A/N Hi! Thanks for giving this a go, especially if you are a fan of Sherlock Holmes.

This fic is intended to be an homage to the Holmes canon, the BBC's "Sherlock" and to some original stories written for BBC Radio 4 by the amazing Bert Coules, who did a fantastic job dramatising parts of the canon and writing up the cases mentioned in the stories which Conan Doyle never penned. Coules's "The Further Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes" is available on Audible and I would really recommend listening if you have a subscription.

I hope this fic doesn't feel like a blow for blow recreation of those stories (the connections are pretty loose in places), but if you're familiar with them I hope you will recognise the cases which inspire each chapter.

Thanks to lickitysplit for beta reading this story - I could not ask for a better collaborator and friend - and Tumblr's bertazsleepyhead for her unfailing encouragement and feedback. This is dedicated to you Ely. If you're a fan of Escalin and haven't already checked out her art, please please do!

Rain, light but insistent, settled over his clothes. Escanor sighed as he brushed water droplets from his jacket. It had been a year since he had trudged along these streets, eyes raking over the ground for signs of puddles and other mess to avoid, smelling the dust and the grime of the city. London had an atmosphere all of its own: joyous, exciting, frenetic almost, bursting with activity. But it had never seemed to include him. As he walked past shiny black doors and ornate silver knockers, an outsider amidst the obvious wealth, he felt his heart begin to sink. It was a long shot, this appointment.

The flat he was on his way to view was obviously too good for him. When Escanor had found the place, a flatshare at 221B Baker Street in one of the more salubrious parts of the city, his jaw had literally dropped. The rent looked far too good to be true; according to the website, everywhere else in the area was a least twice the price. As Escanor pulled up the collar of his coat in a failed attempt to ward off the rain, he wondered what the catch might be.

That was why he was here, on a drizzly Tuesday morning, to see the room he could by some miracle afford. He glanced at his reflection in one of the lower-ground windows of the apartments that lined the streets, heart sinking to see that he looked forlorn and dishevelled, his sandy hair limp, his limbs spindly and weak and his face radiating anxiety. He held out little expectation that he would be taken on as a tenant. Everyone looking for a place to rent in London must be swarming on the flat by now, and there was almost no one in the city with a worse appearance or worse prospects than him.

As he neared what must be the building in question, Escanor pulled up short, his feet skidding on the pavement. He could hear the sound of banging and shouting and, he jumped slightly on realising, even breaking glass. He looked up at the rows of windows, wondering what exactly he should do. The noises were definitely coming from 221B, and they definitely sounded violent.

He was on the point of reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone, wondering with some apprehension what it would be like to dial 999 for the first time in his life, when the door flung open and out stumbled a man. Escanor just about had time to register messy silver hair, a long, mustard coat, overly-broad shoulders and a face that could turn water to stone.

Then the man got to his feet and yelled at the top of his voice, "I hope you burn in hell. You… you… creep!"

To Escanor's dismay, the stranger began stomping down the street, seemingly ploughing straight towards him.

"Look out!" Escanor called, his voice high with panic. He jumped out of the way just in time before the stranger battered painfully into him, hissing a little under his breath. He dusted off his clothes, then looked up at the tall man who had stopped beside him, quaking a little to see the other had glaring, black eyes. He must be wearing contacts or something.

"Are you going there ?" the man asked unceremoniously as he pointed a long finger towards Escanor's destination.

Several possible replies flashed through Escanor's mind. It's none of your business. You owe me an apology. How dare you behave in such an inconsiderate way. But instead he found himself stuttering, "Y-yes. I… um… have an appointment to view the room."

"Then I can save you the trouble. Don't bother." The man drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable. "The… woman who lives there's a witch. Stay away." With that, the stranger set off back down the pavement, stomping off in the direction of the underground station.

Escanor hesitated. As his breathing started to return to normal, the world was suddenly full of sounds: the purr of car engines, the distant wail of a siren, the odd squarks like peacocks that the bus doors made when they opened. On the alert once more, Escanor began to turn on his heels, to head away from the mess that was central London and the vague unease caused by his encounter with the large man.

But something stopped him. Escanor found himself looking up at 221B and what he saw made his jaw go slack. There, for all to behold, was the silhouette of a woman, slender and sleek, long dark hair falling straight down to her shoulders as she closed the sash window before her. He could not make out her features; yet still, on seeing her he felt a little calmer. She looked so serene even from this distance.

Silently he continued on his way. He paused outside 221B waiting for the door to open before he remembered where he was and pressed a trembling finger to the bell. A few moments later he heard the sound of muffled footsteps, followed by the rattle of a chain and the scrape of a key in the lock. Then the door opened and Escanor was altogether very disappointed. The woman before him was not the one he had expected to see.

"Who are you then?" the young woman demanded, her hands on her hips and mouth pressed to a very thin line. "Are you one of Estarossa's friends? Because if so, you're not welcome…"

"N-no," Escanor stuttered. "I-I'm here about…"

"He is here for the room, Jericho. Show him up."

At the sound of the slightly muffled call, the woman in front of him dropped her shoulders, her hands falling to rest at her sides as her face relaxed into a smile. "I'm so sorry, sir," she said ingratiatingly. "Been having some trouble with one of the former lodgers. Please do come in." At this she moved backwards into the hallway, her yellow and white summer dress swishing as she moved, and Escanor tentatively stepped over the threshold.

The place was dark. That was the overriding impression as he made his way into the flat. It was as if the forest green wallpaper and carpet sucked out the light before it could make much impression, the effect not helped by a gleaming mahogany table covered in knickknacks and gloomy oil paintings which cluttered the small space. It was evidently well cared for however, the smell of wood polish and some sort of artificial lemon making the place more pleasant than he might have expected.

"I'm Jericho," his host said by way of introduction. She glanced over her shoulder, her lavender ponytail bobbing merrily as she moved, and her shrewd eyes gave him a quick once over.

"Hurry up! This gentleman has not got all day."

Now he was further into the apartment, Escanor could make something of the voice which issued these commands from the floor above. It was clear as a bell and ringing with authority, low-pitched enough that it did not jar his nerves despite the strident tone. Jericho's back stiffened a bit, but she picked up the pace and very soon they were ascending a set of creaking steps. He counted fourteen of them before they reached the top. His host moved aside to give him access to a door that was painted white; he frowned in puzzlement upon seeing it sport a plaque that read "Consulting Room".

"Come in," the voice called before Escanor could knock, "and fetch tea, Jericho. He takes it white with one sugar."

Escanor jumped slightly at this - it was indeed how he preferred his brew - and he turned to his host in astonishment, but she was already heading back down the stairs. "I'm your landlord, not your housekeeper," he heard her mutter crossly before she disappeared into the darkness below. Arm shaking, Escanor reached out and pressed down the handle of the door, which swung open without so much as a squeak.

The room he walked into assaulted his senses. It was bright , golden sunlight streaming through a large pair of windows and he winced, holding a hand up to shield his eyes. It had evidently decided to stop raining now that he was inside. He squinted against the glare, head darting round as he tried to find the source of the smell, or rather smells, which hung in the air. He closed his eyes, and visions of white lab coats, plastic goggles and test tubes came to his mind. Were there chemicals in here? Dangerous ones? He felt the familiar woozy sensation that had plagued him so much, his tongue refusing to work as his breathing rushed and his body shut down.

"Do you have these often?" the voice asked with interest. Escanor sensed her presence as she moved around him. "You had better sit down." At this, he felt himself guided to some sort of sofa and he collapsed into it with relief. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Short in, long out. Short in, long out.

He heard the sound of the door opening, the chink of china and muffled conversation. He was not sure how many minutes passed as he tried to regain control, but by the time a mug of hot tea was pressed into his hands he was at least able to swallow and the tightness in his chest had begun to subside. His companions stayed silent as he started to drink, his hands shaking but not enough to spill the beverage, and he was grateful for the lack of conversation and prying remarks. As soon as he had mastery of himself he would leave this place and never look back.

The silence continued. He gulped, and looked down at his shoes, his face glowing red. "I-I'm so sorry," he managed to croak out to the room at large. "This is humiliating. Please excuse me." Escanor made to rise, but felt a hand on his shoulder, holding him in his place on the sofa. He glanced sideways, his nerves taking another jolt as he realised the woman he had spied through the window was now sitting beside him, and that there was barely an inch between them.

"Is he alright?"

Escanor heard the voice, and struggled to place it. It was with a jolt that he heard the woman snap, "He will be fine, Jericho, if you refrain from making so much noise. Our guest is having a panic attack. Now, tell me, is this why you left your job in Afghanistan? Or was it Iraq?"

"W-what?" Escanor spluttered.

The woman, for it was she who had spoken, sighed dramatically and folded her hands in her lap. "It's very obvious," she scolded. "You have clearly been working in a stressful environment. You are having panic attacks and have lost a considerable amount of weight recently, judging by the poor fit of your clothing." Escanor rubbed his hands down the front of his jacket, the blush in his cheeks intensifying under his interlocutor's gaze. The suit was indeed too big for him, but he could not afford another.

"That on its own, of course, is not enough for a concrete deduction," the woman continued, oblivious to his discomfort, "but I was watching you through the monitor as you arrived." At this she gestured to a television fixed to the wall which was showing grainy pictures of the interior of the house and the street below. "You paused at the door, and it was not because you were questioning whether or not to come in, I could tell from your gait. You were waiting for someone to open it for you. There are only two places in the world where a lower-grade civil servant like yourself would have doors opened on their behalf: the compounds in Afghanistan and Iraq."

Escanor swallowed, completely taken aback. "I-it was Iraq, but… how did you know? I mean, how do you know I was a civil servant?"

"Oh, there are at least seven separate indications. I will give you the most obvious. The ribbon of a lanyard is sticking out of your pocket. This is evidently the suit you wore to work. From the fragment visible, it is possible to determine that the ribbon has the letters 'PCS' on it. Only a UK civil servant, and one from the lower strata of the organisation at that, would own a lanyard as supplied by the Public and Commercial Services Union. If you had been in senior management you would have joined the more exclusive alternative."

"Y-you are quite right," Escanor spluttered. He looked at the woman beside him more carefully. She was smiling at him, but her perfect red mouth was twisted into something like a smirk, and the bright, amber eyes held no warmth in their depths. It was a beautiful face though, the skin smooth and flawless framed with strands of glossy black hair. He could practically feel her energy and life.

"So, this man was a soldier?" Jericho took a step towards him, peering into his face. "He doesn't look much like one if you ask me, Merlin. And why were you in Iraq anyway?" she added sharply to Escanor. "The war's over."

Merlin gave an audible tut as Escanor started. "Do not trouble yourself with an explanation," she said to him kindly. "Jericho, once the British government pulled its soldiers out of Iraq, the nascent administration there needed significant support. And who do you think provided that assistance? The civil servants of Her Majesty's government."

"But you said he lived in a compound," grumbled Jericho as she folded her arms across her chest, "and that he couldn't open the door or some nonsense. That sounds like what soldiers do?"

"Civilians do also, specifically those who work for the Foreign Office. The environment is a long way from being safe. As you might expect, the government takes the security of the staff who work very seriously. They are confined to compound for their own protection, and a number of security measures are put in place, including doors that can only be opened manually from the inside."

Merlin's smile quivered for a second before she stood, the folds of her deep purple dress falling around her. She looked at Escanor, the thin skin around her eyes crinkling slightly. "I will end the suspense. The room is yours," she announced as she towered over him. "You will be a quiet, respectful lodger. Unlike the last one," she put in darkly. "You can move in today, though I cannot vouch for the present state of Estarossa's room. Jericho see that it is acceptable, would you? And call me Merlin," she added over her shoulder as she moved with a fluid grace towards the other end of the room while Jericho rolled her eyes, sending a sharp look in Merlin's direction before flouncing to the exit, muttering under her breath.

Escanor also stood, now acutely aware of the excess fabric that covered his body. His eyes had adjusted to the light, and he noted white walls that were marked with smudges and even some scribbles with what looked like red marker. The fireplace to his right had a creamy marble surround, the grate filled with fir cones, and the top chocked full of odd artefacts, including a silver dagger that looked alarmingly sharp. To his left lay a table covered in glass beakers, one of which was smashed to pieces, a Bunsen burner and a pestle and mortar. Evidently he had been right about the chemicals. It was this bench to which Merlin was making her way.

If he had expected more by way of conversation from his new roommate, none was forthcoming. "I'll… um… go and get my belongings," he said apologetically. Merlin ignored him, her focus fixed on one of the test tubes. "And my name is Escanor," he added into the silence.

Muttered incoherence was the only response he received. Unsure of himself, Escanor moved to the door. It was not until his he had pulled it open that Merlin called, "You don't object to music, I hope."

"I'm sorry?"

Escanor turned to see Merlin looking at him closely. "I play the violin," she explained. "It helps me to theorise. I trust that will cause you no inconvenience."

"None at all," Escanor replied, his eyebrows rising. This woman was nothing if not surprising. Seeing that she had returned to her task with the beakers, he shrugged his shoulders and slunk from the room.

The next weeks passed in something of a blur. It had taken Escanor just one trip to relocate his belongings from the rundown bedsit he was renting south of the river to the much nicer environs of Baker Street. It had felt like a weight off his shoulders to move away from a neighbourhood that was haunted with knife crime and where the sickly smell of cannabis floated constantly on the breeze. The room he had been allocated in 221B did leave something to be desired - goodness knows what the previous tenant had used it for - but, with Jericho's help, he had managed to turn it into something that could be called cozy. The blankets matched the curtains, and the bedside lamp his landlord had found for him lent the place a pleasant, warm glow.

It was once life had settled into a sedate routine that Escanor found his curiosity growing to insatiable levels. Who was his flatmate? Her name may be Merlin but that was the only fact he could discover about her, even with the aid of a Google search. All he knew was that the flat was far more visited than any domestic dwelling had any right to be. Visitors from all walks of life trudged up the stairs to the consulting room, and Escanor found it very frustrating that he could not divine what on earth they were doing in there. Merlin always banished him to his own room when she had company; she did not even have to ask, she just gave him an imperious stare and he obeyed without question.

In fact, he was so curious he began to make a list of everything he knew about Merlin and her occupation. Night after night he refined it, adding to its contents, but to no avail as far as his understanding was concerned. None of it made any sense. The woman he lived with had a remarkable knowledge of the analytical sciences, but appeared to have never heard of Stephen Hawking, or his work on the nature of the universe. Each day she read the newspapers avidly - all of them, from the Financial Times to the tabloids - but she had barely a grasp on current affairs. "We have a female Prime Minister?" she had asked in surprise after Escanor exclaimed aloud that Theresa May was hardly fit for the office she held.

Things came to a head over breakfast. Merlin had been looking progressively peeved for several days and that morning appeared to be on the point of apoplexy. She snapped harshly at Jericho as the latter laid bacon and eggs on the table. Their landlord shot Merlin a look that could turn blood to ice, before she swept from the room, muttering under her breath something that sounded like "Bloody ingrates," as she stomped. Escanor ate in silence, eyes fixed on his cutlery until Merlin's harsh voice made him snap to attention.

"The Enigma," she intoned and Escanor looked up sharply, drawing a harsh breath to see his companion was holding a familiar notebook.

"Hey, that's mine!" he protested, but Merlin, still reading the book, merely held up a hand.

"I suspected that you wrote poetry," she continued waspishly. "The merest glance shows that you do some sort of writing with an old fashioned fountain pen, one that leaks ink onto your fingers. But I would never have anticipated that you would write about me . This has been a most enlightening experience."

Escanor wished the floor would open and swallow him whole. "That's private," he managed to say, his voice sounding hoarse. He could barely breathe, barely think, his heart beating erratically and blood pounding in his ears. He felt faint, sick, and could hardly hear Merlin as she read out his poem, her voice mocking with a sing song cadence.

Eyes like stars pierce the night
Uncovering secrets…

"That's quite enough of that." Escanor did not know where his resolve came from, but by some miracle he found himself upright and striding round the table towards the source of his humiliation. He managed to snatch the book from Merlin, who chuckled as he crumpled it into his pocket. Adrenaline rushed from him and he collapsed into the nearest chair, his vision swimming. He heard Merlin also rise from her seat, and then the scraping sound of the sash window opening, the cacophony of the city rushing into the room along with the aroma of petrol and a welcome cool breeze.

"There's no need to be ashamed," Merlin's voice scolded as Escanor swallowed, doing his best not to vomit. "I deduce that your therapist has told you to write in order to explore your feelings. It is an ineffective suggestion in my opinion, but you are at liberty to do what you wish in your free time. You did not have to write about me however. If you want to know what I do for a living, you only have to ask."

She laughed as Escanor processed this. "I will tell you, though I am surprised you have been unable to deduce the answer for yourself. All the clues you require are in your hand. As you correctly identified in your, ahem, missive, I have an extensive knowledge of analytical chemistry, human anatomy, forensic science and criminology: in fact all the subjects I need to solve intractable crimes. Or not so intractable crimes at the moment," she added bitterly before taking a sip of tea.

"People come to me with their problems and I solve them, the theory being that I will be the first port of call for the more outré puzzles that the police are unable to contend with. That is the theory. The reality is that the police are so overstretched that they are leaving even the most basic of crimes uninvestigated. In consequence, I have nothing but mindless activity. I do not even advertise, and yet I am dealing with petty thefts and missing dogs. Oh for something refined… "

Merlin's head turned sharply and Escanor found himself also looking round, trying to identify what had captured her interest. It took him a few moments before he spied a man on the monitor walking along the pavement towards their apartment. The image was grayscale and pixelated, but he could still make out that their visitor was tall, youthful if his springing steps were anything to go by, his long coat flowing around him as he strode.

"Perhaps I spoke to soon," Merlin mused. She walked to the door, opening it and shouting, "Jericho, bring up a fresh pot of tea, and show Gilthunder up when he gets here. He will ring right about… now." On cue, for Escanor saw Merlin had cast a sideways glance at the monitor, the sound of a bell echoed through the flat.

"Still not your housekeeper," Jericho yelled up the stairs, but the muffled noises suggested she had let the newcomer in. Escanor could hear the pair conversing in the corridor, and from the sound of things the two got on well enough.

Merlin chuckled then retook her place at the head of the table after positioning a chair evidently intended for the new arrival. Escanor felt his heart sink and his brow furrowed. What could be causing him this disappointment? It was true that he had always been interested in the art of detection, but that was years ago, before he had entered the Foreign Office and taken on one boring administrative job after another.

"You can stay if you want." The casual suggestion stopped him in his tracks and he turned in astonishment to see Merlin's red mouth twisted into a smile. She was obviously in a good mood. "I can tell that you want to, it is more than obvious. And Gilthunder can hardly object to your presence. He owes me too many favours to make any protest."

"W-who is he?" Escanor asked as he managed to get himself into one of the chairs, his legs trembling slightly. He held onto the wooden armrests, until he realised his knuckles were turning white, at which point he rested his hands in his lap.

"He is… well let me introduce him in person. Come in," Merlin commanded, seeming to anticipate the man's knock. "Gilthunder, nice to finally see you. This is Escanor, the new lodger. Escanor, meet Inspector Gilthunder of the Metropolitan Police, and his presence here means that he has something less than dull that he would like to discuss."