Working on my second fanfiction. Let's how this goes then; I'm hoping it goes pretty well, but we'll see. I guess. Please review and tell me how it is. I'll try to update us soon and as much as possible.

Chapter 1

It's raining outside. Lightning screams as it slams into the wet earth, shaking the city of London upon impact. Sherlock stares out the window of his flat, hoping for a distraction from the boredom rain always brings, but so far he's had no such luck. With a sigh, he flops on the crouch and glares at the ceiling. John shakes his head and chuckles softly at his friend's agony.

"You find this amusing?" Sherlock growls as he turns his head to scowl at his friend.

"Amusing? Nah, mate, I found it humorous."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks back to the roof, hoping that some desperate fool would choose to whether the storm and slip out to give him an entertaining case, but, alas, it was not meant to be.

"Well, hello, there dearie," Mrs. Hudson says softly, as she stands next to her trash bins to take out her rubbish, staring down at the small shaking form before her. "Where are your parents?" She looks around, her aged eyes taking in the child's torn and dirtied clothes, her sad hazel eyes, and soaked brown hair. The woman sighs, "Well, come on. Can't just leave you out here, can I, dear?" She steps aside, allowing the girl inside. Immediately, Mrs. Hudson takes her by the hand and pulls her gently into her room to dry her off and get her into some clean clothes, all the while cooing gently and smiling at the young girl who gives her a weak smile in return.

Finally, dried and dressed in a large t-shirt, Mrs. Hudson pulls her into the kitchen by the hand to feed her some chicken soup.

"Hello, John. Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson says as she stands in their doorway.

"Is something the matter, Mrs. Hudson?" John asks. Sherlock lifts his head hopefully and then drops it back down into the pillow with an irritated huff when she says that everything is fine.

"But," She adds, "I think you have a visitor."

"A visitor? What do you mean a visitor?" Sherlock jumps to his feet, striding quickly towards the kind old woman, "Is it a client?"

"No, dear—it's a child. And my is she thin!" He freezes in surprise. Really, a child? That's can't be right, can it? Why would a child bother coming here—and during a storm, at all times?

The girl, hiding behind the elderly woman, nervously pokes her head out from behind her and looks about fearfully. "I found her outside about a half hour ago, huddled by my bins to escape the rain. I don't know what to do with her: figured you could find out where her parents where since you're the detective, Sherlock. She may have gotten lost or—"

"No, the girl's clearly an orphan. Parents probably died years ago, leaving her on the streets to fend for herself," Sherlock states dispassionately as his cold, analytical, blue eyes settle on her sad hazel ones for a minute before he strode back to the sofa and plopped unceremoniously down upon the cushions.

John frowns and looks at the girl, "So, now what?"

"Well, I was hoping she could stay here for the night, actually." The girl looks up at Mrs. Hudson then, her eyebrows crinkled with silent surprise, "There's no need calling the police station, it'll take them ages to get here, with the storm and all."

"It's fine if she stays." John says coaxing Sherlock off the couch and into a chair, "She can sleep on the sofa."

"Thank you, dear." She smiles at the girl, "Goodnight."