Sherlock Holmes had stepped into the next room and was pacing when Watson found him. Shutting the door behind him, Watson approached Sherlock with a puzzled look on his face, trying to decipher Sherlock's rambling. Sherlock turned on him abruptly, eyes wide with almost boyish excitement. His hair, already mussed, seemed to be all the more awry and wild. Watson eyed Holmes warily, suddenly frightened by this aspect of Holmes. True, he had seen it before, while they were working on a case and Sherlock discovered something truly profound - but never over a woman, let alone a young one.

"Sixteen, Watson! Sixteen!" Sherlock began pacing again, hands running frantically through his hair. "So intelligent at such a young age - and a female! I never thought I'd see the day when such a thing occurred."

"Holmes," Watson said, "what has gotten into you?"

"Jane Heathrow, that's what!" Sherlock pivoted on Watson again and grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes even wider than before. "You didn't read what I read - she's a genius, considering that she is so young and is female. It's startling!"

Watson shrugged out of Sherlock's grasp and raised an eyebrow. "She certainly seems much more intelligent than the average female."

"Than the average individual, Watson!" Sherlock made his way over to the window that allowed one to see inside his study and gently lifted one of the slats in an attempt to peek at Jane. She sat still, her eyes wandering, taking everything in.

Joining Sherlock, Watson stated with slight awe, "She looks at things like you do, Holmes."

"Indeed," Sherlock murmured, tearing himself away from the window. He began to restlessly pace again, biting away at his thumbnail.

"Holmes." Watson did not approach the man, but began to walk a wide circumference around the sleuth. "I sense that there's something more."

Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes flickering. "More? There is nothing more, Watson."

"I've been your companion long enough to know that you are keeping things from me again."

"Never." Sherlock paced away, mind racing. "She is merely an intelligent, young female with a surprisingly accelerated maturity. Where could she possible come from? Surely not here in London. London does not breed such an individual."

"I am still unconvinced, Holmes," Watson said, still making his wide circumference around the detective. "It takes more than intelligence to impress you." Watson frowned and stopped in his stride abruptly. "Why the devil did you tell Miss Heathrow to call you by your first name?"

Sherlock failed to respond. Suddenly, he stiffened, his back snapping up ramrod straight, eyes wider than ever. "Do you hear it?"

Brow furrowing, Watson listened hard and finally heard something. "It sounds like - "

" - my violin." Sherlock darted from the room, nearly tearing the door off its hinges.

Jane, startled, nearly stumbled over a pile of Sherlock's books. In her hands, she held his precious violin, along with the bow that accompanied it. Watson, arriving upon the scene, was surprised more by Sherlock's lack of reaction than by the fact that Jane held the violin. Standing there, Sherlock seemed frozen, immovable, eyes flitting between Jane's face and her hands. His gaze traveled down her arm and to her hand, where her slender fingers held his bow and violin deliberately. She held it as though it were made of glass, handling it with an expertise that Sherlock had never seen before, aside from his own grasp. Something about the idea of her holding his violin sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

"I'm sorry," Jane finally said, though she did not set the violin down. "I couldn't help myself. Violins are such beautiful instruments." She ran her fingers gently along the body of the violin. Sherlock, still rooted to the spot, shivered again, wondering what such a caress would feel like against his own body. He shook the thought from his mind.

"Indeed they are," he managed to say, his voice unnaturally tense. "Do you play?"

"Some." Jane adjusted the violin in her hands in a way better to grasp it. "I am accustomed, rather, to the piano, the sole instrument that I play exceedingly well."

"You are gifted," Sherlock stated.

"So I have been told." Jane met Sherlock's gaze with the smallest of nervous smiles.

Watson watched the exchange from behind Sherlock, trying his best to keep from frowning and knitting his brows together. He sensed that some change had overcome his companion, and it was not a change that Watson had ever seen before - on Sherlock, at least. The three stood in silence, Sherlock and Jane's gazes locked, Watson's darting between the two. For Watson, the silence was oppresive. He could feel the electricity between their gazes; he saw the way both Sherlock and Jane seemed to be reading each other. It unnerved Watson far more than anything he had ever experienced.

The nanny was the one to break the silence. She came into the room with a large platter in her hands, drawing all gazes sharply to her. She cast a glance between the three of them, a puzzled expression creeping into her eyes.

"I have brought the tea," she said, doing her best to tear her gaze away from Jane. She walked over and set it on the table in what little space was there and sent Watson a questioning glance. He shrugged.

"Thank you, nanny," Sherlock said, recovering himself. He pulled up the chair Jane had been sitting in earlier and gestured at it. "Please, take a seat, Miss Heathrow."

Accepting his offer, Jane said, "I suppose 'Jane' wouldn't be so much a burden."

A light smirk touched the corner of Sherlock's lips. "I suppose not." He settled down in a chair directly across from Jane and suddenly remembered Watson's presence. "Watson! Come and sit."

Baffled, Watson complied and pulled up a chair between the two so he could see them both clearly. Sherlock poured the tea, asked if Jane wanted any sugar or cream - (both, actually) - and handed it to her with the utmost care. She took it gratefully, presenting him with a smile that may have sent his face into a flush, had not it been for Sherlock's strong restraint upon himself. He poured himself some tea but did not for Watson, who regarded Holmes coolly.

"No tea for me, then?" he asked.

"You can serve your own tea, Watson. You've done it before." Sherlock didn't so much as even glance in Watson's direction. He waited a moment for Jane to finish sipping at her tea before addressing her. "Jane." Her name rolled off his tongue fluidly, tasting so sweet to him. "What brings you to London?"

Setting her cup and saucer aside, Jane licked the spoon clean and twirled it in her fingers by impulse as she answered. "I came here to study."

"Study?" Watson looked at her curiously. "You said you were not a student."

"I believe Sherlock said that," Jane pointed out, directing her gaze at Watson. "But, he is right in that regard. I am not a student."

"Symbols." Sherlock's voice drew both of their attention. "You came to London to study symbols."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Symbols have always intrigued me," Jane said, the spoon twirling faster between her fingers. "That is not to say that I am any good at recognizing them. I merely have tried to acquaint myself with them."

"I say otherwise." Sherlock sniffed and reached out to pick up one of Jane's notebooks. She reached out immediately, faster than one would have expected. Their hands briefly touched, until Jane's fingers slowly uncurled from the notebook and relinquished it. "I promise I won't ruin it," Sherlock said, flipping to the first page.

"May I?" Watson asked, gesturing to one of the notebooks. Jane nodded and cast her glance from one man to the other as they began to skim the pages. Watson's eyes sparked astonishment as he scanned the page. Sherlock, however, reflected excitement once more, flipping the pages earnestly, his eyes taking in all he saw.

"You are a genius!" Sherlock declared, snapping the notebook shut abruptly. Jane flinched from the noise and stopped rolling the spoon between her hands, her gaze dropping to her feet.

"You give me too much credit," Jane murmured quietly.

"Your insights are deeply profound," Sherlock said, setting the notebook aside. "Surely one may be able to read about symbols, but to make connections as strong as you have is not a feat a non-genius would be able to accomplish. Comparing the symbolism of color to modern society in the form of art and textiles is unbelievable!"

Jane shifted in her seat and brought her gaze up to Sherlock's face, a modest grin twitching the corner of her lips. "You flatter someone unfit to be flattered, Sherlock. What you have pointed out is not something profound. It is actually quite obvious."

"And that is the mark of a true genius!" Sherlock nearly leapt to his feet in excitement. "A genius is the only individual who would notice something profound and say it is 'quite obvious'. It - "

"She is an artist."

Watson's voice stopped Sherlock in his ramble and caught his attention. Poring over another notebook, Watson slowly looked up at Sherlock. "Quite the artist, if I must say so myself."

Jane shook her head. "You, too, Dr. Watson, give me much credit for what little talent I possess."

Jane's modesty and humble demeanor was staggering to Holmes. He had never come across a young individual who did not boast about their talents and feats. Truly, he thought, this is one intriguing woman.

"Look at this, Holmes." Watson handed the notebook - sketchbook - to Holmes, who immediately scanned the page. "You do have talent," Watson addressed Jane. "You should be proud."

"One cannot be proud in one's failures," Jane said, her gaze darting back to Sherlock.

"Watson is right," Sherlock said, almost breathlessly. "Such talent is not given to just any one individual." He bit his lip, still taking in the beauty of her art. "The perspective here is fantastic, even if I am one who does not show much interest in art."

"Though it is pleasing to find two gentlemen who bestow such heavenly praise upon me, I do wish you would not." Jane shook her head and plucked the sketchbook from Sherlock's grasp. "I am not one to favor compliments." Jane looked around for a clock and found one sitting askew on what seemed to be desk. "I think it would be best if I leave."

"Oh, please don't!" Sherlock was on his feet in an instant. "Our conversation is intriguing."

Before Jane could say anything, Watson cut in. "Miss Heathrow," he asked, "where are your parents?"

"My parents?" Jane seemed surprised by his question. "They reside up north."

"North? Why are you so far from home?"

"London is more of a home than what they have to offer," Jane said, resentment creeping into her voice slightly. "They fuss over my older sisters instead, since they have all been married since the age of fourteen. I suppose one could consider me the runt of the litter. They expect nothing from me, and thus I had the opportunity to come here without the burden of them to carry."

"You live alone!" Sherlock's surprise was evident in his widened gaze.

"Yes." Jane, already on her feet, began to collect her notebooks. "It is dangerous, I know. That is why I have taken the necessary precaution of adorning myself with masculine attire. I do my best to keep from prying eyes, especially those of vulgar men."

Sherlock's mouth had dried considerably as he watched Jane gather her things. He wanted to stop her, to keep her from leaving. He couldn't even stomach the thought of her living alone with so much evil about the town. He tried to speak but failed, his mind racing in search of words. Watson stood to his feet and went over to grab Jane's coat and hat.

"Shall I hail a landau*?" Watson asked, handing her the coat.

"There's no need," Jane said. "I shall hail a hansom** when I am on the street. I thank you for the offer, however."

"Watson!" Sherlock's sharp exclamation drew both Watson and Jane's attention. Sherlock made for the other room again. "Watson, a word. Jane, please excuse us for a moment."

Slipping into the next room and shutting the door, Sherlock grabbed Watson by the shoulders and nearly shook him to death due to his excitement. "I have the most brilliant idea, Watson."

"All your ideas are brilliant." The sarcasm was evident in Watson's voice as he tried to slip from Sherlock's death grip.

"Let's have Jane board with us!" Sherlock's eyes were unnaturally wide.

"Board with us!"

"Yes! She shouldn't be living all alone. She could very well be attacked." Sherlock's hands tightened on Watson's shoulders. "And think about it, Watson. With her extensive knowledge on symbols and symbolism, she could prove to be a valuable ally when solving cases! Just think of it!"

"You solve cases just fine by yourself," Watson pointed out. "And why the devil would she want to board with you? You are disgusting and selfish and - "

"Please, Watson. Though I just enjoy your ranted descriptions about me, I am in no mood to listen." Sherlock dropped his hands from Watson's shoulders. "By boarding with us, we can provide her shelter and she, in turn, can delve out her knowledge when necessary. It's an ingenius strategy, Watson. Absolutely brilliant."

"I won't be boarding with you for much longer, Holmes." Watson frowned. "Mary and I will be moving into our new home in less than a few weeks."

Sherlock didn't even hear Watson. He stepped out of the room and found Jane with notebooks in hand, her coat and hat about her. Struggling to reign in his excitement and anticipation as much as possible, Sherlock approached Jane with a faint smile on his face, his calculating eyes warm and amiable for once in his lifetime.

"Jane," Sherlock began, fidgeting ever so minutely, "Watson and I - "

At this, Watson stepped back in astonishment, eyes widening, head shaking back and forth. "I never - "

" - have come to the conclusion that an offer should be made," Sherlock finished.

"An offer?" Jane shifted the books in her arms awkwardly.

"Yes. We - " Watson elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. " - that is to say, I, would like to make the offer of a place of residence."

"I already have my own accomodations."

"Yes, but I am proposing that you board here, with us." Sherlock did his best to keep from fidgeting like a young schoolboy. "All your needs would be taken care of, and you would no longer have to be so concerned about being attacked from being alone. I can tolerate quite a few things - "

"Not true!" Watson exclaimed.

" - to some extent," Sherlock amended, "and I most certainly would enjoy your company."

Jane pursed her lips and glanced between Watson and Sherlock. "How did you come about this offer? What purpose do I have for you? Surely not housekeeping."

"No, no, please don't misinterpret my meaning." Sherlock took another step forward, struggling to keep from breaking down in exasperation. "You, with such a profoundly wide expanse of symbolic knowledge and deep intelligence, would be of the utmost help to me and my companion here."

"Mostly him," Watson warned, wondering whether or not Jane would actually consider the offer.

Biting her lip in a manner startlingly similar to Sherlock, Jane thought long and hard. Finally, she regarded Sherlock with a solemn gaze, though she said not a word for the longest time. Under her gaze, Sherlock felt nearly naked, an idea that did not repulse him as much as it could have.

"I accept your offer, Sherlock," Jane said. "However, I come on only one condition." Her voice seemed to hold a grave undertone.

"Anything," Sherlock said.

"Within reason!" Watson added, startled by Jane's acceptance.

"Provide me with a piano." Jane's eyes were unreadable. "Provide me with a piano and I will board with you."

"Certainly! Of course!" Sherlock could no longer contain his excitement. A lopsided, boyish grin spread across his face. "When can I expect your arrival? Shall I send someone to aid you in your packing and transportation of your things?"

"That won't be necessary, I assure you, Sherlock," Jane said. "I have very little. I do, however, hope that I do not have to pay rent. I can hardly pay rent to my current landlord."

"Never - not one pound." Sherlock shook his head.

Watson, sensing that Jane was just about ready to leave, took up his gentlemanly duties and opened the door for her. She smiled at him gratefully and cast one last glance over her shoulder at Sherlock.

"You can expect me in two days."

And she was gone.

Watson shut the door behind her and faced Sherlock sharply. "What the devil have you done, Holmes!"

Sherlock, however, was not listening. He turned away from Watson and the door, walking briskly about his room, rummaging through things without actually picking anything up.

"Watson, just think of it!" Sherlock repeated, ecstatic. "This could, perhaps, be one of the best decisions of my life, and - oh!" He looked around his room frantically. "She arrives in two days, Watson! We must accomodate her needs!"

"No, you must accomodate her needs," Watson said. "I already accomodate for Mary, as it is." He picked up his hat and cane, and he pulled on his coat. "I only suggest that you let her use the room behind you."

Sherlock turned and looked at the room he had been in only momemts earlier with Watson. He did not hear the door open and shut. "But, Watson," he cried, pivoting around, "you must help - Watson?" He found himself alone. "Watson?" He shook his head. "No matter."

And he set about tidying up what would be Jane's new place of residence.

A/N: * A four-wheeled, convertible carriage popular in England in the mid 1700s to early 1800s.

** A horse-drawn carriage - also referred to as a type of cab - designed in the early 1800s. One of the more common cabs in England.