Wanted to put a more realistic edge to the typical 'entered a fictional world'.

I sighed, eyes scanning over the London scenery, excited that I was finally in London. Or, that's what I would say if it weren't for the circumstances. It's too loud. I frowned and put my large headphones over my ears, classical music filtering in. It seemed classical wasn't loud enough to block out the clatter around me though, so I switched it to something a bit more…me. Once 30 Seconds to Mars began pumping through the headphones, I relaxed a bit, getting a chance to enjoy the London scenery without all the noise people were making around me. It was short lived though when someone tapped my shoulder.

I turned to see one of my fellow classmates speaking to me. He couldn't tell that I couldn't hear him, but I had learned to read lips the moment I got an iPod, knowing that I liked music far more than talking.

"The professor says we're heading to the buses now, Sam."

I nodded and grabbed the luggage that I had, walking with him to the buses before getting on with the others. The boy beside me kept talking though and I was glad I couldn't hear him. I just wish he'd catch the hint. I mean, really. I don't even know him. The boy's name was Bobbie Reiss. He was extremely talkative, brown eyes shining with excitement and black hair bobbing when he laughed, but I had literally just met him while we were switching planes. He had seen me chewing gum as we waited and asked for a piece, which I had given him. Apparently, that was enough means for a friendship and he hadn't left me alone since. We weren't even in the same classes due to our differing majors—him being a psychology major and me a criminology major—though he insisted that we had the same psychology class the previous year. I glanced over at him as he spoke beside me, reading what he said.

"Aren't you excited, Sam?! I mean, we're in London! Sure, it's for school, but I can't wait until we have some free time so we can go ex—"

I looked away and gazed out the window, chin in my hand. Sure, I guess one could say I wasn't excited, but I knew this wasn't a pleasure trip. All of us were here because we managed to get into the study abroad program, so we were only going to be in London for a few months. I suppose it caused a means for excitement, but we were mostly going to be doing class-work while we were here and, as much as I wanted to, I knew we weren't exactly going to have enough time to go sightseeing. I glanced back at Bobbie when I caught something interesting he said in the silent gap between songs.

"And then there's that series I saw! Sherlock was amazing, don't you think, Sam? I can't wait to go check out the actual place where they shot it and the Sherlock museum too!"

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the window, though a slight smirk appeared on my face. Sherlock was a TV series I had gotten hooked on not too long ago and had fallen in love with it the moment I'd seen it. The only issue was, I kept this secret love for Sherlock hidden. The people around me often joked about how excited I was about it and even my own family shot me looks when I brought it up. And after a while of that, I found myself growing more and more reclusive, and I stopped expressing my excitement for a lot of things. Even here in London, where the show was filmed, I could see the English rolling their eyes at the American tourists who lined up outside the Sherlock museum.

The bus pulled up to a stop then, and we all got out, making our way into the dorm we were going to be staying in and getting our assigned rooms to drop off our things. Once in my room, I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh, hands behind my head and headphones still blasting music. The woman I was sharing a room with was already chatting with someone on her phone and, while I was slightly annoyed at her high-pitched chattering, it was better than having to listen to Bobbie. The moron thought I was a guy this whole time too. I smirked a bit, remembering his face when the professor said who I was rooming with. Though it's expected. I'm not exactly feminine. Shrugging off the fact that my short hair and baggy clothes made me look like a man even at the age of 21, I left the room and headed back down to the buses, getting in and waiting until we were all there and driven to a nearby college where the professor would be teaching.

Once there, we listened and took notes on a lecture for a good two hours before we were allowed a break. I had somehow managed to sneak out of the room before Bobbie noticed me and took the stairs down to the first floor, where I had seen a vending machine before. With a notebook tucked under one arm, I went ahead and bought a soda and some cigarettes before sitting on a concrete slab off in a corner and writing. I had started writing a mystery novel some years back and sent sections of it to a friend who told me how good it was, even though I thought it mediocre at best. Needless to say, she wanted me to keep writing and I enjoyed it, so I did. I checked my watch then and sighed, closing my notebook, snuffing out my cigarette, and grabbing my soda before heading back upstairs to finish my lecture. Two hours later, and one could find me passed out in my dorm, jet lagged and exhausted.

The next morning though, I felt like something was off. I couldn't place it, but there was something about today that felt different, unnatural. I shrugged it off and met downstairs with the professor and the rest of the class, expecting us to get on the bus and head back to the college for another lecture. Thing was, apparently we were going down to Scotland Yard to hear from one of the police officers there who worked on criminal profiling. It wasn't exactly psychology, but it was good enough for the professor who deemed it an amazing opportunity. I didn't mind though. Anything was better than a lecture and I was actually excited for it.

The buses took us there and we all headed out, following the professor as he led us through the building until we were in one of the main areas where desks of police officers sat, covered in paperwork. I was glancing around, checking everything out, when I spotted someone who looked kind of familiar. He looks like Anderson…I blinked though, and the man was gone so I shook it off as my mind playing tricks on me. Once the professor led the class to another area though, I could've sworn I saw Donovan arguing with someone, but when I looked back there was no one there. Maybe I'm sick. I placed a hand to my forehead with a frown, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

"You okay there?"

I nodded, lowering my hand. "Yeah I'm fi—"

I cut myself off, looking up at none other than DI Lestrade with wide eyes, taking a step back and bumping into someone. I quickly apologized as I had knocked their papers to the ground, but the person I had apologized to was a grumpy looking Donovan and I began to panic. No. No, no, no! T-This can't be right! I-I was supposed to be on a class trip to Scotland Yard, but this is— These people are— Feeling panic well up, I scrambled away from Lestrade and Donovan and began apologizing, spotting my classmates not too far up ahead.

"S-Sorry. I, uh, I need to go. My class is leaving me behind."

Lestrade nodded, bending to help Donovan pick up her papers and I hurried after my class. Once there, I couldn't focus on the man speaking. All I could think about was that I had somehow met some of the characters from Sherlock and that I really needed to focus. I can't keep dwelling on this. I have to think. There's got to be a reasonable explanation for what happened. I looked down at my notebook and began writing.

One: I'm dreaming/hallucinating.

Two: It's a prank.

Three: I'm crazy.

Four: Sherlock is based on real-life.

Five: I'm in the Sherlock series.

I looked over my options and frowned. Stupid possibilities, but the only logical explanations. Just then, someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped, turning to see Bobbie standing there looking down at me confused.

"You okay there, Sam? I just came to tell you that we're on break. The professor said we can look around for a while but we need to stay out of the officers' way."

I nodded, gathering my things. "Y-Yeah. I'm fine."

I pushed past him and headed out, keeping my head bowed and went to put on my headphones, hands shaking. I cursed as my hands fumbled, dropping my headphones, but before they could hit the ground, someone caught them.

"Sorry!" I said, looking up only to pale once more at the tall man who held them. N-No way…

"I never understood why Lestrade saw it necessary to let tourists run around his precinct."

"Sherlock, behave!" The man behind him said, taking the headphones from him and handing them back to me with a smile. "Sorry about him. He can be a bit brash sometimes."

"Y-You…" I stuttered out, eyes wide as I looked over the two men and took in their appearances.

Dark curls, long coat with collar flipped up, scarf, sharp cheekbones…And the other…blonde hair, cut short, military style, jumper, kind smile…I-It can't be. First Lestrade and Donovan and now them?

"Do we know you?" John asked, giving me a curious look.

"N-No…Do, uh, do the names Benedict Cumberbatch or Martin Freeman ring a bell?" I questioned.

John raised a brow. "Not that I know of. You, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down at me with a frown. "No, and we don't have time for this, John. We need to inform Lestrade about the culprit for the burglary."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Alright."

The two of them walked past me and I blinked at their backs, completely dumbstruck. No. This can't be happening. There was no hint of recognition from either of them. Which means it's not a prank and theory four is completely out of the question. I then spotted Bobbie, and hurried to him, pulling him away from a small group of chattering students and gesturing to Sherlock and John, who were now talking to Lestrade.

"Bobbie, do you recognize those three at all?"

Bobbie looked at them with a hand on his chin. "Hm…Nope. Can't say I do."

My eyes widened. "W-What? But you were saying on the bus about how you watched Sherlock and—"

"Woah. Calm down there, Sam. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You…You don't?"

He shook his head. "Not a clue. I've never heard of anything called Sherlock."

"I-Impossible."

Bobbie raised a brow, suddenly looking at me in concern. "Hey, are you okay, Sam? You don't look too good."

"Yeah, no. I-I'm okay. I just…I need a cigarette." I grumbled, turning away and just barely hearing him say something behind me.

"Huh, didn't take you for the smoking type."

That's because I'm trying to quit…I thought, before moving towards one of the empty interrogation rooms and cracking the door open once I was inside, forgetting the urge to smoke for now. I began pacing, trying to think logically despite the completely illogical situation, mumbling to myself.

"Bobbie doesn't remember what he said, but I clearly heard him on the bus. It's as if the TV show never existed, but then why are they here?"

I put my headphones on, switching the music back to classical and leaning on the edge of the table.

"This doesn't make sense. The only theories left are one, three and five. If I'm thinking this logically though, three can't be it. And the first one…"

I got up and turned to the wall, lifting a fist and slamming it into the wall with ample enough force to bruise my hand, leaving me gripping it tightly with grit teeth. O-Ow! Okay! Not dreaming!…Which can only mean…

"Theory five…" I muttered, opening my eyes that I had clenched shut after hurting myself. "But then why are Bobbie and the others—Oh." I lifted my head, light bulb in my mind clicking on. "I'm in Sherlock, which means the show never existed. I read about this somewhere."

I closed my eyes and focused, digging through a dusty library in my head, before finding what I was looking for.

"That's it. Time-lines." I opened my eyes, placing a hand over the lower portion of my face. "My time-line somehow collided and synced with the Sherlock time-line. So everything should be the same except the show never existed…That means…" I lifted my head with a sigh and a small smile. "I freaked out over nothing. Everything's still the same and I won't be involved other than bumping into them on occasion while on my trip."

I chuckled, eyes closed and headphones now off, but it wasn't a happy chuckle. It was bordering insane, but I left the room feeling much better than before, when my professor came up to me.

"There you are. I was looking for you."

I raised a brow. "Something wrong?"

He shook his head, a grin stretching across his face. "The exact opposite, actually. Seems the detective inspector in charge of this area of Scotland Yard is willing to let a few people stand behind the two-way mirror while he interrogates someone wanted for a burglary charge. I assumed you would wish to do this, seeing as you are one of the only people here seeking a role in criminal justice."

I felt a smile grow on my face. "R-Really?!"

He nodded. "Seems so. You interested?"

I nodded vigorously, earning a chuckle from the man before he led me over to where Lestrade was. For now, I had switched into a coping mechanism—something I recognized straight away—and simply greeted the man as I would anyone else I had met. Basically, I was in denial and would act as though nothing had changed even though it obviously had. Lestrade took my hand in a firm shake, making me wince, and showed me to the back room.

"You'll be able to watch from here and I'll leave the microphone on so you can hear everything. Go ahead and write anything you see into your notebook and I'll see how well you did when I finish."

I nodded, eager to have this experience and even more so since it seemed it was only going to be myself and two other students in the room. At least, that's how it should've been, but before Lestrade made it out the door, two others joined us, surprising him and myself as well.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?!"

"What does it look like? You're interrogating the criminal to the burglary crime I solved and I'd like to be here to view the process."

Lestrade sighed. "Look. Normally, I'd let you, but I'm letting some of the college students in here to take notes and—"

"Please, I doubt they'll mind and even if they did, it wouldn't matter. He's my criminal and I want to see this interrogation."

Seeing Lestrade was about to blow up at Sherlock again, I decided to intervene and raised my hand.

"Um, I wouldn't mind if he was here."

All eyes went to me in surprise.

"He, uh, might be able to provide some insight as to…the circumstances surrounding the criminal and the crime itself."

Sherlock smirked, turning to Lestrade. "See? They actually want me here."

Lestrade sighed again. "Fine. Just…don't cause any trouble."

He left the room, leaving Sherlock and John in there with me and the other two students, who already seemed a bit intimidated. Sherlock didn't thank me and I didn't say anything back, but John leaned over and grinned at me.

"Hello again."

I nodded, not saying anything and John reached a hand out.

"I'm John, by the way. John Watson. Thanks for helping out back there."

I took his hand and shook it in, what would've been a firm grip if I hadn't bruised my hand earlier in my battle with the wall. John noticed my grimace and quickly pulled his hand back.

"Ah! I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

I gave him a nervous smile. "Y-Yeah, just bruised my hand earlier, is all. I'm Sam Foxe and you're welcome. For earlier, I mean."

He returned a smile, when I heard the door for the interrogation room click open and I quickly went back to focus. The man sitting in the seat across from Lestrade didn't look too bad off, making me quickly question his motive for this burglary. Nice clothes. A dark suit and tie, so a businessman, perhaps? I made a note, but left a question mark next to it until I could discover more. He has a tie pin, simple silver with an engraving on it for…HSBC?! Isn't that a banking company?! I made that note and began listening to the interrogation. As the man answered the questions Lestrade was spouting at him, I noticed a few other things about him. For one thing, he had a tan line around his ring finger, telling me he was divorced and there was small indents on the bridge of his nose, letting me know he wore glasses and was farsighted. This is all to be expected though. He works at a banking company and probably has to read all sorts of things. Of course his eyesight would be bad. I frowned slightly, looking over my notes, knowing I needed to connect the dots and figure out why he did what he did. Though I suppose that's the first thing that I need to ask.

I looked up and over at Sherlock, opening my mouth, but he was extremely focused on what was happening, so I turned to John. "Mr. Watson?"

John turned to me and gave me a smile. "Please, just John."

I nodded, glancing back at the interrogation room for an instant before turning back to him. "Could you tell me what the criminal did?"

John nodded. "Let's see. According to Lestrade, there was a break-in at the HSBC just down the street. But when they got there, the culprit was gone, there was no forensic evidence, no video camera feeds, no anything. The only way you could tell someone had been there was by the furniture in one of the offices being flipped upside-down and the fact that the small safe in that room was open and empty."

"And the fact that the doors had all been opened by a key card, the alarm was purposely tripped, the culprit obviously had a vendetta against the president of the company, had a gambling problem, and wore size ten shoes." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John. "Really John. If they're going to ask, give them all the facts."

John sighed and I nodded, checking over my notes once more and trying to connect the dots. So, it sounds like this man had just gotten a divorce and was low on cash—the gambling obviously not helping—and had some sort of connection to the president, who had upset him enough for him to purposely go in there and flip over the furniture. And I'm guessing that he stole the president's key card, giving him unlimited access to the building and the security footage, but to get that he'd have to know where to get it so—

"He's related to the president." I muttered, not seeing that I had caught everyone's attention and that Lestrade had just came back into the room.

"Did I miss something?" He asked and I lifted my head, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment as I turned my head away.

"No. Nothing. I was just, uh…thinking out loud." I muttered, handing him my notebook and pointing to the door with a nervous smile. "I'll just be waiting outside."

I quickly left the room, heart in a panic at accidentally speaking out loud and mentally berating myself. Idiot, idiot, idiot! The whole point is to not attract attention! Especially with Sherlock and John around. The last thing you need is to somehow wreck the plot-line and end up getting someone hurt or killed. I sighed and pulled my headphones on, stuffing my hands into my pockets and telling Bobbie that if anyone came looking for me, I'd be just outside. Once out there, I reluctantly pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, inhaling the smoke deeply and letting it out, content to just stand there and listen to 'Chaconne' by Vitali; the violin somehow blocking out the outside noise and allowing me to close my eyes and just relax as I leaned against the wall outside. I didn't expect to be disturbed for a while, but fate had other plans and someone pulled my headphones off.

"Oi!" I called out, opening my eyes with a glare, only to see someone I didn't expect standing before me with a questioning look on his face as he caught what I was listening to.

"Hm, didn't expect someone from America to have a decent taste in music."

I was frustrated and probably would've gotten angry if it had been anyone other than Sherlock Holmes who was criticizing my music, and instead, I simply held out my hand.

"Can I have those back, please?"

He raised a brow, seeming slightly surprised at my response, but handed them back, allowing me to turn off my music and slip them around my neck. Once I finished with that, I took another drag from my cigarette and snuffed it out, slightly upset because I hadn't had a chance to finish it and cigarettes cost quite a bit with my salary. I then turned to Sherlock and promptly looked away nervously.

"I assume Detective Inspector Lestrade wants me?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, though he's not the only one."

I raised a brow at him, but said nothing and just walked with him back to the room where Lestrade was speaking with my professor. Did I do something wrong? I don't like the way they're looking at me. I hesitantly approached them, Sherlock standing nearby as well with John, and they turned their attention to me.

"Ah, Sam. Detective Inspector Lestrade here wishes to speak with you and has offered to take you back to the dorm when you're finished since I need to get the class moving again. Is that alright?"

I nodded, glancing at the smiling detective before my professor bid us farewell and took the class with him out of the precinct. Now, I may be 21, but I can be fairly childish when I want to be, which only became more apparent due to my shyness. On the other hand, I can become very serious when need be as well. Currently though, I was fidgeting in Lestrade's office, not sure why I had been called away from my class or what Sherlock and John were doing in the room with me. My right leg bounced in my nervousness and my eyes scanned the room, taking in everything and nothing all at the same time.

"Stop that."

I jumped at Sherlock's voice and nodded, lowering my head as I stopped bouncing my leg and instead picked at my fingernails.

"Sam Foxe, right?"

I looked up at Lestrade and nodded. "Did I do something wrong?"

Lestrade shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh no. Of course not. I was just interested in this."

He held up my notebook and I raised a brow, very confused.

"What about it?" I asked, more confident now that I knew I wasn't in trouble for anything.

"Well, you were the only one out of the three that were watching the interrogation that got every aspect about the criminal right, as well as a few other bits of information about him."

I felt my lip twitch up in a smile, but kept it minimal.

"Thank you."

He nodded, but then gave me a look that had me nervous once more. "That being said, we were curious as to how you came up with the reasoning behind why the culprit committed the crime."

I blinked, glancing at Sherlock and John, before looking back at Lestrade. "I, um, noticed that the man was divorced by the tan line on his ring finger on his left hand and assumed he had money problems when Mr. Holmes mentioned gambling, giving him ample enough reason to want to rob his company."

Sherlock was suddenly standing beside me and I flinched as he spoke. "And how did you figure out he was related to the president of the company?"

I leaned away from him a bit, swallowing thickly before answering. "You mentioned the furniture being flipped in his office. The culprit didn't like the president and must have taken his key card to get into his office since the alarm wasn't tripped until the culprit wanted it. The only way you can get the key card, provided that the president kept it with him, was to steal it from the man himself or from his home. So you would have to be close enough to him that he would not only let you in his home, but that he would trust you not to steal from him. S-So the man had to be related…A, uh, brother perhaps?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And why would he have a grudge against his…brother?"

I thought for a second, eyes narrowed and a crease between my brows. "Because…his brother was successful and he wasn't. He was jealous."

Sherlock seemed to smirk for an instant before backing away from me and looking at Lestrade.

"I rest my case."

I looked around now, even more confused that I had been when I first walked in. Lestrade though, understood what Sherlock was saying and sighed.

"I can't just let you take him, Sherlock. He's here on a study abroad program and I doubt that the professor would be willing to—"

"I could care less about what some idiotic American professor thinks."

"Sherlock! Can't you say anything nice?!"

The voices in the room grew louder as the three men shouted at one another and with all the noise, I was getting more and more frustrated until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Oi! I don't know what's going on, but don't you think I should have a say in it?!" I shouted, making all of the men stop and turn to me with surprised looks. Not expecting me to actually shout, no doubt.

Lestrade coughed and nodded. "He's right. Ultimately, it's his choice on whether he wants to go with you or not, though I believe his professor has some say in this as well."

I shook my head. "Hold on. What's going on?"

"Apparently," Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, a detective who consults with Scotland Yard, has decided that you should accompany him because he believes you could potentially prove helpful on cases. And I have already tried to explain to him that you are on a school trip and have other things to do, but he refuses to listen."

"I'm not refusing to listen. I simply do not care about what other pointless things Miss Foxe, here, would be doing when she could be proving far more useful doing other things."

"Sherlock!" John shouted, followed by Lestrade.

"Seriously! I know he's a bit feminine, but you don't have to go pointing it out!"

Sherlock laughed as my cheeks turned a nice shade of red.

"Oh please! You don't honestly believe that this is a male, do you? The female bone structure is quite obvious!"

Lestrade and John turned to me as I fidgeted in my seat and rubbed the back of my neck.

"I, uh, would've said something but I prefer it when people figure it out on their own. I don't really care, one way or another."

John and Lestrade both flushed a bit, embarrassed at the fact that they'd been calling me a male this whole time.

"Sorry about that. I just assumed—"

"Yes, we all know what you assumed." Sherlock said, cutting him off. "Now can we please get back to the situation on hand? I have an experiment at home that I need to check on."

Lestrade sighed. "Right, well, I'll have to contact her professor if she agrees. Uh, do you agree?"

I opened my mouth, but Sherlock cut me off.

"Of course she does. It's a far better opportunity that what she's doing now."

I felt my eyebrow twitch, feeling as though I was being treated like I was a five year old who couldn't make my own decisions. And I have enough of that at home with my brothers.

"Actually, I want to ask some questions first to, uh, know what I'm getting into." I said, making Sherlock scoff and tap his foot impatiently.

"Alright. Fire away." Lestrade said with a small grin, probably pleased at how frustrated I was making Sherlock.

I was quiet for a minute, thinking about what exactly I wanted to know and what could influence my decision.

"How long will I be…uh, assisting?"

Lestrade opened his mouth, but Sherlock responded.

"However long I see fit to keep you around, depending on how helpful or detrimental to the case you are."

"Sherlock!" John scolded, but I hummed quietly, still thinking.

"Will I continue to stay in my dorm?"

Sherlock waved a hand, bored already, I'm sure. "A waste of time. You will be staying with us."

"What?! I never agreed to that!" John said and they began arguing once more, but I pulled on my headphones and thought, a hand on my chin and brows furrowed.

Should I do this? Sherlock is right. It would be a great opportunity to improve my skills and, even though I won't be with my class, I'm sure real life work would be a better experience than sitting in a classroom listening to lectures. But then there's the plot. I need to remember that I'm still in Sherlock and, though I don't know where at in the plot I am, the possibility of me screwing something up is extremely high. Not only that, but the danger I'll be put in…My thoughts trailed off as I noticed my hand shaking and I frowned contemplatively. Shaking…out of fear? Or excitement? My brothers have always told me how reckless I am. Perhaps I'm like John and Sherlock. I get off on it, but I just don't know it yet… Suddenly, my headphones were pulled off and I frowned, looking up at John with a glare that softened slightly upon seeing who it was.

"Ah… sorry. I just thought—"

"She was thinking, John." Sherlock said, a slight smirk on his face. "Music helps her think, correct?"

I nodded, turning off the music as I slipped the headphones back around my neck. "Yes, sorry. I, uh, I've decided though."

Sherlock smirked. "Perfect. You're coming then?"

I nodded, surprising Lestrade and John. "Ah, but I need to make sure my professor agrees. I don't need to end up with a low grade because I… ditched my study abroad trip."

Lestrade nodded, already picking up the phone. "I'll call him and let him know what's going on. Give me a moment."

As he began speaking with my professor, I couldn't help the small smile that tried to make its way onto my face, fingers drumming on my leg in excitement. I heard a chuckle and looked over at John as he laughed, a blush forming on my cheeks from embarrassment.

"You certainly look excited."

I scratched the back of my head nervously. "I just didn't expect this. I'm nothing special and all I did was figure out why the criminal did what he did. It wasn't that hard, so something like this is surprising."

"You deserve it though!" John said, surprised. "I couldn't have figured all that out!"

Before I could get a chance to say anything, Lestrade hung up the phone.

"Sounds like you have the go ahead so far." He said with a smile. "The professor said he expects a five to ten page report by the end of every other week about what you accomplished. And I'll send some of my men to grab your things from the dorm."

I nodded. "I haven't unpacked anything, so it should be pretty easy for them. Though the extra class work isn't something I expected." I muttered.

He nodded back with a chuckle and went ahead and waved us off as Sherlock adjusted his coat. "Well, have fun, you three and try not to get into any trouble."

John let out a chuckle, waving goodbye as we all left the precinct and I followed them into a cab. The cab ride was fairly silent, me staring out the window with my leg bouncing once again, to which Sherlock glared at me until I stopped. I couldn't help it though. I was excited and extremely nervous. I mean, here I was, with two fictional characters in London, and they wanted me to help them with cases! That doesn't just happen to people and, as stoic and unexcited as I appeared, my heart was pounding away the closer we got to Baker Street.

"Miss Foxe."

I turned away from the window to Sherlock. "Sam's fine."

He rolled his eyes. "Sam then. We need to establish some rules if you are to be assisting me on cases."

"Okay."

"First off, don't touch anything. That goes for anything of mine in the flat as well. I don't need you ruining an experiment of mine or contaminating a crime scene."

I frowned a bit, muttering quietly. "I'm not five, you know."

"Also, don't insist on speaking to me about medial matters. I could care less about your boyfriend or classmates or personal life." Sherlock said with a disgusted face.

Like I have a boyfriend. I thought with an eye roll. And I don't even know my classmates.

"And don't complain about anything I do, be it my violin playing at odd hours or my silence for days. I do things my way and my way alone. Which brings me to my last rule." He stared at me seriously with narrowed eyes. "You only do what myself or John says. Got it? I don't need you running off and doing whatever you please while we're trying to solve a crime."

"Alright." I said with a shrug. Hypocrite. You do that with Lestrade all the time.

I had already given up on trying to convince him that I wasn't a child, though I hadn't really tried. I just believed that was how he would treat me until I proved myself to him somehow, or called him out on it and he kicked me off his cases. I dealt with it my whole life, so it shouldn't be too hard to ignore it for a little while more. No matter how much it grates on my nerves. The cab pulled up to Baker Street and the three of us got out, myself having a hard time trying to keep a smile off my face as I entered the famed 221B Baker Street. It looked just like it did in the show and as I followed Sherlock up the stairs, I paid special note to the one stair that creaked when stepped on, and I stepped towards the side of it to keep it from creaking. Sherlock turned around with an odd look when I did that, but shook his head before we entered his flat, him removing his coat and scarf whereas I just stood and took everything in.

A union jack pillow sat on John's armchair with Sherlock's seat sitting across from it. The skull sat on the mantelpiece below a large mirror and books and papers were scattered about all over the place. Then, there was a set of headphones resting on the head of a black steer skull that hung on the wall above a table and chairs and a desk. It's exactly like the show…so cool…I continued to look around, being careful not to touch anything—as per Sherlock's orders—and moved over to his book collection. He had everything from the bible, to most wanted books, to a dictionary of world history, as well as chemistry books, books on guns and their bullets, law books, and mystery and romantic novels (John's, most likely). I hardly noticed Sherlock and John watching me as I stood eye-to-eye with Sherlock's skull, eyes scanning it thoroughly as I began to mutter to myself.

"Caucasian, male, late sixties, died of natural causes."

"Early seventies, actually."

I jumped, turning to find Sherlock looking down at me, one eyebrow raised and hands behind his back.

"S-Sorry."

"Oh, stop apologizing." He complained suddenly. "You can't expect anyone to have confidence in you being an officer of the law if you keep apologizing for every little thing."

I flushed red as I took in his words, bowing my head in shame. He's right. No matter what position I'm looking for as a career in law enforcement, I'm going to have to deal with people and be confident in myself or no one will believe me or care about what I have to say. I clenched my fists at my side in frustration. I already know I can be confident. I can be a leader and I can be strong, but…My stomach churned and my hands fell limp at my sides. There's that fear…That voice telling me it's impossible for someone like me.

"I'll, um, do my best." I said quietly, walking past him and towards the couch to sit down, only to remember I wasn't allowed to touch anything and instead dropped my backpack off next to it and went to the window, staring outside blankly.

"Uh, um… Sam?"

I glanced back at John, hiding my inner turmoil with a bored expression.

"You can sit down if you want. Just because Sherlock said you can't touch anything doesn't mean you have to keep standing."

I slowly nodded and took a seat on the couch, not really sure what to do now since Sherlock was sitting in his chair in thought and John had pulled out a book to read. I felt myself get more and more bored and my leg began bouncing again, only for me to stop it upon catching Sherlock's glare. Once he closed his eyes though, I began picking at a scab on the back of my hand from a scratch I'd gotten from accidentally cutting myself on the edge of something (I say 'something' because I have no idea how I actually got it).

"Argh!" Sherlock suddenly groaned, sitting upright and pointing at me. "Stop that!"

I stared back at him with wide eyes, not really sure what he was talking about.

"W-Wha—"

"You're insistent fidgeting! You bounce your leg, chew your bottom lip, pick at your fingers, scratch at scabs, tap your fingers, or run your hand through your hair every five seconds! Your constant anxiety is an annoyance!"

"I-I, um—"

"Don't apologize!" He half-shouted at me, standing and walking over to hover above me. "You're bored, right? Well, here. I'll give you something to think about."

"Sherlock." John warned, moving to stand, but Sherlock ignored him.

"You're in your late teens, early twenties. A college student from America, obviously. New York, to be specific, but you were born in California and raised there until you moved to attend college. You have older brothers who constantly treated you as though you were a child and, while you resent being treated as such, you say nothing about it. You've never had a job, but you have a cat waiting for you back home. You're smart, but hide it behind ignorance and solitude. You take a lot to get over-stressed and are fairly patient and, while your appearance says you're rebellious and trying to be different from others, you still try to conform and fit in and keep your mouth shut when you should be speaking out.

"Your parents weren't around, deceased, would be my guess. So your brothers took care of you. You're stronger than you appear, probably trained in some martial arts of some sort, but you also have a good taste in music, suggesting that you played an instrument at one time. Though now, you play violin, so your old instrument was probably too big to carry around but not so large that you wouldn't be able to carry it without too much struggle…cello then. You are also very isolated from the people around you and appear to be a shy person as far as personality goes, so I doubt you have a criminal record at all. Your grades are probably in excellent shape as well and your anxiety probably comes from a lack of challenge in life, be it in school or daily activities. You want to do more, but you don't, so you're lacking in self-confidence and have probably been to a therapist at least once for that and depression. Add that to the tattoo you've managed to hide from your brothers on your lower back, and I'd say you're just another regular troubled child."

"Sherlock!" John shouted, having gotten up and made his way over towards us. "Was that really necessary?! So what if she was uncomfortable?! It's to be expected after suddenly taking her from her class and expecting her to run around solving crimes with two strangers! You don't need to go telling her life story over something like that!"

"Y-You're wrong…" I muttered quietly, head bowed.

"Hm?"

I looked up at Sherlock with a glare, tears pricking the corner of my eyes—not from sadness or hurt, but from embarrassment. "I-I said, you're wrong."

It was Sherlock's turn to glare now, as he stared me down. "Then please, educate me."

"I don't speak out because it brings me unwanted attention." I muttered, bowing my head as I swallowed thickly. "I-I-I don't like being noticed and find I work better on my own. Things get done faster without people getting in the way."

"'People getting in the—' What do you mean, Sam?" John asked.

I felt anger rising up in me and I clenched my fists at my side. "I hate people. They're always doing what's best for themselves. Trying to get money, power, women. They're disgusting. Disgusting…and stupid."

John stared back at me, mouth gaping, as Sherlock smirked, moving back to his chair and picking up his violin. "Seems I was right about you…You're far more interesting than everyone thinks."

I shook my head and stood, walking around John and towards the door. "If that's what you want to think…"

"A-Ah! Where are you going, Sam?" John called out, looking at Sherlock and back at me.

I grabbed my headphones and put them on my head. "'Round the block. If I pass a store…I'll, um, grab some milk."

He blinked at me in confusion before I left and headed out of 221B with a frown firmly planted on my face. I know that what I said had shocked John and was very…negative, but it was truly what I thought and that's what Sherlock wanted from me. The truth. And the truth was, I hated humanity and the things they did to people. That was the reason I went into criminology. I was tired of people suffering and picking on the weak. So I was going to put a stop to it. One person at a time.

John glanced at the closed door and turned back to Sherlock.

"Well, that was…odd."

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, plucking at the strings on his violin.

John fidgeted a bit, before closing his book. "Do you think it was alright to let her go by herself?"

"She'll be fine. As I said, she's tougher than she looks."

"Yeah, but she's still a woman."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A woman who looks like a male. I doubt there will be any sex offenders out to get her in the middle of the day, John."

John sighed, lifting his hand to rub his forehead in exasperation. "Well, what about what she said? About hating people. You can't tell me she's alright after that."

"She's finally showing her true self, John. Don't you see?" Sherlock leaned forward abruptly, setting his violin aside with a smirk. "She's not who she appears. Who knows how long she's been hiding herself and this is the perfect opportunity to see what she's capable of."

John sighed. "She's just another case for you to solve, isn't she?"

"A walking, living, breathing case, John. What are the chances that another one like this will come around?" Sherlock said, leaning back in his seat and steepling his hands before him, drifting off into his mind palace and leaving John to worry about their newest companion and whether or not she'd last a week in their company.

As I walked, listening to My Chemical Romance, I suddenly had a tingling sensation race up my spine and I glanced out of the corner of my eye into the window of the store behind me, indiscreetly checking to see if I was being followed. Sure enough, a black car with tinted windows was driving not too far behind me right next to the curb. Him already? That was fast. I let out a deep breath, calming myself, before pulling my hood up and dashing off down the street. Now, I could just let Mycroft speak to me, but being a 'clueless' 21 year old with absolutely no clue what was going on (cough-sarcasm-cough), I acted as any semi-normal person would. I hightailed it out of there.

Now Sherlock just so happened to mention my particular skill in martial arts when he was spouting out my life story earlier, and those skills were now coming to light. Though, it wasn't your typical martial arts. While one of my brothers did teach me judo, this was a far different style. Although, I wasn't sure if parkour even counted as a martial art. Not something I need to dwell on now. I thought, diving under a couch that some movers were bringing into a flat and rounding the corner, hopping over a fence and running through an alleyway. Just as I was about to reach the end of the alleyway, that black car pulled up to the end of it, so I took a detour, jumping up and pulling down the fire escape ladder before nimbly making my way up onto the roof. Thinking quickly as I ran and jumped between buildings, I tried to figure out how Mycroft could follow me. Then, it clicked as I spotted a camera on the building across the way. CCTV cameras. Of course! Now where can those cameras not look? As I figured out the problem, I mentally groaned and a frown made its way onto my face.

"I'm not going to like this." I muttered, sliding down the next available fire escape into an alleyway were I grabbed a couple of empty semi-clean grocery bags from the dumpster and tied them around my feet.

Hating myself for what I was about to do, I glared at the man hole behind me and reluctantly managed to lift the lid enough to squeeze in, covering the entrance and climbing down the ladder, shoes plopping in the disgusting sewer waters below. The only place CCTV cameras don't reach is underground and in the sky. Gross, but necessary. Now the fun part…

"Figuring out where I'm going." I sighed and began walking through the sewers, using my head as best I could to retrace my steps.

After a while I assumed I was where I wanted to be and took a deep breath before pushing open the man hole cover. Luckily, I didn't end up in the middle of a road, but I recognized the little alleyway as the one I passed not half a block from Sherlock's place. I climbed out and recovered the man hole, removing the gross bags on my feet, before sprinting to 221B and hurrying up the stairs to John and Sherlock's flat, a bit out of breath after my chase. John immediately took in my appearance and jumped up, though I didn't let him get far before explaining my disheveled appearance.

"I-I was…being followed…by a black car…ran…lost them…I think…"

John's eyes widened, before narrowing and gently leading me to the couch.

"I'll fix you some tea." He said, heading into the kitchen as I sat on the couch, leg bouncing up and down after my little adrenaline rush.

Sherlock opened his eyes and I stopped, bowing my head as I remembered what he said earlier about me being anxious and about apologizing. Oddly enough, he spoke.

"You think you lost him. How?"

My head snapped up in surprise. "I, um…After running around a bit, I went through the sewers. It's the only place the cameras can't track."

He raised a brow, sitting forward in his seat. "How did you know he used the cameras?"

I swallowed, realizing my mistake a bit too late. "U-Um…He made them move while I was on the phone with him." I lied, taking the excuse from when I watched John meet up with Mycroft in the episodes.

"Hm." Sherlock hummed, eyes narrowed at me, before he leaned back and returned to being silent.

That was close. I thought, as John came back in and set a cup of tea before me.

"Thank you." I said, bringing the hot cup to my lips and sipping it quietly.

"I'm really sorry about that." John said, sitting down in his own seat with a sigh. "It was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, who was following you."

"Oh." I said, trying to keep from letting anything slip again and instead settling for sipping my tea some more.

"I'll see if I can talk some sense into him. It's not right for him to go around trying to kidnap people just to be dramatic." John rolled his eyes, before glancing at Sherlock. "Though I suppose they are two of the same, in that aspect."

Sherlock opened an eye and glared at him, before closing it again, leaving John and I to chuckle lightly. Just then though, I had a thought.

"Um, where am I sleeping?"

"In my bed."/"On the couch." John and Sherlock answered simultaneously.

I blinked a few times as John glared at Sherlock, before answering. "I don't want to take your bed, John. I'm fine with the couch."

"I can't do that!" John replied. "It's our fault you have to leave your dorm room in the first place."

I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "Actually, I never wanted to sleep in the dorm room to begin with. I was planning on sneaking down to the rec room and sleeping on a couch there."

John stared at me in shock. "What? Why?"

"I-I said it before. I really don't like people. That, and my roommate was someone who would end up texting all night so I doubted I'd get any sleep." I said with a slight frown.

"Well, I hate to say it, but you're probably not going to get any sleep around here either." John grumbled. "Sherlock tends to play his violin at all hours of the night."

"Is there something wrong with my violin playing?" Sherlock complained.

"No, of course not." John replied with a sarcastic tone. "It's great, up until 3am."

I glanced between the two, feeling the tension rise, when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door frame, catching our attention.

"Yo-ho! Isn't the doorbell working? There's some officers downstairs with some luggage."

I jumped up, eager to leave the room while Sherlock and John were having a little tiff.

"That's mine."

Mrs. Hudson looked at me in surprise. "Oh! And who are you, dear?"

"That's Sam Foxe, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied, ignoring John who was still glaring at him. "She'll be staying with us for a while to assist with my work."

"I see. It's nice to have you then, dear." She said with a smile, holding a hand out that I shook with a minuscule smile—not really liking the physical contact, but dealing with it for now. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. It'll be nice to have a woman around, so please just ask if you'll be needing anything."

"Will do." I replied, before pointing to the door. "I, uh, I should go get my luggage."

"Yes, yes! Don't let me hold you up."

I nodded politely to her and hurried off down the stairs with a sigh. She is far too happy for my tastes. I thought, never really liking the overly cheerful type of people. They always seemed to have the need to get into your business. No offense to Mrs. Hudson, of course, but there's a limit to how much 'nice' I could handle. I opened the door then and greeted the single police officer, relieving him of my things and carrying them back upstairs with relative ease. Once I walked back into 221B though, John seemed adamant about me taking his room which I continued to decline.

"Really, just take it. I'm fine sleeping on the couch." He said.

I shook my head, placing my suitcase against the end of the couch—thus out of the way.

"No, John. I already said I'll take the couch and I'm pretty stubborn, so I doubt you'll get me to change my mind."

"But—"

"No." I said sternly, sitting on the couch, arms crossed over my chest and eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Alright." John sighed, before looking at me with a small smirk. "Seems you and Sherlock will get along just fine seeing as you're both as stubborn as a mule."

"Don't compare me to him/her!" Sherlock and I shouted, pointing at each other before glaring at one another as John chuckled.

"Haha, s-should I be expecting a happy announcement soon?"

I felt my ears and cheeks turn red at John's words, but Sherlock just scoffed, closing his eyes once more.

"Please, John. I've already told you I'm married to my work and any such sentiment towards someone of her age is bordering pedophilia."

The heat in my face began to get worse. "I-I'm 21!"

"With the figure of a twelve year old."

Instead of getting redder, I felt any frustration with Sherlock fly right out the window, being replaced by a deep, aching pit in the base of my stomach. I knew I couldn't just storm out again and I didn't really have a room I could go to. And I'm taking too long to respond. He's going to deduce something. Quick brain! T-Think something up.

"Yeah, whatever." I said with a frown, laying down on the couch and rolling so that I was facing the back of it.

My fake frustrated expression disappeared and slipped into one of sadness as I curled into myself a bit. Self-confidence wasn't something I really had and I've always had people poking at my figure and appearance my whole life. Even my brothers constantly teased me about it and, while I joked it off, it really hurt sometimes. As much as I hated hearing it though, I didn't have enough confidence to tell people I didn't like it or they were people close to me and I just didn't want to make them feel bad.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

I grit my teeth as the Sherlock quote found its way into my head, making me even more frustrated with myself. Quickly, I pulled on my headphones, allowing the music to come over me and help me keep my emotions in check as well as shut me down from the rest of the world. No more, Sam. Stop thinking about yourself. You're in Sherlock remember? You need to make sure no one gets hurt and that the plot goes exactly as planned. So think. Where are you at in the plot? I quickly dug through my mind for what had happened in the past few hours and picked up a few minor things that would be able to help.

"It was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, who was following you."

Alright. So after the 'Study in Pink' case. I took a quick glance above me and didn't see the usual smiley face painted on the wall, closing my eyes with a small frown. Before the 'Blind Banker' case. And the burglary he just solved wasn't in the plot, so it was probably just a non-canon case. I continued to think about what I could and couldn't do as far as the plot goes, when those little bells went off in my head loudly enough to derail my train of thought and toss it onto another track. I sat up abruptly, earning a curious look from the other two occupants, and quickly flopped over the arm of the couch and pulled out my notebook, pencil, and a pack of sticky notes. I began scribbling quick ideas on the sticky notes and flipped to the back of my notebook with my free hand, revealing pages upon pages full of sticky notes, and began sticking my new notes onto the half-filled page where I needed them, connecting them with lines from a red sharpie I had also grabbed from my pack.

This went on for a while, before I felt the train in my head slow to a milder pace and I tossed what I had back into my backpack and leaning back on the couch with a sigh, putting my headphones around my neck so I could pull a hand through my hair.

"What, ah, what was that?"

I looked up, eyes wide, having forgotten that John and Sherlock were still here, and turned a light shade of red at having been caught doing something I allowed only a few people to witness.

"I-I, um…was just…writing?"

"Obviously." Sherlock mumbled, making me slink back a bit into the couch.

"No one asked you, Sherlock." John snapped at him, letting me know that he had noticed my sudden tepidness earlier, before he turned to me with an encouraging smile. "What do you write?"

"A-A mystery story…I guess…" I swallowed thickly, not really liking to talk about my stories. They're not that good anyway…

"Oh! That's interesting! Is it based on anything?"

I shook my head. "No. Well, sometimes, I guess. I normally just make notes of whatever interesting comes to mind. Sometimes it happens after I watch the news or read about things."

"Could I read it sometime?"

I felt that familiar heat creep up to my cheeks as I shook my head. "It's not that good. You probably wouldn't like it."

"Nonsense! It can't be that bad!"

I looked at him and just couldn't bear to say no to his honest and cheerful expression and I sighed. "I suppose I could let you read the first book. If you, um, critique it for me? I-I don't really have anyone to edit it or anything and my…friend who reads it could be a bit bias."

"Sure! Ah, but wait. You said 'first book'? You wrote more than one?"

I nodded, getting more and more embarrassed by the minute. "F-Four. I'm writing the fifth one now. I, um, had a lot of free time in school…"

He chuckled, helping ease up my nervousness a bit. "Okay. I'd be honored to read your books."

I nodded once more and went over to my back pack, flipping through a few notebooks that were in there, before moving on to my suitcase and pulling out three five-subject notebooks that looked well-worn, and I got up and passed them to John.

"These have the first book. They're labeled on the cover what they are so you don't end up reading the ending first or anything."

He took them, eyes wide in surprise, before setting two aside and holding up the other. "I'll get started right now then. Looks like I'll have plenty of reading to do."

I felt the corner of my lip twitch upwards, before heading back to the couch with a yawn. As I looked outside, I noticed that it was already getting dark and mused my hair in slight frustration. Jet lagged. I can't sleep just yet or I'll be really messed up tomorrow. my stomach growled then as well and John chuckled, setting down the notebook he had just opened.

"I'll order some take-out. Do you want anything in particular?"

"I'll take what you recommend, but nothing with seafood. I don't particularly care for seafood."

"I'll keep that in mind." He said, going to order and leaving me alone in the living room once more with Sherlock.

It was quiet, but only for a moment before Sherlock broke it.

"You're an exceptional liar."

I jumped a bit, cringing for being so cowardly. Though I've been pretty shy since I got here. Go figure.

"I had a lot of practice." I muttered, hands folded on my lap and head bowed.

"And you don't like your appearance."

I grit my teeth tightly, struggling to keep from either breaking down in tears or punching Sherlock in the face. Stay calm. He's nothing compare to what you've had to deal with. Calm.

"No. I don't." I said, my voice somehow staying calm.

"Yet you purposely cut your hair in a short boy style. Now, why is that?"

Before I could answer, John returned with a cheerful smile.

"It's on its way and…Um, did I interrupt something?"

I ignored him and laid back down on the couch, facing away from everyone once more and putting my headphones back on. Unfortunately for John, he assumed I was playing music and began getting angry with Sherlock once more thinking I wasn't listening.

"Sherlock, what'd you do this time?"

"Don't know why you're getting angry, John. I simply stated a few facts."

"Yeah, well, your facts can be hurtful to some people!"

"Like I care about what other people think."

"You might want to! Especially if you want her to be staying with us for a while!"

"She can leave if she wants, John. There's nothing stopping her."

"You—" I heard John groan in frustration, the sound of his shuffling feet just barely being heard through my headphones even without music playing. "You're a right git, you know that?"

"So you've told me."

"Just…try to get along with her."

It went quiet then and I turned on my music, doing my best to try and keep from sleeping until the food arrived. It was harder than I thought, but I managed and once John had gotten the take-out and brought it up, we sat in our respective seats and ate quietly. You could feel the tension in the room and after a while, it had obviously began to get on John's nerves and he slammed down his empty take-out container and glared at the two of us.

"Enough! That's enough! Sherlock, apologize!"

"You want me to…what?"

"I said, apologize. Obviously you said something you shouldn't have and I'm tired of this…this tension! Now hurry up and apologize so we can get back to our lives!"

"Why should I have to—"

I quickly cut Sherlock off. "I-It's fine!"

All eyes turned to me.

"I mean, it's my fault for taking his questions personally." I gave a nervous smile. "I'm sure he was genuinely curious and I, um, overreacted a bit is all. Sorry I made the atmosphere all…awkward."

Sherlock gestured to me with a small smirk. "See? No apology needed. She's fine."

"Yeah well…" John scooped up the empty containers from off the table and made his way towards the kitchen with a small frown. "Try to keep the atmosphere a bit less tense, would you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and settled back in his chair, but stayed silent the rest of the night as John and I spoke a bit and settled in for the evening. John had gotten me some blankets to use and I changed into some pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt in their bathroom before lying down on the couch. As I curled up on the couch, I noticed Sherlock hadn't moved from his place and I rolled over to face the back of the couch for now to avoid bothering him by staring or some other such fan girl nonsense. He was after all, the Benedict Cumberbatch and as much as I wanted to appreciate his amazing acting and good looking features, I always felt bad for those celebrities who had to deal with the crazy fans and had vowed that, should I ever meet one, I was going to treat them like every other person. Well, other than giving them the respect they deserve.

Not only that, but right here, right now, this wasn't Benedict Cumberbatch. This was Sherlock Holmes. The high-functioning sociopath who would probably kick me out on the spot should I go fan girl on him. He was almost like a museum piece to me. Something meant to be respected and looked at, but never touched and never compared to any other fake copies. Though for all I know, there's going to be a way for me to get off of this time-line and I'll regret it later. I mentally sighed, feeling a little cloud of depression hover over me the more I thought about it. If I could only get one thing from being here, just one thing, I'd want his respect. That's it. Nothing more, just the respect of the most renowned detective the world has seen. I felt a small smile slip onto my face and brought the blankets in closer as I slowly fell asleep, only to be in for a restless night of nightmares.