Sherlock Holmes grabs my hand so suddenly I gasp in surprise. I am being led up dozens of stairs as he talks on excitedly.

"Scotland Yard assumes the shooter was standing on Mr. Lockhart's balcony because there is no other location the killer could have been standing without drawing attention to himself. It is simple enough to go up these steps into this park and…"

Now were running across the green fields and stop abruptly.

"Ha! Right there."

He uses my hand to point the general location. I have no idea what he was showing me.

"Directly across is Mr. Lockhart's window. The bullet traveled came from this direction. 'But who could have shot him at this distance?'"

He phrases the question as if it was the most obvious thing a person would ask.

"If you remember his cousin had spent time as a sniper in the military. It would have been an easy shot. There was no need for Lockhart to close his curtains and nothing to obstruct the bullet's path. He would have had to set the rifle up about here."

Holmes pulls out a sniper scope from his pocket. He looks through it then hands it to me. Sure enough, directly in front of me is a window that has a hole in the middle of it.

I experiment twisting my wrist out of his grasp, but he holds tighter."

"Here it is!" he exclaims holding the shell casing to the sun. I'd never seen a man so pleased over something so odd.

"What do you think Joh…."

He looked at me for a second first confused then angry.

"You're not John," he accuses.

"No, no, that would be me." A breathless man says coming to stand by me.

I looked at him wondering how his friend confused me for him. We were different in complexion, hair color, and gender. If anything, we are about the same height and stature.

"I'm sorry about my friend," he apologizes and forces his tall companion to release his grip on my hand. "He helps to solve crimes for a living."

"I've read about him in the papers," I smile now that I know I'm not in danger.

"I'm sure you didn't read about how he can get tunnel vision when he is hot on a trail. I'm John Watson by the way."

I tell him my name and we shake hands.

"Here." He hands me some money. "Please take a cab to wherever you were going."

I can't help, but laugh at this little side venture my day has taken. After thanking John and saying good bye to Sherlock (whose expression hasn't changed), I head back to work.

"Does this mean I have to explain everything to you again?" I hear Sherlock ask his friend as I leave.

"You never explained it to me the first time," his exasperated friend reminds him.

A/N: Sorry if there are any Americanisms. I couldn't help, but think if Sherlock talks to John when he is not even there, this wouldn't be a huge leap.