A/N: ok this chapter is written in a slightly different style. If you liked it please tell me in your review, and I might do another chapter like this in a while.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Dr John Watson, as I'm sure you already know (!) I'm making no money out of this, so please don't sue!

I now own most of my sister's possessions, including a large box of documents and writing. The thing that reminded me of this whole story was her journal from the time, which I found whilst rummaging around one rainy day. At first I shied away from reading something so personal, but after a while curiosity got the better of me.

Sophia had always religiously kept her journal, ever since she learnt to write. When we were very young, she used to read me excerpts, just about mundane subjects such as what she had for lunch. I was not surprised when I came across the stack of neatly piled and dated journals.

Of course, I would not dream of putting my sister's diaries infront of the public. But, as I have mentioned before, this is one story I never intend to publish, just to store away and maybe look over now and again.

This is an excerpt from Sophia's journal from the first week she stayed in London with me:

Sunday 13th May

10:30 AM. I have been travelling on this stifling train for 4 hours now. The train is such a British way of transport. Though they do have them in the other countries that I have visited, they are nowhere near so well-established and frequent. It was one of those little things that I missed whilst on the Continent. The sound of a carriage bumping over the tracks has a calming effect on me for some reason.

We have entered the suburbs of London now, oh! I am so excited about seeing John again! I feared that he would not want to see me after so long a gap. Of course, I underestimated how warm and forgiving his heart is; I always do.

Soon we will be arriving at Victoria station.

10:45 PM I cannot write for long, as I fear I will fall asleep at the table!

John was lovely, and looked very well. He is sharing rooms with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a tall and lean man. He is so extremely thin, though he does not look emaciated. His eyes are what intrigued me the most though, they are a light dancing grey, and speak volumes of his intelligence and quick wit.

We talked on many matters, and I think at first that he was surprised at my depth of knowledge on some subjects. Mr Holmes soon recovered from that though, and brandished his razor-sharp wit and intellect.

John's rooms were very cosy, with stacks of books, letters and other bric-a-brac occupying every available place. A number of pipes lay scattered upon the mantle-piece. I had noted before that Holmes was a lover of strong (and I daresay frequent) tobacco for smoking.

Now, to bed!

Sunday 13th May

11PM. Well, today was very enjoyable! John has insisted on taking me around the sites of London, though I am sure that he knows all I want is his company. As we walked around today, we played our old childhood game of spotting a person and making a story for them. This is how we got on to the subject of Sherlock Holmes.

Of course, I had heard his name before, and knew of his abilities in deduction and observation. John told me of some of their cases together. Oh, how I would have loved to be part of them! To feel the 'thrill of the hunt' and accompany Holmes on his exploits. I envy my brother in some ways, restricted as I am by my sex. Not that being a woman is unsatisfactory in any way, I just crave freedom sometimes.

Today I found out that Holmes (I am afraid that I have got into the habit of calling him that, even though he has now asked me to call him Sherlock.) was a magnificent violin player. Beautiful music brings tears to my eyes, and affects me in ways even I cannot imagine. After his stunning performance this afternoon, I found that I was n the edge of my seat. He holds the violin with a firm grip, but only touches it with the lightest, most delicate caresses. Whenever I see those hands, a shiver passes down my spine. They are so thin and beautiful, though by no means weak. Yes, I can imagine them having a grip of steel.

My brothers attempt to let me and Holmes spend some time alone, though well meant, was completely transparent. It did have the desired effect though, as Sherlock and I had a thoroughly enjoyable night.

As we walked through Covent garden, I felt like one of the opera-going ladies of the city. To Holmes' surprise (and mine) I took his arm, and linked it through mine. At first, I felt the muscles in his arm tense with shock, but he did not pull away.

"So, Sophia, what do you think of London so far?" he asked me, after a few moments silence.

"Well, it has a certain je ne sais quoi about it, (A/N- for non french-speaking readers out there, je ne sais quoi can be translated as 'I do not know') I can see why you choose it as your home. You must never be out of work with all the crimes that go on night and day."

"But you would not choose it to live in?' He queried.

"I don't think that I have seen enough of it to really judge. My dear brother insists on taking me to all the sites of attraction. I would much prefer to be shown the alleys and old courtyards of London though, to see where people have lived for hundreds of years. Not just a display of grandeur."

"Yes, I quite agree," said Holmes. "It is the small elements just as much as the famous ones that make up a city. London definitely has a character, and the small forgotten streets are saturated with it. Well, Miss Watson, forgive me if I am being forward, but I would be happy to show you some of the less spectacular sites of London. That is…if you want to.."

I looked up at his face at this point, and was surprised at how young and unsure he was suddenly looking. I stifled the small laugh that was bubbling up in my throat and said,

"Yes. Yes, I would love that Sherlock, and please, call me Sophia."

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