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.

Special Thanks To: GwenCooper456, 98ShadowWolff98, misunderstoodloony, melstewarmth for reviewing! I really appreciate it!

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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Intro Music:

One and Only by: Adele

You've been on my mind

I grow fonder every day.

Lose myself in time,

Just thinking of your face…

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She's so….pretty, John thought, looking at the way her sleek black hair seemed to glow in the sun. Her eyes were perfect, like the ocean. And she walked with such great confidence, it amazed John.

"Exactly what are you looking at," Shannon asked curiously as they walked down the stairs.

John could feel his cheeks slightly heat up. "Nothing," he muttered.

Shannon noticed what his cheeks had done, but ignored it. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out," John yelled out as the descended from the final flight of stairs.

"Both of you," Mrs. Hudson asked worriedly, coming out of her kitchen.

As Shannon reached the door, she came to a harsh stop and turned around, walking towards Mrs. Hudson. "Impossible suicides, four of them," Shannon began, her mouth going into a wide smile. "There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Shannon reached Mrs. Hudson and hugged her tight.

"Look at you, all happy," Mrs. Hudson tsked. "It's not decent."

"Who cares about decent," Shannon asked excitedly, continuing her walk out the front door. "The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

John followed closed behind as she left the building and called for a taxi.

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The sound of silence surrounded them as Shannon busied herself with texting. John kept looking over, slightly confused. Shannon finally noticed and put her phone down, sighing. "Okay," she said, looking out the window. "You've got questions?"

John nodded. "Yeah, where are we going," he asked, looking around.

"Crime scene," she muttered, looking at John. "Next?"

He looked down at his hand. "Who are you? What do you do," he asked.

"What do you think," Shannon asked quickly, looking at the cabby driver.

"I'd say private detective," John mused, but didn't continue on.

Shannon looked straight ahead. "But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives," John muttered, causing Shannon to smile.

"I'm a consulting detective," she said, grinning," Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean exactly," he asked, looking at Shannon.

"Means when the police are out of their depth," she said, looking at him straight in the eye," Which is always, they consult me."

John smiled, amused. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Shannon sighed and looked out the window. This is getting a bit frustrating, she thought. Might as well tell him. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised."

"Yes," John said, pleased that he was getting something out of her," how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw," Shannon explained. She then closed he eyes and pictured the office onto which they had met in.

John had stood at the other side of the table, frozen. Shannon was about to put a drop of chemical in, but had been frozen too in the picture. "You're haircut; the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room…," Shannon explained.

John had come in saying," Bit different from my day." "Said trained at Bart's, so army doctor, obvious," Shannon continued.

John had handed her his phone, revealing his hand. "Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists," she said, thinking. "You've been abroad, but not sunbathing."

John stood there, watching Shannon use his phone. "Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action, then," she deducted. "Wounded in action, suntan….Afghanistan or Iraq." She opened her eyes; she was back in the cab.

"You said I had a therapist," John said quickly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist," Shannon said, feeling a bit tired. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm," John asked.

"Your phone," Shannon simply said, turning John's phone around. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. And you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this; it's a gift then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins." She turned to John. "The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy, you know it already."

Shannon turned the phone to look at its back. "The engraving," John asked.

"Harry Watson," she stated. "Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father. This is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin," she shrugged. "But, you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is."

"Now Clara," Shannon mused, looking at the engraving. "Who's Clara? Three kisses say it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently. This model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then." She moved the phone around in her hand. "Six months on, he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do, sentiment," she said, looking at John briefly, then continued on. "No, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you," she said, pointing it at him.

"That says he wants you to stay in touch," she said, taking a short breath. "You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking," she said, staring out the window.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking," John asked, amazed.

"Shot in the dark," she said, smiling. "Good one, though. Power connection, tiny little scuffmarks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them." She handed John his phone back. "There you go, you see, you were right."

"I was right? Right about what," he asked, confused.

Shannon continued to stare out the window. "The police don't consult amateurs."

There was a moment of silence, John slowly taking it in. "That…was amazing," John commented. You're so brilliant and absolutely breathtaking, he thought.

Shannon stayed quiet for a while, thinking about whether or not he was being sarcastic. Then, she looked over at him surprised. "Do you think so," she asked, smirking.

"Yes, of course it was," John responded quickly, looking at her. "Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary."

Shannon scoffed and looked away. "That's not what people normally say," she said, sighing, not used to the feeling of being appreciated.

"What do people normally say," John asked curiously.

She sighed and turned to him. "Piss off," she muttered, grinning.

John and Shannon smiled at each other and looked away. John laughed and stared out the window thinking, how is she so brilliant?

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Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review, they definitely cheer up my day and Sherlock and Watson enjoy it too!