Okay! My first fanfic that might actually go somewhere! Now, I absolutely can not guarantee a good story, and I can almost guarantee that it will go no where. Sorry, but I'm doing my best!...do be kind. :)

Don't own Sherlock...dang it...

Some say the world will end in fire

"Here we are. 221 Baker Street."

A taxi pulled up along the curb in front of the address. Rain plummeted mercilessly on the residents of London, the sky churning with the grays of storm.

The young woman in the taxi payed the driver and kindly refused his help to retrieve her luggage. She stepped out into the rain, hardly acknowledging that her dark auburn hair had begun to frizz and curl. She retrieved her two bags from the back, both simple, black, and functional, and lugged them to the sidewalk. She bode the driver a smile as he drove off and as she turned to the front door. 221 Baker Street. Her new home...

At a quick glance she found a figure in one of the windows. Male, tall, slender, and cunning. He was hiding in the curtains at an obscure angle, almost out of sight. So presumably cunning. But if you can see some one, they can probably see you.

The young woman played at naïveté, and instead of making her discoverery of the viewer known to him, she walked to the door and knocked. The rain pelted down and she finally noticed her hair-

"Oh! You must be Rebecca Phillips! Please dear come inside! I'll introduce you to the boys!" Rebecca was greeted by presumably the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, whom she had been corresponding with for the last few weeks over the matter of renting a flat. "Oh, let me take your things, dear! I've got a cup of tea over on the table for you in the kitchen. Go warm up and I'll place these in your room."

Rebecca watched Mrs. Hudson with a degree of uncertainty. She tried to stammer something of a well practiced greeting, but the woman proceeded to gather Rebecca's things and desert her in the doorway. Suddenly alone, Rebecca inched forward cautiously. She stepped quietly over to the previously mentioned table and meticulously raked the area for details.

Her observations were cut short. "Oh, are you the new girl?" Rebecca whirled around and she found a new man standing in front of her. Shorter (well, more her height, which was short). Blonde. Short hair, indication of military, possibly. Weight shifted on one foot, due to injury to the other leg. Sweater...well, sweater...jeans. Trainers. Wardrobe indicates casual, laid back, calm, slow, indelicate to fashion thus relying on simplicity.

She looked up from her silent analysis, "Yes, I'm Rebecca Philips."

"John Watson." He smiled warmly and extended his hand. The two shook hands and at that moment a gun went off, shattering the engaging atmosphere.

Rebecca, not exactly startled, (more curious then ever, actually. Her new home was proving to be entertaining) flinched and gaped upward, the sound obviously originating from above. John gave a troubled groan. He pleaded under his breath as he turned and ascended the stairs, "Not today. Please Sherlock, don't do this today."

Mrs. Hudson ran up to Rebecca as she began taking off her knitted scarf, "Oh my, dear. I'm so sorry, it's nothing to worry abo-"

"It's plenty alright, Mrs. Hudson. You warned me about the consulting detective." Rebecca held out her scarf to the landlady, "Would you mind putting this with my things while I meet him?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced at the scarf and took it gingerly, "Oh?" Rebecca smiled at the woman cheekily and brushed past her to the stairs. Mrs. Hudson stammered, "Do be delicate, darling. He could...lash out."

Rebecca turned back, "I'll keep that in mind." She continued up the steps, catching bits of dialogue:

"Sherlock, you're going to frighten the new girl."

"Bored!"

"You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock! We've got a guest, a new resident, essentially flatmate. And you're acting like a five year old."

"How many five year olds have guns, John?" Another gunshot sounded as Rebecca reached the top of the stairs. She tip-toed to the ajar door.

"Sherlock, seriously. Rebecca is probably scared out of her wits right now."

"Rebecca is eavesdropping at our front door, John. What does that say about her wits?"

Rebecca smirked and pushed the door open. "Eavesdropping inquires that I'm sneaky and nosy. Wits are useful for excuse when caught spying, so seeing as how I was caught, I'd better be witty."

Rebecca surveyed her opponent. Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. Standing shirtless on a coffee table. In an askew flat with a gun in hand. Aimed at her. Rebecca tried not to roll her eyes: cunning and erratic; wonderful.

"John, please show her out. " Sherlock cocked the gun towards Rebecca.

"She's staying here. I told you, Sherlock, she's renting the flat below us."

Sherlock grimaced, "There's a flat below us?"

"And you're the bloody detective." John grumbled. Rebecca suppressed unexpected laughter. Sherlock aimed at John, though John's expression remained annoyed and slightly tired. John held out his hand for the gun. Sherlock squirmed and reluctantly thrust the weapon into John's hand, stepping off the mangled coffee table.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. Gay? She looked at John. Definitely controlling and monitoring the unpredictable man-child. That shows loyalty, which could suggest a relationship...but Sherlock... She tilted her head slightly as she tried to decide. Ignorant. He doesn't want a relationship to such a degree. Mere partnership so some one can baby-sit him...then again...

Her thought was severed as the detective advanced towards her. His eyes searched her, casually, as though it was nothing to be thought of, but she definitely noticed. She could feel him prodding her appearance for answers. "Rebecca Philips." She forced a warm smile and held out her hand. Sherlock ignored her greeting and loomed over her instead, still searching.

Rebecca huffed after a few moments of thick, strange awkwardness and stepped back to the door casually, never tearing her eyes from his. She smiled meekly, "It was nice to meet you two. John." She finally looked to the man standing alone amidst the awkward and nodded. He gave an unsure nod in return. "Sherlock." She nodded to the detective. He merely narrowed his eyes.

Rebecca then turned on her heel and left. She floated down the stairs, so lost in thought that she completely ran into Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh! How did it go, dear?" The landlady asked.

Rebecca barely heard her, "Hmm? Oh, alright."

Mrs. Hudson nodded happily, as though she was pleased with herself, and traced Rebecca's steps upstairs to confront the two men herself.

Rebecca steadied herself at the base of the stairs and frowned. "What is this feeling?" She whispered.

Small edits: 11/26/13