Chapter 1

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Some would say it your fault because you were the one who decided to move to London but you had lived in America for the majority of your life. You wanted to move somewhere new and exciting and full of adventure. Therefore moving to London seemed like a good idea.

Seemed being the keyword here.

After many days of fruitless flat hunting you were just about to give up when you saw an ad in the local newspaper.

Flat for rent at 221C Baker St.
-1 bedroom. Furnished.
-1 Kitchen with living room.
-1 Bathroom.
Reasonably priced.
Meet with owner of residence for more information.

Interested you had gone to 221C Baker Street and met this owner. She was a lovely woman in her sixties named Mrs. Hudson. After a brief tour of the flat (which you fell in love with) you decided to move in.

By the end of the first week in the flat you had met only one of the other tenants, a man named John Watson. He was a friendly doctor who was sharing a flat with a male detective named Sherlock Holmes (John also mentioned that he WAS NOT GAY). You had not met Holmes but John told you that, "It was probably for the best." Surprisingly he had cut your visit short to go to a morgue. Yes, a morgue. You had been startled at this but he had hurriedly explained that it happened a lot when on cases with Sherlock.

Over the next couple of days you had found a nice job at a cafe. It was nothing fancy but not shabby either. Just a cute, little place for coffee. You worked behind the counter taking people's insane orders like a, Venti Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato, Sugar-Free Syrup, Extra Shot, Light Ice, No Whip.

Honestly you had no idea what it was you just wrote it down and read the list off to a girl who was working the machines. Gradually you had become accustomed to the regular customers and were able to make their orders from memory. One girl named Molly would shuffle in very quietly with a load of files under her arm and always order the same thing. Soon you recognized her pattern and as soon as you saw her long brown hair you would immediately grab the nearest blueberry scone and decaf coffee.

"Here you go, Molly," you had grinned handing her the bag.

She would smile shyly and hand over the money before going over to her favorite seat by the window. She seemed like a sweet girl and you were in desperate need of a friend (John was always off on a case and Mrs. Hudson was nice but listening to her talk about her aching hip for 45 minutes got a bit tiresome). So you decided to talk to her. She was sitting in her usual spot sipping her coffee slowly and breaking off pieces of her scone as she ignored the thick files that had nearly completely covered the table she was sitting at. She was instead staring out the window, watching the rain pour down in a steady stream.

"Can I sit here?" you asked gesturing to the seat across from her.

Her amber eyes snap up to meet yours. After a moment's hesitation she nodded and began to stuff her files away trying to make room at the table for you. After clearing just enough space to put down your drink she glanced back up at you.

"Hi," you grinned, "I'm (YN), (YN) (LN)."

"Molly," she said returning the smile, "Molly Hooper."

You both shook hands as you look down at her papers. On them was a bunch of scientific and medical mumbo jumbo that you could not figure out.

"Work?" you guessed.

Molly glanced down and sighed as she moves a couple more papers out of the way.

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