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You ran through the streets of London. The ship you had traveled to England on had just docked. You came from America. You had been called on by the Scotland Yard to help with an investigation... And you were late. You finally burst into the meeting room, gasping for air.
"S-sorry! Ship docked later than expected." You gasped out, and everyone looked at you.
"Welcome, Miss ______." You heard a voice.
"An American. And a woman?" You heard another voice.
"She is one of the best detectives in America." The first voice said, and you nodded. It was true. Once you had graduated from school, you had gone solo, solving mysteries. You had been given the title of
'America's own Sherlock'. You ignored the title, but it gained you attention from all over England. When the Scotland Yard sent you a letter a year ago, you had politely declined, because there was no active case, they just wanted to claim you before anyone else could. When they wrote again asking for help, you'd gotten right over.
"Gentleman, this is ______ ______.
Madame_______, this is a group of the Yard's finest, minus one who should be dragged in, in a few moments." You heard the distinct sound of someone being pushed down the hall.
"And here, Madame, is Sherlock Holmes." A man was pushed through the door. He stumbled in through the doorway, straightening up after a few seconds.
"Yes gentlemen, I am- oh. You, are not a man." He said, pointing at you.
"What gave it away? Was it my chest or my feminine features?" You asked, winking.
"More, I'd say, the smell of testosterone." Holmes replied.
"I suppose, this is the American that holds the title 'America's own Sherlock'?" He asked, looking you up and down.
"Yes, well, I try not to flaunt it. Though, it is quite flattering." You said, relaxing a bit.
"Yes. I suppose it would be." He said, and you smiled.
"_____ ______. Pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes." You said, sticking out your hand for him to shake. He grabbed it, but instead of shaking it, he leaned down and kissed your knuckles, looking up at you. You blushed a bit, but it wasn't noticed in the dim light.
"Well, Holmes, when you've finished?" You heard the chief say, and you jumped a bit.
"Right, the case." You said, then turned. The current chief, Harold Lionos, looked at you.
"Right. Recent murders. There have been 12 so far." You pulled out a small notepad and began to write.
'Group of killers
12 murders'
That's all you got before the pad was snatched from your hand.
"Why are you writing this all down? Didn't you get the case file?" Sherlock asked, and you glared at him.
"I prefer to see things in my own writing. And these notes are different."
"What makes you think that there are more than one killer?" He asked, and you looked at him.
"Copy cat murderer? I think it's a group of people. Each murder was the same, exempt for one tiny detail." You said, and he looked at you.
"And what is that?" He asked, as you pulled out a drawing.
"I pulled this out of the sketches that were sent. There, on each body, was a mark, on the left hip bone. Each was a line. If you put them together, you get this star shape." You said, and tossed the drawing into Sherlock's hand, snatching back your notepad.
"Well then... Clever, but your missing something." Holmes said, and you took another step toward him, putting a hand on his chest.
"Yeah. I forgot. You took my pencil." You reached into his shirt pocket for the stolen pencil, then took it back, whirling away.
"You said you had lodgings for me?" You asked Harold, and the chief simply stared at you for a moment.
"W-what? I mean, yes. You'll be staying with Sherlock." You rolled your eyes at the cruel fate of nature.
"If that isn't suitable..." The chief trailed off.
"No. No, it's fine." You said, after a few moments.
You discussed the case with Holmes and the others for a while, before Harold declared break for the day. You smiled at that.
"Funny. On my side of the pond, I'd get fired for breaking." You smiled deviously. Holmes extended his arm to you.
"I am fully capable of following you, Mr Holmes." You said, and he smiled.
"That's not what I was worried about. The streets are filled with criminals, and that dress is low cut." Sherlock said.
"I am perfectly capable of hand to hand combat." You said, but he simply smiled and slipped his arm through yours.
"Wouldn't want to make a scene, would you?" Holmes asked, and you simply shook your head. As the two of you left the room. One of the men looked around.
"I think he's finally met his match."

When you arrived with Sherlock to his home, you saw a sharply dressed man conversing with a nice looking lady, though, you thought as looked at her, she had a horrible taste in fashion.
"May I take your coat?" He asked, and you obliged, slipping the coat off. Your long black dress clung to your curves, making your breasts seem larger than they were. The back, in the American fashion, was flat. Ribbons cascaded down your back, emerald green. Your suitcase trailed behind you. Your hair was up in an emerald green ribbon. You looked marvelous.
"This is ______ ______, the detective hired from America." You shook hands with the two, who were introduced as Watson, and his fiancé. You could feel Sherlock's eyes searching you.
"So, Mr Holmes, what have you discovered about me so far?" You asked turning to him.
"You were born into money. You expect to be treated equally and with respect... And because of that, people treat you with that respect. You have a hard time with your personal life, because you hop about from place to place so much." You looked at Sherlock. While he was speaking he had taken a step toward you, and you could feel his breath on your face when he spoke, and you looked up into his eyes.
"Clever." You said.
"That I am." Holmes said. His eyes were a deep brown. Watson cleared his throat. You took a step away.
"Well, we'll be off then..." Watson said. He left with his fiancé.
"Well. You'll be sleeping here." He waved to a couch. You nodded.
"Do you have a facility I could use?" You asked, and he pointed to the right.
"The 'facility' is that way." He said, and you smiled at him.
"Do you have an area where I could change?" You asked, and the first thing that popped into Sherlock's mind was 'Why would you want to?' But he waved that away, and replied with
"I'm not used to having company."
You scoffed. You kneeled, pulling a night gown out of your suitcase. You stood, and walked toward the bathroom. It held a bath, and was fairly sizable. You slipped out of your dress, and into your nightgown. When you exited the bathroom, you saw Holmes. He was wearing a robe and under clothes.
"You are an interesting young lady, aren't you?" Holmes asked, and you looked at him.
"What makes you say so?"
"Your suitcase." He said, looking you in the eye. "There were no tickets to bring you back to America."
"Perhaps I forgot them?" You suggested.
"No, my dear, I believe you are running from something. I have no clue what, however. Perha-"
"My family."
"Well, that was easy..."
"My family, when I became a detective, they disowned me. They were part of a cult, and... I was the one who discovered it. I had them jailed, and the cult has been after me ever since." You said, and he looked at you.
"I'm so very sorry." He said, and you laughed humorlessly.
"Isn't that what everyone says?"
"No, I'm sorry about your family. The fact that they disowned you. I am sorry." He said. You turned away from him, tears sliding down your cheeks.
"My dear," he whispered, coming up behind you, "it is ok to cry." He hugged you from behind. You pulled away from him, collapsing onto the couch he had said you would be sleeping on.

You woke the next morning to a quick tap on the shoulder. Your hand flew to your waist where you stored you knife, and it flew out to hit it's target, who, when you looked around, was standing behind the door that your knife hit.
"How did you know where I was?" Holmes asked, as you stood and stretched.
"There's a reason I'm still alive." You said dryly, and he smiled slightly.
*^*^*^*^*
When the day was over you and Sherlock had a pretty good idea of who committed the crime, and where they were. You and Sherlock were a pretty good team, and had grown quite close in the span of only a day, so when he approached you with the idea of working with him, because you weren't going back to America, and you would need a job. You had accepted the offer, and Sherlock smiled.
"Glad to be working with you." He said, and you smiled.
"Pleasure's all mine."

When you awoke the next morning, you didn't throw a knife at Sherlock, who considered it to be a huge accomplishment.
"My dear," he had said, "it shows that you trust me." To which you rolled your eyes.

You and Sherlock quietly snuck into the building.
"I'll take the left, you the right." You whispered, and he nodded. As soon as he was out of sight, you felt a hand sneak around your waist, another holding a gun to your throat.
"Call for Holmes." A gruff voice whispered into your ear. He gave you waist a rough squeeze.
"S-Sherlock! H-help!" You shouted. There was no way to get out of the hold without him shooting you.
"Say his name louder, pet."
"SHERLOCK! HELP!" You yelled, when you saw his finger flex. You heard footsteps, and he appeared, running around the corner.
"_-_____!" He shouted when he saw you.
"I would advise you not to move any closer, Holmes."
"Who are you working with?" Sherlock asked, and the man scoffed in your ear, causing you to flinch.
"I'm working alone, Holmes. Like the touch I added to make you think I was working with people? You heard footsteps come up behind you.
"Liar." A voice said, and you heard a gunshot. The man holding you went slack, and you shimmied out of his grasp, only to be grabbed again, around your chest.
"Not again..." You lamented.
"Yes, American, again." A voice purred into your ear. You shivered. Your hands were down at your sides. And you quickly pulled out your knife, stabbing the man behind you. He cried out on pain, and you wiggled out of his grasp. You grabbed your gun, and put it to his head.
"Sherlock..." You said, and he walked up to the man, cuffing him. He looked at you with concerned eyes.
"Are you all right?" He asked, and you nodded.
After being paid, you and Sherlock headed to a bar. It was a dirty little place, and you felt right at home, cheering as Sherlock punched his challenger in the back of the head, as he confusedly looked around for Sherlock. As the man struggled to get up, Sherlock walked toward you. You took his arm, and he led you out of the bar. When you got back to his house, at 221 B Baker Street, he smiled at you.
"Go take a bath. You're bloody and sweaty." You told him.
"Mmm." He said, disappearing into the bathroom. He came out a while later, cleaned up. He looked at you. You were lying on the couch, in your night gown, unaware to his presence. Or so he thought.
"Sherlock." You said.
"Hm?" He asked, and you looked at him.
"This couch is unbelievably uncomfortable."
"I know. That's why I don't sleep on it, and you do."
"You're charming."
"That I am." You sat up, and walked up to him.
"I think I might head back to America." You said, and you saw disappointment flash through his eyes.
"Unless you think there's a really, really good reason I should stay?" You ask him, and he looked at you.
"There are a lot of reasons you should stay. He whispered, and you looked at him.
"Why?" You asked, and he looked at you.
"Why not?" He asked, and you looked at him.
"I have a career in America. I have friends..."
"Those are bad reasons to go back."
"I miss it. I mean, it's nice here..."
"But...?"
"I was born there. And I have barely anything here. I mean, all I really have is you, and-"
"That's not enough."
"Actually, I was going to say that- actually, never mind."
"Tell me."
"Hmmm... No."
"Would it help if I told you that I don't want you to go?" You looked up at him sharply. He was gazing down at you through half closed eyes.
"I-I-I-I... I don't know. I just... Don't know." You said, you could feel the tears begging to be released.
"It's just that I have friends, and clients, and all of stuff and if I left he-" you were cut off by a pair of warm lips against yours. His strong arms wrapped around you, and you squeaked in surprise.
"Is that the only way I can get you to stop talking?" Sherlock asked, and you were silent.
"Remember what I said about going to America?" You asked him, after a while. He looked at you, hear sinking.
"Y-yeah." He said, preparing for the worst.
"Forget it. Forget America even exists. Right now, you are all that matters. Right now, you are all I want." You say, and you felt the familiar presence of Holmes behind you.
"Of course. I was planning on doing that anyway." You whirled around suddenly, and grabbed his collar. You dragged him forward, smashing your lips into his. You felt his tongue flick against your top lip, a question. You answered, opening your mouth, and he deepened the kiss. You felt him climb onto the couch, straddling you.
"So..." You said pulling away for breath, " This couch is really uncomfortable." He grinned, and picked you up.
"Then lets take this somewhere else, shall we?"