*Hello lovelies! I hope you're enjoying this so far. This is my first ever Sherlock piece, so I hope I'm doing alright with it. I'm definitely enjoying writing it. I'm trying to upload at least a chapter for each of my works every day, but I won't make any promises. If you all would like to leave reviews, that would be fantastic. I appreciate it when people review my work. I hope you all have a wonderful day and a happy New Year!*

Chapter 2: The Doctor and the Thief

I woke the next morning to someone shaking my shoulder. I came up swinging, disoriented and confused. Someone grabbed my arm and I looked up into the brilliant blue-green eyes of Sherlock Holmes. He looked somewhat amused with the fact that I would try and swing on him.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a blush creeping up into my cheeks. "I didn't mean to do that. My apologies."

"I was expecting it. Now, get up. It's past ten o'clock already and we have work that we need to do." He held his hand out. "I'll be needing that memory stick."

"One second. I've got to go to the bathroom first." I disappeared into the bathroom before he could say a word. I didn't want him seeing where I hid it.

I locked the door behind me, quickly using the toilet. Once finished, I washed my hands and face, looking into the mirror. My hair was an absolute red, matted rat's nest. I sighed. It would take me an hour to do my hair. At least. Before I began to attack the mess that was my hair, I took the memory stick from the waistband of my pants. I held it in the palm of my hand, wondering how in the world such a small thing could cause me so much trouble.

"Are you going to give it to me or not?" Sherlock sighed impatiently.

I opened the door, holding it between my fingers. "You can have it, so long as you promise to give it back when John and I are leaving."

"I planned on having it all day. I was pondering it last night and I'm fairly certain that there is a message encoded into it."

"I get it back when I leave this house and that's final." I watched as John entered the room, two coffee mugs in his hand. "Good morning Mr. Watson."

"Please, call me John." Sherlock reached out to take the mug from John, but he pulled away. "You've already had a cup of tea Sherlock. This one is for our guest."

I watched as Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust, but he, for once, said nothing. He instead snatched the memory stick from my hand, going to his laptop and plugging it in. John and I looked at each other and then the man shrugged, handing me my cup of tea.

"I put a bit of milk in there, hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Thank you John." I glanced at Sherlock, watching him pour over the documents. "You wouldn't happen to have a hair brush would you?"

"I think Mary left one here once. I've got another pair of sweats and another jumper if you'd like to change before we head out."

"Thank you. You've been so kind to me. Well, seeing as it's," I looked around John to the clock on the wall, "nearly eleven o'clock, I should probably get dressed and brush my hair."

"I'll be back with your clothes and hopefully a hairbrush then."

"If not I'll finger comb it."

Sherlock snickered from his chair. "I doubt you could get that far with finger combing."

"I've done it before," I retorted, feeling my temper rising.

"So I saw yesterday. Your hair is a mess. I hope that John can find a hairbrush for you, although I don't know how much good that's going to do."

"Why are you being so rude?" I demanded, going to stand in front of him, clenching the mug in my hand. "I've not done a thing to you."

"You're a thief and I have no time for criminals, especially wishy-washy ones."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice was dangerously soft and I watched as Sherlock glanced up at me, a smirk on his face.

"It means that you aren't even a good criminal. You gain information that could make you millions and millions of dollars if sold to the right person and you instead turn it over to someone who works with the police to stop criminals. You claim to be a thief, but you seek me out. I can't understand your motive."

"What sane person wouldn't want to stop something like that? What kind of a person do you think I am? I mean, honestly Sherlock, you're very unkind for having only met me yesterday."

Sherlock knitted his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands, looking up at me. "Do you really wish to know what kind of a person I think you are?"

"Sherlock," I heard John warn from another room. "Don't even think about it."

"I'm asking the lady, John, not you." His gaze never left my face as he stared at me. "If you'd like to know, tell me. But I recommend you sit down."

I sat down on the floor, crossing my legs in front of me, taking a sip of my tea. "Tell me then, if you're so brilliant. Tell me what kind of person you think I am."

He leaned forward, giving me a smile. "You were born in Ireland, your father Irish, your mother of English descent, hence why you moved here. No Irish man I've met would leave Ireland unless it was for a woman. You must have been fairly young, as your accent is soft, subdued. The shadows under your eyes are not only from the streets. They are from nightmares that haunt you, have probably haunted you for years and years. I know that because you were talking in your sleep for most of the night." He paused, watching my face. I knew he was searching for any sign that he was making me uncomfortable. He continued on.

"You swung on me, meaning that you have been attacked at least once in your sleep. You are well-spoken and a quick thinker, meaning that your parents sent you to a decent school and you received your education. You wear a ring around your neck -a wedding band to be precise- that you tried to keep hidden from me. But whose? A former lover? No. Judging by the absence of a tan line on your ring finger, you were never engaged. So it must be a ring you stole and came to fancy after you stole it. It would explain why you kept it instead of pawning it.

"You said that you had only become a thief a short while ago when you ended up on the streets, but your pickpocketing skills say otherwise. So, who taught you to pickpocket? Your mother? No, your father. Your father would have taught you, as you are at ease with men, even ones that are strangers to you. And given the fact that you've brought me this information instead of going to someone who could sell it for you on the streets, it means that either you're stupid or you have no loyalty to your own kind."

I kept my face calm even as I rose to my feet. "You're right about my being from Ireland and about my mother and father's origins. You're also right about my having moved here at a young age. I was about five. And I did go to a decent school, although I won't tell you which. And living on the streets, yes, I have been attacked multiple times. But everything else you're wrong about Mr. Holmes. Do a bit of research while we're out if you don't believe me."

With that, I turned away from him, going to John, who'd been standing in the doorway, watching the entire exchange. Gently, I took the hairbrush and clothes from his hands, not wanting to let him see the tears in my eyes. I went to the bathroom, closing the door softly. I locked it before pressing my back against the wall, sinking to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

God, I wanted to hit that man! Calling my father, my father of all people, dishonorable was enough to warrant a thorough thrashing. Instead, I took a couple deep breaths, reminding myself that I had asked for what he thought. I had asked him to tell me what was in that stupid brain of his.

After a few minutes of crying, I collected myself. I got to my feet and began to attack the mane that was my hair. I only winced a few times as I worked the tangles out. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I'd managed to tame my hair. I looked at it in the mirror, satisfied with the smooth waves. I searched the bathroom, trying to find a hair tie.

Not able to find one, I decided to just get dressed and hope and pray that my hair wouldn't tangle up. After finally dressing, I looked at myself in the mirror, inspecting my face closely. The bags under my eyes were still prominent, no doubt from the four to five hours of broken sleep I had been getting per night for the past two years. I had wrinkles forming on my forehead and around the corners of my eyes. I looked awful if I was being honest. But then again, who would really be looking that closely at me?

'Sherlock Holmes, that's who. He'll point out every single flaw and try to hit you where it hurts. But you mustn't let it show. You must not give him the ammunition to use against you.' I sighed as I tucked a soft curl behind my ear. 'You'll be out of the flat for most of the day and away from him. And John seems like a nice fellow.'

There was a knock on that door and I jumped, startled. "Delilah, are you almost done in there?"

"Yes John. Sorry, I'll be out in a moment."

"Alright. Take your time, no hurry. Just wanted to make sure that you were alright."

I glanced up at myself in the mirror one last time before collecting the clothes from the previous night off of the floor. I walked out, finding John looking over Sherlock's shoulder. John gave me a smile as he glanced up at me. I put the clothes on the couch, before crossing over to the two of them, going to stand next to John.

"Feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you again for all of the clothes and…well, everything."

"You're welcome. Now get out." Sherlock muttered and I glared at the back of his head, but bit my tongue.

"I'm going out with Watson for a bit. When I return, I'll help you research a bit more Holmes."

"I don't need your help."

"Ah, but you do. You see, the perks of being me is that I can withhold whatever information I wish, lock it away within my mind and you have no access to it." I watched as he whipped around in the chair, glaring at me. "Oh yes, I didn't tell you everything last night."

"So you lied to me? How am I supposed to stop this if you don't tell me everything I need to know?"

"Because I have to keep some things for insurance purposes." I moved around the chair to kneel in front of him, smiling at him. "That and I was too tired to try and sketch something out for you last night. Now," I snagged the memory stick out of the USB port, watching as he tried to grab my wrist to no avail, "I am going out with Watson. Think about what you've read so far and we should be back in about an hour or so, alright?"

Sherlock sighed. "I can't really research anything if you keep taking away what I need to look at."

"Use your wonderful memory then because this," I tucked it into my pocket, "is my insurance for not ending up in prison."

I turned to John, flashing him a grin. "Are you ready to go?"

John could only nod, dumbfounded that I'd even managed to pull off snagging the memory stick. I tucked the memory stick into my shoe, knowing that it wouldn't go anywhere there. We left the flat, but not before I was introduced to their landlady.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," John said cheerfully to the older woman coming up the stairs.

"Oh hello John! How are you doing this morning? Going to work?"

"No, actually, helping Delilah out with a bit of clothes shopping."

Mrs. Hudson looked around John to see me. I gave her a small wave and a gentle smile. "Oh hello dear! I didn't know that the boys had company."

"I was only staying for the night. It was lovely to meet you Mrs. Hudson. You've got two very wonderful tenants."

"That I do. Although, as I'm sure you've noticed, Sherlock's a bit of a handful sometimes. I have to admit, I missed him while he was gone."

"I think we all did Mrs. Hudson," John said quickly. "Anyway, we're trying to miss the lunch crowd, so we'd better get moving. I'll stop by later to chat, I promise."

He pressed a kiss to the older woman's cheek and she blushed. "Alright dear. Oh and Delilah, don't be a stranger. I always love company."

We left shortly after and I kept up with John's rapid clip. "What was that all about? Missing Sherlock, what did she mean?"

"Nothing. It's a long story."

"The way I see it, we've got time." I dipped my hand into a woman's purse as we walked by her, managing to snag her wallet from it. She continued walking, not noticing a thing. "I'm always willing to listen to stories."

"Sherlock went off on a case, solo, about two years back. He didn't tell any of us and…well, we believed him dead." I could hear his voice catch in his throat. "It…it was a rough time for myself and Mrs. Hudson."

We continued our walk in silence until we reached the thrift shop four blocks up. I entered, looking around at all of the clothes. I had discreetly flipped through the woman's wallet, happy that I'd picked her as my mark. It looked like luck was on my side as she'd had nearly eighty pound. I'd thrown the wallet into a bin on our way into the shop so that John wouldn't see that I'd pickpocketed someone. I was positive he'd throw a fit about it.

I began to look for clothes immediately, knowing that I needed to get enough to last me through the winter, but not so much that I wouldn't be able to carry it around in a pack when I started moving around the city. Come Christmas time, I would be begging for money around Big Ben and Parliament. Politicians tended to be more generous around the holidays I'd found, so that their names would look a bit better in the press.

John helped me pick out a few jumpers and a few pairs of pants. I grabbed a second-hand pack, one that looked as if it had been used for backpacking by some traveler, but left behind after the journey was finished. I smiled, knowing that it was perfect for my purposes. I looked up at John as he was flipping through pink turtlenecks.

"So, how long have you and Sherlock known each other?"

"A few years now. A friend of mine introduced us one day in the morgue at Saint Bart's when I'd mentioned something about needing a roommate. I met Sherlock and I'd taken the room upstairs. For some reason, I didn't run away screaming into the night." He grinned even as his hand touched a dark pink sweater. "I probably should have. It would have saved what little sanity I have left."

I laughed, taking the sweater from him, adding it to the growing pile on my arm. "Aye, that you probably should. But you don't seem too bad after having lived with him for so long. So how long have you and he been together?"

John froze, mouth open in shock. I watched as he turned pink on his ears. Before he could retort, I said, "I'm only joking with you. I know that you're not a couple. I'm assuming the woman you mentioned before, Mary, she's your girlfriend?"

"Fiancé, actually. We were engaged last month."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," John replied and I could tell that he was relieved I'd gotten off the topic of him and Sherlock being a couple. "Sherlock, he's probably the best friend I could ever have, even though I don't like to admit it."

I nodded. "I used to have one of those, a best friend. Now...well, you don't make many friends on the streets."

"How'd you end up there if you don't mind my asking?"

He sounded sincere in his questioning and I wondered if perhaps I should open up to him. I hesitated and he was around the clothes rack, hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you don't like."

"It's...fine. I used to have a normal life, believe it or not. Loving family, a flat of my own. I worked at a law firm as a paralegal, researching cases and helping the lawyers prepare for trials. Then...something happened. I lost my job, my flat, everything. I ended up out on the streets and learned to pickpocket to survive."

"What happened to make you lose everything?"

I shook my head sadly. "Now's not the time nor the place to discuss such things. I hope you understand."

"I do. I'm sorry. Perhaps you'll tell me eventually," I watched as a smile bloomed on his face and he walked past me, going to greet a woman at the door with a hug. They came back to me, holding hands. "Delilah, I'd like for you to meet my fiance, Mary Morstan."

I extended my hand out to the woman, watching as she took it, giving me a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Morstan. You're a lucky woman. John has been very kind since I appeared on their doorstep yesterday in distress."

"He told me all about it. I'm so sorry you've been living on the streets as long as you have." She seemed very sincere and I could see why John was in love with her. "Will you be staying with them long?"

"Yes," John said even as I said no. I looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I wanted to ask you earlier, but, while this case is going on, would you like to stay with us? It's too dangerous for you to be out on the streets."

"I, erm, I don't want to intrude. And I highly doubt Sherlock will be enthusiastic about the idea of my staying with you all."

"He'll be fine. Besides, it's as much my flat as it is his. That and Mary could probably use your company when she comes over to visit."

"I…" What choice did I have? It was a warm place to sleep and a safe one at that. "Fine. But if Sherlock raises a fit-"

"He won't."

"If he does," I continued, staring at John, "I am leaving, no questions asked and no attempts to stop me."

"Agreed." John looked at Mary. "Where did you want to go for lunch?"

"Oh, I was thinking that little cafe around the block. Would you care to join us Delilah?"

"Sure. Let me go and pay for this."

"Where'd you get money from?" John asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

I shook my head. "I had some from panhandling earlier in the week that I'd been saving. I took it out of my jacket pocket yesterday when I gave Sherlock the memory stick."

I felt bad lying to him, but I didn't need him to be suspicious of me. I paid for the clothes quickly, not letting John see how much I actually had. We left the shop and I had enough money to be able to get some lunch. I was very pleased with myself and, despite the dull gray sky, it was turning out to be a wonderful day.

I carried my new pack on my back, getting used to the weight as we entered the small cafe. Mary and I chatted a bit, getting to know one another. I found out that she was a nurse where John practiced medicine. She and John found out that I'd once had a dog named Sampson. That brought up the entire religion conversation and I told them that my parents were devout Catholics, but I on the other hand, hadn't stepped foot in a church since I was twenty-five.

We finished our meal after I had put my clothes into my pack and John and Mary parted ways, John promising that he'd stop by her place later that day after I got settled in. We walked back to the flat and halfway there I felt my skin crawl, as if we were being watched. I glanced around, spotting a man keeping pace with us on the other side of the street.

"John, take my pack."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

"Just, take my pack and go back to the flat. Leave the door open for me. I'll meet you back there."

John stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, not caring that there were people giving us dirty looks. "I'm not going anywhere, not until you tell me-"

I looked to my right to see the man across the street raising a gun. I shoved John out of the way, feeling the wind from the bullet blow past my back, chipping the edge of the brick house behind me. I helped John to his feet, watching as the man began to cross the street, shoving his way through panicking people and dodging traffic.

"Go! I'll be fine. It's me he wants anyway."

John looked torn, but he nodded, running through the crowds of people. I myself ducked into the alleyway on the left, racing down it. There was a fence in the way, but I scaled it with ease, leaping over to the other side. I didn't even bother glancing back to see if he was following me; I knew he was.

I sprinted down the alley, turning right onto the next street. My pack was heavy on my back, but I ignored it. I raced down the sidewalk, knowing that I was only two blocks away from Baker Street. I could make it.

Hands shot out from another alley, grabbing me and dragging me into the gloom. I struggled, but the person's grip was strong and they were much larger than me. The man who'd been chasing me appeared at the entrance and began to approach, a grin on his face.

"Finally caught you, you little bitch."

"Let go of me!" I said, struggling, but to no avail.

"We will, once you give us the memory stick."

"I don't have it," I snarled. "I gave it to the police."

"Lies. You've still got it on you. Our people would have told us if you'd brought it."

I continued to struggle. "I'm not lying! I gave it to the police."

The man standing in front of me struck me across the face. I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood. "Do not lie to me again, Delilah, or I will have to punish you for your insolence."

"Fuck off," I growled, looking the man dead in the eyes. "I'm not giving you all shit. Haven't you taken enough from me already?"

The man punched me in the stomach, doubling me over, even as the man holding me drove his knee into the back of my calf with the healing bullet wound. I couldn't even scream from the agony. Suddenly, I felt the man holding me let go and I spun away, going to disarm the man who'd punched me in the stomach.

The first man who'd hit me took a swing and I blocked him easily, shrugging out of the pack as I moved. I grabbed his arm, placing my leg behind his even as I threw him to the ground. He fell easily and I brought my foot down onto his sternum, watching as his eyes went wide before rolling up into his skull. I gave him another kick to the side of his head to make sure he was out before I looked up at John, who'd managed to knock out his opponent as well.

"You're bleeding."

"I know," I said, picking up the pack that I'd tossed aside. "Let's get back to the flat."

"Did you know them?" John asked as we began walking at a rapid pace towards Baker Street.

"I recognize them as the men who were following me yesterday, yes. But I've never met them in my life."

"Where'd you learn those moves?"

"My father taught me when I was younger. He was a third degree black belt in taekwondo and a self-defense instructor. He always used to tell my sister and I that he wouldn't have damsels in distress for daughters." A small smile tugged at my lips. "I'm glad I had that opportunity now."

"I didn't know you have a sister."

"Had."

John stopped in his tracks to stare at me. "Had? You mean-"

"Let's get back to the flat. I need to stop my nose from bleeding."

We made it back to 221B and up the stairs we went. We opened the door, finding no one home. Good. I was glad that we'd missed Sherlock. I didn't want to deal with him, especially not looking like the mess I did now. I shrugged the pack off my shoulders, dropping it to the floor next to the couch. John was approaching me with a first aid kit and a rag in hand.

"What's that for?"

"Patch you up. Your leg's bleeding as well as your nose."

I cursed silently, taking the rag from him, pressing it to my nose. "Go ahead and take a look then. I will tell you that it's not from today."

I sat down on the couch, keeping my head tilted back, pinching the bridge of my nose. I twisted my leg to expose my calf to John. He lifted up my pant's leg, hissing at the sight.

"Jesus, it's infected. How on earth did you get this?"

"Bullet grazed me when I was running with the information. I didn't realize it until I'd bunkered down for the night, trying to hide from them and outrun their hounds that they'd set on me."

John shook his head. "You've had the worst string of luck lately, haven't you?"

"I s'pose you could say that." I lifted the rag away, noting that the bleeding was starting to slow. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"A couple of bumps and bruises from you shoving me, but it beats getting shot. Thanks for that by the way."

"Don't mention it. And thanks for coming back for me."

"Not a problem. Now, this is going to hurt a bit. I've got to get some of the pus out before I can bandage it. Try to keep as still as possible."

I did as I was told, looking around the flat. It was odd that Sherlock would have left, but perhaps he'd found another case to work on while we'd been out. I bit my lip as John gave my calf a hard squeeze. I hissed when he poured rubbing alcohol over the wound.

"Could've given me a warning."

"Sorry. I'm almost done though. Hold still. I'm going to bandage you up now. You should have gotten stitches for this."

"Don't really have the money for the hospital unfortunately." My nose had finally stopped bleeding. "Where do you think Sherlock went?"

"Don't know. Don't care really. He'll be fine. I'm all finished now, but you need to take it easy on that leg."

I chuckled. "You really think that they're going to let me take it easy?"

"I doubt it, but that's the doctor in me telling you what you should be doing." He got to his feet. "I'll take that rag."

I handed it to him, sitting on the couch, inspecting my calf. He'd bandaged it nicely and while it was still aching, it wasn't as bad as it had been that morning. I touched the memory stick, still stuck in the side of my shoe. Glancing around the room, I noticed that Sherlock's laptop was sitting open on the coffee table. How odd.

Getting up, I limped over, tapping the mouse pad. The computer whirred to life and I looked at the document on the screen. John came back into the room and I could feel him tensing up next to me as he read over my shoulder.

"Go and change your clothes. We've got to go."

"Where are we going?"

"To save Sherlock from his own stupidity."

I sighed. "Alright, but where are we going?"

"The pub."

"He doesn't say anything about a pub. He says something about going to the loo."

John looked embarrassed before answering me. "It's what he calls the pub. He...thinks that people who go there are dull and uninteresting and are much like bowel movements."

"So, he thinks people who go are pieces of uncultured shit."

John's jaw practically dropped to the floor and, flustered, he said, "Yes, th-that's pretty much what he said. I was only trying to be-"

"Polite, I know. And normally I would have allowed you to be, but we don't have time for that. I'll go and get changed." I spotted a rubber band on the coffee table and I grabbed it. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave without me."

"Don't worry, I'm not. I've got to grab my gun anyway."

"That's probably a good idea."

I grabbed the outfit on the top of the pack. It was a pair of jeans, the pink sweater that John had helped me pick out, and a newer pair of black trainers. They'd looked as if they'd only been worn a few times and they'd been my size fortunately. I went to the bathroom, changing quickly, tying my hair up into a high ponytail.

When I exited, I found John checking the chamber of his pistol. I gave him a smile and a thumbs up, but he only stared at me with flat eyes. "Sorry, was trying to cheer the mood up a bit."

"Have you got the stick?"

"Aye. It's tucked in my shoe, as I did when we went out earlier." To prove my point, I pulled it out, holding it up to him. "Why do you ask?"

"We might need it to bargain with."

"You think Sherlock managed to get himself into trouble."

"I don't think, I know. He's not one to keep his mouth shut as you've seen."

"You wouldn't happen to have another gun that I could use, would you?"

John raised an eyebrow at me. "No. I don't. Do you even know how to use one?"

I held out a hand to John and he handed me the butt of his pistol. Quickly, I released the magazine, emptied the chamber, and handed it back to him. "If you'd like a demonstration on my accuracy, I can do that as well. But I'd rather not frighten Mrs. Hudson."

"Who in the bloody hell are you?" He asked incredulously, picking up the magazine from the floor. "Seriously, I've never known a paralegal to be proficient with a firearm before."

I shook my head. "Again, not the time and place. We've got a consulting detective to go and find." When he didn't come with me, I sighed. "I'll tell you when we get back. Right now, you're right, Sherlock's in danger and we don't have a lot of time."

John rolled his eyes, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that when we get back."

We left the flat, on the hunt for one Sherlock Holmes.