A/N: Just want to thank everyone who read and commented, you all made my day! Keep going! To preface this chapter I just want to say that I wasn't 'in love' with it. I knew where I wanted to go, but I felt the journey is a little rough. Would love suggestions for how to improve it.

Chapter 4: Getting Ahead

Sherlock had taken to walking the streets at night. He walked through London all night, and then slept through the day. Cecilia hadn't actually seen him awake in four days. She had spoken to John in hushed tones as Sherlock slept in his chair about this behavior but John didn't seem too concerned about it.

"Enjoy this phase," he warned as he handed her Sherlock's credit card, "the next one involves yelling." They had both wished he was joking. "He needs more patches" John added.

"Anything special you want from the store?" She was doing the weekly grocery shop.

"I could do with some razor blades, and deodorant."

"Boring" she did her best Sherlock impression.

John chuckled, trying to stay quiet. It was lovely to see a smile on his face. Cecilia had noticed a tension around him for the last few days that went above the normal tensions Sherlock caused. She thought things may have been going poorly with Sarah what with him buying new razors and deodorant; maybe he had left them at Sarah's and now he wouldn't be going back for a while.

"What did you and Sarah fight about?"

John looked shocked "Is it just me that can't do that?" remarking on her very 'Sherlock-esque' deduction. Cecilia thought she heard a soft chuckle from the living room.

"She's upset because all I do when I'm with her is complain." His mood was suddenly serious.

Cecilia squeezed his arm in consolation. Suddenly her eyes lit up "Wait right here." She turned and she dashed downstairs. John stood confused for a minute and then heard footsteps pounding back up the stairs. Cecilia blustered through the door with a bouquet of daisies. Her Aunt had given them to her the day before, but she had been too lazy to unwrap them; she had just stood them in a glass of water.

"That's a really, erm, lovely gesture, Cecilia, but men don't really 'like' flowers?"

She gave him look and then spoke as though she were speaking to a child "They're not for you. You're going to give them to Sarah when you go over to apologize."

" I don't think.."

" You're going to apologize and then not complain, and then ask her about her day."

"I'm an idiot." He sighed to himself.

"Yes but you're cute so I think she'll take you back." Laughed Cecilia as she turned and swung her purse onto her shoulder.

She returned sometime later with her arms full of bags. Sherlock had moved to the couch, his back was facing the room and he had a blanket draped over his head.

Well, it was good to see he's alive. She set the bags down on the kitchen table and opened the fridge. She screamed. Cecilia was face to face with…a face. There was a severed head in the refrigerator! She felt dizzy, overcome with shock and revulsion. She felt her knees give out as her vision tunneled. She tried to sit down and simultaneously tried to close the fridge; trying to get something between her and that thing. She faltered and fell. Sherlock was running towards the kitchen as he heard her scream. He had awoken when she came in the door and he remembered, too late, what he had put in there. He reached her just as she collapsed onto the linoleum. With a sigh he knelt down and tried to wake her up, tapping her gently and calling her name.

"Cecilia?" He called quietly. At this range he could not help but notice her perfume. She began to come to, blinking her eyes.

"Sh-Sherlock?" Her mouth was dry and she felt nauseous. "There's a head in the fridge." Her voice tremulous.

"Correct but not a particularly groundbreaking statement." He put her arm around his neck and lifted her up off the floor. He took her into the living room and put her down on the couch. He picked up a blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

"This is good for shock."

"I've never fainted before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything." He tried to make his voice jovial, but his eyes were worried.

Cecilia's head was still a little fuzzy, she rested her head in her hands, pressing into her eyes with the heel of her palm. She lost track of time, the next thing she knew there was a glass being pressed to the outside of her fingers. She looked up at the tall man holding out a glass of water. She took it and drank it down realizing how thirsty she was.

"Is there anything stronger?" she asked after she swallowed.

"I think I can find something." He went to his bedroom door, Cecilia had never seen him touch that door up until now. He was gone for a few seconds then he came back out with a bottle of red wine. He stopped in the kitchen and opened the bottle, leaving the cork on the corkscrew. He grabbed a wineglass on his way back to the couch. He filled the glass as he walked and handed her the glass before sitting down in his chair. He watched her as she downed the wine almost as quickly as she had drunk the water. He absentmindedly sniffed the bottle. She had the last sip from the glass and he was up, he grabbed the glass from her hand, his fingers brushed hers slightly. He filled the glass and then handed the bottle to Cecilia. He took the glass with him and returned to his chair. He picked up a notebook and sipped the wine before setting the glass down on the side table. He began to write. They sat in silence until Cecilia had finished another quarter of the bottle. Her head was now pleasantly fuzzy. The disturbing image of the severed head, gaping up at her, white cataract eyes open and staring, starting to blur and fade.

" What else do you know about me?" she asked, inhibitions lowered.

Sherlock hesitated, setting the pen and notebook down in his lap. "No."

"You know you want to."

Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Based on how you reacted to… my experiment you're sensitive, too sensitive, you let all the problems around you become part of you. But that helps you get into people's heads. People open up to you, and you help them." He spoke as if this was a shortcoming.

"That's not a weakness." She felt defensive, but she asked for this.

"I never said it was."

"You implied it." She was finding it easier this time not to become emotional. The wine was helping.

He sat quiet for a moment and then continued. "You have low self-esteem and you think if your always prepared for a situation no one will have an excuse to judge you. You're more astute than most people I've met; more astute than you let on….. the irony being that you're desperate to prove just how intelligent you are.

The wine numbed the sting of his words, not that they were malicious, but too true. She was drunk, but that wonderful stage of drunk where your thinking seems electric. Maybe it's that you're just more willing to say the things that pass through your mind. "We're a lot alike, then."

"A difference being that you're afraid to show how intelligent you are, terrified how people will react. This can only be bred by a bad experience in your formative years. Yes? Boys in school didn't like you because you were smarter than them. So you've changed your approach over the years, learning to hide your deductions behind questions. You're humble." He said the last word as if it were dirty, every bad connotation of the word resounding in her ears.

"And you're arrogant." She shot back quietly.

" That's not a weakness." He grinned and winked at her before continuing. "You've lost six pounds since you've arrived; you haven't been eating properly. You haven't had any pencil or paint on your hands since the day I met you; something is bothering you. Something big as it's interfering with both your eating habits and your creative process. It's more than just adjusting to somewhere new, it's…" He stopped short when her eyes flicked up to his. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks flushed. He was close to something…then again, perhaps, it was just the wine.

He was about to continue when John opened the door to the flat, humming under his breath. The smile on his face fell as he took in the surroundings.

"What happened?" he asked Sherlock accusingly as he took off his jacket

"Nothing. Made up with Sarah, then?"

"There is a head in the fridge." Cecilia annunciated very carefully, but she was beginning to slur her words slightly.

"Tattle-tale." Sherlock mumbled as he once again picked up his notebook and scribbled something down.

"What, again?" He turned his head back and forth from Sherlock to her.

She took another long drink from the bottle. She shuddered slightly. She continued gulping from the bottle until it was empty. The images were floating back up in front of her eyes, she shut them tightly trying to squeeze the images away.

Sherlock, still taking notes, raised his eyebrows; surprised by how quickly she finished the bottle. John stared at him in exasperation waiting for Sherlock's attention, but he never looked up form his notes.

" Doing another experiment on the coagulation of saliva after death?" John yelled sarcastically. He was upset that they would probably loose Cecilia, a person who had proven able to deal with Sherlock thus far.

"Don't' be silly, John. I'm measuring the rate of ocular decay in a controlled climate."

"And you had to use our fridge?"

"Well, human heads don't come along every day, " he looked up a John in all innocence "at least ones that are detached. And the cooler at the morgue was full. What should I have done?"

"I don't know," John started to walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water "maybe not bring human body parts home and store them beside the lettuce." Sometimes there was no arguing with Sherlock. "Although it is better than the microwave." He called. "Why are you just sitting there watching her drink?"

"I'm running a secondary study of the stages of inebriation after a traumatizing experience in young women."

" How fortuitous." Sarcasm dripped off his words.

" Quite:" Sherlock replied, ignoring the sarcasm, and smiling slightly.

" Are you alright?" John asked her as he came back into the living room. He bent down putting his free hand on her shoulder, rubbing it as if to warm her.

" I will be." And then she smiled and her whole face lit up. "You had a nice evening with Sarah?" She motioned to her own neck. She was indicating that John had a mark on his nick, a slight bruising on the hollow of his throat. John stood up abruptly. He was embarrassed that Cecilia knew of his rather gratifying reconciliation with Sarah.

"I need ice." He needed an excuse to get out of the room.

"She's quite entertaining in this state, John."

" You're a horrible person, Sherlock." He retorted.

Sherlock waved the insult away and continued writing in his notebook.

" Is it wrong that I hope there's some atrocious murder so you'll have something productive to do and you can stop treating her as a guinea pig?" John yelled from the kitchen. When he opened the freezer there were two severed fingers lying on top of a bag of peas. He was thankful Cecilia hadn't seen them as well. He grabbed some ice and closed the door.

"You and I, both, John." Answered Sherlock, staring into space.

"Okay, new flat rule: No experiments in the fridge anymore…"

Sherlock returned to his writing. "Fine." He agreed reluctantly.

"Or the freezer."

Sherlock raised his head remembering that particular experiment. He looked falsely chagrined. "Testing frost accumulation…" he began but John interrupted.

"I swear. I can't leave you alone for an evening without you getting into trouble." John walked toward his room. "Behave!" He warned and he slammed his door. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'll move everything tomorrow, John." Sherlock acquiesced.

"Now, then, where were we?' he asked Cecilia. When she did not answer he looked up at her and a something softened his expression. Cecilia had slumped back on the couch, breathing deeply and steadily. Sherlock made a final note in his book and set it aside. He took a large swig from the glass of wine on the side table. "Behave." Sherlock mused to himself. With a sigh he got up from his chair and quietly walked over to the couch. He fluffed a throw pillow and placed it back against the arm of the couch. He hunkered down in front of Cecilia, taking the opportunity to study her face without those dark perceptive eyes distracting him; laughing and mocking him with carefully raised eyebrows. When he looked into those eyes he had the distinct impression that she could see right into his head and watch every thought flicker past. It was not a notion he felt safe with, but then again when had he ever enjoyed the safe life. He gently pulled her forward until she was leaning on him, her head lolling on his shoulder. Her lips grazed his neck. They were so warm they felt as though they were searing his skin. His stomach lurched.

"It's you." She whispered still asleep.

Sherlock froze momentarily, replaying the night's conversation in his head. He laid her down on the couch as he thought. He pulled another one of the blankets from the back of the couch and covered her up. He turned the lights off in the flat and returned to his chair, grabbing the glass of wine as he sat down. He did not fully understand what was happening, and that worried him. It was foreign territory. He did realize, though, that he wasn't bored anymore.