Hello there, Dear Readers. Welcome to this fic, my name is Chloe Knightshade. But of course, if you've looked at the top of the screen, you've already discovered that.

I shall start out by saying that I've been a fan of Sherlock Holmes for a reeeeaaaaaaally long time. I've read all the stories and seen many an old movie. Needless to say, I fell in absolute love with the new film. I've never really considered RDJ as extremely attractive, but the second he became Sherlock Holmes… O.O He's completely gorgeous in that movie. I'm serious: I nearly had a fangirl heart attack when Holmes first said the game is afoot. I know, I'm really weird.

ANYWAY! Continuing onward and getting off the subject that I'm unhealthily obsessed! One thing I didn't like about the movie was Adler. She just bugs me, honestly. At first I was like, 'Yay! Irene!' because I've read the mystery she was in. Then it bugged me how she threw herself all over Holmes. Then she went out and beat up on those two guys, and I was all, 'That's better, good Irene.' Then she just HAD to go act like a skank in the hotel room. That scene never ceases to annoy me. First she does all that getting dressed blehness, then she drugs Sherlock. I can understand knocking him out like she did. Handcuff him? Sure. But she just had to take off his clothes. *grumble* No class. Not that a shirtless Holmes is a bad thing, but that's not my point at the moment. Once I decided I didn't like her, the number of times she nearly died were like teases. Every time you shriek 'Hallelujah, she's dead at last!' she ends up living. Darn.

SO (now that I've reached my point) I decided to write a OC fic for my old friend Holmes, because he deserves better. I decided to write it based upon the movie because I like Holmes and Watson's chemistry in it better, I loved scruffy eccentric Holmes, and I much prefer Watson as an able partner rather than a plump little man who usually doesn't have any idea as to what's going on.

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, or Doctor John Watson. Which means that me locking them in my attic like I have is entirely illegal. But they don't mind. ^.^

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221B Baker Street had recently taken on the tense quality it usually adopted before the residency became consumed with chaos. Wisely noting the signs of the inevitable, Mrs. Hudson had hurriedly left, looking frantic and making the excuse that she needed to go to the market, despite the fact that she'd purchased groceries the day before. Gladstone had hidden under a chair, which wasn't unusual in itself- the chair was the bulldog's usual area it retreated to.

Watson was walking into each room in succession, a gradual frown forming on his face as he searched for something that just couldn't be found. His face grew grim and his blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. "Holmes." He muttered darkly, before calling out toward the upper rooms. "Holmes?"

There was no answer, and Watson began ascending the stairs much like the way one would creep up on someone in an ambush. The doctor called out again, this time more forcefully. "Holmes?"

He'd reached the person in question's room, and wasn't surprised to find the door suspiciously locked. Watson promptly banged his fist against the door. "HOLMES!" he all but shouted, frustration evident in his tone.

The noise of someone tinkering that had been coming from the other side of the door stopped suddenly. There was a flurry of things being shuffled around, and Watson started slightly as the door swung open.

"What?" a man with unruly dark brown hair and intelligent brown eyes demanded from the doorway, looking at his companion in an expression that could only be described as affronted. Smudges of brown were streaked across his face randomly, and he was clutching an odd circular metal object that seemed to be the source of the mysterious brown liquid.

Watson didn't look the least intimidated, instead he crossed his arms and regarded his life-long friend with a look of suspicion. "What on Earth are you doing? And what is that?" he nodded his head at the metal device in Sherlock Holmes's brown stained hands.

The detective raised an eyebrow before shrugging casually. "No idea. But they were once Nanny's spoons, I think." Watson took a deep breath- no doubt about to reprimand him- so Holmes hastily continued, "I was merely curious as to whether adding certain agents would increase the rate at which the spoons melted. So I've been repeatedly melting and solidifying them for the last two days straight. Did you know that Nanny's spoons are not entirely silver? Which explains why I was able to melt them without having to-"

Watson cut him off, remembering why he was up here in the first place. "When we finished unpacking my things in the new house, we found that one of the boxes containing my things seems to have… vanished. Have you seen it?"

"You are quite aware that it's extremely rude to ask someone a question and then interrupt in the middle of their explanation? In fact, I do believe you've mentioned it to me more than a few of times."

Watson ignored him, "Holmes, what did you do with my things?"

Holmes looked highly affronted again as he walked back into his room and began rummaging around in his chaotic assortment of things, "And how do you know that I took them?"

"Oh, yes. Because Gladstone just walked off with my clothes and medical supplies in tow." Watson snorted, growing annoyed as he followed his stubborn friend into his room.

"Don't be ridiculous, Watson. However, you are forgetting another person with possible motives for stealing your personal items." Holmes scoffed, not looking up. When Watson rolled his eyes and failed to prod him further, Holmes sighed and continued, "Did you inspect Mrs. Hudson's rooms?"

"What could she possibly want with my things?"

"Perhaps she's erecting a shrine in your name." Holmes grinned, looking amused and shooting a glance at Watson to see his reaction. He cleared his throat when Watson glared at him instead of chuckling. "Or maybe you're forgetting that she doesn't want you to leave either."

"Good God, not this again." Watson groaned, and Holmes continued speaking over him.

"After all, she's made it quite clear that she doesn't want to be alone with a person like me-"

"I believe the term she used was a madman like you, amongst the other things she referred to you as." Watson pointed out. "And she can always get another tenant. Besides, it's not like Mrs. Hudson to invade my rooms and take things. She leaves that to you. Now where is that blasted box?"

"I don't see why you had to leave here now anyway. Your wedding is months away." Holmes waved one his hands dismissively as he picked up a bottle and sniffed its contents. He shrugged and took a chug of it. He wrinkled his nose and made a face before tossing the contents into the fire going in the chimney, which proceeded to turn an odd shade of blue. Holmes then dropped the silver ball back onto its melting pot with a satisfied nod.

"For the hundredth time, it's in seven weeks!" Watson ran a hand through his short brown hair in exasperation. "And I'm getting the house settled before we officially move in."

"Speaking of which, that is incredibly out of character, Watson. It's nothing short of scandalous." Holmes wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Mary is going to remain living in her current home until the day we wed." Watson scowled, "And you know that."

"Speaking of scandals," Holmes continued as if he hadn't heard Watson speak at all, "This has been an awfully short engagement."

"We've been officially engaged for plenty of time!" Watson yelled in exasperation, throwing up his hands.

At the same time, Holmes shouted with an air of triumph, "You've impregnated Mary, haven't you?"

"Mary is NOT pregnant, Holmes!" Watson shot back, glaring at him.

"Are you quite sure? She's been looking rather larger of late." Holmes smirked. He abruptly assumed a shocked expression. "Or perhaps the baby isn't yours?"

The two men glared at each other, Holmes only mildly succeeding at not looking amused. Watson put his hand to the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You're being completely ridiculous. Mary is not pregnant, not with my child, not with anyone else's. Nor has she gained weight." his gaze suddenly flickered over to a stack of papers on Holmes's table, and he took a step toward them, "Is that the mail? I specifically told the post to mail it to my new residence."

Holmes suddenly dashed over and scooped up the letters, tucking them in his pocket. Watson blinked. "What now?" he demanded.

"This is my mail." Holmes replied, looking serious.

"No it's not, I distinctly saw my name on the recipient line." Watson took a step towards Holmes and he took a step back in response.

"No, it clearly says 221B Baker Street." Holmes shook his head emphatically. "And you no longer live here, so-"

"It has my name on it!" Watson protested, "And technically, as some of my things are still held hostage here, I haven't fully moved out yet." He took another step toward Holmes, who shook his head again and took two steps back.

"It's my mail, I can do as I want with it."

"Holmes, you're acting like a child." Watson said quite calmly before lunging forward in a very mature manner. In moments the two were struggling over the thin wad of letters.

Watson managed to slip a letter out of Holmes's grasp after backslapping him, and he read the front address, grumbling when it turned out to be written to Holmes. The detective smirked, holding up the letter addressed to Watson in a mocking manner.

Watson stared at the letter in his hands, his eyes widening slightly. "Holmes, the sender's address is the Scotland Guard…"

Holmes tried his best not to seem intrigued, but he leaned forward slightly. "They probably just wanted to send their regards."

Watson shook his head. "When was the last time they sent you a thank you note? Moriarty's case hit a dead end three weeks ago. And Mrs. Hudson's poor silverware's paying the price." The doctor paused and turned the letter over. "This must be important. It's been stamped by the head warden of the prison."

Holmes held out his hand expectantly. Watson looked at his hand and snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Hand me mine if you want yours."

Holmes rolled his eyes and held out Watson's letter stiffly. Keeping their eyes on the other, both men reached out and snatched their rightful letters back before hurriedly opening them.

Watson let out a huff of disappointment. "Just a thank you letter from a patient. What's your letter…" he trailed off, looking at Holmes, who staring at his own letter quizzically. "Holmes?"

"It seems I'm someone's last request." Holmes answered after a moment. "And oddly enough, I don't believe I put this person in jail… The name is absolutely unfamiliar to me."

Watson walked over and took the letter without Holmes protesting. His eyes trailed over it and he paused, "E. Hawkins? Hawkins? It's a common enough surname."

Holmes shook his head, "The name means nothing to me…" He was staring intently at the letter when he abruptly walked over to his table and picked up his hat. "I'll go."

"What?" Watson raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know the man."

"Which makes it all the more interesting." Holmes replied, looking around. "Have you seen my shoes?"

"Have you seen my stolen box of things?" Watson countered, crossing his arms.

It took Holmes half a second to remember what he was talking about. He let out a defeated sigh. "Under the stairwell."

"Thank you." Watson nodded, "Your shoes are in the dresser."

"Whatever for?"

"Why would I bloody know?" Watson shrugged as Holmes scooped his shoes and jammed them on. "You were fully intoxicated when you put them there, if I recall correctly."

Holmes looked up expectantly at Watson. "Well. Get your coat."

Watson shook his head. "I'm not coming."

"But-"

"No, Holmes. You're going to have to get accustomed to the fact that Blackwood was my last case. Absolute last. No more. You're the final request, not me." Watson said firmly, walking out of the room. He poked his head in again, "However, I do suggest you wipe… whatever that is off your face before you leave. And putting on a clean shirt probably wouldn't hurt either." His head disappeared around the corner.

"You put on a clean shirt." Holmes muttered at the shut door grumpily.

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"Mr. Holmes, you came." A guard blinked, obviously surprised.

"You lot never cease to amaze me with your great gift of stating the blatantly obvious." Holmes replied, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. His face was completely free of all streaks, and he'd even taken Watson's advice and put on a new shirt.

The guard's face flushed slightly, and he seemed at loss of what to say for a moment before he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Erm… follow me, sir." He muttered.

"Splendid idea." Holmes said with false brightness and he followed the guard through the pathway between cells.

"I'll open it up for you." The guard said as they stopped in front of a cell. Holmes squinted into it, but all he could see was the outline of a figure that seemed to be both ignoring them and paying close attention to them at the same time. How queer.

Holmes looked at the guard with mild surprise. "You're opening the door?"

The guard nodded. "I'll have to lock it up again when you've gotten in, but you'll be fine. This one hasn't been dangerous yet."

"The yet part was awfully encouraging." Holmes muttered. The guard took out a key ring from his coat pocket and began slowly trying to identify which was the key to cell.

Holmes suppressed the urge to fidget in impatience. He glanced down at the key hole and back at the key ring. He jabbed his finger at one of the keys. "Try that one." The guard nodded slightly and slipped the key into the lock, quickly twisting it. It unlocked immediately with a click and the door swung open with a creak. Holmes stepped in with only a moment of hesitancy, and soon after, the door to the cell shut.

A light suddenly sputtered to life, illuminating the cell. Holmes blinked to let his eyes adjust, and was surprised to hear a voice that was distinctly feminine.

"Sorry about the lamp being off. It just feels as though I've memorized every inch of this cell, and suddenly it was annoying me to death. It reminded me of how horribly boring everything is." The voice said, sounding mildly amused. It had the usual English lilt and had a refined air about it. The way the person spoke, however, sounded as if she was quite capable at twisting her speech into a replication of other accents.

Holmes opened his eyes quickly, and looked in the direction of the voice. A slim young woman sat on a bunk, studying him intently with bright blue-green eyes. She was wearing what must have been a dress from the prison, as it was cotton and a dim gray. Her hair was loose and fell approximately five inches or so below her shoulders; it was straight until near the end, where it waved slightly, a red that leaned toward being brown a touch. Her skin was neither pale nor tan, just a healthy peach, with a couple of freckles across her cheeks and nose. If he had to guess her age, he'd say early to mid-twenties.

She spoke again. "I do appreciate your coming here, Mr. Holmes. I was afraid you wouldn't show up." She stood, and she was of average height. She held out her hand, "Emilia Hawkins."

Holmes slowly took her hand and shook it, too busy trying to remember her to really pay attention to what was going on. He definitely hadn't been expecting someone like this. The letter had said that the person in question had been arrested for forgery, con-artistry, theft, and the suspected murder of three individuals. He'd been expecting a tall and mildly muscular man with a way with words. Not a young woman who was staring at him with such calculating eyes.

"I must admit that I am puzzled, Madam." Holmes said finally after they had dropped hands. "If my memory serves correctly, and it usually does, we've never before met."

"Then your memory's in perfect working condition." Emilia half smiled. "But I'm afraid that while you're a stranger, you're also my last hope. As they've probably told you, I'm due to be killed tomorrow. Lethal injection." She spoke in an off-hand way, but he could see that her next breath was shaky and she'd clenched her knuckles.

"And you want me to prove that you're innocent." Holmes guessed. He'd heard it before. Usually there was a longer amount of time between the assigning of the case and the execution…

"No, actually." Emilia shook her head, "That's proved impossible. Besides, I'm not entirely innocent of all of my charges." A brief mischievous smile played at her lips.

"Then, I'm sorry. I have no idea how I can be of assistance to you." Holmes said, trying to sound indifferent.

"That's actually where you're wrong, Mr. Holmes." Emilia sat down once again on her bunk, staring up at him with determined eyes. "I know for a fact that the Scotland Guard is in your debt. Deeply. You are the one person they'd pull a favor for, excluding the Queen." She took a deep breath before continuing, "I need you to convince them to drop my allegations and put me in your charge."

Holmes blinked and leaned against the opposite wall, staring at her intently. "My, you certainly don't waste time on trifles."

"If you like I could make small talk about the weather." The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"But that would annoy you on the inside, wouldn't it? You're very good at hiding your emotions." Holmes said aloud, reading her face critically.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be very good at what I do." Emilia countered.

"For instance, anyone else would take your casual tone and easy body language as an indication that you're not very troubled by the fact that you're due to be executed tomorrow. But your hands are shaking of their own accord, you hesitated when you mentioned your impending death earlier, and your voice cracked when you asked me for that… favor. This all leads me to believe that you're extremely frightened about tomorrow's scheduled events, even if you are good at hiding it." Holmes announced, waiting for her reaction.

"I'd be psychologically disturbed if I wasn't." she shrugged, not seeming at all offended.

"True. But by the way you talk I can tell you're far from it." Holmes nodded slightly. "And yet you expect me to agree to take a complete stranger who's also a confessed thief, con artist, and murderer out of prison."

Emilia sighed. "I swear, two of the murders weren't me. The third was… a misunderstanding. As for the other accusations… I am what I am, Mr. Holmes."

"Then, pray tell, why should I agree to get you out of this… situation?"

Emilia straightened, "Rumor has it that you're the best detective there is, Mr. Holmes. That you can take the smallest of details and use them to solve impossible crimes. Though they probably aren't as keen as yours, I myself have a similar gift. I assure you, solving mysteries isn't the only occupation that requires such acute senses. After all, to pull off the perfect crime, one has to have everything perfectly planned, every detail memorized so vividly that it doesn't attract attention."

Holmes leaned his head forward slightly. "And despite your intellect, here you sit behind bars."

She scowled slightly, looking at the floor. "I made a mistake. I thought I could trust someone that I couldn't. And they told the police my whereabouts. And as I'm framed for murder, here I am." She sighed. "Mr. Holmes, all I'm asking for is a chance."

"I'm afraid you're asking for far more than that." Holmes paused for a moment, looking intrigued despite himself. After all, he had been shut up in his room for quite a few days straight, he didn't have any leads on any cases, and he was so bored he'd been reduced to torturing spoons. This by far had to be the most exciting thing since Blackwood's case. Suddenly, he straightened. "Tell me everything you can about me based upon what we've said so far and what I have upon me at the moment."

Emilia promptly stood, walking closer toward him, looking him up and down. After thinking, she spoke, "You were in a squabble today. You've a bruise developing here," she indicated to the spot on the back of his neck, "Which leads me to believe that he man who struck you was taller than you were, seeing as you're generally unmarked from your shoulders down. It wasn't a serious fight, because judging by the angles of your bruises, it's likely he was in a good position to hit your pressure point and render you unconscious. That spot, however, is specifically bare of marks, which tells me that the man you fought with knew about the body and he made sure he didn't seriously injure you."

"Is that all?" Holmes asked, trying to sound casual, though he was mildly impressed by the deduction. He eyed the woman more carefully.

"Not at all." Emilia frowned, shaking her head, "You've also got light burns on your fingers, some of which are still red. So you've been doing something involving fire recently. A faint smell of metal on your being and a drop of hardened silver clinging to your pant leg indicate that you were doing some form of metal working. You have bags under your eyes, which are mildly bloodshot. You didn't sleep well last night, maybe not the night before either." She gestured toward his jacket, "May I?"

Holmes regarded her for a moment, "No. No, I think I've seen enough." Emilia shrugged and once more sat on the bunk, looking back at him as he debated what he'd stumbled upon. She appeared calm, but he could tell she was nervous. Subconsciously she kept tugging at her sleeve as she waited for him to speak.

Holmes's mind was racing. Here he was, sitting in front of someone whose intellect seemed nearly matched to his own. And since Watson was so sure he was retiring- though it was highly improbable that he actually would- he found himself needing a companion of sorts once more. At least until he was triumphant at berating some sense into Watson's thick skull. Then again, he knew nothing of this stranger yet, except that she was intelligent, tricky, and probably going to make a bolt for freedom the second he put his guard down.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up, and Emilia was biting her lip, looking reluctant to say the least, "Mr. Holmes, I'm begging you, as much as it pains me to admit it. I'm not one for begging." She took a deep breath, "But if you say no, I'll be dead by this time tomorrow. I really do think we'll both benefit by this deal. You'll get another partner, and I'll get to keep poisonous liquids out of my bloodstream." She attempted at humor, but her voice was close to cracking. "Please."

Homes sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up slightly. He looked up, and his deep brown eyes met her light teal ones. He faintly could remember words Inspector Lestrade had spoken to him a few weeks before.

"In another life, Holmes, you would have made an excellent criminal."

He'd dismissed the words and countered them with a witty insult, but now as he sat thinking, for once Lestrade hadn't been far off. Surely he could have been a crook, if one thing from his past had been altered, even if it had been seemingly insignificant at the time. He looked up at Miss Hawkins again. It wasn't too farfetched to believe that he had been capable of doing exactly what she'd done.

"Surely you are capable of escaping from this place." Holmes lowered his gaze to the floor. "Why don't you?"

Emilia sighed, looking bitter, "I'm tired of running, Mr. Holmes. I do believe I've been doing it my entire life. I don't know," she said honestly, "Maybe when the time comes tomorrow I'll make a break for it when the fear increases. Maybe I'll get out of the country and lay low for the rest of my life, still hiding, still running. But I want to avoid that. I want to be free, Mr. Holmes. I don't want to spend the rest of my existence in fear that I'll wind up in this exact same position."

Holmes sighed again, signaling for the guard to come back down the hallway and unlock the door.

"Mr. Holmes-" Emilia began hurriedly, desperation creeping into her tone.

He cut her off. "I'll talk to Lestrade and convince him to release you as best I can." He gave her a long look. "I rarely do things on good faith unless I have good reason to. Don't make me regret this decision, Miss Hawkins. Good day." And with that, he stepped out of the cell and purposefully made his way to the cabby, shouting at him to hurry to Scotland Guard, still thinking unceasingly.

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"Mr. Holmes." A small, mousey looking man regarded him with an agitated sigh from his desk, "What are you doing here?"

"Inspector, always a pleasure to see you too." Holmes grinned, before reminding himself not to be infuriatingly sarcastic. He came to ask for something, and getting the man in a foul mood was not the best of ways to start everything off.

Lestrade snorted. "Have you gotten any leads on the Moriarty case, or something of that nature?"

"Actually, no. Not yet." Holmes shook his head, hating to admit that even as he said it.

"Then why-"

"I've come to ask for the release of prisoner 5203." Holmes interrupted, figuring that he might as well get on with the point.

Lestrade's brow furrowed, and he consulted a file on his desk. "Emilia Hawkins? She's due for execution tomorrow."

Holmes took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I know. That's why I'm asking for her release today instead of tomorrow." He said slowly, as if talking to a five year old. Not that he was comparing Lestrade to a five year old- he was slightly taller after all. Plus, Holmes had met many five year olds with more hair.

"Con-artist, suspected murder…" Lestrade shook his head firmly. "Out of the question. She's been accused of far too many crimes, and she hasn't even confessed to all of them. We suspect she's done plenty more than what we've got on her." The Inspector looked up. "Why on Earth would you want to release her?"

"Have you spoken to her?" Holmes asked, getting excited despite himself. "Her intellect far surpasses anyone I've ever encountered- save a few people, myself included. She's honed her powers of deduction by applying it to her line of work, which is why you can't pin much on her. She's asked me to make a deal with her. She'll join my team and in return, she gets released."

Lestrade looked incredulous. "Good Lord, Holmes. You actually believe this? As much as you hate to admit it, you've been manipulated by criminal women before." Holmes gritted his teeth. How the Inspector wormed his way to the knowledge of his personal life was beyond him. Of course he would bring up Irene Adler, who'd mysteriously vanished from the authorities just hours after her capture. Mysteriously vanished and failed to contact Holmes afterwards.

Lestrade didn't seem to notice Holmes tense up and he continued. "The second she gets out of here, she'll make a run for the countryside, and we won't hear from her until a priceless artifact disappears and winds up on the black market."

"She won't." Holmes replied confidently. "I don't know how I do, but I know she won't make a run for it. She seems like she's honestly sick of being chased down by the authorities."

"Seems being the key word, Holmes." Lestrade sighed, closing the file.

"Put her into my custody, Inspector." Holmes said quietly. "If for some reason she does escape, I myself will finance any cost the police has to utilize to track her down. I give you my word."

"…Have you met this woman before?"

"No. I just spoke to her for the first time moments ago."

"Then why would you do such a thing for her?"

"Inspector, imagine spending your entire life knowing that the only people who can relate to you, to the way you think, are on the other side. Against you. And suddenly someone who's willing to join up with you appears, and you find she is brilliant." Holmes muttered seriously. And it was true. Who was he really close to? Watson was his only friend, and while he was not nearly as clever as the detective, the good doctor was shrewd as well. But now he was leaving to be married. Irene? Irene was on her own side, not fully against him, but definitely not fully with him. Moriarty? Holmes nearly snorted out loud. Moriarty was anything but on his side.

And miraculously someone had shown up, nearly fitting the description he'd been looking for. True, she was a woman and a criminal, but for the moment he was willing to overlook that. And he knew quite fully that the only reason she was on his side was that they had a mutual need at the moment. But for now, that was as close as it got.

"Why should I even consider this?" Lestrade asked, sighing.

"Because I recently saved Parliament." Holmes smirked slightly. "You, Inspector, owe me. This is a small thing to ask of in return. Of course, if you still refuse despite that, I am sure I can take it up with one of the Lords whom I saved that day…"

Lestrade paled slightly. "You wouldn't."

"Tell me, Inspector. Are you quite fond of this office and that elegant mahogany desk?"

The smaller man scowled, burying his face in his hands and groaning. "Holmes, you'll be the death of me."

"You're far too kind. A lot of the credit shall have to go to your general lack of physical exercise and your fondness of cake." Holmes replied, forgetting himself.

Lestrade growled before whipping out document and signing it angrily. He nearly threw it at Holmes. "Here's the order for her release into your custody. But I'm warning you, Holmes, if she does escape and you can't pay for her capture, it'll be you sitting behind bars."

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"Watson, are you still here?"

"Of course I'm still here!" the doctor shouted. "When you said 'under the stairwell' you neglected to mention that the box was truly in the back of the large cupboard under the stairwell that's filled with junk from God knows what! What the devil is a stuffed boar's head doing in here anyway? It bloody well nearly stabbed me with its tusks."

Watson managed to get himself halfway out of the closet, a large brown box being dragged in his wake. "If you think, Holmes, that I find this amusing, you're sorely mistaken! I was fighting my way through there for the last hour and a half!"

"Watson, we have company." Holmes announced, shifting over to the side to reveal Emilia, who was smiling ever so slightly. "Or rather, I have company, and it includes you, as you no longer live with me." Holmes added.

Watson straightened. "I'm terribly sorry, Madam. I had no idea that Holmes was accompanied."

"Perfectly alright, Doctor. I'm sorry for intruding." Emilia grinned.

"Actually, if we're going to be technical, you're her guest too, Watson." Holmes said casually. "She's going to be the new tenant."

Watson's expression went from polite to concerned. "As this house's former tenant, I feel inclined to warn you, Madam." He pointed at Holmes. "That man is not entirely sane."

"I object!" Holmes protested, but Watson ignored him.

"You look like a kind and intelligent woman. And so I hope you take my advice and decide to run. Now. Quickly. Miss…?"

Emilia chuckled, "Hawkins. And I'm afraid I've no other choice but to board here."

"Hawkins?" Watson shot a look at Holmes, "E. Hawkins?"

"E. Hawkins." Holmes confirmed, looking pleased.

"Emilia. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson." The corners of the young woman's mouth twitched upwards.

"…And you as well… Holmes? May I have a word?" Watson asked, looking bewildered.

"For you, my dear Watson, an entire dictionary." Holmes grinned cheekily.

Watson sighed at the bad joke. "No, Holmes. Might I speak with you alone?"

Holmes shrugged and followed Watson into the dining room next to them. "What?" Holmes hissed.

"That is E. Hawkins?"

"I do believe that we've established that."

"The prisoner?"

"Watson, if you've become this lack-witted in the short amount of time we haven't done a case together, imagine how you'll be three months from now." Holmes said dryly.

"You invited her to live here." It was more of a dubious statement than a question.

"Indeed."

"Why? Why would you take a criminal out of prison and into your home? Do you have a death wish, Holmes?"

"On the contrary, it's all rather logical. She needed to get out of jail and a place to stay, and I needed a new partner. Besides, she's a great mind."

Watson glanced over into the other room, where Emilia was staring intently at the room, taking everything in. Watson turned to Holmes with a puzzled look on his face. "She looks at things like you do."

"Precisely." Holmes nodded, glad he'd caught on.

"I can't believe Lestrade agreed to this." Watson sighed, shaking his head.

"He didn't have much of a choice, did he? I'm a national hero." Holmes grinned.

"As you've mentioned to everyone many times." Watson smiled despite himself.

"Mr. Holmes, I don't mean to interrupt, but would you mind showing me my rooms?" Emilia asked from the hall, fidgeting.

"Of course, one moment." Holmes called back.

Watson sighed. "I hope you know what you're getting into, Holmes."

"Of course I don't. What fun would there be if I knew absolutely everything instead of nearly everything?" Holmes said cockily, leaving Watson and returning to the hall.

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WELL, there you have it readers! Chapter one! I hope at least a few of you liked it! And if you did, you know what you should do? Review please! But do refrain from incinerating my confidence as you do so.

Some points:

Yes, yes I did pull the 'You put on a clean shirt' line from the movie, except there it was a jacket. What can I say? I love that line! Actually, I love the whole movie! *see beginning A/N rant*

Yes, I couldn't think of a better last name than Hawkins. But you know what? I needed a last name someone could say alone and it still sounded good, like Watson or Holmes. So I decided on Hawkins.

This chapter didn't give much insight into Emilia, I know. But the next chapter will. After all, they've all only just met.

I've no idea exactly how long an engagement was back then. But oh well. Please don't go nuts about that.

I do approve of Mary. She bugged me at first because, but I realized it's because her actress plays a character I really don't like in Pride and Prejudice. But I finally got over it, and I think she's okay now. Plus, I love her dresses. ^.^

Please review! It means a lot to me!

~Chloe Knightshade