Hello and Welcome to Disclaimer World! We have a variety of unique disclaimers created specifically for all your FanFiction needs! Oh you're looking for a Sherlock one? Right this way. Ah here it is. Lets try it out!

Sherlock is in no way shape or form mine. However it IS Sir. Doyle's and Mr. Moffat's. Only Amadia is mine. HOWEVER, I do own a piece of cake. Would you like some?

(Suddenly Mycroft runs over and takes cake)

Ah no! Mycroft that was my cake!

(Slumps shoulders)

Now I don't have any cake. If you are nice you can leave me some in your comments and reviews! Then I might be able to continue writing. I need cake to write!

John shrugged on his coat, muttering softly about milk, and headed down the stairs and to the door of 221b. He opened the door, eager to go the pub and find a girl who Sherlock wouldn't scare off. Little did he know that the girl who would become his flat mate's heart was standing on the other side of the door, finger inches from the doorbell. Of course, she didn't know it either.

He opened the door and came face to face with the most unusual woman he had ever met. The sharp cheekbones and strong jaw line were paired with angular eyebrows, giving her a mysterious and mature look. Her fiery red hair trailed down her back perfectly straight, contrasting with her alabaster skin. The most curious features were her eyes, which could switch from jade to ashen in seconds. However John only saw a flash of red hair and wide, green eyes before she was back down the steps and looking up at him with a smirk on her mouth.

"Good timing" she said, her American accent out-of-place in the great city of London. "Is Mrs. Hudson in?" she asked, holding her hands behind her back.

"She is" he replied. He looked at the girl in front of him. Suddenly, this seemed much more promising than the bar. "Come in" he smiled "I'll show you to her." They entered 221b, and John, hearing Mrs. Hudson's voice, leads the mysterious girl upstairs. "Mrs. Hudson?" he inquired "There's a woman here to see you". Mrs. Hudson turned around from her dusting, and upon seeing the beautiful lady in the door way she rushed forward, her arms out to hug the girl.

"Amy" she cried "You came!"

"Of course I did Mrs. Hudson. I have nowhere else to go" she replied, hugging the emotional woman back. Amy pulled back but took Mrs. Hudson's hands in her own.

"I need to rent the basement flat" she said, the sadness in her voice evident.

"Well of course you can! You're like a daughter to me. You know that right dear?"

"Always" came the reply as the two headed down the stairs.

A tall figure emerged from the kitchen silently, easily getting out the door before his flat mate could spot him, and barged into Mrs. Hudson's flat, ready to use any methods to keep this new intruder from taking up his extra space. He stormed in and both women looked up, surprised.

"Mrs. Hudson, why are you letting this girl live in 221c?" he demanded, glaring at the intruder. Amy stood up gracefully and looked at Sherlock with the gaze of someone who had authority and knew how to use it.

"My name is Amy Moore. I am renting the basement flat because I know Mrs. Hudson and it is in a good location. The reason I moved here is none of your business, and I would appreciate it if you would leave until I can complete the forms I need to fill out. Then we can have a proper conversation." She replied, the ice in her voice rivaling that of most government officials. Sherlock looked her up and down, his eye calculating and deducing before returning to her now ashen eyes.

"You have no authority to tell me what to do" he claimed, a smirk on his face.

"You're just a poor model who couldn't find work in America. You are only here because Mrs. Hudson is giving you a discount due to you relationship. You know this and are taking advantage it. You also moved here to escape a dangerous boyfriend who was harming and threatening you. After he hurt you seriously during one of his violent attacks, you took what little money you had and came to live with your aunt." Amy looked up at him, her eyes now a brilliant shade of green.

"You're wrong" she said with a smug look on her face. "About all of it". Sherlock took one more look at her and stormed out of 221b without looking back. "Good-bye!" She called, before sitting down and finishing her paperwork.

"Well of course it wasn't the husband!" An angry voice called out "His skin was under her nail because they had been making out when he showed up! The killer was the lover of the woman. This is an open and shut case, so go shut it. Her lovers name is Samuel Thompson. Good-bye."Amadia threw her phone at the wall. " Why is he such an idiot!" she yelled before closing her eyes and once more becoming the composed woman that everyone else knew her as. He phone dinged from across the room, and she picked it up gingerly, looking at the new text.

Ballet Dancer of 24 years

-SH

Amadia smiled, knowing that he would never guess correctly. That's all he was doing now anyway, guessing. She sent a quick reply before heading out the door to the small coffee shop where she was to meet John. She thought he was a nice man, but held no interest romantically for him. Then again, she didn't like anyone romantically. She entered the shop, spotting the man she was meeting in the corner, and headed over, ready for what ever was to come. Once they were seated and had greetings out of the way, John went straight to what was on his mind. "You" he said "have stumped Sherlock Holmes." Amy smiled "Yes, well I tend to have that effect on people" She replied, looking around the coffee shop.

"So what is your job, If you don't mind me asking?"

"I was a FBI special agent when I lived in the U.S.. I was injured in a bombing and they sent me here, to work in Scotland Yard until they needed me again." John looked at her, his eyes wide, as he realized just who she was.

"You're the agent, the one that saved over 100 lives of fellow workers during a bombing. I read about it somewhere. That's amazing!"Amy ducked her head sheepishly

"Not as amazing as what you did in war"

"What makes you think I've been to war?" He asked

"Your hair, the way you hold yourself, and your eyes. You also have a wound on your left shoulder."

John smiled and praised her, all the time thinking that Sherlock Holmes might have met his match.