Maxine

"To be perfectly honest, I wasn't expecting you."

A small smile tugged my lips as I looked over at the man that strode beside me. John Watson wasn't much taller than myself, something that he didn't enjoy me pointing out, for whatever reason. His hair was neat and dusty-brown unlike my bright ginger locks, but we still shared the same stone-blue eyes.

"I figured you'd be used to me being... spontaneous," I told him. "Have you talked to Harry recently?"

John's face fell and he instantly broke eye contact. We walked along a rather busy street in central London. Overcast was threatening rain overhead and there was a slight chill to the breeze, but when I glanced up, I could tell the brunt of the rain was going to pass over us. The sounds of our shoes thudding against the sidewalk was nearly drowned out by the cars that rolled by. Autumn leaves fluttered through the air; streaks of color against the otherwise gray city landscape.

"And why would I do that?" John asked. His voice was tight.

"Because you're still looking for a place to live in London, aren't you?" I queried. "And still strapped for cash."

"What makes you think that?" John demanded.

"Why do you keep just replying with a question?" I countered calmly.

John let out a long sigh through pursed lips. "Well, I have one more for you: why are you really here, Maddie?"

An old nickname that only he was allowed to use. I shrugged and dug out some spare sake flavored Kitkats I had left. "Maybe I'm looking for a place too. Maybe I want to just go back to my old job."

"You're old job?" John scoffed. "You hated that place. If you ask me, you came back here to check up on me."

I popped a bar of candy in my mouth and chewed. Once I swallowed, I said, "I don't see how that's relevant."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm the older brother, I should be checking up on you. Weren't you trying to pursue your art career?"

"It didn't work," I told him bluntly.

"'Didn't work?'" John echoed.

I shrugged as I ate the rest of my Kitkat.

John shook his head. "I wish you would just elaborate once in a while," he muttered.

I was often seen as odd and robotic. I tried to only say what needed to be said, because to me, words were precious. They were only meant to be used when one was feeling something profound; and to be honest, I didn't really feel much. Often times I figured there was something wrong with that, but it didn't really bother me.

"Really, Maddie, I'm fine," John insisted when I didn't respond to him. "I've got therapy going. It's helping."

"Is it?" I glanced down at the cane he was using to walk. It made his gate to be hitched and awkward.

"Yes," John replied firmly.

"Is this talk therapy or physical?" I inquired as I slipped the Kitkat wrapper in my pocket.

"Talk," John replied. "She suggested I start a blog. Thinks writing out everything that happens to me will help with... well, you know. Maxine." He only used my full name when he was very serious, or if I'd truly pissed him off. He paused in our walk and faced me. "You don't have to worry about me, really. Just head back to Japan."

"No," I said.

John opened his mouth to retort, but I cut him off.

"Johnny, arguing isn't going to get you anywhere."

"You know I hate being called that." John continued to look annoyed for a moment. Then he let out a long sigh. "You said you were looking for a place too."

"Mm-hmm." I nodded once while pulling out my phone to examine it.

John pushed my hand down the moment I tried to lift it to my face. "Are you planning on living with me?"

"You said you were looking for a flatmate," I reminded him.

"No I didn't," John argued.

I frowned as I tried to lift my phone again. "Huh, must have just been me filling in your dialogue."

Once more, John pushed my mobile down. "Will you stop that?" he snapped.

"I need to look at my settings," I insisted.

"No, you don't," John said. "You just don't like to argue and because you can't just walk away from me, you keep trying to use your mobile as a distraction."

I shoved my phone back in my pocket, my brows furrowing a bit. "You don't know that."

"You're impossible," John said. "How are we gonna find someone who will take on two roommates with no real jobs?"

"I can always bat my eyes at some passerby and hope for the best."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" I asked seriously. "People find my looks attractive and I've found I can use it to my advantage."

"You know what, maybe it will be a good thing—you living with me," John sighed as we continued walking again. "You do realize pulling stunts like that can get you hurt?"

"I've taken a lot of classes in self defense while I was in Japan," I said. "Most people also underestimate me because of my size and sex."

My brother merely sighed again and shook his head.

John had come to greet me at the airport. I only called him when I landed to let him know I was back in London. Of course, as he said, he wasn't expecting it. I only ever got along with one member of our family, and it was him. So when the chance arose for me to take my art to Japan, I took it in a heartbeat. I'd lived there for the past two years.

Now, John was back from the war. Back and... different. Of course loads of people told me about the concern for PTSD. John had been an army doctor overseas. He'd been shot, which is what sent him home. I was glad he was back, of course; I'd visited him when he first landed. However, after a few months, I had a feeling something was wrong, given how our near constant back and forth in email came to a stop. He said he was busy, but I knew better.

I wasn't entirely lying when I said I was struggling as well. Being British in Japan and trying to get into their art culture wasn't exactly easy, especially since it was still challenging for me to read their written language. Yet eventually, someone took a manga idea of mine and my art. It had taken off quite nicely, to the point where I could work from anywhere. Japan would still be more ideal to keep up with my job, but I'd been forced to leave by my old Aikido instructor just when things finally stated to get interesting. It was a little sad considering how I was before my life was actually threatened.

I was bored.

It was incredible to be living in a place like Japan and feel bored. I found myself using any and every excuse I could to do something new, something exciting. That was how I ended up taking Aikido in the first place and it was what caused me to ask Miyako about her injured pinky finger. Perhaps it was coincidence that John seemed to need someone the most when I was forced to leave.

"Why didn't we take the cab all the way to the place you're staying?" I asked as we rounded a corner and headed up a new street.

"I'm supposed to exercise the leg," John explained. "Not that it's any fun. I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all," I agreed as I adjusted my yellow scarf about my neck. It was the first thing I bought in Japan and I was rather attached to it. "It's decent out considering the time of year."

"John?" a voice suddenly called. "John Watson?"

The two of us turned to see a slightly portly man waving from a bench we were passing. Spectacles gripped his face a touch to tightly, and his brown hair was receding off the crown of his head. He waved, a smile on his face.

"Stamford!" the man introduced. "Mike Stamford! We went to Barts together!"

"Oh, yes, yes." John seemed surprised as he shook the man's hand.

"I know, I know!" Mike exclaimed. Then he leaned in with a grin. "I've gotten fat."

"Oh, no, 'course not..." John mumbled awkwardly, as was the polite thing to do in these situations.

"And who might this lovely young lady be?" Mike turned his attention to me, still beaming.

"You don't recognize Maddie?" John said.

I shot a look at my brother. I couldn't recall ever having a conversation with this guy. Was I supposed to act like I knew him? John seemed to sense my stress and met my eyes for a moment before laughing a little.

"I had pictures of my family up in the dorm," he explained. "No, you haven't met him."

"Cool. That would have been awkward," I muttered.

"Ah, yes, Mad Max!" Mike beamed as he extended his hand. "John had a lot of stories about you!"

I shook the man's hand. His grip was firm and his hand was clammy. "Hi," I said with a brief smile before taking a step back and fixating my attention on some nearby pigeons that were busily pecking at crumbs. I didn't know this man, so I had no obligation to talk to him.

"Yes, uh, good to meet you too." Mike cleared his throat before turning back to John. "So what have you been up to? I heard you were overseas getting shot at! What happened?"

Well that's an interesting choice of an ice-breaker. I glanced at my brother, wondering if I needed to fake fainting or something equally preposterous to save him from answering. However, John merely gave a tight-lipped smile, shrugged, and said, "I got shot."

We ended up grabbing coffee and sitting down on the bench with Mike so he and John could catch up a bit. I kept my hands around my cup, appreciating the warmth it provided. October was chilly this year, but I didn't mind. I appreciated the cold. The sharp sting of it, the clean scent it gave the air. I often found myself content sitting and listening to others talk. The only time I got uncomfortable was when they tried to pull me into the conversation. Luckily for me, John knew this and he was quite good at answering questions for my or redirecting the conversation.

"Are you still at Barts, then?" John asked, glancing at Mike.

"Yes, teaching now," Mike replied. "Bright, young kids just like we were. God, I hate them." He laughed and smiled over at John. "What about you, just staying in town just until you get yourself sorted?"

"Ha, no, can't afford London on an Army pension," John said as if it were obvious.

"Ah, but I can't imagine you anywhere else! That's not the John Watson I know," Mike said.

John cast his gaze to his knees and flexed his left hand. It seemed to be giving off a slight tremor. "I'm not that John Watson," he muttered.

"Well, you have family in town!" Mike smiled across John to where I sat. "Perhaps you two can figure something out together!"

John glanced at me. "Well, that was the plan, but Maddie just got in. Literally, she just arrived today."

"No job," I added while still examining the pigeons strut down the sidewalk. I took a long drink of coffee to show I wasn't going to say more.

"Can't Harry help?" Mike suggested.

John scoffed and I nearly choked on my drink.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen," John said.

"I don't know... get a flat share or something?" Mike asked with a shrug.

"Come on," John sighed. "Who would want me as a flatmate? Not to mention with my additional baggage now." He shot me a glance.

"No need to get rude," I muttered.

Mike started to chuckle.

"What?" John asked, turning his attention to his old classmate.

"It's just that..." Mike looked the both of us over, still grinning with amusement, "you're the second person to ask me that today."

I frowned and leaned forward to meet his eyes. I was a bit pleased something had finally piqued my interest. "Who was the first?"

The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol and other chemicals I couldn't name hung in the air of the laboratory at St. Barts. Nearly everything was white-the floors, the counters, the cabinets, even the equipment. I couldn't help but be curious as I eyed all the strange tools littered about. I was trying to decide if everything looked tidy or cluttered.

"Bit different from my day," John noted as we followed Mike in.

"You've no idea," Mike replied with a small chuckle.

There was only one other person in the room; a man sitting at the table with some kind of large dropper in one hand. I hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing. Liquid was dripping out of the tip of the strange device and onto a small glass dish.

His dark hair was curly and reached down to his ear lobes. His face was smooth and slender and his eyes were striking- long-lashed and angular. Their color was pale green; a green that reminded me of spring and the budding of leaves. He dressed normally enough; collared shirt, dark slacks. He only spared us a small glance as we stepped into the room. It seemed fleeting, disinterested, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel like there was a sharpness to his gaze. Something piercing and unrelenting.

"Mike," the man said abruptly. "Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike asked with a perked brow as he headed toward him.

"Nothing, I prefer to text," the man replied.

"Sorry," Mike said with a shrug. "It's in my coat."

There was a slightly awkward silence before John spoke up.

"Uh, here, use mine," he said, slipping his mobile from his pocket and offering it with a smile. If I wasn't mistaken, it was the same one Harry gave him. I suppose it was a nice phone; no point in tossing it, especially when so tight on money.

The man blinked, appearing pleasantly surprised. "Oh. Thank you," he said as he got to his feet.

As he headed over toward us, I couldn't help but take in his tall, lean stature. Of course, almost anyone standing near my brother appeared tall. Even I was only two inches shorter than him.

I found myself memorizing his features. He would be delightful to draw. It would be an extraordinary challenge to get the shading and curls of his hair just right. Then there were those eyes... eyes so ascetically pleasing that they might just work on any face.

"This is an old colleague of mine, John Watson," Mike introduced. "And his sister, Maddie."

I didn't know how I felt about someone I barely knew calling and introducing me as Maddie. I typically only let John and Harry call me that. My brow pinched a bit as I focused on examining the strange tools around me, worrying my fingers in the folds of my scarf.

As the man paused by John and began to type away on the phone, he offhandedly asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

It took me a second to register what he said. Seems it was the same for John, for he blinked and looked at the man with a frown. I glanced to Mike to see he was smirking a little, as if he was privy to some inside joke.

"Sorry?" John said.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man repeated, letting his gaze leave the mobile phone to look at John.

John blinked a few times. "Afghanistan..." he said. "I'm sorry, how did you...?"

Mike was clearly amused. He had taken a seat across the table from the man and bore a wide grin. I began to open my mouth to ask some questions myself, but then the door behind us opened and the man's focus changed.

"Ah, Molly!" he greeted. "Coffee, thank you."

A mousy woman came into the lab with a mug of hot coffee in her hand. She had a pronounced jaw and dusty-brown hair pulled back in a tie. She wore a white lab coat and a nice blouse and trousers beneath.

As she handed the man his coffee, he tilted his head at her. "What happened to the lipstick?" he asked her.

"Oh, um, it wasn't working for me," the woman called Molly replied with a meek smile.

"Hm, I think it was a great improvement," the man insisted as he turned away and began to walk back toward his previous seat. "Your mouth's too small now."

I watched as Molly examined her folded hands with something mixed with conflict and horror.

"Okay," she squeaked before turning and taking her leave.

"Ah, poor lamb," I whispered under my breath.

"Sorry?" John frowned at me.

I shook my head dismissively. That woman, Molly, clearly had some sort of attachment to this man. Too bad it seemed this guy was too caught up in his own world to notice or care. Romantic involvement always seemed like too much work. I always thought of the birds in the tropics- how the men would flaunt their vividly colorful feathers and dance about, some even made nests to try and impress a potential mate. Of course, with humans, it seemed females were more inclined to pull out the bright colors and dances- not that it was unheard of men doing the same.

So much hassle for something so simple. The woman would probably be far better off just admitting her true feelings.

My attention went back to the dark-haired man. There were a few ways he could have come to the conclusion that John was military: John had the cane and was too young to need it for arthritis or anything of the like. He kept his hair nice and neat and his clothing tidy; shirt tucked in, buttons buttoned up to his neck. I suppose it wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion.

"How do you feel about the violin?" the dark-haired man abruptly asked. He was back at his seat and was examining the dish again.

"The violin?" John echoed.

"Yes, playing it helps me think." The man took a sip of his coffee. "Sometimes I can go days on end without saying a word, would that bother you?" He turned to look at John. "Potential flatmates should know the worst of each other." He gave a tight-lipped smile.

"You told him about me?" John accused Mike.

Mike shook his head. "Not a word," he insisted. He still seemed amused, but he didn't strike me as the pranking type. I let my eyes travel back to the man, bewildered. John did the same.

"Then who said anything about a flatmate?" he asked.

"I did," the man said as he grabbed coat from a nearby rack and began to put it on. "This morning I told Mike that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for." He snatched up a dark blue scarf and began to wrap it about his neck. "Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."

John and I exchanged a glance before my brother asked, "How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London," the man said, ignoring John's question as he turned and began to walk back toward us. "Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening at 7:00. Sorry, got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

I couldn't help but release a breath of amusement. The man turned his eyes on me and they narrowed slightly.

"Sorry," I apologized. "I just- I'd like to think you're kidding, but you're not. That's what makes it funny." I shrugged.

The man tilted his head. "And how is it that you know that I'm not kidding?"

"Because you don't seem the type to kid," I said. "At least, not in that fashion. Perhaps sarcasm is more your stride."

The man's eyes darted over me fully now, taking in my whole form with one flick. I was wearing a dark blue jacket that nearly reached my knees with jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt beneath. There were runners on my feet- easy to put on and take off due to the airport, plus I liked the comfortable arch support. I too had a scarf, though mine was bright yellow and I had a matching hat on my head. My ginger hair poked out from beneath the knit cap, just barely reaching my chin.

"I see," the man said, words slow and curious. "Interesting. Do you typically attempt to analyze people?"

"Not typically, no," I admitted. "But you do. I figured it would be interesting to see your reaction to someone doing it to you." I grinned.

"Maddie," John said in a warning tone.

"Don't worry, Johnny, he's not mad," I assured him before glancing back at the man. "He's just surprised."

The man blinked and shrugged. "Suppose I am. Interesting." He walked by us and headed for the door.

"So that's it?" John called after him.

The man paused and turned back around. "Is that what?"

"We only just met, and we're going to go look at a flat?" John pressed.

"Problem?" the man said.

John let out a small scoff as he exchanged a look with Mike. When he put his attention back on the man, he said, "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting- I don't even know your name."

The man's gaze suddenly switched. He lowered his brows and his eyes sharpened with something I couldn't place. It was... intriguing.

"I know that you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan," he said, his words swift and factual. "I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you wouldn't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic and more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. Then there's the third sibling, your sister- the youngest."

His eyes snapped over to me and I nearly dove for cover behind the counter. I had just been having a bit of fun and trying to make the guy uncomfortable for being so rude to that Molly girl from before. However, it seemed this man wasn't going to be shown up. He'd just guessed nearly everything right with John, I didn't want him digging in on me.

"She's worried about you too," the man went on. "You don't want her here, perhaps part of that is pride, but I think it's mostly guilt. She's been abroad in Japan-I'd say about two to three years-doing art. Something she's clearly passionate about-and she isn't passionate about just anything-so you don't want her to be the one to help you. But she's incredibly stubborn, so you can't shake her from helping you, not yet anyway. And..."

He trailed off and began to frown at me.

"Interesting," he murmured.

"You keep saying that," I said, my voice small and wispy from shock.

"You need a place to stay too; this isn't just a social visit to check on your brother- you intend to stay with him until you know for certain he's stable," the man said. He sighed and shook his head. "Good thing this place has three bedrooms." He turned his attention back to John. "Oh. And I know that your therapist thinks you limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John glanced down at his leg and cane and shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

The man then smiled lightly at the both of us. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" he said before turning and opening the door. He paused before exiting, pale green eyes flicking between us. "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked with a click of his tongue, said, "Afternoon!" to Mike, and then he was gone.

I took a step back, blinking a few times. "What just happened?" I asked, my head snapping over to look at my brother.

Mike just nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He's always like that."

That night, when we went back to John's current flat outside of London, I swiftly snatched his phone from his pocket as he was heading for his bed.

"Oi!" he protested.

"I have to see what he texted," I said as I opened up his messages and went to his outbox.

"He was... odd, wasn't he?" John sighed as he limped to his cot and sat down.

I found the message, pleased it wasn't deleted. Not that it made any sense. It read: If brother has green ladder arrest brother. SH

"Police?" I wondered aloud under my breath. "He doesn't seem the type to... work with people." I frowned as I sat beside my brother, tossing him Harry's old phone. "I know how he figured out you have a brother."

John flipped his mobile over and looked at the engraving on the back. Harry Watson, From Clara XXX.

"Just from this?" John asked. "What if it's just a used phone I bought? Ah, right, the last name."

"Not to mention, you're not the type to get a phone of that quality, even used," I said with a shake of my head.

"You and your 'types,'" John sighed. "You and him will get on fine."

"I don't flaunt like he does," I argued. "How did he know I was abroad? And an artist?"

"Have you seen your hands?" John said.

I looked at them. There were graphite smudges all over my knuckles and the heels of my palms. "Oh," I mumbled.

John let out a long breath through his nostrils. "Are we really going to do this?" he asked. "Go meet that man at this flat?"

"It seems beneficial," I pointed out. "He didn't realize I was in on this until after he said you two could afford the flat. Splitting it three ways will make it even better. You know staying in London is important to you."

John shook his head. "Perhaps, but the man is... I mean, I didn't expect there to be someone with us," he said with a wary glance in my direction.

I frowned. "Are you concerned about him taking advantage of me?"

"He's odd!" John said. "What if he's dangerous or something?"

"You wouldn't think twice if it was just you," I told him.

"Well, yes, you're right," John confessed. "But being flatmates with a total stranger isn't something young women should do!"

"You'll be there," I said. "Besides, Johnny, I told you I can hold my own. I think we should do it." I began to smile. "If he's involved with the police, perhaps he's some kind of investigator. It would be fascinating."

"You want to get involved with stuff like that?" John asked incredulously.

"Of course," I answered truthfully. "I could always use new material to work with."

"This isn't one of your comics, Maddie," John said.

"Manga," I corrected him.

John shook his head. "You know what I mean. It's not an adventure novel. If he is involved with the police as some kind of investigator or detective, it could be dangerous."

"Danger tends to be exciting," I said, remembering the leap in my heart when Miyako told me to leave Japan.

"You can't be serious right now," John groaned.

For a moment he just stared at the wall, chewing on his tongue. I patiently waited for him to speak again, knowing I'd already won this argument. One thing that John and I had in common: we loved thrills.

"I have an idea," John said.

He got to his feet and limped over to his desk. From there, he sat down and opened up his laptop. I went over to hover behind him, watching as he typed Sherlock Holmes' name into a search engine.

"Wow," I said when the results popped up.

Sherlock was a busy man. There were several news articles about his exploits. He'd assisted the police with cases involving everything from murder, major heists, kidnapping, forgery, and so much more. He had his own site as well.

"This might be more interesting than I thought," I breathed.

John shook his head at me. "You've always been a little too keen on danger, Maddie."

"Look who's calling the kettle black," I countered.

All my brother could respond with was a laugh.