Even Sociopaths Need Blankets

Chapter 1

Olivia thanked the cabbie as she carted all three of her suitcases onto the path outside of 221B Baker St, struggling to move them all at once as well as the large bag slung over her shoulder. She eventually righted herself and managed to meet the door marked 221B, using the golden knocker in an attempt to get someone's attention.

This attempt didn't go unnoticed, as the door was answered in no time by the friendly face that Olivia knew as Mrs Hudson, who was currently donned in baking mitts. She removed them as she beckoned Olivia inside. "Olivia! Come in, come in!" She ushered before seeing the trouble Olivia was having with her luggage. "Boys! Come down here and help Olivia with her bags." She called up the stairs.

It was only a moment before heavy footsteps came down the stairs and Olivia noted that the man before them was slightly shorter than average height, though the way he held himself radiated an air of respect around him. While the rest of his face was blank, his eyes held a deep curiosity, and the wrinkles scratched across his face were the physical markings of the years of experience that life had shown him.

"John, dear, where's Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked the man as he crossed the last two steps and stopped in front of them.

John took a quick breath and released it with an almost wry expression. "Working." He said simply before extending a hand towards the woman before him. "You must be Olivia, right? The new tenant for the basement flat?" He asked for confirmation as Olivia took his hand. John already knew who she was, he was just asking to be polite and out of courtesy.

Olivia smiled a little and took his hand, shaking it slightly. "That's me." She glanced down at her feet for a second before looking back up at John. "It's nice to meet you." She said quietly, shifting her grip on one of her suitcases.

As they broke the handshake, John's gaze flicked down to the suitcases in her hands. "Ah, let me help you." He shuffled forward awkwardly, manoeuvring his way over to her and taking two of the suitcases as best he could. A minute more of awkward bumping into each other saw them finally downstairs and in the nearly vacant apartment, hands free of the weight of the suitcases as they gazed around at the mediocre furniture around them.

Olivia was slightly relieved to have discarded the suitcases and she turned back towards who was soon to be her landlady and her almost-flatmate. They'd be living in the same building, but not the same flat, so they would technically be flatmates. Or building-mates. Something like that.

"Oh, Olivia, I'm so happy to have you here." Mrs Hudson began, pulling Olivia into a friendly hug. "Now that we've finally gotten rid of that horrible damp patch, I've been trying to rent out this flat, but that silly Sherlock keeps driving everyone away!" She rambled. "Now, I know the furniture isn't the best, and the wallpaper is cheap and it's peeling in a few places, and the fireplace is quite dirty – I should've had that cleaned – but-" Olivia cut the older woman off with a shake of her head.

"It's… nice." She told her honestly. "And I've always wanted a fireplace. Not many people have them in Australia." She explained, glancing around and seeing that the wallpaper was, in fact, quite old and mucky. She'd have to see about getting it changed to something nice. Even just stripping the walls would make it better, she admitted, though she'd never say it in front of Mrs Hudson.

John, who was still standing uneasily beside the two women, spoke up now, shifting his hands in the pockets of the jacket he wore. "You're Australian?" He questioned, raising his eyebrows slightly before pausing, his eyebrows furrowing, and a somewhat thoughtful look on his face. "Now you mention it, you do have a slight accent." He mused.

Olivia nodded in response. "I was born in London, but I lived in Australian." She said simply. She didn't see the need for this total stranger to know the gritty details about her, and she didn't plan on telling him, certainly not until she got to know him better.

John replied with a simple. "Ah." Before yet another uncomfortable silence fell on the group, giving them all time to ponder.

Olivia wondered about what life on Baker St was going to be like. Was John a nice man? He seemed to be for now, but Olivia knew that a lot of people changed their colours when they got to know a person. Mrs Hudson seemed like she'd be a lovely landlady, quite a bit better than any others Olivia had met while she was apartment hunting, and Olivia already felt welcomed and content around the woman.

John, on the other hand, was praying for Olivia's sake. The girl seemed almost timid, and she was obviously quiet and shy. He was nervous as to how Sherlock was going to attempt to drive this one away; if he needed to attempt at all. In this world, Sherlock's personality alone could be enough to drive a man – or a woman – insane. But John liked Olivia. She seemed… Nice, he decided. Quiet, but nice.. Though he didn't dare get his hopes up, for Sherlock had crushed the resolve of many tenants over the past while, both the strong man and the rich woman, and even the lady with the cats.

Mrs Hudson's mind, above all else, was on the pie she had cooking in the oven at present, and as a buzzer went off in the woman's head, she figured it was time to leave Olivia alone to get acquainted with the apartment – well, better acquainted than she had been for the first few visits.

"Well then, John and I will be off for now, we'll let you settle yourself in. Come up and see me for tea whenever you're ready, dear, and you can meet Sherlock." Mrs Hudson prayed that the meeting would go well, since she did like Olivia, enough to hope that Sherlock would not scare her away as he had done to many others.

Olivia nodded in response and began moving her things further into the apartment as John and Mrs Hudson both left, and she took a better look around her new home. She had the basics; a bookshelf, a bed, a bathroom, a kitchen, a dining table, and a few other things that a rent flat would normally have. She just needed to get herself a couch or a chair, since as of yet she had nowhere to sit – beside her bed and the few chairs at the dining table.

The girl sat her suitcases down in her bedroom and her bag on her bed, which, surprisingly, already had a blanket on it, though there was no sheet. It was a good thing Olivia had brought one. Her mother's clever thinking, no less. Mothers were seriously the best for remembering things or thinking of those things that you would always miss or never think to take.

With that aside, Olivia began unpacking her clothes and putting them in the draws, a few shirts hanging in the wardrobe, and soon two of her suitcases were completely empty, save a few bathroom necessities that had yet to find a home. Olivia left the suitcases for now and decided she should go up to meet this "Sherlock" character, who she figured was a flatmate of John's. Mrs Hudson had introduced them as 'the two boys who live together upstairs'. Olivia found it odd that John hadn't seemed the least bit… Well, gay, but she figured that he was the more 'manly' half of the couple, so to speak. Most gay couples, stereotype or not, had two halves that fit together. Adam and Evan, no less.

Another thing Olivia wondered about was why Mrs Hudson and John had seemed so apprehensive of her meeting the man. She couldn't help her mind from wandering through several different possibilities, though she wasn't sure whether or not she'd ever manage to guess, or even come close. Perhaps he was a reclusive, or particularly scared around people? Maybe he was incredibly timid and shy, or even had some kind of personality disorder. Bipolar, maybe? Maybe he was- Olivia stopped herself there, not wanting to further insult the man – or at least, she considered her making guesses an insult in its own way.

As she made her way up the stairs, Olivia stopped short as a man suddenly spun around the corner and dodged her as he ran, full bolt, down the stairs. She managed to catch a big grin and a billowing coat before the front door of 221B was slammed shut and he was gone with a call of, "It's a case, John, a case!"

John came running, though not as enthusiastically as the previous man – who Olivia presumed to be the aforementioned "Sherlock" – down the stairs and narrowly stopped in front of Olivia, ducking around her with an apologetic shake of his head, slight exasperation seeping through his words. "Sorry, that was Sherlock. You know how he gets on a case- wait, no you don't." John stopped himself as he realised how natural it had become for him to be justifying his friend's actions, and he wasn't entirely pleased. If he along with Mrs Hudson – and even Mycroft, in some cases– kept babying him like this, he'd never learn about people. "Sorry." He apologized again before running out the door after Sherlock.

Olivia stood still for a minute as she took in what she had just witnessed. A case? Sherlock was with the police, then? A really, incredibly enthusiastic police officer? She shrugged to herself before continuing up the stairs and coming to be in front of Mrs Hudson.

"Ah, Olivia, dear, take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I've got some pie fresh out of the oven!" She gushed, gesturing to the small table before them as Olivia pulled out a chair for herself, happy to be off her feet after being on them for quite some time. The girl watched as Mrs Hudson put a slice of apple pie – that Olivia admitted smelled amazing – on a plate and set it, along with a tray of tea, complete with little teacups that looked like a slightly upsized version of a tea set Olivia had played with when she was younger, on the table before her.

"Thanks." Olivia said simply as she took a forkful of the pie and ate it slowly, revelling at the taste that was left in her mouth. Fresh apples, no doubt, and good ones too – that, and what Olivia would soon learn to be Mrs Hudson's brilliant cooking.

"No need to thank me, consider it a welcoming gift." Mrs Hudson replied modestly as she cleaned some dishes and washed the bench. "Though, don't expect me to wait on you, now. I'm not your housekeeper."

Olivia just smiled once more at the woman as she ate the last of her pie, pouring herself a cup of tea and resisting the urge to laugh at the tiny little teacups that felt as though they'd break in her hands. Back in Australia, they drank their tea from a mug, simply put. The British had a reputation for "fancying a spot of tea", though the Aussies had their equally annoying reputation of "throwing shrimp on the barbie", regardless of the fact that the preconceived idea was untrue, so reputations of countries, ultimately, meant nothing in Olivia's opinion – and probably the opinions of most.

There was only a minute of silence before Mrs Hudson spoke up, and Olivia quickly began to realise that the older woman was definitely one for small talk, though it wasn't annoying small talk. Some people can be terrible for that, and Olivia was undeniably not a small talker. She would much rather the peaceful atmosphere of silence – though silence could just as easily be uncomfortable.

"So, how are you liking the flat, dear? I hope the rent's not too high for you – I think it's a reasonable price, but-" Olivia shook her head to stop the erratic woman from taking the pointless chatter any further.

"It's absolutely fine." She said simply. "The price is fine for my budget; it's not too high at all." She assured. "And the flat's sweet, just what I wanted for my first flat in London." She confessed. Olivia hadn't told many people that she was looking to live in the UK – or, to go back there, but Olivia knew she wanted to go back home when she was older, and she had also planned to live in a nice, and perhaps even quaint, little place. It suited her better, personally.

Mrs Hudson looked relieved, though it was hard for many different emotions to seep through her wrinkled face; the woman always seemed to be wearing a smile, no matter what was being said or happening. She just has that kind, homely face in general, Olivia decided. And her eyes were always smiling. "Ah, good then. I'm glad you're settling in." She enthused as she continued cleaning up the small kitchen. "I do hope Sherlock likes you – though, it takes quite some time for Sherlock to warm to anyone. Goodness knows it took him a long time to warm for me." She went off once more. "When my husband-" At this point Olivia decided she could tune out without missing anything of mass importance.

Who was this 'Sherlock' person, and why exactly was it so important that the man liked her? She'd figured that he was John's flatmate, which did mean that they would all be, technically, living together, as she was just below them and in the same building, but Mrs Hudson was the landlady; why did Sherlock have any say over who rented the flat below him? It puzzled Olivia and she was deep in thought before she finally registered Mrs Hudson standing before her, leaning down slightly and calling out to her.

"Olivia, dear, did you hear me?" She was saying, her head cocked slightly and that ever-kind expression still resting on her face, slight concern etched into her brow. "Are you alright?" She continued, frowning a little more.

"Oh, sorry, what? I zoned out for a second." Olivia laughed awkwardly, but didn't have much time to feel the awkward atmosphere before Mrs Hudson had continued.

"You must have been deep in thought, then." The old woman proceeded to repeat herself, getting off the topic quite quickly. "I asked if you like the violin. You might hear Sherlock playing from time to time. It helps him think when he's on a case." She explained, not even giving Olivia a second to answer. "Though, I'm surprised he doesn't compose more often. I heard him playing a particular piece of his own that was just lovely, really."

Olivia nodded along with what she said; an indicator that she was still listening. She felt it necessary, considering she had just zoned out on the poor woman. "I do like the violin. I like classical music, and the more peaceful kind of music." Olivia explained, thinking over the music she most often listened to. She liked piano quite a bit, and while she had tried to learn the instrument a few times before, she could never quite get the hang of the whole two-handed thing. Olivia quickly asked the question she had wanted to ask for quite some time now. "You said it helps him think during cases? What does he do?"

Mrs Hudson's eyes flashed with admiration as she spoke of Sherlock, and it soon became apparent that she was quite fond of the man. "He helps the police out on cases from time to time. He's a genius, that man." She shook her head as she spoke. "Though he does get excited over the idea of murder. It's not healthy." She rattled. "And he doesn't eat properly and he shoots up my wall." She sighed.

Olivia was almost scared at this point. Excited at the idea of murder, not eating properly and shooting up a wall? Just who is this guy? Olivia wondered. The police don't go to random people for advice or help on cases. He had to have some relation to a police officer or something, she concluded. But from the sounds of what she had heard so far, the man seemed incredibly strange. And he was quite tall.

Olivia decided that it was about time she left Mrs Hudson to her own devices, and that she had better unpack the rest of her things before she got some much needed sleep. "Well," She began, standing as she picked up the plate that had previously held her pie, along with the cup she had used. The teacup, that is. "I should unpack the rest of my stuff. Thanks for the pie, it was delicious." She told the woman, who quickly grabbed Olivia's dishes from her.

"I'll take those." She said as she dumped them in the sink beside her. "No need for you to clean up. As you said, you should unpack your things. And get some rest, dear, you must need it after such a long flight." She rambled as she ushered Olivia out the door. "Let me know if you need help with anything, or if there's anything wrong with the flat!" She called as Olivia continued down the stairs.

The new tenant of 221C Baker Street laughed slightly at the woman's near-constant worrying. It was almost as if the entire world were her children, and she had to look after them all. "Sure thing!" She called before closing the door to her flat gently and looking around at the little place. It was nice, and just what Olivia had needed. The "typical Australian lifestyle" had never really suited her; she was always more of an indoors-y, 'stay-in-with-a-book' type rather than a partying type, and the picturesque little apartment was everything she could have hoped for to further encourage her own lifestyle. She loved her family to bits, but she wanted to get away from the noise for a while, and what better way to do it then to live over in the place she had been born in? At least, that was how Olivia saw it. The rest of her family seemed to think she had always been one of them – the domestic British people, that is – and that she had retreated back into her own world because they had been too much. Olivia didn't mind though; she knew they were half joking.

Those thoughts aside, Olivia smiled to herself as she continued unpacking everything she had brought with her, from photographs to her favourite pair of socks.

It was nice to breathe in the London air.

A/N: So, there it is! The much awaited Prologue and first chapter of my new story - Even Sociopaths Need Blankets! Thanks to Mayday Parade for finally giving me a title, even though it isn't perfect. I still like it :) Comes from the song, Even Robots Need Blankets.

Yay! So happy to finally share this with people :D I've planned much of this story. It's top priority with one other story, too, so eeekk! Better updates (hopefully).

Dedicated to Caity, because she got me into Sherlock, goddammit. Changed my life, you did!

Well, lemme know what you think! PLEASE DON'T BE A SILENT READER D: Meh. I appreciate you all :)

Thanks!