Hazel Watson has been missing for eight years. The last time John saw his little sister was in Afghanistan before she got an emergency call and left. Two months later she turned up MIA. So when Hazel just appears out of the blue renting 221 C from M...
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About three weeks later
On my phone, I noticed a notification for an email from Mycroft. Apparently, not all of my possessions have been delivered, such as the rest of my clothes, kitchenware, and, apparently, a new uniform. I emailed him back, telling him that I was in no hurry to get my stuff. Glancing at the time, I went to my room to get ready for my interview at Scotland Yard.
With my limited options, I settled for a pair of black dress pants, a simple white longsleeved dress shirt, a black blazer, and two inch close toed black heels. Nothing too fancy, but still professional. I carefully placed my ensemble onto the bed and walked to the bathroom to do my makeup. Trying to still keep that professional vibe, I used concealer for my scar, a light foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and of course, my signature red matte lipstick.
Pleased with the result, I return to my room and begin to change out of my sweatpants and hoodie.
Hey, even assassins need to relax every once in a while.
As soon as I finish tucking in my shirt, a loud thump followed by grunting from upstairs makes me pause.
What the hell?
Another loud grunt makes me rush out the door. Throwing my front door open, I nearly trip over myself trying to scramble up the wooden stairs, only to find Sherlock's door wide open. I can hear a battle cry followed by a grunt. Creeping into his flat on the balls of my feet, I can see Sherlock being pressed against the table by another man, his back facing me.
Catching Sherlock's attention, I press a finger to my red lips, signaling him to keep quiet. After receiving a slight nod from my neighbor, he pushes the warrior back towards me. Walking calmly to the six foot warrior, I roll my neck and shoulders, cracking them in the process. As Sherlock dodged another attack, I give him a nod.
"What's that?" Sherlock says while pointing at me.
The Arabian warrior, stupidly, looks in my direction, only to be faced with my fist colliding with jaw, knocking him out cold. Satisfied with myself, I bend down and began to examine his weapon.
"So, why was the Arabian after you?" I ask casually, as if this happens every day.
"A case. Something involving a diamond. Nothing too exciting." He replies coolly, straightening his suit coat. "Mind helping me disposing the evidence? John should be back soon."
With nothing better to do, I shrugged my shoulders, rolled my sleeves, and grabbed the unconscious man's legs.
"Want to toss him out the window?" With a nod of his head, Sherlock and I bring the man to the open window and carefully toss him in the dumpster below.
"Oh by the way, what's most likely Jon's password for his computer?"
Letting out an exasperated breath, I glance at Sherlock, chuckling a bit. "If I'm correct, it should be 'sweaterz' with a 'z' at the end. But you already knew that."
