Big changes here! This is a combination of BBC Sherlock and the new game Sherlock Holmes: Chapter One. I'm using the game as Sherlock's childhood background. If you haven't played the game, I highly recommend it, though this will give some spoilers about the game away so read at your own risk. That being said here are some big changes that the game puts into play in this fanfic:

1) Sherlock's parents are dead. The "parents" in the BBC Sherlock who will appear later will be "adoptive parents."

2) Cordona is an imaginary island based in the Mediterranean. It is a sort of lawless, money-rules-all, island.

3) The game is set in the 1880s, but in this fanfic, it will be set in the 1990s so that it lines up with BBC Sherlock later (Sherlock will be 28 in BBC Sherlock setting).

I will add more of these changes as I go, in case there are things I forgot. Hope you enjoy it! You shouldn't need any information on the game that I didn't provide.


Cordona, 1993
Mediterranean

The little girl ran, heart racing and pounding in her ears along with her small footsteps on the street. Shouts rang out from behind her and other childish giggles of laughter as she pushed past annoyed adults, hands slipping into the folds of clothing unnoticed until she rounded a corner and ducked into a crevice between two houses. She held her breath as a group of older boys rushed past and let the breath out once their footfalls had faded. She risked a peek and when she saw no one, smirked and squeezed back out of the crack to dig through the puffed-up pockets of her dirty dress.

What was once a bright, frilly pink skirt and blouse were now covered in dirt and grass stains from her adventure through the town. She was quick to find what she was looking for and pulled out a small cloak that could easily hide the once vibrant colors of her dress. She pulled it on and pulled out the cap she'd stolen from one of the older boys—the reason they had been chasing after her. Plopping the cap on her head, she moved back out into the street and cheerfully dashed past people once more to get to her destination.

Said location wasn't far from where she'd ended up, but the mansion was eerie and a few adults loitering nearby muttered about the strange English people living within. Ignoring them, she peered around the front gate but didn't see whoever or whatever she was looking for, so she slipped around back. There was a stone wall built around the property but some ivy grew along the back wall and she grabbed at it and climbed up the back wall with the ease of someone who'd done it a million times before. Her cap-covered head of brown hair peeked over the top first, followed by her bright blue eyes and she would've pulled herself all the way up if she hadn't spotted two people in the back garden.

One was a young boy about her age with messy brown hair and he was pushing around a wheelchair with an older woman sitting in it, enjoying the flowers. Neither noticed the girl that peered over the wall at them, but the girl sighed softly and lowered herself back down. She sat in the dirt and plucked at the grass, listening idly to the muffled talking until she was certain they were done. She stood and brushed the dirt off her dress once more and clambered up the vines, seeing they'd gone and pouting before the boy returned outside. She grinned and hauled herself up onto the wall and waved at the boy.

He was quick to spot her and hastily hurried over as she started to lower herself over the other side. She landed a little harshly, falling back onto her backside before bouncing right back up and smiling at the boy.

"I did it!"

He glanced back towards the house hesitantly. "I told you, you can't be here," he hissed under his breath.

"But I did it! Look!" She dug through her pockets and passed him three different wallets she'd nabbed before her grin grew wider and she held up a carved wooden lion.

The boy's eyes widened as he hesitantly took it, as though it were a precious treasure.

"You said they stole it from you, right?" She said, "I took it under the… the geese?"

"Guise," the boy corrected, making her nod.

"Right! Under the guise of taking their cap. They chased me around a bit, but I got away and took those too," she said, grabbing the wallets from him. "You said only the rich people, right? Look at them! This one is snakeskin, so he was obviously rich. This one I took from some lady with like… fifty rings on, and this one—"

"You're gonna get in trouble," the boy muttered, though he held the wooden lion close. "Aren't your parents gonna be upset? Your dress is all…"

She waved him off, shoving the wallets back into her pockets. "Nah. I get them dirty on purpose, silly. I hate dresses. They're so hard to move in but my mum insists that 'little girls should be pretty.' I don't wanna be pretty. I wanna be like you. I wanna deduct people."

"Deduce," he corrected again.

"Yeah, deduce people. I wanna be a police officer or detective. Solve crimes and save people! Jon said I could do it, remember?"

The boy looked to his right and while there was no one there, he sighed as though someone had said something to him.

"He just said you're clever, is all."

"See? And I'm way smarter than those police people working here. I mean, you've seen them. They got that one case with that guy in Scaladio. They still think he drowned even though we told them he was murdered."

He cracked the slightest hint of a smile before there was a crash somewhere in the house behind him and he paled. The girl simply winced, looking past him towards the door in worry until the boy began pushing her.

"Y-You need to go."

"O-Oh. Okay," she muttered back with a small pout, letting him push her up the vines until she got her grip and reached the top of the wall. "Can we play tomorrow?"

"I need to ask my brother."

She smiled. "Okay! Then, I'll wait for you by the big hand statue!"

He nodded and she vanished over the wall and bounded her way back home with a grin.


The sun beat down on Cordona and a quiet humming broke through the usual afternoon bustle of tourists and islanders scuttling about the large stone hand monument. A little girl kicked her feet back and forth at its base, tugging at the long sleeve of her dress that was out of season for the weather. Time passed and as the sun started to get lower, the cheerful demeanor of the girl turned sour and when it was finally dark, she got up off the stone and started back for home.

Once home, she stood outside the large manor and sniffed once, running her hand under her nose before taking a breath and straightening. She climbed the steps up to the door and reached up for the handle, pushing the large door open and peering cautiously in. There was noisy laughter drifting in from the other room, but no apparent people near the front so the girl slipped inside and started for the stairs up to the next level only to flinch when someone cleared their throat loudly behind her. She turned hesitantly to see the older, stone-faced butler standing not two feet away.

"Lady Clarke wishes to speak with you in the lounge, Miss Avery."

The girl glanced in the direction of the noise before begrudgingly stepping back off the steps and trudging her way into the lounge. A woman in a long scarlet dress and white fox fur draped around her shoulders laughed boisterously with a few other equally embellished women, all well into their wine at this point in the evening.

"Ah, Avery! There you are," she said, getting up and towering over the girl who firmly kept her gaze away from the woman—nose wrinkled from the smell of alcohol and smoke.

The woman eyed the girl who stank of sweat from being out in the sun all day with smears of jam on her light violet dress from her lunch meal. Her mouth turned down into a frown and she reached for her, making the girl flinch as she took hold of the dress before dropping it and turning to the other women.

"You see what I mean? I can never have her in a proper dress with how she always turns up."

The adults chuckled and one older woman waved it off with a drawl about her own boys doing the same. This started up a small bit of bickering about how little girls weren't supposed to be like little boys and the girl started to slink back towards the door if her mother hadn't grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her over to the side away from the women. The girl winced and tugged at her hand, but her mother held firm until they were back in the entryway and she was released.

"Where were you all morning?" Her mother scolded.

"Out," the girl muttered, eyes pointed firmly at the floor.

"Out," her mom scoffed. "You better not have been hanging out with those ratty boys again. I told you they are no good. Why can't you just go to the parties I tell you to and make proper friends?"

"I don't like parties," the girl bit back, jerking away from her mother. "And Sherry and Jon and all the others are fine! They're smart a-and nice and we have fun!"

Her mother scoffed again, standing up straight and sneering down at the little girl. "Well, you better learn to like parties because they're not going to be playing with you anytime soon."

The girl's strong bravado shrank immediately as her mother started to walk away. "Wait… Wait!" She rushed after her, grabbing her dress to stop her. "What do you mean? What do you mean, they won't play with me anymore?"

Her mom's hand snapped out, slapping her child's hand off her dress. The girl flinched back but didn't move more than a step, determined to get some answers.

"What do you mean?" She repeated, cradling her pink hand, and her mother rolled her eyes.

"Suppose you weren't out with the brats then, since you're not aware." She turned to head back to the lounge with a wave of her hand over her shoulder. "Their mother died this morning. I say good riddance. Rumor is the older boy is going to take his brother to London and sue the doctor who treated her for malpractice." She scoffed. "What a circus. This city will be far better without those… strange people. Honestly. After that one boy's outburst at the mayor's announcement at city hall, life will be far calmer and—Hey!"

The little girl had bolted for the door, shoving it open and taking off down the steps as fast as she could as her mother shouted behind her.

"Avery Elizabeth Clarke! You get back here right this instant!"

But the girl kept running, right out the gate and through the darkened streets. She tripped and grimaced at her scraped hands and the new tears in her stockings, but pushed herself up and kept going until she stood, doubled-over and panting outside the familiar stone wall of the Stonewood Manor. She caught her breath and ran to the gates, gripping the iron tightly but seeing no lights on in the home. Biting her bottom lip, she rushed around the back and clambered hastily up the vines once more. Her feet hit the ground just on the other side of the wall and she hurried past the pond and the dark stain on the rocks that went unnoticed in the dark.

She reached the back door and moved around to the side to peer through the glass of a window nearby, but her heart dropped. The house was empty and abandoned. Some boxes were piled up to the side, but there were no cooks, no servants, no butlers or workers. There were no boys or the clattering sound of dishes or talking. If they weren't gone now, they would be by morning, and they weren't staying here for their last night. The girl's hands fell back to her side and she dazedly climbed back over the wall and started the slow trek back towards home as tears welled up in her eyes.

"No crying Av. You know I don't know what to do when you cry."

She pawed at her face as sniffles grew louder and a sob tried to break past her chapped lips. Tears wet her hands and slid down her cheeks to fall from her chin before someone called out softly to her. A police officer stopped for the girl and scooped her up, comforting her as best he could before carrying her back to her home just up the road.


Several years had passed since the death of Violet Holmes and the subsequent abandonment of the Stonewood Manor. Little Avery Clarke took the news the hardest and would sit in front of the manor every day for the following week, eventually sneaking inside and snatching small bits of memories from within. Soon, her mother grew fed up with her moping about and started dressing her up and dragging her to parties again. The girl kept well away from the drinking adults, leering nobles, and their kids who were stuck hanging out together while their parents indulged.

After a month or so though, she got her spirit back and started sneaking out of the house again to go play with the other young kids and street urchins living around the island. As she grew older though, she began to rebel more and more from the rich lifestyle her mother was forcing upon her, and she started edging into one of the gangs situated nearby. One of the more decent ones, anyway. The Righteous Gang went out of their way to provide food, clothes, and medical care for those who needed it, though their punishments for breaking any of their rules could end up getting you killed.

Avery knew what she was doing though. She was clever, as her old friend had said, and had a good heart. She never broke any laws and would only ever meddle in police affairs when she knew she could get away with helping someone while remaining anonymous herself. She was distancing herself from her mother though. She only bothered to deal with her when it was absolutely necessary. Learning makeup had been an unexpected benefit, and with a bit of tweaking and some artist tanning powder, she could now easily disguise herself as a native islander or one of the working class. This proved helpful in avoiding the police when her mother did, on occasion, send them out after her.

When she turned sixteen, things with her mother had finally gotten more heated. She'd gotten kicked out of the house a few times for taking up smoking—ironic, given her mother's usual company. They'd also had quite a few arguments about what Avery's plans were for the future. Avery was still determined to do better for herself but without her mother and father's help. Said man rarely showed up at all, but their wealth was apparent and had her using aliases when dealing with the Righteous Gang, who weren't aware of her identity or the "donations" that frequently ended up on their doorstep. Her mother had offered to talk to her father about making her a reporter or putting in a word with the police department for a secretarial job, but that wasn't what she wanted. Not that it mattered to her mother. Said woman continued to argue with her and one day, things became even worse.

Avery hurried home with a hand under her bloody nose and a bruise starting to darken her face. She cursed under her breath as her ribs ached from the beating she'd taken and stumbled her way up into her home, gaze sharp and ears open for a sign of her mother. She found her pouring herself a glass of wine in the dining room and immediately stormed up to confront her.

"You told them?" She snapped, whipping off her cap and holding it tight in her fist as her mother barely spared her bruising face a glance.

"I don't know what you mean."

Avery clenched her teeth so tight her jaw ached. "You know exactly what I mean. You told the gang who I was! They ambushed me today because of you! I could have died!"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Then maybe you should've listened when I told you to stop acting so idiotic and hang out with the proper people."

"Your people are far less 'proper' than the people I hang out with," Avery spat. "There's so much corruption oozing out from them I'm surprised anything in this damn house is clean."

Her mother bristled. "Don't you talk to me like that."

"Or what?" Avery argued. "You already took the only thing I had left on the island away from me!"

"Oh, please. There's plenty more on this island if you would just stop being so stubborn."

Avery tugged at her short brown hair in frustration. "You don't understand what you did! With the gang knowing who I am, they're going to—God, I don't even know why I'm bothering to try and explain it. You don't care anyway. You and father are just…"

She shook her head, bringing a hand to it as she turned and went for the door, her mother shouting after her.

"Where are you going!"

"To shower! After that? Away from you." Avery scoffed as she stormed up the stairs, ignoring her mother's continued shouts from below. "Next ferry off this damn island and I'm gone."

The shower didn't take long and after applying some medication to the cuts and bruises scattered over her body, Avery packed a bag and started back down the stairs. She dumped the bag on the ground near the front and went to grab a few food items from the kitchen to bring with her. Her parents could easily afford to replace some cans of soup and some bread and water, and if she was truly leaving, she couldn't afford to assume she'd easily get money with no background or identity. She pushed past the door and took a step forward, grimacing as her shoe stuck to something on the floor, but it was dark and she hadn't bothered to deal with the lights given she was sneaking out.

A quiet curse spilled from her mouth and she doubled back to hit the switch, light flooding into the room and blinding her for a half-second as she started forward again. Once her vision cleared up, she paled, stumbling back a half step. Her mother's face stared back at her, twisted into a silent scream of pain. She hadn't stepped in some spilled wine from her mother's drunken tirade, but a pool of blood emanating from the woman herself whose chest and stomach had been sliced open upon the kitchen tile.

She couldn't move—couldn't breathe—for a half-second, mind racing to try and understand what she was looking at. When it finally did click into place, she took a step back, prepared to run for help, for the police. She turned and something slammed across her temple, making her fall back into the blood, dazed. Someone rushed at her, rearing back a hand and she caught the flash of light on the blade they held before instincts kicked in. She rolled slightly, grimacing as the blade sliced through the top of her shoulder before she shoved a hand up and heard a sickening crack.

Her assailant wailed and was shoved off her as they cradled their broken nose. She rushed for them, but they were quick to recover as they wrestled each other for the weapon. Avery was aching still from her beating before though, quickly losing strength as the person swiped and jabbed at her. The knife soon clattered across the tile and she lunged for it, grabbing it and whipping around but the figure was gone. She blinked hard a few times, trying to stop her spinning vision from the initial hit and thinking desperately about any features she could remember.

Male… He was… smelled of smoke. A certain type. One I should know because Sherry always nagged me about knowing the different types of tobacco. She pushed herself up, grabbing the counter to keep herself upright as her vision swam and she tried to shake it off. He wore… God, anyone would have worn those rags. A tattered coat, a cap, pants with tears, dirty shirt. Long sleeves, so I didn't see any tattoos… She cursed under her breath, realizing she had very little to go on, and her eyes drifted back towards her mother.

She still wasn't sure how to feel about this. She and her mother never got along, and she was mostly taken care of by the few servants in the house or on her own. Her mom only ever dragged her around to parties to try and force her into making connections with other wealthy families. Avery had no doubt her mother would get a marriage contract written up for her if it meant more money for them. Did that mean she wanted her dead? No. She wouldn't wish death on anyone, but it didn't mean any tears would fall any time soon. Then, someone screamed.

Avery whipped around to see a maid screaming at the entrance to the kitchen and Avery immediately understood that she was now in a very dangerous position. She was covered in her mother's blood, still holding the knife that probably killed her, and the real killer had long since fled. Avery dropped the knife and held up her hands, trying to calm the maid, but the butler had gone off for help and was quick to return with an officer who drew his service arm at Avery. She had no way to explain this, she knew and peacefully surrendered as more officers were brought to the scene and she was driven off.

With a corrupt police system though, where cases were often swept under the rug or the wrongly accused thrown behind bars, Avery's hope had dwindled down to nothing. The interrogation was spent with her explaining things to an officer with closed ears. People heard her arguing with her mother moments before she was killed. She was seen standing over the corpse covered in blood, injured, and wielding the blade that killed her. She had just been announced to have been working inside a gang and was hanging out with the wrong types of people. All obvious evidence was stacked up against her and the more subtle evidence that could have proven her innocence was thrown aside.

The officers wanted this case done and over with. Any case with wealthy or noble families in Cordona was treated the same. With corrupt nobles lining their pockets, why bother dragging things out or risk discovering a feud between them? They wanted open and shut cases, and this one seemed the easiest one yet. Avery Elizabeth Clarke was charged with the murder of one Lady Abigail Whitley Clarke and sentenced to life imprisonment in the ruthless Cordona prison system.


Cordona, 2003

Sherlock had returned to Cordona, ready to face his mother's grave for the first time in ten years. His memory was hazy of what exactly happened, but his brother had assured him that she had leukemia and had just died because of it. Yet, the longer he stayed on the island, the more he began to find that information to be hiding the truth of the matter. He was working on ways to unlock his hidden memories, finding trinkets, replacing items sold from the Stonewood Manor, and attempting to track down people who may have more answers. The police archives were useless. The system was so full of lazy corrupt officials that it was often paperwork or evidence went missing. So, it didn't come as a surprise to find most of the case about his mother to have vanished into the archives along with everything else.

Still, it was nice to be back in his roots, where he could look around and occupy himself with the occasional cases that cropped up here and there. He overheard rumors and used them to track down people or accidentally stumbled into a crime scene or two. Cordona was as ruthless as always. Crime was abundant, police work was rarely done properly, and the rich and wealthy had their fun with parties happening somewhere on the island every evening. It was the perfect opportunity to test his ever-growing skills in deduction.

Despite only being twenty-one, the police were eager and willing to take his help on cases they were stumped on, so long as they could claim the credit. It was just by chance that he came across a case in the archive that coincided with a robbery claim that had recently been put in. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but the family name on the case file had caught his attention and refused to let go. Upon looking over the file itself—and searching for half the missing paperwork and evidence unsuccessfully—he begrudgingly went to speak with the officer in charge.

Said man was the epitome of lazy. He waved off the case files as trashed without even trying to help Sherlock find them and told him not to worry about it as the case had already been closed with the obvious suspect in custody. Sherlock didn't even need to see the actual crime scene as the photos were telling enough and he sat down with the officer and his superior and started going through the case to show them just how wrong they were.

The first picture was of the front of the house where he pointed out on the evidence log, a bag had been waiting, packed full of items as though the owner of said bag were going to leave on a trip off the island. The officer argued they probably packed the bag knowing they were going to murder the woman in the hopes of escaping. Yet, as Sherlock pointed out, why were they so easily apprehended? Why not plan better to give them a perfect exit? This was assuming the criminal was smart, of course, but something was amiss here and Sherlock felt an urge to pursue it.

So, he brought out another photo, this time of the crime scene. Blood was pooled on the floor but the footprints in it were obvious. Two different shoes, smearing as if there were a struggle. The officer said the suspect was injured in a fight with the woman, but Sherlock pointed out the victim was wearing heels. Neither of the prints were heels and they were obviously different sizes. One larger and one more petite. That, and the victim had no bruising, no signs of a struggle anywhere on her. She was caught unaware, bludgeoned once, then torn apart in a crime of passion.

The officer continued to argue it was a crime of revenge. The suspect was seen and heard arguing with the woman moment's before and their relationship was poor. Not only that, but they had been staying around one of the local gangs and were well known to interfere in police work. Given the few cases Sherlock had discovered with anonymous tips and help, he could easily conclude said suspect was probably the one behind it and had a good head on their shoulders and a sense of justice. Still, it wasn't concrete evidence that would convince a judge or jury.

So, he went into depth explaining how a crime of passion was usually more violent than a simple revenge plot. Revenge was easy. Take a knife and stab. Stab multiple times if you have a bit of a temper. This victim though, as he pointed out in the photograph that turned both officers a bit green, was torn open. It was a brutal murder that told of anger and frustration and passion, not of a simple revenge plot after an argument. The more he pointed out, the more the officer began to grow concerned and the more his superior started to see the bigger picture.

A mistake was made and the wrong person was in prison and had been in prison for the last four years. A deal was made then, as Sherlock had an idea who the suspect was based on the cigarette butts left on the scene that didn't match up to those the suspect used. A sailor's brand just as the shoes were of the same brand most sailors wore out on the docks near Silverton. Their size was rather average and there wasn't much else to go on, but the officer did keep one crucial piece of evidence secured: the murder weapon. With a bit of fingerprint dust and tape and a copy of the suspect's prints to rule those out, Sherlock took the other and with a few gathered officers, tracked down the sailors who stayed and worked in the port and smoked the right brand of cigarettes.

There weren't very many and the few who were there were large, overbearing individuals who wouldn't be toppled over as easily as the person the supposed suspect fought that day in the kitchen. There was one man though, who fit the bill perfectly and once he realized what they were looking for, he went to make a run for it only to get easily tripped by Sherlock and tackled by officers before he could go very far. With this case solved and the correct criminal in custody—a man who had fallen in love with the victim and proven to have a temper and passion that could easily send him into a fit if given the right weapon and trigger—Sherlock moved on to other things, not knowing that the person he'd ended up freeing from prison was someone he had known ten years ago.


Upon release from prison, Avery stepped back into her old home to take whatever of her things were left. There wasn't much. The mansion had been cleaned out and abandoned not long after news got around that Lady Clarke had passed. Her absentee father had apparently been having an affair and was living a whole other life in Italy, only doing upkeep on the mansion until he found a way to abandon the wife and child he'd left behind. Avery didn't find much and after four years in prison, she'd grown out of most of the stuff that was left. Still, she was grateful for her past self hiding away cash in various spots inside and outside of the house.

First chance she got, she was on a ferry off the island and ended up in Spain for a while. As a child, she loved learning new things and picked up things rather quickly when trailing after sailors or gardeners or whoever else she could find. It was now that those seemingly haphazard learning sessions were turning out handy. With no job and the strike of prison time marking her ledger, Avery had to make money any way she could. She took any jobs she could find and do from plumbing to construction to repairing watches or toys. Once she had enough to get a phone, things progressed from there.

She posted advertisements in papers and her odd jobs started to include more exciting challenges. She'd put in the offer to try her hand at solving people's problems. She wasn't a licensed PI, but not everyone wanted to pay the cost to hire one. As long as she did things legally and stayed out of the way of any police, she did whatever was asked. She found lost pets, tracked down rebellious teens and escorted them home, and trailed after possible cheating husbands and wives. It was going well until she stumbled into a crime scene.

Staying wasn't an option as she knew what it would look like. An ex-con stalking a cheating wife who was now lying on the bed with her head bashed in by her husband. Avery had her suspicions of the man when he'd hired her, seeing the obvious signs of anger issues and the strong meds in his bathroom cabinet for his bipolar disorder. She'd returned his deposit with an apology when he said he wanted physical proof. She refused to get a decent picture of the person the wife was cheating on him with, as was her policy that she'd explained from the start. She would help confirm or deny suspicions but would not provide the identities of the people involved. This kept her well on the right side of the law without the risk of her helping a potential murderer. Though it hadn't stopped anything in this case.

The man had been angry at her decision but Cordona's corrupted prison had toughened her up to handle more than a good brawl or two. He could see this and thankfully didn't try anything but it worried her enough to follow him after she left. Then, given the police were taking their sweet time arriving at the murder in progress, Avery trailed after him when he left the scene too. A few more anonymous tips and the man was taken in with enough evidence to shut him away for a long time. She couldn't stay in Spain though. The police were suspicious and she didn't doubt she'd end up connected to the couple at some point. That, and the murder scene she'd witnessed had kept her up at night along with the bloody body of her mother. Spain was no longer comfortable. She needed to leave.

She wasn't sure what brought her to London. Perhaps it was the English blood in her or the dog she'd found dumped by a backyard breeder near the Thames who did a botched ear cropping. She ensured they were taken into custody and their rights as animal owners and breeders revoked with a bit of threatening here and there. The dog though was hers. A giant schnauzer, black as night, and not even half a year old who needed round-the-clock care for his swollen and infected ears. She found a cheap flat in London within sprinting distance of a veterinarian and settled in for the first time in a while.

The landlord was a gruff but pleasant Scotsman who adored the dog, threatened bodily harm if he ever met the ex-breeder, and had a soft spot for ex-cons trying to make a living in the world.

"Best tenants I've ever gotten. Nice and quiet, keep to themselves, and good to those who treat them proper."

Despite this, she sometimes wondered if he just liked the animals they brought with them. Between Deimos (Greek god of death and terror which fit the large black beast her dog became), Mittens (the three-year-old calico cat owned by the downstairs ex-burglar), and Pillow (the hedgehog owned by the burly ex-carjacker) the landlord was more than pleased to drop in for tea and drinks if only to adore said pets.

Still, it was a welcome relief after everything and she settled in well and got to know the area decently between walking the dog and getting her reputation for fixing things back out in the open. Technology made this easier, of course, and the hand-me-down laptop she bought off Mittens's owner proved better than she'd expected. Information gathering was far easier and getting a website up with his help meant word got out faster and was quicker to go through. After a year or so of building back up her reputation here, Avery was more than ready to drop back into cases.

Though she had no idea someone else was doing very much the same.


London 2010

Avery and Deimos jogged up to their flat building, both out of breath after their morning jog. As Avery worked the key into the latch, Deimos perked up and barked once, wagging his stump of a tail as the door was shoved open and the landlord stood within with a grin tucked under his mustache and beard. Avery rolled her eyes as Deimos hurried up and sat properly for the treat the man always had on hand, taking it and enjoying his pets as Avery pulled out an earbud and greeted the landlord.

"How are you, Mac? Anything exciting for me today?" She asked as he passed her some mail he'd collected.

"Not less ya think a clogged kitchen sink is worth the pounds they'll give ya."

Avery grunted, skimming the offers with a frown as Mac ruffled Deimos's fur, much to the dog's pleasure.

"I've got nothing else better," she sighed, running a hand through her short-cut hair. "We're gonna be near the red this week and I've gotta get dog food somehow."

"Well, now, I can't let this sweet boy starve," Mac hummed, giving Deimos one last pet before shooting Avery a serious look. "Now, I can't promise this will work out for ya, but I might have something. Wait here."

Avery raised a brow as he left, but shook her head and waited, petting Deimos herself as she picked up the day's paper out of the mail and eyed the front page. Her interest peaked at the main story about a woman who was found murdered in a set of abandoned flats as the final victim of a serial killer. She flipped to the appropriate page and read more of the article, growing more interested the deeper she got.

A set of serial killings had been happening that were believed to have been suicides—part of the reason she hadn't noticed it at all. Yet, somehow a DI Lestrade gained the assistance of an anonymous source who helped track down the culprit that was poisoning the victims with capsules during some twisted game. The killer guilted them about their lives and mistakes, goading them into challenging him in a game of wits and they all lost. Said killer was killed though, shot by an unknown source. 9mm weapon at that range? Military experience probably. Avery set the paper down as Mac came back with a paper and pen.

"We landlords gotta stick together, you see," he hummed, scribbling something on the paper. "There's a block of flats on Baker Street and the one with the sandwich shop below it has a lovely older woman who needs a bit of help. We had drinks the other night during the usual poker game—"

Avery raised a brow at that but didn't comment.

"—and she mentioned having some issues selling a place because of some damp. She's had some right numptys charging her an arm and a leg for just looking at the place, and their quotes aren't right. She thinks they're taking 'vantage of her." He paused, looking up. "Ya can do damp, right?"

Avery nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'd have to see how bad it is, but yeah. I can do damp."

He nodded, smiling as he handed her the paper with the address and a name. "Then, if it works for ya, go ahead and drop by. If ya take it, then she'll take right care of ya. If not, no harm done. I reckon I can grunge up something for ya if it don't work out."

"Thanks, Mac," Avery said with a hint of a smile, lifting the paper. "Let me shower and get Deimos set up and I'll go check it out."

He nodded, giving Deimos one last ruffle of fur before she took the dog to her upstairs flat. The dog got some water as she set up some toys and puzzles for him, then set off to shower. One change of clothes later, and she stepped out of the flat, tugging her cap lower over her eyes as she walked to the address Mac had given her.

It wasn't far, a few blocks at most, and she gave an idle glance at the sandwich shop. The owner was wiping a table outside and she grimaced. Cheating on his wife with an older lady. She shook the thought off, moving to ring the buzzer on the flat if the door hadn't quickly swung open and someone stormed out. They bumped into her shoulder, jarring her, but were quick to turn apologetically.

"Ah, I'm so sorry."

He was a man with short-cropped hair that immediately told her he was ex-military, who looked rather miffed about something, but not enough to forget his chivalry.

"Do you need to speak with someone here? I can get them if you want."

Avery nodded, holding up the paper. "A Mrs. Hudson?"

He nodded with a smile. "Our landlady. Hold on a second." He ducked back inside for a moment before giving her a nod and gesturing down the steps to go. "She'll be right over. Sorry again."

"It's fine," Avery waved off and he nodded before hailing a cab just as an older woman came to the doorway. Ah… the sandwich shop owner's date then. Wonder if she knows…

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Hudson greeted. "John said you needed me?"

"Yes. I live just down Porter Street and do some odd jobs here and there. My landlord mentioned you had a flat with damp that might need looking at."

"Porter Street, you said?" She questioned before she seemed to understand. "Oh! You're that lovely dear Mac mentioned. Yes, yes! Do come in. I'll show you the flat."

Avery nodded and stepped in, closing the door behind her and double-checking the tool bag she'd brought as she was led to the basement flat: 221C.

"No one has been willing to rent it. I know the basement ones aren't as desirable, but other than the damp, it's perfectly fine," Mrs. Hudson rattled on as she got the key and opened the flat. "Then, those workers I got to look at it charged so much just to tell me they'd have to tear walls down and replace everything in the kitchen and bathroom. Now, I don't know that sort of thing, but it seemed a bit excessive. I just haven't gotten someone to look at it since."

Avery listened idly as the door was opened and she was shown in, easily spotting the damage on one of the walls in the living space and moving over to check it.

"You can just find me when you're finished and we can discuss everything," Mrs. Hudson hummed. "I'll be in the only flat on the ground floor. Would you like some tea?"

Avery paused, mildly surprised by the offer only to remember Mac telling her she'd be well taken care of by the elderly woman. Avery gave her a nod and Mrs. Hudson smiled brightly.

"Then, I'll bring you a cuppa once the kettle's boiled, dear. You're free to take your time."

She left and Avery could see why she was taken advantage of by the other contractors, lightly shaking her head and getting to work. Mrs. Hudson had been right, of course. Despite initial appearances, the damp wasn't as bad as it could be. Walls would not have to be taken down, though the bathroom plumbing and tiles needed to be replaced as well as the walls painted with anti-damp paint in all the rooms instead of the wallpaper in place that was peeling badly. The inspection of the whole flat only took an hour or so with Mrs. Hudson rapping on the door just as she was finishing, holding a cup of tea as she'd promised.

"Done already, deary? I would've brought it earlier but you looked busy."

Avery nodded, accepting the tea and explaining what she found. "It's not as bad as it could be, but a few things need to be fixed first before you can deal with the damp."

"Oh, dear. Come. Let's sit in my flat and discuss this."

Avery was led into her flat and seated at a small table with the tea and some biscuits Mrs. Hudson offered. Avery hesitated but took a custard cream and gave the room a quick glance while Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea. I can't place it, but there's something off about this woman. I'm used to some discrimination with the tattoos and gruff appearance, but she didn't bat an eye. Yet, the whole flat screams older widow with hip problems who likes baking and cleaning. Avery set the thought aside but kept a bit of her guard up. She could always ask Mac later.

"Right, so…" Avery looked at the notes she'd scribbled down while checking the flat. "There's a busted pipe in the bathroom shower that's the main cause of the damp in there. That needs to get fixed first along with the leaking kitchen sink. Those have damaged the kitchen cupboards along the bottom, and the walls and tiling in the bathroom. Both need to be replaced, though it's just the base of the cupboards from what I see. Didn't get to the flooring."

She flipped a page on the notepad and continued.

"The windows need to be resealed as whoever did it was using the wrong sealant and it's cracked. Coating the exterior walls would be a good idea as well as tearing down the wallpaper and using anti-damp paint instead. The bedroom is untouched really, other than the window sill that's cracking. I'd suggest putting in fans though, and better heating if you can. It'll keep the damp showing up in the future once it's well-insulated and protected."

"And you can do all of that?"

Avery nodded. "The fan and heating will cost extra and be done later, once the damp is dealt with, but the rest I can settle easily enough."

"How much would you charge?"

Avery did some mental math, calculating the cost of the paint, the plumbing, sealing, and replacing the tile and wood. "£500 to £1,000 depending on how well it goes. Fan would be an added £100 to £300. Heating… closer to £750 to £1,500 for the whole flat."

Mrs. Hudson went quiet and Avery had to look away, silently wondering if the price was too much but knowing she'd calculated the bare minimum without really including the full price of labor. Still, it was work for a friend of her landlord's and Mrs. Hudson was kind enough. She could cut back on prices a bit and still make it through the week.

"Oh, dear. I would give you £5,000 for fixing the damp and £2,000 for the rest given that those brutes were going to charge me over £15,000 for the lot of it."

Avery's eyes widened in surprise. "£7,000? Ma'am, that's a bit—"

"You may be doing it because of Mac, but I'm not about to undercharge you for what is going to be a lot of work," she scolded, making Avery shrink back a little. "Now, you let me know when you need the money and how you want me to pay you for it. I'll let you decide when you wish to work." She pushed over a set of keys. "Here's a spare key for the building and one for the flat. I trust you'll work hard and not make me regret this, miss…"

"Avery, ma'am," Avery said, not having even realized she never gave her name. "Avery Clarke. I'll get a contract typed up first thing tomorrow morning and I can start as soon as you sign." She paused then, remembering Deimos and wondering just how cordial Mrs. Hudson would be. "I… I do have a dog."

Mrs. Hudson blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I… I have a dog, so I might need to drop by my flat on occasion to check up on him. Mac might watch him, but—"

"If you need to, deary, I wouldn't mind you bringing him." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "It's been a while since I've had animals around. So long as he's friendly and doesn't disturb the tenants, I don't mind. I can watch him while you work."

Avery relaxed and nodded, standing. "Then, thank you for the tea. I'll bring the contract tomorrow and my dog so you can meet him just in case. Is there anything else?"

"One thing," she said, giving her arm a pat. "Call me Mrs. Hudson. 'Ma'am' makes me feel old."

Avery cracked a small smile. "Of course."

"Oh! And would you like to meet the tenants? You don't have to, of course. I'll let them know you're here though."

"It's fine. I won't be disturbing them so there's no need."

"Oh, all right. Then, I will see you tomorrow, dear."

Avery nodded and stepped back out of the flat, shoulders falling back as she let out a sigh in the cold London air. " 'She'll take care of me' was an understatement, Mac. She practically adopted me."

With a shake of her head, she started back for her own flat, knowing the next week or more was going to be a lot of work.