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"Love is giving someone the power to destroy you... But trusting them not to." - Unknown


You shuffled forward out of the crowded plane in London City Airport. You hated crowds. You wouldn't go so far as to say you were agoraphobic, but you preferred less people crammed into one space and  you could move without running into people.
'It'll be over soon' you reassured yourself.

It took you half an hour to get through the terminal with all the people, but you finally managed to make it to the kerb and hail a cab.
"221B Baker Street" you said, and the cab started down the street.
You looked out the window, taking in London. It was a chilly fall day, and you were going to visit your big brother, John Watson. You hadn't seen John for five years now, ever since you'd moved to Scotland. You tried to keep up, and you heard that he'd gotten a flat with the world's only 'consulting detective', Sherlock Holmes. Funny name.
It didn't matter. You couldn't wait to see Johnny.
Baker Street was only 11 miles from the airport, but it took 45 minutes to get there, due to London traffic. You stayed busy, watching London go by and thinking about what your time here would be like.
Before you knew it, the cab had pulled over in front of Speedy's Café. You were about to ask why you had stopped, when you noticed a single black door next to the café. Nailed to it, above a slightly crooked knocker, was the number 221.
Excited, you jumped out and grabbed your bags.
"Good luck." The cabbie said as you handed him the fare.
"Excuse me?" You looked at him quizzically.
"You're not from around here, are you? Sherlock Holmes. You'll need some good luck if you're going in there." He nodded toward the door.
You shrugged, sure that your face emanated bemusement.
You looked all around, then knocked twice. An older lady opened the door, and immediately ushered you into the hallway.
"Hello, dearie. You must be (F/N). John said you'd be coming."
"Hi, yes, it's nice to meet you, uh-"
"So sorry dearie, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady."

John came bolting down the stairs and grabbed you in a bear hug.
You hugged him back. "It's great to see you, Johnny." Over his shoulder you saw the erect silhouette of a man in the upstairs doorway. You couldn't see many of his features from where you stood, but you could tell that he was at least six inches taller than John, incredibly lanky, and had thick curls. His hands were in the pockets of what appeared to be a dressing gown, and he looked down on the emotional greeting with obvious distain. As though he couldn't stand to watch anymore, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the room.

Sherlock Holmes.

You followed John up the stairs and into the room. Looking around, you observed the chaos that surrounded you. There were stacks of papers and files on various surfaces, high tech lab equipment sitting on the kitchen counter, thick dust on every bare surface, and, most interestingly, a smiley face on the wall, painted with what appeared to be yellow spray paint, and riddled with bullet holes.
You smiled. This would be great.
Sherlock Holmes lay on the sofa, his long legs hanging over the armrest, bare toes twitching ever so slightly. His large hands were steepled under his chin and his eyes were closed. He was wearing a dressing gown, as well as cotton pyjama bottoms and a white shirt. His hair was jet black, a few stubborn curls spilling onto his face.
When you entered, he opened one eye and let out a sigh. "Tea, John." He said. His voice was deep and slightly gravelly, but pleasing.
John rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to fulfill his request. You took the time to walk over to him and stick your hand out. "(F/N)" You said. He remained silent, ignoring you for a few long seconds, then opened his eyes, looked at you, and began talking a mile a minute.
"Younger than John- 6, 7 years? You are not biological siblings, but you were adopted into the family as a young child. You like to move, and dislike crowds and being confined to small spaces. You were born and raised in London, but moved away several years ago. Ireland maybe? Or Scotland. You love John very much, and wish he hadn't gone to war, although you respect him for it. You're more of the artsy type, and you enjoy puzzles. You play piano, or did in the recent past. You have one medium sized dog"-- he stuttered here for a split second, but quickly picked up his pace-- "and you have never been in a romantic relationship, preferring to stick with animals. Quite a pathetic lifestyle if you ask me."
You raised your eyebrow, "Are you volunteering?" You asked with a hint of humour.
"What?" He asked.
"You quite easily deduced that I've never been in a relationship. Are you volunteering?"
He stared at you, obviously not understanding at all.
John came out with the tea just in time to see you admiring Sherlock's deduction skills. He rolled his eyes and set the tea down.
"Come on Johnny, let's go jogging!" You said excitedly, tugging on his sleeve. He smiled down at you.
"Sherlock, can you stay out of trouble for an hour?"
"He can come if he wants." You put in.
"Of course John, don't be daft. And I don't jog." Sherlock said with distain.

You grabbed your coat and scarf from the table you'd thrown them on when you came in and ran downstairs.
"Goodness graciousness. Such energy." Mrs. Hudson muttered as you flew by her. The door slammed shut and you jogged in place on the pavement in front of the door while you tugged on your coat and tied your scarf securely around your neck. As soon as John stepped out the door, you grabbed his wrist and ran down the footway, pointing out the sights of London that you had so missed.

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