Hi! So this is my first ever fanfic and well I am worried about posting this... but you'll be nice.. won't you? Also this is based after The Sign of Three but it's as if His Last Vow never happened (it will happen - I just imagined a bigger gap between SoT and HLB).
Disclaimer - I own nothing but Rosie and the plot line. All rights go to Sir ACD, Moftiss... basically anyone who worked on BBC Sherlock.
Chapter One
The afternoon sun cast a silhouette of chimneys onto the asphalt road that lined Baker Street. Once it was a calm, uneventful place to live, just one of many streets that you would stumble across in the city of London. However, that all changed a few years ago with the arrival of the eccentric Sherlock Holmes and his flatmate Dr John Watson. Sherlock and John had made a name for themselves as Consulting Detectives – a title fabricated by Sherlock – and they were spending their days assisting Scotland Yard when the police were out of their depth which, according to Sherlock, was always.
Many events had come and passed, Sherlock had faked his suicide (naturally, John didn't take it so well when Sherlock revealed this to him) and John had married Mary Morstan who was expecting a new arrival. Since the wedding, John had lived with his wife, leaving Sherlock to be alone at the home they used to share. Time had moved on since then but even they knew it wouldn't be the end of Sherlock and John's endeavors.
The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was in her own flat having an in depth conversation with her neighbour Mrs. Turner over the phone. Sherlock sat in his black armchair by the unlit fireplace with the tips of his fingers pressed together and his hands pressed against his lips letting his glazed blue-green eyes stare into space.
Without warning he snapped into consciousness and darted towards the door reaching for his long navy Milford coat and a deep blue scarf that hung on the back of the green door that led into the living space of his flat. He hopped down the stairs as he put on his coat.
"Mrs. Hudson I'm going out for a while!" announced his deep baritone voice.
"Okay dear!" came the reply as Sherlock stepped out of the heavy black door and slammed it behind him. His messy black locks were momentarily reflected by the golden lettering that read: 221B.
He jogged over to the side of the road waving his hand in the air while yelling "taxi!" but the shiny black cab just ignored him and drove on. Sherlock gave a frustrated sigh and was about to retreat to the flat when he walked straight into a young woman sending the brown cardboard box she was holding onto the pavement and a dozen fabric bound books to tumble out of it.
"Oh God, um…" Sherlock said still in shock from clash.
The young woman bent down to retrieve the books, Sherlock paused for a moment before helping her. She had dark wavy hair that fit around her plump olive-skin face and dark brown eyes that seemed to blend with the colour of her pupils. Her lips were a cupid's bow shape and a small nose with a faint white scar under her left nostril. She was wearing a green t-shirt under a navy blue fleece, fitting blue jeans and designer trainers. However the object that caught Sherlock's eye was her large golden necklace that seemed to be ticking slowly.
"No, its fine I got it thanks… Oh God where is that-?"
"- The Woman in White?" Sherlock handed the navy fabric-covered book to her with a quizzical look in his eye.
"Thanks, um..." She fidgeted slightly, unsure what to say. "I'm Rosie, Hartwell. I presume you live here?"
"Yes, and I presume you're a new neighbour?"
"Yes, number 223. Sorry I didn't catch your name…"
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Hmm, odd name, I guess you'd be easy to find in the Phone Book" she remarked.
"Yes, well... Um, I couldn't help but notice your books quite old aren't they?"
"Well, yeah, I'd say so…"
"In fact I'd say they were unique copies. But where did you get them from? Their condition is too good to be slumped in some antique book store. Inherited perhaps? Wait no, definitely inherited, you have come into a fair bit of money recently haven't you?"
Rosie was startled by his response. "H-how did you ..?"
"It was number 223 didn't you say? Quite expensive, even with a friend, it's not exactly rocket science is it?"
"….I suppose not! Um, I have to get things moved in, but it was nice to meet you."
Sherlock looked after Rosie scuttling towards her new home before he hailed a cab that had been crawling down the road at that time. His head was full of thoughts that he quickly dismissed as he got into the taxi. There was something about her that Sherlock could not deduce from her appearance, but it had no importance to him at that moment – he had a case to solve.