Him, Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 1~ Invite

Edited 7/22/2k16

 -------Willow's POV---------

London is a large place, large places do tend to have higher crime rate. That's why this dreadful place has people who call themselves detectives. There are far too many of them. That's why I have pushed that job aside. I still let my mind roam free. It has it's own process, my mind has it's own mind. Quite an interesting thought. I see things with different eyes. No one really does understand. Though anyone I have met anyways. I'm an outcast. I bet my mother hates me. I sure let my family down. I examine everything in sight. Everything has their cause and effect. You can only find out what they are by observing. Observation is the key. Things may seem the same when coming back from a late night drink, but you can never really know unless you take everything in. 

People look at things and never think about the story behind it. Well, they do, but they never actually bring the facts in. About 70% of people have an average I.Q of 110. Sometimes I wonder how high of an I.Q I have. Never bothered with a test. My eyes move around as I think. They're their own item. As if another person they're on the watch while I'm thinking. My eyes stop moving and I am shoved out of my thinking trance. I use my eyes to actually see what I'm staring at. A man?

I recognize him from somewhere. He is tall, pale faced, has a head full of dark curls. Your usual hot guy with the cheekbones. Yet he has a stoic face. I notice his eyes. They hold the galaxy, they do what I thought no one else does. I am stupid to think no one else does it, but it's surprising to actually see someone do it. He was examining everything, there in front of me. He ignores what anyone may think. not only do his eyes hold the galaxy... they hold sadness. Soon the man sees me. His eyes stops looking at the different people. His cold stare stays on me. His thick eyebrows form a frown. He starts to walk toward me. Not only now do I look at him with curiosity, but also confusion.

He stands tall right in front of me. I have to look up. I'm only five foot, six inches. He seems to be about half a foot taller than me. 

"Is there something you need of me?" I ask him sternly. I watch his eyes look at every detail on my face. I see what you're doing.  I usually make myself seem tough on the first impression. Usually works. He unfazed. 

"What's your name?" He finally says something. Almost thought he was mute.

"Willow" I respond with a little pride. Willow is a name you don't hear too often anymore. Being proud of your name is a nice thing. Helps make you feel better about yourself. Though there is no reason. People are such funny creatures. 

"Full name" he commands as he looks at my details more. I narrow my eyes at the question, but hey what's the harm. I have no family and no friends. Being murdered is irrelevant.

"Willow Reed" I respond. "Yours?" I ask hoping he will answer. Doubt it. He looks at me directly in the eyes like I have disturbed his own world. 

"You don't need to know my name."

"Why did you need to know mine?" We stare at each other with our own little glare. Soon I hear someone calling in the distance.

"Sherlock!" I hear a man shouting from the crowd of London. The man in front of me turns his head back.

"Yes John?" He shouts back. Got the name now, Sherlock.

"Sherlock, eh?" I say to the man in front of me. He turns his head to me. "Never heard of it" I complete my response.

The other man, John I think, was now standing by Sherlock. He looks at me concerned.
"I am so sorry- Sherlock what did you do to her." Sherlock turns to him in utter disgust.

"I didn't do anything, John." Sherlock turns and walks away. John turns to me again.

"Sherlock is just being rude, here how 'bout you come over and have a nice cup of tea." He smiles apologetically, looking me straight into the eyes with his soft green ones. He was my height.

"No worries John," I say reassuring him. Looking at  pouting Sherlock and then back to him, "I would love to come over." I say with a smile.

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