A brunette sat slumped in a battered leather chair behind an antique desk, papers and books surrounded her as she furiously scribbled in the notebook that was laid neatly in front of her. She didn't even notice when the bell on the blue painted wooden door rang, a tinkling sound running through the small book shop.
Her head kept down with her hand frantically moving, pen in hand as the customer with dark floppy hair makes his way down the aisles of books, stopping and looking at the odd one with a slight smile on his face.
Every so often the man would take a glimpse at the brunette, her lightly curled hair covered her face like a wave of heavenly chestnut beauty.
The man moved around the whole shop, skimming through the pages of books, picking and choosing until he found the one he was looking for
Sherlock Holmes: The Hound Of The Baskervilles.
He headed towards the desk where the woman was sat, her head bobbing as she continued to look down at the notebook in front of her.
He firmly placed the book on the desk with a soft thud, the tapping of his fingers softly played the theme to Sherlock as he waited impatiently for the brunette whose gaze was still fixed on the notebook.
"Just a moment..." She glances at the man for a brief moment, not looking long enough to see his face, "Sherlock Holmes, great taste...." She chuckles to herself as she finishes the sentence she was writing in her notebook.
"Thank you..." A familiar voice answers, chuckling to her comment.
Her eyes go slightly wide as she looks up and stares straight up at the one and only Benedict Cumberbatch. A small gasp escapes the woman's lips as a smile forms on Benedict's face, "You're....." Her breathing starts to ease before she could finish her words, "-You're Benedict...Benedict Cumberbatch...!"
"I am indeed" Benedict grins his famous smile, flashing his white teeth.
"And you're in my shop.." She remarks, dazed and star struck with wide unbelieving eyes.
"Yes.." Benedict replies, nodding with a frown at her obvious statement.
"I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this.." She snaps out of her trance-like state, flustered and bewildered, "I just..." A groan escapes the brunette's mouth as she attempts to explain herself causing Benedict to chuckle again, "I'm Meggie by the way.. ...Meggie George" Meggie sticks her small hand out towards Benedict across the desk, he takes it shaking it politely.
"I presume that Meggie is short for Margaret, am I right?" He questions, as though he were using his Sherlockian deduction skills.
"Nicely deduced.." Meggie references, almost sarcastically, "But I'd prefer you to call me Meggie.. Well, that's what my friends call me anyway, mad Meggie.." She mumbles under her breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Mad Meggie?" Benedict frowns, a concerned look crossing his handsome face.
"It's stupid, it doesn't matter.." Meggie shakes her head, brown curls cascading around her face.
"No no, I'm genuinely interested why someone would call you by this imaginative nickname.." Benedict assures her with the nod of his head.
"If you're that interested.." She shrugs for a moment before starting the story, "This is my- was my dad's book shop.... When he died, he left it to me along with all the debts to go with it.." Meggie shrugs, a smile full of memories playing on her lips, "My friends told me to sell it but I couldn't, it was probably the only thing left that connected me to him.....those thoughts cost me my money, my dreams and my friends. So that's the story of my nickname...." Meggie finishes, leaving Benedict staring at her, "So, what's your story? What brings you to this boring village in the middle of nowhere..?" She asks, tucking a piece of chestnut hair behind her ear.
