Off Limits - S.H.

The Blind Banker - Part 1

Y/N glanced down at the address on her phone, before looking back at the shiny black door in front of her.

221b

Reaching up, she gently grasped the metal knocker, rapping it three times against the smooth surface. Shuffling could be heard from inside and moments later the door swung open to reveal a kind-looking woman, in her mid-50s.

"Hello dear, how can I help you?" The woman smiled, moving aside to let Y/N inside.

"Hi, I'm here to, erm, see John Watson?" She returned the older woman's smile to the best of her ability, stuffing her shaking hands in her coat pockets.

"Oh, he's out right now, I'm afraid." The landlady sighed. Y/N's smile dropped, and she turned to leave before the woman's gentle voice spoke up again. "I believe his flatmate is still home though, I'm sure he won't mind you waiting."

Y/N thanked the landlady, whom she later found out was called Mrs Hudson, and made her way up the stairs, stopping just short of the open doorway at the sight of a man, Johns's flatmate, Y/N surmised, reading a book, perched on a black leather armchair. His pale alabaster skin practically glowed in the mid-morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Do I know you?" The man's deep voice questioned, not even turning around, as he closed his book.

"How did you know I was here?" Y/N asked, cautiously stepping into the flat.

"I'm very... perceptive." The man replied, standing up from his chair and rising to his full height. Roughly 6', maybe even 6'1, Y/N estimated, towering over her measly 5'5 frame.

"Yeah right." Y/N scoffed, causing the man to face her, raising an eyebrow. "The door was wide open. You heard me talking to Mrs Hudson."

He looked slightly taken aback, maybe even, impressed. "Sherlock Holmes, pleasure to meet you." Sherlock stood in front of Y/N, holding out his hand. She shook it, a smirk spreading across the detective's face. "I never knew John had another sister."

"How did you-"

"As I said, perceptive, Miss Watson."

"Oh, please, call me Y/N." She smiled warmly. "Mind if I make some tea? I'm bloody parched."

"'Course. We're out of milk though." Sherlock said as he sat back down.

"Oh, that's fine," Y/N called over her shoulder. "I don't take it, I'm-"

"Lactose intolerant." Sherlock interrupted. Y/N spun around.

"Exactly." She said slowly, walking towards him. "What gave it away?"

"Dry skin, brittle nails, bags under the eyes, all signs of calcium deficiency."

"Impressive. I see you don't take it either." Y/N smirked at Sherlock's bewildered expression. "The stains on your coaster. Too dark."

"How do you know it's not coffee?" Sherlock challenged, closing his book to give her his full attention.

"Two coasters, distinctly different stains, clearly a man of habit. Besides, I worked part-time as a barista during uni. On slow days, I had little else to do but stare at the many rings on the counters."