Five

Mia POV:

Charlie awoke with a start to the sound of a small explosion coming from the kitchen. With a violent stream of four lettered words she rolled off the couch with a loud bump, picked her self up and stumbled towards the kitchen. Black smoke was pouring from the microwave and she laughed, leaning against the door jam, at the sight of a stunned Sherlock poised in the act of opening said microwave's door. His face was a picture of surprise, confusion and most of all disbelief.

"Forget about the eyeballs?" She asked with a yawn, stretching as he looked over at her with a frown on his face.

"No" He said defiantly and tried to re-close the door with the air of a child who was trying to hide the fact that he had broken his grandmother's urn. Charlie wasn't buying it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed him with a glare.

"Oh, so what exactly am I to blame for my rude awakening… wait a second!" She cried and ran to the microwave; Sherlock's face twisted into panic. She opened the door and peered inside.

"Shirley, you put the toast in the toaster and you don't put the butter in the microwave." She reprimanded as she gazed into the small, smoke filled space to gaze at the burnt puddle of plastic and carbon.

"I know that now." Sherlock muttered and went away without another word to sulk on the now vacant couch. Charlie went over to sit next to him. He steadily ignored her, fixing his attention on the mouldy ceiling.

"Hey, don't sweat it. I could burn water if you let me… nearly burnt the entire house down when I was ten when I tried to fry an egg." She said and a small smile crossed both their lips at the thought of the small red head calmly eating her carbonized egg whilst the house burnt down around her. The clock on the mantel chimed and Charlie looked at it and swore violently. It was 8:00am and she was definitely going to be late.

"Shit, Sherlock you were supposed to wake me up an hour ago!" She yelled and fled the rooms like a mini tornado. She ripped her still un-emptied bag open and pulled out the first things that she laid her hands on; which happened to be a pair of black skinny jeans, a bright red work shirt and a woolen grey vest. She yanked a wooden brush through her sleep tousled mop of crimson hair and tried to make somewhat presentable as she raced back down the corridor. She was pulling on the work shirt as she re-entered the lounge room and gave Sherlock a full glimpse of her half naked as she raced around the place. She tripped twice while she pulled the stubborn jeans over her legs and put her arms through the wrong hole of her vest as she scrounged the room for her wallet, phone and laptop bag. Her shoes were too much of a hassle to find so she pulled on the converse she had worn the day before heading out the door. She paused at the top of the stairs and looked back. Sherlock was lying on the couch looking utterly miserable and bored. She sighed.

"You're bored." She stated rather than asked.

"Obviously." He muttered testily and she arched a brow.

"Okay, I want you to count the number of cabs that drive past this apartment during the time that I'm out then divide it by the number of people who enter the shop next door; without sitting near or looking out the window." She said and turned on her heel before he could argue. She moved like the wind down the stairs and raced for the door.

"See you at six." She yelled over her shoulder as her Aunt came into view.

"Have a wonderful day my darling." She said and handed her a small paper bag that smelled like heaven.

"Thanks." Charlie said, kissed her on the cheek and ran out of the apartment.

She arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital with two minutes and five second to spare, nodding politely to the ladies at administration as she sped past and entered the ancient lift that took her to her workplace. The ancient device carried her down slowly and Charlie all but ran when she finally stepped out and moved towards her office. The morgue, labs and psychology department were all on the same basement level. Charlie remembered one of her earliest days working here she had asked her boss Thalia why they had allowed such a thing.

"It's so the newbie's get a healthy dose of fear, dead bodies do the trick nicely with normal people… it's a joke to the powers that be." She had answered with a laugh, her eyes taking in the look on Charlie's face that had obviously said 'People are supposed to be scared of dead bodies?' At the memory Charlie smiled and sailed through the door to her office right on 9:00am. Her office was tiny; barely four metres square with a large wooden desk with an ancient computer and a pair of grey metal filing cabinets. She plonked herself down on the swivel chair behind the desk and pulled the rather large pile of files in her inbox towards her. For the next few hours she was bored almost stupid as she filled out the necessary psychological files involved in recent police case. She was well past lunch by the time she reached her final one which by chance was the very case she had helped solve the night before with the help of her brilliant yet ignorant flat mate. She noted with glee that the file was signed off by Anderson and Lestrade, proving that neither would have gotten any sleep that morning.

"Poor Donovan." She mocked as she placed the completed file into the outbox tray and relaxed against the chair. She rested her head back against her hands and closed her eyes. A knock at the door brought her back to reality and she saw Thalia's blonde head poke around the side of her door.

"G'day Charlie, how's the filing coming along?" She asked cheerfully, her Australia accent coming through thickly as she spoke. She walked over to the desk and picked up the awaiting files from the outbox.

"Ya know you're too good for this job right?" She said to Charlie who simply nodded, not obnoxiously just stating the truth. She could be working for the government or the secret intelligence however she hadn't wanted that job, just a comfortable one.

"Yes, I am well aware that I am over equipped and over qualified to even work at this hospital however it suits me to stay so…" She said and fixed Thalia with a piercing green stare. The busty, blonde merely flicked her wrist dismissively.

"And here I was thinking you were staying for my wonderful company." She said and sighed dramatically. Charlie smiled and studied her happy boss who had obviously 'got some' the night before. Thalia suddenly leaned forwards her spectacled blue eyes peering mischievously at Charlie.

"How's everything at home? I can tell you've finally moved out… you're happier than you've been in months, hell even years!" She said excitedly and Charlie rolled her eyes. He boss might be turning forty this year but by God she was still a child on the inside.

"I moved into one of the apartments in the block my Aunt Em owns in central London, three way rent with a couple of guys." She said and Thalia perked up immediately.

"Men? Oh how scandalous. Either of them nice to look at?" She asked and Charlie cocked her head to the side to think about it, her mind screaming at her to say yes. She brushed the thought away and answered in typical Charlie fashion.

"John's ex-military, a little stiff but very polite and friendly to everyone and Sherlock is well…"

"Hold that very thought." Thalia interrupted.

"Sherlock, as in Sherlock Holmes the detective?" She asked and Charlie nodded, waiting for the whole 'he's weird' or 'he's a nutcase, what the hell are you doing?' routine that she had gotten from just about everyone else.

"Shit, whatever you do don't tell Molly, she might develop an aneurism." Thalia said with a laugh. Charlie just looked confused.

"Does she like him?" She asked and Thalia nodded. The older woman had long accepted Charlie for what she was and was the one person Charlie trusted besides herself, her aunt and the two guys She had always answered Charlie's questions as seriously as possible, twenty years in the field gives you both patience and insight with the wired ones and Charlie was certainly so.

"Him and the ground he bloody walks on poor thing, should probably take a lesson from our book on sociopaths and realised he's not worth the effort." Thalia said and Charlie nodded.

"I assume this hasn't stopped her from trying?" Charlie asked and Thalia nodded.

"Not in the slightest, every time he's in the lab or morgue she follows him around like some lost puppy." Thalia remarked dryly and stood. She walked to the door with the files under her arm.

"He comes often enough too, when's he's working one of his cases. Just a day or so ago he was whipped some poor cadaver with a riding crop to inspect the marks in relation to a case he was working on." She said and Charlie snorted with amusement.

"Sounds like Sherlock." She said and dismissed her incredulous boss with the wave of her hands.

"I just hope you know what you're doing, see ya later Babe." She called and left. Charlie rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes. She though back on the night before and smiled to herself. It seemed moving to London had been the best decision she had ever made. Cardiff had been her place of residence but not her home, during her time there she would spent most of time either at work or on the way to and from there. The apartment she'd been sharing with her mother had merely been a resting place; she had never gone out and she had no real night life to speak of. With a sigh Charlie pulled her thoughts away from such thoughts and began to play solitaire on her computer. She won eight out of ten games, not her best but it helped her pass the multiple hours she had left until she could leave. Sometimes having a semi-photographic memory was a pain, things became simple too quickly. She hoed that spending time with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes wouldn't end up the same way.

Sherlock POV:

At precisely 5:45pm Sherlock Holmes could be found lying, his back pressed firmly against the wall, counting silently as cabs and people went about their daily business. He was still bored but he had actually discovered a way to tell the difference between car engines at around ten o'clock so at least the challenge was continuing smoothly. He didn't actually know why he kept counting, maybe pride or something similar wouldn't let him stop until he actually completed, the challenge. Anyway he continued to count the constant stream of numbers until all he could hear, think or feel was the preferred make and model of London's cab drivers. He was going to kill her.

"A cigarette would be wonderful right now." He said to the grinning skull on the mantel. As usual the bleached bone merely stared back at him and didn't reply. Sherlock scowled at it wishing Charlie was here to talk to. A thumping on the stairs told him John was back from his trip to the supermarket. Sherlock could hear him complaining as he made his way into the room.

"Bloody stupid machine, whatever happened to good customer service?" He asked Sherlock who merely ignored him and continued his silent monologue. A soft thump hit his chest and he opened his eyes to see a fresh packet of nicotine patches on his lap. Immediately he opened it and slapped two to his inner arm; much to John's professional annoyance.

"So she who stole your patches isn't back yet?" He asked and Sherlock fixed him with a look that clearly asked him to start reevaluating the capacity of his brain. John took the hint and turned towards the kitchen with his load of plastic bags.

"I'll take that as a no." He said and began to unpack the food and other necessities from within said bags. Sherlock waited counting another two cabs and another person.

"You've got mail." John said and Sherlock was up in a flash. He rushed to the kitchen, snatched the large bundle of letters from John and began to leaf through it. After going through the whole pile he walked across the lounge room and tipped about ¾ of the pile into the open fireplace before placing the remaining quarter on top of the mantel and plunging his penknife through their centres. He leant against the mantel and crossed his arms, waiting. His own laptop called for him, as did the bell over the door of the shop downstairs, and he walked calmly over to sit down in front of it. John walked up behind him and gasped.

"Sherlock." He said in a warning tone but Sherlock merely waved him away. The screen was filled with an article dated back about ten years, the picture showed a very familiar although slightly red head gazing wit bored frankness at the viewer. The article then went on to recount a series of murder investigations that had rocked Cardiff ten years ago. The police had been about the call it a cold case when a seventeen year old local girl and walked in and handed them enough evidence to interview and prosecute a man who went on to admit guilt before a court of law. Sherlock opened another link and it took him to another article where Charlie had actually handed in evidence of a guilty verdict. All in all he open about five, most were just a expose of the murder investigation and Charlie got about one or two lines; Sherlock assumed that this was due to her own intervention rather than the papers, what paper wouldn't want to report that a fourteen year old was solving crimes the police department had given up on. That was her identifier he realised. She only went for cases that were closed or in the process of being closed; sentimentality perhaps?

"If she was and is this good; why didn't she become a detective like you?" John asked and Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"Who didn't become a detective?" An interested voice asked from behind them and Sherlock felt John go rigid beside him. Charlie stood in the doorway of the apartment; weary and loaded with all her work stuff. John moved away from the computer to sit down in one of the chairs; a guilty expression on his face. Sherlock wondered how n earth he had been a good soldier if the truth could be read straight off his face. Charlie took off her jacket and threw her laptop bag onto the couch as she made her way over to where Sherlock sat. He slammed the laptop screen down and she quirked that eyebrow at him again.

"Oh, why do I have the feeling you two grandmother's were having a lovely little gossip session about… me." She said as she pulled the screen back up and as met with her own face. She stared at her younger self for a moment, a strange look on her face that Sherlock now realised was hurt. Then she turned and smirked at them.

"Why didn't you just ask?" She asked and put her hands on her hips. John went red and began to splutter.

"You weren't here and I was bored." Sherlock said calmly and she sent him a look.

"Did you get that number I asked you?" She asked and he nodded.

"There was a total of 281 cabs that went by between the tie you left to the time you arrived, I divided it by the 50 people that entered the shop next door and got… 5.62." He said and she nodded.

"I'll take your word for it." She said and he looked affronted.

"You don't actually know." He demanded and she shook her head.

"You see Shirley, unlike you I have better things to be doing than counting the number of cabs that drive past my apartment during the day… dear god man why don't you just go outside?" She sighed dramatically and went to seat herself down upon the couch with a sigh.

"Seriously, you can count the number of cars going past without looking yet you can't cook toast, almost as funny as the fact that I can recount every word of my psychology text book during university but couldn't tell you whose Prime Minister at the moment." She said and closed her eyes. Sherlock looked down at the exhausted woman and smirked. It was too much of a temptation and besides he was bored.

"John, go get your coat." Sherlock said and John looked up from the paper he was reading. He looked at the smirk on Sherlock's face and the relaxed one of the sleeping Charlie and gave Sherlock a dirty look.

"I'm actually going to stay in tonight; you look ready to do something stupid." John said and Sherlock smirked, watching as his new friend disappeared back into the recesses of his room. He walked into the kitchen and filled a saucepan with water. With careful ease he moved into the lounge room and paused to think of the actions he was about to undertake. On one hand he was actually starting to enjoy life, one the other this was sort of in the name of science. He braced himself held out the saucepan then tipped it so the whole thing came raining down on the sleeping woman. The moment it hit her she jumped about a foot in the air and swore so viciously that Sherlock actually laughed. Slowly she looked up at him with glittering eyes. He smirked and put the saucepan down carefully.

"You are dead." She said simply, like she was announcing the weather for tomorrow and peeled her sudden form from the couch. Sherlock decided that it was now or never. He bailed, turning on his heel and running like buggery towards the door.

"Oh no you don't!" He heard Charlie yell and couldn't help it.

"Oh yes I do Charlotte." He called and laughed as she screamed, her footsteps quick and light on the stairs as she chased him out of the house.

John POV:

John watched in amusement out the window of his room as the two craziest people he knew ran out onto the busy peak hour traffic \. Sherlock was fast and wasn't afraid to jump the bonnet of speeding cars however he had royally pissed Charlie off and she herself wasn't a bad runner. He chuckled and began to type on his blog page. Life had suddenly become a great deal less boring, something he would have laughed at if one had asked him a few weeks ago.

Charlie POV:

He was going to die. Not only had he ruined her sweater which she had spent ages trying to find but he had also had the balls to call her Charlotte, hadn't she made it clear she bloody hated that name. She bolted down an alley after him and waited, a crash from un ahead told her he was heading to the roofs. She grinned and ran to the fire escape, bursting out at the top of the building a minute later. He was waiting by the side of the building, grinning at her. She tore after him, not even pausing when he neatly jumped the concrete railing he was leaning on and began to sprint across the next roof

"Having fun now?" She yelled after him and he waved.

"Obviously Charlotte." He said and she screamed at him. God damn his long legs and god damn her smaller ones. For the next half an hour she chased his slim form over the roof tops of London, jumping, sliding and nearly losing him on several occasions. Finally she caught him. He was running along a roof top when she intercepted him, dipping her shoulder in a rugby style tackle and barreling into him with all her strength. Together they fell in a tangle of limbs and swear words, Sherlock managing to roll so that he caught Charlie before she hit the ground. Their faces were inches apart Charlie and Sherlock stared at each other. Then they just about flew away from each other, Charlie rolling off him and Sherlock almost running away.

"Let's get home, I reckon John's gonna have a fit when he sees the time." Charlie said and Sherlock nodded. She shivered violently, her soaking clothes very uncomfortable in the freezing night air. Sherlock moved towards her. He slowly removed his long overcoat and placed it snuggly around her shoulders. She pulled it tightly around herself and smiled up at him.

"You still owe me a new sweater." She joked and he grinned. The two of them began the long trek back to Baker Street, Sherlock cracking jokes on the state of her dress the whole way.

If you squint, you can see the fluff. I hope you're all enjoying it. Keep up the reviews and I'll be back with more chapters soon.