Madelyn was running. Snow whipped past her, each flake slicing small cuts through the layers of clothes she wore and across her frost-bitten face. Someone, or something, was chasing her. She was blindly running across the snowy rooftops of London. Black, smoky figures began rising from the chimneys all around her, shrieking and thrusting their arms out to grab her. Terrified, she dodged the dagger-like fingers clawing at her and leapt over the crevice between two buildings. But as she leapt, the fissure became larger and larger, and Madelyn began to fall. Glancing behind herself towards the ground rushing up towards her, the snowy ground suddenly erupted with red-hot columns of fire and smoke. The smoke and fire swirled and twisted into an angry, dirty face, creased with lines of exhaustion and anguish. His eyes flashed in a bright blue flame, searing the most intense emotions of regret and sorrow into Madelyn. She writhed in pain and clenched her eyes shut to stop the stream of emotions bombarding her mind. When she opened her eyes again, the flaming smoke had vanished, and Madelyn continued to fall. She turned in midair and watched helplessly as the ground rushed up to meet her body…

Jolting awake with a gasp, Madelyn sat bolt upright panting heavily and sweating profusely despite the bitter temperatures. The sun was barely rising, and as she looked around, she was surprised to find a large overcoat that did not belong to her, covering her slender frame. Recognizing the overcoat as the exact same patchy-grey one worn by the man who had bumped her roughly the previous day, she blinked confusedly and her eyes widened as she spotted a second cave structure (which was currently empty) just around the corner of the chimney she was camping at. Madelyn quickly crawled out of her shelter and stood up, scanning the rooftops (which were caked with a brand new layer of snow, giving a total accumulation of about two feet). The sky was clear and the air was crisp with the clean icy fragrance of new snow.

"Ah, awake are we?" a husky voice sounded from behind her. Madelyn flinched and spun swiftly around to face the person that had spoken.

In the darkness, Holmes approached the snowy cavern and peered cautiously into it. Sure enough, there inside the small refuge, curled up tightly, lay the woman who he had encountered earlier in the day. Her ebony locks curled somewhat chaotically over her pale face. Her face was lightly freckled across the bridge of her nose, and her thick eyelashes were delicately covered with the icy crystals that were still dropping from the clouds. Her expression was relaxed and peaceful even as she slept in less than favorable conditions. Holmes observed her closely, picking out features and breaking them down with his intellectual process. He could not gather much from her raggedy clothing (which were dirtied with all manners of earth from different regions of the large city), and because she was covered heavily, his examination of this curious woman was cut short. Holmes couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something awfully familiar about her. Pursing his lips in contemplation, he finally decided to construct a snowy shelter analogous to hers for the night.

After successfully building his lodgings, he sat within it and watched the snow fall. His eyelids began to fail him and he nodded off just after Big Ben struck three in the morning. He slept soundly for about two hours, but was awoken by soft, muffled groans emanating from the girl's cove. Sitting up and yawning, he furrowed his brows and watched her twitch faintly and whimper softly through the navy scarf (or what was left of it) wrapped around her neck and mouth. She began to shiver violently, and though Holmes barely knew her, he could not help but sympathize with her. She looked hardly over twenty, but had obviously been exposed to the elements for basically that entire length of time. He sighed and removed his large grey patchy overcoat and laid it over her shivering form. He then perched himself atop the chimney after clearing most of the snow from the ledge, and pulling his small brown pipe from his pocket, lit the tobacco with the matches in his inner pocket and inhaled deeply. The smoke billowed out of his mouth and nose in light, wispy grey clouds that dissipated into the crisp morning air.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and hearing a sudden gasp, realized that the woman had roused violently as she panted heavily from under the snowy dome. He smiled slyly as he continued to smoke from his pipe and watched as she scrambled out of her shelter to look around, gripping his coat tightly in her thin hands.

"Ah, awake are we?" Holmes stated matter-of-factly.

She spun around in surprise as he hopped down from his seat atop the chimney. She stared at him with wide eyes and cautiously backed away, dropping his coat in the snow. He chuckled knowingly and shook his head, inhaling again on his pipe.

"Now, now, there's no need for caution. I assure you madam that I mean you no harm." More smoke poured from his mouth and sticking his nose in the air, he looked her up and down, now that she stood at full height.

Her deep chocolate eyes that were flecked with infinitesimal slivers of gold contrasted her pale-white skin but complimented her dark locks quite nicely. Holmes concluded that her eyes had nothing to do with his strange feeling of familiarity toward the girl, as he had never quite seen eyes like hers. Facing him and standing as tall as she could, she measured about five foot six and despite the bulky clothes covering her, he could see her feminine figure shone through quite pleasantly (he inwardly scolded himself for even taking note of such things).

She narrowed her eyes for a split second and analyzed the man that had confronted her. He was only a few inches taller than her, approximately five foot ten. It seems he hadn't shaved in a while and the scruff on his chin added to his apparent charm (and homeless appearance). His brown tresses were unkemptly slicked backwards and curled wildly around his face. He was dressed in a similar manner as she was, with many layers of clothes that were quite filthy from the elements despite the clean snow that surrounded them. She glanced back at his face and was struck with a sudden and enormous realization. Smirking inwardly, Madelyn crossed her arms across her chest.

"Well that's quite obvious. Had you intended to harm me you would have already done so, instead of joining me in my camp in the snow." she stated defiantly at his arrogant posture.

"And how does a young lady such as yourself come to live on the rooftops during such harsh conditions?" he raised his eyebrow at her smart response and puffed smoke from his nose.

"I could ask you the same question, sir." She turned back towards her shelter and picked up her messenger bag.

Slinging it over her shoulder, she tossed her hair out of her face and looked back at him through her lashes. Holmes smirked and he picked up his coat that had fallen to the ground and dusted the residual snow off.

"Oh, that's quite a long story. The details are unimportant and unrelated to this conversation." He felt no real danger in failing to keep up his charade of a dim-witted beggar.

From what he'd experienced and witnessed in following her, there was no need.

"Mmm, but I think they might interest me, Mister Holmes. Wouldn't you be so kind as to enlighten me?" Madelyn stretched indifferently and pulled her loaf of bread out of the bag, breaking off two pieces and offering one to the man that stood momentarily dumb-struck before her.

Accepting the piece of bread, Sherlock quickly recovered from his state of astonishment.

"You are a most observant woman. My disguises are of practically perfect condition." Holmes proudly put his coat back on and convincingly arranged his garments in a manner that strongly conveyed a poverty-stricken status.

Madelyn laughed sweetly.

"Such big talk. Then again, your skills and intelligence have yet to be matched." Putting the remains of her bread back into her pouch, she continued.

"Oh, wait. My mistake. They have. At least partially," she referred to the pick-pocketing incident that had occurred the previous day.

Holmes scoffed and retorted.

"Well, I admit I may not be on my best performance lately. Undernourishment, I think, is to blame." Madelyn sucked in a small breath of air sharply through her teeth.

"Oh, that's right. You're supposed to be deceased. Well, all things considered, you're doing spectacularly well for a dead man." Holmes nodded thoughtfully.

"So, you've been reading the papers. Now tell me, why is it you are heading towards Westminster Abbey?" he asked, testing her response.

Madelyn clicked her tongue thrice in a scolding manner.

"Mister Holmes, if you are clever enough to know I read the newspaper, you are certainly clever enough to know why I am travelling there. I'm afraid I must answer your a question with another. Why is it you have been following me all this way?" She pointed out smartly.

Jutting his lower jaw forward slightly and motioned to take his pipe from his mouth, he replied.

"Very well. It's quite obvious that you are heading towards the largest chapel in London for my funeral. And if you must know, I have followed you due to the," he cleared his throat loudly, "curious manner by which you travel. In all my days, I have not until this day, seen anyone, homeless or not, scale buildings and leap from rooftop to rooftop as you do. Obviously I am excluding chimney sweepers because that is merely a career choice, not a lifestyle. "

Madelyn raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"You are not telling the truth entirely, Mister Holmes. If one makes an attempt to touch their face during a false statement, it is an indication that one is nervously avoiding the truth. So please, carry on with your explanation." Huffily, Sherlock continued.

"And I suppose how you out-maneuvered my attempted thievery yesterday could have something to do with it, if you must know." He bit into the loaf of bread and begrudgingly chewed it.

Madelyn nodded, satisfied with his answer.

"Well, as much as I would love to stay and chat, I am afraid if I do not move on soon, I'll miss crashing your funeral service." She turned swiftly and demolished her snowy dome in one kick.

Turning her head to look at the detective over her shoulder, she winked endearingly at him and took off running and jumped to the next roof.

"Unless you'd like to join me, I would very much like to know your story of cheating death." She called back over her shoulder, jogging towards the next gap between buildings.

Groaning in mild frustration, Sherlock ate the rest of this bread and pocketing his pipe, jogged quickly after the girl. Quickly catching up with her, he grabbed the strap of her pouch, effectively bringing her to a sudden halt.

"Wait just a moment you she-thief. I first of all would like to know your name. And secondly, I think it's a right proper idea to continue our journey at ground-level. Not a lot of rooftops lead directly up to the abbey. Actually, there aren't any to my knowledge." He stated flatly.

Blowing her bangs out of her face from her abrupt halting, she resentfully nodded.

"Well, I suppose… but I much rather prefer the safety of rooftops..." She mumbled reluctantly.

They both descended the building and once on solid ground, Holmes stepped out onto the snowy sidewalk and inhaled deeply in contentment. Madelyn was reluctant to emerge from the alley and hesitated. The sidewalks and streets were far more crowded than where she was used to roaming, and it made her very nervous (much to her embarrassment). Sherlock tilted his head at her sudden guardedness.

"Come, come, now, darling. We haven't got all day." He offered the crook of his elbow to her as an escort and waited.

Somewhat wary of his offer, Madelyn breathed deeply and gathering her courage, stepped out of the alley, shyly ignoring Holmes' arm. Holmes shrugged and, walking side-by-side with her, Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled pleasantly in the winter weather.

"The name's Madelyn, by the way." Madelyn added as they became ever closer to the grand abbey.

"Hm. That's a lovely French name. And your surname?" Holmes pried, taking his unlit pipe out of his pocket again just to have in his mouth.

Madelyn cast her eyes downward at her feet that continued to plunge into the powdery snow as they strolled.

"I'm not sure of my surname. The only other names I've been given in my life are the most demeaning of pet-names such as sweetheart or princess or baby doll." Wrinkling her nose, Madelyn's demeanor became suddenly darker.

"But I digress…" Madelyn finished quickly, trying to change the subject.

Surprised, Sherlock raised his eyebrows and studied her face carefully. He was most certainly never one to succumb to emotions, as they clouded his judgment and complicated things infinitely more. He couldn't help it if people didn't understand his theories regarding emotions, but to him, they were just…illogical.

They continued on in silence, entering a park that on the other side lay the Westminster Abbey. The park was nearly empty, compared to the streets around it, beholding spectacularly pristine and smooth rolling hills of snowy scenery. The barren trees lining the pathway were festooned with the same clean snow, balancing carefully on the skeletal branches. Madelyn sighed quietly, admiring the short-lived beauty of snow. The sun had begun to peek out behind the dissipating clouds in the sky, casting God-rays through the park and igniting the ground in a bright, glittering display. Holmes pulled out a pair of small, round darkened spectacles from an inner pocket of his coat and put them on, shielding his eyes from the snow-blindness he was beginning to experience as the sun made its appearance.

Madelyn glanced cautiously up at the detective, noting the dark circles underneath his eyes and the excessive scruff upon his chin indicated he hadn't shaved in approximately close to two weeks. There were sporadic clumps of small cuts on his cheeks and forehead, but were close to being healed. She had to admit he was exceptionally handsome even with his unkempt appearance (she personally thought it gave him a bit of a devil-may-care quality that was very nearly impossible to resist). The lines that emerged on his face through different facial expressions gave him a unique countenance that Madelyn was quickly growing fond of.

Sherlock glimpsed sideways at the woman and caught her analyzing him quite closely. The corners of his lips quirked up for an instant, amused at her enthrallment with him.

"You know, it is not polite to stare. Is there something on my face?" He stated with a hint of mock-uncouthness in his voice.

Madelyn blushed slightly, being caught in the act of admiring him.

"No, there's nothing on your face aside from an excessive amount of facial hair, healthy amount dirt, and various scratches. How long has it been since you last appeared presentable to the public of higher-class?" she chided sweetly.

"Well, I believe it was just two days ago that I performed as a first-class gentleman. Though, I suppose I have not properly groomed myself since shortly after my supposed death, about two fortnights ago." He replied in a straight-forward manner, very much out of his character.

He was a little startled at how easily he could hold a civil conversation with her. But he presumed that if conversations with her were this pleasant, arguments with her would be more entertaining than ever.

"Speaking of your near-death experience, would you be willing to indulge me with your miraculous escape?" she looked up at him pleadingly with her unusually dark brown, almost black eyes that were flecked with gold.

He marveled at the remarkable color of her eyes and was lost momentarily in them, without deducting their explanation due to genetics. Blinking promptly, he recovered from his inexplicable distraction and recounted the tale of surviving the rapids...


Yeah. Sherlock's mannerisms are hard to duplicate. I don't really know where the funeral was held in the movie, so I made it up (it's called fiction for a reason). So, really…simple and kinda dumb explanation for the location.