He met her in a dream.
More specifically he met her while under some rather dangerous narcotics and wasn't very clear on whether or not she was real or not considering some of those drugs did cause hallucinatory effects.
He never told Mycroft. Both because it wasn't any of his damn business (he worried too much already) but also because he started to believe she might be real when a few weeks after his brother forcibly made him go through the withdrawal stages, he saw her again.
Except this time Mycroft had made very, very sure his younger brother wouldn't be getting any drugs anytime soon. He had set his best people on it to chase away anyone foolish enough to sell or share their stash and had been unashamedly arresting all of Sherlock's previous dealers for the past month.
The news claimed it was a "strike on the war on the illegal drug trade", but anyone with half a brain that had previous experience with Sherlock knew damn well what it really was.
Sherlock had pissed off his older brother enough that he was cutting his more difficult sibling off whether he liked it or not.
Seeing those verdant green eyes, that pale skin and vibrant red hair that was a shade of rather fetching burgundy again when he distinctly remembered not taking any drugs or hallucinatory agents... Sherlock couldn't help but analyze her the second he saw her and knew that he wasn't under the influence.
This girl had been through hell and back and barely survived, was his first assessment. He could see all the earmarks of a bad childhood, even more signs that she hadn't had an easy time as a teenager, and she had the posture and behavior of a soldier. Which was ridiculous, because even he knew child soldiers had been outlawed in all civilized countries quite some time ago and this girl barely looked to be in her twenties.
She was clearly used to wearing glasses, because he could see from the bridge of her nose the indentations of such use...even if she was wearing contacts at the moment.
Her clothing was comfortable, but not fashionable and she had most of the usual features attributed to those of noble blood. Which made the fact she had a hard childhood rather unusual considering most nobles wouldn't dare leave such obvious signs on a girl child since it would only lower her potential value when it came time to marry her off. And this girl was pretty enough to be worth quite a bit...even he could admit she was very attractive.
But it was the fire in her eyes that had his full attention. This girl had intelligence and steel in her gaze, but there was also a rare empathetic kindness. She saw the world for what it truly was, not what people saw with their rose-tinted glasses. She couldn't see the world with such an innocent gaze that things would naturally turn out alright.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The girl looked very startled hearing him speak. Like she was equally surprised to see him, much less hear him speak!
Curious.
Sherlock woke up with an annoyed curse. Mycroft might not show if often, but he could be quite petty when it came time to display his irritation with someone.
And he had put a bloody alarm clock near his bed, forcing his younger brother to wake up far too early in the morning. He had thrown that thing out several times, but Mycroft's lackeys took inordinate pleasure in putting it back or worse, replacing it with an identical one.
Then it happened again. It didn't take much for Sherlock to establish a pattern. Every two weeks without fail, she would appear in his dreams. One of the little things that told him that this might not be a dream was the way she dressed.
Most people would have ignored it, but she almost never wore the same thing twice in a row. So in an attempt to get her to try and speak to him, he did the same. It was small details, like a change in shirt or pants, or on one notable occasion he wore his favorite scarf around his neck.
Finally, after almost four months of this she finally broke down. He gave her credit...most people would have spoken up after four or five meetings.
"Who exactly are you and how the bloody hell did you end up here? I know my shields aren't that weak!"
Sherlock smirked in triumph. He immediately noted with interest that she spoke in a very familiar accent, which narrowed down the list of countries she could be from. Add in her natural appearance and he could safely say that there was a high probability she was English born and raised.
Her skin tone alone matched the average Englishwoman, even if hers indicated she spent quite a bit of time outdoors.
"I would like to know that as well. Especially considering the circumstances of when I first saw you in my dreams," he countered smugly.
"Oh no, not until you tell me first," she hissed at him in irritation. There was an attractive aura of danger and implied violence about to erupt if he didn't start talking, now.
Sherlock was beyond furious the second that damnable alarm went off. He took it and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, shattering it to pieces in irritation. It was incredibly cathartic.
When he saw it again later that night, his eyebrows twitched once. The next time he saw Mycroft, his brother had to duck as Sherlock rather gleefully threw the annoyance at him.
"If I see it again, you're becoming target practice for it," said Sherlock dead serious. "And I don't care what Mummy has to say about the matter."
To his satisfaction, the blasted thing didn't appear until Christmas. Likely as a gag gift from Mycroft...or Lestrade. At least this one didn't "mysteriously" reappear after he threw it at a wall.
She was seething. Some unknown (and admittedly very attractive with handsome blue eyes) man was traipsing around her dreams twice a month and the bastard was insufferably smug about holding back answers from her!
So far all she had to go on was that he was a consulting detective, he had a very high genius IQ and almost seeker-like skill at spotting the fine details that most people instinctively dismissed and putting them together with supernatural accuracy.
The first time he deduced she had a bad childhood, she had nearly tackled him to the ground to strangle him barehanded for reading her mind. Only the control she had over her instincts kept her from doing so. She did twitch with irritation for five minutes while she asked how exactly he could tell that when they hadn't even met face to face before.
She had gone from vexed...to openly impressed in disbelief at the way he had deduced her crappy childhood from little details she hadn't even realized were even there.
The man seemed almost resigned to the fact no one appreciated his gift and was almost expecting to either be slapped, punched or told to piss off in no uncertain terms.
She had looked him dead in the eye (noticing the vague flush on his face that he didn't seem aware of) as she said "That's brilliant. How do you do that?"
He had looked very surprised at the inquiry.
Oddly enough, it was that minor incident that sparked a very amusing back and forth between them about the science of deduction and the fun of breaking a mystery that left most people throwing their hands up in frustration or giving up entirely when they were unable to put the small details together to figure out the obvious.
She could tell he genuinely enjoyed the way she was able to follow most of his train of thought, even if the scientific terms went over her head more often than not.
She just wished she could meet him for real in the waking world, not just when she was asleep.
"Someone is having a good day," said Luna dreamily. "Eagerly awaiting your other half in the dream realm?"
Regina blinked before she looked at Luna oddly.
"My what?"
"Your soul was so damaged by the war that magic itself went looking for a perfect match. He must have been just as lonely, because his soul latched onto yours just as quickly. It's really rare for a resonance to be this strong," said Luna.
"What?!" choked Regina.
"I guess this means magic is tired of you having all the worst luck and decided to step up in finding your soul mate," said Luna in a sing-song voice.
Regina's blush was rather spectacular.
She didn't even know what his name was!
And wouldn't you know it, tonight was another night when her mystery detective showed up.
Seeing the slight smile on his face, she decided that perhaps now was a good time to change things up. Besides, if he was her soul mate then it was only fair they knew each other's names.
"Regina."
Seeing the confusion on his face, she continued.
"My name is Regina."
The smile widened, enough too show he was pleased. She had the feeling that human emotions confused him which was why he always acted so arrogant.
At least with him, it was warranted.
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Bullshit," she said flatly. "If you were going to come up with a name, then why on earth would you choose something so obvious."
He looked irritated.
"I am not using my first name and I have always gone by Sherlock. And for your information I have never read that series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," he said crossly. "Even my annoying older brother calls me Sherlock."
She pinched her nose.
"Please don't tell me his first name is Mycroft of all things," she said.
'Sherlock' said nothing, but the silence was damning.
"You poor bastard. I bet you had to deal with a lot of references from the books for ages growing up," she said with sympathy.
"Most of them generally shut up about the books when I started deducting the fact they had gotten laid when I knew full well it wasn't with their girlfriends...while said girls were right next to them," said Sherlock smugly. Regina grinned at him.
"Next thing I know you'll be telling me you live in 221b Baker Street," said Regina.
Dead silence.
"Bloody hell. And here I thought fate and irony hated me," she said in disbelief.
"What do you mean?" he asked curious.
"My life reads out like a cliché reference to the older fairy tales of an orphaned hero sent to live with abusive and cruel relatives, only to turn out to be a famous 'destined' hero who's quite rich with a large inheritance and fame I don't want," said Regina dryly. "Except my 'elderly mentor' was a coward who hated to kill and gave redemption even to those who certainly didn't deserve it, my fans were just as quick to turn their ire on me rather than defend my honor, and every time I thought I might have a chance to have an actual family away from the crap they put me through, fate comes and kicks me in the teeth by taking them away in a permanent manner."
Sherlock was silent. There was no pity, which she was grateful for.
"I've just come to the conclusion fate and whatever god exists loves to hate me to the point of taking away anything good in my life. I think the only reason you're safe from my luck is because we haven't properly met face to face yet," she said shrugging.
It took her a few seconds to register the hand on her cheek.
"If my annoying brother hasn't killed me, or my previous habits, I doubt your luck could do me in. If anything Mycroft would bring me back from the dead just so I wouldn't upset Mummy," said Sherlock dryly.
"What's your brother like?" she asked, sitting with her legs crossed together.
Sherlock joined her after a moment, and slowly relaxed as he began to speak about Mycroft...though not without making it very clear he found his brother an irritant of the highest order.
Regina was able to read between the lines of his complaints. It was clear Sherlock genuinely loved his brother, but was too proud to admit it. He was also fond of his landlady Mrs. Hudson, even if she kept repeatedly reminding him that she was not his housekeeper. There was also some affection for Lestrade, even if the man constantly annoyed him for being so slow on the uptake.
However it was hearing how Donovan consistently called him a 'freak' to his face that made her growl.
"If I ever meet this woman and she dares to say such a thing I will slap her," said Regina flatly. She hated the word freak when it was used in that context. "You are not a freak, any more than I was whenever my aunt called me for doing something she considered abnormal."
Sherlock stiffened at the sudden hug she gave him hearing what he had to deal with. He wasn't used to people standing up for him.
Regina let him process this for a moment before an evil grin came upon her face.
"Why don't we plan a few things to teach Anderson and Donovan a lesson about being idiotic prats. I know a few herbal remedies that will give both of those fools explosive diarrhea for a full week intermittently."
Sherlock's confused expression turned to an equally devious one.
"What a coincidence. I know a few chemicals to give them spots on their skin that is almost untraceable."
Anderson and Donovan both shuddered. It almost felt like someone had just walked over their graves. Then again, they had no idea Sherlock of all people was about to be corrupted by an unrepentant prankster.
For that matter, Mycroft felt like the apocalypse had come early...something had happened involving his brother that would produce no end of headaches.
Regina had to admit, the shocked expression on Sherlock's face when she kissed him chastely on the cheek was hilarious.
Sherlock woke up that morning confused. He was peripherally aware of the way people supposedly courted and had to suffer through some rather irritating attempts in his youth. But this was the first time he had experienced something like this.
He didn't dare ask Mycroft. His brother would go completely overboard and try to find everything about Regina when he wanted to have that fun for himself. She was too interesting to let go just yet and while she didn't really get most of the scientific jargon he used, she was one of the extremely rare few who could keep up with his thought process. More to the point she was the first female he had ever met who didn't get upset with him over his deductions of her day.
Mrs. Hudson was out of the question, as was Lestrade. Not only would they not understand the odd dream connection, but they were too tragically slow to be of any real use.
The matter was far too personal to ask just anyone about.
Needless to say he was quite surprised when less than a week later he found a new client. Except she wasn't there for a case.
"May I help you?"
"No, but I'm here to help you. I'm a good friend of Regina."
Sherlock nearly jolted out of his seat. He hadn't spoken a single word about his dream visitor, so having someone show up with her name was rather alarming.
The willowy blond with expressive blue eyes merely smiled at him.
With a few twitches of her fingers, Sherlock felt active magic being cast on the room. One he had used himself a few times to insure he nothing he did made it back to Mycroft.
"You're a witch?" he said.
"Oh good. That does explain the higher than normal resonance between you two. Regina realized after the fact that you might not have anyone you can trust to talk to in regards to human emotions. So I volunteered to track you down to give you someone that would actually listen and not use it against you. The fact I get to meet you before the others even find out you exist is just bonus."
"Who are you? And what exactly is going on?" asked Sherlock.
"I am Luna Lovegood. As for what's going on... you're experiencing a rare soul resonance with Regina, causing you two to visit each other in your dreams. It will stop once you meet each other properly."
Sherlock blinked.
"I thought soul resonance was a fairy tale meant to take the place of illegal love spells designed to fake true love?"
"No, it's just incredibly rare for it to actually happen and only occurs when both parties are at their lowest and there are no acceptable partners available in their current environment," said Luna. "Regina is pursued by many and for all the wrong reasons. You are ostracized for your gifts and push everyone away when they fail to see the real person under all the snark. Both of you needed someone to actually be there, but were too stubborn to actually look without your experiences getting in the way. Hence the resonance."
It forced their shields down and allowed them to meet in a situation that was out of their control.
Luna looked at him seriously.
"From what I can see... You've been sorely lacking in some intelligent conversation for far too long," she said with all seriousness.
Sherlock looked at her hard, before he remembered some of the things he had heard about Lovegoods. Then it made sense.
At least he wouldn't be bored talking to her, even if she wasn't likely to make any sense. You just had to come at it the right way to understand a Lovegood.