The Idea: Well, this idea came to me as I was actually prank calling my brother on my mom's cell. I said something about being Sherlock Holmes and my mom said, "Sherlock isn't a girl. If he was, his name would have to be Sherla or something!" And so, this story was born.

Notes: The story won't follow the exact lines because, well you know, I want to mix it up a bit. Also, the characters may be a bit out of character, but they're still them. One last thing, the whole story will be told as if it is a movie, so, to get the full effect of it, you may want to read it while the certain theme song (which will be written in bold) is playing.

Please let me introduce to you a love story with a sprinkle of action:

Shannon Holmes

(I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously)

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The sound of a zipper filled the quiet air. A woman with long, wavy black hair looked down at the corpse, slightly grinning. "How fresh," she asked in a high musical voice and a British accent.

"Just in," a man quickly responded from behind her. "Sixty seven natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." The man had walked around and came beside her.

The woman zipped up the corpse and rose up, facing the man. "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop," she says, smirking.

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The sounds of the riding crop hitting the body of the corpse filled the air as the woman repeatedly hit the corpse. "So," the man said, coming into the room as the woman stopped hitting the corpse. "Bad day was it," he asked politely, chuckling.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," the woman responded, texting someone over the phone. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

There was a moment of silence. "Listen," the man began," I was wondering, maybe later, when you're finished…"

The woman sniffed the air. "You're wearing cologne. You weren't wearing cologne before."

"I've had it for a while," the man said nervously. "I just recently refreshed it a bit."

The woman raised an eyebrow and continued working on her phone. "Sorry, you were saying," she asked.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have some coffee," he asked, smiling.

The woman closed her phone and put it into her pocket. "Black, two sugars please," she said, looking up at him. "I'll be upstairs."

She nodded and rushed upstairs, barely hearing the man squeak out," Okay."

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The door opened as the woman slowly dropped some chemical on a palate. She looked up at the two men that entered and put the experiment away.

"Bit different from my day," John commented, coming in.

"You've no idea," Mike responded.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone," the woman asked, sitting down. "There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the landline," Mike asked, walking towards her.

"I prefer to text," she said, looking at the computer.

"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike said, after patting his pockets.

"Ah, here," John said, getting his phone out his pocket. "Use mine."

"Oh," the woman said, looking up at John. She stood up. "Thank you."

"This is an old friend of mine," Mike said, pointing towards John. "John Watson."

The woman walked over and grabbed the phone out of John's extended hand and began to text. "Afghanistan or Iraq," she asked, quickly pressing buttons.

Mike looked over at John, who was surprised at her question. "Sorry," John asked.

"Which was it," the woman asked, looking away from the phone, but didn't stop texting. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" She then looked back at the phone.

"Afghanistan," John responded as the man who got the woman some coffee came in. "Sorry, how did you know?"

"Ah, Mosby," the woman said, shutting the phone close said," Coffee, thank you." She quickly handed John's phone back.

The man quickly handed the coffee to the woman. "What happened to the cologne," the woman wondered.

"It wasn't working for me," he said as the woman turned around and sipped her coffee.

"Really," she asked, walking back to her seat. "I thought it was a big improvement. You smell like corpses now," she continued, sitting down, continuing to sip her coffee.

"Okay," the man said quickly, exiting the room.

"How do you feel about the violin," the woman asked, setting her coffee cup down and getting to work on her computer.

Mike looked at John mischievously. John just looked confused. "Sorry, what," he asked, watching the woman work.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking," she simply said. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" She turned to look at him, one of her eyebrows raised. "Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." She smiled.

John simply stared at her, his eyes quickly flickering towards Mike then back to the woman. "You told him about me," he asked Mike.

"Not a word," Mike said, looking away from a blood sample.

John looked down and then looked up at the woman again. "Then who said anything about flat mates?"

"I did," she said, turning her back at them and grabbing her dark blue trench coat. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult woman to find a flat mate for," she continued, putting on her coat. "Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan." She tidied up her coat and began to work on fixing up her scarf. "Wasn't a difficult leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan," John asked, slightly shocked.

The woman ignored his question and reached for her phone, checking to see if she had signal again. "Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London." She put her phone into her pocket. "Together we ought to be able to afford it." She walked towards him and stopped about two feet away from him. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00 o'clock."

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." She began to exit the room.

"Is that it," John asked. The woman stopped in front of the door and turned around.

"Is that what," she asked curiously. She walked towards him again and stopped.

"We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat," he asked, even though it didn't really bother him.

The woman raised an eyebrow and looked away from him and then back. "Problem," she asked.

John smiled and looked at Mike, then back to the woman. "We don't know a thing about each other," he said. "I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

The woman looked at John intently. "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan," she said, talking quickly. "I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife."

She looked down at his leg. "And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic-quite correctly, I'm afraid." John looked down nervously, obviously shocked. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think," she asked, smirking.

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Violin Theme Song Plays

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The woman nodded at John and headed for the door, but before she shut it, she popped her head back in. "The name's Shannon Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street," she said, winking sweetly. "Afternoon," she said to Mike, finally shutting the door.

John looked at the door dumbstruck, his mouth slightly opened. Then, he turned to look at Mike. "Yeah, she's always like that," he said, grinning.

John raised his eye brow and stared at the door again, wondering exactly who Shannon Holmes is and why he was so interested in her.

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I hope you guys have been enjoying it. I know, I know, I updated thrice in one day. It's probably because I'm obsessed with the whole television series. I can't stop writing! Ha-ha

Please review!