One: Alibi (Thirty Seconds to Mars)

No warning sign, no alibi

We faded faster than the speed of light

Took our chance, crashed and burned.

No we'll never ever learn.

"Sherlock, calm down! I told you, there's no way that he could have done it, we've got him on CCTV at the time of the murder!" Lestrade watched the younger man pace around the room, his dark coat flapping agitatedly behind him as he went.

"And I'm telling you, Lestrade, there is no one else that could have done this except for that man!" Sherlock threw an arm out and pointed a long finger at the frozen image on the screen. "It all fits together…he's the missing link! Why can't you get that into your head?"

"Because he has an airtight alibi, freak," Donovan said, pointing at the computer monitor. "He couldn't have been murdering that girl because he was right here the whole time."

"Maybe he doctored the tapes?" John said. The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but there they were.

Sherlock shook his head. "Impossible." With a growl of frustration, Sherlock flung open the office door and prowled down the hallways toward the interrogation rooms, Lestrade and company fast on his heels.

"I can't possibly let you go back in there, Sherlock," Lestrade said as they approached the room.

Sherlock fixed the older man with a weighty gaze. "Lestrade, just give me five minutes. Please." Lestrade blinked at him a couple of times before shaking his head and saying, "You've got three." Sherlock nodded in acquiescence and entered the room, John at his heels.

"Ah Mr. Holmes… you and your boyfriend come back for another round of 20 questions?" The man—Peter Holmgren—leered at the detective and the doctor as they came in. He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the table, and began to inspect his dirty fingernails.

Sherlock and John ignored the question. "I would like you to tell us why you murdered Theresa Langley last night, Mr. Holmgren." Sherlock's rumbly baritone betrayed none of the anger he felt. John stood at parade rest by his side, staring at the man across the table with his best Captain Watson glare.

Holmgren shrugged his shoulders. "I'd love to tell you, Holmes, but seeing as how I have an airtight alibi…" He threw up his hands. "It kinda ruins the story, don't you think?"

"All the trace evidence points back to you," Sherlock pressed.

"Does it now?" Holmgren sneered. "Well in that case I suggest you arrest me right away."

Sherlock did everything he could to stop himself from slamming his fists into the cocky murderer across from him. It all fit… but how did the bloody man manage to be in two places at once? He leaned over the table, putting his hands on both sides and leaning closer to Holmgren's smirking face.

"I don't know how you did it," Sherlock intoned in a low voice, "but I will figure it out and when I do… I will find you and I will end you."

"Do call before you come," Holmgren muttered cheekily. "I'll put on my best coat and hat." He gave the detective a wide, sarcastic grin. Sherlock stood up and stalked out the door, John following behind.

"That was effective," Donovan mocked as they exited. Sherlock threw her a look that was so murderous that Donovan actually flinched slightly. He strode towards the elevators, leaving John to say, "I'll call if he gets something." Lestrade nodded and watched the men exit the office.

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Sherlock was lying on the couch, his head propped up on John's warm thighs and his fingers steepled under his chin in his favorite thinking position. John was absentmindedly twining his fingers in Sherlock's ebony curls, lost in his own thoughts. He looked down at the detective's face and saw the tension from the case built up in every line that crossed the pale skin. He moved his fingers out of the curls and down to his face, gently trying to massage away the tension. Sherlock hummed in pleasure, but he kept his attention focused on the details of the case, willing John's magic fingers to somehow massage the answers out.

The two companions sat like this for approximately 45 minutes before John patted his partner's cheek lightly, leaned over to kiss his lips, and then stood up from the couch. Sherlock made a sound of disapproval.

"What are you doing, John?"

"We're out of milk and bread, Sherlock. I'm going to go to the market. Maybe I'll pick us up some food on the way home, yeah? You feel like Cantonese tonight?" John picked up the menu on his way to grab his coat, looking it over.

"But John…we haven't solved the case. I need you." John almost laughed out loud when he saw the near pout on Sherlock's face.

"You're just thinking, Sherlock, you don't need me to do that!"

"Your presence soothes me," Sherlock mumbled, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

John smiled brightly and walked over to give his brilliant companion a smooth, deep kiss on his pouty lips. "Sorry, Sherlock. But I'm hungry and you need to eat as well. If I had a clone, I'd send him to do this while I stayed home with you."

Clone. The word hit Sherlock like an atomic bomb, the last puzzle piece in his mind falling into place with a quiet snick.

"Clone…" Sherlock whispered.

"No, Sherlock, you cannot clone me. I'm afraid that global ethics committees would have a significant problem with human cloning." But John's face wrinkled into a frown as he saw the far-away look in Sherlock's eyes. That was his I'm-making-the-connection face.

John jumped when Sherlock suddenly cried, "That's it! That's how he did it!" Sherlock grabbed John's face between his hands and kissed the man's forehead before releasing him and jumping up to grab his coat.

"What are you talking about Sherlock?" John queried. "Holmgren… he didn't clone himself!"

"Of course not, John," Sherlock admonished, tying the scarf around his neck. "But what's the closest thing to human cloning that we can achieve?" He waggled his eyebrows at his partner.

John stared at him for a moment, the wheels in his mind churning. Then…it clicked. Oh.

"He's got a twin. An identical twin," John breathed. Sherlock's face split into a wide grin as he headed towards the door.

"Call Lestrade," he said. "Tell him to ask Holmgren what his twin's alibi for that night is!"

And with that, the consulting detective and his faithful blogger ran out the door and into the cool London night.