12th March 2010

Walking down the street at a brisk pace, John Watson stuffed his hands in his pockets in a desperate attempt to keep warm. Despite it now being March, it was a surprisingly cold day, and he was desperate to get back home and get warm. He'd spent the morning at Harry's, after getting a call last night from a very worried Clara. Harry was drinking again - not that he'd expected her to last that long anyway. He'd known it was only a matter of time until she slipped up again. She was under a lot of stress at work, and apparently her and Clara weren't getting along very well at the moment.

It hadn't been a particularly eventful visit, all three of them skirting round the topic over a few cups of tea. Until finally, Clara said that if Harry wasn't going to get help for herself, she couldn't see a future for them anymore. John kept his eyes trained on Clara's hands, refusing to look at either of them. He heard Harry's audible gasp, and took that as his cue to leave. No doubt he'd be getting several drunken phone calls from Harry tonight though - about how sorry she was, about how she was going to change...he'd heard it all too many times, and he was willing to bet Clara probably had as well.

He sighed, resolving that for now it was none of his business. What Harry did now was up to her. As much as he loved his sister, sometimes he wished she would be a little more responsible. She'd been doing so well after she quit drinking. She had a good job, decent pay. She'd even saved up some money with Clara so they could buy an apartment together. They were currently in the process of decorating. And now she was going to throw it all away all over again.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone to check his messages. None so far. Not that he was expecting any calls anyway. The only people who texted or called him these days were Harry, Clara, and his parents. Occasionally some of his old mates from school asked to meet up, but he felt like he needed something more exciting than sitting in the back corner of a dingy, sticky pub. He needed something better, something bigger. He needed adventure. And he doubted he was going to find it hiding under a beer mat.

As he scrolled through his messages, he was completely oblivious to the woman in deep conversation on her phone. That is, until they collided in the middle of the street.

Both of their phone went clattering to the ground, and John immediately started muttering apologies. He bent down to pick up his phone, and examined it carefully. Luckily the only damage was a couple of scratches. It didn't really matter anyway, as he hardly ever used his phone. Besides, he didn't have the money right now to repair it anyway. He slid it back into his pocket and stood up, now looking directly at the women he'd shoulder-barged.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was, one second -" she rambled, and he noticed that she had a strong Irish accent. She was also pulling a small suitcase behind her, so obviously she wasn't from around here. The main thing about her that caught his eye, however, was the alarmingly bright shade of pink she was wearing. Her coat, her shoes, her suitcase - even her phone and nails - all the same colour. It was almost painful to look at. She picked up her phone and held it up to her ear again. "Hello? Hello, are you still there?" she paused, before standing up and facing him. "Nope, it's dead."

"Shit, is it broken? Um...I can pay for a new one if you -" he began, but she cut him off, lightly swatting him with her hand. He noticed that her nails were painted pink too, but the nail varnish was chipped.

"Oh no, don't worry about it. It's my work phone, so they'll pay for the damage. What they get for buying us all iPhones, I suppose." she laughed, and John couldn't help but notice that she was very pretty when she smiled. He couldn't help but grin back, but he didn't know what else to say. He shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly, and looked at his shoes. It'd been a while since he'd spoken to an attractive woman...or any woman, really. He'd pretty much entirely forgotten how all this worked. "Um...I don't suppose you know how to get to Bainbridge Street from here do you?"

"I do actually, um...just take that left onto Peter Street then, a...um...right onto um...Fl-no, Bateman Street, cross over onto New Oxford Street, and then, um... you're there." he mumbled, trying desperately to gesture with his hands. He wasn't great with directions, but he was trying his best under the circumstances. She was making it very hard for him to form a real sentence, he'd never seen anyone so beautiful. "It should take about...fifteen minutes?"

"Well thank -" she began, smiling politely at his terrible attempt at directions.

"Actually, I think you'll find what you described is exactly an eleven minute journey. That is, provided she walks at the pace of the average women of her size and age. Then again, when you take into account the fact that she's already been walking for, I'd say...twenty minutes? And then of course there are the shoes, and that suitcase. Make that a sixteen minute journey. No, it would be much quicker for you to turn right onto Broadwick, left onto Wardour, right onto St Anne's Court, another left onto Dean Street, then right onto New Oxford Street and left onto Bainbridge. A much quicker journey, and a lot less harsh on those calves of yours."

John turned to look behind him, astonished. He looked up, and came face to face with the mysterious stranger.

He was about half a foot taller than John, with dark hair that John could only describe as "windswept". He was dressed in a long, dark coat, with a suit and a scarf. But there was something about him that even despite his clothes, suggested a certain sternness. His voice was low, and commanding, and even though he couldn't have been much older than John, he found the other man very intimidating. Although that may have just been the height difference talking.

"I'm sorry, what was that about my calves?" the woman asked, but John had forgotten all about her now.

"How did you...how do you know all that stuff?" he was astounded, and his mouth had fallen open slightly in shock.

"'That stuff'," the other man rolled his eyes, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Look, all you have to do is take the average walking speed of a woman - 5 kilometres per hour - work out the quickest route to her destination, as I described, then do the appropriate maths. After that you just have to take into account the obvious obstacles, such as her shoes and suitcase. It's really not that hard when you think about it."

"But...how could you possibly have done that all so fast? It's impossible."

"For someone of average intelligence," he shrugged, "maybe."

John couldn't help but laugh, he didn't think he'd ever met someone so sure of themselves before. Normally, it would be off-putting and could probably be confused with arrogance. But he found it oddly refreshing. This man was just so brutally honest, it was actually laughable. It was obvious he had absolutely no filter whatsoever, and had no idea about how to interact with other people. After a moment, the man gave a small, slightly confused smile in return.

"I think I'm just going to...leave you two to it. Thanks for the, um...help." the woman muttered, sounding more than a little annoyed. John heard the click of her heels and rolling of her suitcase as she walked away, but he didn't even turn his back. He was too busy trying to make sense of this - frankly quite ridiculous - man stood in front of him.

"That was -" he began, still in complete disbelief.

"Rude? Arrogant? Irritating? Smart-arsed? Go on, I've heard it all before." the man cut him off, putting his hands deeper into his pockets and looking out across the street. The smile was gone now, and his mouth was pressed back into a thin straight line. He was refusing to look John in the eye, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. In a matter of seconds, all traces of that small smile had been completely wiped away.

"I was going to say brilliant." he grinned.

The man's eyes snapped right back onto John, and he looked to be in complete and utter disbelief. He took a step back, looking at the ground and ruffling his hair. John could see that he was trying to hide another smile, but he wasn't doing a very good job. Taking another look at John, he gave him a shy smile, running a hand through his unruly hair. And John wasn't sure whether he was imagining it or not, but he thought he saw a small blush creeping into the man's pale cheeks.

"You really think so?"

"Definitely."

"Well, um..." the other man appeared to be lost for words. It seemed he wasn't used to being complimented, and though he'd seemed so sure of himself only a few moments ago, all of that seemed to have disappeared now. Still smiling, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked John straight in the eye. "Seeing as your knowledge of London is so obviously limited, maybe you'd like to join me on a walk around the city? Maybe then next time you can offer directions that are actually of some use to people."

John scoffed, this man was unbelievable.

"I barely even know you, I've only just met you." John replied, at first being entirely serious. He had only just met this man, and who knew what kind of danger he could be getting himself into? There was something about this man that just screamed trouble. And yet, John had been wanting a little more excitement in his life. Maybe this "walk around the city" was exactly what he'd been waiting for? "Should I really be going on a magical mystery tour of London with a tall, dark, and equally mysterious stranger that I've only just met?"

"Oh, don't give me that 'my mummy told me not to talk to strangers' bullshit," he grinned, looking out across the street. John couldn't help but laugh, he didn't think he'd ever met anyone quite like this man before. "Obviously you're interested, or else you wouldn't still be standing here. And you certainly wouldn't have let that -"

"Alright, alright...maybe I'm interested. But at least tell me your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied, extending his hand for John to shake. John took hold of his hand and shook it gently, looking at him with confused eyes. He didn'tget this man, didn't understand him. But John had always had a certain fondness for things that he didn't understand - things that were perhaps a little bit different. And this man didn't seem to be any exception.

"John Watson."