Ever since she met them, well if that could be called meeting someone in a proper way, John and Sherlock visited her in the coffee shop quite a few times. Especially the next few days after the first visit, because John still had a sore throat. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes with Sherlock. Most of the time it was only John that talked. The 'idiot' fiasco when she couldn't remember that she has seen the doctor probably still lingered in the detective's mind.

Yes. She knew that he was a detective. They one mentioned solving a case so she naturally asked about it. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed in a rather obnoxious way before telling her that he was the only consulting detective in the world and that he invented the job. After hearing the tone in which he said it, she didn't even dare to ask him what the 'consulting' part was about.

She couldn't say that they were friends. No, they were not. Maybe an acquaintances. But nothing else. The polite words they have exchanged while they waited for her to finish the tea were mostly without any importance or familiarity.

There for she was really confused when she got a text with a suspiciously familiar initials at the end.

Bring tea to 221B Baker Street.

SH

.

im working now. cant b

.

Then bring it after work.

SH

.

which kind b

.

Lapsang souchong. Don't over-brew it.

SH

.

is it a dog breed b

.

Your ignorance of tea flavours is astounding.

Why did they even let you work there?

Make it ginger tea, then.

SH

.

ok. be there at 4 b

.

Would writing with punctuation and capital letters kill you?

My eyes hurt from reading it.

SH

.

no. its too hard. how did get my number anyway b

.

That is of none importance.

Bring those biscuits as well.

SH

.

She waved to Cara, her co-worker as she closed the door after her clumsily, just with one hand. In the other she had cup of freshly brewed ginger tea ready for Sherlock. After those texts she wondered what in the world made her agree to bring him tea. But it was a meaningless question really. She looked forward to them every day and was disappointed when they didn't come today. She was quite fascinated with them both, not just Sherlock.

Thankfully, the address he gave her was about 5 to 10 minutes from her home, making it easier to justify her decision.

The golden letters shone on the dark door as she stood before it. She was quite nervous, clutching the still hot cup in her hands. After a few seconds staring at the knocker, she raised her hand and knocked a few times with it.

She didn't hear any footsteps coming closer. She was scared to knock any louder, so she waited patiently, hoping someone heard it.

Her wishes became true when an old lady opened the door. "Oh hello." She said, apparently surprised to see her on the doorstep. "Are you here for Sherlock?" She asked.

The girl cleared her throat, and lifted the cup in the air between them. "No.. Well yes I am. I brought him tea." She said.

The lady stepped aside, motioning with her hand for the girl to come in. "I'm Ms Hudson. The housekeeper. He's upstairs." She said in a hushed tone.

"He has been exceptionally unpleasant today. He always acts like a small child when he is sick." She complained, putting her hands in a prayer like position.

"May I go upstairs then?" She asked. She wanted to get rid of that hot cup as soon as possible. And she couldn't take long, because her parents would worry and definitely would want an explanation to where she was. And she truly didn't need that.

"Are you sure you want to go there alone?" Ms Hudson asked concerned, her eyes glancing at the staircase. "Such a little thing as you. He is really not nice today." It was nice, really, the concern. But she didn't know where that little thing came from. She was at least 5 or 6 inches taller than her, even taller by a bit than John.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'll be just fine. Upstairs is it?" She asked, her feet already on the first stairs.

Ms Hudson nodded, sighed and went to her flat shaking her head.

The girl knocked on the open door to the flat, before entering. She looked around, her eyes jumping from one place to another.

"There you are." Said a deep voice from her left side. "Took you long enough." Sherlock commented.

The girl turned around and saw him sitting behind a table, his eyes lost to the wonders of a microscope. He sat in a kitchen, well, she thought it was a kitchen. It looked more like a mini lab, with different vials and beakers all around the place.

"I'm not late." She protested weakly, adjusting the bag on her shoulders. "Where can I put the tea?" She asked.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes and shook his head a bit. He stretched his hand, finally looking at her. She stopped in her movements, if she were moving at all before and stood there.

After the shortest moments of short moments as his eyes looked her up and down, he stood up walking towards her. "Obvious." He said quietly, probably just to himself.

She handed him the cup and started searching the bad for the biscuits. "I don't have a lot of those biscuits you asked me for. You know, people actually"

"I don't care." He said, interrupting her rudely, sipping on his tea.

She stopped searching for the biscuits and withdrew her hand from her bag. She was a tiny bit insulted.

"How did you get my number?" She asked.

Sherlock sat down on a grey armchair with a huff, letting her stand in the middle of the room. "From your phone." He said.

"I don't remember giving you my phone." She said, her hand subconsciously creeping to the pocket of her bag, where she put it.

"You left it on the counter. You were making tea, John wasn't looking so I saw the opportunity." He said, shrugging his shoulders, the tight material of the shirt he was wearing reaching its limits. "Who does save their number as 'Aaaa' in their contacts?" He asked with furrowed brows, taking a sip from the tea.

"Well I do." She admitted, seeing no problem with it. She couldn't' remember her number when she got it, so she solved it by saving it as the first number to pop up on the contacts.

"Stupid." He said under his breath. "And what was that 'b' supposed to mean?"

"It's Bryony. My name." She said, crossing her arms on her chest. She was starting to feel silly and ridiculed. But she knew what she was getting into. Ms Hudson gave her a fair warning.

"That's a stupid name. Who would give their child a name like that?" He asked rubbing his eyes with his hands.

"You're the one to talk." She muttered under her breath, her mind almost set on leaving but she saw how Sherlock put his head in his hands. Just then she noticed the pale waxy shade of his skin and the pink tinge on his cheeks. Ms Hudson did say that he was sick.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asked him, a bit concerned, stepping closer to him.

He waved his hand at her upon hearing her footsteps. She dodged it and crouched next to him, not giving a thought to any personal space boundaries he could have and put a hand on his forehead.

"Sherlock, you are burning up!" She exclaimed looking at him worriedly.

"I noticed." Came his sarcastic remark, but he still continued sitting in the chair. Well that was about to change.

After few minutes, Sherlock found himself laying on the sofa, covered with a blanket. Oddly enough to Bryony, he didn't even protest. After putting down her bag, she went to the kitchen to hunt for a cloth to soak in cold water.

"My God, Sherlock. What are you doing?" She recognized the voice as John's.

She went to the room with a dripping cloth in her hands. "He's sick."

John looked at her, taken back by her presence. He looked at Sherlock, then back at her, but didn't ask any questions.

"Hi." He greeted her and she waved at him shyly in return. Bryony went to Sherlock and put the cloth in his hands. It felt weird to her, taking care of a virtually strange man, but not as weird as she would have thought.

"You never get sick." John said, hiding the amusement in his voice poorly.

"I don't." Came back Sherlock's reply. "But you sneezed at me when you were." He sneered at him and slapped the cloth on his forehead, droplets of water flying all around him.

John couldn't help himself but laugh out loud openly. Sherlock looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You find this funny?" He asked incredulously.

A phone started ringing in the room. Bryony widened her eyes and ran to her bag. She cursed quietly when she saw a missed call from her mom. She picked up the bag, her sweater and went to the door.

"I have to go. Have a nice day." She said, until her back hit the wall behind her.

"You too." Said John smiling at her.

When she touched the first step of staircase, she shouted. "You're welcome Sherlock." All she heard in return was a grunt. Well, even that was something.

When she was at the door, Ms Hudson nowhere in sight, she heard a sneeze and John's loud laugh.

Sherlock sneezed and she couldn't help herself, but to laugh as well as she shut the door behind her.

.

.

.


Hi!

:) Well, I decided to make this longer.

I was, and still am, a bit apprehensive of this idea that I am writing. I'm not sure if you will like it. The girl, Bryony is too young to be Sherlock's love interest. Is too boring and shy to be really cool. And lives a mundane life, so she doesn't have any 'grave secret' or 'dark past hunting her'. I wanted to write a story about a girl, that is normal like us behind the computer screen meeting someone so extraordinary as Sherlock and to see how her life will change after that.

A big thanks goes to cathernatural.812 for giving me a 'green' in writing this :)

So, let me know if you are interested in reading more, if you like it, hate it. Thanks a lot.

Klaudia