his thumb over the back of my hand. I didn't even know the answer to that. Sherlock and John found me laying in a junk yard a few days ago, and I had no memory of where I had come from, what had happened to me, or anything about myself other than my first name.

I had to keep reminding myself what was going on around me. I had to make sure I didn't forget what little I had to hold on to.

"Yes, who are you? Lily...you really must be someone to get this machine to have feelings. haha." John sipped his tea while reading the paper in his chair.

I remembered that day they found me, his soft, warm hands pressed against my face.

"What?" Sherlock threw a puzzling look towards John, still stroking my hand. John tipped his head to the side, setting down his tea.

"Oh, my. You, Sherlock, are immune to your own feelings." He pointed a finger at Sherlock's chest.

"What?! I most certainly am not!" His fingers clenched and un-clenched around my raised his eyebrows.

"Alright," John stood and placed his hands on his hips. "alright then Sherlock. Then please tell miss Lily how you feel about her." My heart did a little flip in my chest and I felt my whole body heat up. Sherlock stuttered as his cheeks flushed with pink. He dropped my hand back into my lap and stood up to face John. He looked him square in the eye as he spoke.

"You're one to talk." He said gruffly.

Why can't Sherlock just face me instead of getting defensive?

"Wha-what ever are you talking about?" John stuttered.

"You know very well what I'm talking about. Last night when you thought I was asleep-"

"But...Hey!" John protested.

"Really, John, you should find a better way to ask her out for tea than talking to your mirror. Its way to obvious. If you really didn't want me to know about you're social life then you really shouldn't talk about it out loud." Sherlock said.

"But, Sherlock, that's different. Can't you see that you and Lily-" John started.

"Lily and I are none of your concern!" he growled. Then he stormed out of the main room and into the back.

John, startled at Sherlock's sudden out burst, looked at me. I could feel the tears pooling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over my cheeks. Why couldn't he just say it? I was angry now. Why can't you say it?! I screamed from inside my head, throwing a silent tantrum. The front door of the flat swung wide open by itself and then slammed shut with a tremendous BAM! John jumped and my eyes went wide.

"What the-" He began. A tea cup was sent flying across the room and shattered when it met the wall. John shrieked a girly shriek and ducked his head. I did that. I know it. Sherlock stalked back out.

"My goodness, John, you don't have to throw a fit. This isn't the first time I-"

A tea cup was sent flying towards his face. "Shut-up!" I screamed inside my head. His eyes went wide just as the cup was just about to hit him square in the forehead.

"No!" I yelled. And just as soon as I had opened my mouth, the cup turned into a large marshmallow at the last second, making a soft pluff when it made contact with Sherlock's lush curl covered forehead. Sherlock gasped and stumbled backwards mumbling.

"But...no...how? That just...No! That completely goes against the law of...What?! I-I don't. understand! That's impossible! Not possible..." he stuttered over and over again.

I looked at him, "Sherlock...I'm sorry." he squinted at me.

"That was me...I did that I think... Somehow. With my mind." I tried to explain as best I could to the babbling genius. But apparently I didn't do that well enough because the famous Sherlock Holmes passes out right then and there.

John and I fanned at his face for thirty minuets before deciding to splash water on his face, after which, he was on his feet, dazed.

He let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. It was just a dream. I had the weirdest-" he stopped when I made a crumpet levitate just above his nose. He screamed. "AH! It wasn't a dream! Oh, heavens!" his precious face had never looked so frightened, lost, or confused.