Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider. I don't own Sherlock. I don't own John. I don't own Mycroft. I don't own a car. I don't own a Stradivarius violin. I don't own a llama. We done?

A/N: I noticed some inaccuracies in the timeline as I typed this up, but if you notice any, please ignore it! Just assume this is very AU-ish :)

File: Watson 01

Day One: Meeting Alex Baker

Alex Rider had thought he'd seen the last of Mycroft Holmes after the mission in Serbia, but it looked like that wasn't the case. It seemed that once someone got tangled in the Holmes' lives, they were stuck with the two. This was definitely true for him.

"Passport, official papers," Mycroft handed him a stack of important looking documents, "You will be assuming the identity of 'Alex Baker' for the next two weeks. You will be living in 221B with Sherlock and John. You will accompany them if they have cases. You will not reveal that I have sent you."

"This isn't my first mission, you know," Alex muttered sullenly in a teenager-ish fashion.

Mycroft ignored this statement, and handed him a cell phone "If you need to contact me, use this phone. I expect reports every other day."

Alex wrinkled his nose, slipping the offered cell into his pocket where it clicked against his other cell phone, which contained the number that would allow him to directly contact Mrs. Jones. His recreational cell phone had wisely been left at home.

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, has already been taken care of," Mycroft leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of Alex, "You're a friend that needs a place to live for two weeks. Mrs. Hudson kindly offered."

Alex nodded, "Anything else?"

Mycroft handed the teenager a small backpack, "Clothes and a tracker. Make sure you bring this with you at all times."

Alex accepted the backpack, now impatient.

"They should be done with their latest case," the man mused, "Go ahead."

The teenager grinned and darted away. He was going to meet the Sherlock Holmes!


Alex 'Baker' lounged on the sofa, waiting for the consulting detective and his blogger to return. He had briefly popped into the station to check on them. The place was flooded with police, so Alex wisely backed away, choosing instead to go to 221B Baker Street.

"…need to do something relaxing."

Alex perked up when he heard the male voice outside the door. He'd been waiting for such a long time already.

"Yes, like an experiment!" someone, obviously Sherlock, responded.

The other person paused for a moment, "No… Like sleeping."

Alex snorted quietly as the door swung open

"It must be blissfully empty up there," Sherlock was probably pointing at John's head. So the rumors were true. Sherlock was a jerk.

"Yes," the other man said sarcastically, "so empty that I noticed the strange man on our sofa before you."

The two walked into view. Sherlock waved a hand, "Oh, don't worry. He's a friend of Mrs. Hudson."

Alex sat up, pretending to look bleary, "Um – sorry. You're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, right?"

He turned to John when he mentioned Sherlock, and he turned to Sherlock as he mentioned John. Inwardly, he grinned devilishly.

"Oh, no, no," John was flustered, "I'm John, and that's Sherlock."

Sherlock had turned away from the pair to stride into the kitchen. Alex had already explored the refrigerator and the counters. Honestly, it was disgusting.

"I'm Alex. Alex Baker," Alex stood to shake John's hand, "I'm a friend of Mrs. Hudson. I needed a place to live for a couple weeks – I've just come home from America – and she offered. Said you guys wouldn't mind… I'll take the sofa and everything!"

John gave him a small smile, "No problem," he led the younger boy into the kitchen where Sherlock was fiddling with something, "Sherlock, say 'hi'."

Sherlock turned, a gloved hand holding a dyed green eyeball. He studied Alex with a critical eye.

John groaned, already regretting his words, knowing he had made a mistake, "Wai-"

"New York City or Los Angeles? No, that's a stupid question. You have a tan – a bit of sunburn too. Los Angeles. Your trip there wasn't pleasant. Probably ran into some unexpected friends," Sherlock was talking very quickly, "Your slightly crooked nose indicates that at some point – fairly recently seeing that the cut on your face hasn't scarred over yet. Your posture says that you have recently been through a traumatic experience. You don't trust us, but you're trying to look casual.

"Clothes: clean, ironed. Expensive. You don't have any trouble finding your own place. You have enough money. That suggests you're running away from something. Someone? Yes, someone. You don't want to lead them to your place. Not for the sake of your family, I'm afraid. They've been dead for a while.

"Money, freedom, and fighting. You're a fugitive. You were recently part of a gang, but you didn't like it – hence the lack of tattoos – so you left America. You changed your identity too. Slight hesitation when you introduced yourself. Clearly, 'Alex Baker' isn't your real name. Conclusion: gang."

Alex stared at the man, startled. The man had managed to deduce a lot more than he had originally thought.

"A gang?" John frowned, "Why did you join a gang?"

Alex had quickly recovered. He crossed his arms, wearing a smirk. He turned to Sherlock, "Not even remotely close."

"What?" Sherlock was glaring at Alex, clearly not believing him

"What?" John echoed, looking back and forth between the two men, "Sherlock's wrong?"

"Shut up, John," Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of Alex, "I'm not wrong. All the tell-tale signs are there."

"Well, you're wrong," Alex shrugged, turning away, "You can read the tell-tall signs of not lying, can't you?"

"No," Sherlock sounded annoyed "that's impossible. You were in a gang in Los Angeles!"

"Leave it, Sherlock," Alex heard John warn.

Obviously the other man didn't take heed.


Alex froze as he felt something smashing against his back with extreme speed. Something made a plooping sound before sliding down the length of his back and landing on the floor with another plock!

He slowly turned, noting the eyeball – still as green as ever – on the floor.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as the man spun around to grab another eyeball.

Alex glared, "You did not just throw an eyeball at me."

"On the contrary," Sherlock held out another eyeball, "I did."

The younger man stormed over to the consulting detective, angry words already picked out.

"Woah, woah," John was standing between them, "Calm down! And for God's sake, Sherlock! Put down the eyeball!"

A/N: Okay, I don't want to leave the Alex Rider/Sherlock universe... So I decided to do a companion piece to "File: John", told in Alex's POV about his two weeks in 221B. There will most likely be 14 chapters (more like one-shots all mashed up together).

Please note that this story is just a bit of fun for me and is third on my prioritizing list (after Operation Zeta and AWOL).

Thank you for your reads, favorites, follows, and reviews on my previous stories! I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much!

-Alice x