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New Resident at 221b

By WendyHamlet

Mystery / Action

Chapter 1

221B Baker Street.

"Remind me again why you moved out." Sherlock said with a slight bitterness to his tone, idly plucking at his violin strings as his friend John Watson rummaged through the scattered items on the desk.

"I got married." Sherlock strummed the strings once as he replied.

"Ah yes, why did you do that again?" John let out a sigh and straightened up, turning to his friend's long form sprawled across his armchair.

"Look, I'm not going over this again with you. I'm just here to find my phone, and then I've got a lunch date with Mary." Sherlock let out a mournful sigh and looked over his violin bow, turning it slowly in his hand.

"Wives are such troublesome things. Your phone is in my coat pocket." He relented, pointing the bow towards his long coat draped on the armchair across from his.

John shook his head slightly as he walked over and retrieved his phone.

"You've got to stop filching my things Sherlock. And you really should be looking for a flat mate. I moved out six months ago, how are you paying the rent?" Sherlock stared at the ceiling as he ran his bow idly across the strings.

"I have more money than you think I do." John raised his eyebrows.

"You haven't had a case in weeks, where is the money coming from." Sherlock turned his head to face him.

"I have family money." He enjoyed seeing the slightly confused expression on the face of his friend. It reminded him of when they first began to know each other. John was almost always confused by him then. Not so much now though.

"If you've got family money, why on earth did you need a flat mate in the first place?" Sherlock turned to look at the ceiling again.

"Mrs. Hudson wouldn't rent me the flat if I didn't have someone to share it with, something about needing companion ship or some such nonsense." John glanced at his watch and let out a sigh.

"Look Sherlock, I've got to get going." The consulting detective's eyebrow twitched upward slightly.

"Wouldn't want to keep the wife waiting, go on, I've gotten on without you for a while now."

"Oh don't be such a child Sherlock, I'll see you later." Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and resumed plucking his violin strings. John paused in the doorway and said before leaving.

"And for goodness sakes, start looking for another flat mate, I don't like you being left alone all the time." With that he walked down the stairs and out.

Sherlock heard the door shut behind him, and said in a low voice.

"You shouldn't have left then."

A few hours later Mrs. Hudson came down to check on him, and found Sherlock in the same position that he had been in all day, sprawled across his armchair.

"Oh dear Sherlock, you really should move around a bit, it's not good for you to be lazing about all day like that. And look at the mess you've made, at least when John lived here there was some sort of order." Sherlock blew a lock of hair out of his face and retorted.

"Well John doesn't live here anymore and I'm afraid order seemed to have left with him." The elderly lady let out a sigh and shook her head.

"You really shouldn't be bitter about it. He's happy, and you should be happy for him. You should be thankful that he's forgiven you for being gone those three years. Come along and at least eat something." Sherlock glanced at the clock.

"What day is it?"

"Friday." Sherlock settled back in his chair.

"I'll be fine for another day or so." Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms and fixed Sherlock with her most scolding look.

"I've had quite enough of this sulking around. If you want to keep staying here you'd better find yourself a new flat mate, it's no good for you to be by yourself all the time." Sherlock sat up and turned to her.

"And what if I don't find a flat mate? You'll force me out?" She stared evenly back at him.

"I tolerate so much from you, the body parts in the fridge and microwave, the experiments and mess, the least you could do is find a bloody flat mate." With that she turned on her heal and stormed off to her flat, leaving Sherlock feeling thoroughly scolded.

Several days later, after a reminder from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock reluctantly put an ad in the paper advertising his need for a flat mate.

It was a Friday afternoon. Sherlock was updating his blog with an article about how to identify shoe brands by their footprint, when the bell rang. His long fingers paused in their typing, and his sharp grey eyes flickered towards the door.

At the sound of the second ring, he jumped out of his chair and swept over to the door, waiting as he heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Hello dear," Mrs. Hudson's gentle voice greeted the visitor warmly. "I assume you're here about the flat? Just go ahead and talk to Sherlock about it, I'll make you some tea while you two talk." Sherlock retreated to his armchair as the footsteps approached the door.

Light footfalls, close together indicated a smaller person with shorter legs, the left foot fell slightly heavier than the right, which meant they were holding extra weight on that side, presumable a bag of some kind.

His deductions were interrupted as a knock sounded on the door. He picked up his violin and called towards the door.

"Come in." His eyes scanned the person who entered, noticing everything about them in a few seconds. He was inwardly rather surprised that it was a young woman, mid-twenties who confronted him.

"Sherlock Holmes," She said with a small smirk, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"I'm afraid I have you at a disadvantage, I know who you are, but you don't know me. So," She held her arms out slightly and raised her eyebrows as she smiled. "Tell me who I am."

He studied her for a minute and then stood up, towering a good eight inches above her.

"You're originally from America but have lived in England for the past seven years or so, long enough to start adopting the accent, which also means that you are an especially empathetic person and originally lived somewhere in America where the people don't possess a particularly strong accent.

That brace on your wrist can be acquired at almost any local drug store which means it wasn't prescribed to you by a doctor. That implies that your injury isn't serious enough to consult a physician. I would say an athletic injury, but despite your athletic build you don't play sports with means that you acquired the injury elsewhere I'm guessing carpal tunnel which is obtained from excessive typing.

You job doesn't involve typing, you're obviously a waitress who took the rest of the day off judging by the wrinkles and crease left by your apron, and the grease stains on your blouse, which means that you type a lot for a hobby, the most logical option? Writing.

I also know that you are here to inquire about the apartment, and you've read both mine and John Watson's blogs which means you know all about me and you are either here because you're a fan, or you want to see if it's really true. Is that enough?"

She nodded, and shifted the satchel strap on her shoulder.

"Perhaps I can clear up a few things. I have read both your and John's blogs, and although you intrigue me, I'm not some psycho fan. I have come to see about the flat, seeing as though I don't especially like the location that I'm at currently, and am looking for a change of scenery." She paused and with a small smile added.

"I also know that you haven't left this flat in five days, and haven't eaten in three, you haven't had a case in several weeks and that Mr. Watson dropped by to see you today." Sherlock, for one of the few times in his life, was taken aback. He stared at her with budding curiosity.

"Correct…" She waved a hand and said dismissively.

"Read the blog, stored deductive and observational information. You're not the only one who can do what you do. Although you'll always be the best."

Just then Mrs. Hudson appeared with tea, she smiled and set it down on the coffee table.

"I've made you some tea and biscuits, just this once though, I'm not your housekeeper." The girl grinned when she said this and replied.

"Understood, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Then she turned back to Sherlock and offered her hand.

"By the way, my name's Alexis Doyle." Sherlock eyed her hand a moment before shaking it.

"Well Alexis Doyle, shall we discuss the rent?"

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