THIRTEEN.

Contrary to popular belief, the number wasn't an omen of bad luck– well, at least not for Amelia Redford. For her, it was the central core of who she was. Her life was built around that number, and for good reason too.

She was thirteen years old when she missed her bus.

She was thirteen years old when she decided to walk home on a cold London night.

She was thirteen years old when she found a dead body discarded in an alley.

The experience had been life-altering, though not in the way the police officers and teachers at school expected it to be– because in thirteen seconds, Amelia Redford had already solved the crime.

It was simple, really. Despite the freezing evening, no coat shielded the woman's frail body from the cold, so she hadn't been killed at the macabre scene before her.

The bashed in skull was a sure sign of overkill– the fancy term for the emotions everyone tried to keep buried inside finally surfacing: rage, passion, anger. The killer knew the victim.

Finally, there was the tan line of a ring on her finger– yet no ring in sight. Maybe the killer had stolen it with the intent of visiting a pawn shop, though that wouldn't explain the expensive looking watch still clad to her wrist. What one may have called a jump to conclusions Amelia had called a leap of faith: the ring was a sentimental attachment to the killer.

It was definitely a gamble betting on the husband to be the murderer, but it was a gamble that paid off well. Next week's papers had the news printed on every front page: HUSBAND KILLS WIFE AFTER DISCOVERING HER AFFAIR, it had said in large, bold letters.

It was so cliché that it made Amelia more nauseous than the sight of blood and brains splattered over wet cobblestones, but the press ate it up, and even asked for second helpings.

It was how, thanks to the work of one very determined and nosy journalist, Amelia Redford's name was printed in those very newspapers, sparking a flame of interest from numerous people around London.

So, the number thirteen wasn't unlucky at all. It paved the way to her career path as the world's second and youngest consulting detective when a particular Sherlock Holmes had come knocking on her door.

He gave her the chance of the happy ending she hadn't thought was possible– so why did she still feel like something was missing?

A/N: thank you for reading the prologue of this story! i'd ask you what you think of amelia so far but since you barely know her, i'll instead ask what scene you're looking forward to most?