A/N: Just an FYI, Holmes and Murdock did not into the book like in Inkheart, because Holmes didn't read them into the book. Everything will be explained, but I just wanted that much to be clear. Also, never consult a cat for ideas. They are terrible at it.

Disclaimer: Still not sexy enough to own Sherlock and such.

Murdock looked around him and Holmes in wonder. The girl was leisurely sitting on a crate, idly petting a purring Asher and looking around with a curious look on her face. Across the street, a few men were playing a sort of dice game. It wasn't long before Spencer suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the street.

"Start walking, and look down. You will run into someone. You get to do the talking until I intervene." Murdock opened his mouth to question, but her cool hand covered it. "Shush."

They walked their heads down. It wasn't long, till Ben ran straight into someone. With a sidelong glance at Holmes, who gave an ever-so-small nod, he looked into the face of Dr. John Watson.

"Uh… Er, so sorry, sir. 'Twas an accident, sir…." He stammered. John was staring at the boy's strange clothes, then looked at the girl, then did a double take. Even the man beside him took the liberty of a second glance.

What they saw was quite unusual. A black-haired, blue-eyed boy with the lean lanky frame of someone who had more speed than strength, wearing a strange looking suit and a girl, who was the spitting female image of his companion, holding an ash coloured white cat. She wore the most peculiar outfit. Jeans, something never seen before in this time, and a man's white dress shirt, unbuttoned, with an odd corset. She was small and nimbled framed, with sharp eyes and a clever gleam in the brown pair.

"Who are you?" Asked Watson.

"Ben Murdock, sir."

"And you, girl?" Watson swiftly questioned. Ben opened his mouth, but Spencer beat him.

"I am Spencer Holmes."

Back at 221b Baker Street, the great Sherlock Holmes watched the equally great Spencer Holmes with an analyzing glance. Some body parts, like her nose and forehead, were not identical to his, so he had to assume that she either wasn't his offspring, or that she had inherited the traits from her mother, whoever she may be. The way her unruly hair sat was almost in a mirror image of his own, as was the calculating observations.

"Come forward child." The girl stepped toward him. Her way of walking was careful on the right side. He also noticed her hair was a tad longer than necessary, and her skin was pale by her eye. He would give the excuse of checking her eye colour.

"If we are related-"

"The the shape of our eyes, and the shade of brown should be somewhat similar, given if my mother's genes have not intervened too much." Spencer interrupted and finished for him.

"Yes." He nodded, then cupped her face and brushed aside her hair. John took in a breath behind him.

The right eye was clouded and scarred across skin and pupil, and clouded with what could be mistaken for cataracts, if not for the dull musky brown underlying the misty colour. Sherlock's gaze ran over the tan skin of her face, marred by angry pale lines that spoke of abuse or earlier fights. Ben spoke up from behind Watson.

"Sir, she can't see in that eye. I've done everything I can for it, but it refuses to respond to treatment." The boy stepped forward and his broad hand took the place of Sherlock's, and her took his finger and gently moved it to and fro with no response from the injured right orb.

"Are you a doctor, Mr. Murdock?"

"Almost, Sir Watson, I've got a good few years left in college."

"How old are you?"'

"Twenty and one year, sir." Murdock remembered the training of Old English his Holmes has insisted upon teaching him.

"And you, Spencer?" This time, it was Sherlock's gruff voice that addressed her.

"Nineteen."

"How is it, a nineteen year old girl comes to have injuries such as this," He tapped her face. "This," He lifted her shirt to reveal the new stitches, "And this." He pointed to an old scar that stretched from her hip, arching from her jeans.

"Fights, mostly." She wasn't going to explain her face anytime soon, Murdock knew. She never talked about that.

"Well… It's obvious to me that we were meant to quest together, Spencer, Murdock. Would you like to come with us to help us find the answer to this most intriguing case of Lord Blackwood?"

"An honor, sir." Murdock said quickly, perking up immediately, when the subject had veered away from the whereabouts of Holmes' many scars.

Sherlock looked at his futuristic double.

"And you?"

"Oh, what else have I to do?"

The two Holmes walked ahead of Watson and Murdock, leaving the men to converse together. Their subject? Their irrepressibly annoying, lovable roommates.

"Does yours steal your clothes?" Watson asked.

"Yep. Does yours wake up at three in the morning to play the violin?"

"He does. Experiment the strangest things?"

"Most defiantly. Chase off your friends by stating the ugly truth?"

"Manages to do that every day. Become sullen and depressed when no cases are abroad?"

"Very much so. Drinks?"

"A lot. Takes medicine from your storage?"

"I don't know what gives her the right. Kills the cat?"

"Dog, actually, but yes. Terrible hygienic tendencies?"

"I don't know how she stands herself. Lives in a Holmes-sty?"

"I guess you could call it that. Notices details that no normal person should notice?"

"And points them out. Is too smart for his own good."

"Yes. And above all…"

Together, the two stated; "Most certainly NOT human!"

"You know, young Murdock, I think we shall get along quite well…"

The two Holmes were talking about something much less comical, and more scientifical.

"Did you know that the body has cells that regulates the body and holds something called DNA which gives the body traits that can be expressed outward and inward?"

"Fascinating, and I thought as much! They had the nerve to call me crazy! Me, the great Sherlock Holmes!"

"How dare they!"

"I'm not insane."

"Sanity is just a state of mind."

"And the mind has no state that stays forever."

"It does seem to travel a lot. At least mine does."

"I think we shall get along famously, my dear girl."

A/N: Yes, it's terrible, but it's late, and I was bored, and sleeping just bores me more…. I just wanted to give my characters some more accurate descriptions and let you know of Spencer's disability. I never let into it before because Murdock is so used to it, that when he does see it, he doesn't react, and Spencer is… Spencer. No other reactions are shown because she's so good at hiding it from everyone but Sherlock.