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A new girl moves into 221 C Baker Street, and it infuriates Sherlock that he cannot read her. But when he finally begins to understand her, his enemy does as well- her good and bad sides. And what better way to bring down a knight than with a damsel? Sherl/OC or Moriarty/OC, not quite sure yet. Rated T for some of the cases and for some psychological triggers. Includes the Fall!
The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 2

    Madeline was awoken the next morning by a loud banging at her front door. She stumbled out of bed in the clothes she’d worn the day before, bleary eyed and tired. The banging became more insistent as she shuffled to the door, rubbing at her face to coax herself fully awake.

    “What, what?” She mumbled as she opened the door. A coat and scarf clad Sherlock Holmes strode past her without so much as a glance.

    “Good morning, Miss Carver. I trust you slept well?”

    “I-“

    “Good.” The detective said, stopping in the middle of the flat to survey the boxes that were half unpacked and pushed against the walls in what he deduced were categories.

    So she’s organized.

    His blue eyes turned to Madeline, who was yawning and trying to tease her bed head to lie flat. It was irritating at how few words sprang out at him.

    Shy.

    Tired.

    Annoyed.

    Avid reader.

    Uses glasses or contacts.

    Tempermental.

    Out of all the obvious things Sherlock could find nothing about her habits, profession, or history. He tried to look at her arm, but it was tightly crossed with its twin over Madeline’s chest.

    “So John told me you’re from America.” He said, wheeling around to walk amongst the boxes. “I picked up on your foreign accent when you bumped into me.” Madeline sighed and left the door open with the hopes that her guest would show himself out. Sherlock perused her boxes aimlessly, noting things that jumped out at him. Books, cooking utensils, a bag of cat food, more books. All completely ordinary items. The detective turned to leave (much to Madeline’s pleasure) but then caught sight of a box hastily labeled “lab equipment”. He nudged the box balefully with his shoe while Madeline cleared her throat behind him.

    “So what do you do for a living, Mr. Holmes?” She asked.

    “Investigative services.” He deadpanned. Madeline smiled and leaned against the doorframe casually.

    “As the world’s ‘only consulting detective’?” She asked, allowing herself a small smile at the cold glance Sherlock threw her. His eyes darted briefly to the laptop sitting closed on the desk.

    “So you found John’s blog.” He said dismissively.

    “I did my research.” Madeline said, beginning to long for the comfort of her bed. “I am a scientist, after all.”

    “In glycemic acid patterns and protein analysis, yes?” Sherlock stated rather than asked, peering at the stacks of books piled up on the floor; some already resting on shelves. Madeline’s slightly surprised expression confirmed his deduction.

    Now we’re getting somewhere. The detective thought.

    “So why are you here, Mr. Holmes?” His neighbor asked him. “I thought you said I was boring.” She emphasized the word playfully. Sherlock scowled.

    “I do. But John insisted I apologize and- get to know you.” He said reproachfully, openly expressing his distaste for the doctor’s suggestion. Sherlock noticed Madeline’s body language becoming tighter and more closed off. Small words began flickering into existence dimly by her shoulders, reading things like:

    Self conscious.

    Betrayed.

    Uncomfortable.

    Sherlock smiled to himself, uncomfortable people were the easiest to read; and that’s just how he liked them. Madeline’s surprise at John’s demand read betrayal, and for a second it was obvious she didn’t care for Sherlock being in her flat at all.

    Friendly.

    Just like that, she reined in her facial expressions and relaxed her tight posture slightly but still kept her arms pressed close to her sides. Sherlock groaned and filed the small bit of information he’d gathered away into his mind palace.

    “I don’t care for normal people,” He bit out awkwardly. “So, maybe it’d please John if you’d walk down the street with me.” Madeline gave him a dim smile and nodded, retreating into the back room to change. Sherlock waited, resisting the urge to sieve through her laptop and check her files.

    “Normalcy.” He muttered, “How boring.” A small yowl broke his thoughts as a gray tabby cat crept into the living room and wound itself around Sherlock’s leg. He curled his lip at it disdainfully and tried to shake the little beast off, but it simply purred at him and switched to his other leg, leaving short gray hairs on his trouser legs wherever it rubbed.

    “Useless thing.” He spat. “Dogs are much better.” Out of boredom he began to assess his neighbor’s cat whilst she changed, noting that it had more information to offer than its owner.

    Overfed.

    Loose hairs behind the ears, signs of often petting.

    Declawe-

    Clawed, definitely clawed.

    Sherlock was about to kick at the cat that had just decided to use his calf as a scratching post when Madeline stumbled out of her room in a hurry.

    “Sorry,” She breathed, “The movers put my clothes in the wrong spot. I’ve got them, now.”

    “Yes, obviously.” Sherlock said. Madeline frowned at him until she noticed her tabby circling the detective’s legs cozily. She pulled the cat away with a small laugh while the detective brushed the hairs off of his trousers. As they walked to the door he noticed that she was wearing long sleeves that covered the entirety of her arms up to her wrists, and that she had rubber promotion bracelets from different companies lined on her wrists along with a few woven ones. Sherlock smirked, it wasn’t even cold, yet.

. . .

    Not many people were driving in the streets, but quite a few were walking or bicycling on the sidewalks. Madeline walked next to the tall man, marveling at the stores advertising “bangers and mash” and “fish and chips”.

    “Can we get some?” Madeline asked Sherlock. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

    “They’re exactly the same as your American food at home. And besides, I don’t eat unless I can’t help it.” He continued on with a swish of his coat. Madeline had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him.

    “What do you mean ‘unless you can’t help it’? You are human, right?” He turned and flashed her an eerily charming smile, although he hadn’t meant it to be.

    “Not hardly, I’ve been informed to be heartless on many occasions.” His usual scowl slipped back onto his face and he kept walking. As they strolled along, Sherlock kept on taking random glimpses at his neighbor out of the corner of his eye; trying to see if she’d let her guard down. She didn’t; Madeline walked confidently with her arms either crossed casually or with her hands in her pockets. It infuriated Sherlock, and he was determined to know just what exactly was irritating him so much besides being unable to read her. He had just opened his mouth to begin an interrogation when wailing sirens sped past them, momentarily pushing all other noise to an inaudible level. Sherlock sighed with a groan.

    “What?” Madeline asked curiously. He held up his hand and stopped walking.

    “Three, two, one.” His phone began to buzz and ring furiously before he answered it. “What, Lestrade?” The detective murmured into his phone. “I saw the sirens and you’re calling thirty seconds earlier than usual, so something must be wrong.” Madeline couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying; but Sherlock stepped out into the street still on his phone, and flagged down a taxi. He cast her a glance as he opened the cab’s door.

    “Get in or go home.” He said snidely.

    She got in.

. . .

    “Middle aged man, no evident signs of head trauma and no cyanosis around the mouth.” Lestrade said pointedly, casting a patronizing glance at Sherlock as soon as the detective walked in. Madeline entered after him, but stumbled back from the smell of decay and the sight of the bloated body slumped over a desk in the office room. She clasped a hand over her mouth and left, Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

    “Taking on muses, Holmes?” He asked. Sherlock gave him a withering glance and began examining the body.

    “Seriously, who was that, though?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed and quit inspecting the condition of the man’s tongue to answer.

    “New neighbor. Nothing of importance, John insisted I take her out and make friends.” He turned back to the corpse and began examining the man’s clothes for signs. “Professor, most likely at Oxford. Did you find an ID on him?”

    “No.”

    “Then it’s safe to assume he’s a professor. There’s a pin hole in his left lapel from a university pin that’s been removed, and there’s a small bit of chalk on his right cuff so he was right handed and his sleeves often muddled in the chalk. Also from looking behind the ears there is a dead skin build up and divot from wearing glasses constantly ad not taking them off- most likely wide frame reading glasses used by most professors at Oxford. He was removed from his workplace or home, just like the other woman. I suggest you send a questionnaire to Oxford and ask if any of their professors are missing, Lestrade.” Sherlock concluded, not even slightly winded. Lestrade nodded and finished jotting the last of his notes down on a pad. “Anything else?” Sherlock asked irately; the Detective Inspector shook his head.

    “Not that I can think of, have fun with your friend making; sorry I distracted you from your muse.” He said smartly. The detective gave him a scalding look and left the office. Madeline was waiting for him outside with a pale tinge on her face and red eyes.

    “Were you crying?” Sherlock said accusingly.

    “No,” She said defensively, “That smell was just awful. Did you solve it?” Sherlock frowned at how quickly she changed the subject but didn’t prompt her. Instead he filed away even more information on Madeline Carver.

    Touchy about death.

    He gave her a curt nod of affirmation and continued down the street, she followed beside him quietly. Perhaps “friend making” really did yield useful information.

    “Who was the other man in there?” His neighbor asked. “Do you work for him?” The detective’s lip curled a little at the thought.

    “I don’t work for anyone. I’m married to my work, and that’s for me so I don’t get bored. Lestrade is a business partner.”

    “So he’s your friend?”

    “Don’t be silly, I don’t have friends.” He said. Madeline smiled, finally seeming to cheer up a little.

    “Well, you’ve got John, and I guess you’ve got me; so I’d say you’ve got a couple.” She said, trying to make the tall man smile. He simply frowned and tugged the collar of his coat up to his high cheekbones. Madeline puffed her cheeks out with a heavy breath of irritation but perked up when she saw a street sign.

    “Oh hey, Mr. Holmes can we turn this way for a second? I want to view my workplace before I start in a few weeks. It’s somewhere over here…” She said, not waiting for Sherlock’s answer before wandering off. He growled softly in frustration and followed her after a minute.

    Madeline walked down a couple of different streets, sometimes having to backtrack down a few to regain her bearings. Finally she and Sherlock ended up at Giltspur Street by West Smithfield, staring up at the towering building of St. Bart’s Hospital.

    “You’re joking.” Sherlock said incredulously. Madeline beamed at him.

    “Nope, I’m so proud! I’ll even have my own lab and-“Sherlock strode off without another word, leaving Madeline stumbling along behind him as she tried to keep up.

    Great, He thought. Now she’s everywhere.

    Someone watched the two unnoticed from the other side of the street. The person had quickly raised their phone and snapped a picture of Madeline smiling at Sherlock while they both looked at the hospital and another one of her tagging along behind him. They sent the pictures to the phone’s only contact, a private number on a disposable phone. There was no response message, but they had been received. The game was setting itself up, and the players were taking their places.

As most of you know, this month is No-Stirrup November. (Fuck. Me.) And I've had a hell of a time with it, but today I galloped with no stirrups on a very reluctant little shit who is normally very tolerable. ^_^ He's sweet when he wants to be but is the laziest damn thing on the mountain chain. 

ANYWAY
   
He didn't want to canter and I had a dressage crop in my hand so I held the reins with my left, gave him my outside (left at the time, right leg to bend him out) and reached around with my right hand to catch him on the ass. Needless to say, he got really pissed and bucked but I. Stayed. On. WHOO.

I looked up and was nervous my teacher would be mad at me but he gave me a thumbs up once I righted myself and got organized again.
   
"He just got pissed." He said, and I felt SO cliche as I turned around to him and responded with, 

"So did I." Then I got that horse to canter off like a frickin boss on the right lead no less. 

We didn't need the dressage whip for the rest of the ride.

Sorry for the flakey entry, I just really wanted to share it and say "Whoo, fuck you, No-Stirrup- November!". 
  • Listening to: K-Pop (God help me)
  • Reading: The Dame of Bakerstreet
  • Watching: Sherlock (Millionth time)
  • Playing: Violin
  • Eating: Air
  • Drinking: Water
A new girl moves into 221 C Baker Street, and it infuriates Sherlock that he cannot read her. But when he finally begins to understand her, his enemy does as well- her good and bad sides. And what better way to bring down a knight than with a damsel? Sherl/OC or Moriarty/OC, not quite sure yet. Rated T for some of the cases and for some psychological triggers. Includes the Fall!
A.N.- So I've decided to bring my Sherlock Fic to DA. It's already on Fanfiction.net so you can also read it here: www.fanfiction.net/s/10679754/…
But if you don't want to I will be posting it on here periodically to try and keep the chapters level with each other. (Weird because I've already got 23 chapters published. Huh.) Enjoy!

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 1

    “Asphyxiation.” The man said. “There are no signs of strangulation about the neck, so it was suffocation by another method. Most likely internal.”

    “But there’s nothing in her mouth.” His companion protested. The first man cast the other an irritated glance then directed his eyes to the corpse of the young woman on the floor. He sighed agitatedly and knelt down.

    “Look at the corners of her mouth. Crusted with bile. And look at the color of her lips, Lestrade; it’s cyanosis.” He pointed out.

    “Yes and?” The other prompted. The man sat back on his heels and groaned.

    “So- pay attention; if she ingested a toxin that induced vomiting she would have rolled over or something to expel the bile, but instead choked on it because she couldn’t. Why?” He tossed Lestrade a patronizing glance, waiting for the other man’s response.

    “Too weak?” He suggested. The first man pulled back the corpse’s sleeve to reveal pink circles around the wrist.

    “No, restrained. Someone had tied her down so she couldn’t move, whether they meant for her to choke on her own vomit is another question entirely, but they moved the body here from the place where she was being kept prisoner to divert suspicion. I suggest you swab her mouth for chemical traces. Then run a check for pharmacies selling the drug.”

    “It’s a drug?”

    “No,” The man pushed himself to his feet. “Just a chemical disguised as one. Good day, Detective Inspector.” With that the man breezed out of the room, fastening a scarf about his neck and shrugging a coat onto his thin shoulders. He stepped out of the building without a glance at a shorter built man who had been waiting outside.

    “Sherlock!” The man sprang to his feet and followed the thinner man down the street. “What did Lestrade say?” He prompted, “Did you solve it?”

    “John, why did you wear that hideous tie today? It makes you look pasty.” Sherlock said indifferently, ignoring the question. His companion, John tugged irritably at the silk knotted around his neck.

    “You’re avoiding the question, Sherlock.” He said.

    “Because its answer is obvious.” The detective sighed as they continued down the street. “Bile collected at the corners of the mouth. Cyanosis in the lips, restraint marks on the wrists, paleness of the face-“

    “A lot of dead people are pale, Sherlock.”

    “So they seem to be.” The tall man stopped and leaned out into the street to flag a cab. Once he had successfully pulled one over he and John stepped into it immediately.

    “221 Baker Street.” Sherlock ordered the cabbie. The man nodded and started off. John sighed and stared out the window.

. . .

    When the cab dropped the two off at Baker Street it had to park a ways down the road from the building to avoid being in the way of a medium sized moving van parked in front of Speedy’s Diner. Sherlock and John both walked to the front step of 221 with Sherlock muttering under his breath about “no new neighbors for God’s sake”. His hopes were dashed when he saw movers carrying boxes into the apartment building instead of the neighboring restaurant. He huffed and drew his coat collar tighter around his neck. John followed him into the landing, where a girl was carrying a box down the hall to 221 C. She accidentally bumped into Sherlock as she made her way down the hall, brushing his elbow slightly as she passed.

    “Watch where you’re going.” She said.

    “You watch it.” He growled back. The detective’s eyes began immediately roaming over the person out of habit. She had blue eyes and mousy brown hair covered by a baseball cap. She seemed irritated with him, but he was more irritated that everything about her screamed “ordinary!” She stared at him for a moment before turning and continuing on her way down the hall. Sherlock frowned and climbed the stairs to the flat he shared with John, 221 B. Sherlock reclined into his leather chair by the fire and John walked to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea.

    “So,” He said, trying to start a conversation with his flatmate. “New neighbor, eh? Do you think it was that girl down there or was she just a mover?” Sherlock leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

    “I don’t know, John. And I don’t care. I’m unbelievably bored right now, and there’s nothing to read.” He groaned. John gave him a strained smile that bordered on irritability.

    “Go pick something from your library.” He gestured with a teabag towards the bookcase adorning the wall nearest them.

    “You know what I meant, John.” Sherlock complained, “And I’ve memorized them all anyway. There are no new people to read, they’re much more intriguing than books.” He sat forward quickly and braced his forearms on his knees. John was about to make a biting remark to his flatmate when their landlady, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

    “Oh sorry dears, am I interrupting anything?” She asked cordially.

    “No.”

    “Yes.”

    The old woman frowned at the mixed responses but soon had a smile on her face again. “I think it would be just lovely if you two would go greet the new neighbor. She’s just moved from somewhere out of country and I think you two would do well to go give her a welcome.” Sherlock raised his head up swiftly.

    “Her? It’s a her?” Mrs. Hudson looked surprised, John just sipped his tea.

    “Why yes, I don’t see why you’re-“The detective groaned and leaned back again.

    “God, please don’t tell me it’s that boring girl from downstairs.” He said. “She’s useless.”

    “Her name is Madeline Carver,” Mrs. Hudson said sternly, “From how you were talking it sounded like you were hoping for a neighbor to use in your experiments. Do be nice to her, won’t you Sherlock?” She departed with a smile and friendly wave. John set his mug down.

    “Well, you can sit here and sulk about your boredom. I’m going to go meet Miss Carver.” He said finally, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts and heading for 221 C.

. . .

    The paint on the door was cracked, but the door itself was propped open. John felt a little sheepish that he’d never actually visited the depths of 221 Baker Street, the farthest he’d ever gone was Mrs. Hudson’s flat up the hall. Music spilling from the doorway was accompanied by loud singing, so John knocked on the door hard to get his neighbor’s attention before entering. The singing stopped and after a minute the music followed it as someone shuffled to the door.

    “Oh hi,” The girl said quickly; pushing strands of her hair out of her face and trying to restrain them in a ponytail. John had a fleeting image of an angry cat’s tail growing out of the back of her head, but the resemblance to crazy cat women and their pets ended there.

    She had pale skin, and freckles dotted her nose and cheekbones like snow. Her eyes were a nice plain blue, easy enough to match with her brown hair. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. It took John a moment to realize he was staring and offered his hand to the girl courteously.

    “Hello, I’m Dr. John Watson. I uh, live upstairs in 221 B with my flatmate.” He said. Her face twisted into a sour look like she’d eaten a lemon at the mention of John’s roommate.

    “I remember him.” She said, “He and I bumped into each other earlier. You were there, too I think.” He laughed.

    “Yeah, Sherlock kind of gets that kind of reputation with people. Don’t take him too seriously, though.” John said. The girl studied him quietly for a second before remembering herself and sticking out her hand.

    “Sorry, I’m Madeline Carver. I just moved here from America.” She stated. John nodded, he’d noticed her strange, almost flat accent when she’d first spoken to him. They stood there awkwardly in the doorway until John spoke up again.

    “So is your unpacking going well?” He asked. Madeline threw one glance behind her into the flat cluttered with boxes that had been scribbled on hastily with markers.

    “It’s good. I’ll just have to get some help moving my lab equipment.” She said, turning back to the doctor, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Could you help me carry it up?” She asked him. John found himself nodding his assent as she led him back to the landing of the building. Three boxes lay in a perfect line pressed up against a wall. They looked small enough, but John bent down to pick one up he almost doubled over.

    “It’s like- a ton of bricks.” He huffed.

. . .

    After hauling the boxes down the hallway to 221 C and stacking them by the wall Madeline had directed him to John stood and stretched with a groan.

    “Hey, Madeline you wouldn’t mind having a cup of tea with me in my flat, would you?” He asked.

    “Only if your roommate won’t mind.” She countered. He shook his head, and she followed him up the rickety staircase to 221 B Baker Street. When Madeline stepped inside her senses were overwhelmed with the smell of smoke and chemicals. She staggered backwards, eyes watering but John walked in ahead of her.

    “Seriously, Sherlock now you choose to pull out all of your experiments?” He reprimanded the tall man bent over a table in the kitchen. He looked up at John and the unwanted guest in annoyance, and Madeline was struck by the color of his eyes. They were a pale blue, like ice. The eyes darted over her for a second, and Madeline had the strong feeling he was judging her. Sherlock simply grunted at turned back to his experiment.

    “Sherlock, we have a guest.” John said in annoyance. “Could you please put your things away?” He strode to the far side of the room and slid the window open, letting some of the cigar smoke fade out. Sherlock scowled and began to slowly put away his project while John readied tea. Madeline stood awkwardly in the living room until John leaned out of the kitchen and smiled at her.

    “You can just take a seat anywhere.” He said. She smiled back at him and sat in a comfortable looking leather chair by the fireplace. Sherlock passed her carrying a tray of petri dishes and stopped short.

“Out of my chair.” He said before continuing on down the hallway to another room. Madeline stood and went to sit in the kitchen with John, who was being much more hospitable than his flatmate. He handed her a cup of warm tea with a matching smile.

    “Don’t be too bothered by him. He’s always a bit of an, um…”

    “An ass?” She supplied carefully. John snickered with her until Sherlock reemerged from the hall.

    “What do you want?” He said bitingly. Madeline marched firmly up to the detective and stuck out her hand.

    “I’m Madeline Carver,” She said, “Your new neighbor.” He stared at her hand distastefully for a moment then spun around and retreated back down the hallway. John watched him go with a small smirk.

    “That’s good. Normally he would have said some biting remark. Don’t know why he didn’t-“

    “She’s boring, John.” Sherlock called up the hallway.

    “I try my best.” Madeline said smartly before John could scold his flatmate. She set her tea down in the kitchen and smiled warmly. “Thank you for the tea, Dr. Watson-“

    “You can just call me John,” The doctor said. Her smile grew bigger.

    “Thank you for the tea, John. I think I’ll be heading back to my apartment and finish unpacking.” She gave a small wave and went to the door.

    “Um, if you need any help moving your- lab equipment anymore just ask.” John called after her. She turned and looked back at him with a small smile.

    “I will, then. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes!” She called into the flat. Sherlock’s muffled cursing carried through the walls as she left for her own rooms.

    “God I really hate that man.” She murmured as she stepped down the stairs.

. . .

    “What’s wrong with you today, Sherlock?”

    “I don’t know, what’s wrong with you?”

    “Don’t be childish, you’ve been being more of an ass than usual. I get you’re bored, so just take a bloody case, already.” John glared at his flatmate who didn’t seem to care in the least what was going on. “Are you frustrated?” He asked the detective. Sherlock paused from his pacing on the carpet and glared at him.

    “Why would I be frustrated. Everything’s fine. Totally fine. There’s no reason for me to be upset.” He muttered. John rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

    “Look, you need to sort yourself out quickly. You’re completely unbearable when you’re like this.” He said. Sherlock frowned and resumed pacing.

    “Is it because you couldn’t read Madeline?” John said suddenly. “You get like this when you don’t know something.”

    “I do know everything, John; shut up.” Sherlock snapped. John tapped his temple thoughtfully.

    “Obviously not, you’ve been complaining since you passed her in the stairwell. Admit it, you can’t read her.” He said.

    “Of course I can.”

    “No you can’t.”

    “Can.”

    “Can’t.”

    “Can-“

    “Boys, please keep it down! We ladies need our beauty sleep! Try to restrain yourselves.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation.

    “We’re not gay, Mrs. Hudson.” John called back to her for the umpteenth time. He heard her hum a disbelieving noise and return to her rooms. He rolled his eyes and leaned towards his flatmate.

    “How about you actually talk to her, try not to be a git and actually get to know her. That’s what normal people do instead of reading others. They talk.” He suggested. Sherlock wrinkled his nose irately.

    “That’s what normal people do, John.”

    “Then opt for normalcy for once.” The doctor said firmly before rising and going to the door of his bedroom.

    “Go talk to her tomorrow, Sherlock; and I swear if you start playing your violin at two in the morning I will come into your room and-“

    “Restraint, you two!” Mrs. Hudson called.

    “Not gay!” John responded before continuing. “-I will smother you.” He said in a lower tone to his flatmate. “Go to sleep, Sherlock.” With that he left. Sherlock kept pacing until he heard John’s door close, then he made his way over to his chair and sank down into it. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, reimagining Madeline Carver when he’d assessed her the second time that afternoon. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and her hair had been held back from her face in a ponytail. His mind traveled over the image fiercely, trying desperately to find something about her. Not being able to see something about someone infuriated him to no end. His mind was tracing over her pant legs for any traces of dirt, paints or animal hairs when something nagged at the back of his thoughts. He zoomed out of the image and assessed what was blatantly obvious. She stood with one wrist clutched in the other, insecure and obviously American, but the way she held herself close and small brought into detail something on her skin. Sherlock furrowed his brow as he examined the skin of her arm closely.

    A mark.

    And not a normal mark.

    Alright then, Miss Carver. The detective thought, maybe you’re not as mysterious as I thought.
A.N.- So that's chapter one. I've had to answer this question on Fan Fiction.net so I'll clarify here- no Madeline is notmy avatar for this fandom/ world/ whatever you'd care to call it. Completely recreational and because I like shipping my OC's with people.
Thanks!

Placed 5th out of 8 at the Sweetbriar College IHSA Show! Still the youngest rider in the region!
I was tagged by :iconstarsuperfan: to do this... so what the heck- on with it!

RULES: (Argh, boundaries)

  •  You must posts these rules.

  •  Each person has to share 10 things about them

  •  Answer the 10 questions asked to you and invent 10 questions the people you tag will have to answer.

  •  Choose 10 people and put their icons on your journal

  •  Go to their page to inform them they are tagged

  •  Not something like " you are tagged if you read that"

  •  You have to legitimately tag 10 people

  •  No tag-backs

  •  You can't say that you don't do tags.

  •  YOU MUST MAKE A JOURNAL ENTRY. NO COMMENTS. Unless you're commenting about the actual entry, derp.
ON TO THE QUESTIONS:

1. Do you think I’m crazy? Be serious I won’t get offended if you think so.
Nah, we're all pretty crazy inside. 

2. Favorite actor, actress or both.
Benedict Cumberbatch. Why would you even ask me that?! Johnny Depp and RDJ, too!

3. Favorite song.
Everything besides country! (Across the Line- Linkn Park)

4. Are you afraid that someday technology might be even more intelligent than us?
Honey please. I'm smarter than technology. (No seriously... SkyNet)

5. Which is your craziest wish?

To be able to get a full night's sleep.

6. Last movie you have seen and how was it.
Um... I watched Sherlock. That's a movie in itself. It. Was. Awesome.

7. Last TV series you have seen and how was it.
Same answer as above.

8. Do you like reading books? If os, which is your favorite book?
I love reading, I really like Jurassic Park.

9. If you could live in any other universe, which would it be?
Probably Sherlock or Hetalia or FMA universe.

10. Do you have any other website apart from Deviantart? 
I started using Omegle! And I have my FanFiction site! (Ahem... Jade-Author is my name; feel free to check it out)

I think my friends are tired of being tagged repeatedly so I'll just say anyone who reads this is tagged! 

  • Listening to: Michael Card
  • Reading: The Dame of Bakerstreet (My new story)
  • Watching: Sherlock (Millionth time)
  • Playing: Violin
  • Eating: Ramen in a Cup
  • Drinking: Water
As most of you know, this month is No-Stirrup November. (Fuck. Me.) And I've had a hell of a time with it, but today I galloped with no stirrups on a very reluctant little shit who is normally very tolerable. ^_^ He's sweet when he wants to be but is the laziest damn thing on the mountain chain. 

ANYWAY
   
He didn't want to canter and I had a dressage crop in my hand so I held the reins with my left, gave him my outside (left at the time, right leg to bend him out) and reached around with my right hand to catch him on the ass. Needless to say, he got really pissed and bucked but I. Stayed. On. WHOO.

I looked up and was nervous my teacher would be mad at me but he gave me a thumbs up once I righted myself and got organized again.
   
"He just got pissed." He said, and I felt SO cliche as I turned around to him and responded with, 

"So did I." Then I got that horse to canter off like a frickin boss on the right lead no less. 

We didn't need the dressage whip for the rest of the ride.

Sorry for the flakey entry, I just really wanted to share it and say "Whoo, fuck you, No-Stirrup- November!". 
  • Listening to: K-Pop (God help me)
  • Reading: The Dame of Bakerstreet
  • Watching: Sherlock (Millionth time)
  • Playing: Violin
  • Eating: Air
  • Drinking: Water

Journal History

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Jade-Author
Madison Hobbs
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Hey, World. I'm 14, I like Fencing, Archery, Tae Kwon Do, Horseback Riding, Writing, Singing, Acting, and I LOVE my dog and cat.
I'm also attending early college in VA where I'm studying Bio-Chemistry and Bio-Ethics for genetic engineering projects, etc, etc.
Interests

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Comments


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:iconmilk-and-pie:
Milk-and-Pie Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the watch! I really appreciate it! Huggle!
You're really pretty btw!
Reply
:iconjade-author:
Jade-Author Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem! Your stuff is beautiful!
(And thank you! You're pretty too!) Lovely Shoujo Emoji (Huggy Hug) [V2] 
Reply
:iconmilk-and-pie:
Milk-and-Pie Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much! You're so nice! :huggle:
Reply
:iconjade-author:
Jade-Author Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
^-^ No problem!
Reply
:iconshirokiwi:
ShiroKiwi Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Sherlock - Smile llama!
Reply
:iconjade-author:
Jade-Author Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you! <3 ^_^
Reply
:iconshirokiwi:
ShiroKiwi Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Sherlock Smile welcomeeeee ~
Reply
:iconpajunen:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the :+devwatch: and favs!
Reply
:iconjade-author:
Jade-Author Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem! Your art really is beautiful!
Reply
:iconpajunen:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Aug 31, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
:bow:
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