Hello anyone who will actually read this! I just want to give you few warnings before you read any of this. :) First, English is not my first language and I am very likely to make a lot of mistakes, so bear with me please. Second, this is my first fanfic ever. So about this story... there's been a little idea in my head for over a year now actually. I had it planned, but I was never brave enough to write it down. So when I started reading fanfics on this site I was so surprised to see that my story was a big combination of elements from every story I have read here with Sherlock x OC. So here goes nothing, my first (and possibly last) try ever. Enjoy!)(I don't know if I need to put this here, but none of this is owned by me (except my OC), every right goes to BBC Sherlock and A.C. Doyle.)

Chapter 1. My job is a little confusing

It was a windy evening in the very heart of Britain. A young woman ran along the street with a grey coat swinging behind her. The wind blew her blonde hair right into her face and she couldn't see a thing with her light blue eyes. She stopped for a second, swore and removed her hair from her face. The woman quickly looked around as if she was looking for something. Well, in fact, she was. Her eyes flickered around the buildings nearby. When she finally found what she was looking for, she trotted towards the building of her interest. An ordinary London citizen would just walk by, maybe they would just wonder what are so many police cars doing in a nice city block like this. But the woman was not an ordinary London citizen. In fact, she was not from London. She slowly ascended up the stairs into the building, because the door was opened. When she finally arrived in the destination she was looking for one of the policemen approached her.

„Miss, you can't be here, this is a crime scene. You need to leave immediately."

„Well I would know, since that's why I'm here. But thanks for the heads up, now get out of my way," she winked at him and made her way into the apartment of the poor man whose death she was called in about. Eddie Van Coon. A banker, reportedly he commited suicide and she was here to close it up. Well, actually she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her friend, who asked her to look at this, since she was in the city for today. Sarah Winston would not be asked to see such an oblivious case of suicide. But her friend from Scotland Yard itself said this might be an interesting one since one other person had interest in it, but she didn't catch their name.

She looked around the flat and scrunched her nose while thinking. Lost in thought she bumped into a small blonde man trying to find the dead body. Apologizing, she got to the bedroom of said dead man. She saw the body, lying on the bed, his eyes wide open with a gun in his right hand. Hold on. She squinted her eyebrows at that little detail. There's something not right about thi-

„And who are you? Miss, please step away from the body now." Quite a young man walked into the room with a confused face. Trying to get Sarah out of the way. Sarah looked at him with eyebrows way up high in her hairline.

„Oh sorry, I was just looking at the body. I am supposed to meet DI Lestrade here? Is he around?" The policeman looked at Sarah with annoyed face.

„No, he's busy, I am in charge. What are you doing here anyway? Why did Lestrade send for you?"

„The name's Sarah Winston. I am here to look at the body. You could say I'm a forensic psychologist. I was supposed to look into this apparent suicide, but I'm not so sure it actually is a suicide. I don't know why just yet. Still trying to figure out that bit," she chuckeled lightly, but the policeman didn't seem amused.

„Oh, really? The door was locked from the inside and the gun is in the man's hand, so I very highly doubt it. It was nice of Lestrade to send his friend, but we don't need your help, we've got our own people on this. So thank you and goodbye," he waved her off and Sarah just slowly paced out of the room with her mouth wide open. Who the hell does that police officer think he is? Still enraged about the small capacity of said man's brain she bumped into the same short man again.

„Oh sorry again, I didn't see you there." Sarah forcibly smiled at him and she noticed, he was standing next to a tall man with dark curls, who noticed her too. His ocean eyes looked all over her like huge scanner. Both men weren't dressed as policemen, just as Sarah was not. The smaller man smiled.

„It's all right, the place is crowded right now, so really nothing happene-

„You're not from the police," said the taller man, his eyes still fixated on Sarah. She looked from the smaller man to the tall one. She felt so strange under his sight. Like under thousands of reflector shining right at her. She answered slowly.

„No, I'm not. But I think neither of you are with the Yard as well."

„In fact, you are not from London at all, are you? What's that? Liverpool? Why would you be interested in this? A psychlogist, am I right? You didn't know the man, you came because of the so called suicide." Completely ignoring her answer he tilted his head a bit to the side awaiting answers to his new questions. Sarah just stood there in shock. Who is this man and how does he know where she lives? All she was capable to do was stand still with her eyes wide. That's where the short man stepped in.

„Sorry, he's always like that. And you were right, we're not the police. I am John Watson and this is my colleague Sherlock Holmes." He smiled apologetically and pointed to the tall man, Sherlock Holmes.

„Sarah Winston. A pleasure to meet you I guess." Sarah looked over to Holmes, who returned to just staring at her without any sign of stopping. „So colleagues? And what exactly do you do?" John opened his mouth to answer, but Sherlock was faster.

„I am a consulting detective. The only one in the world. When the police are in need of help, which is always, that's where I step in. Like right now, I am working so if you just see yourself trough the door, I don't think your help as a forensic psychologist is needed. Bye!" He faked a smile and waved her off. As you could probably say, Sarah was just about done with all the men waving her off today, so it was her time to make things clear.

„I don't think so." That caught Sherlock's attention. He turned around to see her with a raised eyebrow.

„I know that this is not a suicide. It was quite obvious to me the moment I stepped into the man's bedroom. Couldn't figure out why, but now I know. Also, for your information I am not a forensic psychologist. My job's a little confusing. I studied criminology and psychiatry and I occasionally help with cases the police can't quite crack. So no, I am not walking away from this crime scene, because I am interested in it just as you are. Are we clear Mr. Holmes?" Sarah looked defiantly right into the man's eyes. He seemed a bit surprised by her answer. John Watson stood just staring back and forth at Sherlock and Sarah. Sarah expected anything else, maybe an insult, but instead Holmes said something completely different.

„Well I think that you should stay then. You might help me prove a point to these oblivious idiots, who still think that this is a suicide. What do you say, miss Winston?"

„I kindly accept your offer Mr. Holmes. Erm... sorry for bashing out, but these people are starting to get on my nerves." Sherlock snorted and smirked as he started walking towards the bedroom with John and now Sarah close behind him. Sherlock squatted down by a suitcase on the floor and looked trough the contents.

„Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He said as Sarah squatted beside him. „Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it," he looked up at John.

John made a grimace. „Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

„Problem?"

„Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around som bloke's dirty underwear."

Sherlock stood up. „Those symbols at the bank - the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

„ What, some sort of code?"

„Obviously."

Needless to say, Sarah was lost to this conversation. „What graffiti? What are you two on about?"

Sherlock sighed and turned towards her. Perhaps he could use her help outside proving a point to these idiots on the crime scene. „I was called in today into a bank. They had a break in. Nothing stolen, just yellow graffiti sprayed in a way only few people could see it. The graffiti was meant for this man and now he's dead. I found the body. Clear enough?" He didn't wait for answer, instead he started looking closely at Van Coon's legs, he moved up and looked inside the man's jacket.
„Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use email?" he asked - probably himself but John answered.

„Well, maybe he wasn't answering."

That was when Sara joined in. „So he was being threatened?," she asked.

„Oh good. You follow."

Sarah nodded, but John didn't seem to be getting it just yet.

„No."

Sherlock and Sarah threw him a look and Sherlock moved on to examine Van Coon's hands, while Sarah leaned in closer to observe what he was doing.

What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid? What about this morning - those letters you were looking at?," he asked John.

„Bills."

Meanwhile, Sherlock opened Van Coon's mouth and pulled out a small black origami flower. „Miss Winston was right. He was being threatened." He looked over to Sarah who gave him a small smile.

John threw them a look. „Not by the gas board," he joked. That was when she and the two men heard the voice of a police officer coming to the bed room.

„Bag this up, will you. And see if you can get prints off this glass."

Sherlock turned and walked right towards the said man. „Ah Sergeant. We haven't met yet." He offered him a hand to shake, but the young officer did not take it.

„Yeah, I know who you are. And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence," he said. Then he looked over to Sarah. „And what are you still doing here?"

But Sarah did not answer, she just schrugged and looked over to Sherlock.

„I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?" Sherlock asked.

„He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." The three of them share a surprised look and followed Dimmock into the living room.

„We're obviously looking at a suicide," Dimmock said.

„That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John agreed.

Sarah rolled her eyes, now that she knew what was off about this man's death. He was left handed. She noticed when she saw the position of the things in the living room. Most of them on the left side to reach. Sherlock turned to Dimmock.

„Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it," he said.

„Like?" Dimmock acked.

„The wound was on the right side of his head," Sarah stepped in.

„And?"

„Van Coon was left-handed." Sarah grinned victoriously.

Sherlock pretended to try to point a gun to his right temple with his left hand. „Requires a bit of contortion."

„Left-handed?"

„Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around his flat. Miss Winston here did and it's not even her job to do so." He pointed to the table by the sofa.

„Coffee table on the left-hand side, coffe mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left hand-side of the phone because he picked it up with his right hand and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?"

Sarah was impressed. Sherlock Holmes definitely saw way more than she did, but that did not stop her from being proud of herself for noticing that little detail.

„No, I think you've covered it," said John tiredly. Evidently he was way used to this. Sarah smiled.

„Oh, I might as well. I'm almost at the bottom of the list. There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highely unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explnation of all the facts," Sherlock said obviously very satisfied with himself.

„But the gun, why..." Dimmock started.

„He was waiting for the killer, because he'd been threatened," said Sherlock while putting on his coat, scarf and gloves.

„What?"

„Today at the bank. Sort of a warning," John answered.

„He fired a shot, when his attacer came in," Sherlock stated.

„And the bullet?"

„Went trough the open window."

„Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!"

„Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain was not fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

„But if his door was locked from the inside how did the killer get in?"

„Good! You're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock turns to John and Sarah and gestures them to follow him and leaves. Sarah stood there just looking at the consulting detective walking away. She only met this man and he invited her to solve this crime without actually getting to know her. Was she going to do this? Go on a crime solving spree with two men she just met? She turned back to face the crime scene. This. This was what she really liked doing. The crimes and criminals and their reasons behind the crimes. That was what she lived for. Okay, deep breath. She turned to the exit determined to find out everything she could about those two. Sarah quickly followed John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. The fun was about to begin.

Sarah stepped out of the building and she immediately caught up with Sherlock.

„So, we're doing this?"

„Doing what?"

„Well, we've only just met. And now you're just taking me with you god knows where?"

„Problem?"

„Oh, that's exactly what happened with me too. Don't worry about it that much. But let me know if you want to punch him in the face, because I want to be there to see it," John joked.

„Well alright then Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson. Lead the way I guess."

„It's Sherlock. Just call me that, I don't really like the whole formalities thing."

„Yeah me neither, so please call me Sarah then."

„And I'm John, so there..." he said awkwardly.

Sherlock smirked. „Alright Sarah, let's not stall any longer, shall we? Taxi!"