A/N: Hey, everyone! Hooray for my first story on wattpad and my first Sherlock fic! :D This was meant to be a present to one of my friends, so don't expect too much fanfiction (or reader fanfiction) from me. Comments are always greatly appreciated, especially if it helps my writing, so when you're done tell me what you thinks and I hope you enjoy! Oh and P.S. This will probably turn into a series if I get enough support.
XxX
You stare up at the stone building before you. Your mind is reeling in doubt and even though the sign at the end of the street says Baker street, and the number on door is 221B you still can't seem to go in.
Working a maid job wasn't exactly what you wanted to be doing when you moved to London, but your life has had a tendency to be cruel to you. The pile of bills on your coffee table is ever increasing while your savings is ever decreasing and getting this job is crucial to your survival. You won't go back to America, you can't go back to America! Because the moment you step back on American soil, your whole family will be there screaming “We told you so!” and you'll have to face the painful fact that they were right, you can't make it alone in London or anywhere else in the world.
You let out a long sigh and suck in your pride. It's either cleaning a strangers toilet or a tortuous shaming from your relatives. You've made up you mind. You knock at the door.
Soon you hear steps from inside the building.
The door opens to reveal a small older woman. “Can I help you dearie?” She asks, her voice is incredibly gentle.
“Yes, I am here for the-” You start to say.
“Oh, you must be here for the housekeeping job the boys put in the paper.”
You're a little surprised at her insight.
“Actually yes, I am.”
The woman opens the door wider and motions for you to step inside. “Come in, come in. The boys are upstairs. I'll show you to their flat.”
You oblige and follow the woman inside. The woman continues to chatter on about “the boys”.
“I'm glad they're looking for a housekeeper. I mean I don't mind looking after them, and to be honest, I'll probably miss cleaning up after them,but at my age I can't look after my housework and someone else's too. I do good to take care of my own. And Sherlock is so messy. You'd think with such an incredible mind he could at least learn how to wash dishes properly. Poor John, is not much better I'm afraid. You're going to have your work cut out for you, my dear.”
Greatttttt, you think, and what kind of name is Sherlock?
Once you've climbed the stairs, you turn the corner and stop at a door.
“Here we are. We'll have to knock. Sherlock shot the doorbell out when he was in one of his moods.”
Her soft wrinkled hand pounded against the wood. “Sherlock? John? You have a visitor. She says she's here for the housekeeping job you put in the paper.”
