In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Always Something There to Remind Me.”


{Music. Maitre Gims – Bella}

He sees her across the lavish restaurant. The music is live and guitar can be heard clearly amongst the other instruments and singing voices. Her skin is glowing under the lights, her hair waves of chocolate and her eyes big and light, enchanting when they meet his across the room.


She moves like she is made of air and water, all smooth moves and light steps, graceful in her approach. His heart stutters when she smiles, enchanting him even more.


He doesn’t remember how they meet, so pulled in her green eyes with speckles of gold he was. He doesn’t remember what he said, only her laugh, loud and honest. It sounds even sweeter later, when she laughs low against his ear as he holds her.


He knew that they are dancing in the moments that come. He is never more grateful for having learned all the dances as the stumbling, young boy. Now, he is grateful he is no longer clumsy, so that he may follow this beauty with a grace of a swan across the dance room and reflecting lights.


She was truly beautiful, with her smoky eyed make-up, lips painted red, enhancing the fullness of them and the whiteness of her teeth. Her hair done in perfect curls as they tumbled down her open back and mocca-colored skin sprinkled lightly with a perfume he came to associate with her.


He thinks he loved her at the sight. He thinks it is possible. Even before he knew her little quirks and secrets. Even before he knew that she only loved apple pie as a dessert and refused any other sweets. That she loved spicy food and enjoyed the various cultures. That she loved to travel in a summer, but in winter liked to stay curled in her home. That she had six different laughs and he was still counting. Before he knew how beautiful she looked after taking the shower, all clean and fresh, natural in her grace and bare as she laid before him.


He loved her since the first time he seen her and he never forgets how fitting the music accompanying their first gaze was.


He thinks how lucky he is that she accepts him so, even his quiet demur where he smiles at her whenever she enters the room, but doesn’t know how to express his admiration and love so well in words as she does. But, he thinks that’s alright, because she always smiles with warmth in her eyes, making them shine when he leaves roses for her, makes her dinner or kisses her good morning. He thinks action is just as telling as words, if not more.


He thinks that she is his Bella and he is finally breathing life since he met her.

It was just too sweet not to write though since I didn’t have a radio nor my set of headphones with me, I had to relay on my playlist on my phone and shuffle it. This came up and immediately the idea formed. Hope you like it.

Song is Maitre Gims – Bella if you missed the link at the beginning.





A reminder of what we have

{Music. Ludovico Einaudi – Walk}

Air and water,

Fire and earth

Did you know that at the start of alchemy and thoughts about what the earth was made of, they thought that every element was made by the four of those. Each object was made of different combinations of four main, basic elements. Today, we know that every object is made of thousands elements and thus, the endless possibilities in our minds expanded to never-ending.

Gold and silver,

Diamonds and metals

So many elements there are, so many things that once you pay attention, you find magical and mystical in its appearance and its existence.

Mud – created from water and earth. Full of potential to help and heal.

Dust – air and earth in its beauty dances under the reflector of sun light, carrying secrets we have yet to interpret and understand.

Fog – fire and water, hiding and finding things, making everything look like the time of witching hour.

Molten lava – earth and fire, making fiery accessories across the surface of the Earth, slow and relentless, it shows how some things may come slow, but they will come, steadily and surely just like anything you do.

Stranger things did happen when air and fire collided, the power it could cause, so simple and light separated, they became a force to reckon once united.

Isn’t life beautiful in it never-ending circle or growth, creation, living and then gracefully dieing before being reborn in a new shape and joy? Sounds kinda romantic for just basic every day things, but I thinks that where the secret of life actually is. In finding the beauty over and over again in things you thought you see every day, but are different with every second.

Thoughts and free time can do wonders for your blog, you know. Just a little bit of something for all of you lovelies out there, finding time to click on this post.



Love is all you got

{Music. Lisa Mitchell – Neopolitan Dreams (Niklas Ibach Remix)}

People fall in love so easily. It is in our nature to love and to connect with others around us, to care and be part of the group. It is obvious by our customs and way we live that we want love, yet we rarely truly love. We set boundaries for ourselves and expectations for other people to meet them and we kill the love we feel at the start simply because we don’t accept it as it is, but demand something else from it, something that is only in our minds.

If we truly let ourselves go, we would fall in love in an instant. We would fall in love at the bright, blue sky filled with soaring birds over and over again and our heart would sing with joy at the sight of a sunrise and sunset every time we encountered its rays of light. Falling in love is easy as it is breathing. It comes natural and fills us up with a natural flow of nature and universe. Loving is part of us. It is easier for us to simply love than to learn how to hate you. A smile can make you love; years of pain and anger makes you hate – the difference is clear.


A problem with society is that it shows us false beliefs about love that we take and stick to and teaches how to fear and not how to love. The false beliefs we learn come mostly from romantic books and movies that we so devour. We all want love, yet you don’t need to acquire it as we are told to do. It is not waiting for us in Paris or in someone special. It is in you and you just need to love. Love yourself first, love your life first, love people around you and you shall see how it spreads out in a beautiful swirl of joy. Have you noticed you can’t define love? Or falling in love? We try by saying he fell in love with her eyes or she fell in love at his kind nature. Because she can dance or because he can be unexpectedly romantic. Because of this or that, but what may work for one person to feel love doesn’t mean it will work for the other. Some girls wants flowers, some girls want a leather jacket and motorcycle ride. Some guys want a romantic dinner, others want a laid back evening on a couch in sweatpants.

The point is that everybody is different yet we all want love. Love will express itself in everybody differently. You can’t define love, you can only feel it and keep it safe. And when I say keeping it safe, I mean not let your expectations stop your from simply feeling and enjoying yourself no matter of the boundaries other throw at you. Just because someone isn’t as tall as you want or doesn’t texts you “Good morning” and “Good night” or doesn’t surprise you with a cooked dinner, doesn’t mean love isn’t there. Or is younger or older or isn’t someone your friends or people around you approve. Love isn’t checking things off from the list, it just is and you can accept it and enjoy it or you can ignore it and feel frustrated and unhappy at the end of the day. Real love is easy and doesn’t put us in any stereotypical shape that we so lean towards. When we truly let go than we truly love. We don’t put expectations on ourselves or on others. No one is required to meet your expectations and you are not required to meet any of theirs.

The one who loves unconditionally is lucky and reaches the true bliss, not the one that is loved. It is love that we ourselves experience which makes us children at heart again, happy and fulfilled, seeing life with vibrant colors and beautiful sounds.

Remember, you are the one that invokes the light through your eyesight, the one who decided is it hot or cold for you, too much or not enough. The reality just is and it changes in our perception and our choice at how to perceive it. That is our free will. We are free to see the world however we chose to and we have to power to change that view anytime we want. How will you perceive the world around you depends on you what you feel and how you think.

{Music. Hozier – Take me to Church}    buuuu1

If you feel love and see new opportunities and find creative way to achieve something, life will be much more beautiful, filled with bliss and feeling content. If you feel fear and judge everything and everyone, a negative comment coming faster to your lips than does the positive one, your world will be bleaker, less magical and much more dull, almost a misery to live.

I wish you best of luck in simply loving and getting rid of any judgments our brain is programmed to bring up and to experience the life to its fullest which goes beyond just a paid job and a roof over your head.

With lots of love


Sherlock Holmes and the Wailing woman

I have no idea how will this turn out, but let’s try. So, a prompt from Daily Post about two characters from different fandoms meeting. And this video right here inspired me to write about this two specifically.

Lydia Martin from Teen Wolf, tv show and Sherlock Holmes from Sherlock BBC, tv show.

{Music. 2Cellos – Smooth Criminal}


“London? Lydia, what could possibly be so important in London?”, Stiles said, flying the purchased plain ticked around in his hand. “Is it Jackson? I mean, I get you two were a thing, but don’t you think that at a present moment Desert Wolf is a bit more important than Jackson, no offense!”, Stiles says, mouth running without filter.

Lydia sigh as she zips her bag and turns to face Stiles. She grabs the poor ticket, tsking at how crumbled it became due to flaying around with it. “No, Stiles, this has nothing to do with Jackson. Last I heard from him he was in a boarding school learning marketing. I am going to London to meet up with a detective. He became famous for solving most unusual of cases. I am going to see if he can track down our Desert Wolf.”, Lydia says.

“A detective?”, Stiles frowns. “Lydia, we don’t need a detective. Besides, Desert Wolf is mostly likely some kinda of werecoyote. And a curious detective is hardly what we need. We have you, and me and like Derek and everybody on it!”

“Exactly. We have everybody on this case and nobody is closer to finding out who Desert Wolf is. I already talked to Scott and he agrees. This isn’t up for discussion, Stiles. Besides, we got nothing to lose.”, Lydia says.

“Expect a sum of money in unnecessary and futile attempt at getting answers.”, Stiles answer turns to mumble as Lydia gives him a look. “Okay, fine. But, then I am coming with you.”, Stiles says, throwing his hands in the air.

“And with what money do you think to buy a ticket?”, Lydia asks, crossing her arms. Stiles stops and frowns, pursin his lips.

“Uh. That. Maybe I can fit in the bag?”, he says and looks at Lydia’s designers bag and thinks better of it. “Okay, no, that’s a bad one. Than take someone else. Like, Derek. He has money to get a ticket. And while he is a sourwolf, at least he will keep you safe.”, Stiles says. Lydia shakes her head.

“Derek is out there with Braeden, searching for Desert Wolf. Enough, Stiles. I am going and I am returning with answers.”, she says, grabs her stuff and walks out. Stiles hastily follows still rumbling about the how unnecessary it all was.

Lydia supposed there could be a better solution, but it has been months already and they were no closer to answer. And yes, she could ignore it all, not bother with knowing who this person is, only that she is unknown mother of Stiles’s girlfriend, Malia, but she wanted answers. And she also heard that there might be more information on her being a banshee and how to be one in London. She needed answers like she needed to breath. She couldn’t just follow her instinct anymore.

So, she packed her bags and headed on an hours long journey to London. At least her mother wasn’t the worried sort that trusted her daughter and trusted the photoshoped letter that Lydia gave her, saying that Lydia was invited on an exchange course in London. If she only knew the truth, she would hardly let her daughter easily leave. And not just about the truth about the forged letter.



Lydia wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally made her way to Baker Street 221B. She looked down at a printed photo of Sherlock Holmes. It was blurry, caught by the paparazzi in a flash of a moment and than zoomed up to be bigger. Still, she could see sharp-cheekbones and messy, curly hair. Unique, but nothing impressive. She titled her chin up, back straight and walked up to the door.

The ring was a sharp pierce that echoed around Lydia’s head. Voices, sounds, frequencies – her companions. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Voices usually meant promotions of someone’s death. This had a different feeling to it, they whispered a different song this time. Like something life altering would happen, yet not life ending. She purses her lips. She didn’t like not knowing, only having this gnawing this feeling that drew her insane.

A woman opened, tiny and somewhat sweet in her appearance.

“Yes, dear?”, she says.

“Hello. My name is Lydia Martin. I am here to see Sherlock Holmes?”, she trails the name into a question.

“Oh, yes! Come in, my dear. Up the stairs, straight ahead. It is good that you showed up. He had been bored again. Goodness knows that my walls can’t take that much shooting.”, the woman says as she ushers her up the stairs. “I’ll bring you some tea. Off you go.”, and the women busters off, leaving Lydia alone who suddenly thought that where she goes, a doze of strangeness must follow. Steeling herself, she walks upstairs and finds herself entering a living room. She studies the clutter of stuff in it and carefully steps further inside, wondering if she should call out and make her presence known.

“Hello.”, a voice says and she almost startles. She turns and sees the man from the photograph. He is studying her with piercing, light blue eyes and Lydia thinks that only Peter had such intensity in his gaze. But, than he was a psychopathic werewolf that came back from the dead so that isn’t that surprising, unlike this gaze here.

“Hello.”, she greets back. “My name is Lydia Martin. You must be Mr. Holmes.”, she says. He studies her for a moment than steps back into the living room from the kitchen he stood at.

“Sherlock.”, he says and indicates for her to sit in the armchair as he settles in one as well. She does, sitting across from him. They study each other for few minutes, both content in a silent exchange of body language.

“You came a long way.”, he finally says. She gazes at him with a raised eyebrow. “Coming from America just to see me. Must be something important.”, he says.

“What makes you think I came for you?”, she says coldly. He smiles a half-crooked smile.

“It isn’t a hard guess. After all, you didn’t even had any rest, only a change of clothes. Tell me, what could possibly be so urgent for a high school student to fly almost 4000 miles to reach me? You could just emailed.”, Sherlock says. Lydia reaches in her bag, pulling out a folder she had. Braeden gave her all the files and reports she wrote about tracking down Desert Wolf. She gave it to him and he took it, opening it with sharp movement, eyes immediately scanning the context.

“I need you to find someone. The only thing we know for certain is the codename – Desert Wolf.”, she says.

“Hmm. Sounds boring. Finding a missing person. Surely there are dozens of private detectives who are experts at this particular field.”, Sherlock says as he flips through the pages. There weren’t much, barely any valuable lead.

“None proved to be capable. I assure you this isn’t just another missing person.”, more like a missing werecoyote with deadly abilities. Lydia wanted to go home to her pack, work it out together with them, but finding out what exactly can she do, along with the identity of this person would be invaluable. Sherlock Holmes would find a Desert Wolf and she would find a banshee that Deanton said resided in London.

“Alright. I’ll take the case. Things have been slow this days anyway.”, he says finally and Lydia smiles somewhat. At least that she can check off the list.

“Here’s the tea, my dears.”, the lady who opened the door appears with a tray in her hands.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hudson. My client was just leaving.”, Sherlock says. Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“Sherlock! That is very rude. You client should be treated better and as well as such a pretty lady as she is.”, Mrs. Hudson says scolding. Lydia smiles at her politely as the lady set the tray down. She sees Sherlock rolling his eyes, still focused on the file she gave him.

“You know, I am in a bit of a hurry, actually.”, Lydia says and stands up. “Thank you for the tea.”, she says to Mrs. Hudson. “And for taking the case.”, she turns to Sherlock. He looks at her and she feels goosebumps. Something about his gaze sets something off in her. She is not sure if it is good or bad yet and she quickly leaves, dodging Mrs. Hudson’s attempts at pursing her to have a cup of tea.

“What a pretty lady. Somewhat a bit too serious, but very pretty.”, Mrs. Hudson says when Lydia leaves. Sherlock hums, gaze unfocused.

“Sherlock, would you like a cup of tea, then?”, Mrs. Hudson continues. “Sherlock? Sherlock!”, finally he looks up at her.

“No, Mrs. Hudson, I wouldn’t like a cup of tea.”, he says and raises on his feet, making his way towards his bedroom. “And take that thing away.”

“Mrs. Hudson huffs. “You’ll never find a pretty lady with that attitude, young man.”, as she grabs a tea-tray.

“I already have you, Mrs. Hudson. No need for another pretty lady.”, Sherlock calls before shutting the door. Mrs. Hudson smiles. And there was the reason why she put up with the wall shooting from Sherlock. Oh, and her tea going to waste.


Lydia lost track of time. In one moment she was searching through the addresses that Deanton gave her and in another minute, it was already dark outside and she was standing in a small, open stadium behind a yellow police tape. She blinks and looks up at the police officer who is standing before her, looking worried.

“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?”, he seems to be repeating that for a while. She try’s to collect herself.

“Yes, yes. I am fine.”, she says, trying to see where exactly she is without being obvious about it. There were more people behind her, civilians, and there was a squad of police officers before her. And, a dead body with a long stick prodding from it. A murder. She takes a shaky breath.

“It’s alright, officer. I’ll take it from here.”, a familiar voice says and she turns her head to see Sherlock Holmes. He was taller than her by a head and she was aware of that now that he stood right besides her.

“Mr. Holmes.”, the officer murmured, nodded and left.

“You haven’t been London for a full day and already you are meeting the darker sides of a big city.”, Sherlock smiles, but Lydia has a feeling like it is more for a show than a genuine amusement.

“An unhappy coincident. I was just passing by.”, Lydia lies. Sherlock studies her.

“If you say so.”, he says and bend down to pass through the yellow tape. He holds it up and turns to her. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”, Lydia says, somewhat bewildered. Sherlock raises an eyebrow in a ‘Don’t be slow’ manner.

“You don’t know where you are, you don’t know where to go and yet you found your way to a dead body. I find that very interesting. If you do not wish to get lost in this, not so pleasant, part of town, I suggest you follow me.”, he says and she takes a moment to sigh heavily before ducking under a yellow tape and following him to a body. She stays behind him, curious that nobody question her presence here even though they are shooting her questioned glances. The consulting detective is by the body, studying it and she watches him work. There is something elegant in the way he moves even though the setting is most unpleasant.

“Sherlock. Please, tell me you got something.”, a man comes towards them. He looks up at her and takes a double look before frowning. “Who is that?”, he asks Sherlock, indicating towards her. Sherlock looks at her fleetingly.

“My new assistant. Which isn’t important right now, Lestrade. This has been done in a fit of rage. You are looking someone with a mental disorder of IED. The person is male, strong, extremely strong. Might even be one of the members of the team.”, Sherlock continues, listing off the facts while Lydia looked on with growing fascination and maybe a bit of admiration. She edged closer, trying to find the evidence from which Sherlock Holmes drew conclusions of. The body was roughed up, like beaten up in rage. There was blood on the face and bruises and the clothes was all half torn up. Sherlock rose to his feet and sighs.

“This is too boring for me. Your murderer works with the victim. In any case, they spent enough time together in which he could be provoked into a rage based on familiar insults and abuse. He will be distraught, he shall have a preference for a left fist and will probably be bruised as the victim fought back. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”, Sherlock swiftly turned and Lydia followed him, glad that she had practice in running in high heels and thus being able to keep up with him. They pass the yellow tape and head down the street.

“Left fist.”, Lydia says.

“Sorry?”,Sherlock glances at her.

“You said he prefered left fist. Yet, the body was on its belly. Even if he was beaten up, how do you know it was a left fist that is stronger?”, Lydia asks.

“By the position of the body and the head. Different angels result in different position of a body. Also, the spatters of blood on the jacket. It was in different direction than it would be if a right hand was used as primal hand.”, Sherlock says and Lydia process it.

“Where did you learn to deduct like this?”, she asks and they stop. He hails a taxi and then looks at her as they wait for it.

“No where. I simply didn’t let my brain rot like others do.”, he says and opens the doors for her. She enters and settles in.

“Do you like chinese?”, Sherlock says as he enters and gives the address.

“Excuse me?”, Lydia asks, unsure where it leads to.

“Chinese or italian? I doubt you manage to eat all day and I have a few questions to ask.”, Sherlock says and Lydia is silent, calculating.

“Mexican.”, she says just to be difficult. She sees him smirk from the corner of the eye and wonders what could he possibly ask her now when he had nothing to ask her few hours ago in his apartment.

They drive in silence. He pays the taxi and leads her in a small, cozy restaurant. The waiter seems to know him, greeting him familiarly and leads them with a wide smile to a small booth. They order water and wait for the menus.

Lydia looks up only to find herself already under a studious gaze. She pursues her lips.

“Alright. What is it?”, she asks, pretending to not being effected by his stare. Sherlock studies her for a moment.

“How does a high school student finds her way around a dead body so well? Most people, especially young adults can’t stand seeing a dead body for the first time. Often it results in vomiting, nausea, dizziness and unsettlement. Neither of which you show to be experiencing.”, Sherlock says.

“Horror movies this days are quite realistic. Maybe I am just used to it already.”, Lydia says with a smirk.

“No, that’s not it. Used to it you are, but not through horror movies. Experience is the right answer. Stop lying to me. I can tell when you are lying. Would you like to tell me a truth?”, Sherlock says and she presses her lips. Scratch that, maybe finding a Desert Wolf herself was smarter idea.

“This isn’t a first body I have seen.”, she admits finally.

“Neither is it a second. You’re body language indicated that you are used to being around them. And for a top student in her class in a small town with strange occurrences, this is all the more interesting.”, he says and Lydia looks up sharply.

“You looked me up?”, she demands.

“Of course I did.”, he says like it is obvious.

“That is a breach of privateness and is forbidden by the law.”, she says coldly. This isn’t going how she planned. To her astonishment, the detective just rolls his eyes like the law is beneath him.

“Not the point of all this. What is, is your familiarity with the dead and the curious thing that you found a dead body in matter of hours from when you came to London. Also the fact that you wish for me to find a person of interest.”, he says and she can’t look at his eyes anymore. She feels like he is finding out all the answers if he looks her in the eye. She is grateful that the waiter came with the menus and she has an excuse to ignore him until she collects her bearings.

“Why would you think it is a person of interest?”, she says as she searches through the menu.

“Fairly obvious. The code names like that are mostly used by operatives and people who don’t wish to be found. Specifically, people who have something to hide. Furthermore, curious patterns of murders and death appear in Beacon Hills through decades, increasing in a last few years. Obviously, it is all connected.”, he looks at her like she has all the answers and she wishes that she does. Than, she wouldn’t need this.

“Well than, obviously you have everything figured out.”, Lydia says, taking a sip of her water.

He smiles. “Not yet.”

They order and Lydia is surprised that they sit in a fairly comfortable silence. He still studies her, but his gaze is more curious than intense now and she feels comfortable enough to relax.

“You aren’t telling me something crucial.”, he says finally.

“Some things are better left unknown.”, she says as the food arrives. She is just becoming aware how hungry she really was.

“Not to me.”, he says.

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t know some things and I want to know things.”, she sighs. “Life used to be easier before knowing.”

“Knowing what exactly?”, he asks and she looks up at him. How do you tell someone, anyone, who depends on logic and deduction that there are werewolves, banshees, kitsunes and what not, in the world?

“If I could tell you, I would. But, I can’t.”, she says finally. He settles back in his chair.

“Very well. Than, I’ll simply find out myself.”, he says. She wants to scold him, convince him that somehow that is not what he truly wants, but then thinks better of it. She is the one that brought him this puzzle. She could hardly expect someone who lives for solving mysteries to just leave it be.

“Alright.”, she says instead and turns towards her meal.

He tells her more about a case when she asks and she is fascinated by his deduction skills. He also seems to enjoy the attention she gives him. But, by the scathing looks she saw thrown at him at the crime scene, she could understand. She used to have a familiar problem before she decided playing dumb pays off way more on a popularity scale.

They finish their meal and he drops her off near her hotel. She feels pleasantly tired and is happy that she checked in and paid already and was free to use her room as she saw fit, without being bothered anymore. She settles in, leaving a message to her mom that everything is fine and to her pack that operation Desert Wolf in underway before heading to bed.

The next day wasn’t as succesful as one might expect. Banshees, it seemed weren’t really easy to find when they didn’t wish to be found. She already could cross off six addresses of her list which left her with seven more.

In the end, she found her way to Baker Street 221B though she couldn’t really say was it her banshee instinct or her that wished to come there. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and Lydia smiled.

“I would like that tea now if it is still available.”, she says and Mrs. Hudson ushers her in with a smile, closing the door. Lydia hears the music coming from upstairs and looks at Mrs. Hudson questionably.

“You know, dear, I am glad to see you coming back. Sherlock is upstairs, playing as you can hear. He is rather good. I am sure he wouldn’t mind if you go upstairs and listen while I make some tea.”, Mrs. Hudson says and Lydia smiles.

She slowly walks upstairs, the music drawing her in. With every press and pull of the string, the voices get a bit louder and she moves a step further. Change. Find Marian. Marian McDough. Find her. Change.

She finds herself entering the living room and Sherlock turns to her, still playing. He stops and the voices stop as well. Lydia blinks from the spell the music caused and smiles.

“Hi.”, she says.

“Welcome back.”, Sherlock says and shows her with a bow towards the armchair. She takes a seat, saying.

“Thank you. I never heard that one before. Who composed it?”, Lydia asks, curious.

“I did.”, he answers. “Would you like to hear more?”, he asks and she finds herself nodding and leaning forward in her seat.

As the music started again, she closes her eyes, the voices not a buzz in her head, but clear words that she could distinguish.

Find Marian… Marian McDough…

“Yoo-hoo. I brought tea.”, Mrs. Hudson announces her presence and the music stops once again. Lydia slowly opens her eyes and looks up to see Sherlock studying her. He doesn’t say a word as he settles in his chair and Mrs. Hudson sets the tea down.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”, Lydia says as she accepts her cup. Mrs. Hudson smiles.

“Of course, my dear. You are always welcomed for tea. Now, how do you find London?”, she asks.

“A bit cold, but very nice.”, Lydia replies.

“Why yes, you are all the way from California, aren’t you? Must be nice, to have warmth all year, thought I can’t simply imagine myself living that way anymore. I used to live in Florida, with my late husband, you see. It was very nice, but now I am used to the cold, you know.”, Mrs. Hudson chatters away. Lydia sips at her tea and thinks about what she heard. Usually she had to scream to drown out the voices so she can hear the whispers and voices. Never before had this occurred by just simply listening to live music.

“Mrs. Hudson. We have work to do.”, Sherlock says, standing up. Mrs. Hudson stops her chatter.

“Oh, alright. I’ll take my cue then.”, Mrs. Hudson smiles and stands up to go.

Sherlock walks around, lightly. “You came to find someone, but a banshee should have a natural instinct in finding anyone.”

Lydia froze, going still in shock. She looks at Sherlock who looks at her like it a most normal thing to do, to announce that someone is a banshee.

“What did you say?”, Lydia whisperers.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. It wasn’t a such a hard guess. Now, I can only assume you still haven’t grown into your abilities if you need me to find your missing person.”, Sherlock says.

“How do you know about any of this?”, Lydia asks, setting down the teacup.

“For two years I was taking down a master web of criminals designed by one Jim Moriarty. In that time period, I learned a lot of new things. One of them is the existence of supernatural creatures all around us. I must admit, I thought I was going crazy for couple of weeks, but I accepted that the world isn’t as I thought it was. Werewolves, druids and other creatures suddenly became obvious once I knew what to look for. But, a banshee. I must admit you are the first one I have met in person.”, Sherlock says.

“I don’t really know how to be one.”, Lydia admits. “I came to London in hope of some answers.”

“And how is that going?”, Sherlock asks.

“I got a name. Marian McDough. I think she is a banshee, maybe someone who could help.”, Lydia says. Sherlock grins.

“Excellent. Let’s go then.”, he grabs his coat, putting it on.

“What?”, Lydia says, a bit startled by a such an abrupt change.

“It is not everyday one can experience the ways of a banshee. You need to learn and I wish to observe.”, he opens the door, holding it out for her as she grabs her coat and puts it on.

“What gave me away, exactly?”, she asks, stopping besides him.

“You think, besides the lost look when you walked to crime scene or you blatant listening to whatever you listen to as I played the violin. Or the fact that your are familiar with dead bodies and strange occurences. Not to mention, you bringing a file of a missing werewolf that you can’t find.”, he lists off and she narrows her eyes.

“You said you guessed it.”, she says.

“Well, I was sure 65%, you just confirmed it now.”, he says as they walk out together.

“So, I got it right, a werewolf and a banshee.”, Sherlock says.

“A werecoyote.”, Lydia says with a smile. Sherlock grumbles.

“It is always something.”

They manage to find Marian McDough, only it turns out her current address was the graveyard.

Lydia sighs, frustrated. She couldn’t find a living person for a change, could she?

“Pointless.”, she mutters as she is about to walk away.

“Not exactly.”, Sherlock stops her. “Marian had a daughter, Elizabeth. She lives near. Maybe she has the answers we are looking for.”

“Fine. Let’s try.”, Lydia says. They manage to get to the address and  ringed the doorbell.

“What do I say?”, Lydia asks, nervous.

“I’ll talk, you just smile prettily.”, Sherlock says. Lydia puts on a smile and prays it doesn’t look fake.

A woman opens, hair going grey and wrinkles showing, but still pretty in appearance. “Can I help you?”, she asks.

“Hi, yes. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is Lydia Martin. Could we have a moment-“, Sherlock is interrupted by the woman.

“Lydia? Lydia Martin?”, she repeats and Lydia meets Sherlock’s eyes, looking confused before looking at the woman again.

“Um, yes. This may sound weird, but I need to ask you about-“, and this time Lydia is interrupted.

“My mother. Yes, she told me you would be coming.”, the woman, Elizabeth, says.

“She did?”, Lydia asks.

“Why yes. Before she dead, she told me. Lydia Martin will come and she will need my stuff, that’s what she said. That’s why I kept them. Wait here for a second.”, Elizabeth says and they are left alone as she closes the door.

Lydia blinks and two partners in crime look at each other. “Well, that is spooky.”, Lydia says.

“But, very efficient, you must admit. Saves us the time.”, Sherlock says. Lydia shoots him a look as the doors open and Elizabeth appears holding a white box. She gives it to Lydia.

“Here you go. I am glad you came for it at last. I wish you best of luck, but I do not want to be reminded of that life anymore. Good day.”, and she hastily closes the door.

“Weird and rude.”, Lydia says, holding the heavy box.

“Quick and up to the point.”, Sherlock retorts. With a smile, Lydia turns to him and shoves the box in his arms.

“Than you can carry it.”, she says. He grumbles after her as she goes hail the cab, but carries the box all the way back to the flat.

“I am afraid to open it.”, Lydia says as she stares at it, sitting on a coffee table. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid.”, and pulls of the lid. Lydia expected, well, something other than notebooks and books and a small music box.

The books were bestiaries and the notebooks seemed to be Marian’s journals about being a banshee. Lydia could guess what the music box was for.

“The scream helps you focus on what we are here to hear, what we can sense. The music helps as well. Hallucinations.”, Lydia murmurs, reading. “This I already know. No help there.”, she says and looks up at Sherlock. He holding a couple of sheets of paper, face frozen.

“What? What is it?”, she asks.

“This is a list.”, he looks up at her. “At all the names that are familiar are the unsolved cases I never managed to solve.”, he says.

“Maybe because they are supernatural?”, Lydia suggests. “You were missing a vital part of the puzzle.”

“Maybe.”, Sherlock mutters.

They spent all night, reading the material they got.

“Oh, this doesn’t help.”, Lydia says. “I knew most of this stuff. Telling me to focus, but not telling me how exactly.”

“It helped when I played the violin.”, Sherlock says. Lydia nods. “Maybe you just to focus on certain tunes, certain notes.”, he says and grabs his violin. He pulls a string and looks at her expectedly.

Lydia shakes her head. “Nothing”

He pulls another and another until they found a combination of C-mol and few notes that made it easier for her to focus. Whisperers got louder and started getting names and locations. By the time they were finished Lydia had her own list with names, dates and time of possible deaths.

“I still don’t know how to become aware of it all, not just acting on the instinct.”, Lydia says and Sherlock looks at her before smiling.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it all. Until than.”, he gives her coat and grabs the list. “The game is on.”

The end

To be continued…

Finally, done. Took me three days to finish this and I started over three times until I was satisfied somewhat. It is still not perfect how I want it, but I think it is alright for now. John and Mary are currently on their honeymoon. Magnusum, the villain in the third season, isn’t active in this canon.

I hope you enjoyed.

Lots of love