Obsession

By: Chibi Hermione

A/N: Just to make my friend happy, there will be a dedication following this note, so if it doesn't fit in with the story, blame Brian Fisher, not me! Thank you.

This chapter is dedicated to the ginger-bread men who yell, ''No, not the buttons! Not my gumdrop buttons," in high squeaky voices.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Two: The Detective

As I was walking down to my flat at 221 B Baker Street, I felt that I was being followed. At first, I just dismissed that notion, and continued on my way. A few minutes later, I felt it again, so I turned around and saw…

No one. Not a person, cat, dog, rat, or anything else that could possibly follow a person, so I shrugged and continued. When I came inside, Watson said, "What is it, Holmes?"

"I just had the queerest feeling as I was walking down Baker Street," I said.

"What was it," asked Watson.

"Well, it was odd, but I felt that I was being followed," I told him.

"Followed! By who," asked Watson.

"I don't know, but as I said, it was just a feeling, no evidence," I answered.

"Right," said Watson, and went back to his paper.

 Later that day, when I was taking a walk with Watson, again I got that feeling that someone was following us. I turned around a few times, but it didn't look like anyone was following us.

About the fifth time I turned around, Watson said, "What are you doing?"

"I feel like we're being followed, Watson," I answered.

"Have you seen anyone, Holmes," asked Watson.

"No. But, it's just a feeling. You can't really go on feelings," I said.

This kept up for days. I would go out somewhere, and would feel someone following me, but when I turned around, there'd be no one there. So, I just kept telling myself that it was just my imagination. Either that, or I was insane, but I didn't really believe it was the latter.

However, one day, while I was walking down Oxford Street, I caught the person who was following me. She was petite, with dark brown hair in a bun, and blue-green eyes. She also held a camera in her hands.

"Who are you," I asked.

"Zinnia George," she said.

"Why are you following me," I asked.

Miss George just shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"What's that camera for," I asked next, pointing at it.

"For taking pictures," she said matter of factly.

"I know that," I said, irritably. "What of?"

"You," she giggled.

This surprised me a good deal. I didn't know what to say next.

"I take a lot of pictures of you, Mr. Holmes. I follow you around nearly every day, and I take your picture," she added.

Slowly, I started to back up. This woman is insane, I thought.

Zinnia started to walk towards me, and I continued to back away, until I hit the side of a building.

"I hang up all of the pictures I take of you on my walls," she told me, mere inches away.

"You do," I couldn't help but ask.

"Yes. And that's not all. I also hang up all the newspaper clippings with you in them on my walls," replied Miss George.

"You're completely insane," I told her.

"No, I'm not. I'm completely sane," was her pleasant sounding response.

I wasn't going to stand here, and argue with an insane woman, so I didn't respond.

"I'll admit, I am a little obsessive but nothing more," said Miss George.

"A little? Dear lady, I think you're more than a little obsessive," I said.

"No I'm not, because if I was more than a little obsessive, I'd dig through your garbage, or sneak into your flat," she proclaimed.

"What, do you mean to say you don't," I cried.

"Yes, I never have, and probably never will," she stated.

"Good," I said, "Let's keep it that way."

"I plan on it," she said, leaving.

I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Baker Street, without the feeling I was being followed.

A/N: Well, that's the end, again! I'm not planning on writing anymore, but if I get enough reviews, I will! R/R!