A/N: Hello, people!

I don't own Sherlock.

I have no beta.

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Hm. About 10.5 kg overweight. In need of a hip replacement. Arthritis. Between forty and fifty years of age.

Next person. Common rebellious teen. Belly ring and tattoo and judging by look on mother's face, they aren't wanted or allowed. Failed an exam earlier in the day and is struggling on how to break it to the parents. Boring.

Mike Stamford just walked in with a woman. Definitely not his wife. While having never met her, it's easy to tell how uncomfortable the two are standing by each other. Old friends, lost contact over time. The woman is injured and walks with a limp. But… the limp isn't from an injury. She's just standing there like she doesn't realize she has a limp anymore. Maybe it's all mental. Can't remember the term, not like it matters.

Hm… she stands proudly. Her hair is short, pixie cut and well taken care of. Former military possibly. Wounded in action then. Left hand, tremor. Shot in the shoulder then. Hm…

She is not boring.

Twyla Athela Holmes pushed a stray, black curl behind her ear. Eerie blue eyes piercing the woman with Mike Stamford. She would like to get to know her. She was different than the others.

Mike made a motion that suggested the woman wait for a moment. Twyla took her chance and pushed off the wall, making her way over to the blonde woman whom though being rather small in stature, seemed big in presence.

The woman's eyes locked onto her as she neared. They were a dark shade of blue and they searched Twyla from head to foot in slight wariness, before her shoulders relaxed. Definitely military.

"I can't reach the top buttons on the vending machine, can you help me?" Twyla asked in her cutest voice. She was only five years old after all. She pulled off adorable rather well.

The woman's countenance softened and she glanced back to where Mike had gone, before looking over to the small room where the vending machines were. Not new to Barts, even though Twyla had never seen her before.

Could have been patient or had family go.

"Sure, lass."

No, light Scottish brogue. Not native to England. So then, came to England for a reason. School most likely. Familiarity with hospital and Mike Stamford suggests trained at Barts, so military doctor. Okay then.

Twyla gave a small smile and led her on over, handing her the notes and telling her which tea she wanted from the vendor. The woman quickly and efficiently got the tea and gave it to Twyla with care.

"Are you here alone?" the woman asked, looking around.

"No. My mother is in the morgue. I'd be back there too, but the head specialist registrar/forensic pathologist is with her and Molly doesn't think five year olds should play with lab equipment or be in morgues," Twyla sighed with an eye roll, hating that Molly had to be so responsible. It's not like she or mummy would tell on her or anything.

"Oh," the woman nodded, looking a bit put off. "Pity."

"Indeed. Thank you for your help."

"No problem. Are you certain you're okay staying out here alone?"

Twyla grinned. "Don't worry. Mummy has eyes everywhere."

Twyla turned and flounced from the adjoining room and into the back doors when none of the nurses were paying attention. She'd sneak into the lab if it was the last thing she did.

Jean Harva Watson limped back over to the desk and smiled as Mike returned. "Shall we?"

He led her down to the labs where he would introduce her to his friend who was looking for a flatmate.

Into Lab 4, Jean looked around, noting the changes.

"Bit different from my day."

Mike huffed a laugh. "You have no idea."

The woman on the far side of the room was tall, with shoulder length, black curls and sharp cheekbones. Jean couldn't see her eyes from the distance, but she was sure they would be just as striking. She wore a tailored pantsuit that made her look even taller.

"Mike can I borrow your phone, there's no signal on mine."

A nice voice too.

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

"It's in my other coat, sorry."

Jean was raised with good manners. She couldn't very well let the poor woman go, could she?

"Here," she said, offering her mobile. "You can use mine."

She had the woman's attention now.

"Oh," she smirked lightly. Perfect cupid's bow lips. Jean was becoming a pervert over someone she hadn't even been introduced to!

"Thank you."

She sauntered - because there was no other way to describe such a gait - on over and took the proffered phone from Jean's hands. Up close, Jean could see shining, light blue eyes. Just as amazing as the rest of her.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Jean froze and blinked. What? "I'm sorry, what?" Maybe she heard wrong?

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" the woman asked, looking over her shoulder to catch Jean's eye.

"Afghanistan," Jean stuttered out, feeling confused.

The door of the lab opened just as Jean was about to ask a question. Jean stiffened on reflex. The tall woman turned and gave a fake smile to whomever was behind Jean. "Thank you, Molly."

She handed Jean's phone back while still looking at Molly, who was standing behind Jean. Jean recognized the name. The little girl had mentioned it.

"You removed the lipstick?"

"Uh… it wasn't working for me," the woman behind Jean stuttered.

"I thought it was an improvement. Your mouth doesn't pop as much, now."

"Okay!"

From what Jean just got out of that, Molly was infatuated with this amazing woman - and how could she not be? - and the woman was not interested in return. Tough.

Molly left the lab.

Mike was grinning. "This is an old friend of mine, Jean Watson."

There was a nod in Jean's direction.

The woman glanced at her. "How do you feel about the violin?"

"It's fine?"

"Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

"Do you have a medical condition that I need to know about?" Jean asked with worry. Though how the woman knew that she was there to ask about being flatmates, she'd never know.

The woman smirked a bit. "Finally, do you have any aversion to children?"

And out from behind the long end of the lab table, walked the little girl from earlier. Her curls bounced as she walked. Jean had to wonder how she didn't notice the resemblance between them. They could be twins, though one was younger with chubby cheeks. Still.

The little girl gave a small wave.

"Uh… I don't really mind. She's a sweet lass."

The woman and child shared a look, before both nodded.

The woman turned and gave Jean a small smile, "I'm Wilona Sherlock Scarlette Holmes and this is my daughter Twyla Athela Holmes."

"Nice to meet you."

A/N: First is done.

-Jean is another feminine version of Jane or Joan. I feel that people use Joan too much in the genderbent Johnlocks. Harva mean 'army warrior'.

-Twyla means 'woven with double thread' and Athela is a Greek name meaning 'goddess of wisdom'.

-Wilona means 'desired'. Scarlette is a shade of red.

-Who is Twyla's father? Can you guess?

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