Summary: Sherlock read the note in his hand. "Mycroft should've protected you better." The next thing he was aware of, was agonizing pain and someone screaming his name.

BBC universe. Slight John/Sherlock but so miniscule you can overlook it if you want. THIS IS RATED M FOR A REASON FOLKS. THIS HAS BLOOD AND VIOLENCE AND BAD LANGUAGE IN IT. NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA? THEN DON'T DRINK FROM THE CUP, SAVVY?

Disclaimer: I thought about it, but I'm pretty sure I already did it. But I have no proof that I actually did it. Does that mean I did it?

(Thirty Hours Later, Mario's Bistro, 12:10 p.m.)-Chapter 1: And Things Get Interesting...

Sherlock walked at his usual fast pace to his favorite restaurant, Mario's Bistro, with his roommate, John Watson, not far behind. It was a cold and dry day, just a little after noon. It was the lunch hour, so there were quite a few people coming and going along the street and in their cars on their way home or to a cafe for a much needed break. Sherlock was in the middle of a case with Lestrade, who had asked for his help with it that very morning.

Apparently, an affluent couple very near the Palace had been found murdered, and there was hardly any evidence of why they were killed or who had done the foul deed. Or so Anderson had said. Still though, the media was hounding Lestrade and his precinct for answers, as was the Queen's guard. They all wanted to know who had done this crime and why. Preferably sooner rather than later. They had heightened security at the Palace almost immediately after the attack. Lestrade had brought in the consulting detective as he needed answers, and he needed them yesterday.

Sherlock had been at the scene with John and had gone around touching things and grabbing things seemingly at random, but both Lestrade and John knew there was a method to Sherlock's particular madness.

He had determined that the double homicide was done by a professional hitman; it wasn't a random killing like Sally thought, or a burglary gone awry like Lestrade thought.

"What proof do you have?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock had then knelt down close to the bodies and examined the extensive damage done to both of the murder victims.

"See these stab wounds here?" he said. "These were designed to inflict the most pain possible, but not kill." "And the ones here," Sherlock said and lifted up the dead man's arm, exposing the wrist area.

"These were not what killed him."

"Then what did?" Sally Donovan asked, a small sneer on her face.

Sherlock sighed to himself, as if explaining things this elementary should've been beyond him. "The cuts were made to inflict the most pain as they possibly could. They didn't bleed to death and they weren't shot since there are no shell casings. But they do have petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes. They were suffocated." he said and looked around a bit more before he spotted what killed the couple.

He strode across the room, ignoring everyone present as he carefully picked up the murder weapon. It was a torn plastic bag.

"Look in the mouth. You will find plastic in their throats. That is what killed them." he said and held up the bag.

Anderson opened his mouth, but Sherlock beat him to it. "I don't care for what you have to say Anderson, as I'm sure it's very dull and has no bearing on the reason I'm here. Lestrade, I'm sure you have this well in hand. I'll be on my way. Let's go John." he said and exited the posh mansion and away from the crime scene.

John had to run a little to catch up with his friend. "Were they really killed by a professional hitman?" John asked curiosity glossing his words and his eyes.

Sherlock nodded. "Whoever did this crime was very angry. They were searching for information. I don't think the couple gave it to them, which is why they suffered before they died."

"Do you know what they were searching for?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not yet." he said. John knew from the expression on Sherlock's face that he had several working theories. And John knew that they were going to run down those "working theories" until Sherlock found out why the couple were killed like they were.

John sighed. Then his stomach rumbled. "Could we grab a bite to eat first? I'm famished." he said. Sherlock nodded, distracted. They headed toward their favorite little food joint, Mario's Bistro.

Which is where they were now after a twenty minute brisk walk and a half hour taxi ride. Apparently the posh neighborhood they were in didn't have the need of taxis like the middle class.

John stepped inside and found that Sherlock was not at his side. Sighing in annoyance, John stepped outside and found Sherlock looking up toward the sky, a pensive frown marring his handsome features.

"Are we going to eat sometime today, or are we going to stand out here and look at the sky?" he asked, hands on his hips.

Sherlock nodded. "Thought I saw..." he said and turned to look at John who was still staring at him. "Never mind. Let's go in." John nodded, satisfied.

Before they could enter, a little girl ran up to Sherlock and tugged on his long dark trenchcoat, halting him midstep.

He turned around and stared down at the child, his head cocked to the side.

"Yes?" he asked.

The little girl with blonde pigtails took a small slip of paper from the small pocket on her jean dress and held it up to him.

"Sir, you dropped this back there." she said smiling up at him.

Sherlock looked down at the paper then around at his surroundings, before finally settling his gaze on the little girl again.

"I'm afraid you've been mistaken. I've dropped no such thing."

The girl was already shaking her head before Sherlock had even finished his sentence.

"I saw you drop this. It fell out of your pocket. Please take it back." she said and her little blue eyes widened impossibly, making them appear twice as large as they should've been. Sherlock knew that look. He had tried it several times himself when he'd been a child. Of course Mycroft hadn't been fooled. And he still got in trouble for dissecting that cat...

It was clear the little girl had been given the note, but by whom?

He took the note, but stopped the little girl from leaving. He knelt down to her level and looked into her eyes. "Can you tell me who gave you this note?" he asked politely.

The little girl shook her head. "I can't. The man said not to."

"Does this man have a name?" he asked. "I don't know. He never said. Can I go now?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded and watched as the blonde girl ran down the street and out of sight.

"So what's the note say?" John said impatiently having seen the entire exchange. Yes, he was curious, but he wanted to eat first before they followed up on this strange note and mysterious man. And knowing Sherlock like he did, he was sure they were gonna skip another meal just to chase down a lead. He resigned to himself to another day without food at the appropriate time.

Sherlock didn't answer him. He unfurled the note and read the single sentence typed on it.

"Mycroft should've protected you better."

The consulting detective looked up, the note still clutched within his fist.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

John watched as his friend jerked once, twice, three, and then four times before falling to the pavement, a red puddle forming beneath him almost instantaneously.

"SHERLOCK!!"

And that concludes Chapter One folks! This is my first fanfic into the Sherlock Universe and well...I hope it was at least interesting and the characters weren't too ooc. Argh! I should be updating my Teen Titans fic, not publishing a new story! But this got stuck inside of my head and not even a q-tip would dislodge it lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the story so far!