Author's note -This is my very first fan fiction, please review and let me know how I'm doing! xx
"You're in a bad mood," said Sherlock without looking up from his newspaper.
"What?" Rebecca shot him a sharp look, clutching her steaming mug tightly. Sherlock sighed, swung his gangly legs out from under him and walked over to her.
"You've tied your hair up," he said, "You're drinking coffee from the biggest mug we have, you're wearing that baggy jumper and –" at this point he got surprisingly close and actually sniffed her hair, "You had chocolate for breakfast."
She stepped back and just glared at him for a few seconds.
"A simple 'What's wrong?' would have been better you know."
She slammed her coffee on the table and stomped back up the stairs.
/
When the door to her bedroom had crashed shut behind her, Rebecca hurled herself on to her bed.
It was just homesickness, that's all. It came in infrequent waves, albeit strong ones. Adapting to life in London had been difficult, still was difficult. Everything was so, so... southern. And she missed her mum. She needed a shoulder to cry on, but that was never going to be Sherlock.
Groaning, she realised she would regret her little outburst later. She knew she shouldn't have been so harsh with Sherlock, after two years of living with him she should have gotten used to him and his ways. But some days, when her temper was short and her hair wild, she snapped at him so very easily. Though come to think of it, she was doing well. The thought of moving out had never even crossed her mind. Her uncle, John Watson, had warned Rebecca that Sherlock might be difficult to put up with when she made the decision to take on the flat share after he had moved out to live with Sarah.
She half-smiled. "Difficult to put up with" didn't even cover it. But no-one could say it wasn't interesting, living with Sherlock. She grinned into her pillow, bad mood and homesickness of earlier dissipating into contentedness. She liked interesting.