One

Charlie POV:

It was raining, again, when Charlie walked up to her Aunt's black door and paused before it; hand raised but no touching the wet wood. Plucking up her courage she knocked on the door and waited while the rain soaked through her clothes and the meagre belongings she had managed to pack in the sports bag over her shoulder.

"Fuck!" She whispered as the rain continued to pour.

"I know you're in there Aunty Em, hurry up." She muttered and waited 10 seconds before pulling a hairpin from her hair and jamming it brutally into the lock. A cry of triumph saw the door open in a matter of seconds and Charlie stepped swiftly into the warmth of the landing. A thick but threadbare carpet covered polished floorboards, the walls were a pale green and bare of most decoration. A staircase lead up to the higher floors and a hallway lead to where she knew her Aunt's room was. Dust on the railings of the staircase told her that no-one lived up there at present although scuffed carpet told her that someone had been up there recently.

"Aunty Em!" She called out and a flurry of footsteps from down the corridor soon proved she had been right in her observations. Suddenly Charlie found herself enveloped in the thin but strong arms of her Aunt and, although as fond of her as she could be, stiffened.

"Charlie, oh how wonderful it is to see you. You're so thin, where is your father? How is your mother?" Aunty Em's happy chatter made Charlie remember how annoying supposedly normal people could be.

"He's away, i don't want to know where and my mother kicked me out so I also don't care how she is." Charlie said calmly, without a hint of bitterness. Resentment would mean that she cared what her family thought but she had convinced herself that she didn't years ago.

"Oh, well you are very welcome to stay in one of my rooms upstairs." Her Aunt said and was immediately redeemed of earlier annoyance. Her nature could be counted on after all.

"Thank you. You seem excited about something let me guess…" Charlie said and Aunty Em smiled.

"Someone else wants to rent the 221 B don't they?" She said after a moment and her aunt clapped her hands in glee.

"You will love him; Sherlock's a lot like you." She said and Charlie puzzled over this for a moment.

"I think I'll go put my things down, changing wouldn't be out of the question either as females have a higher mortality rate from the influenza virus during winter." She said airily and her aunt nodded and lead her upstairs and into 221 B. It had a rather cluttered living room and two bedrooms. She dumped her things in the wardrobe in the master bedroom, shaking her flaming red fringe out of her eyes before changed into a dryer ensemble then went into the messy living room. It was nice; cluttered and male but she smiled as she looked at the complicated disorder of experiments on the kitchen table and the bared skull on the mantel. Several armchairs, a violin, tables piled with numerological, chemistry and cryptology books and a painting of a man were scattered about the room.

"I need to get rid of that thing; he'll talk to it till kingdom come if I don't." Aunt Em said and Charlie shook her head.

"Unless he has someone longsuffering enough to talk to he'll want that skull to stay where it is." She said.

"How… never mind." Her aunt began.

"I need to finish cleaning the stairs, I suspect Sherlock will want to take the room." Her aunt babbled off as she left and Charlie lay down on the couch by a Victorian wallpapered wall and propped her hands beneath her chin. It had been 24 months, 6 days and 23 hours since her last cigarette and she suddenly felt the cravings hit her in a sudden heave. While her aunt tiled away downstairs Charlie scrounge the kitchen until she found what she was looking for, the packet of patches hidden behind the toaster. She borrowed two aware that she would need to repay this Sherlock for the patches. She settled back on the couch and waited, listening to the rain, her aunt's terrible singing and the sound of cars driving past the apartment in Baker Street. The sound of men's voices brought a smile to her face but she didn't move an inch. A knock and her aunt's cry of delight and deduced that the infamous Sherlock was about to appear.

Sure enough not even 20 seconds later her aunt entered the room followed by two men; she could tell by the tread and weight of their footsteps. An eyebrow quirked. One of them had a walking stick; but no need of it. Interesting.

"It's a little messy…" One of them said and

"Oh yes well… I can move these…" A deeper voice answered and a loud thump told her the mantel had been stabbed by the pen knife on the coffee table.

"Skull." The first man said.

"Oh yes friend of mine, well I say friend…" The deeper tone took on a cheeky undercurrent and the eyebrow quirked higher.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" She said and silence fell over the room. She opened her eyes to find all three staring at her. She met their gazes with her own one of complete boredom. One was shorter, with blonde hair, straight back and a kind face. He had a military stance and leant heavily on a walking stick. The other was very tall with dark hair; trench coat and serious expression permanently stuck to his face. His blues eyes seemed to gaze through her and observe every tiny detail. He was also very, very attractive, though she had never been interested in any form of physical or emotional relationship and that was not going to change now She got up and stretched out her hand to them.

"Charlotte Myers; I'm…" She began.

"Niece to our dear Mrs. Hudson." The taller man stated and quirked his head.

"Easy enough to deduce I suppose, I had to be a family member. Several similar facial characteristics. My age would have me being at either a daughter or niece and seeing as you have helped my aunt previously and know she never had children it was correct to assume I was her niece." Charlie answered and the man's eyebrow quirked as he smirked approvingly.

"Exactly." He said and the other man seemed confused and lost. At her look he recovered and shook her hand.

"John Watson." He said and she smiled.

"Pleasure to meet you." She said and he smiled.

"I won't ask how you knew about Afghanistan; however now I have reason to fear that there may be more than one of him around." He joked and she laughed.

"Yes, Watson thank you." The man she now realised to be Sherlock said . Her aunt bustled away to presumably make some tea and the two men started to talk to each other; Sherlock was apparently some sort of detective. Consulting Detective if she guessed right; which was pretty much always. She sat herself back down on the couch and listened to the conversation with interest. They were arguing on the fact that he could identify a pilot by his left thumb went her aunt returned.

"How about these suicides then Sherlock? Thought it would be right up your street. All three the same."

"Four."

"Pardon?"

"There's been a fourth and something is different." A man in a light trench coat and police badge ran up the stairs.

"Where?" Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens." The man replied, slightly out of breath.

"Difference?"

"They left a note." He was obviously desperate for them to leave, edging away already. He gazed at Charlie and smiled. Her eyebrow quirked and she stood.

"Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson but…"

"Anderson won't work with me."

"He's not your assistant."

"Maybe I need one."

"Will you come?"

"I'll get a taxi. Be right behind you." This conversation happened very fast and the man turned away and disappeared down the stairs. The moment he was gone Sherlock jumped in the air and clapped.

"Yes!" He stared to ramble to himself, picked up his coat and scarf and headed to the door.

"Have some tea John, pleasure to meet you Charlie." He yelled and disappeared. John gazed after him and sat down. Her aunt moved to him. The bickered about tea and landladies, John blaming his leg for a blast of temper. However Charlie moved to the door and waited. Sure enough Sherlock was back he looked at her in surprise and she smirked. He rolled his eyes. John finally realised he was there.

"You're an army doctor." Sherlock said.

"Yes."

"A good one."

"Very."

"And you, you're extremely observant; might see something I miss."

"Both seen bodies, wounds…" They nodded.

"Enough for a lifetime. No, more than enough." John answered.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock asked and Charlie gazed in anticipation at John, already standing behind Sherlock.

"Oh god yes." The shorter man replied and she laughed as they rushed down the stairs and onto Baker Street.

Sherlock POV:

An enigma. That's what he would call Charlotte Myer's. Talented enough sure, but she didn't even seem to be overly aware of just how much. He watched her in the taxi as she gazed out the window; a look of childlike wonder on her face making him deduce an immature side. He also noted that she avoided physical contact, didn't react to most emotional responses and seemed to drift away from reality more than normal. She was probably a sociopath or at least high functioning one like himself.

"All right you've got questions." Sherlock stated, glancing to his right. John sighed.

"Yes, who are you. What do you do?"

"I think you can figure that out."

"I'd say private detective? But the police don't go to amateurs for help..." John drifted off.

"I'm a consulting detective."

"A what?" Charlie asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I saw that." She teased. He inwardly smiled.

"When the police are out of their depth…"

"i.e always." Charlie muttered under her breath. Sherlock nodded for this was extremely true.

"They come to me for help." He finished.

John took this in and wondered aloud whether Sherlock was actually as good as he said. This turned out to be a mistake as he then went on to explain everything about him down to the phone he carried with his brother's name on the back. Silence reigned for a moment and he noticed Charlie staring at her reflection, smoothing her bobbed red strands behind her ear and using the window to wipe the smudged mascara from under her green eyes. Her hair was stunning in colour, a deep crimson that was extremely hard to come by nowadays since the genotype was rapidly breeding out. It swayed just below her pale chin and emphasised her almost fluorescent green eyes. He also noticed that she was very thin. Not dangerously so but enough to be noticeable. He also noted, for some unknown reason that she was extremely attractive.

"That was amazing." John said and Sherlock's attention was snatched back to him. For a moment he lost track of what John had said.

"Really?" He asked.

"Of course it was. It was incredible."

He remembered what most people seemed to say when he did this and decided John must be an anomaly.

"That's not what most people say." He said.

"Really what do they say?"

"Piss off." He answered and Charlie mouth curved slightly and she laughed quietly as they pulled up. He wasn't entirely sure why but Sherlock decided that unlike most people's laughter, he could definitely bare hers.

Charlie POV:

"Did he miss anything?" She asked John as they exited the car.

"He was right about the family dynamics, Harry and I don't get along, never have really. Harry and Clara broke up last year…"

"So…"

"Harry is short for Harriet." John said with a small smile.

Charlie was aware that Sherlock had stopped walking and turned to see a rather amusing expression on his face, like he had swallowed something that was extremely disgusting.

"Sister!" He exclaimed and she started to laugh.

"Oh come on Sherlock, I only got that it was a family member's with a broken marriage." She said but he scowled and muttered about siblings under his breath. A short curly hair woman stood before the police taped house.

"Hello Freak." She called spitefully and Charlie decided this woman was annoying, even more so than her mother; which was a hard thing to do.

"We're here to see Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock said brightly and she sniffed.

"Why?"

"I was invited." He retorted and went to step under the tape.

"And whose this?" She demanded, indicating to the two people behind him and Sherlock fixed her with a glare.

"Colleges." He said and she snorted.

"Watson, Charlotte this is Sargent Donovan."

"Colleges, since when did you have colleges?" She demanded. "Obviously since you last saw him which couldn't have be very long going by the state of the police department these days." She said as if discussing the weather and Sherlock almost cracked a smile. It was a great day, she decided. Except that he still called her by thatgod awful full name of hers.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Donovan spoke into her radio and lifted the tape to allow them through. A greasy, dark haired man walked out of the house and faced off Sherlock.

"Do not contaminate my crime scene Holmes. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear Anderson. Wife away for long?"

Anderson frowned.

"How...?"

"Your deodorant."

"My deodorant?" The man stuttered and Sherlock nodded.

"It's for men." He said and the man looked unimpressed.

"Of course it's for men I'm wearing it."

"So is Sargent Donovan." Sherlock pointed out and Charlie realised that she could also smell it. She smirked.

"Now whatever you're trying to imply."

"We're not implying anything." Charlie spoke up and she looked over Donovan.

"I'm sure Sally popped around for a nice little chat and ended up staying the night. She must have scrubbed your floors too going by the state of her knees." She continued and couldn't help but laugh at the twin look of horror on their faces. Sherlock was now grinning, neatly stepped past the two and sent Donovan a rather amused expression as he passed. Charlie walked beside Sherlock as they entered the crack house, rolling her eyes at the Inspectors un-impressing speech on bringing unqualified people into a crime scene.

"If you want to know inspector I have a PhD in Criminology and a BA in Psychology." Charlie stated in a bored voice and began to walk up the stairs, ignoring the protests as she followed the undusted trail up the stairs and onto a landing filled with crime investigators. She pulled her leather jacket more firmly around her as the temperature dropped. Sherlock brushed passed her into one of the rooms and she waited while John made his way up. Together they walked into the doorway Sherlock had just gone through to find a dead woman, dressed in an alarming shade of pink, lying on her face in the centre of the room. Beside her left hand R-A-C-H-E was scrawled onto the wood of the floor.

"Well that is just disgusting." Charlie stated and Sherlock looked at her in shock.

"Charlotte, if you can't handle it go outside." He said and she snorted.

"Don't call me that." She snapped.

"Besides it's not the body. It's that woman's disastrous fashion sense that has me retching. I can actually feel my eyes burning." She said and clasped her palms to said organs dramatically. She peeked through to see him roll his eyes and go back to inspecting the body.

"You've got two minutes." Lestrade called and the two geniuses looked at each other and smiled. Two minutes would be just fine.

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