No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Sherlock

"Well, um..." Mrs. Hudson paused, obviously trying to describe Sherlock with little success. Finally, she said, "Have you really not seen any of the newspapers? You know Sherlock Holmes: the world's only consulting detective?"

Celeste shook her head slightly in confusion.

"I'm-uh... I'm not exactly from around here." She explained, losing her posh demeanor for a split second.

Mrs. Hudson put a hand on Celeste's shoulder. "Then today's your lucky day! Come upstairs. I can make you a cup of tea and you can meet Sherlock yourself," she said with a smile.

The pair exited 221c and Mrs. Hudson led Celeste hurriedly up the stairs to 221b. "Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called, knocking once before opening the door and sticking her head in. "You must meet your new neighbor!" she said in an excited whisper.

The detective lay sprawled out on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. He turned to her with a loud groan. "Well if I must," he said sarcastically. "Bring them in, I'm about as bored as a swimmer in. the. desert." He enunciated the last words, aggravation obvious as his voice rose.

Ignoring his hostile tone, Mrs. Hudson walked in, allowing Celeste to see into the flat. Her colorless eyes automatically swept over the space, analyzing each detail and becoming acquainted with each aspect of her new surroundings.

"Observant, are we?" Sherlock asked, following her eyes for a moment before jumping up and striding over to her. He confronted this new stranger, standing inches from her, only having to look down slightly due to her shoes and natural height. His eyebrows furrowed and he searched her face intently, deep in thought.

She stood her ground, perfectly unperturbed, and glared at him. He stared, slightly bemused, while Mrs. Hudson shifted uncomfortably a few feet from them. "Sherlock?" she called with a nervous laugh.

He stepped back, his eyebrows raised. "Yes, yes," he muttered to himself. "Very interesting indeed..."

Celeste turned her head in confusion. She opened her mouth once then closed it before deciding to speak. "I suppose this is where the detective part of his title comes in?" she said with mock cheerfulness, looking between Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.

Just then the door opened again and a sandy blond haired individual walked in.

"Thought I'd drop in on my way home." he said to Sherlock with a smile. He turned to Celeste. "Oh! Now who is this?" He turned to Sherlock and mouthed "client?".

Sherlock shook his head in answer. "Possible new neighbor," he corrected with indifference.

The friendly looking man strode forward to meet the guest with a smile. "Well, anyway, I'm John. John Watson."

She took his hand with one of her perfectly manicured ones and offered him a small, but dazzlingly white, smile. "I'm Celestia," she elaborated, taking extra care to be English in accent. "But please, call me Celeste if you'd like."

"Last name?" Sherlock commanded, as though an inexplicably important thought had just now emerged in his mind.

Turning to him in masked panic, the woman quickly averted his gaze. She took a moment, then answered with a ghost of a smile. "Firethorne."