Author's Note: This is the first thing I've ever written that isn't school related, so please cut me some slack.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Clara.

Prologue

"Clarissa Marie!" yelled a shrill voice from the downstairs study; the voice of Annabel Barker, to be exact. Annabel was the respected matron of the Barker family, which was comprised of her doting husband, George Barker, her three beautiful sons, George Jr., Harry, and John, and her slightly belligerent (but still amiable) daughter, Clarissa (who preferred to be called Clara).

Clara trudged down the stairs muttering something along the lines of, "what does that woman want now," or "it wasn't me, I swear." When Clara finally descended the staircase, she walked into the dimly lit office of her father.

"Why don't you take a seat, darling," Mr. Barker said calmly (but somewhat nervously, Clara noted). Clara's father was seated at his desk, across from her, and her mother was standing beside Mr. Barker with her hand on his shoulder. The whole scene was rather intimidating.

"Your mother and I have something we want to discuss with you," said Mr. Barker. This can't be good, thought Clara.

"We have decided, with Harry's impending admission to the university, that it might be best if you go to live with your Aunt Martha in London."

Clara couldn't say she was speechless; she was six and twenty years of age and quickly becoming an old maid. For months now, she had had the feeling that something like this might occur. It wasn't that her parents hadn't tried to marry her off. No, quite the contrary, they had tried with a valiant effort. It was just that Clara was a bit eccentric, to put it gently. Now she was an attractive woman, with desirable traits (small stature, fair complexion, etc.). However, it was her personality that drove her suitors away. She seemed to have no interests in relationships of any kind and preferred to read or paint rather than converse with others. She was perfectly polite and well-mannered, but below the surface it was clear that Clara wanted nothing more than to escape the idle teatime chats to which she was so often subjected.

"I see," Clara responded tentatively.

"It's not that we don't want you here, Clara love, but the expenses of your brother's education will be numerous, and the practical thing to do – "

"The practical thing to do is find you a husband! We have exhausted all possible resources in this town. We can only hope that you will more luck finding someone more suitable in London," Mrs. Barker interjected.

"When do I leave?" Clara asked, solemnly.

"One day should be sufficient time for you to collect your belongings; you will leave the day after tomorrow," Mrs. Barker replied.

Clara nodded, and began to leave the room quickly in an attempt to hide the tears that were gathering in her eyes. However, her father's voice stopped her:

"Darling, please don't be cross with us, you know that your mother and I care about you very deeply."

Clara simply glanced at him and began climbing the stairs back up to her bedroom. Once safely inside the confines of her room, Clara pulled out a worn black leather journal and began to write.

19th August, 1888

Today, my parents have informed me that I am to go to live with my Aunt Martha in London. It is fascinating how readily my parents are able to throw me out of their home. I am offended, to say the least, but I know that in London I might be able to have a better life. From what I understand, Aunt Martha is the landlady of a house on Baker Street. She and I have only met a handful of times, but, if my memory is correct, she is a very kind and compassionate woman. I do not think she has any children of her own. But still, I hope I will not be a burden.

-CB

*

The next morning, Clara awoke and felt a twinge of pain in her heart – she had almost forgotten that she was to leave the following day. Clara lifted her gray tabby cat, Alastair, off of her lap before getting out of bed. It took about three hours for Clara to pack everything she needed. After packing, Clara realized that she should notify her friends that she was leaving. But who were her friends? She had acquaintances, of course, but no true friends. All of Clara's friends had already gotten married, and therefore she hardly saw them. It was then that Clara was fully struck by her own loneliness. She had never before dwelled on the concept of companionship, but realizing the extent of her solitude quite unsettling. With this thought in her mind, Clara resolved to start anew in London.

*

"Remember to be helpful around the house! I won't have any daughter of mine acting like a leech," Mrs. Barker told Clara as she fixed her travelling scarf.

"I won't, Mother," was Clara's response.

"And make sure to be polite!"

"I always am," Clara replied, stepping into the jet-black stagecoach.

"Don't forget to write every week!" Mrs. Barker yelled through tears at the retreating carriage. Clara simply nodded. Her mother's range of emotions was almost intolerable. As she turned away from the window, she put aside her old life and looked onwards towards London.

Chapter I

The voyage lasted about a day. When Clara arrived at 221b Baker Street, she was quite nervous. She knocked on the front door of the building, only to find that the door was open. She stepped inside and quickly thanked the coach driver for carrying her bags into the foyer. She set Alastair's carrier down at the foot of the stairs, which were directly in front of the door. Suddenly, Clara was embraced by an elderly woman, who she presumed to be her aunt, Martha Hudson.

"Oh deary, you've arrived!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed cheerfully. "How was your trip?"

"It was pleasant," Clara started anxiously, "I know my parents talked to you about this before, but I sincerely hope that I am not an imposition of any sort…"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! Any daughter of my brother's is always welcome in my home. Plus, one of my tenants just recently moved out, so your timing is quite convenient."

"Well, thank you for your hospitality, it is greatly appreciated," Clara said, smiling. "Now, shall I take my things upstairs?"

"Yes, your room is just across from the first flight of stairs. My old tenant, Dr. Watson, should be up there. His business partner still lives here, so he stops by often. I'm sure he would be glad to show you around," Mrs. Hudson replied.

*

When Clara had finished carrying her bags up the stairs, she found that the door next to hers was cracked open. Inside, she could see two men having a conversation by a window. One was sitting down, while the other was standing. The standing man seemed rather exasperated, Clara noted. Curious, she strained her ears to hear the exchange.

"Holmes, I'm getting married and that's that! We've already set the date; the wedding will be the 5th of February. Now, you can choose to come or you can stay here in this wretched room, as you have been doing for the past month! I've asked you to be my best man before, but I'll ask you again. At least consider it!" the standing man said.

The sitting man seemed as if he was about to respond, but suddenly he paused and made eye contact with Clara through the cracked door. Embarrassed and ashamed of eavesdropping, Clara began to speak.

"Pardon me sirs, but my aunt, Mrs. Hudson, informed me that a Dr. Watson would be able to show me to my room. Do you know where I might find him?" Clara asked.

By this time, the sitting man had stood and opened the door. He and the standing man were in the doorway watching her carefully.

"That would be me," the standing man said. "Dr. John Watson, pleasure to meet you," he continued, removing his hat and bowing slightly.

"Clara Barker. And the pleasure is mine," Clara replied, smiling bashfully.

"This," Dr. Watson paused, indicating the previously sitting man, "is my colleague, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Mr. Holmes' eyes quickly scanned over Clara before he nodded his head at her courteously.

"Well, Holmes, I do believe this conversation is finished for today. Now, if you don't mind, I understand it is my duty to show this young woman her new lodgings," Watson said with forced politeness.

"Yes, yes, of course Watson, old boy. Go right ahead," Holmes replied distractedly. He then turned to Clara and said, "Pleased to meet you, Miss Barker." With that, Sherlock Holmes slammed the door.

Only mildly alarmed, Clara began to follow Mr. Watson into the room.

*

22nd August, 1888

Today, I arrived at my new home. Aunt Martha was exceedingly kind and hospitable, and I trust that she will make me feel quite welcome in London. I had the pleasure of meeting a Dr. John Watson, the previous owner of my new flat (if what I am currently inhabiting can be called such). I also had the pleasure (?) of meeting one of my fellow residents at 221b Baker Street. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and I am not quite sure what to make of him. He seems very eccentric and aloof. He barely said two words to me. John, (Dr. Watson permitted me to call him such – it seems that he expects to be visiting 221b Baker Street often) informed me that Mr. Holmes works as a detective. He also warned me of some of his "unusual" habits, which I have yet to experience. Also, as it turns out, Mr. Holmes has a dog, Gladstone. The poor creature had the misfortune of coming in contact with Alastair earlier today. However, John said that the scratches will heal in a few days (thank goodness). If what I've experienced today is an indication of the months to come, I'm in for an adventure, to say the least.

-CB

*

"Clara, would you mind taking this tea tray up to Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson asked, handing Clara the aforementioned tray.

"No, of course not," Clara replied.

Clara climbed the seventeen steps leading up to Holmes' room, tea cups clattering, and knocked on Holmes' door. It was noon, but, as Clara had come to realize, Holmes did not exactly run on the same time as everyone else, so it was quite possible he was still asleep. However, he did open the door, looking very dishevled.

"Um, sorry to bother you Mr. Holmes, but my aunt thought you might like a bit of tea," Clara said uncomfortably.

Holmes glanced at the tea impatiently, but allowed her to go into his room to set the tray down. This was the first time Clara had ever entered his living space. She had seen his room from the hallway, but had never actually ventured inside. There were papers strewn all about the place, and the air was cloudy with dust and tobacco smoke. There were various books and glass beakers lying around and it looked as if Holmes had recently induced some kind of chemical reaction.

"Admiring my workplace?" Holmes asked with an amused smirk.

Clara felt her face flush with embarrassment – she hadn't realized that she had been staring.

"No need to be embarrassed, Miss Barker, your curiosity is perfectly natural. Although, I must say, for someone so interested in me I seldom see you," Holmes said.

Clara was somewhat agitated by his arrogance and couldn't help herself from snapping, "What makes you think I'm interested in you? I hardly know you."

Holmes, however, did not seem to notice her irritation. "Well, it's perfectly obvious. Every time I open the door I see you look inside in an attempt to see what I'm doing. The way you just glanced around the room was another indication." he replied. "I see you haven't been painting recently," he added nonchalantly.

Clara was almost too stunned to respond. "How on earth did you know that I paint?" she asked, her previous agitation beginning to be replaced by fascination.

"Actually, I said that you haven't been painting. But when I first met you, you had calluses on your fingers from holding a paintbrush. They have since faded," he said while staring at her hands.

"I didn't know you had been studying me so closely…" Clara started, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Holmes' eyes lit up as he said, "It is imperative to study a stranger upon first meeting them. In my profession, details are extremely important in determining suspects. Especially the small ones, for they are by far the most important. You can tell almost anything about a person from the smallest of things."

Clara looked at him curiously and asked, "What else can you tell about me?"

Oh the question! The dreaded question that he was so often asked. The question that caused his relationships to fail. The question that he simply could not resist answering. But just then, by some act of God, Watson came barreling through the doorway.

"Oh – er sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here. Good day Miss Clara." Watson looked between the two of them, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but Holmes, I must talk to you at once."

"Don't fret, I was just leaving. Good day, John. Nice seeing you again. Mr. Holmes, I do hope you will have some tea, it will greatly relieve my aunt to see you ingest something," Clara said. And with that, she left the two men to converse alone.

*

After Clara shut the door behind her, Holmes turned to Watson and raised his eyebrows. "You're on a first name basis with her?" he asked amusedly.

Watson scoffed. "Since I have to come here so often to check up on you, I figured that some level of familiarity would be expected. She is a nice girl. Try to at least be civil to her, Holmes," Watson implored.

"Anyway, that is beside the point," Watson continued, shaking his head, "What I came here to tell you was – "

"Wait," Holmes said, cutting Watson off. As Holmes walked towards the door, Watson shot him a confused and annoyed look.

"I have an experiment," Holmes said simply. "Clara!" he yelled, using her Christian name for the first time.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" Clara replied, poking her head through her doorway to see him.

"Come here, please," he ordered.

"Why, whatever for?" Clara asked, crinkling her nose in confusion.

"Just come here. It will be worth your while, I swear," he said. Clara walked into his room again and Holmes motioned for her to sit on his rather grimy looking couch.

"Please, Watson, continue," Holmes instructed.

Watson, who still looked utterly perplexed, did as was told, "Well, what I was saying was, I read in the paper a particularly intriguing case." Holmes rolled his eyes, but Watson was determined to finish his story, "It was about a woman who was killed by a bite to the hand from an Egyptian asp. She was found in Hyde Park and apparently she was there before she died. Egyptian asps are very expensive and rare, so her death suggests foul play. She was twenty two and unmarried. Also, the snake was found in a black bag a few yards away from her, trampled."

"Clara, what do you make of this case?" Holmes asked.

Watson could tell from the glint in his eye that Holmes had already figured out the case, which particularly irked him. Watson had been naïve enough to think that this might actually occupy Holmes for more than a few minutes.

"Well," Clara started, her face contorted in concentration, "I would say she was killed by someone wealthy, because only someone with money would be able to purchase such a rare and deadly snake. However, the person must not have realized how valuable the snake was, otherwise they wouldn't have left it so close to the scene. It is quite possible that the snake was stolen, possibly by a maid or butler, from someone wealthy."

"If I had to make an assumption, I would say that the snake was stolen from a wealthy man who was having an affair with the dead woman. He probably was also having an affair with one of his maids or workers, someone who knew the house well enough to know where he kept the snake. She must have found out and, in a rage, forged a letter from her employer to the other mistress, asking her to go to Hyde Park. Somehow she must have gotten her to reach into the black bag you mentioned, thus causing the snake to bite her. The maid may have been startled by how quickly the poison killed the other woman, and in a panic trampled the snake," Clara finished.

"But that's only a guess," Clara added sheepishly when she saw the look on Watson's face.

"Correct on all accounts, Miss Barker," Holmes said, grinning, "You pass."

Author's Note: Please review and let me know if I should continue!