I don't anything. Some very luck people do though...

Just an idea swimming around in my head

Kitty Riley smiled at the girl sitting across from her. She was an American who'd come over to do a story on the real Sherlock Holmes. They'd been in the café for about an hour discussing the information, the article she'd wrote, and Richard Brooke.

"So…I'm just…slightly confused," the American said, "Mr. Brooke gave you all this information, but…I suppose things are different in American…did you actually research Mr. Holmes? You know talk to family, school friends, look at any records?" Kitty rolled her eyes.

"No Richard Brooke's gave me proof that Sherlock Holmes paid him."

"Well, it just seems like poor journalism." Kitty coughed, choking on her tea. This American had spunk.

"And do you not feel somewhat guilty? Your actions, your discussion to expose this truth…resulted in a murder and a death. Am I right? So it's safe to say your role as a journalist…isn't really about protecting the people with the news they need. It's about doing what it takes to get a story. Am I right?"

"Ms. Singerson, are you trying to insinuate something?" Kitty asked. There was something nagging in the back of her mind.

"No," Ms. Singerson smiled, "I have my proof right here." She held a photo up of Kitty, in what one would call a compromising position, with Richard Brook.

"How the hell-"

"-And a bank statement show a large amount of money was deposited into your account." Ms. Singerson smiled. Kitty looked down at the picture and bank statement. She looked up at Ms. Singerson with confusion and surprise.

"What do you want?"

"You read Dr. Watson's blog right? You remember A study in Pink? the word carved into the floor board?" Kitty's face fell. A wave a nausea washed over her.

"You want to kill me?" Ms. Singerson laughed.

"No. I don't want to kill you. I would like you reprimanded for bad journalism. Whore like you ruined my parents. So…I would love to implore medieval torture methods on you. But no, I don't wish to kill you. Mild torture yes. Death no. But…" she stressed the -, "That's not my decision. That's yours." Kitty gulped hard. "See there's a man with a gun on the roof top over there. Aimed at you. And he can see the information on the table. So…this is the crossroads we're left at…you can walk outside and get shot down and I along with you…or you can start talking telling me everything you know about Richard Brooks and get shot now sparing me." Ms. Singerson sat back and smiled casually drinking her tea.

Kitty frowned as she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. This couldn't be. That basterd had killed himself. He promised that with her cooperation she'd be let go. She'd be safe. Full to live out a happy career. Unsure of what to do she took a sip of her cooling tea. Ms. Singer son smiled.

"What?" Kitty nervously asked.

"Your tea. That's the first sip you took. Sure that's the decision you wanted to make?" she raised an eyebrow. Kitty looked down at her drink as she felt her heart thumping louder.

"What did you do to my tea?"

"I didn't do anything. But that tea may or may not have…shall we say…been exposed to a…chemical…that's going to poison you system. First its going to shut your kidneys down…then you'll suffer blood positing so if the kidney's don't kill you then," she sighed, "Your heart will." She took a look sip of her tea. Kitty loosened the collar from around her neck. "Want the antipode?" kitty looked up at the American girl.

"What? Give it to me," she demanded.

"First…You have to come clean."

"What? I was present with information from a first hand account."

"Right. And you don't double check the information. See the picture…see the paper with the numbers on it? I too had a first hand account and then I did my fucking job and did the leg work and got my proof. You don't see me drinking poisoned tea." Ms. Singer son slammed her folder down on the table. "You've got 72 hours to get your shit strait. Tomorrow morning when I open the door to the hotel I'm staying in I want to read in my paper how you lied. How you recently discovered that the first hand account was nothing more than a fraud and you've discovered that Sherlock Holmes was in fact not a fraud and you're going to use all this information I gathered to prove it." Kitty didn't know if it was the poison or the realization that hit her that made her feel sick.

"But…if I do that…then I'll be discredited and I won't have a job." Ms. Singerson frowned.

"I know. Should I live? Or Should I die with my career intact? Choices choices choices. But you'll do this. Self preservation always wins out," Ms. Singerson stood grabbing her coach bag.

"But…if you leave the snipers…" Ms. Singerson laughed at her. Then with a mischievous smile she leaned over to look Kitty very closely in the eyes.

"They work for me." Kitty looked out the window and on the roof top. She couldn't see anything.

"That's it? You don't want a quote? When I write this article I'm gonna make sure they know you're the one who killed me. Anything you want to say so I can tell the cops?" Kitty moved closer to Ms. Singerson's face.

"You're not going to do that. Because the police…they work for me. And you don't want to die…so you'll type the article and I'll ready tomorrow morning while I drink my tea and eat jammy dodgers." She took a few steps away before pausing and looking back at the shaken journalist. "But if you really want a quote…" she smiled to herself mostly as she spoke, "You. Repel. ME." She winked and went to leave.

As Ms. Singerson stepped out into the rainy London rain she pulled put her phone and waited for it to ring. Answering it she quickly said,

"Operation Lazarus is a go."

She ended the call and looked up at the closes CCTV camera, blew a kiss and disappeared into the London crowd.