I've been running all my life. Away from the horrid memories of the sacrifices my mother made to protect me, and to protect my name from this evil world we live in...
But everything's changed...
I've recently found out my mother was murdered by a psychopath; choosing the wrong pill in a game of chance that would give away her secret. That gave away my name.
That cost her her life...
I heard a man named Sherlock Holmes had solved my mother's case along with others who had fallen of the same fate. I must find him so I can warn him: for he does not know what he has gotten himself into...


1. The First Deduction

I look around the busy street I walked into, the one street in the one city I thought I would never go back to. But here I am.

The place where my mother died.

I look at the people buzzing around me. Most just pass by like I didn't even exist; but some choose to look at me, probably wondering what a 14 year old girl is doing all alone in the busy streets of London. I walk away from the spot where I was standing as I hold onto the I-Phone my mother had sent me last Christmas. I still remember the day, still fresh in my brain as if it was yesterday.


The way my face looked as I opened the package in front of her on Skype; the way she said she missed me and might visit me when it was safe.

Yet she never came. The memories rush in: watching that report on the news of the serial-suicides, not really caring about, until my mother’s picture appeared on the screen. I felt myself fall to the floor on my knees, crying in sadness and disbelief. I remember taking out a knife, about to slit my throat and get it over with, but I knew my mother wouldn't want me to do that.

Even if she was dead.

 I just crawled into my bed and stayed there for a few days, thinking about my mom…


I feel the tears on my face as I get jolted back to reality by a shove from a passing civilian.

“Oi, watch it!” the man yelled as I continue down the street, not even looking up to apologize. I look at the scrap of newspaper from the classified ads: “Job as assistant of land lady needed; no experience necessary; 221B Baker Street” I approach the door of the address and knock.

“Coming!” a voice calls out, and I wait patiently. The door opens to a slightly aged woman, who I guess was the land lady.

“Well, how can I help you dear?” She says in a sweet tone of voice. I show her the ad, “I told John not to put that bloody ad in the paper…” she mumbles as she invites me in.

“So, what’s your name sweetie?” she asks.

“Ruby.” I say, wondering if I should have used a better cover-up name.

“Well, Ruby, I’m Mrs. Hudson.” she replies, and I politely shake her hand.

“Um, Mrs. Hudson,” I start to ask, “You don’t think I could stay here, could I? I could pay with the money I earn from my job, and I might get a job on the side.”

Mrs. Hudson just stares at me. “Why, my dear? Don’t you have a family to go back to?”

“No…Not really…I don’t like to talk about it…” I say. She nods in a sympathetic response.

“Well, I could see if the boys upstairs wouldn't mind an extra neighbor…JOHN! SHERLOCK!” She calls up the stairs.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson?” Someone calls back, coming down to the ground floor. The man was about 5’ 9” and was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He glances at me for a moment.

“I assume you’re here for the job to help Mrs. Hudson.” I nod. I don’t know what it was about him, but he seems like a man you would instantly trust. He just seems so friendly. Not to mention hedgehog-like.

“I’m Ruby,” I say as I shake his hand, “And you are?”

“John. John Watson.” I notice he has a firm grip in his handshake. “Sherlock! Come meet our new neighbor!”

I then confront the most curious man coming down the stairs. He was tall, about 6’ 2”, with facial features that made his face look soft and slightly pointy all at the same time.

“Sherlock, this is Ruby. Ruby, this is the famous Sherlock Holmes.” John introduces.

“Hello.” I say nervously. He did look a bit scary from a teenager’s point of view.

He nods. “You're a little young to be having your own flat, are you not, Miss Ruby?” He says out of the blue, and John gives him a stern look.

“I guess you could say that; I am 14, after all.” I reply with a hint of sass. John looks at me with a surprised expression on his face.  I sigh; people always think I’m older than I really am.

“And I’m guessing by the trail of dried tears on your right cheek that you had recently remembered a terrifying memory. Since you’re so young, it was a death of someone or something close to you; most likely someone.”

“Sherlock…”  John utters as keeps a stern look upon Sherlock, but he just ignores it and continues.  

“Not a brother or a sister, no; you’re an only child, and it would easier to get over and move on. This memory is one that has scarred your mind for years to come, so, parent it is.”

“Sherlock…” John says a little louder, but Sherlock continues to ignore him.

“Now, which parent died, that’s the tricky question. Well, not really if you look at your cell phone. A 14 year old girl couldn't afford that, so it was a gift, and so was the case.”

“Sherlock, please stop.” John says even louder than before, but Sherlock just keeps going non-stop.

 “The alarming shade of pink says that a woman bought it for you; a man wouldn't want to be seen carrying a pink phone case around, so it’s a gift from a woman. It’s not from a friend; no one your age could afford something like that, so it’s a woman in your family. It’s not a sister, because you’re an only child, and it’s not an aunt, cousin, or grandmother because of the way you hold the phone.”

“Sherlock stop it right now…” John was getting angry.

“You hold it like it’s the most precious item you own, indicating it’s from a now dead relative. So, who’s a relative who is a female and is usually the closest to the daughter, so close that even with that hideous case you would hold onto it; your mother.”

“SHERLOCK PLEASE!” John yells as Sherlock finally stops talking.

Sherlock looks at John, then back at me. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Ruby…” He goes back upstairs; John and I hear a door slam.

John turns towards me with a pitiful look on his face. “Yeah, he does that…”

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