A/N- This here is my first attempt at a Sherlock fanfic. So I'm pretty nervouscited (nervous/excited) about this! This will either go down nicely, or in agonizing flames. Either way, it's probably gonna be hilarious for the rest of you.

The idea for this story actually spawned from another idea I had a while back. I'm wanting to write my own story someday about a girl who is a mute, and how she goes through her adolescent years learning to deal with it. Sherlock was just there in the thought process- and I love Sherlock, one of the best shows ever. So basically, this Fanfic is like a test-run to see how well I do with a character like so.

Plus, I hardly ever come across a Sherlock fic with a kid/teenager in the story, let alone one who is mute (I know they're out there somewhere. Holla out if you're one of those). So this is me trying to do something a little...different.

Fair warning: I'm American, and although I know things are spelled differently or called something else in the British English language, my computer disagrees. So if you Brits see something so totally alien, that's just me and my dumb American self with my dumb American computer.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC, a couple of Breaking Benjamin CD's, and a plush Stitch...and my dumb American computer.

This is for those who, like me, struggle with speaking out. And express themselves best through written (and typed) words.

Enjoy!

Harley Watson checked the time on her phone before raking her eyes over the heads of the many passerby around her for the umpteenth time. Then she sighed and continued to tap her feet repeatedly against the tiled floor as she waited on the bench at the front of the train station. Her uncle should be here any minute now.

This was not how she wanted to spend her Friday before Easter holiday— being put on a train for two hours headed for London, alone, by her mother who assured her that being away from all the "chaos at home" during her break would be good for her. Plus she would get to spend some time with her dear uncle.

In other words, her uncle would have to be saddled with her while her mother "tried" to work things out with her and Clara's divorce, so she wouldn't be in the way. But everyone knew how that would turn out.

She sighed again, clutching her notebook firmly. It was times like this she wished she wasn't a mute, so she could scream and shout at the both of them— and the world, for that matter.

"Harley!" a familiar voice called out over the crowd. She looked up to see her Uncle John walking towards her with a smile. She stood up just as he reached her, and he pulled her into a strong hug. "Hey, sweetheart. My, you've grown a lot since I last saw you."

They pulled apart, and Harley could see that he's changed quite a bit since she last saw him as well. The lines on his face were more prominent, making him look more stern, yet tired at the same time, and his dirty blonde hair had grown out a bit from his military-like buzz since he was invalidated from Afghanistan.

God, she's missed him.

"So, you're doing alright? Was the train ride okay?" he asked her.

She nodded.

He smiled warmly at her. "Good."

Harley managed a smile in return, feeling her heart lift in her chest a bit. Despite not seeing him very much, she loved John more than any other member of her extended family. He was the only one who didn't have a problem with her silence, never urged her to speak. He just went with it.

He reached down and picked up her suitcase. "Is this all you have?" he asked her, glancing around to see if there was anything else she had brought with her.

She adjusted the strap of her blue knapsack and nodded. His smile faded just a little before he replied, "Alright, then. Come on, let's go," and started to lead her out of the train station to hail a cab. She didn't see how not having a lot of belongings would concern him; she was only staying for two weeks. Two long weeks.

He finally got a cab, placed her suitcase into the trunk, and they were on their way.

John lived in a flat in downtown London, so the ride was going to take about an hour to get there. It gave them more alone time to get caught up properly.

"So how are things? How's school?" he asked her.

Wasting no time, she opened her notebook, took out a mechanical pencil, and started writing. John waited patiently until she finished up and gave it to him to read:

Things are okay, I guess. School's surprisingly getting better for me, though, if you can believe it.

He smiled. "Good. That's good. I'm glad school's easier for you now."

She nodded in agreement as he gave her notebook back.

"And how's your mother?"

At this, she bit her lip uncertainly, unsure whether to say she was doing fine, or just tell the truth. After a moment of considering, she wrote down what she thought was necessary to say, taking longer than last time. Then she tentatively gave it to her uncle.

Not so good, to be honest. I think the impact of the divorce is finally taking its toll on her. It's been hard lately.

John's warm expression slowly disappeared as he read her response, replaced with a look of concern and anger. He could clearly see the meaning behind Harley's words, what she wasn't writing but implying. But he wasn't upset with her. It was her mother— his sister, Harriet "Harry" Watson. He never approved of her drinking habits, especially when it involved Harley. The first time it became a major issue was when they found out about Harley's condition when she was six years old. And now it was because of all the fighting between her and Clara. And finally, the divorce, like Harley wrote. That would explain why Harley had arrived to London all by herself, with only a medium-sized suitcase and a backpack. John's nose flared at the thought. Harry had some nerve doing that, considering.

But deep down, John was glad Harry was sending Harley away to him for the holiday. At least now, his niece wouldn't have to be stuck in the middle of all of his sister's drama, even if it was just for a little while. As if she had enough issues already.

"And what about you? Are you holding up okay?" John asked her.

Harley decided not to go into any detail this time, and instead just nodded and turned away to look out her window. John took that as a sign that she didn't want to "talk" about it anymore, and left her alone, but he couldn't help but be concerned for her. After all, her parents were splitting up. That can be rough for any kid to go through, and it was obviously bothering her more than she let on. However, he knew that when she was ready, she'll tell him, to say the least.

A little while later, John's phone vibrated from his pocket. Pulling it out, he looked down at it briefly before rolling his eyes and placing it back in his pocket. Then he noticed Harley staring at him questioningly. "That was a text from my flatmate," he explained. "He wants to know what's taking so long."

She raised an eyebrow. She quickly scrawled on her paper: The flatmate you talk about on your blog? Sherlock Holmes, is it?

John laughed humorlessly. "Your mother's been showing you my blog. Figures," he mumbled before saying in a normal tone, "Yes, the very same."

Is he really how you described him?

"Pretty much, yeah."

Harley just stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate more on that. He sighed. "Well, if you're staying at Baker Street, I suppose I should warn you…"

And so he told her about how he met his flatmate in details he didn't explain on his blog, about the first case they went on together, about Sherlock's job, his personality, his ability to read people— or deduce, as he likes to call it— and his tendency to be arrogant and rude most of the time. But he was definitely not boring.

"So just to give you a heads up," John said, "try not to be too offended when you meet him."

Uh, not too offended? How does that even work? she thought, but in the end she just nodded, and the subject was dropped for now.

Sometime later, the cab finally made its way to Baker Street.

"We're here," John said as the cab pulled up outside an old building that was wedged between another small apartment complex and a Speedy's Café. A black door with a bronze door knocker and flat number 221B bolted on it stood in the center of the building, waiting for them. It looked nice and quaint to Harley, so different from her rundown house just outside the city.

As she was helping John get her case from the trunk, she thought she saw movement from one of the second floor windows out of the corner of her eye. But when she turned her head to look properly, nothing was there. She arched her eyebrow suspiciously, but she was pulled out of her observation by John, handing her a house key. "You go on inside. I'll just pay the cabbie real quick."

She nodded and did what she was told, taking her bag with her. When she unlocked the door and stepped in, someone was just coming down the stairs to meet her. It was a petite, elderly woman with short, brownish-grey hair and wearing a nice, purple dress. She gave the girl a big, sweet smile and wrapped her in a hug, taking Harley by complete surprise before she hesitantly hugged her back.

"Hello, dearie!" the woman greeted her kindly, "It's so good to finally meet the famous niece John talks so much about."

Harley's cheeks turned a little pink; she was glad the lady couldn't see her face at the time. She didn't think John talked that much about her, considering they only saw each other a certain amount of times a year before he was drafted.

The woman pulled away just as John came in. "You didn't tell me she was this pretty, John. Shame on you."

Oh, God, she thought in dismay. She gave John a deadpan look, and he chuckled.

"Harley, this is my landlady, Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, Harley," he introduced.

"Pleasure to meet you, Harley. Happy to have you here," said Mrs. Hudson warmly.

Harley gave a nod with a little smile in greeting. Then she looked at John and pointed up the stairs questioningly. John understood what she was asking and answered, "Yes, your room will be upstairs next to mine."

"Your uncle's worked so hard to clean it up for you," Mrs. Hudson added.

"Shall we go on up?" John asked, earning a nod from Harley.

Before they reached the stairs, though, Mrs. Hudson said, "If you ever need anything, I'll be just down here. Give me a shout— Oh! I- I mean, come and see me. Oh, dear…" Mrs. Hudson blushed furiously, thinking she had said something terribly offensive.

But Harley didn't mind. In fact, she was used to it. With a small smile, she scribbled something on her paper, tore it off, and gave it to the landlady.

Thank you.

Mrs. Hudson became relieved and grinned at Harley. "You're very welcome, love."

And so she and John walked up the flight of stairs. They passed the second floor, the door going into the living room was closed, but the one on the side leading to the kitchen was not, allowing her to see the kitchen area, which consisted of your everyday cooking needs— except for the table in the center that was cluttered with science lab equipment and papers.

If John hadn't told her already, she'd have thought he was flat-sharing with Bill Nye the Science Guy.

They continued up the steps until they reached the top floor. John opened one of the doors and led her into her bedroom. It was painted a dull green with some brown decorations here and there. The bed was set against the other side of the wall next to the dresser, with a floral quilt and white pillows, the mattress itself light and squishy.

She put down her suitcase so she could write: I love it.

John smiled appreciatively. "Good. Because if not, you'd still have to sleep here."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully, earning a laugh out of him.

"Well, I'll leave you to get settled, then. Once you're done, come down to the living room, and we'll have takeout for dinner. How's Chinese sound?"

She did the universal okay sign, and he grinned. "Great."

He was just turning to leave, but Harley stopped him. She gave him a quick, tight hug. Shocked, but touched, he hugged her back and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Yeah, I've missed you too." They pulled apart. "Alright, see you then."

With that, he left her alone to unpack. Harley's gaze shifted around the room before landing back to her bed. With a collective sigh, she took off her backpack and started to unload everything, starting with her clothes. Once all that was taken care of several minutes later, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her phone. She turned it on and looked at it. No texts from either of her parents in the last sixteen hours.

Harley felt her stomach grow heavy, mixed emotions running through her; disappointment, but also a bit of relief. She supposed she should've figured, but still, it would've been nice to get at least a text from them, asking her if she made it okay. She guessed that was too much to ask now.

She stood up and went to place her phone on the small table next to her bed. As she did so, though, she felt another presence, like she was being watched. She froze for a moment, then, turning slowly, she faced the open doorway, and her eyes widened upon seeing a person standing there, and it wasn't John or Mrs. Hudson. It was a tall, thin man with pale skin, dark, wavy locks of hair, and a narrow face with prominent cheek bones. He wore a blue dressing gown over a grey t-shirt and trousers, like he had just rolled out of bed. Perhaps he had.

This must be John's flatmate, she thought as her nerves calmed down, but just a little bit. The man was just standing there in the doorway, staring at her. What was he doing? And how long had he been standing there?

Not long after she turned to face him the man smirked slightly. He walked into her room, hands behind his back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said casually, his deep voice not sounding all that apologetic.

She swallowed as he came closer. If she wasn't a mute, she'd probably still be rendered speechless. Something about the way he looked at her with those bluish-green eyes unsettled her, like he was trying to uncover every aspect of her— and was most likely succeeding, if what John had told her was true.

He soon approached her, practically towering over her. "You must be Harley, John Watson's niece." He smirked in amusement. "I see his fascination for jumpers runs in the family."

She glanced down at the oversized blue jumper that practically smothered her upper body, and couldn't help but smile slightly at his meaning, allowing her to relax a little. She and John do tend to wear jumpers a lot. Heck, just today, he wore his notorious oatmeal-colored one when we went to pick her up. She shrugged as if to say, Yeah, but what can you do?

"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself as he reached out for a handshake, in which she obliged to after a moment's hesitation. Well, at least he was courteous.

"Ah, yes," he tisked when she didn't respond verbally. "John has informed me that you don't speak."

She tensed up again as his eyes skimmed up and down her body, like he was scanning her. Exactly how much did John tell him about her anyway? It probably didn't matter anymore, the way he was looking at her.

After an intense pause, he opened his mouth. Uh oh, here we go…

"John requests that you come down to the living room, since you're clearly finished with your unpacking." And with that, he turned to leave.

Harley frowned at his retreating back, puzzled. Wait, what? That's it? He's got nothing else to say to me? After all John said about him?

She looked down at her bed and blinked. Maybe John was just over exaggerating?

"Oh, and Miss Harley?"

She looked back up at him curiously.

"I'm sure your mother will contact you sooner or later. No need to fret." He winked at her and left the room, not seeing the look of surprise on her face as he headed down the stairs. She stared ahead dazedly for a full minute.

Did he just….What just happened?

A/N- Aaaaannnnd, done. First chapter finished. Sorry if it comes off a bit...I don't know...shaky, I guess? Hopefully, whatever flaws it has now will be improved later on. Feel free to review/follow/fave/partyallnight. Or do nothing. There's that too...

Also beware: Next few chapters or so won't go into the main plot of the series yet, as I want to give Harley more time to interact with and get to know the main characters more. Plus, I'll give you more insight to Harley's character, why she is the way she is. I want to ease you guys into it like a nice hot bath...and that probably sounded creepy, didn't it?

Speaking of creepy, I just want to say now: No, I will NOT write in any romances unless its canon (such as John/Mary later on). As an asexual, I suck at writing anything romance anyways. Whatever crazy schizo happens, it's familial/platonic all the way. So if you're worried about that, worry no more. (Besides, Harley's twelve here. Gross. WTF is wrong with you?)