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 here goes nothing, my first (and possibly last) try ever.

MARCH 2022: I think this story needs a bit of rewriting so i'm currently trying to work on that. There are going to be a few MAJOR CHANGES so get ready. I've decided to rewrite this story both from a first person pov and from a third person pov as well, they're going to mix, so that is one of the big changes. I hope you enjoy the renewal :)

(I don't know if I need to put this here, but none of this is owned by me (except my OC), the rights go to BBC Sherlock and A.C. Doyle.)

Chapter 1: Murder, not suicide

SARAH WINSTON

I was switfly walking along the street and the fresh London breeze kept brushing my cheeks. I must've looked terrible, because the wind made my hair fly everywhere. I stopped for a second to brush the hair off my face and then I continued to search for my destination. Oh, there, I found it. A nice modern block of flats in the centre of London. Usually, you would see posh people walking in and out of it, but today, the entrance was crossed with police tape and there were police cars parked in the front. As if that would stop me. I tried to look as if I belonged to the place (which I really didn't) and I confidently crossed the tape. As I was waiting for the elevator to get me to the one particular flat, my phone rang. Oh look who it is.

"Sarah?"

"Greg? Did you forget something at the coffee shop again, or...?"

"What? No, no. It's the case."

"What about it?"

"Well, as I mentioned, you don't really have to go there, you know. I mean it's quite far and Dimmock might not be very pleased with another civillian sticking their nose in the police business..."

"Well thank you for your concern, Greg, but it's unnecessary, as I'm already here," I snorted, "and what do you mean another civillian?"

There was a slight pause before he spoke again. "You remember that Sherlock Holmes guy I always tell you about?"

"That drug addict genius who solves all your cases?" I asked with a smirk.

"Not all my cases! Well, most of them, but yes, him. He's there. He found the corpse. Don't ask how, I've got no idea. And he doesn't like others meddling in, so if you could sit this one out-"

"Are you kidding? I'm meeting him. No excuses. I want to see who you always talk about like a worried dad."

Greg sighed. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. One day in the future, I am going to regret this."

I laughed into the phone as the elevator finally let me out. "Bye, Greg."

"Goodbye. And Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to hit him, I would never hear the end of the complains."

"Uh, okay." I frowned and put the phone in the pocket of my coat. Surely the man can't be that bad, I thought to myself. I searched for the right flat on the floor and carefully, I walked trough the open door of the flat that the policemen were walking in and out of. The flat was very modern with a luxurious furniture, but there was certainly a man's touch to it. The label on the door stated that the flat belonged to Eddie Van Coon. Greg said that it was an apparent suicide, but I definitely don't think it's that simple if Sherlock Holmes himself is involved. So far, I've only heard of him and his abilities from Greg, since I'm not in London that often anymore, so I was really curious about meeting him. And my God, was I surprised.

As I slipped trough the cops not even noticing one more person there, going about their business, I scanned the flat looking for some kind of a sign that would lead me to a conclusion. This man took a very good care of his flat, and clearly, he knew his way with money. I put on a pair of rubber glove since I'm no beginner and I rummaged trough the cabbinets in his bathroom, but there were no signs of any pills that would suggest any kind of mental diagnoses, no signs in his flat suggesting that as well. After looking around a bit more I didn't find anything. This man seemed completely fine. Why would he kill himself? As I sneaked into the man's bedroom, there were already three men standing around Van Coon's dead body lying on a bed with a single gunshot to his right temple. One of them was dressed in a police uniform, the second was a bit short with light brown hair and next to him stood a tall man with dark curls and they were invested in discussion.

"... Sergeant, I believe we haven't met yet. I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor John Watson... Is Lestrade on his way?" the tall man asked. Oh, so that's him. Sherlock Holmes.

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." The policeman told Holmes. I saw a hint of surprise on his face, but it quickly faded. Oh, he definitely didn't want anyone to see any kind of even the smallest emotion. He stood straight, composed with a hint of arrogance, pride and grace all in one. He was quite handsome, there was no lie. The dark curls, those high cheekbones all wrapped in a dark coat. And the eyes piercing right trough you with the colour of the ocean. Yeah, a bit handsome. And looking right at me. Oh no. Am I in trouble?

I felt myself getting nervous under his gaze, it was unnerving. It triggered my fight-or-flight response. I chose the latter and I slowly started backing away from the bedroom, trying to act as if I suddenly remembered I had to be somwhere else. Because that's not weird at all... But I didn't even reach the door, because the lovely Detective Inspector decided turn around and that of course meant he noticed me. Not only that. All three of the men were now staring at me with puzzled looks on their faces.

Dimmock sighed. "Is she with you as well?" he asked the two men. Uh oh.

"Er... actually, I'm here because of Greg Lestrade... he said I could have a look at the murder, but you all seem to have it covered, so I'll just take my leave..." I smiled forcibly and almost turned to leave the room.

"Nonsense. She actually is with us, Detective Inspector. Lestrade sent her to... help out." I heard Sherlock Holmes say, and his companion, Doctor Watson, gave him a confused frown. I don't blame him, I gave Mr Holmes a confused frown too. But for now, I'm going to play along.

"Right, yeah... Sorry for the confusion." I said carefully, still frowning. We somehow made it to the living room and we all looked around. I took the moment to talk to Holmes.

"Why did you say that I'm with you?" I whispered.

He glanced at me and he smirked. "You said you want to take a look at the murder."

"Yes, and?"

"These idiots seem to think it's a suicide, so it gives me a small advantage to have someone else with at least little bit of brain on my side."

"Er, thanks?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he offered his hand.

"I know." I said as I took it.

"Lestrade?"

"Lestrade." I smirked.

"How come he never mentioned you?"

"Do you ever really listen to him?"

"You seem to know a lot about me."

"Well I, on the other hand, listen." I said with a grin and Holmes smirked. "Sarah Winston." I introduced myself.

"Nope... doesn't ring any bells." He said.

"I didn't expect it to." I smiled and we turned our attention to Dimmock who continued being an asshole.

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

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," Dr Watson agreed. What? No, it does not and Mr Holmes apparently agreed with me because he rolled his eyes.

"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," I said slowly, putting the pieces together in my head. I've seen the apartment. Few little details stood out. It a started to make sense now, I just hoped I'm right on this.

"And?" Dimmock raised an eyebrow.

"Van Coon was left-handed." I finished and I glanced at Holmes who nodded and he proceeded to pretend like he was pointing an imaginary gun to his right temple with his left hand.

"Requires a bit of contortion." Sherlock said with a mocking undertone.

"Left-handed?" Dimmock asked unbelievably.

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around his flat. Miss Winston apparently did and she saw exactly what I did." He pointed to the table by the sofa.

"Coffee table on the left-hand side, coffee 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?"

Needless to say, I was impressed. I've only noticed the mug and the pen and paper, but Holmes saw everything.

"No, I think you've covered it," said John tiredly. Evidently he was quite used to Holmes smugly bragging about noticing things us mere mortals didn't.

"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 explanation of all the facts," Sherlock said obviously very satisfied with himself.

"But the gun, why..." Dimmock questioned.

"He was waiting for the killer, because he'd been threatened," said Sherlock, putting on his gloves, ready to leave.

"What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning," John explained. I was confused as well, because I didn't hear the whole story behind this. And I needed the whole story.

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

"And the bullet?" I joined in with a question.

"Went trough the open window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!" Dimmock exclaimed.

"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, Detective Inspector." Holmes turned to Dr Watson and gestured him to follow behind and they both headed towards the elevator. I stood there, wondering if I should stay or follow behind. Then, I made a decision.

"Hold the lift!" I said loudly, quickly sliding inside. Dr Watson held the door for me and I thanked him with a small smile. Sherlock Holmes was observing me curiously. After an awkward while of silence, I decided to speak up.

"I'm Sarah Winston, by the way." I turned to Watson.

"John Watson."

"Nice to meet you. So, you're a doctor as well?" I asked to pass the silence.

"Yeah, you too?"

"She's a psychiatrist." Sherlock stated, looking at me.

How does he do this? "Yes, amongst other things. How did you know?"

"Oh, it's simple. You didn't say it's murder because of what I've seen, the whole left hand trivia, at least not at first. It was because you knew he was in no mental state to commit suicide. A psychologist, maybe? But then: you're a doctor as well? A psychiatrist then, simple deduction. I also know that you live alone and you're clearly Irish judging by your accent but you haven't been there for a very long time, since it's almost gone and now you live in Liverpool. Again, some of the accent is showing. Oh, and your parents are rich."

I just stared at him with wide eyes. "How the fu-?" I wanted to ask and Dr Watson laughed. The elevator's ding interrupted me and the door opened with the three of us walking out.

"I mean I know how, obviously, deduction... but how?" I asked in amazement.

"Don't question it, or he'll never stop talking," Dr Watson told me with a sigh.

"Well you're wearing very expensive brands and I don't think you've ever had a steady job, otherwise you wouldn't be here at this hour. You're a freelancer, like me. So, rich parents."

"It might be my day off..." I said with a smile.

"But it's not, is it? Other people with daily jobs don't usually go about crime scenes for them to have a look at."

I grinned. He gained my interest. "Impressive. It's fascinating, a level of deducting skills that high, the way your brain can process all of the information and select the useful ones... just... wow." I smiled at him.

John's eyes widened. "You took it quite well."

"Well, I've heard what Mr Holmes here can do. I was actually curious to meet you when Lestrade told me you'll be here." I turned to Holmes.

"Happy not to disappoint." Sherlock Holmes glanced at me and he hailed a cab nearby.

I stood on the pavement and I watched the two men get into the cab. Dr Watson smiled.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Dr Winston. Maybe our paths will cross again soon." He said and Holmes said a quiet goodbye as well. I waved as the taxi drove away.

"Yeah, maybe..." I said to myself now that I was alone again. I took a second to think. I was in London, I had booked a nice hotel, it would be a shame not to take this as an opportunity to have a little adventure, my life was pretty boring nowadays. Except for the few children I've had sessions with, posing as an ordinary psychologist, I haven't really had anything else to do. That's why I sometimes helped the police in Liverpool. It started with consulting with them as a psychiatrist, but I turned out to be quite useful, so we stayed in touch with an old Detective Inspector there. That's how I got to know Lestrade, a friend of the old D.I. I've only studied psychiatry for the knowledge, I've never craved to be a doctor locked up in some hospital, having a daily rutine. This is what I craved, the adrenaline, the mystery, the way I could put my knowledge to use and to at least help others get their conclusion, since mine was nowhere on the horizon... This case was another mystery I wanted to solve. But to solve this, I needed the full picture. And the only ones who could give me the full picture just drove away in a cab. I wasn't sure if it was even worth it. Greg said Holmes doesn't like others meddling in, but in Van Coon's flat, he didn't seem to mind my presence. I stood there on the pavement, thinking if I should really get in touch with Holmes, or just call it a day and go back home, when suddenly, a cab stopped right by me. The door opened, which wasa sign that it probably was for me. Mr Holmes was holding the door open with his eyebrows raised and Dr Watson smirking beside him.

"Are you coming, or not?" He asked when I just continued to stand there, staring at them both. I blinked and with a shrug, I got in the cab.

...

SHERLOCK HOLMES

*moments before*

Our cab started to drive away from the woman with strawberry-blonde hair falling to her shoulders standing on the pavement - Dr Winston, an interesting woman, with an eye for detail. She, of course, didn't see as much as me, but her presence at the crime scene certainly leveled the number of smart and the stupid a little.

"So, what did you think of Dr Winston?" John asked to presumably pass the silence. I rolled my eyes at the attempt at small talk. I was quiet, I neeeded to make a quick decision. Oh what the hell, one more person to share their thoughts might help filter my own. I unintentionally answered John's question when I leaned to the cabbie.

"Could you please turn the cab around and go back? I think I forgot something." I faked an awkward laugh as if I was stupid. John gave me a surprised look as the cab turned around and I glared back at him.

"What?"

"You liked her, didn't you? That's why we're going back for her."

"She might be a good third insight to filter my thoughts, yes." I answered slowly and John just grinned like an idiot. I didn't say anything else, so we waited while we returned to the spot we left.

Our cab stopped right next to Dr Winston and I opened the door. She stood there looking at me as if I planned to kidnap her.

"Are you coming, or not?" I asked impatiently. Finally, she got in the cab and glanced at me and John.

"Well, nice to see you again," she said with a smile. "To be honest, I was thinking of getting in touch. I just can't seem to keep my hands off this case." I smirked. I knew the feeling too well.

"I suppose you could enlighten me a little. How did you even find Van Coon's body?" She tilted her head. "And where are we headed now?"

"John?" I've decided to leave the explanation part to John, I was in no mood to talk about everything again. I need to place the things in my own head. John started to explain everything from how we went to the bank and met my old "friend" from Uni, Sebastian, to how we found the cipher and how it was meant for Van Coon, who was now dead in his flat.

"So the cipher was a threat... Anything else?"

"Oh, I forgot the black flower Sherlock pulled out of his mouth. Also a threat."

"Black flower? What kind?" Dr Winston asked.

"It was an origami flower made out of paper, John." I reminded him. People always leave out important detail and then it leads to confusion.

"Okay, so that's all we know right now?"

"Yeah." John answered.

"And where are we going now?" She asked and John frowned.

"Er, I don't actually know. Sherlock?"

"We're paying a visit to Sebastian... again." Twice in one day. I'm going to vomit.