Witch's thoughts: first attempt at writing Sherlock fic. I hope you'll enjoy it^^

Disclaimer: Sherlock and John don't belong to me (too bad) but to sir A.C. Doyle and BBC...

Beta: Rhea1305

reviews are much appreciated! now, enjoy :)

"Call the police."

"What happened!"

"I've found a dead body in the alley. Better it be us to report it…"

"A… are you joking? A body!"

"I told you. Let's call the police. If we are lucky they will know what to do with it."

~o~o~o~o~

Sherlock pushed the door so hard that it hit a wall with a loud bang. All heads turned into his direction.

He smirked, noting the annoyance on Donovan's face. But the small feeling of another achieved goal in making-her-pissed-with-only-his-presence contest vanished quickly, when the detective noticed who else was in the room.

Aside Lestrade, Donovan and some other policemen Sherlock and John knew from their frequent visits, there were two girls, sitting quietly in their chairs. Both witnesses for the 'homeless' corpse case', found on railway station earlier this evening. The girls were complete contrasts; one was a blonde, blue-eyed "angel", trembling with each sob coming from her chest, while the other could be classified as average brunette. The only feature worth mentioning, as it seemed stunningly odd, was her icy calm. She was sitting stiffly on her chair, with arm around the shoulders of her friend.

"You are the one that found him dead." Sherlock stated, pointing at her. John looked at him, surprised. The dark one was calmer, whilst the fair one showed every symptom of nervous breakdown. Any normal human would assume it was the blonde who found the body, judging by her reaction, but then again, Holmes wasn't normal, no matter what criteria one would apply.

The dark haired girl nodded mutely.

Lestrade chose this moment to give the details to Sherlock, who drank the stream of information like a sponge. It was a really simple case: a homeless man was found dead in the alley near train station, however what caused Lestrade to call Holmes was that the man wasn't exactly 'homeless'. As the police had managed to verify, he was one of the most prominent presidents of a very influential company, not some unknown dressed like a rag. Yet, nobody had reported him missing. Nobody was alarmed when the man didn't come to work today. As if he was nonexistent.

Holmes smirked.

"Who are they?" John glanced at the calmer of the girls, as all the policemen did, surprised at hearing her unexpected question.

"Are they also detectives?" the dark one asked again, unaffected by the many stares. "Can I see their badge?" Her friend stopped sobbing; now trying to wipe off her tears

Lestrade wanted to say something to explain the situation to the girls in calm, nonthreatening voice, but yet again, his speech was cut short even before it began. Sherlock stepped forward, with his own unique manner making all the people present to follow him.

"You are a Polish, most likely in your early twenties; you're on holiday but soon will return to University. You wanted to meet a friend of yours, who you have known for two years. You have a sister, about whom you're terribly worried and you're waiting for a message from her, expecting something bad. You are running a fever, since you've had a quite nasty cold recently but didn't want to postpone the trip." He said, throwing the words as if they were bullets. Sharply, he turned to the other girl, making her gasp and flinch unintentionally.

"You, are obviously a German, about twenty, studying biology or dentistry, accompanying your friend on her trip. You are the younger one of the two of you; you have an older brother and a sister and you live in Bavaria. You've had a birthday recently…" he babbled absent-mindedly, only from time to time looking at the girls, paying more attention to the documents he was going through on Lestrade's desk . In the silence that followed, the blonde whispered.

"Who is he?" she spoke for the first time, her voice still a little slurred from crying, but the harshness of her speech betrayed her German nationality

Lestrade once again made an effort to calm the witnesses, an action that would have been unnecessary, if Holmes not be there, but as he was needed in the case, it couldn't be helped. Then, he asked the Polish girl to repeat her testimony, emphasizing without words that it was Sherlock now she should be addressing in her speech. The girl nodded.

The role of the girls seemed minor, in no immediate danger since they had not seen the murderer's face. They were supposed to meet their friend so she could pick them up, but as the two of them lost their way, the Polish girl left the other with their luggage and went to find the way. She nearly stumbled over the body, going around the corner of one of the alleys. They had called the police. Lestrade admitted, at this point, that he had wanted to let the girls go free, but as it turned out it wasn't a usual beggar, they agreed to call Holmes. And that was all.

Sherlock glanced at the dark haired one.

"You don't remember anything else? Maybe something strange about the body?"

John looked up at his flat mate, surprised by the change in his voice. He wasn't the usual irritated four-year-old or ecstatic crime lover; he sounded genuinely curious. Not that he needed to, John thought, he must be trying to get some details then.

The Polish girl slowly shook her head in denial. This gesture made Sherlock let out an exaggerated sigh, before he improved his own mood by talking Lestrade into letting him see the corpse. However, the second time the door banged at the wall made all of them wince, as another young woman stormed inside. She turned out to be the English friend the two witnesses and now she demanded let her take the two girls to her house to let them recover from the shock. And against her loud self-confidence, the police could do nothing, especially that the girls were undoubtedly innocent. Lestrade looked shortly at Holmes, who nodded.

The girls took their bags, walking to the door still with arms wrapped around each other. The blonde seemed to have weak knees as she was leaning on the Polish girl, who was taller and less fragile than she was. John smiled warmly at them, trying to reassure her without words. Those young women had encountered some things that one should not see, ever. They needed a little support.

"Do zobaczenia, Miss." He heard Sherlock say, causing the Polish girl to turn her head sharply to look the detective in the eye. Her ponytail smacked her face, as she gave Holmes a look that could burn whole cities to ashes.

"I have nothing more to say, Mister Holmes" she said in icy cold tone, her voice faltering a little on some of the sounds, with her strange, soft accent. She seemed unused to using English, and if Sherlock was right, she came from Slavic country with a melodious language.

John was a little curious about that, but given London was already infested with Poles, not too much. He liked her voice though, even if tired and… wait a minute, scared? Was she scared of Sherlock? Why so? And what the hell did he tell her?

He cornered Holmes just after they left the Yard, but was shrugged off with little effort. Sherlock didn't want to talk about it.

Hours later, when they came back to Baker Street 221B, after running all over London and spending bloody ages in Bart's, where Sherlock wanted to test his new experiment, John was too tired to even try asking him about the girls. It seemed so far away in time, that he'd forgotten all about it completely, until Sherlock reminded him.

"Now, we can be sure that Miss Polish is innocent" he said, holding his hand high and looking at the glass filled with something dark from this perspective.

John eyed him, frowning. "What are you talking about? They are innocent, they couldn't have done it."

"Not they, but she, and yes, she could have done it, John" Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if tired of how slow one particular doctor could be sometimes. But then again, he couldn't fight his habit to explain it to his partner. "She went there alone, there was enough time and considering the body was just stabbed, anybody could have done it. Especially someone who found the man."

"So, you say that she is innocent, all in all?" John took off his jacket, hanging it on a nearly chair. He stepped into kitchen.

"Too weak." Was the only answer he got, before he heard Sherlock pacing in the living room, knocking things down and move the papers all over the room. John ignored it; it just meant that his troublesome flat mate was thinking something over, solving some case he didn't tell about or simply wondering how to torment Mycroft again. But the sound of something crashing made John jump into the room.

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the carpet, frozen as if in realization, when the glass container lay in pieces on the floor, with the dark red liquid sipping slowly through cracks.

"What the…"

"I have to see that girl. Have to question her again." Sherlock turned on his heels, grabbing the coat and scarf. Sighing with remorse, John followed him.

He knew full well that if he didn't, someone was going to die. Holmes seemed restless; there was no taxi around and he stood around waiting for it, completely unmoving. John jogged to join him on the pavement.

"But the police already questioned them" he reminded Sherlock, whose frantic waving of arms caused one of the cabbies to stop ignoring them. "What's the point in doing that again? Lestrade is good at his job".

Sherlock looked at him with a sigh of frustration.

When they were finally seated and going to Yard again, he said, "Maybe. But she may be accused of murdering this man, if Lestrade is as stupid as I think he is, given he still has Anderson near." He said, glancing outside the window, at London lit with sunset light. He was so occupied with his thoughts that at John's startled 'What?' He just shrugged.

"If I'm correct, and I know I am, right now, that Polish girl was arrested by the Scotland Yard, accused of a murder, when they found the blooded knife in her luggage." He said as if it was a news review "not even considering that it was impossible… oh, here we are!"

John hated the way Sherlock thought that everyone else was inferior to him. In truth, they were, but this wasn't making the situation any better. He knew that something was wrong, he felt it unconsciously, when entering the Yard and even still going up the stairs, he couldn't dismiss a scratchy feeling of uncertainty.

The dark haired girl was there, as Sherlock had said she would be, but right now handcuffed and sitting on a chair with two policemen on each her side, and with her English friend who was arguing with Donovan. He felt Sherlock growl quietly, speeding his steps. Lestrade sighed with relief, noticing him, going through the office with determination of a tank.

"We…" the detective began, only to be interrupted by Sherlock's annoyed voice.

"…made a fool of yourselves, yes I know" he barked back, storming past Lestrade and stopping near the Polish girl. She looked awfully calm, for someone cuffed and surrounded with police officers: most people wouldn't be.

And before her friend could start her shouting again, Sherlock spoke, "I know that you are innocent. Now, stop hiding it and tell me what you saw."

Ignoring the surprised gasps and Donovan's objection, he leaned closer to her, to look her in the eyes, as she had done previously. She didn't blink.

"I've seen nothing more than I already said." She stated calmly. With Lestrade coming behind him, to grab his arm and John, who tried to make some sense from what he was just hearing, Sherlock started to pace around the small cubicle.

"She is feverish, not quite healthy from her previous cold, she's not muscled much, meaning she doesn't train on daily basis, her fingers are not callused, but would be if she had to hold something rough like a knife handle for a longer period of time, so tell me Lestrade, how an untrained, sick woman could stab to death a middle aged, healthy man?" with each word, his voice was higher and more angry. John knew this voice. Holmes used it with people who were too stupid to understand him, or were lying to him on purpose. Was she lying?

"Who the hell are you?" the English woman stepped forward, guarding the 'culprit' from Sherlock, who from his side, tried not to be pushed backwards. He narrowed his eyes, annoyed, making John jump between them. Sherlock was lazy enough not to do anything to her, not physically that is, but who knew what he was going on in his mind? To achieve what he wanted, he was able to do really strange things, and John didn't want to have more casualties on his conscience than he already had, from not preventing Holmes' actions in time. But he saw that the woman was tough as well, as she didn't even flinch under Sherlock's heavy gaze.

"It's alright, Sarah."

The three of them jerked back to look at the dark haired girl, who was still sitting quietly and looking at them with her grey eyes shining with fever. She seemed not to mind the audience, but her attention was exclusively focused on Sherlock. Tilting her head to the side, she turned with small smile to her friend.

"It's alright. They'll help me" the woman wanted to say something, surely to protest, but Sherlock pushed her aside, again getting access to sitting girl, now grabbing her arms and holding her still. All people in the room were frozen by intensity of their gazes, grey looking into grey, so much so that the air between them seemed to thicken. The girl blinked, moving her hands so the handcuffs made clicking noise, and their connection broke, as Sherlock snorted.

"We will, if you tell me what have you seen." he said annoyed, letting her go and turning around, so that he didn't see the look of disappointment crossing her face. When she spoke, her voice was again indifferent and a little resigned.

"I've already told you everything."

Sherlock scowled at her, turning on his heels so quickly that his coat's tails danced around him. John knew that a cutting answer was forming on detective's lips; then, in a split second his expression softened, growing first slightly astonished, as if an idea that didn't occur to him was revealed, then he frowned. Unfortunately, Lestrade chose this moment, to try and turn detective's attention back to the case.

"Sherlock, would you stop…"

"You are a Polish, you have in genes not trusting the police… but you say you're not hiding anything… you saw; you talked; you testified…" he mumbled, questioning and answering his questions himself. Nobody dared to voice objections, nobody wanted to interrupt Sherlock's way of thinking, and all people present followed him with their eyes except John, who kept looking from Sherlock to the girl and back again. She was observing the detective intently, as if waiting for him to get the idea she wanted him to. And when he did, he smiled as only Sherlock could and John unconsciously, immediately knew that something was going to happen.

And he didn't like it at all.

~o~o~o~o~

The girl turned around the corner, looking carefully around, trying to guess what to anticipate from the crawling shadows. She was scared; even the lightest movement of a dirty paper on the ground, was making her jump in nervous, unfocused stumbles that held very little resemblance to the self-confidence a blackmailer should have. Because she wasn't here just for a walk, no sane person would be there if they really didn't have to. And yet, she stepped further into dark alley.

A cat leapt from a trash can, observing the girl with yellow gaze of a devil.

"You shouldn't be here." A voice from the deepest darkness made her jump to the nearest wall, before she managed to compose herself enough to step forward. The murderer laughed shortly, still hidden, "I have the tool. One thousand pounds or I'll ask the police how much would they pay for their proof. What a funny little girl you are, my lady."

The irony was icy cold and raw madness in the man's voice was terrifying. Nonetheless, the girl found voice in her throat to answer, hoarse, forced sound of cornered animal, that knows its only chance to get away is to fight. She drew in a shaky breath.

"You stabbed Mister Collins with the army knife and hid it in my luggage."

The murderer said nothing, but the shape moved in the shadows. Clenching her fists, the girl went on.

"Analysing who was around me and my bag during the probable time of the murder wasn't so hard, as well as getting the video from security camera from the police. Even your number was easy to obtain, since it was you who received the message."

The silence from shadow followed. The girl threw a nervous glance around, licked her dry lips to gather enough wits and waited. Being well aware that the murderer was circling her in the darkness, where the street lights couldn't reach, she felt a cold chill going slowly upwards her spine, in the end nearly raising her hair. But she stubbornly stood in place.

"And my reason?" the voice sounded curious. The girl sighed inwardly with relief; he wasn't going to hurt her yet, he was still too interested in her speech and completely convinced of her harmlessness. So far, so good.

"You don't need a reason. It's called a thrill murder" she whispered, tensing. Now or never.

What happened later was only a blur of emotions and pictures. Policemen everywhere, snipers and officers with dogs, all of them jumped to overpower the murderer. The girl was pushed first down, then back, to a theoretically safe zone of police cars that now parked with screeching noise. Someone put a blanket over her shoulders; someone else forced her to sit down on one of the cars, giving her a sedative along with some water to drink. The noise was overwhelming, the man tried to escape, but there were too many people after him. Now, he was shouting, cursing and swearing, promising her living hell if he ever got out of police custody. The girl was trembling the whole time; but now, she shivered so much, that she nearly dropped the cup with water. Then, a warm, steady hand helped her hold it.

"Good job there" John said, when she sharply looked up at him "Can I?" he asked, pointing at space near her, obviously wanting to sit down, and as she nodded shortly, he did just that.

"Thank you, doctor."

"I believe we were not properly introduced yet. I'm John Watson." He smiled, adjusting the blanket on her shoulders with one hand, with the other urging her to drink her water. Only when she swallowed the pill, he held his hand to her. Taking it, she smiled weakly, her shivering stopping a little. She raised her eyes at him with gratitude and John was again taken aback by their colour. They were blue like a clear, cloudless sky, with some golden sparks and threads.

~o~o~o~o~

Approximately two hours earlier

John looked her into eyes, now brighter and more focused, as she was watching Sherlock. She has just identified a murderer for them, based only on some features and details she had seen on the murder scene, analyzing and deducing important facts with terrifying speed… they all looked at Holmes to see his reaction at the obvious similarity of methods in concluding. But, he only looked back at her, his eyes narrowed, body leaning just lightly towards her. Small smile was already forming on his lips.

"She is always like that" Sarah sighed heavily, causing all of people gathered in the room to look at her "knowing about everyone what they don't want her to know about them. Getting herself into trouble, you know."

"And why should we believe you, Miss?" Sherlock ignored English woman's statement, ignored a frustrated groan from Anderson and Donovan, ignored annoyed snort from Lestrade and even curious questions from John. As if they weren't there.

"You didn't want to make false statements, that I can understand. You don't trust the police, but not many of your fellow countrymen do, so it's also understandable. Why didn't you defend yourself? Why should we believe you now?" Sherlock was observing her carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation, anything that could prove him wrong or right. But really, it wasn't the case, John was more than sure. Sherlock had a theory already, a theory he could prove and now he was only trying to make the girl talk. Why, god only knows, but surely, he had some reason to.

The girl closed her eyes for a second, inhaled slowly and started to talk in an indifferent, monotonous voice.

"You've been living alone for a long period of time, even though you have a brother, an older brother who is worried about you. You don't like him; as you hate his tendency to dominate, given you choose not to live with him, even if you needed accommodation. Instead you chose to find a flat mate, who would cope with your weird habits, if playing a violin and making experiments with phosphor can be called that. You are not a policeman, yet you work for them, it makes you a detective then…" she sounded as if she could go on and on, not looking at any of them, just watching the wall with calm gaze of someone who has all time in this world. Moving her hands made the cuffs click; but the sound died in a clap of Sherlock's hands.

"That's right Miss. Talk to me, talk to me more! Finally someone who thinks here!" he exclaimed, making her and everyone else twitch in surprise, so great was the delight in his voice. For the first time, the girl looked lost, glancing around unsure and John could see that her eyes had lost their sparks, again being grey and ordinary. But he didn't have time to think about it more, as Sherlock jumped to him, now suddenly enthusiastic and energetic, and caught him by the arms.

"Finally John! Finally something interesting!" he said with a strange smugness, turning to Lestrade in another second, only to catch him. The Detective Inspector looked like he was wondering whether he should listen to Sherlock or shoot him, his hand already choosing the latter option without talking it over with his brain, before he managed to compose himself. He ignored the rude comments as it was just a part of Holmes he had had to deal with for a long time and jumped to the core of his idea, filtrating the insults with skill.

"Lestrade, I need you now! Make yourself useful! The plan is…"

~o~o~o~o~

Her eyes were blue again, just like when she was analysing Sherlock. It amazed him, how much she changed just by some stupid detail as eye colour, it made her look prettier and more focused, weakening the image of dreaminess she emanated. She said something and he found he hadn't heard anything at all.

"I said, my name in English would be Margaret… or Marguerite, for that matter." Her voice was calmer, but trembling still; John fought back a feeling to hug her like a small scared kid. Instead, he decided that some small talk will do her more good.

"Nice name. Like a flower" he said, taking the cup from her, only to put it on a car's mask. The girl smiled at him, relaxing even if only a little. She gripped the blanket and John raised his hand to stroke her hair in supporting manner, before another remark made them both jump from surprise.

"Indeed like a flower John, but unfortunately she doesn't have anything in common with a flower. Maybe another name then?"

"Sherlock!" John jumped to his feet, seeing that the girl had tensed again, covering herself with the blanket to hide her arms. "Don't sneak! And what're you talking about?"

Holmes ignored him yet again this afternoon.

"You are like a lost girl wandering with a dog… How about 'Maligna', then?" he asked the girl, with interest watching as she paled.

"Doyou even know…"

"I do know what it means in Polish. And I think it suits you." The detective said, amusement apparent in his voice, as he gestured John to calm down and observe. The girl tightened her lips in a thin line, before averting her sight and speaking.

"Do as you please, Mister Holmes."

The detective again clasped his hands, patting her head in patronizing manner, ignoring her sudden hiss of annoyance. Grinning mockingly, he said.

"Welcome to London then, my dear Maligna!"

Witch again: that word 'Maligna' IS Polish and will be explained soon, but... I wonder how many of you recognized that comment about a lost girl wandering with a dog... if you know what does it mean, you will know what 'Maligna' means as well^^

I hope you enjoyed reading it :)