Brilliant

A/N: So, this is a rather long one shot I wrote when I was bored. It was a what-if that tugged at my muse, and morphed into something entirely different. It has not been betaed or brit-picked, so I apologize for any obvious mistakes.

"So, do you think they'll phone the police?" Dr. John Watson asked, glancing up at the front of the house he and his flatmate had just left. Even with the front door closed, he could hear the raised voices coming from inside. "Awful thing for a boy to do what he did."

"Since they are a family who hired me to avoid a scandal, I think it highly unlikely," Sherlock answered, flipping his coat collar up. He started down the sidewalk. "Why must the world be so boring?"

The street was quiet, being in a rather wealthy residential part of London and late in the afternoon. "I'm sure you'll get another case soon," John answered, knowing it was useless to come to the defense of the world. "Didn't Lestrade text you earlier this morning?"

"Stupidly simple," Sherlock condemned. He scowled at the street. "Why must everyone be so transparent?" He gestured ahead of them. "Take her for example."

Sighing, John followed his flatmate gesture and saw a young woman just coming onto the street. John frowned as he took in her outfit. A long brown coat, buttoned up the front, and a boyish black cap on her head. Her black hair was braided down her back. "Clearly a young student taking part in her school's dramatic program," Sherlock stated as the girl went to the edge of the sidewalk and began glancing up and down the street. "She's received bad news and is waiting to get collected by family. She's new to London."

"Sherlock, that's enough," John told him sharply. "Just because you think you have nothing to do doesn't mean you can start deducing everything about the people we pass in the street."

"We haven't passed her and I was making a point," Sherlock pointed out. "With people so easy to read, how will anyone ever provide a challenge?"

The girl glanced around once more and then hurried on down the sidewalk until she turned a corner, vanishing from sight. Seconds later there was a sharp cry. "Sherlock," John said.

When he glanced over at his flatmate, Sherlock wasn't there. In fact, Sherlock was already halfway to where the girl had turned. John raced after Sherlock, praying they could get to the girl in time. When he turned the corner, he saw the girl on the ground, and Sherlock chasing after a fleeing man.

Swiftly, John went to the girl and knelt her. "Are you all right, miss?"

After a moment, she uncurled and lifted her head. "I'm fine," she answered, her accent distinctly American. She shook her head and accepted John's hand in getting up. Her right hand went to her throat. "What was that?"

"That was someone trying to mug you, since you can't seem to grasp the obvious," Sherlock announced, making her and John jump in surprise. He strode right up to the teen, and bent down to study her face. She was tall, but was still several inches shorter than the detective. "Who are you? Why would someone want you dead?"

"I-I don't know," the girl stammered, recoiling slightly. For a moment, she frowned and then her blue eyes widened. "You're Sherlock Holmes."

For the first time, John saw Sherlock's eyes widen in what could only be surprise. The girl looked down. "Oh, no," she wailed, crouching down. She scooped up the pieces of her phone.

"Who are you?" Sherlock repeated again.

Standing up, the teen's eyes flicked over the pair for a second and then she spun around. Moving quickly, Sherlock grabbed her arm before she could run. "Why does someone want you dead?" he demanded. "Who are you?"