"Er, where am I?" she muttered to herself, looking up from the property details to the busy road she was on.

She'd crossed Dorset Square and she knew she'd gone down Glentworth Street, but for the life of her she couldn't find where she was going. From where she was standing, she could see a jeering sign diverging only that she was on Siddons Lane, but that was no use.

'Melcombe Street, am I going there?' she huffed, walking towards the crossroads.

"At some point Lestrade, you're going to give up; it's quite obvious I'm not on drugs."

"Fortunately, you have no proof of that, Sherlock," he countered, picking up a cushion from the sofa and ignoring Sherlock's huff as he was forced to sit up, "So I'm free to search the entire house until I'm happy you're clean."

"Mrs. Hudson would not allow two drug-addled fiends into her home."

"Of course not Sherlock dear, but I would like it if you'd stop shooting the wall," she said, "The bullet holes are quite expensive to fix."

Hermione frowned as she finally reached the long row of bricked townhouses of Baker street. There were police cars parked all along the road and the door of number 221 looked as though it'd been kicked in. She wasn't sure whether to enter or not - she most certainly did not want to lodge with criminals - but she was sure the kind woman she'd spoken to on the phone was safe.

"Well on the bright side, if they are criminals, they're being detained," she told herself, pushing open the battered black door.

She could hear loud voices coming from the first floor, mostly from a east Londoner, but not the sweet landlady she'd spoken to on the phone.

"Lestrade, there's a head in the fridge."

"Anderson, do not touch it!" Sherlock shouted, walking over the table to the kitchen where the team was crowding round the fridge, "It's an experiment of mine and we all know you don't have enough intelligence to not ruin it entirely."

"You do know we're in the homicide unit, don't you?"

Whatever comeback Sherlock was planning on saying was interrupted by a shy knock on the door. Everyone in the room turned to watch as Mrs Hudson stood from the sofa, "Look what you've all done now. Scare the girl half to death, why don't you."

"Girl?" Sherlock asked, but Mrs Hudson ignored him and instead went to the door. Him, John, Lestrade and Anderson stopped as the rest of the team continued to search.

"Oh dearie, it's so lovely to meet you! Now aren't you pretty," she cooed, making the others even more curious as they waited for this mysterious woman to come inside.

"Who would come to visit this psychopath?" Anderson asked. John rolled his eyes at the inevitable reply.

"I am a sociopath, not a psychopath. Do your research, for god sakes."

"Come on in then dear," Mrs Hudson said, ushering the visitor through the door, "We're just having a little drugs raid, nothing to worry much about."

"Oh, okay," they heard a hesitant voice Sherlock instantly recognised as a Surrey accent.

She had lightly tanned skin which screamed holidays in France and the high cheekbones and soft jaw line she had were definitely of British origin, but her almond-shaped eyes and the silky, spiraling honey tresses that fell to her shoulders in waves that could only be natural told him she probably had ancestors from elsewhere in Europe – perhaps France? She certainly seemed from somewhere other than here, though Sherlock thought her to be younger than either him or John, at least by five years. She was wrapped in a warm winter coat - telling him she had just moved away from somewhere cold as the weather outside was quite warm for England - with a thick scarf wound around her neck and jeans underneath by the looks of things. What didn't make sense was the lack of flush in her face. She could only have been this cool if she'd managed to appear in London from thin air. But how?

"Now dear, you mustn't think this happens all the time," Mrs Hudson said smiling, bringing her into the room, "Things will calm down but my other lodgers to tend to get into some interesting situations, you see, so there will be some times we have drugs raids and they're on quite good terms with the police."

"She's quite fit," Anderson whispered. John closed his eyes and sighed as Sherlock turned to speak, but for the second time that day he was interrupted.

"Well then you must come back when I'm thoroughly inebriated, perhaps then I'll return your sentiments," the girl rolled her eyes, smiling as Mrs Hudson followed her inside.

Witty and mysterious, how intriguing.

"No, unfortunately nobody will ever find Anderson even remotely attractive," Sherlock said, smirking at the outraged look on his face.

"I don't know, he's doing alright for somebody who's married and having an affair," she smiled, looking the man up and down, "You do know she's gotten engaged now, don't you?"

"Oh jesus, another one," Anderson groaned, "How do you know she's engaged then?"

"There's a slight nick under your ear."

"What? She told me that was a promise ring!"

"Greg Lestrade," a tall, handsome man introduced himself, "I promise, not everyone in the unit is so moronic."

Hermione laughed, admiring his strong jaw line and arms, "Nice to meet you, I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"What a lovely name," he smiled, "Very unusual."

"Stop flirting, Lestrade, she's almost half your age," Sherlock droned, whacking away an officer who was reaching over to a steaming beaker full of a suspicious red liquid.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, looking over to the man who'd interrupted, "I've always enjoyed the company of an older man. All that experience."

"I'd say you've had one or two older men by the looks of you," he smirked again, looking her up and down.

"And by the looks of you, you haven't had much of anything," she grinned, "An older man with no experience. What a waste."

"No, but running after Lestrade is a waste; he's still pining over his ex."

"But she cheated on him with a PE teacher?" she said confusedly, turning to the man in question with a grin on her face, "You could do so much better by the way."

"Sherlock," he said, grabbing her attention back.


"My name, little girl, is Sherlock Holmes."

"And I'm John," another man piped up, "Nice to meet you."

"I'm not little," she ground out despite her small stature in comparison to the large men she stood before.

"Well Mrs Hudson, do you plan to explain what this charming little girl is doing in our flat?" Sherlock asked, ignoring her remark smugly.

"Well dearie, she's your new roommate," she smiled, "Would you like a cup of tea?"