A.N.- CRAP. I said I wasn't going to post this until I finished my Jurassic Park sequel to my sequel (Triple+sequel=Treequel?) Oh well, please read and review!

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 1

"Asphyxiation." The man said. "There are no signs of strangulation about the neck, so it was suffocation by another method. Most likely internal."

"But there's nothing in her mouth." His companion protested. The first man cast the other an irritated glance then directed his eyes to the corpse of the young woman on the floor. He sighed agitatedly and knelt down.

"Look at the corners of her mouth. Crusted with bile. And look at the color of her lips, Lestrade; it's cyanosis." He pointed out.

"Yes and?" The other prompted. The man sat back on his heels and groaned.

"So- pay attention; if she ingested a toxin that induced vomiting she would have rolled over or something to expel the bile, but instead choked on it because she couldn't. Why?" He tossed Lestrade a patronizing glance, waiting for the other man's response.

"Too weak?" He suggested. The first man pulled back the corpse's sleeve to reveal pink circles around the wrist.

"No, restrained. Someone had tied her down so she couldn't move, whether they meant for her to choke on her own vomit is another question entirely, but they moved the body here from the place where she was being kept prisoner to divert suspicion. I suggest you swab her mouth for chemical traces. Then run a check for pharmacies selling the drug."

"It's a drug?"

"No," The man pushed himself to his feet. "Just a chemical disguised as one. Good day, Detective Inspector." With that the man breezed out of the room, fastening a scarf about his neck and shrugging a coat onto his thin shoulders. He stepped out of the building without a glance at a shorter built man who had been waiting outside.

"Sherlock!" The man sprang to his feet and followed the thinner man down the street. "What did Lestrade say?" He prompted, "Did you solve it?"

"John, why did you wear that hideous tie today? It makes you look pasty." Sherlock said indifferently, ignoring the question. His companion, John tugged irritably at the silk knotted around his neck.

"You're avoiding the question, Sherlock." He said.

"Because its answer is obvious." The detective sighed as they continued down the street. "Bile collected at the corners of the mouth. Cyanosis in the lips, restraint marks on the wrists, paleness of the face-"

"A lot of dead people are pale, Sherlock."

"So they seem to be." The tall man stopped and leaned out into the street to flag a cab. Once he had successfully pulled one over he and John stepped into it immediately.

"221 Baker Street." Sherlock ordered the cabbie. The man nodded and started off. John sighed and stared out the window.

. . .

When the cab dropped the two off at Baker Street it had to park a ways down the road from the building to avoid being in the way of a medium sized moving van parked in front of Speedy's Diner. Sherlock and John both walked to the front step of 221 with Sherlock muttering under his breath about "no new neighbors for God's sake". His hopes were dashed when he saw movers carrying boxes into the apartment building instead of the neighboring restaurant. He huffed and drew his coat collar tighter around his neck. John followed him into the landing, where a girl was carrying a box down the hall to 221 C. She accidentally bumped into Sherlock as she made her way down the hall, brushing his elbow slightly as she passed.

"Watch where you're going." She said.

"You watch it." He growled back. The detective's eyes began immediately roaming over the person out of habit. She had blue eyes and mousy brown hair covered by a baseball cap. She seemed irritated with him, but he was more irritated that everything about her screamed "ordinary!" She stared at him for a moment before turning and continuing on her way down the hall. Sherlock frowned and climbed the stairs to the flat he shared with John, 221 B. Sherlock reclined into his leather chair by the fire and John walked to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea.

"So," He said, trying to start a conversation with his flatmate. "New neighbor, eh? Do you think it was that girl down there or was she just a mover?" Sherlock leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"I don't know, John. And I don't care. I'm unbelievably bored right now, and there's nothing to read." He groaned. John gave him a strained smile that bordered on irritability.

"Go pick something from your library." He gestured with a teabag towards the bookcase adorning the wall nearest them.

"You know what I meant, John." Sherlock complained, "And I've memorized them all anyway. There are no new people to read, they're much more intriguing than books." He sat forward quickly and braced his forearms on his knees. John was about to make a biting remark to his flatmate when their landlady, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

"Oh sorry dears, am I interrupting anything?" She asked cordially.

"No."

"Yes."

The old woman frowned at the mixed responses but soon had a smile on her face again. "I think it would be just lovely if you two would go greet the new neighbor. She's just moved from somewhere out of country and I think you two would do well to go give her a welcome." Sherlock raised his head up swiftly.

"Her? It's a her?" Mrs. Hudson looked surprised, John just sipped his tea.

"Why yes, I don't see why you're-"The detective groaned and leaned back again.

"God, please don't tell me it's that boring girl from downstairs." He said. "She's useless."

"Her name is Madeline Carver," Mrs. Hudson said sternly, "From how you were talking it sounded like you were hoping for a neighbor to use in your experiments. Do be nice to her, won't you Sherlock?" She departed with a smile and friendly wave. John set his mug down.

"Well, you can sit here and sulk about your boredom. I'm going to go meet Miss Carver." He said finally, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts and heading for 221 C.

. . .

The paint on the door was cracked, but the door itself was propped open. John felt a little sheepish that he'd never actually visited the depths of 221 Baker Street, the farthest he'd ever gone was Mrs. Hudson's flat up the hall. Music spilling from the doorway was accompanied by loud singing, so John knocked on the door hard to get his neighbor's attention before entering. The singing stopped and after a minute the music followed it as someone shuffled to the door.

"Oh hi," The girl said quickly; pushing strands of her hair out of her face and trying to restrain them in a ponytail. John had a fleeting image of an angry cat's tail growing out of the back of her head, but the resemblance to crazy cat women and their pets ended there.

She had pale skin, and freckles dotted her nose and cheekbones like snow. Her eyes were a nice plain blue, easy enough to match with her brown hair. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. It took John a moment to realize he was staring and offered his hand to the girl courteously.

"Hello, I'm Dr. John Watson. I uh, live upstairs in 221 B with my flatmate." He said. Her face twisted into a sour look like she'd eaten a lemon at the mention of John's roommate.

"I remember him." She said, "He and I bumped into each other earlier. You were there, too I think." He laughed.

"Yeah, Sherlock kind of gets that kind of reputation with people. Don't take him too seriously, though." John said. The girl studied him quietly for a second before remembering herself and sticking out her hand.

"Sorry, I'm Madeline Carver. I just moved here from America." She stated. John nodded, he'd noticed her strange, almost flat accent when she'd first spoken to him. They stood there awkwardly in the doorway until John spoke up again.

"So is your unpacking going well?" He asked. Madeline threw one glance behind her into the flat cluttered with boxes that had been scribbled on hastily with markers.

"It's good. I'll just have to get some help moving my lab equipment." She said, turning back to the doctor, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Could you help me carry it up?" She asked him. John found himself nodding his assent as she led him back to the landing of the building. Three boxes lay in a perfect line pressed up against a wall. They looked small enough, but John bent down to pick one up he almost doubled over.

"It's like- a ton of bricks." He huffed.

. . .

After hauling the boxes down the hallway to 221 C and stacking them by the wall Madeline had directed him to John stood and stretched with a groan.

"Hey, Madeline you wouldn't mind having a cup of tea with me in my flat, would you?" He asked.

"Only if your roommate won't mind." She countered. He shook his head, and she followed him up the rickety staircase to 221 B Baker Street. When Madeline stepped inside her senses were overwhelmed with the smell of smoke and chemicals. She staggered backwards, eyes watering but John walked in ahead of her.

"Seriously, Sherlock now you choose to pull out all of your experiments?" He reprimanded the tall man bent over a table in the kitchen. He looked up at John and the unwanted guest in annoyance, and Madeline was struck by the color of his eyes. They were a pale blue, like ice. The eyes darted over her for a second, and Madeline had the strong feeling he was judging her. Sherlock simply grunted at turned back to his experiment.

"Sherlock, we have a guest." John said in annoyance. "Could you please put your things away?" He strode to the far side of the room and slid the window open, letting some of the cigar smoke fade out. Sherlock scowled and began to slowly put away his project while John readied tea. Madeline stood awkwardly in the living room until John leaned out of the kitchen and smiled at her.

"You can just take a seat anywhere." He said. She smiled back at him and sat in a comfortable looking leather chair by the fireplace. Sherlock passed her carrying a tray of petri dishes and stopped short.

"Out of my chair." He said before continuing on down the hallway to another room. Madeline stood and went to sit in the kitchen with John, who was being much more hospitable than his flatmate. He handed her a cup of warm tea with a matching smile.

"Don't be too bothered by him. He's always a bit of an, um…"

"An ass?" She supplied carefully. John snickered with her until Sherlock reemerged from the hall.

"What do you want?" He said bitingly. Madeline marched firmly up to the detective and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Madeline Carver," She said, "Your new neighbor." He stared at her hand distastefully for a moment then spun around and retreated back down the hallway. John watched him go with a small smirk.

"That's good. Normally he would have said some biting remark. Don't know why he didn't-"

"She's boring, John." Sherlock called up the hallway.

"I try my best." Madeline said smartly before John could scold his flatmate. She set her tea down in the kitchen and smiled warmly. "Thank you for the tea, Dr. Watson-"

"You can just call me John," The doctor said. Her smile grew bigger.

"Thank you for the tea, John. I think I'll be heading back to my apartment and finish unpacking." She gave a small wave and went to the door.

"Um, if you need any help moving your- lab equipment anymore just ask." John called after her. She turned and looked back at him with a small smile.

"I will, then. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes!" She called into the flat. Sherlock's muffled cursing carried through the walls as she left for her own rooms.

"God I really hate that man." She murmured as she stepped down the stairs.

. . .

"What's wrong with you today, Sherlock?"

"I don't know, what's wrong with you?"

"Don't be childish, you've been being more of an ass than usual. I get you're bored, so just take a bloody case, already." John glared at his flatmate who didn't seem to care in the least what was going on. "Are you frustrated?" He asked the detective. Sherlock paused from his pacing on the carpet and glared at him.

"Why would I be frustrated. Everything's fine. Totally fine. There's no reason for me to be upset." He muttered. John rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"Look, you need to sort yourself out quickly. You're completely unbearable when you're like this." He said. Sherlock frowned and resumed pacing.

"Is it because you couldn't read Madeline?" John said suddenly. "You get like this when you don't know something."

"I do know everything, John; shut up." Sherlock snapped. John tapped his temple thoughtfully.

"Obviously not, you've been complaining since you passed her in the stairwell. Admit it, you can't read her." He said.

"Of course I can."

"No you can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

"Can-"

"Boys, please keep it down! We ladies need our beauty sleep! Try to restrain yourselves." Mrs. Hudson's voice echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation.

"We're not gay, Mrs. Hudson." John called back to her for the umpteenth time. He heard her hum a disbelieving noise and return to her rooms. He rolled his eyes and leaned towards his flatmate.

"How about you actually talk to her, try not to be a git and actually get to know her. That's what normal people do instead of reading others. They talk." He suggested. Sherlock wrinkled his nose irately.

"That's what normal people do, John."

"Then opt for normalcy for once." The doctor said firmly before rising and going to the door of his bedroom.

"Go talk to her tomorrow, Sherlock; and I swear if you start playing your violin at two in the morning I will come into your room and-"

"Restraint, you two!" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Not gay!" John responded before continuing. "-I will smother you." He said in a lower tone to his flatmate. "Go to sleep, Sherlock." With that he left. Sherlock kept pacing until he heard John's door close, then he made his way over to his chair and sank down into it. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, reimagining Madeline Carver when he'd assessed her the second time that afternoon. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and her hair had been held back from her face in a ponytail. His mind traveled over the image fiercely, trying desperately to find something about her. Not being able to see something about someone infuriated him to no end. His mind was tracing over her pant legs for any traces of dirt, paints or animal hairs when something nagged at the back of his thoughts. He zoomed out of the image and assessed what was blatantly obvious. She stood with one wrist clutched in the other, insecure and obviously American, but the way she held herself close and small brought into detail something on her skin. Sherlock furrowed his brow as he examined the skin of her arm closely.

A mark.

And not a normal mark.

Alright then, Miss Carver. The detective thought, maybe you're not as mysterious as I thought.

A.N.- I don't like how this chapter ended, but I love the other scenes I've got planned out! Oh my GOSH they're fantastic! I felt like there was a lot of John/OC in this chapter when it should RIGHTFULLY be Sherl/OC (whomever decided on that pairing name is a genius, hats off to you). Please review, I'm going to wrap Jurassic Park Rewritten 2 and start devoting myself fully to this one! Whoo!