Extraordinary

VII

"Dogs." He mumbled.
"What?" Rebekah asked, heart leaping.
"Dogs." Sherlock repeated, more loudly. "I prefer dogs."
"Oh." Rebekah's cheeks stung with unshed smiles.
"What is your favorite color?" Sherlock asked, all his attention on her.
"I'm pretty fond of blue." She answered quietly, voice squeaky with contained joy.

Sherlock's eyes darted down to his blue scarf, to John's blue sweater, to Rebekah's necklace with a sapphire stone.

"And do you prefer dogs or cats?" Sherlock absentmindedly inquired, thoughts whirring.

He really hadn't noticed much that day at the morgue, or bothered with any deductions after. God, he was daft!

"Oh cats, definitely. I have two myself, an orange tabby named Tiff and a black rag doll named Petula." Rebekah rattled off.
"Now we're both up two." Sherlock said evenly.
"What? Oh, questions. Well you can ask your own this time, if you'd like." Rebekah offered.
"Two, I get two." Sherlock corrected.
"If you wish it."

Sherlock thought carefully. What did he want to know about this quiet, strange girl? He started with one that was just plain curiosity.

"What's your middle name?" He queried.
"Pearl..." Rebekah recited shyly.
"Pearl." Sherlock repeated. The word was foreign in his mouth.
"And yours?" Rebekah asked.
"I have two; Scott and Sherlock." Sherlock told her.
"Wait, Sherlock isn't your first name? What is it?" The blonde inquired.
"It's still my turn, but it's William." Sherlock informed her.
"William Scott Sherlock Holmes." She tested the name out.

It sounded like magic on her lips, like someone greater than him.

"Right. Next, what is your relation to your attacker?" Sherlock asked.

Rebekah pouted. Right when they were bonding, just nope! Went into business. Just business all the time.

"She was my fathers girlfriend in high school." Rebekah's voice was flat and emotionless, strange for someone talking about an event of grief.
"I see. My apologies, I thought it might help us find her." Sherlock recited.

He never saw why humans were always so emotional. There was no benefit in it. Of course, he could feel grief and love and whatnot, he merely suppressed it. He saw no point in publicizing one's emotions for everyone to see.

"Thank you." Her voice was still flat and her expression blank.

It was a bit unsettling for Sherlock, who had grown accustomed to her smile. He hadn't seen her so bland since-- oh. The emotionless state was her state of grief, her way of dealing with pain. The plane landed in Wexford, and the trio climbed out, ready to face the challenge.