Meeting Sherlock

"Y/n! I'm so glad you could come." my Aunt Martha said when I stepped out of the cab. She pulled me into a tight hug and I returned it. "I'm glad you invited me. It's been too long since I've seen you," I told her, as I took my suitcase. "One suitcase?" she asked, "You're staying for at least a year." I smiled wearily. "I wanted to leave as much as I could behind me," I told her and she nodded in understanding, then quickly changed the subject. "You're going to have to share a parlor and kitchen. I hope you don't mind," she said apologetically. "Of course I don't mind. Who are they?" I asked as she led me up a flight of steps to number 221c. "Their names are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Ah, there you are dear, home sweet home," she said opening the door to my room. I set my suitcase on my bed and looked around. A queen size took up most of the room with an (f/c) bedspread that matched perfectly with walls and curtains. There was a small bookcase and desk next to it. "Thank you, Aunt Martha. It's perfect," I said hugging her again. "Would you like to meet the boys. Mind you Sherlock can be a bit… aloof," she said, and I nodded. She led me back to the landing and knocked on the door then opened it. I stepped in and saw two men, one with dirty blonde hair and a kind face, the other had black curly hair and was draped across the small sofa. The blonde one looked up from his laptop and smiled. "You must be Mrs. Hudson's niece, she told us you were coming. My name is John Watson," he said, standing and shaking my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Watson. I'm Y/n L/n." "Please, call me John. You're from America am I correct? What brings you to London," he asked. I was about to answer but the black-haired man spoke first. "She left because of her family's death, most likely car accident or a break-in. Though I am leaning more towards the latter if only for the fact that I heard Mrs. Hudson talking about a house robbery on the ph-" "Sherlock!" John exclaimed glaring at the tall man. "It's alright," I said rather shakily. "Mr. Holmes I assume. I have heard of your exploits, tell me what else can you deduce?" I asked, and he looked me over, then closed his eyes. "You had a younger sister. You also had a dog but you either left it behind or it was killed along with your family. You work as a mechanic or machinist. You also practice kickboxing, situational awareness, and firearms. You also practice singing. Your father was in some branch of the military. Did I get anything wrong?" he asked opening his eyes. "No, you didn't, the only thing is that I'm both a mechanic and machinist. But how did you know I practice situational awareness and singing?" I asked him. "When you walked into our flat you were slightly tense, then preceded to scan the entire room before you relaxed. John does this as well," Sherlock said gesturing to the man beside me. "As for the singing, your breathing and the way you speak told me, mezzo-soprano, if I am not mistaken," he said and I nodded and he continued, "I knew you had a sister because of your necklace, it says Big Sister. As for the dog, there are still hairs on your clothes. As for your occupation, the scarring on your knuckles and the Prussian blue stain on your fingers. The kickboxing I could tell by your stance, that stance is particularly used in kickboxing. The firearm, I see the holster protruding slightly on your right side. As for your father, your familiarity with firearms, situational awareness, and martial arts led me to believe your father was some sort of military," he concluded, and I gave a small laugh. "My dad was a cook in the navy he only fired a gun once in boot camp," I said, and Sherlock looked slightly puzzled, so I continued, "but he did spend the next twenty years in law enforcement." "There's always something," he muttered. "What kind of gun do you carry?" John asked me to change the subject. "Glock 19, it was my dad's," I answered. "Mind if I have a look?" he asked. I nodded and pulled the gun out of its holster. I took out the magazine and made sure there was no bullet in the chamber. I handed it to him, and he checked as well. Sherlock came over and inspected it as well. "What about you two? Do you carry?" I asked. "I carry Sig Sauer P226," John answered. "British army Browning L9A1," said Sherlock going back to the couch. John was about to show me his pistol, but Sherlock sat up. "Lestrade's coming. What is it?" this last part was to the man that walked in the door. "Bullet wound to the side of the head. The door was locked, we had to take the door off its hinges to get in. No windows. No gun anywhere in the entire house. Will you come?" the man asked. "Yes, but not in the police car. What's the address?" The man gave it to him then left. He grabbed his coat and John put his gun in its holster. They both went out of the door. I looked around the flat and as I turned to go back to my room Sherlock was there leaning against the doorway. "You want to come?" he asked. "Wouldn't miss it," I said smiling. He gave me a wink, then with a flourish of his coat, he left the flat with me in tow.
A/N So that is my first one shot. I hope you liked it. I will have one with John out soon, please let me know what you think and please send in a request.