Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter One

I was out on one of my usual walks. It was quite boring. No one ever talked to me. In fact, no one ever noticed me. I was invisible to the people. And they are oblivious to my cries for help. But just as I was about to round the corner, I felt eyes on my back. Someone staring at me. I shifted so I could see who it was, but not seem like I knew they were looking at me.

He looked......well, how do I put this......beautiful? I guess. There was something oddly attractive about him. I shook my head, thinking that it was just me. I kept walking down the street. Occasionally I would glance back to see if he was still there, and he was. Still following me. Pushing through the crowds of people. I could assume he was just some stalker, but I couldn't. He looked oddly familiar. Like I'd seen him somewhere. But I couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen him.

Then I remembered, I'd seen his picture in the paper once or twice. Shawn, no, Severus, no that's Harry Potter. Sherilyn, nope, that's a girls name. Sherlock! That's it! Sherlock Holmes! The famous consulting detective.

I kept walking anyways, on my way to Saint Bart's. I had decided that I'd help Molly out today. She was the only person I actually considered a friend. I finally reached the hospital when I looked over my shoulders. Sherlock Holmes was still there. And soon, he was right next to me.

"Excuse me," I said quietly. He liked down at me. "Yes?" He asked rather rudely. "Were you following me!" I asked. He laughed. It was a forced laugh. "No." He chuckled, sounding completely fake. He was lying. I could tell. I had always been able to detect a lie. I guess you learn how to do that when you're the oldest, and only, girl in a family of four boys and a father. My mother died when the youngest boy, Charles, was born. Just three days after his birth. Quite sad. I learned how to detect lies because my brothers were troublemakers. Now, it came easily to me.

I walked down the hallway, heading for the morgue. Sherlock Holmes was right behind me. I peeked through the door.

"Molly?" I shouted.

"Emily! Good, you're here." She said, opening the door happily. "I see Sherlock is here too." Molly stated, her face turning red. "Hello, Molly." Sherlock stated. He didn't smile at all. He brushed past us both. "Prepare a body, please, I have an experiment to test."

I stood next to Molly. We were both watching Sherlock Holmes pound a lifeless body with a riding crop. It was odd. Why he was doing this? I had no idea. He stopped a couple minutes later, Molly and I stepped forward. "Sherlock?" Molly asked, stepping closer to him. "Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She asked. I instantly knew she liked him. But he was oblivious to this fact.

"Ah, yes. Black with two sugars, Molly." He said. I stifled a laugh. Molly frowned, but nodded and left. I started to leave, since it was clear that Molly didn't need me around today.

"I'd like to talk to you, um-?" "Emily." I said, cutting Sherlock off. It seemed that he was surprised by my voice, but he hid it well. "Yes, I'd like to talk to you, Emily." Sherlock stated. "About what?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Where were you Thursday the twelfth?" He asked. "My flat, reading. Why?" I asked, turning my attention from the ceiling to Sherlock. "No reason." Sherlock lied. "You're lying." I said, a smirk lighting up my face. "You must be mistaken." Sherlock said. "No, in fact, I'm not." I laughed. "Goodbye, Emily." Sherlock said, picking up his jacket and leaving. I smirked as he left. He was clearly avoiding something.

"I knew you were following me!" I called after him. Sherlock stopped and shook his black curls. "You're right, Emily. I'll give you credit for that, at least." He said back, pushing his way through the doors of the lab. I suddenly had the urge to follow him, so I did. Instead I decided to walk home. I had just met the famous Sherlock Holmes. And unlike most people, I was not phased at all. Not even a bit. In some ways, I was repulsed. He was arrogant, ignorant, frustrating, and most of all, a compete dick.

And for that, I hated him.

But for some unknown reason, I liked him.

I guess he just has that pull to him. Like a magnet. It was odd.

I pushed through the doors of the lab. Sherlock was there, along with a man. Two men, to be exact. He was telling the shorter one something, his phone in his hand.

"How'd you know that?" The man asked. "It's simple." Sherlock said, pulling on his coat. "Emily," he stated, his voice touched with surprise. "Can I help you?" He asked. "No, you can't." I said. Sherlock was on his way out the door now.

"Meet me at 221b Baker street, John. And the name is Sherlock Holmes."