'Oh, it just doesn't make sense.' Mrs Hudson huffs, squinting at the computer screen. She had spent the better half of the day trying to deduce where she was and exactly how she got there. So far, she had come up with nothing. Nada. Zilch. 'No 221B? How can there be no 221B?' She mutters, pushing her reading glasses further up her nose. But that's the thing; there is no 221B. At least, not in the real world anyway. No 221B, no Sherlock Holmes, no John Watson and no Mrs Hudson. Suddenly, the shrill ringing of a mobile sounds behind her. 'Oof!' Mrs Hudson jumps, hitting her funny-bone on the table corner. She walks to bed in the centre of the room and gingerly picks up the phone. 'Oh, it's like Sherlock's…a touchy one.' She violently swipes her finger across the screen, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

'H-hello?' She whispers tentatively.

'Hey Aud.' A man answers.

'Sherlock? Is that you?'

'What? No Aud, it's Dad!' Mrs Hudson glances at the phone and then places it back to her ear.

'A-Aud? Who is Aud?'

'Audrey, what's goin' on?' The man asks, confused.

'I'm not Audrey, I-I'm Mrs Hudson.'

The man laughs jokingly. 'Oh, sorry didn't realise I'd called 221B'.

Mrs Hudson starts. 'Did you just say 221B? Yes, yes I'm Mrs Hudson from 221B! How did you know?'

There is a pause.

'…Mrs Hudson, where's Audrey?' The man asks carefully.

'Oh I don't know how got here, all I remember is sitting down to drink my morning tea and woosh! The room started spinning and I woke up here!' Mrs Hudson replies tearfully.

There is another long pause, then;

'Shit.' The phone disconnects and Mrs Hudson just stares at it. 'Well that was a bit rude.'

I crack my eyes open and smile as I come nose to nose with Catsby's bleary-eyed sleepy face. 'Good morning sunshine.' I whisper and peck the little pink bud. I stretch, cracking my shoulders, and sit up.

And then I remember I'm not in my own apartment.

'Oh balls.' I groan and roll out of the (extremely comfortable) double bed. 'We're still here Catsby.' I wander into Sherlock's adjoining bathroom, my feet pattering on the cold tiles. Pulling my dark brown hair into a messy bun on top my head, I root around the cupboards for a spare toothbrush. Amazingly enough, I spot one in a matter of seconds. I shake my head, glancing around at the immaculately clean bathroom. 'Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?' I mutter.

Strolling back into the bedroom, I grab my dark purple dressing gown hanging from the wardrobe. It is a heavy, Victorian - style, lace gown, with deep gold fringing and a court train trailing behind. Pulling it on over my flimsy, white cotton nightdress, I twirl around in my room for a bit. Awh cool, I'm like one of those Jane Austen tarts.

'Heeeeathcliff!

It's meee Cathyyy I've come hooome

I'm so co-o-o-oold!

Let me in you wiiin-'

BANG!

'GAH!' I shout and stop singing. Tell me that wasn't a gun shot. Racing out the door, I sprint down the hallway and into the living room, only to find Sherlock lounging on the sofa, lazily twirling a pistol in his hands.

'Bored!' He takes aim and fires another bullet into the wall.

I jump back, covering my ears. 'Oi! What's the wall ever done to you?' Sherlock glances at me, then does a double-take.

'Where'd you get that?' He asks, taking in the excess of purple and gold lace trailing behind me.

'Bram Stoker's Dracula.' I reply, twirling on the spot. 'You like it?'

He snorts. 'It's ridiculously over-sized.'

'…You're ridiculously over-sized.' I grumble, flipping the switch on the kettle. I notice Sherlock eyeing up an un-bullet-riddled part of the wall.

'Ah-ah-ah!' I scold, standing over him. 'Give me the gun.' I demand, stretching my hand out.

'Or what?'

'Or I'll sit on you.' I warn.

He rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, like that's going to – oof!' I plop myself down on his stomach, careful not to be too gentle.

'You're lucky I'm small.' I tell him. 'Cos if I wasn't, you'd probably be coughing up your innards by now.'

He winces, but I reuse to move. 'Give me the gun.'

'No.'

'Look, John's going to get really angry and he has nowhere to stay tonight when he storms off since that Sarah did a runner.' I explain to him. He continues to stare sulkily at me. I continue to smile sweetly at him, swinging my feet.

He sighs and hands me the pistol. Taking it, I pull the magazine out and drag the slide back with a sharp snap, watching as the bullets fall to the ground.

Sherlock looks mildly impressed. 'Where did you learn how to do that?'

'You ever seen Love/Hate?' I ask.

He shakes his head.

'Google it.'

I tuck the pistol into my dressing-gown pocket. 'Can I have this?'

Sherlock smirks. 'You'd just end up blowing your brains out.'

'Shut-up.' I snap. (Though, lets be honest, that probably would happen.)

He sighs and brings his hands up under his chin in a steeple position.

I'm still sitting on him. I wish I had brought my tea. Damn.

'Was I right?' He suddenly asks me.

'Bout what?'

'In deducing you? Did I get everything right?'

I narrow my eyes, trying to remember what he said. 'Well, I'm from Meath, so you got the bit about the midlands right. I'm 20 years old, I go to Kings College..'

He nods. 'And what do you study?'

'French and Film Studies.' I lean back against the chair, getting comfy.

'French, not English. Dammit.' He murmurs. 'What's your mother's maiden name?'

'Dubois. Why?' I respond.

He suddenly sits up and I'm jerked backwards. 'Ah she's French! That's why you're named Audrey.'

I smirk, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling myself upright. I didn't want to correct him when he'd said I resembled Audrey Hepburn.

'Hey Audrey, I got your Vogue maga –' John walks in, stops, and stares at the two of us.

My eyes widen. Oh god, what must this look like?

Me, sitting across Sherlock, arms wrapped around his shoulders, his face close to mine.

That's what it looks like.

John glances behind him and then back to us.

'Er…Did I miss something?'

I quickly slide off Sherlock's lap. 'Well, you missed Sherlock assaulting the wall with this pistol.' I pull it from my pocket. 'And you missed me sitting on Sherlock cos he wouldn't give me the gun.' I shrug, 'That's about it.'

'What time is it?' Sherlock calls from the sofa.

'Er,' John flips his hand over and checks his old army watch. 'Its three pm.'

'What?' I exclaim. 'You mean I slept in until two? That's the latest I've ever...' I trail off, looking out the window.

Oh crap.

'EVERYONE GET DOWN!' I shout, pulling John with me. Sherlock rolls from the sofa and onto the floor, just before the whole apartment is hit with the impact of the explosion.

'Ugh.' I groan, nudging the shards of broken glass with the toe of my shoe. The windows had been completely shattered by the force of the blast. 'No, Catsby!' I catch him slinking around the sofa out of the corner of my eye. Running over I scoop him up. 'Mon chouchou.' I coo, 'You'll hurt your petites pattes and Maman would be so sad.' I rub my face against his.

Sherlock, who had been experimenting in the kitchen, makes a noise of disgust.

I throw him a dirty look and tuck Catsby under my arm.

'I'm taking Catsby for a walk.' I announce. 'John, where's the nearest park?'

'Hmm?' John looks up from his laptop. 'Oh, Queen Mary's is just down the road.'

'You're going to walk around London with a cat?' Sherlock smirks.

'Yes.'

'With him in your arms like that?' He points to the purring Catsby.

'Problem?'

He rolls his eyes and returns to his bubbling concoctions.

'Audrey Dubois-Thompson.' A tall, sandy-haired man slaps three photos onto the mahogany desk. '20 years old. No idea what her connection with Sherlock Holmes is, but she seems to be staying with them.'

The dark haired man sitting behind the desk studies the pictures of the small, brown-haired girl holding a cat. He grins wickedly.

'Thank you, Moran. That will be all.' The tall blonde man leaves the room.

'Now, angel face.' He strokes the photo. 'Who are you?'

As I trudge back up the stairs, I spy a sticky note attached door.

Audrey, it reads

Was called in to hospital to cover for Dr Smith.

Won't be back until late.

Try not to kill Sherlock.

John.

I chuckle and open the door. Sherlock's talking to himself.

Again.

'You know Sherlock, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.' I sing-song and prance into the living room, stopping abruptly when I realise he wasn't talking to himself.

'Mycroft, this is Audrey Dubois.' He motions to where I'm standing.

Ohh Mycroft!

The thin, balding man rises from John's seat to shake my hand.

'It's a pleasure, Mrs Thompson.' He smiles tightly. 'If you don't mind me asking, who are you?'

'Oh, I –'

'She's Mrs Hudson's niece.' Sherlock interrupts me. I give him a look.

Mycroft doesn't look convinced, but remains silent nonetheless. He turns his attention back to Sherlock, who is absentmindedly plucking the strings of his violin.

'I can't.' Sherlock says.

'Can't?' Mycroft questions.

'The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time.' I look at him on disbelief.
'Never mind your usual trivia.' Mycroft says tiredly. 'This is of national importance.'

Sherlock sulkily flicks his fingers across the strings. 'How's the diet?'

Mycroft ignores the insult. 'Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, Audrey.'

I look up from sweeping the rest of the glass shards into the bin. 'Hah! Fat chance of that.' I say incredulously.

'If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?' Sherlock inquires.
'No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ...' Mycroft trails off, leaving Sherlock eyeing him suspiciously.

'So...Audrey, is it a short stay?' I glance over at Mycroft before answering him.

'Uh…Well I just decided to take a year out of college and…travel, I suppose. I'm staying here with my Aunt for the time being.' I try to smile confidently.

'Strange..' Mycroft ponders. 'I never knew Mrs Hudson had family in Ireland.'

'Second cousin, once removed.' Sherlock cuts in. 'It's not important.' He says, waving his hand.

'Yeah.' I agree, bending down to pick up the remainder of the glass. 'We never really – Agh! shit' I swear, cutting my palm on a sharp edge. I clench my hand to stop the blood flow and dash to the sink.

'Is it deep?' Sherlock appears behind me.

I wince, not wanting to look. 'Uh, I dunno.'

'Let me see.' He takes my hand and inspects the wound. 'There's a first aid kit in my bathroom. Go wipe it with the antiseptic and then cover it with a plaster.' He instructs.

(Switches to third person)

'Now, who is she really, Sherlock?' Mycroft asks once Audrey's left the room.

'She's who she said she is.' Sherlock replies stubbornly.

Mycroft laughs humourlessly, shaking his head. 'Don't lie to me, Sherlock. It's painfully obvious.'

Sherlock ignores him.

'Pretty little thing, isn't she?' Mycroft continues to watch Sherlock. 'A bit young.' He adds.

Sherlock throws him a look of contempt.

'Stay out of it, Mycroft.'

(Switches back to Audrey's POV)

'Jesus Christ, Sherlock! Was that antiseptic or plain salt water?' I proclaim loudly as I make my way back to the kitchen.

He smirks. 'No, just one of my own creations.'

'What? Sherlock, I swear to God if I wake tomorrow with an extra limb I'll – '

'Ahem.' Mycroft coughs from John's chair. 'Well, I'd best be off.'

'Oh really. So soon?' Sherlock says in a dull, monotonous voice.

Mycroft turns to me. 'Until next time, Mrs Thompson.' I smile and wave, ignoring Sherlock's threatening stare.

Once I hear the front door shut, I round on Sherlock. 'Why did you lie?' He quirks an eyebrow. 'Well,' he says, 'I don't know about you, but I'd prefer not to be carted off to the mental asylum.'

I open my mouth to shoot back a witty retort, but before I can say anything, Sherlock's phone rings.

'Sherlock Holmes.' He listens for a moment, then his expression changes. 'Of course. How could I refuse?' He ends the call and heads for the door. 'Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?' He looks back at me.

I hesitate. 'Uh..okay. If you want me to.'

'You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones.' Lestrade asks Sherlock as he strides down the corridor.
'Obviously.'
'You'll love this. That explosion ...' Lestrade glances behind and literally just notices me. 'Oh, hello. Who's this then?' He looks at Sherlock.

'Lestrade, Audrey. Audrey, Lestrade.' Sherlock introduces us without looking back.

Lestrade smiles warmly at me, shaking my hand. 'Nice to meet you Audrey.'

'You too.'

Oof. I was certainly not expecting Lestrade to be as handsome as he was.

Dayum.

He was one of those men that get better with age - You know, like a fine wine or something. There was just something so calming about his voice…I mean, nothing compared to Sherlock's velvet voice of sex but I wouldn't mind him try –

'Audrey!' Sherlock clicks his fingers in front of my face.

'Huh?' I snap out of it. 'Did you ask me something?'

'The letter.' He says, pointing to the envelope on the desk. 'Is it okay to open?'

'Oh, yeah go ahead. They've already X-rayed it and checked for booby-traps anyway.'

Lestrade frowns and looks from me to Sherlock. 'How did she -?'

'Nevermind.' Sherlock snaps. Nice stationery. Bohemian.'

'What?' Lestrade asks.

'From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?'

'No.'

Sherlock looks closely at the writing. 'She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib.'

'She?' Lestrade questions again.

'Obviously.' Sherlock and I say at the same time. Lestrade rolls his eyes.

Sherlock picks up a letter opener from the desk and carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out a pink iPhone.

'Same pink phone.' I comment.

'What, from the Study in Pink?' Lestrade question.

'Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ...' Sherlock stops as he realises what Lestrade just said. He turns to face him. At the same time, Donovan walks into the room to put some files down on a desk near the door.

Sherlock looks at him incredulously. 'The Study in Pink? You read his blog?

'Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?' I cover my mouth to hold in my laugh, but a giggle escapes.

'Who's Dorothy?' Donovan asks, looking over at me. I scowl at her.

Okay, it wasn't exactly an insult because I was actually wearing the red slippers I'd read out of The Wizard of Oz. With a matching red dress. And a red bow pulling my hair back from my face. But apart from that, I looked perfectly normal.

Lestrade frowns at her. 'Sally, this is Audrey, Sherlock's friend.'

'Friend? She scoffs. 'What, did he follow you home?'

'Hmm,' I put my finger on my chin, pretending to be thinking. 'I wouldn't say followed, no. It was more of a stalking thing at first. But I got fed up with it and when I confronted him, he kidnapped me and locked me in the basement where I've been living for the past year and a half now.' She opens her mouth to say something, but I continue. 'But then, sparks began to fly and I found myself falling for him.' I stare at Sherlock dreamily, who quirks an eyebrow in amusement. 'Oh well, that's Stockholm syndrome for you. What can ya do?' I shrug my shoulders.

Donovan throws an uneasy glance at Lestrade and briskly exits his office.

I lapse into a fit of giggles, 'Did you guys see that?' I wipe away tears. 'Ohh god.' I glance up to find Lestrade staring at me uncertainly. 'I was joking, Greg.'

He laughs, but then stops abruptly to look down at me again. 'How do you know my na – '

'It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new.' Sherlock interrupts him. He checks the connection sockets for scratches.

Sherlock switches the phone on and immediately gets a voice alert. The message plays but there is no voice – just the unmistakeable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal.

'Is that it?' Lestrade looks disappointed.

'No. That's not it.'

A photograph has also been uploaded to the phone. Sherlock opens it and Lestrade peers over his shoulder. The picture is of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper is peeling and there's a tall mirror propped up in one corner.

'What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!' Lestrade cries out exasperatedly.

'It's a warning.' Sherlock explains, gazing thoughtfully. 'Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's going happen again.'

He briefly looks down at the photo again, then brandishes the phone at us as he starts to leave the office. 'And I've seen this place before.'

Lestrade grabs his coat and hurries after him. 'Hang on. What's gonna happen again?'

'BOOM!' I shout and turn back to Lestrade, grinning.

'Yes, my exact sentiments, Audrey.' Sherlock calls back.

We congregate outside 221C.

'The door's been opened recently.' Sherlock observes, looking at the keyhole.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door.

Lestrade stops and looks at them before stating, 'Shoes'.

'Yes, thank you for that enlightened snippet of information, Lestrade.' I look up and pat Greg's arm apologetically.

Sherlock stops for a moment, then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. He jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up, pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket. He pauses for a second, then answers the phone.

"Hello?" He says, softly
"H-hello ... sexy." It's woman's voice.
"Who's this?"
"I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi." I can hear the tears in her voice.
"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"
"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out."

I stare at the phone in Sherlock's hand, almost shaking with fury. In my excitement, I had completely forgotten about the maniac that is Moriarty.

Now he was here. The danger is real this time.

"The curtain rises." Sherlock whispers.
"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."

'Audrey?' Sherlock leans against the kitchen island while I stir my cup of tea.

'Mmhmm?'

'I trust you know about Moriarty?'

Aw crap, not this again. I keep my back turned, hoping he doesn't see my expression change. 'Uh.. Yeah, I've heard of him.'

'So you know how dangerous he is?'

I sigh, giving up on hiding my face. 'Yes...He's a maniac. An actual psycho.'

'Then I hope you'll understand when I say it's not safe for you to come with John and I on the cases. At least, for the meantime.'

I stare at him. 'Oh no, do not give me that "you're too small and girly" bullshit. I am perfectly capable of defending myself, thank you very much! You should see me, I'm like freakin' Natasha Romanoff - '

'Yes, yes alright!' Sherlock sighs, interrupting my rant. 'It's just, you're a perfect target for Moriarty.'

'Sherlock,' I say, holding his gaze. 'You need to trust me. I know exactly how this plays out.' I smile, tapping my head. 'I'm always one step ahead, remember?'

He inclines his head. 'Fair point. But no more walks with Catsby, okay?'

I smile wryly. 'Sherlock Holmes are you, dare I say it, concerned?'

He narrows his eyes and scoffs at me. 'The only thing I'm concerned about is you getting in the way.' And with that he stalks form the room.

... Wanker

a/n Audrey's Dad knows whats up... Mmhmm. Anyhoo there's chapter 4. Hope yis like it and pretty please please leave a comment! They fuel my creative juices :) Thank you to Jenny the Wicked and rycbar15 for your reviews!