He woke, gasping for life.

"Death is overrated, isn't it?" a woman's voice whispered, pulling the shot of adrenaline out of his arm. He lay in the recovery position as she hummed quietly. "Relapsing is hard, sweetheart. You've overdone it... But I'm here to keep you alive. Let me do a tarot card reading for you..." She set out the cards before him on the ground. It was twilight, and the park's lights had flickered on while he had been succumbing to overdose.

"The stuff is rubbish."

"I know you're a clever man, I can see that without the cards. I'll show you how they work. First I'll have you touch the deck and think of a question, a problem at hand... Then you relax. Breathe with me..." She took a few deep breathes, "Yes, you too." He sighed and matched her slow inhales and exhales. "Now right now, you are faced with a predicament. You are dying on a park bench, and some psycho keeps interrupting. You don't want your brother to know that you've relapsed.."

"How would you possibly know that?"

He looked at her face. Sharp blue eyes, eyelids darkened from exhaustion, staring back at him. Limp, dirty blonde hair with a few years worth of split ends was pushed aside and tucked behind an ear and tied in a loose, messy braid that fell down her back. She smiled with her whole face, not just her mouth.

"Shh, I'll show you. Listen, listen love." she pulled cards out of her tattered jacket and shuffled them. She flipped over seven cards, and began to name them "...Now, I want you to know that a reading is only as clear as the person being read."

He raised an eyebrow.

"And that means the better a person knows how to read people, the better the reading will be. Some call this a con, and I understand the sentiment, but it isn't what I'm coming from. I know these cards give me no special powers, and I don't expect you to start praising me and calling me a prophet. These cards each have a purpose, inverted or not, but they don't mean much if you aren't reading the person as well."

"And you think you can read people? What can you tell me about myself?"

"You're in your mid thirties. You have an overbearing older brother, you hadn't used in about six months until today, you work in or frequent hospitals, you were okay with dying a few minutes ago. You are skeptical in most things. Never married, but your estranged parents are starting to get pushy. You didn't know you were going to relapse until an hour ago. Now, I'll take that information, and apply it to the question, What are you going to do with yourself now?"

She pointed to a few different cards, told him the meanings, explained reversed cards, then stated,

"And from all of this, I have to say that you will come stay in my house for a few days until you have a better living arrangement in place. My name is Eden, by the way."She stood up and offered him a hand. He shook it, and then she helped him get to his feet.

"Shezza."

Eden's apartment was in the old Victorian duplex across the street from the park where Sherlock had collapsed. She had her own door on the ground-level porch, but it opened up to reveal an ascending staircase. The weakened Sherlock stumbled near the top, but Eden caught and steadied him. She fumbled with the lock, then pushed the sticking door open with her shoulder.

"The frame is warped." she explained with an apologetic grin. After pocketing her keys, she helped him over to the sofa.

It was a tiny studio apartment, with framed pictures and books covering most of it, tucked in every corner and covering most of the cracks in the yellowed walls.

"I'll make some tea. Make yourself at home." the woman said, walking off out of sight.

Sherlock studied the room as he drifted off to sleep. With plants hanging from the ceiling and fossils framed on the wall, it seemed like a cluttered, eclectic mess. Most of the books were non-fiction, on all sorts of topics like psychology, tarot cards, auto-repair, origami-

He had just nodded off when a tea-kettle whistled. There was some shuffling sounds accompanied by the clanging of dishes before the woman appeared with a tray. She had shed her heavy winter coat, and was now draped in only a cardigan and librarian-length skirt.

"How do you take your tea?" Eden inquired as she sat the tray on the ottoman.

"Two sugars, please."

Sherlock thanked her as she handed him his drink. As he sipped, he counted the five sugar cubes she plopped into her own drink. From the scent of weed, cigarettes, and alcohol in the room, he deduced that she was no stranger to stimulants.

Eden blew on her tea to cool it down. While tilting her cup to her lips, her phone rang. She frowned and placed her cup back in its saucer, then pulled her phone out of her cardigan's pocket.

"Sorry, I've got to take this. It's probably for work." She flipped open her phone.

"Hello, Charlene...Yes, now is fine. What is their name?.. Okay, put them through..."

Eden took a moment to gather herself mentally, then spoke in a confident voice to a voice on the other end.

"This is Eden Starlight with Indigo Psychic Hotline. Oh, I'm sensing some confusion... You have a big decision ahead of you... This isn't the first time he cheated on you, is it? Let's see what the cards have to say about all of this."

She picked up a magazine off of an end table, held the phone with her neck, then flipped the pages to mimic the sound of a card deck being shuffled.

"Hm... Oh my... The cards tell me that you are about to face some major changes in your life, but they will be positive ones. You need to leave Jeff. That is coming through very clear. About Greg, you should continue to ignore his advances. I sense that he would provide you with similar grief. His marriage will complicate things to the point where no one would be happy. Also... you're name is Mary, isn't it?.. Mary, you are a kind and gentle soul. You deserve happiness. Go find something that interests you, something that you are passionate about, and own it. Have a wonderful day."

Eden ended the phone call with the push of a button, then caught Sherlock's gaze.

"So... Phone psychic?"

"Yes. One of the best." she said, picking up her cup again. "I'm a fraud, obviously."

"Obviously." he concurred, the hint of a grin appearing near the corner of his mouth.