Authors note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm going to try to write short chapters but upload them frequently. If you'd like, leave a review.

Where am I?

It's a good question for one to ask when they're wandering in their own dreams. But there was a much better question for Nova to be asking.

Who am I?

She stared up into an endless sea of stars. The feeling of insignificance bared down on her, perhaps if she moved around a bit, she wouldn't be completely crushed by it.

Nova sat up and looked around. She was in a field that looked completely isolated from the rest of the world, with no person near at all. If the young girl was to listen very very closely she would be able to hear two people's voices. Sadly, this was not the time to be interested in sounds, this was the time to be interested in self-discovery. At least that's what she thought, in the moment. After spending years stuck with amnesia, you get tired of constantly trying to figure everything out, so eventually you quit and only really try to think about your past in dreams.

"I want to go home." Said Nova, to no one.

In dreams, you happen to forget things more than remember them. In this case, she had forgotten that she had no home.

In that moment, there was a loud bang that came from the sky. She quickly looked up in confusion. The sky was illuminated with a great ball of color and light. A piece of paper fell from the sky, landing at the confused girls feet. She picked it up. There were words on it, but they looked twisted and wrong. She didn't have time to process this.

Nova awoke with a start and immediately knew she needed to throw up. She didn't care where she was as long as there was a trash bin nearby. The girls eyes darted around and to her relief there was one just beside her. Nothing really came out, as she had expected. A grunt of pain came from her as she laid back down, closed her eyes and tried to think.

Am I dead?

She felt what she thought being dead might feel like. Empty, lonely, etcetera. Nova had never believed in such things as the after-life but perhaps it wasn't totally out of the question. She tried to remember what led up to this moment. Figure out if she really was dead or not.

I was at the station. I almost jumped onto the tracks. Why did I do that? What a waste of time. Did I succeed? No. There was a man. What did he look like again?

She tried her best to visualize his face through the haze of everything. All she could see was those tired eyes.

This is useless. Im delaying the inevitable.

She finally opened her eyes. It was too bright in the room. The girl waited a bit for her eyes to adjust and looked around.

It was a living room. A very dusty living room at that. Particles of the stuff were floating everywhere. The place was absolutely cluttered. Stacks upon stacks of papers and files laid on a table close to where Nova laid. There was a cozy looking fireplace, a knife had been stabbed into some files on the mantle of it. A few chairs were sitting about.

She froze when her eyes came to rest on a man sitting in one of the chairs. He looked familiar. Curly black locks came to rest on his head, his face passive and lost in thought, eyes closed. His hands were positioned very close to his face, as though he was praying.

People praying in the afterlife? Funny.

The mans eyes flew open. He was staring right at her. Nova still didn't know what to say or do. She sat up gingerly and tried to ask the question that had been lingering on her mind since she had woken up. But how could she? She had never seen this man in her life. Why would she be seeing him in the afterlife? Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she asked.

"Am I dead?" The girls voice was very hoarse and for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. But he had definitely heard her. She knew this when he snorted and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, that's one I've never heard before." He said sarcastically.

Anxiety came crashing down on her as she dug her nails into her arm.

Of course I'm not dead. What the hell was I thinking? Idiot! Where even am I?

"Where am I? Who are you?" The eyes of the girl darted around frantically, looking for possible escape routes, in the case that this man had bad intentions. Of course Sherlock Holmes was not intending on hurting her. He just intended on seeing her out of his flat as soon as possible. He was busy and had no time for confused girls who were high off their tits. He analyzed her for a moment. To Nova, he looked as though he was about to eat her for dinner.

"You are in 221b Baker Street. I am Sherlock Holmes." His tone was not friendly. More annoyed than anything. Nova knew now why she recognized his face.

"Oh! You're the detective who solved all those weird suicides... er murders, I mean. Your face was all over the newspapers."

"I'm aware."

"So um..." She trailed off. Why the hell was she in the flat of the most famous detectives in London? Trying to think very hard of how she came to be here, she shifted uncomfortably. It was an awkward situation indeed, waking up in famous persons flat with little recollection of how she had gotten there.

"What part of America did you emigrate from?" He cut of her thoughts.

"Oh! Uh... I'd rather not talk about it." She finally plucked up the courage to ask. "Sorry but how did I get here, exactly?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her before jumping into an explanation.

"My flatmate found you at the train station, high and ready to jump onto the tracks. Because he has such a kind soul, he stopped you. According to him you fainted. He saw that you were homeless and instead of taking you to a hospital, he brought you here. Of course, you didn't want to take your life at all, did you? No self-inflicted injuries, just bruises from needles. You were just high."

Anger hit Nova like a train. He knew nothing about if she was suicidal or not, why should he even say anything about it? Sherlock was not the one who saved her. The girl opened her mouth to say something but before she could, the detective interrupted.

"Name?"

"Nova and don't ask for a last name because I don't know what it is." There was venom in her voice but Sherlock looked a bit intrigued. How could she not know her last name? Perhaps this one wouldn't be as dull as he thought. The consulting detective very quickly deduced that she had amnesia. Most likely very severe amnesia judging by how clueless she had look when he asked what state she had come from.

This was going to be a very interesting day, indeed.