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"Sherlock, (f/n)?" John stepped into the flat, confused at the silence. It seemed no one was at home—but obviously you couldn't have gone out. Perhaps Sherlock had found something to do, but would he really have gone to all the trouble to get you down the stairs.

"We're down here, dear," Mrs. Hudson called, startling John for a moment before he set down his briefcase and came down the stairs. Even more startling, however, was the sight of you sitting contentedly in Mrs. Hudson's flat with a cup of tea in your hands.

"Hey, John! You're back! I was really, really bored so I came down here to see if Mrs. Hudson wanted some company." He recalled you saying you'd never been in a wheelchair for this long before. How in the world had you gotten down? Surely Sherlock wouldn't have done something like this.

"How did you—Did Sherlock... When did...?" John wondered aloud.

"Oh," you laughed, "Sherlock got a text from Lestrade so he's been out all day, probably investigating something. I tried drawing, but I'm not left-handed, so I came down here."

"Yeah—but how? You said you'd never been in a wheelchair this long!" If anything now, John was a bit frustrated you'd attempted something this dangerous on your own.

You laughed again before continuing, "I googled it. You kind of pop a wheelie and just grab onto the handrails. That was hard with one broken wrist, but I managed. Just because I haven't been in a wheelchair for a long time doesn't mean I've never used one. I once won a wheelchair race when I was in the hospital after coming back from—from holiday. And they just happened to have it while I was there, so I entered and I won! I had no idea I was that fast! It was so cool! I think I still have the trophy somewhere—"

"Alright, so you got down. But it was very dangerous! Don't try it again! What if you'd toppled over backwards or slipped on the stairs?"

"John, dear, it's alright. I'm certain she knew the dangers of her actions," Mrs. Hudson interrupted kindly, vouching for your slightly annoyed face.

"I certainly did. I even threw some pillows at the bottom in case I fell."

"Bloody good that'll do..." John muttered, shuffling his feet.

"Well, as it turns out I'm pretty good at popping wheelies, and my arm strength is awesome, so I'm fine." You pointed your nose in the air rather haughtily, and it took all John's effort to keep from laughing.

"Now, would you like something to drink, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked John.

"Ah, sure, as long as you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all, John! Why, (f/n) and I are rather full now, so we'll let you try and finish some of the scones." Mrs. Hudson showed him inside and poured him a cup of tea.

After a moment of quiet, you and Mrs. Hudson resumed speaking.

"So anyways, what were you saying about your husband, Mrs. Hudson?" you asked.

"Ah, yes. He ran a drug cartel, dear."

Your face sobered. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry. Was he... arrested?"

"Yes, he was—and don't be sorry, dear, our relationship was purely physical, like I've told John here." Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly. Your face went from concerned to mildly revolted, and John's was similar as he recalled the memory.

"Hm, yeah, okay." You cleared your throat. John sniggered at your uncomfortable position, and you shot him a glare which made him chuckle all the more.

"Are you in a relationship with anyone?" Mrs. Hudson asked you. It surprised John to see you talking so casually with the landlady you'd only just met some time this morning. Perhaps you were more casual around strange women than strange men, because you certainly hadn't struck up any of these sorts of conversations with him, or even Sherlock for that matter.

You shook your head. "No. I don't really have time for that sort of thing. My job takes me everywhere, you know, so I just don't have time to settle anywhere."

"Well, it looks like you'll be here for a while. You might try finding a nice, young Englishman while you're here," Mrs. Hudson looked very indiscreetly at John.

You both cleared your throats at the same time and glanced away from each other while the kind old woman was oblivious to it all. "Well, you see, I'm, um... I don't have much experience, and I doubt anyone would want to date someone in a wheelchair. Too much work. And... well..." You realized you had no excuses.

"Oh, nonsense, dear. You're very charming. I'm sure you'll have plenty of suitors!" You went a deep shade of red and continued to refrain from glancing in John's direction. A man really shouldn't be listening to these sorts of conversations.

"I appreciate the compliment, but I'm just... not really interested in dating at the moment. I don't think my job would really allow time for it." You took a sip of tea.

"Oh, heavens! I haven't asked you what your job is, dear! Might I inquire?" Mrs. Hudson looked at you eagerly. John leaned forward to catch your response—Sherlock had been rather shady about it when he'd asked.

"Oh, I'm working with the government," you answered smoothly, "They have me travel all over the place." John noted with a hint of annoyance that you hadn't said what you were doing in the government. For all he knew, you could be MI6 or some other secret position. Actually, looking at your older brother Mycroft, that might not be far from the truth.

"That sounds very exciting! Do you ever get to see your brother, Mycroft?" The landlady went to pour herself another cup of tea while you answered.

"Yeah, actually, I do see him quite often," you smiled, clearly thinking of your brother. "He's in charge of my division. It's a little weird, since he's like my boss. Actually, he's almost everyone's boss."

This made both John and Mrs. Hudson laugh. "Does he give you your assignments at his warehouse?" John asked.

"No, not usually. I've been dragged there once or twice, like when he needed to tell me about Sherlock's indefinite disappearance. It's never work-related, though."

You said this so casually that it made John laugh again. "You say this like it's a regular thing. Does he often drag friends and family over there?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm not really scared of black vans pulling up behind me anymore, which might not be a good thing in some situations," you admitted, ducking behind a strand of your just-past-shoulder-length hair.

"No, I don't think that would be good," he chuckled.

"No, it's a great habit," you rolled your eyes sarcastically with a grin plastered on your face. The three of you continued to make small talk that you found, surprisingly, fun.

This was the way Sherlock found you, laughing and joking, when he threw the door open to 221B Baker Street.

Description
"Sherlock, (f/n)?" John stepped into the flat, confused at the silence. It seemed no one was at home—but obviously you couldn't have gone out. Perhaps Sherlock had found something to do, but would he really have gone to all the trouble to get you down the stairs.

"We're down here, dear," Mrs. Hudson called, startling John for a moment before he set down his briefcase and came down the stairs. Even more startling, however, was the sight of you sitting contentedly in Mrs. Hudson's flat with a cup of tea in your hands.

"Hey, John! You're back! I was really, really bored so I came down here to see if Mrs. Hudson wanted some company." He recalled you saying you'd never been in a wheelchair for this long before. How in the world had you gotten down? Surely Sherlock wouldn't have done something like this.

"How did you—Did Sherlock... When did...?" John wondered aloud.

"Oh," you laughed, "Sherlock got a text from Lestrade so he's been out all day, probably investigating something. I tried drawing, but I'm not left-handed, so I came down here."

"Yeah—but how? You said you'd never been in a wheelchair this long!" If anything now, John was a bit frustrated you'd attempted something this dangerous on your own.

You laughed again before continuing, "I googled it. You kind of pop a wheelie and just grab onto the handrails. That was hard with one broken wrist, but I managed. Just because I haven't been in a wheelchair for a long time doesn't mean I've never used one. I once won a wheelchair race when I was in the hospital after coming back from—from holiday. And they just happened to have it while I was there, so I entered and I won! I had no idea I was that fast! It was so cool! I think I still have the trophy somewhere—"

"Alright, so you got down. But it was very dangerous! Don't try it again! What if you'd toppled over backwards or slipped on the stairs?"

"John, dear, it's alright. I'm certain she knew the dangers of her actions," Mrs. Hudson interrupted kindly, vouching for your slightly annoyed face.

"I certainly did. I even threw some pillows at the bottom in case I fell."

"Bloody good that'll do..." John muttered, shuffling his feet.

"Well, as it turns out I'm pretty good at popping wheelies, and my arm strength is awesome, so I'm fine." You pointed your nose in the air rather haughtily, and it took all John's effort to keep from laughing.

"Now, would you like something to drink, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked John.

"Ah, sure, as long as you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all, John! Why, (f/n) and I are rather full now, so we'll let you try and finish some of the scones." Mrs. Hudson showed him inside and poured him a cup of tea.

After a moment of quiet, you and Mrs. Hudson resumed speaking.

"So anyways, what were you saying about your husband, Mrs. Hudson?" you asked.

"Ah, yes. He ran a drug cartel, dear."

Your face sobered. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry. Was he... arrested?"

"Yes, he was—and don't be sorry, dear, our relationship was purely physical, like I've told John here." Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly. Your face went from concerned to mildly revolted, and John's was similar as he recalled the memory.

"Hm, yeah, okay." You cleared your throat. John sniggered at your uncomfortable position, and you shot him a glare which made him chuckle all the more.

"Are you in a relationship with anyone?" Mrs. Hudson asked you. It surprised John to see you talking so casually with the landlady you'd only just met some time this morning. Perhaps you were more casual around strange women than strange men, because you certainly hadn't struck up any of these sorts of conversations with him, or even Sherlock for that matter.

You shook your head. "No. I don't really have time for that sort of thing. My job takes me everywhere, you know, so I just don't have time to settle anywhere."

"Well, it looks like you'll be here for a while. You might try finding a nice, young Englishman while you're here," Mrs. Hudson looked very indiscreetly at John.

You both cleared your throats at the same time and glanced away from each other while the kind old woman was oblivious to it all. "Well, you see, I'm, um... I don't have much experience, and I doubt anyone would want to date someone in a wheelchair. Too much work. And... well..." You realized you had no excuses.

"Oh, nonsense, dear. You're very charming. I'm sure you'll have plenty of suitors!" You went a deep shade of red and continued to refrain from glancing in John's direction. A man really shouldn't be listening to these sorts of conversations.

"I appreciate the compliment, but I'm just... not really interested in dating at the moment. I don't think my job would really allow time for it." You took a sip of tea.

"Oh, heavens! I haven't asked you what your job is, dear! Might I inquire?" Mrs. Hudson looked at you eagerly. John leaned forward to catch your response—Sherlock had been rather shady about it when he'd asked.

"Oh, I'm working with the government," you answered smoothly, "They have me travel all over the place." John noted with a hint of annoyance that you hadn't said what you were doing in the government. For all he knew, you could be MI6 or some other secret position. Actually, looking at your older brother Mycroft, that might not be far from the truth.

"That sounds very exciting! Do you ever get to see your brother, Mycroft?" The landlady went to pour herself another cup of tea while you answered.

"Yeah, actually, I do see him quite often," you smiled, clearly thinking of your brother. "He's in charge of my division. It's a little weird, since he's like my boss. Actually, he's almost everyone's boss."

This made both John and Mrs. Hudson laugh. "Does he give you your assignments at his warehouse?" John asked.

"No, not usually. I've been dragged there once or twice, like when he needed to tell me about Sherlock's indefinite disappearance. It's never work-related, though."

You said this so casually that it made John laugh again. "You say this like it's a regular thing. Does he often drag friends and family over there?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm not really scared of black vans pulling up behind me anymore, which might not be a good thing in some situations," you admitted, ducking behind a strand of your just-past-shoulder-length hair.

"No, I don't think that would be good," he chuckled.

"No, it's a great habit," you rolled your eyes sarcastically with a grin plastered on your face. The three of you continued to make small talk that you found, surprisingly, fun.

This was the way Sherlock found you, laughing and joking, when he threw the door open to 221B Baker Street.