Okay, yah, this chapter's got problems. Most of them will...sorry.

I know Rebecca's secret may be really confusing, but I'm trying to keep it a big surprise, so when there's unfinished thoughts or confusing information about it, just move on and try to understand that I'm bad at this. Bare with me!

Thank you to those who read. I write for you guys, even when I should be doing homework...or sleeping...

Thank you!

-Cemari

And I do not own Sherlock or anything else amazing like that...


Updated! Because there were some major structure issues and inexusably grammar errors. Sorry guys, that was terrible, it must have been a pain to read. Well, at least for me it was... Yell at me if there's something wrong with my chapters from here on out! ;)

AND UPDATED AGAIN! Because after months of not writing I looked back and practically screamed at how terrible this fanfic is! Lo siento, mis amigos! ~11/26/13


Some say in ice

Rebecca woke up with a start, images of a nightmare dancing across her vision. She sat up, stood quickly after throwing off her one thin, patched blanket and tried to walk off the groggy thickness of emotion that coursed through her. Nightmares had become too frequent now, and she was starting to believe it was because she was so close...

She found herself scaling the stairs up to the main floor. She emerged at the base of the stairs to John and Sherlock's flat, almost completely unaware she was still wearing her pajamas: short, short, short, short shorts and a worn-out, satined, stretched tank top. That thought only occurred when Sherlock threw open his door with John yelling behind him. "Sherlock! Wait!"

"There's no time, John! There's been a murder!" Sherlock practically flew down the stairs, barely missing Rebecca as she dodged him. Self-awareness screamed at her over her attire; Rebecca felt herself blushing.

John huffed down the stairs and noticed Rebecca as Sherlock raced through the front door and slammed it with a loud, very loud slam. The doctor gave an unsure laugh scratching a sudden itch at the nape of his neck, "Sorry, did he wake you?"

"Wha-? Oh! No, no. It's fine, he didn't wake me." Rebecca stuttered. She hugged her stomach, covering various stains that decorated her shirt.

"Oh, good. Uh, we've got a murder case, so we won't be in your hair today." He gestured towards the door Sherlock had mistreated and shifted his weight.

Rebecca nodded quickly, "Oh." Absent-mindedly, she patted her hair, checking for the troublesome fly-aways. She bit her bottom lip and tried to end the conversation. Her mind was slowly warming up, piecing together small details. John hadn't shaved, which means he doesn't shave at night, but in the morning. Obviously, he hadn't had the time. He likes his sleep, slows down in the night when he's tired, a morning person. His sweater had two strands of different colored hairs clinging to it. Obviously from women. He wears this sweater on dates. Lack of expensive clothing. He can't keep a girlfriend, not surprising-

"Good luck," she stopped her thought process before the silence could grow uncomfortable.

"Thanks," John blinked and smiled. He turned to the front door. "See you."

Rebecca waved slightly and turned quickly to descend the stairs. Every step she took down filled her head with more and more doubt and scornful comments at her awkwardness, until the metaphoric weight forced her to collapse onto her sheet-less mattress.

"This is so much more difficult, then I thought," she moaned into her pillows. "Moving in was supposed to be easy."

A knock on her door startled her, and Mrs. Hudson's voice quickly followed, "Ms. Rebecca? Would you like to come shopping with me, sweetheart? You must need to get your groceries, don't you? I know the best place to go for a deal on tea."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I'll be up in a moment." Rebecca heaved her self from the bed and lugged herself over to the two suitcases resting next to her door. Already she wished for the day to be over.


"Ms. Rebecca, dear." Mrs. Hudson rushed to Rebecca. The two women were at the store, Rebecca at the cashier, and Mrs. Hudson bringing forgotten biscuits. "Rebecca, would you like to go out for a drink tonight with the boys?"

Rebecca blinked and nearly missed the young cashier informing her of the net price, "John and Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded and add the biscuits to her items. She smiled, "John wanted to do it as a welcome event for you. So you can get to know them better."

Rebecca finally noticed the cashier trying to get her attention and apologized swiftly to him. She pulled out her wallet. "And Sherlock?"

"What of him, dear?" Mrs. Hudson blinked up at her.

Rebecca handed the cashier her pay and clarified for the landlady, "Sherlock, where does he stand on the matters of this 'welcome event'?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled slightly, suddenly fingering at the bags of chips in her stock pile as if checking for holes, "Oh, dear, you know how Sherlock is."

Rebecca frowned and gathered her two bags from the ever impatient cashier. She, in fact, didn't know Sherlock. Does he even drink? She knew the basics, of course; the few obvious things she was able to notice at barely a glance. But she hadn't gotten a real chance to asses his behavior...

The fact that she didn't exactly drink caught a bit of her attention for a fraction of a second. 'Not exactly' meaning she only drank on special occasions. Alcohol messed with her perceptions greatly, which was not a desirable side effect. In fact, that's the one reason she avoided it, so she could maintain her thoughts and keenness for the details.

"I'll go." Rebecca informed her landlady.

Mrs. Hudson smiled wide and said in her cheery voice, "Wonderful, I'll let John know. How about I take your things to the flat and you can go meet them?"

Before she could think, Rebecca agreed and thanked her.


John stood and smiled when Rebecca walked into the restaurant. The place was crowded with people, and Rebecca was grateful she could see John in the sea of she approached she noticed Sherlock sulking in a chair next to John's, staring moodily out the window. He rolled his eyes and sighed melodramatically when John greeted Rebecca.

Once seated Rebecca spoke, glancing at Sherlock casually, trying to make it seem that she thought he was excited to converse with her, "Thank you so much, John, Sherlock. You really didn't have to do this."

Sherlock sighed again and John replied quickly to cover his flatmate's lack of hospitality, "We wanted to. Just a get-together to get to know one another."

Sherlock snorted and started a monotone analysis, "Mid-twenties, concerned constantly about her hair because she's self-concious. Lack of confidence throughout her childhood led to manipulation. Plays at emotions to convince others to think her way."

John's expression faltered and his smile soured slightly, "Sherlock, don't-"

Rebecca's hand habitually went to pat down her hair, but she engaged the situation and gave her own input to counter his, "Whenever anyone opens their mouth they are trying to convince someone. Everyone manipulates," John glanced at Rebecca, surprised at her attempt at refutal.

Sherlock, unfazed in any way, continued, "Packed light. No sign of sentimental value in her suitcase, just enough clothing for possibly eight days. No room for the family scrapbook."

Rebecca shrugged slightly and shifted her attention to the menu, "Starting over. Didn't want anything to weigh me down."

"Family death. Mother." Sherlock finally looked from the window to Rebecca who was still engrossed in the menu. She showed no shortfall in her facade of nonchalantness.

"Brother." He tried again. Rebecca's blood froze. She tried to cover it, but her fear caused her attention to short-circuit. Her eyes ceased browsing as her mind kicked into defense mode. He can't know...

"Sherlock, stop-" John growled and glared at the detective.

It was too late anyway: Sherlock had seen a flaw. She had to play with the cards in her hand. So, she folded the menu again, showing defeat with a tight jaw, "Bingo. Dead brother."

"It was an unexpected death. Obviously something difficult to cope with. Suicide." Sherlock's lip curled slightly, the puzzle pieces falling into place.

Sherlock knew she could persuade people by faking emotion, so she tried to avoid overkill that would've passed for anyone else. She bit her lip and met his eyes for a moment, a very brief moment, before meeting John's.

John stammered, obviously believing her charade, "Rebecca, I'm so sorry."

She nodded in acknowledgment and pretended to fall deep into her thoughts. But her mind was aching with concentration on Sherlock. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring, assessing her every move. She was conscious of every move her body made, every breath and twitch.

The silence lasted only a few moments, but John had clearly grown uncomfortable. "Excuse me a moment." John informed. He stood and left, Rebecca knowing he was in search for the bathroom.

The tension escalated, and Sherlock stared relentlessly. Rebecca simply gave up on her entire mopey scam and turned to the menu. This topic was something that she wanted to avoid, and now the imprudent bastard had completely exposed it. She spoke first to steer the situation back to normal, "How was the murder?"

"Intelligent and sly," Sherlock continued his deductions suddenly, jumping straight back into his race. "You're hiding more," He corrected his posture and straightened up from his slouched position to loom over the table-top.

"Was it entertaining for you?" Rebecca tried again, only half-heartedly.

Sherlock's lip curled into a slight snarl, and Rebecca could feel his body-heat as he leaned further in. "Don't try to hide your emotions from me, it's annoying and unattractive," He growled.

Rebecca snapped her gaze to his, snapping back as her patience withered, "Look who's talking."

The two were fully engaged in a incessant stare-down, when their waitress in a black uniform and a high, blonde ponytail came out from behind and practically chirped, "I'm so sorry for the wait, can I get you two lovebirds something to drink?"

Sherlock slumped back and denied the joyful woman's vulgar statement, "We. Are. Not. Together."

"I loathe you, too, sweetie," was Rebecca's irritated reply, as she too slumped back.


Has anyone noticed Wicked references? Yah, (don't own Wicked, either of course) I thought I'd point out how much of a nerdy weirdo I am for incorporating that in here. Maybe a little Doctor Who as well... :)