Rain Davis is an American writer teaching at a London university. Sherlock Holmes is a famous consulting detective. Rain hires him to help investigate a family connection to a historical crime syndicate only known as M. When a secret journal is brought to light can Sherlock and his trusted companion John Watson keep Rain safe from those who want the past to stay hidden or will Rain fall in London?
When you're a stranger in a strange place who can you trust?

An American writer in London

Rain was lost. She felt like she stood out like a sore thumb. 


She was 5'9 with jet black hair that hung down her back in a long braid to her waist that flared out giving her already full figure a wide hour glass shape. Her glasses caught a glare which made reading the direction on her phone troublesome. "Pardon me," a male voice called, "Are you lost?" 


Rain turned to find two very distinguished looking gentlemen sitting at an outside cafe. The one who spoke was well dressed clean shaven and lean. The other was neatly dressed with a well groomed moustache. 


Rain smiled, "Yes actually I am." She walked up to their table, "I am looking for 221B Baker street." 


The other man smirks, "Off to see the famous detective?" 


Rain kept her smile. His accent wasn't British; more French like. 


The moustached man cuts her off, "Wait let me guess." He looks her over and smiled brightly, "You are Rain Davis the famous American writer and you hope to enlist Sherlock Holmes help in finding out about a family tie to London." 


Truly stunned she stuttered, "That that's amazing!" 


His friend shakes his head and laughs, "Hercule Pirot happens to be a fan of your work; especially the fantasy. We were just discussing the interview you gave in the London Times." 


Rain tilted her head, "Pirot...you wouldn't happen to be the detective who solved Orient Express murder would you?" 


Hercule bowed his head, "I am and this is Mycroft." 


Mycroft motioned to a seat, "Please sit Rain." 


Rain nodded her head thanks, "I have to ask you, your accent isn't one I have heard before Mr. Pirot. It isn't French, but similar." 


Hercule smiled as Mycroft watched. "You are correct. And I am pleased. Most always assume French; it is Belgium." 


The face he made when he said French looked as if he had tasted something sour. Rain laughed. 


Mycroft extended his hand, "Do you have a map app on your phone?" 


Rain nodded, "I do, but it has not been much help." 


Mycroft deftly typed away. Hercule chatted away about Rain's latest book. "Here you go darling Rain. I also programmed my number. If Sherlock is so foolish to deny your request call me. I have some pull with him." He winked as he passed it back. 


"Thank you so much. And it was great meeting you. Both of you." 


She waved as she jotted down the way leaving both men smiling and pondering what she would encounter.


Rain in London