FIRST

He remembered when he'd met her. He'd been standing on the edge of a rooftop, barely seventeen and bored out of his mind. The people were boring, the school was boring, and his brother had taken away the only things that made it interesting. Sherlock wanted, no needed the needles back. He needed the rush they gave him, the place of enhanced attention. If he didn't get them, he would go mad.

So, in an effort to make the boring old world go away and the needles come back, Sherlock was standing on the edge of the roof, looking down at the traffic and scratching his healing arm absently.

That was when she spoke.

"You can't fly, you know."

He turned, with a start, and stared at the unusual girl who sat beside him. She was small, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, and she smelled slightly of cigarette smoke. She also had the brightest red hair Sherlock had ever seen. It practically glowed under the sun, a true red with no hint of orange to it at all. She looked to be a few years younger than he, and she was sitting on the edge beside him, also looking down.

"What?"

"You can't fly. Only birds and airplanes can do that. Humans just aren't made for it."

He liked that she'd said humans, not people. Sherlock rarely felt like a person, and those around him were always telling him what people, real people, did and did not do.

"Birds. Huh." He glanced back out at the traffic, and sat down beside her.

"Yes. Like a Cardinal. That's what they call me, you know. The Cardinal." She glanced at him, and he noticed her eyes were a dark, rich brown.

"Sherlock." He said, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

They talked up there for several hours. He ranted about how very dull the world was, and she told him of her life, one on the streets, which wasn't full of adventure, but was not boring by any stretch of the imagination.

Over the next few weeks, throughout his recovery, she would meet with him there, and slowly they became what other people would call 'friends.' He brought her food, sometimes, an old sleeping bag once, and in exchange she told him stories about the streets. One day, for a pack of gum, she showed him where she slept at night and introduced him to her 'family.' Young teenagers, all, who listened to her and did as she asked. He wondered once or twice why she lead them, but never got an answer, just a little smile and a flick of the eyes.

When Mycroft found out he'd befriended a homeless girl, he was livid.

Sherlock was not allowed to see her, to talk to her, to interact with her at all.

On the rooftop the next day, Sherlock explained. He still didn't understand.

Cardinal did.

"He's afraid I'll get you addicted again."

"But that's crazy. You try to get other people off them, not do them yourself."

"Would he believe that?"

"No, probably not."