The Great Game

(Jared's POV)

London...

I am walking around the city and talking to Sayaka Miki on the phone while eating some mint chocolate chip Dippin' Dots.

"So, 'The Great Game'. Your first encounter with Jim Moriarty. Are you ready?" Sayaka asked, her voice coming out of my phone.

"Against Moriarty? No." I said, sadly.

"Why not? You already know what will happen."

"I am as terrified of him as I am of the Master."

"Oh, you were referring to their Harold Saxon incarnation, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Moriarty, one of the people I don't want to ever meet. But unfortunately, I need to."

"Of course you do." Sayaka said, while I am enjoying the Lots of Layers Dippin' Dots. "Dippin' Dots? Mint chocolate chip?"

"Yup." I said, looking down at my cup of Dippin' Dots.

"So you want something simple then."

"I do. Sherlock is in Belarus talking with a criminal."

"Oh. Barry Berwick. Not my kind of person to talk to."

"I know. Do you like Moriarty?"

"Nah. He's a creep."

"More like a psychopath." I said, sadly. "Anyway, gotta go."

"See ya." Sayaka said, and I ended the call with her. "Good luck."

221B BAKER STREET...

Two gunshots ring out. The camera pans across the living room and shows Sherlock lying slumped in his armchair, his head on the low back of the chair. His eyes close, then a few moments later he opens them and gazes up towards the ceiling. Downstairs, the front door can be heard opening. Sherlock turns his head to look towards the sofa, and we now see that he is sprawled low in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He is wearing sleepwear and a blue silk dressing gown and his feet are bare. Above the sofa, a smiley face has been spray-painted on the wallpaper using a can of the yellow paint which was so frequently used in the 'Blind Banker' case. The can is standing on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As the downstairs door closes Sherlock sighs, turns his head to the front again and then raises his left hand which is holding a pistol. He points the pistol towards the smiley face and – without even looking in that direction – fires two shots at it. A close-up reveals that there are already two bullet holes in the wall where the two eyes had been sprayed, and the two new bullets have impacted the curve of the smile. Sherlock turns his head to look at the face and fires a third shot which either misses the smile or was deliberately aimed to form a 'nose' for the face. As he fires a fourth time, John and I come running up the stairs with us having our fingers in our ears. John stops on the landing with me behind him, with the blonde lowering his hands and yells at his flatmate.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked.

"Sherlock's bored." I said, sulkily.

"What?" John asked, more quietly, squinting at me in disbelief. "How bored is he?"

"Bored!" Sherlock said, loudly springing up out of the chair.

John immediately recoils and covers his ears with his hands, "No..."

Sherlock switches the pistol to his right hand and turns towards the smiley face, firing at it again. He then swings his arm around his back, twists slightly to his right and fires at the wall from behind his back.

"Bored! Bored!" Sherlock said, as he brought his arm back around, John and I hurried into the room and the consultant detective continued to glare at the smiley face but allowed the blonde to snatch the pistol from his hand.

"I know you're bored. But what's wrong?" I asked, while John quickly slides the clip out of the gun while Sherlock walks towards the sofa. "Can you tell us?"

"I will." Sherlock said, sulkily. "Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."

John locks the pistol into a small safe on the dining table and then straightens up, "So you take it out on the wall."

"Ah, the wall had it coming." Sherlock said, running his fingers along the painted smile.

"How did the wall have it coming?" I asked, while Sherlock turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on his back, his head landing on a cushion at one end and his feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end nearest the windows. "That wall was wonderful."

"It adds character." Sherlock said, looking at me for a bit.

"What about that Russian case?" John asked, taking off his coat.

"It wasn't in Russia, it was in Belarus." I said, as Sherlock pushes with his feet to shove himself further along the sofa and into a slightly more upright position, and then starts kneading the arm of the sofa with his toes.

"It was. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time." Sherlock said.

"Ah, shame!" John said, sarcastically walking into the kitchen and throwing up his arms in despair at the mess on the table which greets him when he walks towards the fridge. "Anything in? I'm starving." He opens the fridge door. "Oh, f..." He immediately slams it shut again, unable to believe what he just saw inside. He slumps against the door for a moment, his head lowered, then he straightens up and opens the door again. On the shelf inside is a man's head, cut off at the neck, the face looking towards the door. He stares at it for a couple of seconds, then quietly closes the door again. "It's a head." The blonde turns and calls out. "A severed head!"

"Just tea for me, thanks." Sherlock said.

"No, there's a head in the fridge." John said, walking back into the living room.

"Yes." Sherlock said, calmly.

"A bloody head!"

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock asked, stroppily looking round at John and I. "You don't mind, do you?" John holds out his hands despairingly and looks back towards the fridge. "I got it from Bart's morgue."

"So what are you doing with the head you got from Molly?" I asked, as John buried his head in one hand. "I forgot this detail. Sorry."

"It's alright. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death." Sherlock said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of a nearby laptop. "John, I see you've written up the taxi driver case."

"Uh, yes." John said, throwing one last glance at the fridge.

"That one wasn't bad. Despite me skipping around in it." I said, as John walked over to Sherlock's armchair and sat down while I took out a bean bag chair to sit down in it. "What did you think of the title?"

"'A Study in Pink.' Nice!" Sherlock said, looking at John.

"Well, you know, Jared was right with the title, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?" John asked, and Sherlock has picked up a magazine from the coffee table and he now flips it open and addresses his answer to the pages.

"Erm, no."

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

"Flattered?" Sherlock asked, lowering the magazine and glaring at John before raising his index fingers and narrates a section of the blog. "'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.'"

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a ..."

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way!' Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister ..." Sherlock said, interrupting John.

"I know ..." John said, quietly.

"... or who's sleeping with who ..."

"Well, the Earth goes around the Sun!" I said, excitedly.

"Not that again. You and John always bring that up, Jared. It's not important." Sherlock said, looking between John and I.

"Not impor..." John said, shifting his position in the chair to face Sherlock. "It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it." Sherlock asked, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

"'Deleted it'?"

"This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful..." Sherlock said, swinging his legs around to the floor and sitting up to face John while pointing to his head with one finger. "...really useful." He grimaces. "Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

"Nope." I said, and John looks at Sherlock for a moment, trying to bite his lip but then can't contain himself. "I can't."

"Neither can I. But Sherlock, it's the solar system!" John said, while Sherlock briefly buries his head in his hands.

"Oh, hell! What does that matter?!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at John and I in frustration. "So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear ..." he flails his hands around beside his head while narrating the line from the childen's poem. "... it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots." He ruffles his hair with both hands, then glares at John and I. "John, put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

"No. Let John do it. It will bring you more cases." I said, while I watched Sherlock petulantly shoving the magazine across the coffee table and lying down on the sofa again, turning over with his back to John and I and pulling his dressing gown around him while curling up into a ball. "My favorite one is 'A Scandal in Belgravia'."

"Is that one of my future entries?" John asked, looking away and pursing his lips. "What does that one have?"

"Spoilers." I said, as the front door downstairs opens and closes. "You'll see."

"Fine." John said, standing up and walks towards the living room door. "I will."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Out. I need some air." John said, tightly, putting on his jacket before heading for the stairs, which Mrs Hudson is just coming up. "'Scuse me, Mrs ..."

"Oh, sorry, love!" Mrs Hudson said.

"Sorry." John said.

Angrily, Sherlock turns his face away again, pulling the cushion under his head nearer to the back of the sofa and curling up even tighter. Mrs Hudson chuckles at John as he passes her but then turns and looks at him in concern as he hurries down the stairs. She comes to the living room door and knocks.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson said, and Sherlock stretches his legs out straight and turns his head enough to acknowledge her existence, but then looks away again. "Hello Jared, dear. What happened here?"

"It's a long story." I said, sadly.

Mrs Hudson carries a couple of shopping bags into the kitchen, "Have you three had a little domestic?"

Flailing to get himself upright, Sherlock stands up off the sofa and takes the shortest route to his destination, walking over the coffee table and going to the left-hand window just as the downstairs door opens and closes.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Mrs Hudson said, while Sherlock watches John as he crosses the street and heads in the general direction of away.

"Look at that, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said, scanning the street. "Quiet, calm, peaceful." He grimaces and drags in a long breath. "Isn't it hateful?"

Mrs Hudson has unloaded some items from her shopping bags and now brandishes a receipt at Sherlock before putting it down on the kitchen table.

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up." Mrs Hudson said, chuckling slightly as she carries her bags towards the living room door.

"Can't come too soon." Sherlock said, wistfully.

"Mrs Hudson." I said, looking at the damaged wall. "Look."

"Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, stopping when she spots the damaged wall and Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his handiwork. "I'm putting this on your rent, young man!"

"So, what will this case have?" Sherlock asked, as Mrs Hudson angrily stormed off down the stairs. "Do you know? I know a case is coming judging by you talking a bit more."

"This is going to be one of your most fun cases yet." I said, and Sherlock walked over to the middle of the room standing just in front of the dining table – grins over-dramatically at me, then sighs and turns his head to the front just as a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him and I. "I know you'll enjoy 'The Great Game.'"

"Thank you for telling me that." Sherlock said, while the windows blow in and the blast hurls him and I forward and to the floor. "I'm looking forward to this one now."

Sherlock groaned as I held his hand with me blacking out with the consultant detective.

I woke up to see Team RWBY standing above me which means Mycroft Holmes contacted them when I was knocked out. Weiss made me a cup of tea which I needed and Blake put a blanket around me.

Ruby and Yang are looking out of the window to see John coming around the corner of the street almost opposite the flat, then stops briefly and stares. Continuing onwards, he heads towards the police cordon and makes his way through the small crowd of gawking onlookers.

"'Scuse me, can I get through? 'Scuse me." John said, approaching one of the police officers who is stopping the crowd from getting closer. "Can I go through?"

He points towards 221 and the police officer lets him through.

John walks into the main scene of devastation where bricks and dust are scattered all over the road and pavement. A fire engine is still on the scene and fire hoses are lying in the road waiting to be reeled back in. The windows and shop fronts of the buildings either side of Speedy's have been boarded up; Speedy's itself was protected by its metal roll-down screen. John stops and stares at the building directly opposite the café. The front of the ground and first floor has been completely blown out by the explosion and the rooms inside are exposed to the air. John turns and hurries towards 221, where the first floor windows have also been boarded up. A police officer standing outside Speedy's moves to intercept him but John explains.

"I live over there." John said, while the officer steps aside and the blonde unlocks the door and goes inside. He races up the stairs. "Sherlock. Jared. Sherlock! Jared!"

As he hurries into the living room, his eye is drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to his armchair, but his gaze quickly turns to Sherlock's chair where Sherlock, now dressed and wearing The Purple Shirt of Sex™ under his jacket, is apparently uninjured and is intermittently plucking the strings of the violin he is holding on his chest while he glares petulantly towards John's chair. Team RWBY is making sure I am safe and sound after what has happened these last couple of hours.

"John." Sherlock said, looking up at his roommate.

"Why is he in John's chair?" Weiss asked, as the reason for Sherlock's annoyance is that his brother Mycroft, who is sitting in John's chair – glances round at John. "Isn't that..."

"Wrong. It is." Blake said, sadly.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you two okay?" John asked, looking between Sherlock and I.

"Hmm? What?" Sherlock asked, looking around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he has forgotten it – which he probably has.

"Sherlock's fine. There was a gas leak that caused this explosion." Blake said, and Sherlock his attention back to his brother, who stares at him pointedly while Sherlock the consultant detective his violin strings again.

"Um, Sherlock can't work on that case." Ruby said, frowning.

"'Can't'?" Mycroft asked, looking at Ruby.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." Sherlock said, while John looks across to him in disbelief.

"Hi." Ruby said, walking up to me for a hug. "Are you okay?"

"No. Are you okay?" I asked, letting Ruby squeeze me tight. "Sorry about the explosion."

"It's fine."

"What?" John asked, walking towards the windows to investigate the damage.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent." Mycroft said.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock asked.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ..." Mycroft said, trailing off as John turns towards him in surprise and Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" He smiles humourlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said. "Besides, a case like this – it requires ..." Mycroft grimaces in distaste. "... legwork."

"So, how was it dealing with 'A Study in Pink' and 'The Blind Banker'?" Blake asked, while Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. "Were those cases tough?"

"'The Blind Banker' bored me to death." I said, as Sherlock turns to John, who is absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Had to skip to the end. Don't know how people said that one was good."

"What did it have?" Weiss asked.

"A really slow case."

"Oh. I see." Blake said, sadly.

"So, what is this case going to be like?" Yang asked, walking towards me.

"This is called 'The Great Game.'" I said, looking down at the floor.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends." Mycroft said, as John takes the folder looking startled. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

I closed my eyes to imagine a Tube guard walking along a railway line in the early morning. The beam from his flashlight picks out the body of a young man lying just beside the tracks.

"Hang on...he jumped in front of a train?" Weiss asked.

"Seems the logical assumption." Mycroft said.

"But ...?" John asked, quirking a brief smile.

"'But'?"

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." I said, and Sherlock, who is now applying rosin to his bow with a small cloth, smirks noisily. "So, what's the British government working on today?"

"I'm getting to that. The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called." Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock while John starts flicking through the folder. "The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John sniggers quietly.

"Um, that wasn't smart." Blake said, while Sherlock smiles in agreement. "Putting sensitive documents on a USB stick."

"It's not the only copy." Mycroft said, looking at Blake.

"Oh. So where is this copy?" Ruby asked.

"But it is secret. And missing."

"Let me guess, this is top secret." I said, grabbing Ruby's hand.

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft said, turning back to his brother. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Breathing in sharply through his nose, Sherlock raises the violin to his shoulder, ready to play.

Sherlock looks calmly at his brother, "I'd like to see you try."

"Think it over." Mycroft said, leaning down to Sherlock a little in an attempt to look more threatening.

"I wasn't like Mycroft, was I?" Weiss asked, as Sherlock stared back at Mycroft, unimpressed.

"Well, Mycroft is as cold as you were.'" I said, and Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake.

"Goodbye, John, Jared, Team RWBY." Mycroft said, while John politely stands and shakes his hand.

"What was your nickname for me?" Weiss asked, as Mycroft smiles at John, Team RWBY, and I creepily.

"See you three very soon." Mycroft said, and John tried not to look nervous.

"It was the 'Ice Queen.'" I said, while Mycroft heads back towards the chair to pick up his coat and Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. "That feels like ages ago now."

"It does, doesn't it?" Weiss asked, as John frowns across to him but Sherlock continues to play until Mycroft has left the room and is on the stairs. "So, Mycroft is how I used to be."

"In terms of the coldness." I said, and grimacing in the direction of his brother's back, Sherlock finishes his playing and lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. "Yeah."

"I can't believe I was more like Mycroft than the Red Prince." Weiss said, with me squeezing Ruby's hand.

John sits back down on the coffee table and waits until Mycroft has reached the ground floor and is out of earshot before he speaks, "Why'd you lie? Why did you let Ruby lie for you?"

Sherlock looks across to John as the front door bangs shut.

"You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock asked, shrugging.

"Oh!" John said, nodding his head. "Oh, I see." Sherlock's eyes drift in his direction but he doesn't actually look at him. "Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock turns and opens his mouth but before he can deny everything his phone starts to ring. He irritably whips his bow down again, puts it on the seat beside him and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said, talking into the phone while listening for a moment, then his expression intensifies. "Of course. How could I refuse?" Standing up and switching off the phone as he puts his violin onto the seat, he heads for the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. John, coming? Jared, coming with Team RWBY?"

"If you want me to." John said.

"Same here. Do you want me to come with you and John?" I asked, letting go of Ruby's hand.

"Of course to the both of you." Sherlock said, picking up his coat, he turns back to John and I. "I'd be lost without my blogger and my fanboy. My fanboy would be lost without Team RWBY."

(Open POV)

New Scotland Yard...

After a taxi ride during which, bizarrely, Sherlock has briefly changed into a white shirt, the boys arrive at New Scotland Yard with their fanboy. The fanboy told Team RWBY to stay at 13 Bannerman Road because it is safer there with Sarah Jane Smith and is following Detective Inspector Lestrade behind Sherlock and John across the general office towards his office.

"Sherlock, you like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." Lestrade said.

"He does." Jared said, smiling.

"So, you'll love this. That explosion ..."

"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock asked, briefly exchanging glares with Detective Sergeant Donovan as he walks past her desk.

"No."

"No?"

"No. Made to look like one." Lestrade said.

"What?" John asked.

By now they're in Lestrade's office and Sherlock stops and stares down at a white envelope lying on a desk.

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this." Lestrade said, pointing to what Sherlock's looking at.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, how could Greg answer it? Sherlock, that letter is addressed to you." Jared said, while Sherlock reaches towards the envelope.

"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Lestrade said.

"How reassuring!" Sherlock said, hesitating slightly before picking up the envelope and takes it across the room to another table which has an anglepoise lamp on it. Holding the envelope close to the bulb he examines both sides carefully. On the front in elegant handwriting are the words 'Sherlock Holmes – by hand.' "Nice stationery. Bohemian."

"What?"

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"

"No."

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib." Sherlock said, looking closely at the writing.

"'She'?" John asked.

"Obviously." Sherlock said.

"Obviously!" John said, struggling to not sigh.

"Well, this loops back to the first case we took on with Sherlock." Jared said, as Sherlock picks up a letter opener from the desk and carefully slits the envelope open.

"The first case?" John asked, and Sherlock looks inside and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out a pink iPhone with the blonde becoming shocked. "But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone."

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ..." Sherlock said, stopping when he realises what Lestrade just said. He turns to face him. Sally has come into the room to put some files down on a desk near the door. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"

"Course I read his blog! We all do. Jared told me that in his world, he read John's blog and watched your adventures with John on telly. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Lestrade asked, while Sally sniggers loudly.

"He doesn't. Apparently. He said he 'deleted' that knowledge." Jared said, as Sherlock, who is taking off his gloves, glares at her while John purses his lips in embarrassment. "Still can't believe him sometimes."

"Neither can I." Lestrade said, and Sally leaves the room and Sherlock turns his concentration back to the phone.

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." Sherlock said, looking at the connection sockets, none of which have scratches around them. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership."

He throws an accusatory look at John, who does his best to ignore it. Sherlock switches on the phone and immediately gets a voice alert.

"You have one new message." A voice alert said.

"I know this. It's the Greenwich Time Signal." Jared said, crossing his arms. "I watched enough of the BBC and ITV to know this."

The message plays but there is no voice – just the unmistakeable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal.

"You know about that. Why?" Lestrade asked, looking at Jared.

However, while the 'Greenwich pips' – as they're more generally called – consist of five short pips and one longer tone, this recording has only four short pips and the longer one.

"I had a lot of time during my high school days." Jared said, sadly.

"Is that it?" John asked.

"No. That's not it." Sherlock said, and a photograph has also been uploaded to the phone.

"There's more." Jared said, while Sherlock opens it and Lestrade comes across to look over his shoulder. "Right...forgot about this."

The picture is of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper is peeling and there's a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror – the type which is usually hung up above a fireplace – is standing on the mantelpiece.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips that even an American knows about!" Lestrade said, angrily.

"It's a warning." Sherlock said, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

"A warning?" John asked.

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again." Sherlock said, briefly looks down at the photo again, then brandishes the phone at the others as he starts to leave the office. "And I've seen this place before."

"H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John asked, following Sherlock with Jared behind him.

"Another explosion somewhere." Jared said, with him and John behind Sherlock. "Forgot where though."

"Now that's why you kept Team RWBY and the rest of your friends away." Lestrade said, grabbing his coat and hurries after them. "This case is too dangerous for them."

BAKER STREET...

A taxi pulls up outside 221 and Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Jared get out. Sherlock unlocks the front door and leads the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs Hudson's front door. Just as he reaches it he stops and turns to the left where there is another door which must lead to a basement flat. Numbers and letters stuck on the door read, '221C'. Sherlock turns his head and calls out loudly towards his landlady's front door.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock said, angrily.

Shortly afterwards, Mrs Hudson opens the front door of 221A and hands Sherlock a set of keys. He has been examining the padlock attached to the other door and now takes the keys and begins to unlock it.

"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat." Mrs Hudson said.

"The door's been opened recently." Sherlock said, looking closely at the door's keyhole.

"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs Hudson said, pulling the padlock off, Sherlock selects another key and puts it into the door's keyhole. "I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements." Sherlock turns the key and pulls open the door. He immediately goes inside and John, Lestrade, and Jared follow, taking little or no notice of Mrs H as she continues rambling on. "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the walls ..." She trails to a halt as Jared closes the door behind him. She turns and heads back into her own flat before coming exasperated. "Oh! Men!"

221C Baker Street...

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside, followed by John, Lestrade, and Jared. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly side by side in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them before stating the bleedin' obvious.

"Shoes." John said, while Sherlock starts to walk towards them but the blonde holds out a cautionary hand towards him."He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stops for a moment, then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes. Just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up, pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket and looks at the caller I.D. It reads, 'NUMBER BLOCKED'. He pauses for a second, then switches on the speaker, holding the phone a few inches in front of his mouth.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked, softly.

A female voice draws in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully, "H-hello ... sexy."

John, Lestrade, and Jared exchange a puzzled look as the woman sobs.

"Who's this?" Sherlock asked.

"I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi." The woman's voice said, tearfully.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked.

"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ..." The woman's voice said, shakily and full of tears.

"I'm sorry." Jared said, closing his eyes to imagine the woman at the other end of the line is sitting in the driver's seat of a car holding a phone to her ear with one shaking hand and holding a pager in the other hand. Her face is covered with tears and she looks terrified as she reads from the pager. "I'm so sorry."

"... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out." The woman said, as she sobs again.

"The stage is set." Jared said, and Sherlock gazes thoughtfully into the distance.

The curtain rises." Sherlock said, softly.

"We are ready to begin."

"What?" John asked, looking between Sherlock and Jared.

"Nothing." Sherlock said.

"No, what did you and Jared mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock said, half turning his head towards John. "And so has Jared, which is why he turned his friend from this case."

"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock, no help from Jared ..." The woman said, and the car is in a car park. People are going about their everyday business, unaware that a large explosive device is strapped to the woman's chest. A red laser point travels over the device and her neck, suggesting that a sniper is aiming at her from some distance away. "... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."

The phone goes dead and the woman looks down at the bomb and the laser light, and sobs in despair. To comply with what Jim Moriarty wants for the first puzzle, Jared typed in coordinates into his vortex manipulator to time travel away towards a different part of time. The fanboy disappeared in a blue flash of light.

(Jared's POV)

221B Baker Street...

I reappeared inside Baker Street and I looked over to see that Sherlock has moved to the side table in the kitchen and is looking into his microscope. Mrs Hudson comes in through the kitchen door with a tray containing a couple of mugs. As she puts them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looks up.

"Poison." Sherlock said.

"What you going on about?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table, "Clostridium botulinum!"

"And what is that?" I asked, while Mrs Hudson cringes and flees the kitchen.

Sherlock looks round at John and I as the blonde comes in from the living room while I come in from the fridge.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" Sherlock said, as John and I looked at him blankly. "Carl Powers!"

"Wait, was Carl Powers murdered in this timeline like I remembered from my world?" I asked, walking over to the island to lean on it.

"Yes. He was." Sherlock said, standing up and walks over to where he has hung up the laces from the trainers. "Remember the shoelaces?"

"Yeah. I do. But how does the shoelaces relate to Carl Powers?"

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John asked.

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." Sherlock said, walking around the table to where his computer notebook is lying. The page is open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction, and he now begins to type into the message box: FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). He straightens up to point to the places. "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet." He bends down and continues to type: 'Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.' He sends the message and straightens up. "That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know ..." John said.

"Get his attention ..." Sherlock said.

"Mm-hm."

"... stop the clock." Sherlock said, looking at his watch.

"The killer kept the shoes all these years." John said.

"Yes." Sherlock said, looking at John and I. "Meaning ..."

"He's our bomber." John said, while the pink phone rings on the side table.

"The bomber is so dangerous that I need to keep Team RWBY away from him." I said, running over to the pink phone, answering it, and putting it into the speaker phone mode when I tossed said phone to Sherlock. "There you go, Sherlock."

In the car park, the woman sobs in anguish as she reads out the latest message from the pager, "Well done, you. Come and get me since you didn't get Jared's help."

"Where are you? Tell us where you are." Sherlock said, loudly and clearly.

Some time later the woman stares anxiously out of the car window as members of a bomb disposal team, dressed in protective padded clothing, make their way towards the car.

NEW SCOTLAND YARD...

It is now morning and the boys and I are in Lestrade's office, Sherlock standing at the window which looks into the main office, his hands raised in front of his mouth and his fingers tapping together. John is sitting opposite Lestrade at his desk.

"So who was she? The hostage he took?" I asked, eating some jelly babies to keep myself occupied during this case.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house." Lestrade said, looking up at Sherlock who is walking towards the desk. "Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager."

Lestrade puts the pager onto the desk in front of John, who picks it up to look at it.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off." Sherlock said.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John said.

"Or if I gave you a hint which counts as you not solving the case." I said, sadly.

"Oh. Elegant." Sherlock said, walking back to the window and speaking softly, as if to himself.

John raises his head and sighs in exasperation, "'Elegant'?"

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh – I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored." Sherlock said, flashing back in his mind to shooting holes in the wall a couple of days ago.

"I get bored too, but for a different reason." I said, when the pink phone beeps a message alert. "And you both know the reason."

John turns round to Sherlock as the consulting detective activates the phone.

"You have one new message." The voice alert said.

As Sherlock walks towards Lestrade's desk, the phone sounds the Greenwich pips again, but this time there are three short pips and one long one.

"Four pips." John said.

"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second." Sherlock said, showing a new photograph to the Lestrade, John, and I.

It's a close-up of a car with its driver's door open and the number plate clearly visible. John and Lestrade get up to take a closer look, and outside in the main office a phone rings.

"It's an abandoned car in a parking lot." I said, looking up at Sherlock.

"I'll see if it's been reported." Lestrade said, picking up his desk phone, Sergeant Donovan comes to the office holding another phone.

"Freak, it's for you." Donovan said, while Sherlock walks over to the door and takes the phone from her.

John and I sit down again and Sherlock walks out into the general office and raises the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked.

The frightened voice of a young man comes over the phone, "It's okay that you've gone to the police."

"Who is this? Is this you again?" Sherlock asked.

"But don't rely on them and don't rely on Jared." The young man said, and in Lestrade's office, John looks round and sits up taller when he sees the look on Sherlock's face. I then walked over to John to grab his hand, mostly to calm myself down from fear. "Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers." I closed my eyes to imagine the young man standing somewhere in a busy street, reading from a pager. "I never liked him." Sherlock looks round sharply at this. I know that the man is wearing a zipped-up jacket with wires sticking out from the bottom. The man fights his tears as he continues to read. "Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing."

"Sherlock, I wish I could help you more." I said, while John and I came out of the office and walked closer to Sherlock, looking at him in concern. "I really do."

"And you've stolen another voice, I presume." Sherlock said, talking into the phone.

"This is about you and me." The young man said, as a bus noisily drives past him.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, and more traffic goes past. "What's that noise?"

The man looks down at the pager, still struggling not to weep, "The sounds of life, Sherlock."

I closed my eyes to imagine the man standing on a large traffic island at Piccadilly Circus.

"I'm sorry." I said, as pedestrians are walking past the pan, taking no notice of a distressed tearful man, as is the won't of Londoners. "I'm so sorry."

"But don't worry ..." The young man said, reading from the pager and looking down in tearful horror when he sees a red laser point on his jacket. "... I can soon fix that." He cries briefly, then continues to read the pager message. "You solved my last puzzle in nine hours without Jared's help. This time you have eight to solve it without Jared's help."

In the office, Lestrade is talking into the phone.

"Okay ... Great." Lestrade said, hanging up the phone, he heads towards the door. "We've found it."

Sherlock's phone has gone dead. He turns and follows Lestrade. I typed in coordinates into my vortex manipulator and teleported away in a flash of light to leave Sherlock, John, and Lestrade behind to still follow Moriarty's instructions.

(Open POV)

THREE HOURS TO GO.

POLICE CAR POUND...

Jared reappears inside the location for the next puzzle Sherlock has to solve which means the TARDIS is guiding him with his teleports, she is bringing him where he needs to go which is a good thing. Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Jared are standing around Monkford's car.

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked.

"Um...I think about a pint?" Jared asked, looking down at the car seat.

"Not 'about.' Exactly a pint. A British pint, not an American pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen." Sherlock said.

"Frozen? How can blood be frozen?"

"There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats."

"Who did?" John asked.

"Janus Cars. The clue's in the name." Sherlock said.

"Janus. He was the god with two faces, right?" Jared asked, grabbing John's hand.

"Exactly."

"Mmm." John said.

"They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat ..." Sherlock said, looking at Lestrade.

"So where is he?" John asked.

"Colombia." Sherlock said, closing the car door.

"Colombia?!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"Why was he in Colombia again?" Jared asked, squeezing John's hand.

"Mr Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet ..." Sherlock said, remembering Ewert opening his wallet and Sherlock seeing the foreign note inside. "... Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly." Sherlock remembered pointing out the window and Ewert turning his head to look while Sherlock sees that his tan finishes at his neck. "No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked.

"Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding." Sherlock said, as he remembers Ewert scratching his upper arm, and a drop of blood on his shirt sleeve. "Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"M-Mrs Monkford?" John asked.

"Oh yes. She's in on it too." Sherlock said, while Lestrade lowers his head with a look of amazement on his face. "Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best." He turns to John and Jared. "We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved." He turns and leads John and Jared away. Lestrade watches them, still reeling at all the information that he has just been given. Sherlock clenches his fists triumphantly at his sides as he goes. "I am on fire!"

221B Baker Street...

Sitting at the living room table in their coats – presumably because the heating still can't be turned on nor the fire lit after the 'gas leak' and because the windows are still broken and boarded up – Sherlock types a new message onto The Science of Deduction:

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.

He sends the message. A few seconds later another 'blocked' phone call comes in on the pink phone lying on the table beside the computer. Sherlock switches on the speaker.

"He says you can come and fetch me since you didn't use Jared's help. Help. Help me, please." The young man said, tearfully, over the speaker.

"The one time I want Team RWBY here to keep me grounded as I help you and I can't do that." Jared said, sadly.

Shortly afterwards, police officers are running towards the young man from all directions. In 221B, Sherlock looks up at John and Jared and smiles.

"I know. Maybe next time they could help you more." Sherlock said, fixated on Jared. "He wants you to keep them away from this case."

Cafe...

It is now morning and the boys and Jared are sitting opposite each other at a table in a café (not Speedy's). John is tucking into a cooked breakfast and has a mug of tea in front of him, Jared is enjoying some coffee and an American breakfast, while Sherlock is drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone – which is lying on the table – to ring.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah. A little." Jared said, eating the American pancakes. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"It's not a problem, Jared."

"Mmm. You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" John asked, eating another forkful of food, then looks thoughtful. "Has it occurred to you ...?"

"Probably."

"No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock said, smiling slightly.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked.

"Perhaps." Sherlock said, while the pink phone beeps a message alert.

"Jared, is it Moriarty?" John asked, looking at Jared.

Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.

"Spoilers." Jared said, sadly. "I know that woman!"

"How do you know her? That could be anybody." Sherlock said, looking at Jared.

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, Jared and I have been more than a little unemployed." John said.

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson, Jared, and I watch far too much telly." John said, standing up and walks over to the counter.

Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. He changes channels a couple of times until he finds what he wants. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show. She is gesturing to someone just offscreen.

"Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?" Connie asked, and the pink phone rings. "Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows' ears ..."

Sherlock picks up the phone and holds it to his ear, "Hello?"

An old woman speaks tremulously in a Yorkshire accent, "This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry."

Jared closed his eyes to imagine the old woman who was wearing an earpiece.

"She's blind. This is ... a funny one." The old woman said.

John and Jared walk back to the table. At the old woman's location, the camera pulls out to show that she too is strapped to a bomb. Wearing a warm dressing gown and sitting up in bed she is holding a phone to the ear which doesn't have the earpiece in and she is staring blankly ahead of herself as she narrates the words being spoken through the earpiece.

"I'll give you ... twelve hours to solve this without Jared's help.." The old woman said, while Sherlock looks at John and Jared as they sit down.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked, talking into the phone.

"I like ... to watch you ... dance." The old woman said, as she finishes speaking, she gasps and sobs in terror.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Jared said, and even though the old woman cannot see it, there is still a laser point from a sniper's rifle running over her body. "I wish I could help you, Sherlock."

"I know." Sherlock said, lowering the the phone and shakes his head at John and Jared, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.

"... and I see you're back to your bad habits." Connie said, on the TV.

As the footage continues, a voiceover replaces her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.

"... continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead ..." The news reader said, on the TV.

Jared typed in coordinates into his vortex manipulator to reappear at the end of this puzzle, knowing that is what Jim Moriarty wanted and for Sherlock to be able to solve this puzzle without him. He disappeared in a flash of light in the process which is a good thing.

NEW SCOTLAND YARD...

ONE HOUR TO GO. Still sitting in her bed, the old woman cries in despair.

It is now evening and Sherlock walks into the main office brandishing a folder at Lestrade. Jared reappeared inside New Scotland Yard, knowing that this is a good thing as this means that this case is halfway done.

"Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin." Sherlock said, putting the folder on the desk.

"Poison?" Jared asked, as Lestrade reaches for it, Sherlock leans closer to him. "Right..."

"You're not wrong, Jared. We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself." Sherlock said.

Lestrade walks towards his office, Sherlock and Jared following. John stares at them in surprise.

"Well, how did he do it? How did Raoul do it?" Jared asked, crossing his arms.

"Botox injection." Sherlock said, as Jared remembers that Sherlock examined the tiny pinpricks in Connie's forehead.

"Botox? As in cosmetic surgery?" Jared asked, with Lestrade back to Sherlock.

"Exactly. Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases." Sherlock said, pointing to the folder. "He's been bulk ordering Botox for months." Nearby, John has continued to stare at Sherlock, and his expression is becoming more angry with the consultant detective oblivious to this. "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"You sure about this?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm sure." Sherlock said.

"All right – my office." Lestrade said, turning and walks towards his office with Jared behind him.

Sherlock starts to follow but John stops him.

"Hey, Sherlock. How long?" John asked.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"How long have you known?"

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. Jared knew but he couldn't tell me anything because the bomber instructed him not to over the phone. That was a mistake. The bomber repeating himself." Sherlock said, trying to walk towards Lestrade's office but again John stops him.

"No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman. She's been there all this time." John said.

"I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!" Sherlock said, leaning closer and looking at John intensely before heading into Lestrade's office. John purses his lips in frustration, then follows.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is sitting at Lestrade's desk where a laptop has been opened to The Science of Deduction website.

"Let's do this, Sherlock. You managed to solve this case without my help!" Jared said, excitedly.

John, Lestrade, and Jared are standing at all sides of Sherlock.

"Yeah." Sherlock said, typing into the message box: 'Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox'. He sends the message and the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rings almost instantly. He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Help me." The old woman said, in an anguished voice.

"Tell us where you are. Address." Sherlock said, clearly.

"He was so ... His voice ... "

"No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing." Sherlock said, urgently.

"He sounded so ... soft." The old woman said, while the laser point from the sniper's rifle moves onto the bomb.

"Damn it!" Jared said, as a single shot fires and the phone instantly goes dead. "Sherlock, she's dead."

"Hello?" Sherlock asked, talking into the phone as he looked at Jared. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Sherlock? Jared?" Lestrade asked, seeing Sherlock's expression and Jared's expression.

"What's happened?" John asked, and slowly, staring ahead of himself, Sherlock lowers the phone from his ear. "Jared, what happened?"

"The old woman..." Jared said, while Sherlock bites his lip as Lestrade – realising that something bad must have happened – straightens up and sighs. "She, um, she tried to tell us something about the bomber."

"Oh." John said, bracing a hand on the back of Sherlock's chair and he grabbed Jared's hand before letting go. "Do you know where to go?"

"I do." Jared said, typing in coordinates into his vortex manipulator to disappear from this location in a flash of light to reappear somewhere else, forward in time with the TARDIS' help. "I'll see you two in a bit."

HICKMAN GALLERY...

It is now morning and Jared reappeared in an art gallery knowing that this is one of the cases that Sherlock has to solve on his own without the help of him, John, and Lestrade. Sherlock is standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone. He calls up subjects such as 'Vermeer brush strokes,' 'Pigment analysis,' 'Canvas degradation,' 'UV Light damage,' 'Delft Skyline, 1600,' and 'Vermeer influences.' John, Lestrade, Miss Wenceslas, and Jared are standing behind him.

"It's a fake. It has to be." Sherlock said.

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." Miss Wencelas said.

"It's a very good fake, then." Sherlock said, spinning around and glares at her. "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"

"Sherlock, it isn't her. And she doesn't know about it." Jared said, rolling his eyes.

Miss Wenceslas turns to Lestrade, looking exasperated, "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?"

The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switches on the speaker.

"The painting is a fake." Sherlock said, while there's a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response. "It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." Still there's nothing more than breathing. "Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed." When the phone remains silent, Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy comes over the phone's speaker, "Ten ..."

"Come on, Sherlock." Jared said, as instantly Sherlock spins and looks closely at the painting. "You got this. You can save his life. I know you can."

"It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade said, shocked.

"What did he say?" John asked, looking at Jared.

"He said ten, John. Now let Sherlock focus." Jared said, frowning.

"Nine ..." The boy said, over the phone.

"The bomber is giving Sherlock time. He is giving Sherlock a countdown to figure this painting out." Jared said, as Sherlock narrows his eyes as he scans every inch of the painting. "And for Sherlock to save the boy's life."

"Jesus!" Lestrade said, worried.

"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?" Sherlock asked.

"Eight ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"This kid will die. Jared, tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!" Sherlock said, turning and glaring at Jared.

"It's the..." Jared said, fliching and opening his mouth, but Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop him.

"Seven ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"No, shut up. Don't say anything. Don't even spoil it, Jared. It only works if I figure it out." Sherlock said, turning back to the painting again.

Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces. Jared took out his Gekota charm he got from Mikoto Misaka and started fondling it while pacing. Lestrade turns to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face." Sherlock said, talking to himself as he continued to scan the painting.

"Six ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"Come on." John said, urgently under his breath as he turns back.

"Woodbridge knew, Jared, you knew, but how?" Sherlock asked.

"Five ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"Sherlock, it's speeding up!" Jared said, terrified.

"Sherlock." John said, urgently.

Sherlock's gaze falls on three tiny white dots of paint in the night sky while his mouth falls open as the penny finally drops, "Oh!"

"Four ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock said, turning and shoving the pink phone into John's hands, he walks away from the painting, grinning as he pulls out his own phone from his pocket.

"Three ..."

"What's brilliant? What is?" John asked, looking at Jared. "Jared, do you know?"

"I do." Jared said, while Sherlock rapidly types 'Astronomers' and 'Supernovas' into his phone, then turns back and walks towards the others, laughing in delight. "I love seeing Sherlock like this. Reminds me of the Doctor. My Doctor."

"This is beautiful. I love this!" Sherlock said, happily.

"Two ..." The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said, furiously.

Sherlock grabs the pink phone from John and yells into it, "The Van Buren Supernova!"

"Yup. That was it!" Jared said, while there's a short pause, then the boy's plaintive voice comes from the speaker. "Good work, Sherlock."

"Please. Is somebody there?" The boy asked, his voice over the phone.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, sighing out a relieved breath. "You were there once, weren't you?"

"With the Doctor and Clara? Yeah." Jared said, smiling. "That was ages ago."

"Somebody help me!" The boy said, his voice over the phone.

"There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up." Sherlock said, turning and handing the phone to Lestrade before giving John and Jared a long look, promising them a jolly good seeing-to later, then turns and points to one of the dots in the sky of the painting. "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called." He holds up his phone over his shoulder so that Miss Wenceslas can see the screen. "Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight. Jared said that he visited there once with the Doctor and Clara Oswald."

Sherlock turns and throws Miss Wenceslas a triumphant look, then walks away.

John drags in a relieved breath, then walks closer to look at the painting, "So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?"

"Not without time travel." Jared said, as John grins over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, then looks back to the picture again. "I didn't tell any famous painter about it during that century."

John's phone trills a text alert.

"Oh." John said, digging out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looks at the message which reads: 'My patience is wearing thin. Mycroft Holmes.' He growls slightly, then looks up at the painting one last time. "Oh Sherl..."

He switches off the phone and walks away with Jared. Miss Wenceslas stares at the painting in shock. Jared typed in coordinates into his vortex manipulator to disappear in a flash of light with the TARDIS bringing me where he needs to go for this case.

(Jared's POV)

221B Baker Street...

It is now nighttime and I reappeared inside 221B Baker Street knowing that this case has reached the end and it's going to become more difficult from this point forward. Both Sherlock and John are in their coats because the windows still haven't been replaced. I walked over the TV and turned it on to something I knew Sherlock might like if the consulting detective's personality is similar to mine.

Some time has passed and Sherlock is sitting in his armchair with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around him, trying to conserve heat. The pink phone is on the arm of the chair.

Behind Sherlock, John is sitting at the dining table, typing on his laptop. I am making some popcorn for him and Sherlock to enjoy one of my favorite YouTubers.

The TV is on and Chuggaaconroy's Let's Play on Pokémon Crystal is playing. As Emile yells loudly over getting a Shiny Koffing, Sherlock yells indignantly at the telly.

"No, no, no! You couldn't have managed to get a shiny Koffing with those odds!" Sherlock said, gesturing at the screen. "Look at how you got that Growlithe and Phanpy!"

Sighing, he folds his arms again. John, who has looked round to see what Sherlock is protesting about, gets back to his typing.

"Knew it was a bad idea." I said, sadly.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, looking at me.

"Getting you into Chuggaaconroy. I've been watching him since 2008 and it would have been 2023 back home for me. So in total, 15 years now."

"Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince." Sherlock said, looking at John.

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked.

"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again."

"You know, I'm still waiting."

"Hmm?"

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker." John said.

"Didn't do you any good, did it?" Sherlock asked.

"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective."

"True." Sherlock said, smiling.

John has closed the lid of his laptop and now stands up, "I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge."

"Mm!" Sherlock said, his eyes still fixed on the TV.

John stops at the door, "Uh, milk. We need milk."

"I'll get some." Sherlock said.

"Really?!" John exclaimed, turning back with a look of disbelief on his face.

"Really."

"And some beans, then?"

"Mm." Sherlock said, still not looking away from the TV.

John hesitates, still surprised, but then nods and walks away.

"Gonna contact him?" I asked, while Sherlock continues to gaze at the TV until he hears the downstairs door open and close, then he picks up his computer notebook from where it was tucked down beside him. "Are you?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, putting his laptop on his lap and opening the lid, he stares at the message box on The Science of Deduction website before starting to type. "This is the end of the case."

Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.

"It is." I said, as Sherlock lifts his eyes in thought for a moment, then quirks a small smile before returning to his typing. "I hated not being able to help you."

The Pool. Midnight.

"I know." Sherlock said, sending the message, then closes the lid, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. "Let's go, Jared."

SWIMMING POOL...

Sherlock opens a door with me behind him as said door is leading into the area surrounding an indoor swimming pool. The lights are on but there is nobody visible in the area. Somewhere between Baker Street and here, he has taken off his Coat and is just wearing his suit, so presumably the heating is on as well. Sherlock and I walks slowly towards the shallow end of the pool, probably very aware that the upper gallery where people sit and watch the swimmers is still in darkness. The two of us stop at the edge of the pool and turns, trying to see up into the viewing gallery. Finally Sherlock turns towards the pool again, raising one hand and holding up the memory stick and I am behind him, scared.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this." Sherlock said, loudly and gesturing with the memory stick, then begins to turn in a slow circle while he waits for a response.

"Sherlock, he didn't really distract you." I said, while Sherlock's back is turned to the pool, a door opens halfway down the room. "You kept on denying it."

"Fair point." Sherlock said, as he looks over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft and John Watson walks through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets. "You have a fair point."

John turns and looks at Sherlock and I as we stare back at him in absolute shock.

"Evening." John said, and Sherlock's raised hand begins to lower slowly but otherwise he doesn't move, still staring over his shoulder in utter disbelief. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock, Jared?"

"John. What the hell ...?" Sherlock asked, softly, shocked.

"Bet you never saw this coming." John said, while Sherlock finally manages to move and starts to walk slowly towards the man he had believed to be his friend until now with me close behind the consulting detective.

"Sherlock, why is this exactly like I remember?" I asked, as the shock and bewilderment on Sherlock's face make him look about twelve years old. "Why?"

"I don't know." Sherlock said, and John has a look of despair which matches his roommate's, John takes his hands from his pockets and pulls open his jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to his chest. "Was this how things were back home for you?"

"Yes!" I said, while somewhere in the upper gallery, the point from a sniper's laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb. "It was!"

"What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?" John asked, as Sherlock and I continued to step towards him but now we are looking everywhere but at the blonde as we try to see who else is in the area.

"Is there anyone else there?" I asked, holding Ebb and Flow in my hand. "I don't want to use this."

"Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer." John said, obviously narrating words spoken into an earpiece and his voice almost breaks on the last phrase.

"Stop it." Sherlock said.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John said, narrating and he tries not to cringe as he listens to the next words. "I can stop John Watson too." He looks down at the laser point on his chest. "Stop his heart."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, turning on the spot while he tried to look in all directions.

"I know who he is." I said, and a door opens at the far end of the pool and a soft male voice with an Irish accent speaks from that direction. "He's someone I'm terrified of."

"Rightfully so, Jared. Harold Saxon told me how terrified you are of him so I wanted to have that effect on you too. And Sherlock, I gave you my number." Jim said, while he is wearing a suit and tie, but currently he is mostly obscured by a column before he changes his tone plaintively. "I thought you might call."

Sherlock and I turn towards the new arrival, who now slowly walks out into the open.

"The Master told you about me?" I asked, hiding behind Sherlock.

"He did. " Jim said, as he is a sharply-dressed man with immaculate hair and a murderous look on his face. "A while ago." With his hands in his pockets, Jim casually begins to stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock, John, and I. All hint of plaintiveness has now gone from his voice. "Jared, the Master told me about the Year that Never Was and how to break you down completely. Oh, and Sherlock, Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket ..." Sherlock reaches down to his trouser pocket and removes a pistol from it. "... or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock said, raising the pistol and aiming it towards Jim.

Jim stops and looks back at him, unafraid.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Jim said, and Sherlock tilts his head while he looks more closely at the man. Jim acts as if he needs to remind Sherlock who he is. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He begins to walk alongside the deep end again. Sherlock brings up his other hand to support the one aiming the gun. I am holding Ebb and Flow in dual pistols form as I aimed both pieces of my bow towards Jim who bites his lip as if disappointed. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression on you, Sherlock? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

Jim turns to face Sherlock and I just as the sniper's laser flickers over John's upper chest.

"Moriarty, when did you talk to the Master?" I asked, while Sherlock briefly turned his head towards John, a questioning look on his face.

"Right after he escaped from Broadfell Prison. But before he was caught by Joshua Naismith. Harold Saxon was dying, but I wasn't." Jim said, as he starts to walk again. "Him and I had a lot of time to talk about how to break you. Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." He reaches the corner of the pool and stops. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, Jared, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see ..." Jim looks surprised, as if he has only just realised the connection. "... like the both of you!"

"'Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?'" Sherlock asked, and starting to walk forward again, Jim grins, clearly recognising the TV show and catchphrase that the consulting detective is quoting. "'Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?'"

"Just so." Jim said, stopping again.

"Consulting criminal." Sherlock said, softly. "Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will." Jim said, smiling proudly.

"I did." Sherlock said, cocking the pistol.

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock, and the fear for you continues, Jared..." Jim said, shrugging before his voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song. "Daddy's had enough now!" He again starts to stroll closer and back to his normal tone. "Sherlock, I've shown you and Jared what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play Sherlock and to make Jared completely terrified of me and teleport away during the puzzles I made for you."

"So things haven't changed like how it was back home." I said, while John and I are starting to feel the strain and the two of us close our eyes briefly. "When it came to all this."

"No. It won't." Jim said, as Sherlock's eyes can't help but flicker across to John and I a couple of times as he tries to keep his focus on the man approaching us. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear, Sherlock. Back off." He smiles. "Although I have loved this – this little game of ours." Jim puts on his London accent for a moment. "Playing Jim from I.T." He switches back to his Irish accent. "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock said.

"That's what people DO!" Jim said, screaming the last word furiously, his personality changing in an instant.

"I will stop you." Sherlock said, softly.

"No you won't." Jim said, calmer again.

Sherlock looks across to John, "You all right?"

John deliberately keeps his gaze away from his friends, presumably having been given instructions earlier about not talking to Sherlock and I. Jim walks forward again and reaches his side.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." Jim said, and refusing to specifically obey his orders, John meets Sherlock's eyes and nods once.

Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick towards Jim, "Take it."

"Huh? Oh! That!" Jim said, strolling past John and reaches out for the stick, grinning. "The missile plans!"

Jim takes the stick from Sherlock's fingers and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. Behind him, John is silently murmuring to himself, perhaps trying to keep himself focussed, perhaps winding himself up to take action, or maybe just expressing his surprise or disappointment that Sherlock lied to him about giving the plans to Mycroft. Jim lowers the memory stick and looks at it.

"Boring!" Jim said, with a sing-song voice and he shakes his head. "I could have got them anywhere."

He nonchalantly tosses the stick into the pool. Seeing his opportunity, John races forward and slams himself against Jim's back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backs up a step in surprise but keeps the pistol raised and aimed at Jim while I keep my dual pistols raised and aimed at Jim.

"Sherlock, Jared, run!" John said, while Jim laughs in delight.

"Good! Very good." Jim said, Sherlock doesn't move, still aiming his gun at the consulting criminal's head but now starting to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty, then we both go up." John said, savagely.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets." Jim said, calmly to Sherlock and I.

Grimacing angrily, John pulls him even closer onto the bomb which is now sandwiched between them. Jim scowls round at him.

"They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jim said, grinning briefly at John, then looks towards Sherlock and I. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

Jim chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock's forehead and a new last point appears in the middle of my forehead. John stares in horror as Jim looks round at him expectantly. Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realising what's happening from John's expression, shakes his head slightly.

"Gotcha!" Jim said, with a sing-song voice before chuckling as John releases his grip on him and steps back, holding his hands up to signal to the sniper that he won't be trying anything else.

Jim glances round at him, then turns back towards Sherlock while brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it. He gestures to it indignantly.

"Westwood!" Jim said, lowering his hands and stands calmly in front of Sherlock who is still aiming the pistol at his head. "D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess: I get killed." Sherlock said, sounding bored.

"Kill you?" Jim asked, as he grimaces. "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He runs his eyes briefly down Sherlock's body, then meets his eyes again and his voice becomes vicious. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

Jim's face is a snarl as he says the word 'heart' but at the end of the sentence he looks almost regretful.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock said, softly.

"But we both know that's not quite true." Jim said, and Sherlock blinks involuntarily while the consulting criminal looks down, smiling, then shrugs. "Well, I'd better be off." He nonchalantly looks around, perhaps checking his exit route, before turning back to Sherlock and I. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat with you and Jared."

Sherlock raises the pistol higher and extends it closer to Jim's head, "What if I was to shoot you now – right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Jim said, completely unperturbed before opening his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking shock, then grins at Sherlock. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would." He screws up his nose. "And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." Slowly he begins to turn away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Looking back at Sherlock with some distaste, Jim walks calmly towards the side door through which John came earlier. Sherlock slowly steps forward to keep him in view.

"Catch ... you ... later." Sherlock said.

The door opens and Jim's voice can be heard, high-pitched and sing-song.

"No you won't!" Jim said, while the door closes.

"Ugh! Why can't you leave us alone?" I asked, as Sherlock doesn't move for a few seconds, his gun still aimed towards the door, then his gaze drifts across to John and he instantly bends, putting the pistol on the floor, then drops to his knees in front of John and starts unfastening the vest to which the bomb is attached. "Finally!" I ran up to John in a hurry while still holding my dual pistols in my hands. "John, are you okay?"

John tilts his head back, breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked, urgently.

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine." John said, looking between Sherlock and I.

Having unfastened the vest, Sherlock jumps up and hurries round behind John, starting to pull off the jacket and the bomb vest.

"I'm fine." John said, and Sherlock, also breathing too fast, continues tugging at the jacket and vest. "Sherlock." Finally Sherlock manages to roughly strip the jacket and vest off John's arms. "Sh-Sherlock!"

"John, I'm sorry." I said, bending and skims the items as far away along the floor as I can, while John staggers at the vehemence with which his friend just ripped them off him. "I'm so sorry for not telling you about this sooner."

"Jesus." John said, softly and he reaches up and pulls the earpiece from his ear, breathing heavily as delayed shock begins to hit him. "It's okay, Jared. You couldn't change anything, could you?"

"No." I said, while Sherlock turns and stares at John for a moment, then hurries back to pick up the pistol before racing towards the door through which Moriarty left. "I wish I was able to. You shouldn't have ended up there."

"I know." John said, as his knees buckle and he staggers towards the nearest support, the edge of one of the changing cubicles. "Oh, Christ."

John turns and drops down into a squat, bracing his back against the cubicle's edge while he blows out a long breath and tries to calm himself down.

"Jared, where's Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, coming back in, having apparently seen no sign of Moriarty outside. "Where is he?"

"I don't know." I said, and Sherlock starts to pace up and down near John and I, so hyper and distracted that he doesn't even realise that he is scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol. "I lost track of him."

"Are you okay?" John asked, breathlessly.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock said, quick fire, still pacing and scratching his head with the gun before turning to John, wide-eyed and breathless. "That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did – that, um ..." He clears his throat. "... you offered to do. That was, um ... good."

"I'm glad no-one saw that." John said, staring blankly ahead of himself.

Sherlock had temporarily lowered his hand long enough not to be risking accidentally shooting himself in the head, although he had terrible jitters as he held the gun down by his side. Now he lifts the gun again and rubs his chin while looking down at John in confusion.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, looking at John.

"You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk." John said, still not meeting Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock shrugs, "People do little else."

Sherlock looks down at John, then grins. John snorts laughter and then leans forward and prepares to stand up. But before he can move, the beam from a sniper's laser begins to dance over his chest. John looks down at it and his face fills with horror.

"Oh ..." John said, anguished.

"Shit." I said, when a door near the deep end of the pool opens and Jim comes through, clapping his hands together and turning to face Sherlock, John, and I. "Forgot about that."

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooo changeable!" Jim said, cheerfully.

John and I grimaces in disbelief. Sherlock keeps his back to Jim, looking up into the gallery to try and judge how many snipers there might be up there. It's becoming clear that there are more than a few because there are at least two laser points hovering over John, at least two laser points hovering over me, and at least three more travelling over Sherlock's body. Jim laughs and spreads his arms wide.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." Jim said, lowering his hands and puts them in his pockets. Sherlock turns his head and looks down at John and I, with the two of us lifting our own heads to meet his gaze. "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but ..." He laughs and his voice becomes higher pitched again. "... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock, who had looked away from John and I for a moment, now turns and looks down at John again and over at me again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request.

"Do it." I said, while John responds instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deems necessary. "Do whatever you feel is right, Sherlock."

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock said, turning to face Jim.

He raises the pistol and aims it at him. Jim smiles confidently with no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowers the pistol downwards until it's pointing directly at the bomb jacket. All four sets of eyes lock onto the jacket, John breathing heavily, Sherlock calm. Jim tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time. As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with his nemesis. Sherlock gazes back at him and Jim begins to smile. Sherlock's eyes narrow slightly.