A/N: Kind of AU as I have changed the story a little. You'll get what I mean. Don't worry, there will be more chapters. This story is dedicated to my good friend Niamh.

The taxi rolled to a stop at the front of Speedy's Café and I hopped out with a spring in my step, handing the driver a twenty from my coat pocket with a swift, "Keep the change." I didn't really catch the mumbled 'thank-you' that followed as he sped away along Baker Street, but instead glanced up at the stone building to try to decipher its past. By the bricking it was obvious that it had been built in the 19th century and on closer inspection, the windowsills were newly painted and the windows recently cleaned. The owner clearly wished to make a good impression which may imply that the flat had been up for sale for some time. It was most likely that it would be a land-lady who owned the property for I didn't know many men who would take such care and effort into preserving something so simple. Given that the outside was furnished neatly, the landlady didn't have a husband and instead hired professionals to complete the job. Now taking the information that she was not wed, there are two ages that could be implied: elderly or mid-twenties. However, the earlier deductions suggest an older woman, kind and well-kept but hard headed at that. She would have to be to get into the property market as a landlady these days.

Another way, however, to judge the personality of others is to, of course, meet them. I knocked confidently on the door and stood back, waiting for the answer. Checking the time I wondered where Dr Watson was; I couldn't go through with the deal without him. I was sure that he didn't have a girlfriend and as an Afghanistan war veteran with a trauma induced injury, he had no job either. Therefore no excuse to be late and he would soon learn that I appreciate punctuality.

The door opened to reveal exactly the woman I had imagined, slightly smaller and innocent looking- but it was close enough. As I greeted her in the warmest expression I could conjure from this cold day, I heard another's footsteps follow closely behind. The weak step on the right leg and the slight tap of a cane on the paved steps gave for an easy deduction. I didn't even bother to turn and proceeded to climb the stairs- which unfortunately were not as well-kept as I had suspected. The wallpaper was dull and there was limited light, however I could tell by the missed patches of dust on the banister that she had been in a rush to clean the place. I couldn't quite figure out why. I decided not to ponder on it for too long, it was probably just a case of bingo at the community centre.

I continued to inspect the building as I moved into the main flat, walking swiftly enough that I had removed both my coat and scarf by the time John and Mrs Hudson had had time to hobble up the steps. Mrs Hudson arrived through the door first and immediately began to plump the cushions, "What do you think then boys? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two."

I smiled inwardly as John's face dropped in a sort of confused horror, "Yes, we'll be needing two."

Mrs Hudson's expression fell awkward; she must have misjudged the relationship between John and me. I decided to break the silence, "No husband, Mrs Hudson? I hate to be rude but I noticed you don't wear your wedding ring. Bad break up?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort; let's just say he had a run in with the wrong people and I wasn't exactly sad to see him go. Now anyway, back onto the flat, will you be taking it?"

I looked at John expectedly, "It's a nice place; it looks expensive though." He said, looking around as if to find something extra-ordinary in the room.

"Mrs Hudson, I'm sure you would be glad to finally have tenants and so we would be extremely grateful if you were to cut us some sort of deal." It was a long shot and I felt bad for playing on the facts that I had deduced earlier but nonetheless it was worth a try.

"Of course, I can't stretch far but I suppose I can do something."

"There we go John; between us we should be able to afford the property- if you are happy that is. However, I must warn you that I am not the most joyous of flatmates and I hope you are okay with the smell of tobacco and the sound of a violin; I assure you that I can play."

"I'm sure I will be able to cope." He said with a smile.

Later on that evening I received a call from Lestrade (an inspector at Scotland Yard) confirming a fourth suicide in the area. This time they had left a note and of course, the police and forensics were completely stuck for clues as to the link. I jumped up from my seat and threw on my scarf and coat, "Are you coming?"

"Where to?" He seemed startled by the sudden movement so I slowed up and pulled out my phone from my pocket and handed him the computerised notes.

"Scotland Yard just called about a case they need solving; which reminds me that I never informed you about my line of work. I am a consulting detective and the only one to which I know of. A fourth suicide has just been uncovered and they want me to head down and try to figure it out. I'll be needing an assistant."

"Am I even allowed to do that?"

"If I say so, yes. Now hurry up, murderers don't wait for us to dawdle."

"I thought you said this was a suicide."

"There wouldn't be a case if it was a suicide, would there John? Use your brain for once."

We hopped inside the first cab we could flag down and headed for the crime scene.

"Where's the suitcase?"

"What suitcase?" Lestrade looked confused- what an idiot.

"The suitcase she was pulling with her right arm. Use your eyes; there's mud at the back of her right leg. The height and width suggest a small, overnight bag." I leant down to check the underside of her collar- it was still wet. But her umbrella was dry; must have been too windy. I checked my phone for the weather updates, "Cardiff." I mumbled.

"What?" John and Lestrade exclaimed in perfect unison, I wished they would stop doing that.

"Cardiff. I don't want to have to explain it, just trust me on this one." As much as I wanted my intelligence to be noted, now wasn't the time; even though I did want to hear Dr Watson tell me how amazing my deductions were again. Nobody had ever said that before.

"Your time's up Sherlock, it's the professionals turn." Anderson wandered in smugly, arms crossed as he leant against the doorframe.

"Don't talk out loud, Anderson, you lower the IQ of the entire street." I knew exactly what I needed to do; I rushed through the door without a thought to John who hobbled after me. I needed to find the case. Find the case, I find the killer. I loved the feeling when clever people made stupid mistakes.

Back at the flat, I rummaged through the pink case I had found in a skip not far from Northumberland Street. It took less than an hour to find, it wasn't exactly rocket science. The killer was clearly male which meant he didn't want to be carrying a bright pink case around- it would draw too much attention. So what would he do? He would try to get rid of it as quickly as possible. As he was driving, he could only fit down back streets wide enough for a car. Therefore, I checked every back street that fitted the bill and eventually found the case. Simple really.

There was everything in there: wash bag, change of clothes… But there was something missing; something everyone carries all the time. A phone.

I zipped up the suitcase and flung it across to the other side of the room before reaching inside my pocket for my phone. I'd better not text on mine- it may be recognisable- "Mrs Hudson!" I waited patiently but heard no answer. "Damn it." I whispered, sending a text to John.

COME TO 221B BAKER STREET NOW. IF COVENIANT. SH.

Wait… What if it isn't convenient? I pulled up the texts again.

IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY.

That wouldn't work either… What is the one thing that John cared about; the one thing that would get him to come and help me? I started to write again.

COULD BE DANGEROUS.

"You got a girlfriend?" He was trying to start a conversation and failing badly. I despised questions that didn't need to be asked. Of course I didn't have a girlfriend; couldn't he tell by my shoes?

"No." I decided to keep it simple. Bad idea.

"Oh, erm… Do you," He stalled, clearly embarrassed by something, "Have a boyfriend?"

What was he trying to get at? Questions about my relationship status… Oh. Did he? No, surely not. Just in case, I set the record straight anyway. "John, um... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I am flattered by your interest I'm-" I was amused by the fact that he was embarrassed. It's such a normal emotion and certainly one that I am not acquainted with.

"No… I'm not- that's not what I was implying." Awkwardness, however, was an emotion that I was acquainted with. I had apparently touched a nerve on that particular subject and I'm not proud to say that it took my mind of the job in hand.

Needless to say I still kept one eye on the mirror in the corner, waiting. "How do you know what you're looking for?" John said, mouth half full with food. Hadn't he ever heard of table manners?

"Think John, just for once… Think. No-one on the street saw any suspicious cars in the area. The victim climbed in willingly, but she didn't know the driver. What is the one type of car in the whole of London that people rely on when they're lost, drunk or alone?"

"Bus?" I judged him silently, "Cab!"

"Good, I would attempt to say that you were smart but I did give you the answer."

"Genius." There it was again; why did he always say that?

I had almost turned my attention away when I saw the very thing I had been searching for flicker in the mirror. "Angelo!" He came rushing to my attention; such a simple man. "Bottle of white, quickly." He was back within seconds and poured the liquid into my wine glass. John looked shocked as I tipped it over my head; Angelo did not. "Remember the 'Headless Nun'?"

"Ah, now that was a case! Same again?"

"If you would." I knew what was coming, but the look on John's face just made it so much more amusing. Angelo grabbed me by the collar and threw me out of the door, screaming something along the lines of, 'Get out and stay out you drunken-' I didn't catch the rest.

People are stupid, really stupid. And I don't have any clue why. They look, but they never observe. And when you task them to think- really think- they become predictable.

But if you're clever, clever enough to realise just how stupid people are, you can manipulate them any way you want to. For instance, to choose a certain option- a certain pill.

He pushed a pill towards my side of the table, "You've got a choice; which, to my knowledge, makes me the nicest serial killer around. Did I just give you the bad pill, or the good one? Am I bluffing? I might even be double bluffing. You don't know, do you? Even the greatest minds pale when provided with a choice."

"It's just chance, a fifty-fifty shot. One of them could have chosen differently, chosen the good pill. So why would you risk it?" I paused; I didn't even need to think about this one, "You're dying."

"Aneurysm, right here." He tapped his head, "I could die at any moment. So tell me Mr Holmes, what have I got to lose? Every time I survive, I ensure the future life of my children; I die, well, the world keeps turning."

"But what about the victims, why them?"

"I picked easy targets, no point in a struggle. Just the ones that were drunk or lost."

"Complete strangers; you killed four complete strangers."

"No, I outlived them." He leaned in close as he said it, each letter resting on his tongue longer than it needed. "So, will I outlive you? Now's the time to decide Mr Holmes."

I racked my brain, no more stalling. Left or right? Would he push forward the good pill or the bad one? And then I realized the most crucial point, something that he relied on. They panic. They overthink. Take away thought and body language, all you are left with is chance. A fifty-fifty shot at life.

I knew that I couldn't truly pick a pill without some instinctive thought process, but it was worth a try. I picked up the pill on the left and moved it slowly towards my mouth, still searching for some sort of body language that could give away the choice.

Nothing.

Nothing. That was probably what was flowing through Jeff's mind as a bullet shot through his right lung. What did he have to think about? He was a guy who had been ready for death since the day he was told about his illness.

John fired the gun. In some ways I wish I had discovered whether I had won; whether I had taken the right pill. Then again, which was the right pill to take? I guess it depends on whether I was intending on living or not. I think I was; after all, I couldn't leave John without a flatmate now, could I?