Charlotte Weather gazed out the window, forehead pressed against the pane as she listened to the city beyond. The cars honked and pedestrians squawked, there was hustle and bustle on the pavement, loud shoes and pop music from here and there. Bright lights and cement and everything completely unfamiliar. So Charlotte focused only the singular thing she knew. Rain. She focused her hearing on the pattering of it on the window, so reassuring and calming.
She had grown accustomed to the country side of honey bees and chickens, staying inside reading history books and listening to her mother's record player of classical symphonies. Camille Saint-Saens was one of her favorites. Charlotte knew green rolling hills, not skyscrapers. But, it was different now. Her parents had been killed. And she had been left alone.
Not completely, of course. Aunt Marie took her in until the funeral was over, and her godfather had been notified. And now, she was in the back of a cab, twenty minutes from meeting him. Her heart pounded in her ears at the thought of living the rest of her youth with a stranger. There had never been a relationship between him and her family after she was born. Mother only mentioned a few times when they would listen to Bach together. Mother had said he was a genius. Charlotte didn't like the sound of that.
She closed her eyes and imagined she was in her old dusty library. It was a game Mother taught her when she was younger. If nightmares plagued her or if she was sick in bed, Mother would tell Charlotte to close her eyes and go somewhere else. Charlotte always went back to that dusty library. She would find books and read them. She could only read the books she had read before, but it didn't bother her. She loved the escape.
Before Charlotte realized, the cab was slowing to a halt, and 221B Baker Street was right outside her window. The driver jumped out of the car to help her lift her luggage out of the trunk.
She paid her driver with the money Aunt Marie had lent her, grabbed her things, and walked to the door with the bravest face she could manage. Mother often mentioned how her brave face looked rather grumpy, but Charlotte preferred it that way. It was her only defense.
With a shaky breath, Charlotte knocked on the door.
"Sherlock, Sherlock she's at the door!" John called hysterically. He scrambled from his chair to get to the door. Sherlock was already on his way, striding with too much arrogance.
John reached the door a second after Sherlock did and watched with held breath as his companion unlocked the door and swung it open.
Sherlock's eyebrows raised in a rare expression of surprise.
The little girl stood with a suitcase in one hand, a duffel bag in the other, and a great cello case over her back, towering her thing frame enormously.
"Sherlock?" She questioned, looking between the taller and shorter man.
"Er, yes, this is Sherlock," John said hastily, his nerves obvious. "And I'm John Watson, his-"
"Boyfriend?"
"What- no, no, of course not, I'm his roommate," John grumbled, thrown off guard.
"Oh," Charlotte said, brow knitting. "That… That makes more sense." It didn't really make sense to her but she didn't press the issue, realizing it must have been some sort of internal feeling that she was sensing from the pair. "I'm Charlotte."
Sherlock had said nothing. He was staring intently down at her. She stared straight back up, chin tilted upwards and pale blue eyes narrowed.
"Please, let me-" John grabbed the suitcase and duffel bag from the girl whose knees had start to tremble from the weight of her luggage.
"Following in her footsteps then?" Sherlocked said quietly. He asked, but already knew it was true.
"I don't know what you mean," Charlotte said, never breaking his line of sight.
"Cello."
"Sherlock," John hissed. "Let's help Charlotte get settled, shall we?"
She dismissed his comment on the instrument, unsure if he was trying to get a reaction out of the memory of her mother. She wondered if he was that cruel, completely ignorant, or simply didn't care. Her mouth quirked upwards into something a step below a smile. "I would love help, thank you."
John brought her bags to Charlotte's new room. It was simple, with white furniture. A small nightstand and clock, a dresser, and a bed. She set her cello down on the bed, feeling Sherlock's eyes boring into her very soul. She whipped around to stare straight back at him and put her hands on her hips. She knew he was analyzing her, picking her apart. There was no reason to cower. She didn't have anything to hide.
After a few moments of an uncomfortable staring contest, John cleared his throat. "I do hope this will work, Charlotte. We don't have much of an eye for interior design, so we decided to play it safe."
She turned to John, deciding she liked him much better than Sherlock. "It's perfect." The truth was, it was missing one thing. Her books. However, Aunt Marie told her it was her mother's cello or her collection of books, so she chose the cello, knowing she could always find new materials to read. It wasn't really a bedroom until it had a bookshelf, but that wasn't John's fault, so she remained grateful.
"Sherlock," John said, lips pursing and eyes bulging at his roommate. "We're so glad to have Charlotte here, aren't we?"
"Erm," Sherlock mumbled. "Yes. Make yourself at home. But, don't touch anything and be quiet. I like to be able to freely concentrate without distractions."
Charlotte wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Well, I can't make any promises. Two o'clock seems to fancy the creative part of my brain so there will be nights of symphonies being written and a cello being played."
The ghost of a smile hovered on Sherlock's lips and Charlotte would have thought he was pleased except for his analyzing eyes that were just as narrow and critical as always. "Sleep well," was all he said before leaving the room.
John sighed deeply and leaned against the door frame. "I'm sorry about him, it takes time to warm up to the guy. He does like you, even if he doesn't show it and I-"
"Oh, I like him," Charlotte said with a smile. "He's good fun to tease."
John gave a confused smile but nodded. He saw no reaction out of Sherlock from Charlotte's "teasing" but he was pleased to see her content. "Well, I'm glad. If there's anything you need, please let me know. I'll let you settle in."
Charlotte nodded, and the door closed. She heaved a great sigh and collapsed on the bed beside her cello, brown curls bouncing around her head as it hit the pillow. Not the pillow. Her pillow. On her bed, in her room, in her home. This would be her new life from here on out.