Copper Beeches (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

"Oh, anywhere is good," Violet responded, letting her box drop onto the tiny table that now stood against the wall. She ran her hand through her hair again. "Sorry its such a mess. I have so much to do."

"I've seen worse," John assured her. "You should see the inside of the flat I share. It makes this look organized."

Turning, Violet raised her eyebrows at him. "I pity you," she said. "Because I imagine anything that looks worse than this, must be pretty bad." She paused. "Unless its your fault your place is a mess, in which case I would have to say, shame on you, Mr. Watson."

John chuckled. "Its Dr. Watson, actually," he told her. "But you can call me John."

"A doctor? Wow. I'm impressed," Violet responded. "I guess I know who I can run to whenever I run into any kind of trouble."

"Do you run into trouble often?"

Grinning at him, Violet headed for the door. "Trouble...seems to find me, one way or another," she responded. She went up the steps two at a time, seeming to be bouncing with energy. "Besides, what fun would life be if nothing ever happened?"

Trailing along behind her, John pondered that thought, remembering his statement from before he met his flatmate. "Nothing ever happens to me." "Yes, I suppose that's true," he answered. "So, Miss Hunter, what brings you to London?"

For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw her energy fade. "The adventure," Violet said a second later though. She grinned over her shoulder. "I've spent enough of my life in the States. Its time to get out and see the world."

In a matter of minutes, they cleared all of the bags out the foyer. John had taken down the last bag when Mrs. Hudson trailed down after him. "I've brought you both a little something," Mrs. Hudson announced, gesturing slightly with the tea tray she held.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you didn't have to do that!" Violet exclaimed, hurrying to take the tray from her new land lady. She took a moment and stared at the tea cups as though they were a foreign object. "I'm going to be very American and admit I've never really had tea like this before. I've never even drank much tea, period. Unless sweet tea counts."

"Its not your fault, dear," Mrs. Hudson assured her. "You'll get used to it."

Violet looked and sounded more than a little uncertain of the fact as she thanked Mrs. Hudson. She found a place to set the tray. Mrs. Hudson waited until she actually saw Violet take a sip of the tea before she went back upstairs.

"Enjoying your London adventure?" John asked in amusement as Violet regarded the teacup in her hand with puzzlement.

Shrugging one shoulder, Violet took another sip of the tea. "She's right," she decided. She glanced around at her new flat, and sighed. She sat down on the floor. "I'll get used to it. I'd offer you a seat, but as you can see, I don't have anything yet."

"No, Its fine," John responded hastily. He searched his brain for something to say. "What do you plan on doing in London, Miss Hunter? Besides look for adventure?"

The woman became very serious. "Oh, mostly explore, I suppose," she answered vaguely. "I'm not sure how long I'll be here, so I want to make sure I take full advantage of the time I have."

A silence formed again and John finished off his tea. "Well, I should leave you to get settled in," he said, searching for a place to set the teacup.

"Thank you so much for your help, John," Violet said, setting her tea cup down. She scrambled to her feet and held her hand out for John's cup. "I'll take care of that for you. Mrs. Hudson is such a sweet person, and I would have hated to have my things cluttering up her foyer like that."

"If you need anything, just let me know," John told her. He paused. "And I should warn you. My flatmate is...a bit eccentric. You'll probably here us coming in and out at all hours. He'll play the violin at odd times. And don't be alarmed if you see a Detective Inspector, or other odd people around."

Violet blinked. "Well, I'm a bit of insomniac, so odd hours are not uncommon," she responded. "I like people, even if they are odd. And I love the violin. I don't think there should be a problem. Besides, I really don't think I'll be around that much to be bothered by it."

"Great," John said, trying to think of anything else he should warn her about. "Oh, and my flatmate has a very...I think the word protective is the only word I can use for Mycroft. A protective older brother. Don't be alarmed if an unmarked black car comes by every now and then."

The woman managed a slight smile. "Thanks for the warning," she said. "I guess I'll see you around."

She followed him up to make sure the door closed behind him. John went up to his own flat, and found that Sherlock wasn't there. And when Sherlock did turn up, hours later, it was to drag John off to a new crime scene.

There wasn't a moment to mention the new resident of 221, and by the time the time they got back, John didn't think to bring the subject up.

It was the next day, very late in the evening, John and Sherlock arrived back at 221 Baker Street after eating out at one of the many restaurants that seemed to owe Sherlock a favor of some sort. The second he stepped foot in the foyer, Sherlock froze. "What's wrong?" John asked, even as he heard the muffled sound of music being played.

"There's someone in the other flat," Sherlock said, his tone suspicious.

"Oh, right, yes," John responded. "That would be Violet Hunter." He frowned at his flatmate. "I thought you would have deduced her presence here earlier. She took the other flat yesterday."

Looking more than a little annoyed, Sherlock shot a sharp look over his shoulder at John as he moved in enough for the door to close. "What is she doing here?" he demanded. "Mrs. Hudson has never been able to get anyone down there. You heard her say so yourself."

"She's from America," John explained, shrugging his coat off. The music had stopped. "She seems like a nice young woman."

Sherlock frowned, but said nothing else. "I warned her about Mycroft, and about you," John commented as he followed his flatmate up the stairs. "I thought it only fair, since she doesn't know the kind of building she's moved into."

"I highly doubt Mycroft will bother with her," Sherlock responded. "An American is hardly a threat to me." He paused. "Unless she's a CIA agent, which is highly unlikely. The American government must know by now I don't have Irene Adler's phone."

Only a month had passed since their encounter with Irene Adler. "Do you think you'll cross paths with her again?" John asked.

The door to their flat was almost closed in his face. "All right," John said with a sigh. "I won't bring that up again."