ok this is the last one for this episode. NEXT UP THE BLIND BANKERISHNTHINGA

~Alice~

We sit there eating our food when he finally asks.
"How did you get so good with a gun? A normal soldier wouldn't have had that good of aim, over that distance and threw two windows with that gun." I smile at him and debate on how much I should tell him. Should I say how I was special forces, the kind that went in when it was too much for normal soldiers, but not bad enough for the secret ops? Or about how we were usually sent into the front lines to clear a path for the men? What about how I was both a sniper and the healer for my squad? I was in second in command over it, until Moran was dishonorably discharged after shooting civilians, soldiers, and his team mates. Should I tell him I was only in charge for two days while hunting him, right up to the point where he shot me in the shoulder. How about how that job led me to meet Mycroft? Or that he only saw fit to see me because I was one of the youngest to be asked to join the squad? No, maybe someday he will want to know, for now I can only give him a short answer to the seemingly easy question.
"I was a sniper as well as healer for my squad." I smile at his constraining stare. His lips pulling up at the sides.
"Huh." He says.
"Are you going to tell me how you knew so much about me? You never did say. If it wasn't Mycroft, that is." I tease him, knowing full well after our little adventure, that he didn't need to ask his brother my life story, he could see it for himself. His eyes light up at my question, like I just asked a bookworm to tell about his favorite book series, or a fangirl about her OTP.
"Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq."
I smile, covering it with my hand, "oh? Please continue." He smirks at me.
"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone—it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already. To Harry xxx-Clara."
"Yes?"
" Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara: who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then—six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it—he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."
I look at him oddly. "How did you know about the drinking?"
He rolls his eyes a fraction, like its the easiest thing in the world to figure out.
"Please, there is scratches on the charger port. You'll never see a sober mans phone with them, never a drunk without them. You also have a hatred for alcohol. You looked disgusted when Angelo offered wine. That hatred came from your brother love of it." He raised an eyebrow at me. "Did I get anything wrong?"
"No, no you got almost everything right." He frowned at me.
"Almost?" He asked.
I smirked, glad I got one over him.
"Well yes," I tilt my head to the side, "almost everything was correct."
"Except?"
"Harry, is short for Harriet." His eyes widen.
"Damn, there is always something." He glares at his plate.
"Pretty damn brilliant though. Spectacular." He looks up at me and mirrors the smile I have on my face. His ever changing eyes seeming to light up at my praise. I don't think I will ever get enough of that expression. I don't think I will ever want to.

{you don't HAVE to read this next part if you don't want to, it's just showing Alice and Sherlock interacting and stuff, later lock finds out he is in love. It's your choice lovelys}

~Sherlock~
It was about midnight. I couldn't sleep, so I was making sense of my thoughts about Alice. It was a day after the case closed, and Alice was all moved it. She was currently having a lord of the ring marathon upstairs, but I haven't heard a noise from up there, so I assume she must have went to bed. That was until I head a noise from the direction of the stairs. I turn to see her sneaking from the stairs, heading to the bathroom. Her long hair is in a mess, and she has dried tears on her face. Her crumpled red shirt has some superhero symbol on it, that combined with her oversized black sweats, also with a odd symbol that I can't name, dwarf her. She looks absolutely adorable. Her eyes widen.
"It's only 12. That means it's perfectly social ably acceptiable to shower. It's only not when it's after 2am" she says, looking at me like she is just daring me to contradict her. She then continues her way into the bathroom. I... Have no idea what just happened. I go back to my mind palace, filing away the memory of what just happened.
-time skip-
Alice is dancing around the kitchen with her headphones on. She is banging her head as she twirls around, grabbing ingredients and shaking her hips to the rhythm of that particular song. She wanted to cook dinner instead of eating out, and this was the way she claimed she did it. Every time her face is visible to me from we're I sit at the table, I see her singing without the words, lips forming invisible vowels and articulating unspoken sentences. Suddenly she is banging her head.
"Her name is alicccee, she climbs into the window, chasing shadows, alicccceeeeee." Her soprano voice rings through the kitchen. She giggles and goes back to cooking. I file this into the ever growing box of things Alice does that make no sense.
(The song Alice was singing is called 'her name is Alice' by shinedown)
-another skip-
She is infuriating.
"Kerflungerborg isn't a real word, Alice!"
"I can use words that are not real sometimes, Sherlock!" She had just said that the man she had interviewed for me was such a kerflungerborg, and that he wouldn't listen or cooperate at all. He was a promising lead, until he refused to cooperate, giving away he knew nothing.
"You could use words that are real!"
"Alright, then he was a bumbershoot, just like your being now you chortle argle-bargle!"
"None of those are real, Alice!" I yell, gaining some attention from some of the yarders that were at the murder scene.
"Yes those are! There as real as kerfuffle, you big dumb dumb!"
"Then prove it. If you think these words are real, prove them to me." She huffs, puffing out her cheeks in anger.
"Don't worry" she returns, "I will!" She then turns and stalks over to Lestruade, fuming. She will get over it eventually.
I didn't know how wrong I was. Later that night she brought in a large dictionary, proceeding to then show me the words and definitions of all the foreign words she used except kerflungerborg. She smiles triumphantly, putting up the book, and turning on the television to star treck. This memory is defiantly going with the others.
-skippity skip skip-
"Damn he is fine!" Alice's voice cuts through my thoughts. I look over at her from her position in her favorite chair. She was drooling over the main villain in the new star treck movie.
"Isn't that some actor or something?" I ask just to be nice. She is the only one I want to be kind to.
"Ya, he also plays smag in the hobbit, and he is fine mmmmmmmm" she eyes the man on screen.
"Isn't he sandilind coukukimash?"
She stops looking at the tv, swiveling her head towards me. She starts laughing, fling out of her chair and clutching her sides.
"You... Haha said that hahahahaha so bloody SERIOUSLY oh my gods hahahahaha" she had tears in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed and smile cemented on her face. She finally stopped laughing, turning to me with her mouth slightly parted, grin still in place. I want to kiss that face, badly.
"Lock, his name is Benedict cumberbatch. Most people get his name wrong though." She smiles at me, "you kinda look like him, just a bit." She tilts her head to the side, studying me.
I look at the man on screen. I have to amit, he is attractive as far as the male species goes.
"It's too bad Martin freeman isn't in this one, or I would show you how absolutely sassy he is." She says , shrugging. She goes back to her movie, while I go into my mind palace. I'm going to have to expand my 'interesting things Alice does' room...
-skips around in a circle-
"Ok, lock, your super smart, ya. Let's see if you can get this" I hear Alice's voice say from her chair.
"First think of a creature that lives in disguise, that deals in secret and tells naught but lies.
Next think of what is the last to mend, the middle of middle and the end of end.
Last think of the sound often heard, when trying to find a hard to find word.
Now string them together and tell me this, what is a creature you would not want to kiss." I frown and look at her.
"What does this have to do with anything?" I ask. She shakes her head.
"Answer it and I'll tell you. It's a riddle, you should be good at this." I groan at her.
"I hate riddles..." I turn over on the couch and snuggle back into the back of it. I hear her huff from behind me.
"Oy, I love riddles, what did they ever do to you?" I feel a pillow hit me in the back of the head. "The answer, by the way, is a spider. You would know that if you read the Harry potter books I lent you. It's in the goblet of fire." I pick up the pillow she threw, 'oh, this is war.' I throw it back at her, hitting her in the face with it. The pillow falls into her lap, taking her eyes with it as she looks at it. I hear her growl, gripping the pillow.
"Oh, it IS ON!" She looks up, giving me a wide grin. I see her standing up to attack from my safe position behind the couch. She chases me around, trying to catch me. We run around the house, until she tackles me, pushing me to the floor. She starts whacking me with the pillow, both of us laughing. She finally stops, resting the pillow on my chest and burying her face it in,laughing. It's funny... Until I realize what a compromising potion we are in. Her toned legs straddle my waist, only covered by a pair of thin sleep pants. She is laying sprawled up my body, her chest on my stomach. I didn't know were my hands were until I felt the warmth of her back. Looking at her while she is stifling her giggles, I can see the laced edge of her delicates rising and the very naked small of her back from where her baggy jumper slipped down her back. It's doing something to my transport... And I don't think she would like it. Lucky for me, she lifts up her head. She leans in close to my ear, and whispers,
"Don't hate on riddles" she then smiles, and gets off me to make us tea. There is something seriously wrong with my transport.
-last time skip-
I have been pacing all around my room. I don't know why every time I see Alice I get a warm feeling on my chest. Or why when she smiles, I can't help but follow. Or how when I see her coming out of the shower in just a towel, water soaking her long hair making it cling to her face, neck, and chest, it makes my body temperature rise and heat pool in the pit of my stomach. Or when her hand brushes against me, or her arm, or any part of her, and it makes my heart beat faster. How I want to protect her, and kiss her. To keep her safe. To keep her out of the hands of the evaident Moriarty. To claim her as mine and not let anyone near her. Seeing her with anyone else making my heart ache... I stop pacing.
"Shit." Oh... I've fallen. And I've fallen hard. How is it I could protect myself all those years... Not even showing the slightest interest to anyone. How could she break every barrier that I have put up, smashed through every wall... I sit on my bed and put my head in my hands. Shit. Im skrewed...
"I've fallen in love..."

hello darllings. ok, so I was trying super hard to make alice NOT an OC but I maaaayyy have failed. so im going to change the story tinggy and the other bit. but ya, tell me what you think about it, I really REALLY appreciate your feed back.

thank everyone who is reading this and has already reviewed.

Sherlock- shall I tell them about what you have planned for alic- mmpphhh

Ender-*covering his mouth* you, silence!