Set two years after The Reichenbach Fall, a mysterious acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes visits with every ounce of revenge in mind.

"You need to stop this, Jim. It's getting out of hand!" bellowed a female voice, the voice cracking slightly at the tone.

"Why stop when I'm having such fun?" replied Moriarty, sipping at his wine glass.

"People have died Jim. How the fuck do you find fun in that?"

"It's not that I don't want to stop, honey. Sherlock is just making it too easy for me and I can't resist."

The host of the female voice came closer to Jim and his head recoiled a tad. Feminine features were revealed – a soft nose outlining the edge of her face and plump red lips shone out from the darkness.

"Then push him to the limit."

It was early in the morning for Sherlock and John, and the two of them sat at the table in the kitchen, attempting to clear what was left of Sherlock's recent experiment.

"What were you even trying to make with all these…samples?" questioned John, holding a dead mouse by the tale and slowly and carefully squeezing it into a beaker. Over the time he had been with Sherlock, John had become less surprised when he found dead animals in the fridge or, in similar situations such as this, on the kitchen table. He was never reluctant to help clear the blood or chemical fluid from the floor or, in some cases, the walls.

"Don't question it John. I was merely seeing if mice could survive in highly unstable acids." Sherlock replied. He appeared relaxed, just reading the paper whilst he waited for his tea to cool down.

Judging from the dead mouse, John suspected that the conclusion of his friend's experiment was that, no, mice could not survive in highly unstable acids, but John refused to ask what acidic liquids Sherlock had put the poor creature in.

"I have no idea why you gave this newspaper, John. It's so boring. Nothing of any interest whatsoever." Sherlock began. "People are so boring, with their mundane tales of debauchery in parliament, to their pathetic and completely unsatisfying stories of how they became one with the spiritual world."

"It sounds interesting to me." John disagreed. "Tales of debauchery and the paranormal. It opens our eyes to how corrupt but spectacular the world can be."

Sherlock glared at John, his eyes dimmed down upon him.

"Mrs. Hudson has some books on the paranormal if you care to take a look." Sherlock said. John stared up at him. He was surprised Sherlock didn't even comment on how idiotic he thought John was for even finding such a topic interesting. So, John made his way to the threshold of the archway, but as he walked towards the apartment door to go downstairs, Mrs. Hudson was blocking his path with some books. Coincidently, some were on the topic of ghosts and haunted houses from what could be seen of the darkened leather covers and the dust that had settled on top.

"I just thought I'd bring some of these books up here." Mrs. Hudson explained. "I found them in a box, just lying around waiting to be opened. I thought you boys might want to relax and share a tale with each other."

As John took hold of the pile of books from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock emerged from the kitchen and rested his arm on the wall.

"Or sell them." He suggested. "John likes money, and as much as these books would come at a cheap price, he'd just love to have a bit of money in his pocket."

John looked up at Sherlock, as he struggled with the heavy load of books. He almost felt guilty for Mrs. Hudson, carrying the books all the way up the stairs. He placed the pile down on the desk. The landlady was about to leave until she turned back.

"By the way, there's a woman downstairs who wishes to speak with you."

Sherlock gazed towards John who was rummaging through the books. Just as he went for the door to go see this woman, he heard footsteps climb up.

"Sorry to disturb you, but I have a few queries about your service." A female voice spoke out. The woman had her head in her bag as if she was looking for something, so Sherlock could not see her face.

"Please come in." Sherlock hesitantly said and he led the woman into his abode. As he closed the door behind her, she whipped out some eye drops, lifted her head up high and applied them.

"I do apologise." She said. "I couldn't see properly with my eyes in such a state."

As the woman returned the eye drops into her leather bag, she raised herself up to meet Sherlock with a better introduction.

"Good morning." She politely said. She reached out a hand to greet.

The woman was young, in her early twenties. Her face was round, her hair was a light brown colour, worn as loosened ringlets, she didn't have much make up, but it didn't affect her. She was naturally pretty, and her pale skin did not ruin this. Sherlock noticed the dress that snuggly fit onto her curved, slim body. She was donned in a blue pencil dress, which ended just above the knee. From what Sherlock could she of her, he deduced she was a business woman to some extent. Her choice of a non-provocative dress told him that she was not seductive, and just her facial features showed this. She did not appear to Sherlock as someone who would seduce in aim to get to her goals.

"Please, sit." Sherlock said after he shook her hand. He forced a small smile and gestured over to one of the chairs by the fire and she sat down, holding her dress to prevent it from riding up her body.

"I'm Evelyn, by the way. Evelyn Stowe. But you can call me Eve." She smiled.

John looked over at Eve, his eyes pierced onto the back of her head. She had not acknowledged his existence. John stopped skimming the books and went in front of her. She jumped a little at the sight of him.

"You startled me." She said, holding a hand to her chest.

"Sorry. The name's John Watson." He replied. He approached her more cheerily than Sherlock had done, and Sherlock made mental notes in his head. John had told him to be more positive towards people.

"Oh. You don't need to tell me who you two are." She giggled. "I've heard so much about you two over the years."

Sherlock and John exchanged glances.

"It was lovely to meet you, but I think we need more milk." John said suddenly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Obviously, John wanted to preoccupy himself to leave Sherlock and Eve to talk. Either that, or Sherlock had used all the milk for his last experiment. As he left the apartment, Eve stared at Sherlock.

"So, you're the great Sherlock Holmes?" she began. A smirk grew on her face; she leant back unto the chair, and suddenly appeared more hostile. "I must say you're quite the inspiration to me."

Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond, so he didn't reply. Instead of waiting for an answer, Eve lifted her bag further up her lap and pulled out red lipstick. She slowly and sensually applied it onto her lips, making them plump.

"Y'know, Sherlock. I knew a man like you. He often got bored with every aspect of life." She paused, took out a mirror and checked her lips for any flaws. "Sadly, he passed two years ago. Tragic really, a gunshot to the head."

Sherlock knew who she was talking about. There was no doubt she was describing the late Jim Moriarty.

"Who are you, and what do you want." Sherlock asked. The two of them now had their eyes frowned upon each other.

"Mr. Holmes, I am merely trying to indulge in a conversation with you about a man I once knew. There's surely a lack of harm in that." She replied. "But, before you ask me if Evelyn Stowe is my real name, I can assure you that it is."

"What's your purpose, however?"

"Like I said, I have queries about your service."