John had gone to fill up the fridge. Sherlock didn't see the point – the fridge was the place to preserve body parts, not food. That's what cupboards are for... well. Not really. Nevertheless, Sherlock was bored. He had been tipped off that a Sikh assassin would be over to repay Sherlock's debts. Sherlock didn't have any debts, which led him to be unsure as to why the person was visiting him, but he quickly remembered the case he had taken. Rather interesting. Body found, barely recognisable. Supposedly linked back to the Sikh government. Of course the case was handed to Mycroft. Mummy always did prefer him. Conceited woman. This was why Sherlock was perched upon his favourite swivel chair, waiting for the assassin worth.

Sherlock tilted his head up and cocked it to the side inquisitively as a miniscule sound came from the roof. He could barely hear it, but the padding of feet was inescapably there. Young, female, slight in build. Obviously. A man, even a well trained one, would not be so light their feet, and an experienced assassin would know not to walk across the centre of a roof – considering that's where the foundations are weakest, and that roofs creak in the Baker St. area of housing. Sherlock had been up there earlier in the week when John had said it was going to rain. Foolish man, the air wasn't heavy at all, and there wasn't a cloud for miles. Need-less to say, that day hit record high temperatures for a British winter.

Another slight creak was heard. Sherlock stood and spun his chair in an exuberant fashion. A total of 5 seconds passed, when she burst from behind Sherlock. He barely had time to turn and block her lethal-looking blade, before she attacked. He blocked, she attacked. The two appeared to be dancing, in a somewhat rough manner. The girl kicked out and knocked Sherlock back on to the table. Sherlock managed to roll away just in time before the knife landed - gashing Mrs. Hudson's finest teak table. Sherlock managed to push back, catching a glimpse of her face. Petit features; brown hair, regularly dyed a variety of colours; scar running along hairline; tanned. She appeared to be no older than 20. Though his though process took no longer than a second, she used it to her advantage. Sherlock found himself rolling around on the carpet with the assassin aiming bitter blows. The girl managed to get Sherlock on his back, straddling him, with her knife to his throat. Sherlock smiled briefly. If only John were to have walked in now. He caught her eye. She faltered. His took this opportunity.

"You're twenty one. You live alone, have done only for a few years though. You were for the Sikh influenced Pakistan government and you hate your job. You've recently returned to Pakistan, however you then went on holiday somewhere cold, possibly and most likely Scotland. You're used to the cold. Otherwise you would have realised how little you have on when it's, what, 8 degrees centigrade outside."

The girl jumped back onto her haunches, shocked, before scowling. She spoke with a British accent, influenced by the Middle East.

"They warned me about you. They said you would try and distract me." She peered at Sherlock through narrowed eyes.

"Who? Your government? Smart people. Too smart for their own good," he quipped back.

The assassin smiled as she climbed off him, sliding her sword into its sheath. She sat cross-legged across from her target and smiled. Sherlock mimicked her pose and brushed off his suit. She spoke first:

"Someone finally agrees."

"Do you know why you were sent to kill me"

"Straight to the point, eh, Mr Holmes. You defaced one man and the country retaliated"

Sherlock nodded, but the smile that had inhabited his face fell,

"Was I right?"

"What?" The girl looked up at Sherlock, confusion written on her face.

"What I said earlier, was I right?"

"Well, I am twenty one. I do live alone. I do work for the Pakistan government. I don't hate my job, I just don't particularly enjoy it."

"And the holiday? What about the holiday?"

"I haven't been on holiday for years, but I have recently visited Pakistan. I live in England. Constantly posted. KBO"

"Damn!" Sherlock stood up and walked to his window, one hand on his forehead, one on his hip. He paced for a second before exclaiming,

"Damn, yes, I see now. Your accent. Too British. Surrey?" The assassin nodded as the detective pinned his gaze on her.

"So what's a nice Surrey girl doing working as an assassin?"

"Keeping herself alive." She answered solemnly.

There was a couple of moments of silence before Sherlock linked his hands behind his back. "Tea?"

"Um, no thank you... do you have hot chocolate?"

Sherlock chuckled, "Oh, I'm sure."

He walked to the door and stuck his head out. He let out a holler,

"Mrs Hudson? Do we have any hot chocolate?"

"Most likely" came her reply, as she bustled down from 221a.

"I'll find it for you deary, don't worry, but it's just this once - I'm not your house keeper."

A small, older lady entered the room, and went straight to the messy kitchen. Sherlock turned back to the girl, who was still sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Now you have your hot chocolate, might I have your name?"

"You've taken to trusting me rather quickly, Mister Holmes," the girl said smirking. Sherlock matched the expression as he looked down on her.

"Well I know everything of importance about you, and I'm sure you me, so we might as well accept that an acquaintanceship will come of this encounter."

The assassin raised an eyebrow and smirked, seeing straight though Sherlock's facade, but she did not speak. Sherlock's welcoming expression disappeared as though it was simply wiped off his face.

"Your loyalty to your country is noted, but if you co-oper-"

"Loyalty? NO!" The girl was instantly on her feet, but remained in the same spot. "No, my reluctance to share my name is purely logical! I'm a wanted criminal, an assassin, no less. And, you work closely with the police. I'm not an idiot, Mister Holmes" She exclaimed accusingly, " And I will not have you take me as one."

Sherlock stood for a moment. "How's that hot chocolate coming along Mrs. Hudson?" He called, keeping his inquisitive gaze on the young women in front of him.

"Well, but I swear Sherlock, this is the last time I'm doing this. I your land lady, dear, not your house keeper."

AN: Okay, thank you to everyone who told me it wasn't bad!

Thank you Lee, Ciara (Trust Your Instincts), and especially She Steps On Cracks, who is my new favourite person! Thank you so much for your message, I really appreciate it! And your story, Weighing His Words, is fantastic. I can't believe how jealous I am of your writing ability.

Anyway, I'm going away for a week, which should be a perfect writing oppo! Either way, I won't be updating for at least a week, so sorry in advance! OH! And thank you to Arlothia for subscribing!

mbm x