Bonjour, this is my first Sherlock Holmes story and was inspired to write this after I saw the movie and I must say it was absolutely fantastic with a dollop of wonderful. I loved it. And I hope you love this story.

This is also posted on my quizilla account so don't come barkin' to me about it if you recognise it. ;P

Et nous commencerons.

"Holmes?" The anal doctor questioned, observing the scruffy man who stared at a clear jar filled with flies, picking incessantly at an old violin, who was indeed this 'Holmes' he questions. "What, exactly are you doing?"

"Consider this, Watson," he informed the doctor, without looking from the bottle, "I play chromatics..." He starts playing a chromatic scale, picking at the thin strings and the flies completely ignore him, "and nothing. However, if I play a sixth chord..." As his fingers move in changed chords, the flies start moving in circles, "they fly in counterclockwise concentric circles. I have created order out of chaos with music."

Watson stands amazed, "How did you do that?"

"Trial and error, Watson. I've been at it for six hours, in fact!" There is a pause for a moment when Watson walks over to the jar, placing his hand on the lid.

"And what happens when I do this?" And he lifts off the lid, releasing the flies. Holmes glared at him in return, while Watson just smirked his little smirk. "We have a new neighbor, Holmes."

"What?" stood and placed his violin on the desk and walked over the window, his hands behind his back.

"Ms. Hudson informed me as I'd gotten here that there should be new vacant in the apartment next to ours." Watson leaned on the desk and watched Holmes tap his chin with his forefinger like he always did when he thought.

"New vacant?" He repeated.

"Yes, in 221A. I suppose they should be moving their things in within the hour. I wonder if they're friendly."

Holmes thought longer, then turned to face Watson, "How...peculiar." He looked at the unshaven man with curiosity, "The last time someone inhabited that apartment was ten years ago, no one has ever been there since, I wonder what has prone whoever to move in." He walked back over to the window and looked down at the street below as a buggy pulled up the curb with boxes and boxes of luggage stacked on top.

As the cariage pulled up to the curb, a woman looked out the window at the tall building that stood on Baker street. She gazed with her cool green eyes, memories of her past behind those mirrors of vision. She stepped out slowly, squinting in the sunlight. Reaching back into the carrage, she pulled out a notebook and sketching pencils.

Her name is Emma Gitali, or otherwise known as Emma Livingston. Now, 27 and years of knowledge under her belt, she's returned to London after ten years of travel. She visited the most and better part of Asia and witnessed three months of the downfall of Singapore, though found her stay in India to be the most rewarding. Emma had been a traveling artist and had finally raised enough money to move back to London and inhabit the apartment she grew up in. And she just couldn't wait to see her mother and father again, it has been too long since she's seen their loving faces.

Emma walked up to the front door, turned the door handle, and smiled; mother never locked the door. Small steps into the house she once remembered as the house of so much was...empty.

"Mum? Dad? Hello?" She looked around while she stood frozen at the door, and nothing but an eerie silence greeted her.

She sighed, set her bag down, "Welcome home, Emma."

A man's voice erupted behind her.

"Miss. Gitali, where do you want these?" One of the movers came up and asked her, gesturing towards a large stack of blank, sheer canvases.

"Oh, there should be a room on the left, just follow the stairs and its the biggest room on the second level, put them there. Thank you." She smiled and watched as the four movers brought all her belongings into the home she always knew.

As she sat on the steps several hours later, sketching the busy street in front of her she heard a door open and close, heels on steps, and saw two feet standing of to the side of her. She looked up and saw an aging woman with a smile on her face.

"Oh, Emma, it's so good to see you." She stood and hugging the lady lovingly, which she returned. "How were your travels?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, I cannot begin to explain how magnificent the world outside of England was. Though India was stollen a piece of my heart, and I believe a little bit of myself will always stay there." Emma smiled, thinking of those lovely nights in India she spent.

"I can imagine," Mrs. Hudson made a gesture towards her attire, thick Indian culture woven into every tread of her dress, greens and golds and yellows and reds, it's not hard to guess where she'd been for the last ten or so years.

Emma laughed, "But it is so great to be back in London, to be back on Baker street." Mrs. Hudson smiled and rubbed Emma's arm.

"Well, it's a pleasure to have you back. I hope you've been getting settled in-"

BANG BANG BANG!

Emma's head shot up to the sound of a gun being shot in the apartment overhead.

"Oh, good god in heaven," She rubbed her palm on her forehead, "He's at it again..." Even though Emma gave her a questioning look, Mrs. Hudson never minded it, "I must go, but it's good to have you back, and I expect first months payment within this week."

Emma nodded, "You'll have it soon." She said as she watched Mrs. Hudson rush back to 221B, and went back to her sketching.