A Study in Sherlock (1st book in Reality series)

Study in Pink part 1

I look towards the land in front of the ship. It seemed far away, almost like an island.

"LAND HO'!" A sailor called and the crowd gathered around the railing.

I was squished down against the cold metal rails that lined the new ship, the U.R.S.A. (or United Reef Sea Association). I know what you are thinking, why am I on a boat? It's modern day. Shouldn't I be on a plane? Well the answer to that question is my dad's death. My mom died after I was born so I didn't know her at all, but my dad showed me pictures. She was gorgeous. She had long golden hair and emerald eyes. I look a little like her but I got my dad's brunette hair.

My dad died because of a car crash. He was coming to collect me from my 'special' after school program. You see, I am what people call 'special'. I hate being special. Being special caused my dad's death... If only I wasn't smart I would've already been home with my dad that night watching Sherlock Holmes movies and shows, eating some store bought ramen noodles.

When my dad died, child services discovered I had an aunt and uncle in London, England. So they sent me there. I wasn't on a plane because they wanted to give my aunt and uncle time to get ready for my arrival. I wonder how they are. Are they kind? Smart? Dumb? Clean? Dirty? Anything could go.

I got off the ship about an hour later than I expected. They never tell you how long it takes to reach land and get off. It took me another hour to get my stuff from the ship. I expected that bit. I went inside of a customs office and the man had greasy hair and a decent sized nose. He did have acne everywhere. It was like a little specks of red from lipstick he couldn't quite get off. Finally, he stamped my papers. I was officially an English citizen. If that was a good thing I wouldn't know.

A nicely dressed lady led me outside and gave the address to the taxi driver, or now I suppose it's a cabbie. The drive was very nice, the sun wasn't out. I expect that most days will be like that. Cloudy, rainy. I actually really like rain.

"It's perfect reading weather, Lynnie," my dad said when a storm hit. The clouds were a dark grey. Me and him wanted to go to the park and have a picnic and I was about seven. Of course when you want to go to the park and something interrupts that plan it feels as if the world is ending. My dad calmed me down and read to me Sherlock Holmes: The Study of Scarlet. The copy he had was very ragged and the pages were ripped left, right and sideways. However despite the horrible state the novel was in, I fell in love with mystery that day. Oh... I would always ask for the funny little hat that Sherlock had, and a fake pipe and magnifying glass of course.

"Miss, what is your name?" A thick English accent suddenly spoke up. It was the tax- cabbie. I looked up and the cabbie was slightly pale due to being in a car all day. And he was on the older side having wrinkles next to his eyes and mouth.

"My name is Evelynn." I said not caring nor wanting to give my last name to the stranger.

"Very nice. I had a friend named Evelynn. Moved away though, such a shame." He replied. I hated awkward small talk. The awkwardness suffocated the car like drowning in an ocean.

The rest of the car ride was quiet. I assume he just quit trying to talk after a while. I looked out the window for the rest of the ride. London was very busy. If the streets were this busy I would need a map to navigate my way to places I want to go. London was made of parks and streets. It looked like a city that merged into a town. I could see the graffiti that littered the walls of the alleys. The drips of color were making it look messy. Everyone was driving on the left side. Which looks wrong as a former American. Yet again, another thing I was to get used to.

" 'right miss. Here's ya stop." The cabbie says. I nod and get my backpack and suitcase from the car. Both hold my most important things. Things such as books, blankets, Electronics, significant things from my life. I walk down the street. The street was pretty busy and I was confused until I saw the 221b. Baker Street. How awesome! I get to live across the street from the famous home of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I count the doors. 217, 218, 219. 219 Baker Street. That is my aunt's and uncle's apart-flat. Flat. There are flats here.

I knocked on the black painted door and the letters looked like they were silver saying 219. When I opened the door a woman that looked around 45 answered.

"Yes?" She asked with a english-american combination of an accent, eyeing me up and down.

"Hi, yes. Are you Anna Shaw?" I questioned. She nodded. "I'm Evelynn Carlton. I'm your niece from America." Her eyes brightened in a way that hides something. What it is I don't know.

"Ah Yes! Come on in sweety! Oh what a tragedy that my brother died. You must be deva-" She kept talking and talking on how sad it must be to lose my father and that I am unfortunate. Is this what is going to happen from now on whenever I mention my parents are dead? Seems annoying more than empathetic.

When I went inside the house I discovered that my uncle was a pig, slob at best. He was laying in his recliner and watching football, mind you it was soccer, but as I try to remind people it is football in the rest of the world. He was eating a big bowl of potato chips and was drinking what I would assume was not soda. The floors were dirty and I don't think they vacuum often. The windows were very foggy and streaky. At least they tried to clean the windows.

"Alright, your room is on the third floor, only one up there. There is also a bathroom too. I thought you might like that." I only nodded and lugged my stuff up three flights of stairs. The flat must be old because the paint was chipping off and the carpeted stairs were stained and the sides were coming up. When I finally finished climbing the stairs I noticed that the room was very small and only one window was there. I threw my bags down and explored the room.

The floor was carpeted which was better than wood. The window was covered by a very sheer curtain which had rips that show how careful they were. I am pretty sure they gave me the storage room. There were cobwebs everywhere and when I layed on the bed there were springs that you could feel, which isn't very comfortable. The bathroom which was promised was a shower, a dirty sink and toilet. The tiles on the floor were cracked and the ceiling was leaking.

I tried my best to make the place in which I was going to be staying in for another 2 years better, by taking down the curtains, placing thick blankets on the bed to at least have some cushioning between myself and the springs. I put my books on the creaky bookshelf and plugged in my phone. 4:38 PM. I arrived in England at 1:29 PM. I am also going to have to get used to the time difference.

"Jeez, I still have so much to organize and do." I sighed. I continued on. I used the sheer curtains to get rid of the spiderwebs. For the bathroom I used the other curtain I didn't use as a cloth to at least get some of the grime of the porcelain. By the time I was done I was so tired I passed out on the stiff bed and covered up with a yarn blanket that I found in my room. The night was cold and the rain that had started was hitting my window hard. How bad is it here really?