A/N: Quick notes. One: if I have any of my previous readers out there, you will see similar themes to that of my other stories. Two: This is set between Series One Episodes Two and Three. Three: It will be update weekly as it's finished. Four: Forgive me for any American-isms. Five: Sorry for the bad summary. There's so much going on in this. It's impossible to fit it in a summary without giving keys points away. Six: Enjoy and please review!

Full Summary: "I have never owed anyone anything in my life expect for her. I owe her, and for years, I've kept a particular room in my mind palace just for her: to remind myself every once in a while, I still owe the insignificant woman." Three times Ginevra Lorraine and Sherlock Holmes have met in their school days before going their separate ways. Three times neither will forget ending in Sherlock believing he owed her a debt, Jen believing she owed him a debt, and a secret held that could ruin the both of them.

Days wore on followed by years, and they met again in London. She was slipping and falling and trying to get a steady hand on her sanity, but homicidal madness crept in her mind and wore her down as she tried to keep her normal life, normal job, normal facade. He was bored, dreadfully so. Nothing entertained him long enough to be of interest. But it was all about to change. Was she the excitement and intrigue he needed, and was he the steady hand she needed to keep her from being the demon she could become? Could they keep the secret of the past away from the weary eye long enough? Could they settle their debt once and for all? Only time knows.

She slammed into the barrier and groaned as she fell to the ground before she quickly picked herself up. The crowd in the dingy, poorly lit, ramshackle warehouse cheered as the little slip of a woman stood. She was something of an underdog in the underground fight ring.

Her stance was strong and assertive, but her dark, nearly sunken in eyes were wide with something of fear and perhaps fatigue due to the deep shadows around her eyes. The freckles happened to be the only color on her face as the color of her skin was sickly pale as if she hadn't been out in the sun for ages. She practically glowed in the dark of the dimly lit building. Her hair puffy, uncontrollably curly chestnut colored mane had made an attempt to stay in a hairband, so her opponent wouldn't get the chance to pull on it. She was so small and slight that the crowd was convinced at first that this woman would not last more than two seconds in the ring with her large, Russian opponent. She's now been in the ring with him for ten minutes, and during that time, she looked to be toying with me.

He was a calm opponent, and he was respectful of her even if he was bashing her skull into the ground. She could feel the rush of adrenaline coming off him urging her to keep fighting, to give her a distraction from all the emotions swelling off the crowd and off herself.

She went to approach the Russian again, but her phone rang making her and her opponent pause. She was barefoot in a sports bra and fitted athletic pants cropped at the upper calf, so it was a wonder where she hid her phone.

"Ty ne protiv?" she asked him in a flawless Russian accent as she pulled her phone from her bra.

"Net," he muttered spitting spit mixed with blood on the ground from a sharp punch she had delivered to his gut.

"Hello, my dear," she said answering the phone. The crowd booed at the lack of action as her opponent allowed her the call.

"Jen," a voice said at the other end. "It's Molly." Though she already knew that. "You were supposed to meet for drinks, remember?" The crowd booed louder, and she could barely hear her friend on the other line even she was getting impatient with just standing there. She could feel the disappointment in the crowd, and the need for the fight to keep going. She had to keep going. "Where are you?" she asked confused.

"Football game," she said quickly as she gestured her opponent to continue the fight with her. She leaned her head to the side to keep the phone to her ear but keep her hands clear.

"It's 10 in the evening," she told her slightly confused as she ducked out from a swing her opponent aimed at her head.

"Um… bar then," she told her as she was grabbed by the hair and her head slammed into the barrier. She groaned and rolled out of the way of the Russian's foot ready to crush her.

"Are you okay?!" Molly asked hearing the groan from her lips. The phone was slightly to the left on the ground. She picked it back up quickly as she sprung to her feet.

"Wondrous. You were saying?" she asked.

"This is the third time this week that you've bailed out on me."

"I'm so sorry, Molly," she told her ducking under the Russian's swing. "I've just been really preoccupied."

"Do you want to do this a different night?" she asked her sounding disappointed as Jen jammed her heel in the Russians foot and sending an uppercut into his jaw.

"No, no," she replied jumping to the side as he tried to kick her feet out.

"So you'll be here then?" she questioned her as she dodged the Russian's swing once more. She ducked under his swing, kicked in his knee, slammed her palms to his ears, jabbed three ribs with several small but strong jabs, before kicking him hard through the barrier. He fell unconscious. The crowd roared. "Jen?" she questioned. "Where are you?!" she yelled.

"We just scored," she told her.

"I thought you were at a bar."

"I'll be there. Give me five minutes. I need to catch a cab," she said.

"Alright… I'll see you then," Molly replied hanging up. Jen raised her arms at the crowd, and the crowd roared for their underdog. She felt their shock but also their excitement and happiness. She absorbed it with a grin as the crowd tried to touch her hand, her hair, anything.

"I'll see you scum next Friday!" she called before jumping over the barrier. She grabbed her red jumper from a man in the crowd. He was a young blonde man with a handsome structure. It would be hard for one to tell he was the man in charge of the fight ring unless you knew him, and the woman knew him.

"Nice one, Lupa!" he shouted over the crowd handing her a bag as well as a stack of money.

"Thanks, Damon," she grinned kissing his cheek. "I've got to get going. I had previous plans I had forgotten."

"Have fun," he called as she ran out up the stairs of the warehouse and out onto the streets. She hailed a cab quickly giving him the bar that Molly and her were to meet for drinks at.

She rubbed her head in frustration. Her head was pounding and the light of the street lights were burning her eyes. She looked at her fingertips to see a slight amount of blood. She touched her head again. She had a rather large contusion where the Russian had slammed her head into the barrier.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the cabbie asked her looking at her through his rearview mirror.

"Hm?" she muttered rubbing the injury on her head. "Oh… I um… got into a bit of a row," she muttered her head swimming. She wasn't an idiot. She knew the symptoms of a severe concussion. It looked as though she would have to meet Molly a different night. "Can you take me somewhere else? I think I have a concussion…" Her body slumped down in her seat leaving a panicked cabbie with an unconscious woman.

"Good to see you, Jen," a woman said. Jen looked across the table at the mousy pathologist with her plain face and her nervous smile. The words good to see you were said evenly, but knowing Molly Jen knew it meant: Good to see you actually showed up.

"I'm sorry," Jen said giving a nervous smile to her friend. "I fell down the stairs in my flat, and I had to go to the hospital."

"What? Are you okay?" Molly asked her eyes widening at the thought of Jen in the hospital. She now felt bad for thinking bad things of Jen though in reality it was Jen's fault.

"Oh, I'm fine," she muttered rubbing her head. "I've just been ordered to rest by the doctors." Jen's eyes darted around the room as she eyed different people. She watched them. It was kind of her thing. She would sit in the café every afternoon and evening and just watch people walk in and walk out. She would notice their nervous ticks, listen to their conversation, decide their strengths and weaknesses, and psychoanalyze the simply because she found people to be utterly fascinating. They were so different and yet so similar. Their minds were just incredibly complex, and she determined to sort out each person's minds. What was the motive behind the color they were wearing? Why would they talk like that? Why would they gesture like that? It was all a completely fascinating puzzle to her. Molly noticed.

"Anything interesting?" Molly asked her following her eyes.

"Not particularly," she replied. "The woman in the corner is bipolar. The man at the bar is an insomniac, and you are very stressed out." She looked over the pathologist. She had a nervous twitch in her dominant hand, slight shadows under her eyes, and a change in heart rate.

"Two new murder victims showed up this week," she said with a slightly dramatic sigh. "I've had to perform all the autopsies as well as the usuals since Thomas is out of town on vacation."

"Hi Molly. Hi Jen," a waitress said brightly as she appeared to take their orders. "How are you guys doing?"

"Oh, Molly's a bit stressed," Jen told her, "and I'm trying to get Phil to stop riding my ass about the damn Grover case."

"Grover case?" the waitress asked.

"There's this kid his parents sent to me, and I keep telling them nothing's wrong with him. He's just being a normal kid, who's bored, and they have no time to pay attention to him," she replied moodily. "How are you, Liz?"

"Busy, busy, busy," she said with a smile. "Two coffees?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Molly said before Liz left them.

"How's the thing with that detective going?" Since Jen met Molly, two years ago, she often spoke of the mysterious detective that came to her place of work to request favors ranging from use of her equipment to the use of the bodies of the morgue. However, Molly has said nothing of him other than he has an incredible intellect, that he's a detective, and that she's too nervous to ask him to dinner. Molly wouldn't even tell Jen his name, not that Jen blamed her as she would find it her civil duty to track down this man and demand he go out to dinner with dear, sweet Molly.

"There is no thing," Molly reminded her.

"There should be thing," Jen sighed glancing out into the street. She felt a twinge of irritation that she knew had come of Molly. She frowned. "Sorry… it's not my business." Molly smiled gently at Jen.

"You only mean the best for me," Molly said being the always understanding friend she was. Molly was good for her. She was quiet but very loyal, and like Jen, Molly could tell when people were upset even when they tried to hide it. Liz came back and set both glasses of coffee in front of them. Molly and Jen continued to talk until Jen's phone alarm went off telling her she had a client waiting for her, so she headed back to her office.

She was completely and utterly unorthodox, but she was effective. Ginevra Lorraine was the best in the field of psychology, and although she had an office in Saint Bart's, she was often not there. Instead, she took her clients to a variety of places depending on their own problems and what would suit them the best. Today, her current client was a fifteen year old girl by the name of Carrie. She was the daughter of a rich entrepreneur and his wife, whose ideals were more set for the 19th century than the 21st. Carrie, meanwhile, had driven two previous psychiatrists to leave their field before they had contacted Jen, and Jen… well, Jen loved her audacious personality. It reminded her of herself just a bit saner than Jen.

"Do you have to do that in here?" Molly asked as Jen and Carrie used to wall to the morgue to play racket ball. It looked a bit ridiculous as they were in dress clothes, though neither seemed to care either way. Both had ditched their shoes to the side. Molly, meanwhile, was trying to determine the exact time and cause of death of a recent murder, and they were being distracting. "There are buildings specif-"

"I'm not paying someone to use their wall!? That's just ridiculous!" Jen told her with a grunt as she hit the ball against the wall. Molly rolled her eyes and continued with what she was doing. The sound of the ball slamming against the wall echoed throughout the morgue.

"What's the point of this?" Carrie asked hitting the ball aggressively.

"Does it have to have a purpose?" Jen asked her hitting the ball back with equal aggression. "Sometimes you have to do things that seem a little crazy, because sometimes crazy isn't always crazy" Carrie hit the ball back at her.

"Isn't this the part where you tell me what's wrong with me? If you're as clever as they say you are, you should know by now."

"Want to know what's wrong?" Jen panted. "Nothing." Whack!

"Nothing?" Carrie asked nearly being hit by the ball as she stared at her shrink in surprise. She was beginning to think there was something very odd with this one, and she would be correct.

"That's the problem with other psychiatrists in my field. They look for problems. You're a normal, intellectual girl with parents who expect perfection. If anything, it's them who need therapy. They're delusional." Carrie laughed as Jen hit the ball back.

"You have experience with that?" Carrie asked hitting the ball back. A sudden wave of anger struck her.

"My brother," she snapped hitting the ball far too hard making Carrie jumped out of the way. Molly barely managed to duck at the incoming ball.

"Jen!" Molly yelled.

"Run," Jen told Carrie as they both ran out of the morgue with Molly rolling her eyes at her childlike friend. Sometimes, she could be a handful though if Molly was honest, she rather liked it that way.

Another A/N: No Sherlock this chapter. Just a brief on Ginevra Lorraine. Next chapter. Review please! Also feel free to PM me or ask for images and the like! -Luna