A knock on the door of 221B roused John from his nap. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa, trying to write a blog post and failing miserably. His computer had gone black, but thankfully was still lying on his stomach. Sherlock was at his own computer, typing up a storm. "Door," the detective mumbled as John sat up, a bit dazed.
"Yeah, I know. You could've answered it."
"Why would I? I knew you would get up."
John sighed, setting his laptop aside and going to answer the persistent knocking. Alice was standing outside, a bag of eyeballs in her hand. "Ah, Sherlock, it's for you."
"Sherlock Holmes, what did I tell you about breaking into my flat so you can have more storage space for your experiments?" she asked, dropping the plastic bag on his lap.
"Always text you first, I know. Sorry." He looked up, making as face as if to say 'please don't be mad at me'.
"I should really just give you a key if you're going to do that," Alice mused. "Saw the story about the ming vases and the jade pin on the news this morning. Do you know what happened to General Shan?"
"Oh, I think we both do," Sherlock mused, closing his laptop and turning to face her, the bag full of eyes in hand. "They're going to find her dead rather soon."
"They just did. That's what I really came up here to tell you. Greg texted saying that they found who they believe to be her, dead from a gunshot wound to the head. Looked like a professional hit. Sniper, probably. Molly will know for sure when she gets a look at the body, but from the pictures Andreson sent over… well, I've seen enough sniper hits to know when I'm looking at another one."
"Yes, but who was holding the gun? And why?" Sherlock asked more to himself than anyone else in the room. He held up the plastic bag, noting that, "They're beginning to respond to the solution. Give it twelve hours and take another look at them." He handed it over before getting up and heading for the kitchen.
Alice followed. "Someone's pulling the strings, someone a lot bigger than all of this."
"I'm afraid they're connected." Sherlock handed her a cup of tea, wordlessly inviting her to stay for a little while longer. He would never say it, but a gesture like that was just as good as inviting her to keep them company, even if it was just long enough for her to finish her drink. "This one, the old cabbie with a sponsor… I'm sure your read John's blog post about that one. A Study in pink, I believe."
"Yeah." Alice tucked the bag of eyes into Sherlock's fridge before leaning on the counter, turning the idea over in her mind. "Who do you think is behind all of this?"
"Moriarty." Finally meeting her eye, he could tell that the name had struck a chord, no matter how hard she tried to hide the automatic expression that momentarily graced her face. "A shadowy figure at best. I've been looking into him. I suggest you should too. He'll be popping up a lot more on Scotland Yard's radar if he hasn't already. You people fail to miss how connected the things you investigate often are."
Alice took a sip of her tea, raising an eyebrow. "'You people'?"
"Fine, other people at the Yard," he corrected himself. "Happy?"
"Extremely."
"Well, Moriarty seems to have had a hand in a string of deaths and disappearances dating back to the 80s. Carl Powers - my first case, and, I believe, Moriarty's first murder," Sherlock explained, watching her reaction. This time she was able to keep her face blank, the mask nodding no matter how much she was panicking internally. "We were only children then -"
"Sherlock, we've only got four hours." John burst into the kitchen, holding his phone, a timer ticking down on the screen. "Sorry to interrupt your little chat, but there's a man strapped to a bomb somewhere, and this one's been wasting away the time he as left."
Sherlock set his cup down. "Four hours? We have plenty of time. Though we should get to work. Believe it or not, I've been busy working on Ian Monkford's disappearance. It's already solved."
"Then you;ve got a leg up on the guy if you're stalling," Alice commented, following him and John to the door.
"My thoughts exactly," Sherlock confirmed. "Lock up when you leave, will you?" JOhn gave him a look, Sherlock pulling on his coat as he shrugged off John's concern. "Oh, please, she's a Scotland Yard detective who is clearly worthy of our trust. We let her sleep with a gun a floor below us. Why shouldn't we trust her here? Or is there something you're hiding?"
"Let's go," John sighed, leading the way out of the flat. Sherlock turned back to Alice, winking as he left. It made her smile, taking a sip of her tea and watching them go.
When the Baker Street boys had gone, Alice was left to sit down on their sofa, looking over the flat. She smiled a bit, thinking of the eccentric detective who lived above her. She could hear him sometimes, walking in circles late at night when he had a case that was bothering him. Lately she had been coming upstairs, slipping into the flat and taking a spot on the sofa. Sherlock would pace, narrating the facts in front of them to her. Sometimes he would whirl around, spouting off an idea. Other times, he would let her think over the problem, staring at the evidence wall until she had a revelation. More than once, John had gotten up in the morning to find the two of them having breakfast, talking over a case.
It was helpful, Sherlock said. It was helpful having someone to bounce ideas off of, but it was also helpful having someone who could keep up with him and think in different directions of course, he would never admit when she inspired an idea that he had never thought of, or when she came up with an idea that cracked the case. John, meanwhile, would raise an eyebrow and Sherlock would roll his eyes, as if to say, "yes, she was here all night, but no, not like you think".
Alice got up, restlessly looking over the bookcase and taking in the titles, noticing the old compilations of crime novels. The bindings had all been painfully restored by hand, a project Sherlock had taken on between cases many years before. She selected one, flipping through the weathered pages before deciding on a French volume of crime history from the late 1700s.
Hours later, Alice was still engrossed in the book when she heard a set of footsteps on the stairs. Not Sherlock. Not John. Not Mrs. Hudson. No, these were a little heavier. The door swung open unceremoniously, a dapper-looking man coming in, an umbrella in his hand despite the clear sky outside. "Well, certainly not what I expected to find in my brother's flat."
"Mycroft, I'm not spying on him for you. We've been over this before," she sighed, closing the book and putting her glasses back on as he entered and glanced about the room. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, hello to you too," he nodded, leaning his umbrella in front of a chair. He took a seat, telling her that, "Your old friend has been busy causing trouble again. I trust Sherlock is distracted working on the Bruce Partington plans?"
"Yes, it's all covered, between him and John. That's the best report you're going to get from me, though."
"Such loyalty," Mycroft remarked, "and so quickly. Well, it has been months, but still… you seem to have grown fairly close to my brother. Marvelous."
"He's a good person, Mycroft. He doesn't need you prying into his life so often," Alice scoffed, swinging her legs off of the arm of the sofa and sitting up completely. "What do you want?"
"I need you to keep your eyes open. You know what you're looking for. Keep your eyes open, and watch out for Sherlock. He doesn't know what he's dealing with, at least not the full extent of it all." His phone began to ring, Mycroft excusing himself to take the call in the kitchen. "Yes, Bond Air is being set up for this time next year, unless we need to move the timeline up. No, I haven't called Sherrinford in a few days. I trust everything is well. I trust the judgement that has been made. She hasn't been wrong about one yet. Five minutes on Twitter, I know. I expect the files on my desk by the time I get back."
Hanging up without another word, Mycroft came to join her again, Alice raising an eyebrow. "Seems like you're a bit busy to just drop in for a chat."
"One tends to stay busy when foiling terrorist attacks and the like, but I needed to let you know about our mutual friend," Mycroft told her, picking up his umbrella. He was about to leave when something occurred to him. "How close are you to my brother?"
"Who do you ask?"
"There's my answer," Mycroft smirked, taking his umbrella and ducking out of the door. Nothing Alice could say would make any difference.
When Sherlock returned, he found Alice in the same spot, reading the next volume in the series. "That's a good one," he said, appearing at the foot of the couch. "There are three more, if you'd like to borrow them."
Alice nodded, looking up when she had finished the page she was on. "How's the case going? Have you found Ian Monkford yet?"
"In a sense. He's in Colombia, at least until we let them know that they're harboring a criminal. Not that that tends to make much difference to certain parts of the government there, but that case is closed. I've got to be off to the morgue soon."
"Ah, gotcha." Alice asked no more, instead regarding the detective who stood in front of her. Since Mycroft had left, she'd been turning the idea of him over in her mind. Noticing the way his curls framed his face, the sharp eyes that were purely focused on her, the cupid's bow of his lips. Things she saw every day, but after Mycroft had stirred her thoughts, they had become things that intrigued her.
"Is there something on my face?"
"What? No, sorry. I just haven't seen any real people for hours and… I've been wrapped into the vortex of this book. Are you hungry? Let's get dinner."
"Alright," Sherlock said hesitantly. "But I do have to be heading to the morgue."
"We'll pick up some chips from the place down the block and eat as we walk. It'll save time. Besides, I need to head to the Yard before Lestrade's gone home for the night."
Sherlock nodded, his thoughts straying to the room. Something looked off. Sure, she had been there for hours now, but so had someone else. "Did Mycroft offer you money to spy on me?" he asked, taking the stairs two at a time.
"He just stopped by to chat," Alice assured him as she checked her pockets for her phone and keys. "He didn't ask me to do anything for him. He does want an update on Bruce Partington, though. Have you done any work on it at all?"
"John's been doing some digging, yes."
Alice stopped in front of her flat, Sherlock coming to a stop a few steps ahead of her. Curiously, he followed as she opened the door, ushering him inside. He had been in 221C ages ago, but she had redecorated, making the small, damp space somehow airy and full of light, even at night. There were plants all over, fairly lights around the living room, and books piled on the shelves. Of course, she had case files on every available surface. Even in the glow of the fairy lights, he could see that she had done wonders with the place. it was a messy sort of clean, just what you would expect from a busy detective. Somehow, she even managed to make the photographs of corpses pinned up on her evidence wall look less grisly. Whether it was the glow of the lights or the general sense of calm, he didn't know. It was a peculiar kind of magic that she had, making a bit of order out of chaos and calming what could easily turn into a storm.
Pulling one of the files from her desk, she handed it over, saying, "You don't have to worry about it. I know John means well, but we've both already solved the case ages ago, haven't we? I figured I'd save you some time and write it all up myself."
Sherlock flipped through the file, skimming it until he reached her conclusion. Slowly, he began to nod. "You know, I'd make you my assistant but for one thing."
"And what's that?"
"You would end up solving all of my cases before I even managed to grasp all of the facts."
"Sure," Alice laughed, shaking her head. "Let's go get some chips. You've got a body waiting for you at Bart's. Besides, I think you owe me dinner for that."