A/N
This story is loosely based on the Study in Scarlet set in college. Damien/Sherlock is not really supposed to be Sherlock, and I would have him look like Orlando Bloom (everyone throws things at the author). I know, I know, how fangirlish, but that's really what I think he looks like. Anyhow, my only request is that if you read it, please review it.
THANKS!
Growing up I had always wanted to work in forensics. Being a crime scene investigator was my dream job, so when I was accepted to college that had a great program I was naturally thrilled. Then my father died. I had to switch colleges to be closer to my mother and I was left thinking about what I really wanted to do with my life. I was so confused. I was thinking about that as I unpacked my things into my new dorm room. I hadn't even met my roommate yet, and being shy, felt really uncomfortable in my new situation. I was putting socks in my drawer when a girl entered.
"Hi!" she said chipperly, "you must be Shelley."
She was perfect; perfect blond hair, perfect body, perfect everything. I immediately felt inferior.
"Yeah," I said unconsciously trying to straighten my unruly brown hair, "that's me."
"I'm Adrianne Echols," said the super model.
"Great," I thought, "of all the dorms to get stuck in, I'm with the one girl who looks like she hasn't missed a date in 3 years. Story of my life."
"Well, I have class," she said, "we'll get to know each other later."
With that she flounced out of the room.
"Can't wait," I muttered.
I walked over to the dresser and paused to look at myself in the mirror. Normal brown hair, normal body, normal everything. I had been the one all though school who had always been studying too hard to socialize. I had dated, but never really had tome for guys, and everyone had always taken that as me being aloof. Maybe it was.
I sighed and yanked open the drawer. Apparently too hard because the whole think and the box on top of it toppled over on me with a crash to wake the dead. Luckily there wasn't much in the dresser so it didn't weigh a lot; unluckily the box was full of books. I groaned and rubbed my forehead where a particularly heavy volume of Dickens had rebounded off.
"Are you all right?" said a smooth, distinctly English voice.
I looked up to see what, in my definition, was one of the best looking guys I had ever seen. He was almost 6 feet, thin yet built like the Greek statues we studied in art class with cheekbones and facial features to match and short tousled dark brown hair. And there I was floundering on the floor like a beached dolphin.
"I…I think I'm ok," I managed to get out as I shoved a copy of Pride and Prejudice off myself.
With three quick strides he was across the room and pulling the dresser off me.
"Thank…thank you," I stammered as I continued to extricate myself from the literary avalanche.
"They would all have to be hardbound wouldn't they," I muttered in disgust as I rubbed my bruise.
"It's not everyone who gets KO'd by The Count of Monte Cristo," my white knight said as he tossed the book into the box.
"I think it was Oliver Twist actually," I said.
He laughed and pulled me up. I shoved the rest of the books in the box then turned and saw him leaving.
"Wait," I called, "who do I say saved me from the man eating dresser?"
He turned.
"Damien Holmes, but everyone calls me Sherlock."
With that he disappeared into the room across the hall.
This story is loosely based on the Study in Scarlet set in college. Damien/Sherlock is not really supposed to be Sherlock, and I would have him look like Orlando Bloom (everyone throws things at the author). I know, I know, how fangirlish, but that's really what I think he looks like. Anyhow, my only request is that if you read it, please review it.
THANKS!
Growing up I had always wanted to work in forensics. Being a crime scene investigator was my dream job, so when I was accepted to college that had a great program I was naturally thrilled. Then my father died. I had to switch colleges to be closer to my mother and I was left thinking about what I really wanted to do with my life. I was so confused. I was thinking about that as I unpacked my things into my new dorm room. I hadn't even met my roommate yet, and being shy, felt really uncomfortable in my new situation. I was putting socks in my drawer when a girl entered.
"Hi!" she said chipperly, "you must be Shelley."
She was perfect; perfect blond hair, perfect body, perfect everything. I immediately felt inferior.
"Yeah," I said unconsciously trying to straighten my unruly brown hair, "that's me."
"I'm Adrianne Echols," said the super model.
"Great," I thought, "of all the dorms to get stuck in, I'm with the one girl who looks like she hasn't missed a date in 3 years. Story of my life."
"Well, I have class," she said, "we'll get to know each other later."
With that she flounced out of the room.
"Can't wait," I muttered.
I walked over to the dresser and paused to look at myself in the mirror. Normal brown hair, normal body, normal everything. I had been the one all though school who had always been studying too hard to socialize. I had dated, but never really had tome for guys, and everyone had always taken that as me being aloof. Maybe it was.
I sighed and yanked open the drawer. Apparently too hard because the whole think and the box on top of it toppled over on me with a crash to wake the dead. Luckily there wasn't much in the dresser so it didn't weigh a lot; unluckily the box was full of books. I groaned and rubbed my forehead where a particularly heavy volume of Dickens had rebounded off.
"Are you all right?" said a smooth, distinctly English voice.
I looked up to see what, in my definition, was one of the best looking guys I had ever seen. He was almost 6 feet, thin yet built like the Greek statues we studied in art class with cheekbones and facial features to match and short tousled dark brown hair. And there I was floundering on the floor like a beached dolphin.
"I…I think I'm ok," I managed to get out as I shoved a copy of Pride and Prejudice off myself.
With three quick strides he was across the room and pulling the dresser off me.
"Thank…thank you," I stammered as I continued to extricate myself from the literary avalanche.
"They would all have to be hardbound wouldn't they," I muttered in disgust as I rubbed my bruise.
"It's not everyone who gets KO'd by The Count of Monte Cristo," my white knight said as he tossed the book into the box.
"I think it was Oliver Twist actually," I said.
He laughed and pulled me up. I shoved the rest of the books in the box then turned and saw him leaving.
"Wait," I called, "who do I say saved me from the man eating dresser?"
He turned.
"Damien Holmes, but everyone calls me Sherlock."
With that he disappeared into the room across the hall.