Hello once again. Here's the start of the Sequel to 'A Poisoned Woman'. I'd suggest that you'd read that before this, but it doesn't matter if you don't. It's your choice, of course. Any way, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of a new Fanfiction from a Fandom that I, sadly, do not own. All rights go to SACD and the BBC.

Train-ed Killer

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had solved many crimes together in their time of living with one another in their flat in London. Especially before all of the Jim Moriarty cases spilled up and caused Sherlock's 'death'. Three years he remained hiding out of his friend's life trying to keep him and the others around him safe from Moriarty's men. But then he returned. They both knew that their relationship would never be the same as it once was, but they continued to strive to make it better no matter what.

Now, one year after Sherlock returned,John is married to Mary. Sherlock was his best man during the service. And one old enemy is about to return, continuing what they have wanting to do for the past five years. Their plan was interrupted by Sherlock's untimely 'death', so they could not fulfil their want. But now Sherlock has returned and they will have their revenge against him. Moriarty is dead, what more could Sherlock do. But now Sherlock isn't the same as he once was. What has happened to him, or what is happening? And how will it affect his powers in defeating an old enemy?

Chapter 1

Accused

John was visiting 221B as he usually did most mornings to see Sherlock about any new cases that there may be for them to throw themselves into. This morning though, something was different. There were no gunshots from upstairs. No sound of Sherlock shouting at himself or at the wall. No experiments awaiting John as he climbed the stairs. Sherlock's presence, in fact, was nowhere to be seen.

"Sherlock?" John shouted for him, continuing to look around.

Eventually, after much shouting, he plucked up the courage to go into his friend's room, knowing how dangerous this could be for him. "Sherlock, I'm coming in." John bounded into Sherlock's room not knowing that he hadn't locked it. Why hadn't he? Inside John found Sherlock in bed, covering his legs with the duvet. "Good morning." He couldn't understand why Sherlock wasn't up, considering he was usually awake at the stupidest of times in the morning when John had lived there with him. Sherlock, however, didn't stir. He wore his pyjamas and blue dressing gown in the bed, making sure that the dressing gown wrapped around his frame. He was curled into a ball clutching his knees tightly into his chest. Something was definitely wrong with him and John knew it. His hair was scruffier then usual, but the bouncing curls were still there. His face was covered in the dark tangles, his eyes tightly shut. "Sherlock?" John asked as he approached his friend. "Are you okay?" He pulled a piece of hair out of Sherlock's face, and jumped slightly when he saw a pair of icy-blue eyes, open wide, staring straight at him. Apart from that, Sherlock didn't move any part of his body. His eyes stared forward and refused to even flinch. John moved his hand and started it place it on Sherlock's forehead. "You look very pale-"

Sherlock grabbed John by the wrist and tightened his grip. "Do. Not. Touch. Me." John could see the anger practically dripping from Sherlock's eyes. He threw John's hand away and replaced himself to his foetal position. John was scared; he had never seen Sherlock like this before.

John gulped before replying, "Is there something wrong, Sherlock?" Sherlock's eyes moved to look right at John again. John stood up and moved back in fear of something happening to him, he knew what Sherlock could do.

"Oh, I'm fine John. There's nothing wrong with me..." The last time Sherlock had said that to John was during the Hound of the Baskerville case; he was truly terrified of his emotions at that point. Sherlock's eyes looked John up and down, he then rose from his position to tower over his friend. "Why would you think that something is wrong?" His face was emotionless and his frame held well, but John could see the thirst behind his eyes.

John held his hands up to stop his friend from coming any closer to him, but Sherlock continued to walk forward. "Sherlock. I was only trying to help you." Sherlock's head tilted, it was as if he was possessed.

"Is that what you call it? 'Helping'..." Without John even knowing how he'd got hold of it, Sherlock lifted a knife towards his throat. "Will Mary miss you, John?" John didn't flinch as the knife was pressed deeper into his neck.

"I think the question is, will you miss me?" John was brave and still standing tall.

"That's not the problem, John."

"What is the problem, Sherlock?" John still remained clam even though the knife was still pressing deeper.

"What is the problem?" Sherlock sounded angry now, his emotions were getting the better of him. "You want to know what the problem is." Sherlock removed the knife slightly, changing the angle. "You."

"Me?"

"Oh yes, John. The final problem is," Sherlock stabbed the knife into the wall behind John making sure that it rattled in John's ear when it hit. "You!" Sherlock walked away from John and got back into bed, he wasn't surprised that John never flinched. He was an ex-soldier after all. When he looked over at Sherlock after standing contemplating whether Sherlock could actually kill him or not, he saw that Sherlock had returned to his exact position from before. This time though, his eyes were closed again. John couldn't manage any words to Sherlock, so he left the flat in silence, saying a quick 'goodbye and good luck' to Mrs Hudson as he ran out of the door. She would need it the way that he was behaving today.

Mrs Hudson walked upstairs trying her luck with Sherlock. "Good morning, Sherlock. I've brought you your nicotine patched, just like you-what are you doing?" Mrs Hudson walked into Sherlock's room to find him hanging from the ceiling. "That's not a good experiment for you to do, you know." To most people he would look like he had just hung himself, however Mrs Hudson had worried about it several times before, so this time she was used to it.

"Why not? There's nothing else to do in this godforsaken place."

"You're going to ruin that, you know dear." Sherlock huffed and let himself drop.

"Don't tempt me, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock was standing by the window, his dressing gown half hanging from his shoulder. Mrs Hudson left the patches on his pillow and started to walk away. "What did John say to you as he left?" She stopped.

"He said goodbye-"

"And?" Sherlock had taken the knife from the wall and was twisting it in his hand.

"Good luck. What is that supposed to mean." Sherlock started to move closer. "There's nothing to be lucky about."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Sherlock asked her. His hands were behind his back, so she couldn't see the ever turning knife.

"Well, you're not a monster, Sherlock, so I don't see any dangers in this flat that I would need luck for." Mrs Hudson walked forward and placed her hand onto Sherlock's cheek. She stroked it lightly with her thumb, wiping some dirt off. Sherlock walked away from her in a sulk. "No cases then, I suppose. Don't worry, Sherlock. Something interesting will turn up soon, I'm sure of it." Mrs Hudson told him as she walked out of his room and back downstairs.

"Oh, but there's something happening right now, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock was standing back at the window, his hand resting on the frame as he leant against it. His eyes wandered across the streets that he could see from his room looking for John, if he could see him. But John was long gone and nothing outside was interesting. "Yours and everyone else's petty minds just can't see it yet." Sherlock walked into the bathroom and started to change, he knew that Lestrade would be here soon. Better dress for the occasion.

Meanwhile, John had returned to Mary's safety. "I'm home, Mary." His voice trembling slightly; now was the time that he could let out what he truly felt when Sherlock attacked him. Mary came out of the kitchen and stared at John for a few seconds, knowing that something has happened to him. She could see it in his eyes.

"What happened?" Mary asked John as she pulled him close to her. "You're shaking, John. What happened?" In her protection, John tried to hold back the tears that could that could easily have formed in his eyes by now. He wanted to remain strong and brave, even if it was just for Mary's comfort. "John."

"Sherlock is just acting a bit strange, that's all." John tried to say to her, but Mary wasn't having any of it. She shook her head at his reply telling him that she didn't believe him. "What?" She pushed him out slightly so that they could see each other.

"We're married, John. I need you to be honest with me. Especially when it comes to Sherlock Holmes." Mary then noticed the red blood mark on John's neck where the knife that Sherlock held pierced his skin. "What's this?"

"Oh it's nothing."

"That's not good enough. Please John."

John cleared his throat before beginning. "Sherlock was acting strangely-"

"By doing what, exactly?"

"He was still in bed." Mary laughed, even though she was trying to hold it back. "There's always something wrong if Sherlock Holmes is still in bed at this hour. He looked very pale and half-dead if ask me. It was the way he was laying. I went to put my hand on his forehead, a regular temperature check, when he grabbed my wrist." John showed Mary his wrist, that was bruising that Sherlock hadn't seen. "It's alright." He told her as she held his wrist. "He told me, well shouted, that I can't touch him. I started to back away and that's when, he jumped out of bed and somehow got hold of a knife. Eventually, I was backed against the wall and he had a knife pressed against my throat." The memories caused John to scrape slightly at his neck wound. "He told me that I was the problem."

"The problem?"

"The final problem. I believe that Moriarty said that to him once... Before the, erm."

"Before the fall?" John nodded, so Mary pulled him in again to continue hugging him properly.

"He stabbed the wall with the knife, Mary. Right next to my ear. I can still hear what he intended me to hear; the shatter of the wall as the knife hit." John buried his head into Mary's hair and held her tightly.

"You're phoning Greg, right now. He needs to know about this." John pushed away and shook his head. There was slight terror behind his eyes now, and Mary could see that. "Why not?" John licked his lips slightly, his breathing increasing.

"No, Mary, I can't." Mary looked at him with questioning eyes. "He-He asked me whether you'd miss me or not." Before John could do anything Mary had picked up the phone and dialled 999.

"Hello. Can I speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade, please. He works at Scotland Yard, yes." John placed his hands on top of his head and rubbed his fingers through his hair. He couldn't believe what had happened to him already today. "Greg? It's Mary Watson. Yes, it's lovely to speak to you too." She paused for a second. "Where are you?" Mary then walked forward to John and placed the phone where both of them could hear it. "You're already at the flat? That was quick, we hadn't even phoned you about it yet. What?" John grabbed the phone from Mary's hand.

"You're arresting him for what?" John looked at Mary and mouthed 'he's being arrested for some train crime'. Her eyes twitched, Sherlock had been his flat the whole time, hadn't he? "Wait for me."

"I'm sorry, John. We're outside and about to go in. We can't wait for you." Lestrade told him down the other end of the phone.

"Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can any way. You need to explain everything to me because you remember what happened the last time you arrested him for something he didn't do."

"We'll see you soon then, John. Take care."

"Oh, and Lestrade. Be careful. He has a knife and he's not afraid to use it." John didn't know why he'd said it in that way, but it was better for him to know that Sherlock could be armed. He hung up the phone and replaced it onto the stand. "Mary, I'm going out." She sighed at him.

"After what he's done to you this morning?" Mary asked him with concern. "You can't trust him John. I'm surprised that you forgave him after what he put he put you through. Three years, John, three years." John moved towards Mary and held her hands in his.

"And if it wasn't for those three years that Sherlock Holmes didn't screw up my relationships, we wouldn't be together and married, would we?" John smiled at his wife and received a smile back. He kissed her forehead and then ran out the door for 221B.

Sherlock sat waiting in his chair. He was playing his violin a few minutes previously, but now he decided to stop because of the ever-growing crowd outside. It was just like before. "Every single officer you've ever made feel like a tit is queuing outside to slap on the handcuffs." John's comment from four years ago kept spinning in Sherlock's head. He could hear the knock on the door downstairs so strapped his scarf around his neck. When Mrs Hudson, yet again, tried to stop them and warn them away from the stairs, Sherlock placed his coat upon himself.

"Sherlock." Lestrade started when he entered Sherlock's flat, to find him standing facing away from him.

"It's time, isn't it." Lestrade nodded so that Sherlock could see him in the mirror, his eyes telling him that he was sorry for what he was about to do. For what he had to do, again.

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of six people on a train from Brighton to London last night. You have the right to remain silent. You do not have to say anything. Anything you do say, however, will be used if you refuse to answer a question you later rely on in court." Lestrade placed the handcuffs on Sherlock's wrists, trying not to hurt him too much. This time, compared to the last time, Anderson and Donovan came into the flat trying to make their point.

"Fix it this time, smart ass." Anderson punched Sherlock round the face, trying to make him feel as stupid as possible for being caught.

"We won't let you get away this time, freak. There's no John Watson to save you either." Sally Donovan started to taunt Sherlock now too. He didn't care though, maybe he deserved it.

"Don't be so sure." John was now standing in the doorway, his arms folded. Sherlock smirked slightly, now John would moan about what happened earlier, surely? "Six murders in one night, on one specific train? I'm sorry Lestrade, but Sherlock was with Mary and I last night. He most certainly wasn't in Brighton to have been able to get the train back here to have killed those people." Sherlock didn't move, it was as if he wanted this to happen.

"Oh please John." Sherlock mumbled.

"Come on, take him away." Anderson shouted, so Sherlock was viciously shoved down the stairs and slammed onto a police car.

"Why was Mary calling me any way, John? Surely it was important if she asked me why I was already here." John shook his head, he didn't want Lestrade to know, especially since Sherlock was already I enough trouble. "Do I have to call her and ask?"

"I was calling because Sherlock attacked my husband." Mary was standing in the hallway watching everything.

"No Mary, please. Lestrade it was nothing." Mary walked towards John and lifted his head up so that Greg could see the cut across John's neck. She then pulled his sleeve back so that the bruising on his wrist could also be seen. "It's fine, honestly." John too remembered how everything went four years ago when Sherlock was accused of the kidnap. He didn't want that to happen again. John raised his hands, Lestrade flinched at his actions. "Oh, you think-right." He once again brushed his hands through his hair, ruffling it as he walked down the stairs. "Come along Mary. We're following that car!" John jumped into the car that Mary drove here in and turned the engine on. Mary followed, hopping into the passenger's side. The car then whizzed away, following the police car that Sherlock was in.

At the police station, John was stopped before he could go inside by Anderson. "Oh, sorry. Your little sociopath can't come out and play today. Try again tomorrow."

"Anderson he's not even putting up a fight. He's letting you walk all over him, even though he hasn't done anything wrong. Can't you see that?" John stared up at Anderson slightly, watching as he started to laugh.

"Can't you see that I will continue to suspect him until we have proof that it wasn't him that kidnapped those children four years ago-"

"No. His name was cleared, Anderson. You really need to get over this grudge that you have against him because he's a good man. Granted it's when he wants to be." John snapped at him, noticing how his eyes rolled. It wasn't exactly hidden from him. "He 'died' for my safety. For Mrs Hudson's safety. For Lestrade's safety. If he hadn't sacrificed himself that day, then none of us would be here today. We would have all been shot, Anderson. Now I know that probably doesn't mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me." Lestrade walked behind Anderson, without him even realising his approach.

"I should kill you right here and now just to prove that your precious little freak can't protect you any more." John's eyes kept flicking to the man that stood behind Anderson, but he didn't ever get the picture. "What are you going to do about it, John? You can't do anything."

"No, I can't." John's head drooped slightly. Anderson laughed knowing that he had power over John. "But he can." His arm lifted so that he was pointing at Lestrade behind the man in front of him.

"Anderson." Anderson's eyes widened, he knew that he was in for it now. " I am officially suspending you from the force for the next two months." Anderson now turned to face his boss. His hands remained in his pockets and he tried to remain calm.

"Sir-"

"No complaints. John doesn't deserve this kind of crap from you right now. His friend who appeared from the dead a year ago has just threatened to take his life. And now he's in custody for something I know that he didn't do." Anderson's eyes opened wider. "Don't look at me like that. Now, badge, gun, handcuffs." Anderson handed them to him in a strop. "Goodbye. Collect your stuff." John looked the man up and down and then smiled. Anderson pushed past Lestrade and walked to the changing rooms in order to collect everything. "And you." Lestrade pointed at John. "You better not cause too much trouble for me here today." John smiled and followed his friend inside.

"You do realise that Sherlock isn't even resisting. He had no plan of escape this time and here he is, in custody."

"Yes John. Do you think he wants to be here?"

"Originally, I think that he thought you were arresting him for his attack on me."

"He should still get charged for that, John." Mary appeared by John's side and decided to put her point into the conversation.

"No. There's something wrong with him. Sherlock Holmes does not stay in bed until 08:30. It's literally impossible for him to sleep for three hours. He was frozen, Lestrade. In his bed, he didn't even blink. He wouldn't try and kill me either, he just wouldn't." Lestrade listened but he was still was confused as to what John was trying to tell him. "There's something wrong in his mind. It isn't working to his normal high functioning standard, and that's what's killing him. He was almost dead earlier, I know he was." All three of them stopped and looked at each other. "Can I see him?"

"I'll give you a few minutes, but that's it." John was pleased with that, expecting that he would probably think that he was trying to help Sherlock to escape. "Let him in." Lestrade ordered the officer on the door as John approached Sherlock's cell.

"Thanks." John started to walk into the cell and turned around. "No. Nobody else, please. It has to be on my own." Lestrade nodded placing his hand on Mary's shoulder.

"Come Mary, we'll get you a cup of tea." Mary allowed John to do this, so she followed Lestrade.

"Thank you." John turned back into the cell to his friend curled up in the corner, head in lap and clutching his legs tightly to himself. John jumped slightly when the cell door slammed shut, turning back to to the door watching the officer's face disappear. When he looked back at Sherlock, his face was looking up at John with the same expression as this morning. However he looked worse, even more colour had drained from his face. It made Sherlock's cheekbones stick out more, making him look more like a skeleton than an alive human.

"They let you in them. Allowed you to come and taunt me, before you increase my charges by telling them about that." John clutched his neck without realising what Sherlock was trying to do. "You should just say that I almost killed you and then be done with it. You may leave." John removed his hand from his neck and walked towards his friend. Sherlock watched as he approached, not even moving when he came to kneel next to him.

"I've told Lestrade that I'm not charging you for this," John held his wrist to show him what damage he had done. "and you'll pleased to know that Anderson has been suspended." Sherlock chuckled slightly.

"Threatened to kill you, didn't he." Sherlock looked at John with one of his smug glances. He knew that he was correct, but he enjoyed the looks that John would give him when he was baffled by Sherlock's response to things. "They shouldn't have let you in here with me, John. I'm surprised you were allowed in here before the questioning. That's a bit suspicious."

"I'm surprised too, to be honest with you, Sherlock. But I know that they're listening to us right now to check if I'm helping you to escape. However, we do have still have some friends on the force. Lestrade would let me in here without any regrets."

"Why would you do that? I have nothing to escape from. I did not kill those six people on that train because, as you said, I spent most of the night with yourself and Mary. So, I don't see why I should be kept in here like an animal, when I have nothing. To. Hide." John had moved back slightly, this was turning into another one of Sherlock's episodes.

"What evidence do they have?" Sherlock hummed. "They must have some evidence to say that it was you, because otherwise, you can't be here." Sherlock's look remained the same, still full of hatred, anger and the hunger that still beckoned him in the back of his mind.

"Signature." Sherlock mumbled.

"A what?"

"A signature, John. My signature." John looked him up and down. "Someone killed those people on the train and is trying to get me to take the custodial sentence for them, by using my signature."

"Did the police tell you that?"

"No, but it's obvious. They didn't check my flat for anything because they don't need evidence as to support their claim. Conclusion, they already have it."

"But you weren't there so how did-" The cell door locked. "Oh, Jesus." John rummaged his hand through his hair again, slumping himself down the wall so he sat next to Sherlock. "They found my signature as well, didn't they?" Sherlock nodded still facing where John stood before. "So, hello. I'm your new cell mate." John could see that this didn't amuse Sherlock in the slightest. "Why didn't they just arrest me on the spot?"

"It was easier for them if you came here on your own accord. Simple really. Shame people like you can't use their brains, John." Sherlock looked John up and down as he sat next him. "Are you upset about something?" He asked after exactly five minutes and forty two seconds of both men sitting in silence next to each other.

John jumped up from where he sat and started to pace around the cell, his hands flying around him as he spoke. "First you try and kill me, which is extreme considering four years ago you 'killed' yourself to save my life. Then you get arrested and I can't do anything to stop it because we have no proof that you were actually with us last night. And now, I'm arrested as well, for something I know that I most certainly didn't do . And you just insulted my intelligence, again. So I'm not having a brilliant day, no. Which makes my brain twirl I so many directions I don't know which way it wants to take me. This person is walking around free, just like Moriarty did. And look how that turned out." John stood next to the wall now, his fist smashing against it to show his anger.

"I take that as a presumptuous yes." Sherlock mumbled.

"Of course it's a fuc-"

"Get your hands off me!" A woman's voice rattled through the cell.

"Ah, they've got Molly now I believe."

"Molly Hooper? Yes, she's in the cell next to those two freaks."

Molly's voice could be heard throughout the corridor of cells, she was here too? However she put up more of an attempt to not be than Sherlock had done. "You have no right in doing this Sally."

"Oh, Donovan. She is probably responsible for all of this, isn't she?" John asked Sherlock, his friend still hadn't moved.

"Molly, you're arrested now. All of your rights, apart from having certain hygienic utensils and a lawyer, have all gone. Now shut up and get in." The cell door next to John and Sherlock's slammed shut.

Molly wouldn't give up her fight though, "I demand a lawyer! This is against my human rights." Before John could shout anything to Molly to get her to calm down, their own cell door opened showing two heavily armed men. Sherlock stood up and held his arms behind his back. One of the men walked forward, turning Sherlock around and slapping the handcuffs on tight around his wrists. John followed Sherlock's movements, not wanting to be split up. When both of the men were cuffed they were shoved out of the cell and into the corridor, where they could hear Molly still kicking against the door. "Let me out! I haven't done anything to anyone!"

"Molly, I think you bets be quiet." Sherlock shouted at her, they would all get into far more trouble if she didn't quieten down.

"Sherlock? What's going on? Why are we being held here?"

"Molly, just keep calm about all of this." John said, trying to show her some comfort.

"John? Who's next, Irene Adler?" As soon as Molly finished her sentence, John and Sherlock saw another familiar face.

"Apparently so." Sherlock said as Irene was pushed past them into Molly's cell.

"Irene Adler is still alive. Wow. You must help her a lot." Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's response to Irene.

"Oh fantastic. I even get a cell mate in this place, how exciting." Irene was obviously not too keen on sharing with Molly, for she knew of Molly's feelings for Sherlock. They both had them, and neither was prepared to admit it. "And it's Molly Hooper, even more fantastic." Irene's voice trailed off as the door shut.

"Will she be okay?" John asked Sherlock as they continued their walk towards their separate rooms.

"I'm sure that Irene Adler can manage Molly Hooper sharing a cell with her for a few days." Was Sherlock's reply.

"No I'm talking about Moll-It doesn't matter." John looked around for a few moments and then asked, "Where are we going, exactly?" Sherlock was silent once more, so John eventually followed. At the end of the next corridor they were shuffled into two different rooms in order for the police to ask some questions. Sherlock was placed into the chair and then de-cuffed carefully, the door closing quietly behind Lestrade. It was typical that Sherlock managed to get the officer that both men trusted. John, on the other hand, was shoved onto the chair, de-cuffed without concern and then the door was slammed behind Detective Inspector Dimmock.

"Hello, John Watson. Do you remember me?" John looked the man up and down. Of course he remembered, he assisted in 'The Blind Banker' case. As John remembered, he was Lestrade's replacement.

"Have you caught any more of those Chinese smugglers from the Black Lotus, yet?" Dimmock shook his head.

"We're not here about them though, are we? Will you please write your signature down here next to a block print of your name and your normal handwriting. I'd advise you not to fake this information, otherwise your sentence could be extended if proven guilty." Dimmock told him as he slipped a piece of paper where John could reach it. John did as he was asked, allowing Dimmock to take back the paper quickly. He then whispered to the men around him clarifying some evidence. "Where were you at 21:58 yesterday evening?"

"With Mary, my wife, and Sherlock at the cinema. We went to see the new Star Trek film. It was rather good actually, but Sherlock was getting annoyed at the actor playing John Harrison apparently, and I quote 'Letting his emotions foil his acting skills'. I thought that they could relate, but that's just me."

"Enough about the film, Doctor Watson."

"Oh yes, sorry. I seem to have gotten side-tracked. Any way, as for Molly and Irene Adler, I don't know where either of them were. Molly was probably at work still; she usually stays there later. Irene Adler I would never know because I didn't even know she was still alive. Always scheming herself into trouble, I lost track." John looked at Dimmock and waited for the next question.

"Ever been to Brighton, Doctor Watson? It's a lovely place."

"I've been once in my entire life-"

"And that was last night, was it not?"

"When I was five and visiting my mother's friend, yes. But not since, no. Mary and I were planning to go there for a day trip, but that's it." John once again looked up, seeing how he'd just twisted everyone's minds. He was enjoying being the dominant one in the room for once, it was usually Sherlock's job to be that person.

"Do you recognise any of the following names? If you do not, please shake your head. If you do, please nod and wait for us to ask for you to explain your knowing of this person. Bradley Foster." John shook his head in response. "Lieutenant Mitchell James." John's eyes widened as he nodded to the name. "What does he mean to you?"

"We served together in Afghanistan, I believe. He helped me get out of the way of fire a couple of times and then I patched him up. We were both injured at the same time, roundabout, and were both sent home on the same flight." John paused and looked at his hands that were clasped together. "After all of that time of fighting together, I ended up living 'happily' with my wife. And his wife lost her husband on a train after some person took his life away from him." He waited for the next name but it didn't come. "You may continue."

"Susan Fisher." John shook his head. "Ashleigh Murphy?" He looked up.

"Male or female? I need to know!"

"Female. Does this name mean something to you then?" Dimmock crossed his arms and sat down in the chair opposite John. With each name there either came a new link, or a further disappointment.

John nodded and began, "I recognise the name and from my memory, the pieces seem to fit. Ahsleigh and I used to date when we studied at Bart's Hospital. We were on the same course. Then when we completed it, she moved to Brighton and we split up. A couple of years later I went to Afghanistan and we lost touch. I know that her sister lives here in London though. Just so I know that it's her, did the Ashleigh you find have eyes the colour of the palest blue that the sky can turn? If so, I know that is the Ashleigh I once dated." Dimmock nodded, writing down everything John said. He then looked for a picture of her.

"Is this your Ashleigh?" He asked handing John the picture. John nodded and returned the picture to Dimmock's hand. "Thomas Smith." John shook his head once more. "And finally, Marie Kingston." John's head shot up to meet with Dimmock's sight. He then nodded. "Who is she?"

"Well, she's not supposed to be alive. Do you have a picture of her?" John was surprised, surely Marie Kingston had died of her tumour by now?

"Yes sure. Here you go. I mean her face is a bit mashed up, but." Dimmock handed John the picture of Marie Kingston. He couldn't tell who she was; her was truly smashed.

"Did she have a necklace in her possessions that had lots of trinkets on it? I believe that there was a lab coat, S, H, a riding crop, a mobile phone, a red cross with JW engraved on the back, a mug, a blue feather. And some others. It was a few years ago that I saw her last, but it was pretty full then." Dimmock handed John a picture of the necklace found on the body, it was her. "She should have been dead a couple of years ago." The men al looked at him suspiciously. "She had a brain tumour, only two years left to live the last time that Sherlock and I met her. But now she's dead on a train from last night. Bit odd."

"How did you know her, though? You've told us that she should be dead, but how do you know her?" One of the men behind Dimmock asked.

"I was living at 221B Baker Street at the time with Sherlock Holmes. Our land lady, Mrs Hudson, had a granddaughter named Scarlett Hines. She 'died' from a brain tumour, but mysteriously was still alive. We were at her funeral when we met Irene Adler, Jim Moriarty and Marie Kingston. Sherlock went to talk to Marie and found out it was Scarlett still alive in disguise. Adler and Moriarty shot me, then poisoned Sherlock. But Marie, well Scarlett, swapped the poison making sure it wasn't fatal. Then she left and threatened to get revenge on Sherlock for 'splitting up' with her." John had gone into a Sherlock talking mode, so it was hard for them men in the room to keep up. "Here she is now, although she's supposed to have died from her tumour a couple of years back."

"Thank you for that information." Dimmock finished writing everything down and then asked, "Have you ever seen this before?" He handed John a photo of his 'supposed' signature.

"Is this supposed to be mine? Because it's not mine, and never has been. Where's the rest of your evidence against me, then?" Dimmock looked at John's signature and the one that he handed him in the photograph. They had checked the signature John gave and it came out clear. "They are not the same. Neither is the handwriting and believe me, I would not be able to write that stylistically is this is my handwriting. It's too good for it to be my second writing style, that's all I'm saying. Also, whoever wrote this is left handed. I am not." John looked at every one of the men in the room, in turn. They all looked at each other trying to figure out what had just happened. "Can I go?" John sat smiling in his chair, arms folded and continuing to look at the men. The door then opened allowing John to leave. "Thank you." He said as he left the room. Now he wanted to find out who had done this and why they had, but he was happy with what he had said in the room.

When John reached reception to collect his stuff, Mary ran forward almost jumping upon him. He hugged her back smiling into her hair. "I don't understand, what did they want from you?" John pulled back so Mary could see him clearly.

"They've accused myself, Sherlock, Molly Hooper and Irene Adler of murdering those six people on the train. All of our 'signatures' were found written in blood with our names in similar writing as each of the others, written underneath on pieces of card that hung around their necks." John collected his phone and keys making sure that the police hadn't hacked it. "Similar handwriting, Mary. They must have all been done by the same person trying to cover it up with slightly different writing styles. I know each of our styles and none of them, not even Irene's, match with the ones in the photo." Just before John could say any more, Sherlock's door opened with Sherlock being dragged out of it. His eyes were already black and he had a lot of obvious pain on his body. "Excuse me, but he needs treatment." John walked forward towards his friend as he stood against the wall.

"There's no need, John. I heard that you cleared all of our names in a few sentences, both out here and in your room." Sherlock attempted to smile but he couldn't manage it. He spat some blood instead and wiped the blood that was dripping from his nose. "Sally wasn't having any of what I was saying. She got every officer in there to beat me until I admitted it. Either that, or I 'died', again."

"What about Lestrade?"

"What about him?" Sherlock snapped, taking his keys and phone from a lady that stood beside John. He then snatched his coat and scarf out of her hand and told her, "I hope your date goes well tonight, although. He is with someone else, so it's bit pointless what you're doing." The woman looked at him and then ran away, Sherlock's expression not changing like it usually would.

"He set me up and then he just stood there watching you taking a pounding." John turned Sherlock around.

"Oh no, John. He set you up and then punched me the most out of all the men." Sherlock left the building, not waiting for anyone. "We have to be back tomorrow to get our case. I'll see you here at 9, shall I?" Sherlock pulled his coat and scarf around himself and hailed down a taxi, hopping in before it'd even stopped.

"Case?" John mumbled to himself and then turned back towards the cells to see Irene Adler and Molly walking out on their own. Molly ran towards John and threw herself into him, hugging tightly. "What's this for?" John asked her politely, but with a confused tone.

"You cleared our names." Molly beamed at him. "And for that I'm grateful."

"You're welcome. It was rather simple really, we're all right handed, but that was written in-I'm sorry I'm starting to sound like Sherlock. I just need to go and see Lestrade." John pushed Molly away from him and ran for Lestrade's office.

"I'm actually on my lunch break, John. Can it wait?"Lestarde was surprised when John pinned him in his chair, there was so many things that John wanted to say but couldn't.

So he settled with, "No. You set me up, accused me of killing people and then you beat Sherlock up. And now I have a lead, so you're going to listen to me." He let Lestrade swing back to his normal position of the chair. "The killer is left handed. Neither me nor the others are left handed. None of us. Whoever the killer is, they didn't risk their non-writing hand so they used their own hand. Their left." John waved his left hand in the air. "Look. You can see the slight smudging as they move their hand across. It's only slight, but they wrote it out in pencil first to make sure the signatures were correctly done." Lestrade listened, and he listened well. He wasn't used to this from John; it was a new experience.

"Of course. But the signatures weren't correct. We've checked each one that you've all provided and they check out as yours. Why would you change it just for this? It doesn't make sense!" John smiled at him and pointed.

"Exactly. All the writing is similar, too similar to be different. Therefore it's not our writing and our signatures would never match our signatures with that writing. Figure that one out." John was smiling away at Lestrade, happy that he could actually do what Sherlock does, sometimes. Even if it was for a few little details.

"Very good, John. Now all we need to find is everything of importance. And for that we need the crime scene." Sherlock had suddenly turned up at the door, just like he always does, and put his thoughts into the conversation. They were not exactly wanted because both John and Lestrade were managing fine, but Sherlock didn't care. "What? After hours of sitting in an empty cell, you don't think that I already figured that out?" Sherlock looked the two other men up and down, they each looked suspicious of him.

"I don't think you did, you hadn't seen the pictures when we were in the cell." John folded his arms, had Sherlock actually seen them and then lied to John to make himself look more impressive?

"I didn't have to see the pictures, only observe the possibilities before I saw them. Does that make sense to you?" John rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. "What did I say?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Greg." John met Mary in the foyer and they both walked out of the building into their car. He obviously didn't want to think about today very much so wanted to go home and clear his mind before the real 'fun' started tomorrow.

Sherlock turned back to Lestrade and asked, "So you're still calling yourself 'Greg'? What a stupid name." Sherlock left the room.

"That is my name-Oh. Never mind." Lestrade shouted after him, it wouldn't make any difference. Sherlock wouldn't listen to him any way.

As Sherlock left the building he was pushed against the wall outside by a small, slick hand. He rolled his eyes and pushed the person off him. "Don't you have something better to do than bother me with your little games?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well, no. You're the most interesting person around, and Molly wasn't that fun in the cell. So, I'm bored. Let's have dinner." Irene stood glaring at him, Sherlock rose an eyebrow at her. "I heard that it was John Watson that got us all out, not you. No that surprises me, is it true?" Sherlock looked her up and down.

"Yes, look at me. Do I look like I talked any sense to them in that room? This is how my brother treated Moriarty when he had him captive, I believe." Since this morning, Sherlock's expression remained the same as it was. Blank and cold. He didn't care about anything or anyone, that's why he attacked John.

"How are the nightmares going? You're having them aren't you. Is it the drugs? Cigarettes? John not always being by your side to wipe your ass?" Sherlock grabbed Irene around the neck and pushed her into the wall, making sure that he pressed tightly. "If you kill me; Molly Hooper will die."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." Irene whispered. "I crushed one of these pills into her drink, she swallowed a pill full of explosives. If I flick this switch then-"

"Kaboom. I see." Sherlock pulled away, dropping Irene onto the ground. His face still didn't change, something was definitely wrong. "So you blackmail me, yet again. Old. Boring. Predictable." Sherlock grabbed the knife from Irene's pocket without her knowing, getting in as close as he could and whispering, "You. Repel. Me." He then turned away from her, but she wasn't having any of it. She turned him back to face her, slapped him and then pulled him in to kiss him. Sherlock squirmed in her grasp letting the knife drop from his hand.

"Thank you." Irene whispered against his lips before walking away and picking the knife up. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Oh, Lestrade asked yourself and Molly to help in our enquiries and investigations. Brilliant..." Sherlock stormed past Irene, making sure that he knocked her in the process. "Oh I'm sorry. I'm Sherlock Holmes the clever detective with a funny hat." He then smiled sarcastically at her and hailed down a taxi. Irene pulled his arm.

"Why did you save me?"

"It seemed like the 'kind' thing to do at the time." Sherlock smiled once again sarcastically. "Laters!" He called to her getting into the cab. Irene was left shocked and open mouthed on the pavement. He remembered what she had said to him all those years ago, and he still chose to ignore her. Of course he did. How typical of him. Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock. Holmes." Irene whispered to herself.

I apologise that it's so long, but when I start writing I just can't stop. If you have any ideas of how you would like the next chapter, which is on the train, to go then please leave me some ideas. I'll try and update next weekend. Thank you for reading.