The Network Girl

The wind rustled loudly in her ears, screeching and screaming and tossing her into a whirlwind of confusion and fear. She was pushed from side to side and she yelled in panic as suddenly she heard a crash, and rubble began crashing down on top of her. Bricks and wood and stone were tossed from the sky, and as a brick whooshed past and smacked her in the side of the head, Y/N woke from her nightmare with a start. She hated having to relive the experience of her house being bulldozed down, especially at night. Now, at 20 years old, she was living on the streets in Central London.

In her opinion, Y/N's life hadn't been worth living... until he had turned up. Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat. Most people who worked for him called him Mr Holmes, although he let Y/N call him Sherlock. She had been in what Sherlock called the "Homeless Network" for around six months, and she had almost earned enough money for her own hotel room for a night or two. It wasn't much, but it was living.

Y/N looked at the battered old mattress she was lead on and sighed. The alleyway she was staying in with her brother H/N was dangerously cold. They needed to find a decent homeless shelter soon, or they'd freeze to death.

Just as this thought hit her, the mobile phone that Sherlock had given her to keep in touch vibrated. She squinted as she unlocked the phone and was hit with the sharp beam of light. Sherlock had sent her a message.

<i>I know you did a lot of work for me today, for which I am very grateful, but I need you to come to Baker Street as soon as possible. I'll be waiting for you there.
SH</i>

She cursed under her breath. Damn that man... why did he always have to drag her out at night? Still, he payed her good money for today's efforts, so she figures it'd always be worth it.

That day Y/N had helped him solve the case of a robbery, where a small blue diamond had been stolen. Turns out it had been hidden in the suspect's dinner - a turkey he'd bought from the butcher's. He'd been framed by his brother. Y/N's role had been to track the brother all day to see where he went, all the way across London and back. It had been tiring and expensive.

Sitting up slowly, she put a hand on her brother's arm and shook his gently to rouse him.

"H/N," she whispered. "<i>...H/N!</i>"

He groaned before rolling onto his back and opening his eyes.

"What is it, Y/N?" She held the phone at eye-level so he could read it. He scanned the message half-heartedly and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, go," he murmured. "I'll be here when you get back. But be careful." She smiled.

"I will, don't worry. 'Love you," she replied before getting up and putting on her battered old trainers. He grunted in reply as he rolled over and went back to sleep.

It didn't take her long to get to 221B; it was only a short walk from her street. She jogged up to the door, pulling her old worn cardigan tighter round her middle as the wind tugged at it.

The door slowly opened and an old lady stood at the door holding a cup of tea.

"Oh dear," she said sympathetically. "I'm sorry, love, but I've got no spare change. Try a few doors down."

She was just about to close the door on her when Y/N called out, "No, wait! I'm a friend of Sherlock's!"

"Let her in, Mrs Hudson, she's with me," a low voice called from inside. Mrs Hudson, Sherlock's sweet Landlady-Housekeeper looked her up and down for a moment before letting her inside. Y/N nodded politely in thanks before shedding her cardigan and hanging it on a peg in the hallway. A moment later she heard a familiar voice call, "Up here, Y/N."