I'm on a roll 2 chapters in as many days, what is this? Again it's not as good as i'd like but then they mever are so I'll just have to live with it. I hope you enjoy!

Writer

Sherlock had hit a wall. He had tried various techniques in order to get past it, so far none had worked.

He had not had a case for several days now and in desperation John had convinced Lestrade to give Sherlock some cold cases to alleviate the boredom (and save Mrs Hudson's wall). The first two cases had been a breeze, hardly worthy of his talents; the last case, however, was something of a mental workout. All of the leads had come to a dead end and that had been where the wall started; so far Sherlock had tried backtracking over everything he had looked at, in case he had missed something. He hadn't. Now he was trying to approach the situation from a slightly different angle.

That was how Marley found him half an hour later, on a break from working. He was sat with his back pressed to the floor, his long legs trailed up against his armchair, feet resting against the seat. He didn't look up as she entered, or as she crossed the room to stand next to him. He did spare her a sideways glance when she lay down next to him and placed her feet in the same position. For some time they sat there in silence regarding the ceiling,

"Case giving you grief?" Marley asked eventually, turning her head to look at him. Sherlock didn't answer, but the look he gave her said quite plainly: Cases don't "give me grief" I am simply thinking, now shut up. She did.

More time passed and Sherlock was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate with Marley sitting so close to him. Her perfume was infiltrating his thoughts like some kind on noxious gas; it smelled light and fresh, a scent full of spring flowers. It reminded him distinctly of the kind of spring one only found in the countryside, the kind that had real lambs and chicks, rather than cardboard cut outs of them surrounding the Easter bunny that arrived in shops in early February.

Sherlock mentally smacked himself; he couldn't afford distractions, even on a cold case like this one. He was about to tell Marley to leave when she sat up, propping herself on her elbows a look of delight on her face,

"I've got it!" she exclaimed, delighted laughter issued from her lips as she flopped back onto the floor. Sherlock watched her push her hips into the air, balancing her weight between her shoulders and her elevated legs. A small rebellious part of his mind, that was telling him how nice distractions could be, noted the creamy patch of skin, between the top of her jeans and the bottom of her jumper, that was revealed as she fought to get a brown leather bound notebook from the front pocket of the trousers,

"I've been struggling with the M.O for my killer for weeks and I've just got it!"

That Marley was writer, Sherlock had already deduced. What she wrote had proved to be an entirely different problem to solve, he had never seen any books with her name on them in either her flat or Riane's. There was the possibility that she wrote under a pseudonym but he had never worked out which of the hundreds of well loved book scattered between the sisters' flats were Marley's. It was one problem that he had yet to devote serious time to unravelling.

Marley suddenly stood, she had been scribbling in her notebook for several minutes whilst Sherlock sat watching her. Now however she stood and looked down at him, for a moment Sherlock pretended to ignore her but when she cleared her throat he looked her straight in the eye, marshalling his expression into one of unconcerned boredom,

"Look Sherlock, I know you wanted me to leave about twenty minutes ago – no one cane frown that much and just be thinking about a case," He lowered his raised eyebrow, "but thanks for letting me stay. I've been trying to sort this out killer out all month, he's been a real pain in the arse, but I can start the book now, so I'll be out of your hair for a while." She smiled again and hurried in the direction of her flat.

Sherlock frowned at her retreating back from his inverted position, he felt oddly lopsided lying there on the floor. He got up and moved to the sofa. Better. The vacant space down his right side where Marley's warmth had been was less noticeable now. He frowned again, the case suddenly felt dull, his concentration was shattered and he didn't feel like working. He needed to do something, something interesting.

Downstairs Marley waited for her computer to turn on and smiled as the sound of bullets hitting the wall carried down to her.

As I said up at the top, this isn't as good as I'd like it to be. That may partly be due to the fact that this started life as an introduction to Marley and Riane's family. How I got to her I am not entierly sure, but I think I let the plot bunnies get out of hand! As per normal I really do love getting feedback (and I knoe there are at least a few people reading this, you have no excuse!) also this is not beta-ed so if you spot any typos in this or any of the other chapters please, please, please let me know, I hate having typos in a story thats up here but I don't always spot them when I proof read my onw work!
Thanks for getting this far, I love you all,
Igor xx