Fandom A Study in Steel

[Siena]

A Study in Steel

Case One​

221 Baker Street, London, England 2049 AD

Time was a peculiar entity. Never stopping, never moving faster than its established pace, it could render people mad with its trudging toil and pass everyone by within the blink of an eye. In many ways, the city had come to mirror it. Slow one moment yet alive with commotion the next, London was a facsimile of events playing on repeat, a continuous story told upon a stage of stone and industry and modernity. There were new actors each day, new takes on plight and plot, but the same tale to be told. Over and over and over again, like the cogs of a well-greased machine forever in motion, events played out. London, like Time, was ceaseless. One simply had to acknowledge his or her part in the play.

Jane H. Watson, despite her M.D. and newfound ownership of a home, was only partially satisfied with her own. Boxes littered the floor around her, the collection of her life and worth stuffed neatly within flimsy contours of cardboard and left for the world to see. Minimal, exiguous, plain - just like her. Beryl eyes narrowed and fingers tapped against a jean-clad thigh. Perhaps she should have taken Mrs. Hudson up on her offer for help after all. Hindsight, it truly was fickle. The trek from the moving van - a limited time resource and now missing component of her move - to the apartment she was renting had been a rather taxing affair; the familiar ache in her left hand told enough of its truth. It had been her pride and mulishness that kept the woman from accepting her elderly landlord's offered aid - that, and her inner doctor and ingrained manners - and now she ways paying for it. But what kind of person would she be - never mind the advancements in technology in this age and her gander of Mrs. Hudson's partaking in it - if she allowed an old woman to cart her meager, though no less heavy, possessions? One her father would have found more distaste in, for sure.

Jane sighed. New changes: they were hardly as satisfying as people would like her to believe. Blonde hair clinging to the traces of sweat upon her brow, the woman bent to retrieve the box nearest her feet. It was medium sized affair, large block letters reading "Decorations" atop it, though the doctor knew the description to be a lie. These boxes were borrowed from an old neighbor; her true decorations, limited as they were, had been placed inside her apartment two arm-loads ago. The rest of her possession would have joined them already had it not been for traffic and a wrong turn. How the man driving the moving van had managed to get lost within his home city, Jane would never know. What she did know, however, was that her paid for time and use of the truck included the driver's absence. She'd been forced to unload her boxes in the hall rather than the apartment as she had wished, fearing that the the driver would leave before she unpacked her load - or worse, getting stuck having to pay more for the fool's incompetence.

Thankfully the foot traffic to and from the building of her residence was minimum. The last thing she needed was to tend to an injury of her own making - intentional or not. Her own counted for naught, for the pain lacing her hand's tendons were but phantom in being. If she was lucky - which she hardly was - the doctor would be able to finish her manual labor before another tenant set foot in the chaos she'd made of the hall. Maybe, hopefully; all she could do was wait and see.

S Shabazz​

 

[Shabazz]

221 Baker Street, Suite 1903, London, England 2049 AD

Above the busy streets of Marylebone and Baker Street stood the Baker Street Towers. Two mirrored buildings, made up of 28 levels of thick glass and Persian rugs and connected by a bridge on the twenty first floor, rose above most of the other complexes in the neighborhood. Baker Street was known as one of the most luxurious areas in all of London. This particular suite, number three on level nineteen, overlooked the massive Regent's Park. From it's main window, spanning the entire exterior wall, one could see the gleaming waters in the river down below, crossed by the York Bridge which followed into the many patches of Daffodils and Orange Blossoms.

Behind the window was a landscape almost as glorious as the one outside. Dark, lacquered wood flooring mixed with brightly colored walls and a minimalistic layout of furniture captured the look of sophistication, but echoed the feeling of emptiness. On the soft white covers of the couch in the middle of the main room, dressed in formal black with a watch on the wrist of his right arm and a tie the same shade as his wavy hair, creating contrast with the pale skin on his face, rested the owner of the suite. The man was clean shaven; in fact, he gave off the scent of Burberry and Tom Ford. Suddenly, his eyes popped open to reveal the green nature of his iris'. Someone was at the door

Not one minute later, Mrs. Hudson's elderly knock was heard at the door. "Open up! This is Mrs. Hudson."
The man got up, jogged to the door and opened it in one fluid motion. "What is it?"
"I would like to introduce you to your new neighbor." the land lady said.
"Well how wonderful, I would be delighted to meet him." he followed Mrs. Hudson down the hall to a young woman who was carrying her stuff to the door. "Pleasure to meet you," he stretched his arm out, giving the girl a bright smile, "the name's Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Hudson didn't tell me the new neighbor was a married man."
"What man?" Mr.s Hudson spoke, "Sherlock, this is your new neighbor. Meet Jan Watson." the smile on Sherlock's face instantly dissipated.
"Uh, Mrs. Hudson, can I talk to you for just a moment?" Sherlock grabbed the lady by the hand and took her around a corner to talk. "Is this a joke?"
"What? No, no joke. You said you needed a partner to assist you."
"Yes but... but not a woman."
"Oh, but Ms. Watson is very smart. She a doctor you know."
"How am I supposed to concentrate with her living right next to me?My mind would be more relaxed if it were exiled to a Lunar Penal Colony! The loud showers that she'll take in the morning, the movies she'll be watching at night and the incessant singing that is characteristic of all women. I can't deal with that."
"Well you're going to have to start because she's not going anywhere." Mrs. Hudson stated firmly, motioning for Sherlock to go.

Sherlock, clearly disappointed, turned the corner and went back to his new neighbor. He put on a neutral smile and pretended like nothing had happened. Unfortunately for Sherlock Holmes, sound traveled by air.

 

[Siena]

The thrum of annoyance was a familiar presence in Jane's veins; indeed, the doctor had been dealing with an increasing frequency of it since early that morning. It was unfortunate, then, that her new neighbor had to go and make it worse with his careless words. Fingers tightening and lips parting in a forced smile, the blonde faced the man - a Sherlock Holmes, as he had introduced himself - over the box in her hands when he returned. He was pleasant enough to look at, all clean lines and pressed angles matched with the sort of dignity born from confidence. No doubt there were those who might consider him stunning, for the green of his irises was a most unusual color and the hair upon his head, rich in its mass of curls, framed the masculine cut to his face. Jane, however, knew better than to let outward appearances fool her.

His words had been enough to shatter any illusions she may have been placed under anyways. That, and she was hardly the sum of her physical traits either. Despite the forced smile straining at her cheeks, Jane's natural expression tended towards attentive composure. Her eyes were large and bright, twin irises of yellowed-green that swam with knowledge and determination, and her mouth, girlish in nature as it was, often found itself pressed into line of polite concern. Her hair was a muddied blonde, wrung through with strands of near-brown, that often found itself pulled away from her face. She had rounded cheeks and a straight nose, though the line of her chin was perhaps a little too proud, the breadth of her brow a little too wide. She was pretty but not gorgeous, plain but not drab. Unassuming, a woman whose motions still belayed the rush of youth yet conveyed neither naivety nor guile. She presented herself with professionalism but refrained from the detachment most carried in the workplace, for there was an honest enthusiasm in her, a true compassion for the world, that left her in the confidence of patients and strangers alike - one that gifted her with an air most seemed inclined to trust. Nothing in her outward appearance, save the occasional grimace and eye bag, denoted the darker thoughts that tended to plague her within. And she was fine with that. If others could hide behind the guise of their countenance, so would she.

"I apologize for my gender Mr. Holmes," Jane said at length, though no sentiment coated her tone. "I wasn't aware female presences were so annoying." That, and Mrs. Hudson had never indicated there being a problem with her gender. Had there been some kind of stipulation for the apartment she'd rented? Jane hoped not; finding a new home would be a hassle and an annoyance she'd rather not deal with. Her smile turned sardonic. "I can assure you, however, that singing is not a pastime I partake in. Not unless I wish to render you deaf, that is. Although," her gaze dropped to his toes before climbing back to his head, "I'm sure you could give me plenty of reasons to want to."

The doctor's head tilted to the side. Her smile never slipped. "Do you make it a habit of insulting people you've just met behind their backs?"

 

[Shabazz]

Holmes was taken aback by the ladies words. His face carrying a shocked expression, he looked back at the place where Mrs. Hudson was only to find that she had gone, leaving himself and Ms. Watson alone in the long corridor. He turned back to face the lady, never making eye contact but simply starring at the box she was moving.

"Well, Ms. Watson" he started, "I do suppose an apology is necessary. I am a very busy man, and, for the kind of work that I do, focus is essential. If..." He glanced at her face for a quarter of a second, "you make a good effort to not disturb me..." it pained Sherlock to say this next part, "I will try not to give you a reason to render me... deaf, as you said." Sherlock moved his gaze to match Ms. Watson's. He took a step closer, tightening his face while he tightened the gap between him and his neighbour. "To show my appreciation, I would not be against the thought of helping you with your moving in, Ms. Watson."