Obliterated {Sherlock BBC}

{Prologue}

She strolled briskly, her head raised forcing her auburn locks to blow ecstatically in the wind. As she turned the corner a crooked smile painted across her face. Despite her hardly ever walking the street before she felt a certain level comfort in taking those first few steps. Advancing at a faster pace now, the red head edged closer and closer to the address which had become world famous, first through the whispers of locals and then the press coverage that bombarded the televisions and newspapers.

Reaching the large, black door that towered over her, for the first time in her life she felt a pang of nerves form in the pit of her stomach. Never before had she felt such a feeling. However deciding to banish all of her thoughts she remembered who she was, sighed and knocked with all sense of verve and vigour on one of the sturdy wooden panels.

After waiting for less than a minute the door began to creep open and the familiar face of an elderly women was all that the girl could see. Suddenly before the women could speak a low bark came from upstairs. It wasn't until it ceased that she noticed the faint grace of violin music that had been playing.

"Mrs Hudson who is it? If it's a client send them up I'm awfully bored."

"Oh I know, dear." The elderely women cried back, a cracked smile forming on her lips, painted with red lipstick as she noticed the familiar face of the girl before her. "However, I think you might want to come down. This is a very... erm... special kind of client."

"If this clinet is so special then would you be kind enough to tell them..."

The low, irritated voice of the abiguos man upstairs began raging into a monologue about the many times in which he clearly depicteted to her the many rules of when a client enters their house. From what the two women could stand to listen to; rule one was clearly that if anoyone else was able to answer the door than he should not move from his flat, especially when thinking, 

Below the speech the young women, who was beginning to become even more cold standing in the winter night, whispered to the landlady.

"Leave it to me Mrs Hudson, when it comes to 'His Royal Highness' I seem to have a special way with him."

"Sherlock Holmes, stop being so rude and get down here right this instant. I've been on an eight hour flight and you know how irritable I'm going to get if I don't have a cup of tea in five minutes time."

The two women, with grins plastered across their faces listened as the distincitve sound of the man above them got up from presumbley his place on the sofa and shuffled across the creaking floor. Hearing the slight turn of the doorknob, it wasn't long before the shadow of a figure was in visible sight. The familiar shape of his taliored blazer and tossled, curly hair was so incredibly destinctive of the famous and world's only consulting detective. Sherlock Holmes. All he needed was the long coat, blue scarf and deerstalker and he would be the perfect picture of how the press depicted him.

"Cecilia?" Sherlock questioned in a slightly more hushed tone.

"Hello, brother dear. Are you not going to invite me in?"