Over the next week, I learn from Molly that the crazy man is Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective with evident sociopathic tendencies. John Watson, the other man who was here with him, is his ex-army-Doctor flatmate. How he puts up with that arrogant man is beyond me.

But yes, Molly says that he comes in every now and again to run his own experiments, instead of waiting for the police to give him results.

Obviously, which I pointed out with a giggle, Molly has a crush on him. A massive one. Like, she would jump off a cliff if he told her to. That much of a crush. Why would she want to be with a man who's that rude and arrogant? Molly says he's brilliant. I doubt she thought he's brilliant when he makes her feel like dirt on his shoe. Personally, I don't see the appeal.

Today, I've just finished work and I'm walking to my sister's house.I'm earlier than we agreed. I wish I hadn't bothered saying I'd go to hers tonight – why am I giving up a cup of tea and back-to-back episodes of Big Bang Theory to be criticized by my elder sister? We've never gotten on, I'll admit that. She was the golden child, and I was the quiet and shy sister who wanted to become a scientist. My parents were much more proud of her than I could ever hope them to be of me. I don't resent her for that – I'm not one of those people who blame their current misfortunes on lack of attention from their parents – but I'm still the same girl I used to be.

Anyway, I'm just making sure all the buttons on my coat are done up. I'm about to take it off in two minutes, but my sister's really picky on my clothes.

A slight frown appears on my face while I stare at my flat pumps while walking. I'm scared as to what she'll say over my appearance – hair, the small amount of make-up I wear, my clothes, my doormat?: the woman will pick on anything.

Nevertheless, she's my sister and I'm hoping that she says all these things because she cares for me, not because she's a total bitch. Which, let's face it, she kind of is.

For some reason, that man Sherlock Holmes pops into my mind. Out of nowhere, I begin wondering whether he would put up with that kind of criticism. Would he sit back and just nod along, or would he defy them? Maybe it's because of my first impression of him as being arrogant and bluntly honest that's made me spontaneously think of him.

-BANG-

My nose and forehead hit something hard, and I've realized that I've just knocked into someone. And not a nice someone, evidently. When I look up with wide-eyes, rubbing my forehead slightly, I meet big brown eyes narrowed in hostility and annoyance. Instantly, I step back, timidly shrinking back into myself.

But the eyes change. Why do the eyes change? But they go from being plainly angry and murderous, to shock, to a confused yet happy expression. It's as if he's had some sort of confused revelation shown to him – my face. I don't understand. Then again, I don't understand much when it comes to men. But surely this change in emotion isn't normal, right? Do all men do this when you run into them?

My eyes widen even further, but I give him a shy half-smile when his eyes twinkle and he smiles at me. I don't meet his eyes for very long, I'm not very good with looking strangers in the eye. He has dark brown hair, is in a suit, and is actually kind of... odd-looking. He's rocking the puppy-look.

"Hello, sorry about that," he says with a smirk, eyes trained on me.

He has a bit of an Irish accent. It's a deep voice, but maybe the Irish accent makes it seem more chirpier than most mens.

"I wasn't looking where I was going, sorry," I back off apologetically.

"Nonsense, it was entirely my fault. I have a beautiful-woman radar and should have detected you," he flirts, with a small wink and a quirk in his eyebrow.

I can tell I start blushing furiously. I hate my paleness, but hopefully it just looks like I have blusher on. I highly doubt it, as from the corner of my eyes as I smile embarrassedly at the floor, his smile gets wider.

"Bethany."

My sister's call surprises me, and my head tilts back up with a bit of a rapid movement. I notice that this man has just exited her apartment. I sigh internally. Another one of her lovers, no doubt?

But then I notice that the man has paperwork in his hand, something entitled "Adler" - possibly he's just a business associate?

My sister stands at the top of the steps on her doorstep. Her arms are crossed and she's wearing a stern expression on her face. A contrast to me with brunette hair, at the age of thirty-two she looks rather like thirty-seven. Her make-up is perfect, as usual, but they can't hide her signs of ageing – faint wrinkles are seen through the make-up. She doesn't have any under her eyelids, and no crows-feet... she hardly ever smiles, you see, or laughs.

Like she always has done, my sister intimidates me, as if she's a stern mother – though she is in no sense motherly towards me, she remains as stern as the most harshest mother in the world.

I gulp slightly, and turn my head back up to this man again, smiling apologetically again before moving round him to climb the short steps to my sister. At my sister's shout, he had turned, surprised to find that I'm here on this street for her, not just a random passer-by.

"Bethany... beautiful name," he smiles up at me. His face is comforting – I see slight wrinkles around his eyes as he smiles.

I blush again, smile at him slightly, and continue up to my sister. She isn't happy, though her expression remains blank and stern. What's going through her head? I'm instantly worried that I've upset her somehow.

When she closes the door behind me, the man still stands, watching me with the remains of his last smile. When Anne turns back around to me, she frowns and says; "I thought I told you not to arrive early? I have meetings, you know, I can't have my younger sister horrifying my clients."

I'd like to point out that that particular client didn't seem horrified, but was flattering. However, I would get such a tormenting lecture about disrespecting her and talking back that I didn't bother.

Now I've found out why she's so annoyed by my meeting him – I embarrass her. No leading lawyer, with degrees in both Management and Law, would want their younger sister around in case they embarrassed them.

But what files did she give him? Clients don't normally come to her house – they all go to her office. And they never leave with paperwork, my sister is a big fan of faxing – saves ink, money, and in case her client loses it. I know she deals with some private case, giving secret and confidential information to those who paid for her services, but that's about it.

I've only just sat down, after Anne scolds me for my choice of coat, when I realize that the man knows my full name – Bethany Hopkins, my surname due to my sister's business-card – but I don't know his.

I've never not known someone's name when they know mine. But this man intrigues me, and I don't know why. The puppy-eyed look? Possibly. And the flattery, which I lack a lot of and don't know how to deal with.