Sherlock

I

Sherlock Holmes was a strange man. I always knew that. From the moment I met him, I could sense he wasn't quite normal. What I didn't know was the extend of his strangeness.

When I first met him I was too young to understand. I wasn't accustomed to his ways - I simply didn't know which were his normal ways and which were not.

I'll tell you how we met. I'll attempt to tell it as descriptive as possible, but it's a long time ago now and my memory is failing me. Try to see it. See it as if you're me.

It was sometime in autumn. I wish I had written the date down, but how could I know the day would be different than any other?

I was walking to work. My steps were steady, but slow. I was tired, I had been up all night working. My umbrella protected me partially from the heavy rain, but my boots were drenched. My socks were slightly damp, but luckily I had chosen my more waterproof footwear. The weather had been dreadful for the past week, but I still insisted on walking to work. The walk felt longer than ever and each step felt like an earthquake. My head felt like a battlefield and my body was too tired to keep up with my thoughts. I had started wondering how I would ever get through the day when I realised I had arrived. The big white building was towering over me and I felt both dread and relief. I took a big breath and stepped through the doors.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was Inspector Lestrade holding a mug of coffee. He looked about as tired as i felt.

"Morning Smith," he said with a weak smile as he lifted his mug slightly.

"Morning Lestrade," I headed straight for the coffee machine.

"Erm.. I've decided to call in... extra help for the Johnson-Bright case," Lestrade was looking down at his mug of coffee as he sighed.

"Might I ask who?" I take the full mug of coffee and lean against the counter.

"His name is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade's brows were furrowed, creating a line between his eyebrows, "He's a brilliant man, I've never met anyone who thinks the way he does."

"And you think he might be able to provide answers?" I took a careful sip of the burning hot coffee.

"I think he might solve it." My eyebrows shot up at his answer.

"I told him to come around as quickly as possible, but you never know with him," He had his eyes locked with mine, "keep an eye out. I'll be in my office."

As he left I took another sip of my coffee, pondering over this man who was better and more intelligent than Scotland Yards best detectives. The way Lestrade talked about him made me feel slightly intimidated by him. This man was so brilliant that Lestrade was confident he'd be a help. We'd been working this case for weeks without answers. It wasn't just another case, this one was definitely a hard nut to crack.

I sat by my desk for at least an hour before anything happened. I heard the sounds first - people snickering, gasping, whispering - before I saw him. He didn't look remotely like anyone I'd ever seen before. I know it sounds stupid or cliche, but it is nonetheless true. The collar on his long coat was up against his neck, making him appear taller and more mysterious than he was. His hair was curly in a way that was neither messy or neat and his face was like no face I'd ever seen. His nose was square and long, his eyebrows very thick, his eyes small and a little bit too far apart, his cupid's bow was sharp and deep, and his high cheekbones carved into his face in an extraordinary way. His strange appearance was quite attractive and hard not to look at. His face didn't fit into western beauty ideals, but it was - and will always be - very attractive.

But his appearance wasn't the only remarkable thing, it was also how he walked and his facial expression. He walked like he owned the place and his face was stone hard. Even though I had never seen him before I just knew - no matter how ridiculous it sounds - that he was Sherlock Holmes.

I saw Anderson - one of the detectives who'd been there a while - roll his eyes and cross his arms over his chest. Others were doing the same and some were just staring in disbelieve, but no one was doing anything to greet him.

Quickly I stood up and knocked on the door to Lestrade's office. As soon as the door opened I declared Sherlock's arrival and Lestrade made his way through the desk workplace to greet him. I followed right behind him, without really knowing why.

"Sherlock, glad you could come," Lestrade said without moving a muscle in his face.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but Mycroft was being extremely irritating this morning," Sherlock said while glancing to me, "who's this?"

Lestrade turned around to look at me and I found myself feeling extremely embarrassed for following him like a dog.

"This is Christine Smith, one of our new detectives," he nodded towards me as he said my name.

Sherlock reached his hand out for me, "nice to meet you Smith, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

I took his hand and took in a deep breath, "I've heard you might be able to help with our latest case." I had no idea what the appropriate thing to say was and I felt quite flustered and out of place in a way I hadn't experienced in a long time. I desperately tried to avoid his icy gray eyes as they ran over me in an analyzing way.

"You're very young for a detective, how young are you?" his brows were furrowed and his eyes were still scanning me in a way only a machine should be able to.

"I-I'm 22," I managed to croak out. I straightened out my back and shifted my feet in an attempt to show confidence.

"And she's very capable, but should we get on to the case?" Lestrade interrupted.

Sherlock smiled coldly and nodded.

"Follow me," Lestrade said and started walking towards his office, "both of you."