Weeks had passed since the name Moriarty had been forced from the mouth of the dying cabbie. During which time Sherlock had searched fruitlessly between cases to track down this man. With only a last name to go by though there was nothing to dig up, even for him, and so he instead turned his attention back to the dull cases that Lestrade kept piling on him. What he wanted was for something interesting to happen, something other than petty thefts and arson. When Lestrade called up the next time he was so sure it would be something dull that he was fully prepared to ignore him.

"Just answer the phone Sherlock," John had said with considerable irritation- apparently last nights date hadn't gone well.

"I'm not interested in listening to another of Lestrade's dull cases," the detective had replied, sinking into his armchair with his violin hugged to his chest. He plucked absentmindedly at the strings, considering the best way to lure out a criminal that didn't involve shouting his name from the rooftops. "He's going to have me searching for lost pets soon."

"You don't know that." John had been pretending to read the paper, something which tended to work better when you didn't stare at the same page for twenty minutes. Practically on the edge of the sofa, his body was tensed up and if Sherlock had been able to have seen his face he would have bet that his face shared the same suspense.

"Mycroft isn't planning a raid is he?" Sherlock sighed as he plucked another of the strings, the phone continuing to ring incessantly. "Why doesn't he just give up already- I'm not going to answer."

"And how's he supposed to know that?" John lowered the paper in one quick movement, annoyance plastered across his face. He had stared for a few seconds at the phone before getting it up and taking it from the detective, answering for him instead. "What do you mean appeared out of nowhere?"

Now that was interesting.

Chapter One:

"On second thoughts this might not actually be that interesting," Sherlock commented as he observed the woman through the glass.

Upon arriving at the Police station they'd had a nice little chat with Donovan before Lestrade came and ushered them into the observation room. John looked around the room as though it actually held appeal; what was so fascinating about a big black box escaped Sherlock and instead he put his attention on the woman who had supposedly appeared out of nowhere. Hunched over the table somewhat limited his observations, as well as the fact he was in a different room from her.

"Hang on," began Lestrade, turning to face him and crossing his arms in a brilliant impression of an angry father. "Are you telling me you're not going to help?"

"Oh I didn't say that, did I?" Sherlock turned his head to look at the inspector, a smirk settling on his face. "I only said this won't be that interesting- but I can't have idiots like Anderson believing in magic now."

"How very thoughtful of you," John muttered under his breath. Sherlock cast him a quick glance. Apparently the date had gone very badly.

"She appeared out of nowhere- I assume there are reliable witnesses?" questioned the detective. Whatever John's relationships trouble were they weren't his problem.

"Well we've got quite a few witnesses-" began Lestrade.

"Yes but are they reliable?" he interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the glass and swivelling around to face them. "It's the middle of the day, the majority of London is out and they're all as unobservant as you lot which leads to the question of how these people managed to spot someone appearing out of nowhere. Where exactly was she found?"

"Westminster Bridge Road; just in front of Big Ben actually."

"So it was tourists then." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "I presume there is CCTV footage in that area?"

"Yes and we did look at it but there was nothing."

John lifted his head up as he frowned, turning to look at Lestrade.

"What do you mean there was nothing?"

"I mean what I said," replied the inspector with a shrug. "Several minutes of footage are missing."

"Obviously a set up then." Sherlock was disappointed- he's expected something less blatantly obvious. "I'll assume that all the other cameras in the nearby vicinity experienced the same problem."

"They did," confirmed Lestrade. "But so did every camera within a 10km radius- and not just CCTV; mobiles, digital cameras and webcams- they're all acted up during that time."

"None of it worked?" asked John in surprise , glancing over at the woman as though he expected her to hold all the answers- which she might.

"That is what he said John, do keep up," replied Sherlock. His mind was already racing to find an answer to this. "I want to speak to her."

"You want to speak to her?" echoed Lestrade in surprise.

"Yes, that is what I just said." Sherlock sighed, shaking his head at the two men. "Honestly, what is up with you two today, you're being very slow."

"Well I can't let you do that," protested Lestrade.

"Why not?"

"Because she's a suspect."

"In what?" asked Sherlock. "Just because a handful of witnesses say she appeared out of nowhere doesn't mean she actually did- have you heard of lying? It's something that everyone does."

"But why would they lie about someone appearing out of nowhere?" asked John.

"Oh I don't know, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the cameras so let me speak to her." Sherlock waited impatiently. Lestrade would cave in, he always did he hadn't regretted it yet.

"Fine, but try not to be your usual self- she seems pretty traumatised as it is," Lestrade said, leading Sherlock through to the room. John made to follow, but Sherlock put a hand out to stop him. The doctor looked at him questioningly as he watched the two men enter the room. Lifting her head up, the woman looked in turn at Lestrade and Sherlock. When her gaze met the detectives he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition- it would be too much to hope she worked for Moriarty, wouldn't it?

"Miss Walker, this is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade said as he introduced him. Neither of them said anything and Lestrade coughed before he spoke again. "He's a consulting detective and he's here to help get this situation sorted out."

"Because you can't handle it on your own?" The woman sounded bored, her head resting on her hand. Sherlock smirked, even though he could see the fear in her eyes and her quivering she was still able to remain calm- on the outside at least. Her accent was clearly British, with just the slightest hint of Devonshire and Northern thrown in there- so not a foreign spy then.

"I'll take it from here Lestrade," he said, in case the inspector had any thoughts about lingering. The man in question shot him a warning look before leaving them. When the door had closed he took the seat opposite her, observing her closely.

Ink smudges on left ring and little finger, calluses on her middle finger and small cut on her right hand that could only have been done by paper- she did a lot of writing then, someone who worked in offices? No, every thing these days was done on computers, a writer then perhaps? Unpublished so probably a hobby. Multiple stains on the sleeves of her jacket from various foods, the jacket itself was at least a few years old so she had a part time job in a café that didn't pay too much. Tattoos on both her wrists, a flock of black birds flying, in psychological terms someone who wanted to escape from the boring humdrum of normal life. Another part time job at a bar judging by the list written on her right palm. She didn't put much effort into her appearance; her dark auburn hair tied back in a messy ponytail, the stains on her jacket and the frayed hem on her jeans that he had seen from the observation room. However her boots were New Rocks and almost looked new apart from the creases where they had been bent. Someone who is probably in debt then.

"Are you done yet?" she asked, interrupting his thought process. She was a lot more uncomfortable now and the way her gaze studied him suggested she didn't expect him to be here- as though he should be dead.

"Did it look like I was done?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. She didn't say anything. "I'm just trying to figure out how a completely uninteresting and ordinary woman like you managed to get involved with something like this."

"'Something like this'?" she echoed, leaning back into her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "Pray tell me what 'something like this' is because quite frankly I don't have a clue."

High levels of anxiety in her voice- to be expected.

"You are at the centre of this so how can you not know," he countered.

"Just because a group of idiots pointed me out doesn't mean I'm a the centre of this- have you ever heard of the term scapegoat?"

"Many times and I don't think that's applicable here." Sherlock leant across the table. "Why don't you 'pray tell' why it is that you treat me like we've met before when I know full well I've never seen you before in my life."

She didn't say anything, her eyes widened in surprise and she bit her lip hesitantly. But she didn't say anything. There appeared to be some internal battle going on and she was at a loss at how to respond.

"You wouldn't believe me," she finally said, looking down and chewing at her lip. "You'd just think I was crazy and lock me away in an asylum."

"Try me," Sherlock said slowly.

Her gaze slid across to the mirrored glass, where she knew Lestrade would be watching them.

"To tell you the truth I don't even believe it myself," she said quietly, sitting up again she leant forward. "You're supposed to be the smart one here- you figure it out.."

A trace of anger had entered her voice, as well as accusation- was she hysterical?

"Don't let me have all the fun." He leant forward as well. "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

"Because," she began. "I don't trust you."

"Well we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

"You want to do what?" John snapped as the consulting detective waltzed back into the observation room. "Sherlock, she's a criminal."

"Is she John?" asked Sherlock smugly. "There is no firm evidence nor accusation which means that Lestrade here has no reason to hold her."

Lestrade looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he knew it as well as Sherlock- and besides, it meant he knew her location should any proper charges be brought against her.

"So you want her to live with us?" Went on the doctor. "We don't even have any room for her."

"I'm sure we could get 221C fixed up," pointed out Sherlock.

"221C?"

"Plus that sofa is quite comfy."

"Sofa? Sherlock you can't expect a guest to sleep on the sofa," John protested.

"A guest? She was a criminal two seconds ago." Sherlock put on a mock thoughtful face. "Would you like to offer up your bed to her- it would only be for a couple of weeks."

"Wha- no, it was your idea Sherlock you can do it."

"And here I thought you were the chivalrous one."

They stared each other down, Sherlock watching his internal battle and smirking in triumph as defeat crossed his face.

"How kind of you." John shot him a murderous look. "Now let's go collect our parcel."

No-one would ever believe me. In truth I didn't even believe it myself. But sitting in the back of the cab with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson either side of me was too much for my mind to ignore. Part of me argued that this wasn't real, that this was all just some dream or crazy prank. Another part of me argued though that if this was just a dream then why did it feel so real, and if this was a crazy prank then what was with the teleporting thing? I knew the answers weren't likely to come to me soon so I instead decided to point my mind into cheeriness. I was with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

The vibrations the taxi travelling up my spine were real, that smell of cigarettes and alcohol was real, the buildings passing by were real and Sherlock's voice as he chatted away about random things; the weather, the traffic, the toes in his freezer…But so was the tension. The small space we were sitting in meant that our legs touched and I could feel that John was tense. No doubt he didn't trust me, and although it stung a little I knew that trying to befriend him was something not best done in the back of a cab. He obviously wanted to say something to Sherlock; to protest and argue against this- but he was too polite to do it in front of me and when Sherlock lapsed into silence it seemed to come crashing down onto us.

In some ways it was a relief when we arrived at Baker street, my eyes widening at the first sight of –in my opinion- the best-known address in the world. Sherlock got out immediately, I followed somewhat hesitantly and walked at a pace which allowed John to catch up with me. He didn't pay any attention to me though as we walked into the building that was to be my new home- or prison. The consulting detective was listening impatiently to Mrs Hudson as she chided him about leaving such a mess everywhere.

"Honestly Sherlock it's a wonder you can find anything," she said, before she noticed me standing in the doorway. "Hello dear- are you one of Sherlock's clients?"

"Mrs Hudson this…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Kadyn Walker," I supplied.

"Yes, she's going to be staying with us for a while- she'll be taking 221C once we've got it sorted out." With one last wide smile he disappeared upstairs.

"Is he always like that?" I asked tentatively.

"Unfortunately he's usually a lot worse," said John.

"This'll be fun then."