A Dance With Death

Chapter One

Hey so, this is my first Sherlock fan-fiction! I’ve been obsessed with this show, and while I like the pairing of Johnlock, I’m not very into it. So, I’ve created a non-slash version of my view of Sherlock. It’s set just after A Scandal in Belgravia, so just as he’s becoming famous. Thanks and enjoy! :)

It was storming (of course it was) when she finally hailed down a taxi. She had been walking for hours in a slight rain, trying to find a cab everywhere. She had planned on getting to her destination beforemidnight, but that hadn’t quite worked out as she thought it would have. Her dark coffee-coloured hair clung to her face, now soaked. A flash of lighting lit the sky, and she glanced at the sky and smiled as the thunder rolled, climbing into the back of the car. She spoke quietly to the driver, telling him the address and falling silent again. She threw back her hood (what little of it had covered her head) and shook her hair back before resting her head against the headrest. She considered taking a cigarette out from the box in her left pocket and smoking to calm her nerves, but she decided she could do so later.

The man drove slowly, but she didn’t mind. She was still trying to think of the words to explain herself. It wouldn’t be easy. She couldn’t decide whether or not to get a small hotel room nearby and wait for morning or just go up to the door this early in the morning. She had heard from certain...sources that he stayed up until all hours of the morning. An insomniac. She couldn’t imagine this being anything but true. Solving crimes, the way he did could get to you in some way or another.

Darkened streets, only lit by the faint light of faraway streetlights, passed by her slowly. She took in her surroundings, memorising the turns and street names so if something didn’t go right, she’d always find her way home. Watching the rain pound against the plate of glass separating her from the roads of London, she thought about her life living in the countryside of Chorleywood and how different the city was. She’d adjust, she surmised. She had to; she had nowhere else to go.

She checked the time on the car’s dashboard.1:17 AM. November 24, 2011. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the snow to fall yet, but it wasn’t warm enough to go without a coat. She pulled hers tighter around her. She wondered what he would be doing, assuming he was still awake, when she got there. Maybe he would be sitting somewhere, bored out of his mind and wishing for a case to come in.

Well, it was his lucky day. His wish was about to come true.

She had arrived at 221b Baker Street.

~~~

He sat in his armchair, staring at the ceiling and pressing his fingertips together. He placed them near his lips, mulling over things in that great mind of his. His thoughts were racing at one hundred miles per hour with him analysing them even faster. He couldn’t do any experiments, unfortunately; Mrs. Hudson had forbidden him to continue any past nine o’clock at night. John had tried to stay up with him for a little while, but he had been nodding off around midnight. He had sent him to bed, saying he preferred to be alone anyway. This wasn’t entirely true. Around John, he felt somewhat safe. John was his best friend. He would always be there for him.

He fixed his bluish, greenish, greyish eyes upon the smiley face (shot through multiple times from his previous bored self) on the wall, willing time to go faster. He had tried sleeping, as suggested by John, but he couldn’t stop his mind from shutting down. There could be so much that was missed if he slept. A murder could happen. A bank could be robbed. Anything was possible, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door. He glanced at the clock on the mantle before looking towards the doorway. Who could possibly be visiting Baker Street at1:23in the morning?