Well hello everyone!

This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I do apologize if it sounds peculiar at times. Have patience with me please xD

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or BBC. Would I be here if I did? Probably not... lol. I only own my OC

The examination room was filled to the brim with tension. Yale University was holding its last set of final exams for the 2013 school year. They were being held in the auditorium. The large space had been cleared to make room for hundreds of desks. Every inch of the area was covered. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of pencils.

Brows were sweating. Heads throbbed. Hands cramped.

One student was unconcerned. She sat in the final row, in the back corner. She spun her HB pencil between her dextrous fingers. The yellow polished wood slid easily through her slim fingers, twirling through the air. There was still an hour left of her Biology final; but she had already finished. The woman knew that she would receive one hundred percent on the final. The twenty-three year old wasn't arrogant or needlessly overconfident. She was a genius. With an IQ of 189 and both a photographic and eidetic memory, the woman took only sixty minutes to complete the four hour exam.

Because students were only allowed to leave after three- to minimize the issue of individuals guessing and cheating throughout the test- the woman was exceptionally bored.

8:58:59 AM

8:59:00 AM

She exhaled, drawing the perturbed gaze of students surrounding her.

Only one more minute.

She'd already drawn three detailed sketches of the solar system, doodled and labelled all of the organs in the human body, recited all of Shakespeare's plays, and analyzed every single person in the room dozens of times.

8:59:58 AM

8:59:59 AM

9:00:00 AM

The woman slipped from her chair gracefully and stood. She picked up her finished exam. She walked calmly down the rows of students. Most glared at her. The young woman smirked as she saw that many of the students were only halfway through the final.

She stood before the Examiner's desk. The man seated there looked up at the young woman with surprise.

"Can I help you?" he asked, regarding her gradually.

"I've finished, Sir," she stated, extended her hand, passing him the booklet. She smiled softly as he raised his brows in surprise.

He took the pages in his weathered grip. "Very good. Did you look everything over?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied with a nod.

"Alright then, I hope you have a nice summer, Miss McAllister."

"Thank you, Sir. Please, just call me Mel."

The man chuckled. "Ah yes. I apologize. What are you doing now that your degree's finished?" he asked kindly.

Mel smiled, her petal pink lips curling at the edges. "I'm moving to London. To dance with the Royal Ballet."

He whistled in awe. "That's incredible. I still don't understand how a professional dancer like yourself found time to complete a degree. It's mindboggling how you find the time!" The professor watched as the beautiful woman laughed breathily.

"It's quite easy to find the time sir, if you don't sleep," she hummed, winking conspiratorially. The words would've alarmed anybody who overheard, but the charming way in which she said them caused the old man to chuckle.

He scratched the stubble of his snowy white beard as his laughter quieted. "I suppose that'd make sense, my dear."

Wedding ring, 14k gold. At least thirty years old, due to staining on the band and the weakness of the setting around the diamonds. Wrinkles around the eyes and mouth as well as the forehead suggests between the ages of sixty and sixty three. Yellow staining on the teeth an fingers are from smoking. Most likely smoking takes the stress off the fights him and his wife get into. They obviously get into fights, because the knuckle above the wedding ring is swollen, as if the ring has been taken on and off many times-

Mel shook herself, cutting off the automatic deductions. "It was wonderful speaking with you, but I really must go. Have a fantastic summer, Sir."

He looked surprised at her sudden need to depart but didn't question it. He placed her completed exam on the corner of his large desk. When the professor looked up, he saw that the woman had disappeared. "And you, Miss McAllister," he muttered quietly, scratching his bearded chin.

Such a strange young lady... He thought to himself. Shrugging internally, the professor looked back to the sea of students currently flooding the auditorium.

Three hours. It had only taken three hours for Mel to pack up her apartment and put everything in the storage unit. All her things were to be shipped ahead of her so they would be in her new apartment when she arrived.

The twenty-three year old dressed in a long indigo button-down dress shirt and a pair of black leggings. The color of the shirt picked up the rich emerald greens in her eyes and was a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Mel looked in the mirror one last time.

The woman in the reflection was symmetrically perfect and undeniably beautiful. Large emerald eyes were framed by the thickest set of lashes. They were naturally curled and almost long enough to brush her brows. The nose was narrow and sloped. It couldn't quite be classified as a button nose, but it was slender and perfect. Her brows were a deep auburn, only a few shades lighter than her lashes, and arched. They weren't drawn on, but natural and groomed. The reflection's hair was naturally wavy, and pulled back into a chignon. The style revealed a slender, graceful neck of a dancer. The hue was a stunning red. Mel never had the heart to dye it. Considering the compounds and various chemicals needed to tone down the brilliant color, there was no point in it at all. Pieces of the chignon had fallen out, framing her delicate features. Lips were full and the palest pink. Finally, a light dusting of freckles brushed the bridge of her nose and defined cheekbones.

Mel sighed as she reached to turn the light off in the hall of her apartment. She threw her brown leather satchel across her body. Lastly, she slipped on a pair of black flats and departed. She locked the door.

The redhead padded down the staircase to the first floor. She knocked on her landlady's door.

"Ma'am, it's Mel. My plane leaves in an hour, so I'm going to slip the key under the door."

She dropped the key and kicked it under the wooden door with the toe of her shoe.

Knowing she was late, she ran out to the curb. Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she waved for a taxi passing by. It screeched to a stop at the sight of her.

The young woman slid into the cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked. His beady eyes scoped the body of the woman's slight features. They trailed down, gazing unrepentantly at the small amount of cleavage her blouse revealed.

Mel grimaced faintly. "The airport. I'll pay you double if you cut down the travel time by half."

The cabbie's eyes widened. He swiveled in his seat and hit the gas pedal.

They sped off.

The flight was long.

For a mind like Mel's, the worst thing that could possibly happen would be to lock it up so it would have to constantly observe the same people over and over.

The three stewardesses were going on fifty-six hours without sleep. Their steps wavered in their small heels not because of turbulence or sleep deprivation. Their eyes were bloodshot. A small trace of white powder was on each of the woman's uniforms. They giggled obnoxiously. They were under the influence of cocaine. Concealer was caked heavily under their eyes to hide the dark circles. Their hair was limp and oily. They'd tried to comb baby powder into it, but it only went so far. Their smiles were strained. Hands shook as they poured refreshments.

The man sitting next to Mel was much more interesting to solve.

He was normal looking. Salt and pepper hair was cropped short to his head. Hands were rough, meaning he worked his hands or did manual labor. But there was stress in his back, by the way he slouched. This sort of stress only came from a desk job, such as an accountant. The dress shirt he wore under his blazer was designer and expensive. His clothes were also wrinkled heavily. This suggested he'd taken another flight before this, most likely a connecting flight. A chain necklace peaked out of the neckline of his shirt. He was sleeping, which meant he was either physically exhausted, or he was used to travelling. No wedding band was worn, but there was a line of paler skin on his finger. Conclusion: a senior accountant who'd been divorced because of the amount of time he was away from home and working. He was always busy, which suited his lifestyle. Before he was an accountant, he was in the military; considering the hair and chain that obviously held dog tags.

Mel was elated when the plane finally landed on the tarmac.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've landed in Heathrow airport. The weather conditions are sixty five degrees with a chance of showers. The crew hopes you enjoy your stay in London and that you have a great day."

Mel gently shook the arm of the man next to her. He woke with a start. Her observant eyes fell to his neck as his dog tags fell out from under his shirt.

"We've landed," she stated.

The man blinked rapidly, attempting to restore his vision. "Thank you. I'm so used to flying for work, I fall asleep like a baby," he laughed.

Mel couldn't help herself. "What do you do?"

He smiled. "I'm a senior member at a accounting firm."

She nodded, unsurprised that she was correct once more.

The plane eventually stopped. The most impatient of the passengers snatched up their bags and flew out the door with not small amount of haste. The young woman waited her turn, abiding by the rules of social etiquette. She silently observed the environment outside the window.

The dark clouds above had opened, and rain was already pattering on the tarmac. Several planes meandered about the pavement as their pilots completed safety checks on the equipment. Men ran about in fluorescent vests, helping to load baggage into large vehicles. Far down the runway, men waved orange batons, aiding planes land.

Mel turned away from the familiar scene when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Nails bit into the material of her shirt, reminding the dancer of a bird's talons. She looked up. It was one of the stewardesses. The tired woman plastered a tight smile on her lips. It didn't reach her eyes. It made it look like the woman was sneering.

"You're the last one, ma'am," the stewardess hissed through her gritted teeth.

Mel shifted out of the woman's reach. The painted claws dropped away from the material of her blouse. "My apologies," she uttered swiftly as she stood to retrieve her jacket and bag from the overhead compartment. The large satchel was years old and made of soft brown leather. She fit it across her body.

"It's no problem," the sneering lady lied unconvincingly.

"No, it is. You're exhausted after your all-nighter. You should get some sleep." Mel smiled, ignoring the looks that followed her when she walked through the aisle to the main door. Mel turned back and looked at the women. "I would suggest you ladies cut back on the cocaine. The man in row 4b was a cop and he'll be waiting for you at the gate." The stewardesses gasped in outrage. Mel gave them a small wave before disappearing through the exit and into the tunnel.

You warned them. I suppose that was as kind as you could've been, the woman's subconscious sighed.

When she walked through the gate, she noticed the cop from the plane was waiting, badge already in hand. Mel smiled softly at him, but he paid her no notice. Heathrow was incredibly busy. People bustled to and fro, drawing her concentration and her photographic memory. It was impossible to switch off. Every single feature of each person that passed was catalogued and permanently seared into her brain.

Mel sighed, pushing through the exit. She breathed through her nose, welcoming the cool air. The scent of the rain filled her senses, dispelling her overwhelmed thoughts. The young woman ran for an empty taxi, long legs reaching the vehicle in seconds. She managed to jump in without getting wet at all.

"Where to, miss?"

"Baker Street, please."

There you go! I promise, it gets a lot better down the road ;)