Elusive

On this morning, Aria was nursing both a horrible headache and a cup of tea at the cluttered kitchen table. Sherlock was curled up on the couch, sour faced due to the lack of excitement as of late. Aria knew better than to pester him now, unless she wanted the irritated consulting detective to embark on a mission to show off and simultaneously insult her. A nice silence had settled over the flat until John's footsteps could be heard climbing down the stairs.

Neither of them greeted him as he arrived, but Aria merely lifted a finger to the hot kettle of tea sitting on the stove. John prepared a cup for himself before addressing the bleak mood.

"Rough night then?"

"Awful."

"Oh, but you love the nightlife," Sherlock insisted. "Your wardrobe clearly-"

"You went through her wardrobe?" John seemed to be more appalled than Aria herself. "Sherlock!"

"There wasn't anything unusual, John," he sighed. "Just an array of lacy lingerie and tight fitting clothing. Typical for an American woman of her age and size. Though I do wonder about that one costume…"

"Ok. Let's stay away from that one, Sherlock," Aria muttered. "It's not exactly breakfast talk."

She picked up her still steaming tea and downed it in one gulp. Then she rose from the table, swinging by the couch to grab Sherlock's empty cup so she could wash it in the sink. Aria would have tidied up the area had she not felt like utter shit, but she was sure that if she didn't take care of it, Mrs. Hudson would. Neither of them were housekeepers, but the gentlemen took advantage of their inherent habits to tend to the home. Mrs. Hudson frequently reminded them, but Aria never cared mentioned it.

"How was your interview, Aria?" John asked, settling into his chair in the living area.

"I start next week, but I don't have nearly enough hours," she sighed, wiping down the sides of the sink before joining them. "I'll still be doing a few weekend shifts at the pub."

"But you like working as a bartender," Sherlock said from his side of the room. "Why are you so displeased?"

Aria paused, glancing at him as a momentary silence lapsed. "I enjoy it, I'm good at it, but I'm getting old, Sherlock," she said. "I'm dying for something a little more low key than a rowdy pub full of drunks and idiots. Anyways, the Royal Mile might not be open for much longer, you know, with the way things are going there."

"What is going on there?" The consulting detective shifted, piercing her with a stare.

"Nothing," Aria frowned at him, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. "Just a lot of weird incidents, Sherlock. Not like anyone is being killed."

"Like what?"

"Injuries, illnesses, accidents," she decided not to fight him on this one. "There are probably at least five happenings within a week. They've already started spouting stories about the vengeful ghost of Marnie Dickens, which is all rubbish if you ask me. How's that? Do I sound British yet?"

Aria laughed and straightened her robe, beaming as John looked up at her and gave her an approving nod. Sherlock, however, wasn't as agreeable and was already sitting up in his seat, staring deep into the patterns of the adjacent wall. She pursed her lips, shaking her head at the distracted man in the corner before turning to John instead. He was far more better company than Sherlock on any given day.

"John, can you come with me to the Farmer's Market?" She asked.

"Of course," he agreed. "That's a wonderful idea. Let's do that."

They both washed up and dressed to leave the flat within the hour. Aria kept her hand on John's arm as he guided her through the busy sidewalks of London. They took this time to chat about minor subjects, which for John meant checking on how Aria was adapting to the different culture.

"How's your friend, Karla?"

"She's doing fine," Aria told him. "I can't say that I miss her crawling into my bed in the middle of the night or surprising me in the shower. I'm just glad she took my moving out so well. She's been busy lately. She usually gives me an earful about living with Sherlock, but I haven't heard from her in a few days."

"I can't say I blame her for being concerned, Sherlock is something else," John laughed.

"Yes, he is," she agreed. "When I moved in, you said you guys did consulting work, right?"

"Right, but it's been really quiet lately," he said. "You can tell by Sherlock's mood, but he'll perk right up when something comes along. It's horribly indecent the way he reacts to a murder."

"I'm not surprised," Aria grimaced. "He's brilliant though, isn't he?"

"He is," John agreed without a doubt. "He's also very good at making enemies. Are you sure he doesn't bother you too much?"

Aria's expression indicated that she was thinking about something she wasn't telling him as she pressed her lips together and squinted at the sky.

"Believe me," she finally said. "Sherlock Holmes is the least of my worries."

. . .

"I finally found you." A low voice muttered next to her ear.

Aria let out a surprised squeak and nearly dropped the tomatoes in her hands. She turned her head and glared at the tall man standing behind her. John was on the other side, but it seemed as if he had failed to notice their third wheel. She put the produce down and crossed her arms over her chest, sincerely ticked this time.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

John turned around just then, joining her in fixing the man with a stern stare. Sherlock appeared mildly bewildered by their hostile reactions to his presence, but he quickly dismissed it and instead dove into something else entirely.

"It wasn't a bloody ghost at your workplace, Aria," he said. "It was just an idiot."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nigel Munt!" Sherlock burst, unable to contain himself. "That foolish busboy who wanted so desperately to be a barman for once. Too bad his schemes often reached the wrong people."

"You went to the Royal Mile," Aria sighed, bringing a hand to her forehead. "That was quick, Sherlock. So you're saying Nigel was the one behind all of those strange events?"

Sherlock nodded his head sharply, clasping his hands behind his back and looking thoroughly pleased with himself as if his job were done. The young woman scratched her head and glanced over at John, who shrugged his shoulders. She had the feeling that the dark haired man was waiting for something, so she figured that she would just go along with it.

"Impressive," was all she offered.

His pale lips pressed together then Aria was handing him two plastic bags of fresh vegetables for him to carry. His brows came together and his mouth downturned into a frown when he realized that he was being utilized for a way other than his intelligence.

"Good thing you found us, Sherlock," Aria said, giving him a smug smile. "I wanted to buy some melons and I just couldn't burden John with anything else."

Sherlock scowled the rest of the time they were there. He attempted to escape numerous times, but he couldn't outmaneuver both John and Aria. Eventually, they grew tired of keeping an eye on him and left the market to head back to Baker Street. When they rounded the corner of the said street, a few cars were park out in front of the residence.

He was trudging along behind them, but Sherlock suddenly pushed his way past them and rushed towards the flat. Aria checked behind them to make sure they weren't about to get run over by a car or something else with wheels, but when she saw no one she looked to John for an explanation. He only gave her a shake of his head and inclined his chin towards 221, picking up his pace.

When they arrived, they found the plastic bags Sherlock had been carrying discarded at the bottom of the stairs. Aria scolded the man as she scooped them up and hauled the load up the flight of stairs herself. The second she stepped up onto the second floor landing, she could see that they had guests.

A man with dark, peppered hair turned to look at her and Aria instinctively put on a smile. John came around from behind and gave the man a passing greeting on his way to the kitchen. He said something to her, telling her to put the bags on the table so he could put everything away.

"Oh, let me help you, Miss," the man suddenly thought to take some of the load from her hands, but she automatically shied away and politely declined.

"I'm alright, thanks," she smiled. "I'd better get used to it if Sherlock does this every time."

Aria moved around him and put everything on the table, which John had quickly cleared for her. She turned, wiping her hands on her jeans before offering the man a hand.

"My name is Aria Royale," she said. "I live downstairs."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Royale," he replied, offering a friendly smile as he shook her hand. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade."

Aria tilted her head slightly, taken by surprise as she had to repeat the bit she thought she heard, "Lestrade?"

"He's the one we were telling you about Aria, from Scotland Yard," John inserted. "You'll be seeing him pop in every now and then."

Lestrade was squinting slightly at Aria, as if trying to remember something he had forgotten. She blinked up at him, a placid smile on her mouth as she raised her brows at him. It seemed as if he wanted to say something.

"I'm so sorry, but have we met before?" He asked.

"No, I don't think so," she replied with a short shake of her head, releasing his hand and shrugging her shoulders. "Do you go to the pubs often? I used to work at a few when I first came here."

"Ah, then that must be why your face is familiar," Lestrade nodded in understanding.

"I believe you are here to see me," Sherlock's voice rose impatiently from his position at the window.

Lestrade, Aria, and John all turned to look at him. He was already beginning to tick. God forbid he spend another minute in boredom. The young woman merely watched, curious to actually witness what John was always telling her about.

"We think it's a serial murder," was all Lestrade had to say.

Sherlock's posture looked a little terse, but it seemed he at least had the decency to hold himself back. Or so Aria thought until she recognized the crinkling around his eyes and the horrible grin stretching his face. She looked to John in disbelief, but he only offered a shrug in return.

"You're horrible," she muttered as Sherlock turned around and practically skipped across the room.

"Come on then, we'll follow you in a cab," Sherlock said to Lestrade, retrieving his scarf from the couch and tying it around his neck.

"You coming, Aria?" John asked, following Sherlock without missing a beat.

"What? C-can I?" Aria looked to Lestrade for permission.

Lestrade himself was caught off guard by the question because he had to stop to think about it for a long moment. It was basic protocol to say no, but Sherlock was a consistent when it came to breaking rules. Aria seemed like a nice girl, but he also thought she might be scarred after seeing a dead body. Then again, she was still new and this would be a good way for her to get to know what she was getting into with her new flatmates.

"Sure, why not?" He said finally with a forced smile.

Aria caught the slight grimace on his face and gave him an amused grin. There was a youthful touch of mischief tucking into the corner of her mouth before she hurried out the door to catch up with the other men.