I'd like to say thanks to all of you that favorited and reviewed. It means a lot to me that you all like this story. Here's the second chapter. Enjoy!


Chapter Two

It certainly hadn't been Dr. Watson's intention to interrupt a dinner. Especially one between his less than tolerant flatmate and a woman. This was . . . weird. It was weird. John had no other word for it. I mean, they're only eating sandwiches, John thought as he shut the door behind him. Both sets of eyes looked up with marginal interest; one pair blue-gray, the other brown. John felt that he was intruding, despite the fact that he lived there. Rhianna smiled at him, and sent a, "Hi, Dr. Watson," as Sherlock jumped up from his armchair like he had been ejected from it by some invisible force.

"John!" he stated, a bit loudly. "I thought the movie lasted until eight."

Not changing expression, John calmly answered, "Yeah, well, it didn't go that well." He was preparing himself for one of Sherlock's barbs. They always came. You'd think his love life was the man's comic relief.

"Can't win them all, John. Besides, barbeque is always an instant turn off."

Roughly wiping the sauce from the corner of his mouth, the doctor irritatedly replied, "I don't come to you for dating advice, Sherlock."

The detective shrugged and walked into the kitchen, coming back with a cup of tea. "Tea if you want," he announced in John's direction, then sat back down in his chair.

With not so much as a glance toward that insufferable man, John marched into the kitchen. The tea was there, just as he said it would be, and he gladly poured himself a cup. Ugh. It had been a long day, and one which he didn't wish to reminiscence over. Trudging back into the sitting room, he took up post on the couch, silently sipping his beverage.

He didn't exactly know what to say in this situation. Rhianna was a nice enough girl, but he hadn't figured on finding her in his flat with Sherlock of all people. He hadn't even been sure if she would get the light bulb, much less a turkey and swiss. Maybe this was some twisted plot of Sherlock's. Was it to pay him back for throwing out his experiment on animal droppings (which, in his defense, should not be kept in the kitchen)? Did he plan to make extravagant deductions about the woman then send her running out the door never to speak to them again? That sounds like something Sherlock would do. Actually, it sounds like something he'd done before . . . .

"John?"

The doctor was jolted out of his thoughts by his flatmate's sudden exclamation. Trying to wipe the remaining remnants of shock from his face, he sat up straight and asked, "What?"

"Are you alright? You are unusually quiet."

"Yeah – er – I'm fine," he returned, eyes darting to the floor. As if for want of something to do, he brought his mug back to his lips and swallowed some more of the brown liquid.

Sherlock, much to John's relief, didn't press the issue. He couldn't just come out and say, 'Oh yeah, I'm just surprised you let someone in our flat to have some dinner instead of using them as a moving target for your gun.' Eventually though, Rhianna must have felt the tension and stood up from her seat.

"Thank you very much for the dinner, Mr. Holmes, but I'm afraid I have to get back to my room. Do you mind if I take that light bulb back with me?"

"There are some in a box in the cabinet under the sink," he explained, waving his hand in that direction.

"Thank you," she said before disappearing into the kitchen. She came back a few seconds later, bulb in tow. "Goodnight, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." And with that, she vanished into the hallway and down the stairs.

John and Sherlock sat there a little while longer without exchanging words before John spoke up.

"So, what was that all about?" he inquired, giving Sherlock a suspicious glance.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why did you let our new neighbor in for a sandwich dinner? You hate it when people who don't have a case for you come here!"

"I'd attempt to keep the noise at a minimum, John. She does live just below us, you know."

Eyes widening as he realized how loud he had been, he lowered his voice and stated, "That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't know what to tell you, John," Sherlock exclaimed, exasperated. "It's like you expect every good deed of mine to be the beginning of a devious plot."

"Because your good deeds aren't good deeds," he input. "They are manipulating gestures to help you get what you want."

"What could I possibly want from her?" Sherlock asked, getting annoyed by the barrage of questions. "If you feel so strongly about it, I won't speak with her again."

"That's not what I'm saying," John objected. He didn't want to discourage social interaction between his friend and other people. Actually, he usually wished he would at least try to get to know people better instead of just deducing everything about them and tossing them aside. However, thanks to the detective's wonderful acting skills, he could never tell whether he was sincere or not, and he did not want their new neighbor being preyed upon. "Just don't be mean to her, Sherlock."

"Don't be mean to her? You act as though we're in high school. Don't worry, I don't intend to 'be mean' to her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on my bacteria." Pushing himself out of his armchair, he strode into the kitchen.

"I can't believe you are growing that putrid stuff," John complained, downing the last of his tea.

"Rhianna thought it was interesting," Sherlock pouted, placing a slide under the microscope.

John had just enough sense to look surprised as he shot, "That's because she doesn't have to live with it." Though he said this as part of their usual banter, he couldn't help but feel slightly unsettled. Someone else who was interested in Sherlock's experiments and could spend time alone in his presence without being offended or cast out? Oh God. There were two of them.

)*(

The shallow light filtering through her window the next morning was enough to wake Rhianna up. It was notably earlier than she would have liked, so she attempted to go back to sleep. When that plan failed, she gave a short growl and flung back the covers, springing from the mattress. Fine then! She'd eat breakfast instead!

Luckily, she had also picked up some staple food items yesterday to put in her very tiny kitchen, which Mrs. Hudson told her was newly put together. It took up the left side of her room and consisted of a refrigerator, a sink, a microwave, and a stove. She supposed that was all that was needed for a kitchen, and didn't complain about it.

Taking a package of turkey bacon from the refrigerator, she slapped some on a plate and stuck it in the microwave. Next, plugging in the toaster she brought from home, she inserted two slices of bread and pushed down the lever. Soon her little room was filled with the smells of breakfast which made it feel a little bit more like an actual home. Well, as much as a single room can be a home.

She was just about to turn on the TV to see what was on until she remembered . . . she didn't have one.

"I'm really going to have to go shopping," she moped, slumping down on her bed with her plate of food.

Hurriedly, she ate her breakfast and got ready to, once again, go shopping. Since her room didn't have its own bathroom, she just brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink and did her makeup in front of the small mirror in her kit. She was done and out the door in forty minutes.

It didn't take long to find a cab to take her to the nearest electronics store. A TV was needed. Okay, well, it was more convenient than extremely important, but she was going to have to buy one eventually. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of a wide range of options, trying to find the most cost effective one. A wall-mountable one would be preferable, as her flat couldn't relinquish the floor space. Just as she was trying to decide between two choices that were on sale, a familiar voice called out to her.

"Oh, Rhianna, wasn't it?"

She turned around to see the young man that had given her directions at University walking toward her with a smile.

"Yes, it was," she replied. "Nice to see you again, Sean."

Striding up beside her, he gazed at the two TVs she was picking from and said, "The one on the right's the better one. It's resolution is top notch."

"Oh. Thanks. Then that's the one I'll get," Rhianna commented, about to pick up the box.

"Here, I'll get it for you," he offered, lifting it himself and placing it in her cart. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I wasn't planning on buying anything else, but I'm sure I'll find something I'm missing by the time I get back to the flat," she mused, thinking of all the absent conveniences she left back in America. She even started to think about her Himalayan cat, Shadow, who could not come with her on the trip overseas. Man, she missed that cat.

"Are you alright?" Sean asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

Blinking a couple times, she came back to her senses and nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, just started zoning out there, sorry."

"No problem. It must be hard, being in a new country and all."

"Well, it's not particularly easy, but no one's been an ass to me so far."

He laughed. "That's always a plus, I suppose. So, you headed back now?"

"Yeah. I'm going to try to mount this thing on my wall without killing myself or anybody else."

Smiling he offered, "I could help you. I'm from an all girl family, so I was the handy man of the house. This will take me no time."

"Are you sure? I hate to impose . . . ."

"It's fine. I'll just swing by with you and put it up. Should be done before teatime."

"When precisely is that?" she asked, cocking her head. "Do you guys designate a time for tea?" She knew her question sounded stupid, but there were a lot of things about this new culture that she was unaware of. Like slang for one. Apparently crisps were potato chips. Who knew?

"I'm using it as an expression, but there are people who have scheduled teatimes. In England's history tea was a major commodity, so there are different times for it. There's afternoon tea, which is done in the afternoon as the name states, or there is high tea which is more of a dinner thing."

"Amazing," Rhianna marveled. "Maybe they should schedule times to consume coffee in America."

"This late in the game I highly doubt it would catch on," he joked as they made it to the checkout.

Thankfully, the line was short, and they didn't have long to wait before they were tallied up and paid. Sean was kind enough to flag down a cab afterword, and in short time they were headed to Baker Street. Unfortunately, a traffic accident led the cab driver to take a different route, lengthening the drive to an annoying amount of time.

Rhianna was trying to contain her irritation when suddenly the car came to an abrupt stop, causing her to jolt forward and almost smack her head on the plastic screen before her.

"What on earth was that?" she hissed, looking over at Sean and then out onto the street. Sean gave a shrug, following her gaze.

"Is that the police?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"It would appear so," she commented, getting out of the car.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sean hollered.

"Where do you think?" she returned, cocking an eyebrow, her trademark sign of irritation.

"And what do you suppose to do?"

She shrugged. "Ask them what's so important that it has to stop traffic." Seeing his worried face, she sighed. "Don't worry. I highly doubt they'll arrest me for being curious." Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed toward the flashing lights of the police vehicles. Unable to sit still, Sean unbuckled and followed suit.

According to the signs, they were currently on Rossmore Road which was situated near Regents Park. Baker Street wasn't far, however, this new enigma proved to be much more stimulating than mounting a TV on her wall.

Strutting up to the police tape, she politely called out to the closest person, "Excuse me, ma'am. Could you tell me what's going on? Why has traffic stopped?"

The woman that turned to her was a slim African American with curly black hair that was left to hang around her face. She wore a long sleeved, collared white shirt with a black pencil skirt that stopped just above the knees, and black close-toed heels. Quite prim and proper, Rhianna thought as the woman walked over to speak with her.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" the woman questioned, looking the American over.

"Yes, I was just wondering why the traffic had been stopped. Was there an accident?"

"I guess you could say that," the woman answered vaguely. By now Sean had reached them, coming up behind Rhianna in a protective stance. "This your boyfriend?"

"No. He's a college friend. So what exactly did happen?"

"A man was found dead in one of those flats up there," she explained, turning and pointing at an apartment complex behind her. "Shot in the chest. The Yard's investigating it."

"I hope they make progress," Rhianna commented.

"That's awful," Sean added, peering up at the posh building. "He rich or something?"

The woman shrugged. "Couldn't tell you that. We just got here a moment ago, and I'm just trying to make sure nobody gets in that shouldn't."

"Well, I hope they catch the guy," Rhianna stated. She was about to get Sean and leave when a familiar voice reached her ears.

"What's going on?" a man asked.

"Murder. Don't know all the details yet. Hopefully it will be something at least mildly diverting. Rhianna? What are you doing here?"

The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked over inquiringly at the short brunette.

"I was just riding through the neighborhood. Are you on this case, Sherlock?"

"Lestrade just asked for me," the detective answered, holding up his phone. "I see you've met Sally."

She turned her attention to the police officer she had just been chatting with. The woman, whose name was supposedly Sally, did not look all too happy to see her neighbor and his flatmate. She imaged that wasn't too hard to conceive, as Sherlock treated almost everybody like a dispensable idiot.

"Don't tell me he called you in," Sally mumbled with a look of disdain.

"Sorry, Sally. It appears I'm needed yet again." That's when Sherlock noticed Sean standing silently off to the side. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"I'm Sean Mallory," he replied, holding out his hand. "Nice meeting you."

Sherlock looked at the hand as though it might jump up and eat him any second. Feeling awkward, Sean pulled it back to his side.

"You know Miss Arico?" Sherlock probed with an air of suspicion.

"Yes. I met her at the University the other day. We were just going to install a TV in her flat." Here he gestured to the waiting cab. "Are you a friend?"

"She's my neighbor. I live on the floor above."

Sally, who had been watching this little exchange quietly, smiled in amusement. "So you have a neighbor?" she chimed, grinning. "I wondered how you two knew each other. Is it hell living in the same building?" She directed this last question to Rhianna who looked a bit surprised by it.

"No," she answered truthfully. "It's fine enough."

After a moment of silence, Sean stepped forward and said, "Sorry for taking up your time. We'll just be leaving now. Come on, Rhianna."

She turned to follow when Sherlock called out to her.

"Pity. I was hoping to show you what I did for a living, as you seemed so interested in it when we talked the other day. I suppose it will have to wait until another time."

She froze in her tracks. That was so obviously meant to have her running back to him, but she didn't much care. Her curiosity in her neighbor was growing each day, and mysteries had always fascinated her. Surely Sean could install the TV without her?

"Sean?"

"Yeah?" he asked, stopping in his progression toward the cab. "What is it?"

"Could you install the TV without me? I mean, you don't need me there, do you?"

The man looked surprised, then an expression of contempt crossed his features when he glanced back at the detective behind her. "I suppose I could manage," he seethed. "Are you sure this is okay? There was a guy murdered in there, and your neighbor doesn't seem like the most reliable of people."

"It'll be fine. Dr. Watson will be with me. You don't have to install the TV if you don't want to. You could just drop it off at the address. I'm really sorry to do this to you, but I'm extremely interested in this business." She looked up at him with pleading eyes until he finally sighed in defeat.

"Fine. I'll drop the TV off. I guess I'll see you when the semester starts?"

"Of course."

After a goodbye wave, Sean was back in the cab headed to Baker Street. Turning on her heel, Rhianna walked back to her neighbor who was beaming in triumph.

"You needn't look so happy with yourself," she stated. "Now, you are going to show me, aren't you?"

"Of course! I did say that, didn't I?"

"Just making sure you weren't just trying to piss off Sean. You two took an instant hating toward each other."

"I take an instant hating to a lot of people," he responded.

"So I gathered," she muttered, looking over at Sally whose mouth was gaping like that of a fish.

"I'll go up an have a look now," Sherlock announced, ducking under the police tape. John did the same, and Sally lifted it for Rhianna. After she had done so, she pulled on the woman's sleeve.

"What is it?" Rhianna asked.

Sally looked over at the distancing backs of Sherlock and John before warning, "It would be in your best interest to stay away from that guy. He's a psychopath, and you won't want to be around when he gets bored with following the law."

She didn't much know why, but the comment of caution really vexed her. With a cocky arrogance, she turned to the officer and replied, "He's not a psychopath, he's a high-functioning sociopath. Now please release my arm."

Too stunned to talk, Sally retracted her grip and watched as the young American went to join the crime solving duo.

Damn, Sally thought. This couldn't be good.


Hey everybody! Thank you for all of your positive attention toward my story! I know the chapters are a bit short, but I try to make them as interesting as possible. So now Rhianna has met Sally Donovan and is about to embark on her first mystery with Sherlock. This could be fun. We also have Sean Mallory, college friend, in our story. He and Sherlock don't seem to get on. Was it just me, or did Sherlock seem a bit jealous? Well, only time will tell, and we all know he won't admit to it easily. Please feel free to review! I'll try to have the next chapter up soon!