One week later, Sherlock had the case of The Redhead-League solved. The DNA analysis had led him to three different men in Sussex, all with recently dyed red hair. It took Sherlock a bit longer to find the fourth man, the brains of the operation, but only because he was on the run. Sherlock had deduced from John's notes that Charley Muller's family and life were no secret to his current regiment. Out of his so-called 'friends' it was very easy to find the last fake redhead who had the knowledge to dream up the whole sham. Sherlock then spent a few days rounding back up all of the Muller's possessions from resale shops and having it shipped back to their home. One round of bringing the Yard up to speed and an evening of paperwork later, John and Sherlock drove back out to Sussex. The case had been very fascinating to Sherlock (the mind of a criminal going to great lengths was always intriguing), but now that it was solved he was only paying a visit so that he could once again see Felicity Muller. He had spent most of his 'free-time' making a spot for her in his mind-palace. He had done a lot of thinking about her and his childhood and mistakes made. It was very against what Sherlock usually felt comfortable with, but he had decided to say something to her about dealing with bullies. He felt a strange obligation to keep her from harm.
When they pulled up to the house, Sherlock was disappointed to find that only Charley was waiting for them. "Hello!" he called as Sherlock and John got out of the car. He crossed to meet them as Sherlock and John stepped onto the lawn. "I can't thank you enough," he said as they approached, the sheer gratefulness on his face managing to cover his exhaustion. It was obvious that Charley Muller worked himself to the bone every day, and even more obvious to Sherlock that he was forced to work the way he did because the parents of the Muller siblings were killed almost two years ago. The nature of the accident seemed to suggest a vehicular incident to Sherlock, but without more data he couldn't make an educated guess. "You really did save us a lot of grief." Charley said, shaking both of their hands warmly.
"It was no trouble," Sherlock said briskly. He spent the next few minutes breezing through the case and who was responsible for the burglary. He glossed over Felicity's involvement, knowing that it would only cause Charley more stress than was probably healthy for a man in his position. He answered all of Charley's questions, even if he thought that they were pointless. The idea of seeing Felicity again had made him strangely patient.
"Felicity and I are indebted to you both." Charley said finally, rubbing his face, looking more tired than before now that he'd heard the whole story.
"Speaking of Felicity, where is she? How's her eye?" John asked conversationally, and Sherlock mentally praised him in his head. John had unparalleled social skills that Sherlock often relied on. He was irreplaceable when it came to charming clients, suspects, the Yard, Mycroft… If John hadn't brought up Felicity, Sherlock was sure that he would be unable to do so in a socially acceptable sense.
"Oh, Fee? She's inside working on an experiment. She took quite a liking to you, Mr. Holmes." Charley said, and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow but lay off on an intimidating stare. He wanted information, not to discourage Charley from speaking further. His heart had leapt at Charley's comment anyway. "There are very few adults who Felicity is comfortable with." He said carefully, speaking slower now as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. "She's horrible with kids her own age, mind, but she's not so great with adults either." Charley paused, rubbing his head, looking slightly bemused. "Do you want to pop in for a quick hello, maybe a cup of tea? Felicity will be really thrilled." He said, gesturing to the house.
"We'd be delighted." John said, and Charley lead the way into the house, getting John and Sherlock seats at the kitchen table. Their kitchen was barren but obviously well-loved. It looked as if he was still in the process of putting back all of their belongings; some things were still in boxes. A rag and some cleaning supplies were sitting on one of the kitchen counters from when he'd been cleaning up their furniture earlier that day, if the state of his shirt cuffs were anything for Sherlock to go by.
"Fee? Guess who's here!" Charley called down the hallway as he poured water into the kettle. There was no response. "Fee!" Charley called again as he grabbed mugs and teabags. When Felicity didn't appear, he sighed. "Just a second, sorry," He apologized, turning the corner and going to find Felicity. "Fee, the detective and the doctor are here! Why don't you come out and-" he abruptly stopped talking, and both Sherlock and John turned to look towards his voice. "Fee? This isn't funny. Fee!" Charley's voice got increasingly panicked until he dashed back into the kitchen. "Fee's gone," he panted, eyes half wild. Sherlock stood up instantly, John close behind.
"Let me see," Sherlock ordered, and Charley led him back down the hallway and into a room off the hall. It was obvious that it was Felicity's; the room was incredibly neat and full to the brim with textbooks and scientific equipment. There were a series of beakers set up on the floor on a tarp with many different electrical probes in them. Some of the solutions in the beakers were bubbling slightly. The window was open, a chair beneath it, which was the first place that Sherlock looked. He immediately crossed over to it and looked out the window, already noting footprints into the fresh, springy grass. "This way," Sherlock said, turning on his heel and leaving the house, his coat billowing behind him, John and Charley on his heels. John was saying something to Charley, probably words of encouragement or reassurance, but Sherlock didn't care at the moment. He wasn't worried for Felicity; she'd left her own house under her own volition, and there were no other footprints on the lawn. However, Sherlock was curious as to where Felicity had gone. Sherlock followed her trail until he got deeper into the suburb. Then he had a three-way choice; one road or two different alleys.
"You two take the alleys; they'll be dead ends eventually. I'll search the street." Sherlock directed, already walking on down the road, his eyes looking for clues or hints as to where Felicity could have gone. He was walking for less than five minutes when he heard a shout back from where he'd come. Considering no audible scolding followed the initial yell, Sherlock instantly felt as if something was wrong. A bit of light jogging later, he'd made it down the alley. His stomach dropped when he saw Charley and John kneeling beside the small, unmoving body of Felicity. Charley was smoothing her hair, trembling slightly, his face ashen. Felicity was wearing a turtleneck sweater that turned into a little dress, and leggings. It was torn in a few places; almost her whole right sleeve was ripped off. Judging by the welts visible on that arm, she'd run into some bullies once more. Her black eye had faded slightly and hadn't been punched again. John had his fingers pressed to the inside of her right wrist, face grim. As he straightened her out, listening for breathing, Sherlock's eyes swept over the scene. Lots of footprints, small, and the dirt of the alley had been stirred up; conclusion: the same band of boys as before had returned. Also, Felicity's fingernails were slightly bluish, as if there was poor circulation to them: she was hypothermic or she'd been dead for much longer than what appeared to be logical; conclusion: this wasn't just a beating. Something else had to have happened. But what?
"Right," John muttered under his breath, interlocking his fingers and starting chest compressions. He'd done only three when there was a loud snapping noise. Something whizzed out of Felicity's sleeve and hit the wall of the alley. Before John, Sherlock and Charley could get over their initial surprise and take a closer look at the object, Felicity stirred and blinked, coming back to life.
"Did it work? Oh, it must have!" She exclaimed, reaching up her sleeve and pulling out a rubber band about three centimeters wide that looked long enough to wrap around her. It was broken on one end. Sherlock paced over to the object that had flown out of her sleeve and found a second band broken similarly. "It worked!" Felicity cried, positively beaming as she sat up.
"Oh God, Fee," Charley swept Felicity up into a tight embrace, cutting himself off. As he hugged his little sister, John glanced at Sherlock, looking bemused.
"No pulse, no breathing. She was dead ten seconds ago," He told Sherlock in an undertone. Sherlock felt his eyebrows rise but he said nothing. He'd already pieced together what Felicity had done, but he was still incredulous as to why and starting to bubble with pride as he realized that she'd orchestrated it all by herself.
"Why would you do that?" Charley yelled, setting Felicity down briefly before hugging her again before she could answer. Felicity returned his embrace, looking incredibly guilty now.
"I'm sorry, Charley, really, I am. I didn't mean for you to ever even know about this." She murmured, burying her face into his neck.
"What?" Charley said, surprised, pulling away and holding her at arms' length. "What do you mean?"
"This was supposed to be a quick solution to a difficult problem. Last week you told me it was wrong to have punched Richard Pulley in the nose. It took me no time at all to agree with you; violence is never a practical solution to any problem. So, I came up with a plan to keep those boys from bothering me again." Felicity summarized to her brother's confused face, looking chagrined.
"By faking your own death?" John spluttered, half indignant and half bemused. She turned, following the voice, and beamed at him.
"Oh, hello! I didn't realize you two were here," she said brightly, glancing at Sherlock as well. "But yes, you're exactly right, Dr. Watson. Faking my death was the perfect solution." She turned her smile back to her brother, who was staring at her in shock.
"Fee, you were dead." He repeated, and the smile died on her face to be replaced with shame and regret.
"I didn't plan on you realizing I was gone so quickly. This was only supposed to take five minutes, maybe less." She said, frowning to herself as if she'd done a math problem wrong and was stumped as to why she didn't have the correct answer.
"You were only supposed to be dead for five minutes," John repeated slowly, disbelief evident in his voice. "I'm sorry, can I just…?" He reached over and gently took her pulse again on her right wrist, then her left, shaking his head slowly as he tried to understand. As an extremely experienced medical professional, he was a bit shocked to say that he was stumped.
"Come on," Charley said, standing up and taking Felicity's hand firmly. I want to hear the whole story from you young lady." He led the detective and the doctor back to his home, not letting go of Felicity once. Considering she was the only family he had left, Sherlock reasoned that he had a right to be concerned. However, it had something to do with sentiment, something Sherlock was usually quite oblivious to. He'd have to ask John about it later. "Alright, stay right there." Charley ordered as Felicity sat at the table on a phone book so that she was the proper height. It only took a few minutes for him to make tea for everyone. He took his tea black, Felicity with milk, John with milk, and Sherlock with two sugars. There was a pause as Charley took a sip of his tea and took a good long look at Felicity. "Start at the beginning, leave nothing out." He directed, the 'big-brother/father' tone evident in his voice. Felicity cleared her throat and then began.
"Violence wasn't going to solve my problem, and neither was talking to them." She started, gesturing to her black eye. "Revenge always backfires, it's too personal, and so I figured that my next step was to scare them." Her tone settled into a comfortable lecture as she got into her story. "I also had very limited recourses and time to come up with my plan, so it had to be a good one. It is very hard to frighten little boys, despite the usual stereotype, which was also a problem. I decided that I'd trick the boys into thinking that I was free for a good beating out in the alleys- they've done it before so there would be no suspicion." She glossed over the fact that they'd done it before, and that made Sherlock slightly angry. If the idea of being beaten up was nothing to her, how many times had it happened? "My plan was to fake my death during their beating so that they would think that they'd killed me. None of them are very bright so it wasn't going to be too difficult."
"How many times have they got to you in that alley, Fee?" Charley asked, his grip tight around his tea mug and his eyes furious. Felicity waved a hand dismissively, her perfect neutral poker face on display.
"Unimportant," she said in a light tone, as if the beatings never bothered her. That told Sherlock that it happened quite often and she was very good at hiding it. Rage boiled silently inside him for the band of ignorant little boys that had pushed Felicity to such an extreme measure as faking her own death.
"Well, it definitely worked. I've been a doctor my whole life and I was certain that you were dead, Felicity." John said, sounding disturbed. Felicity grinned brightly at him, not at all fazed by his worry.
"Excellent." She said, savoring the word, and Charley made a noise in his throat that sounded slightly disapproving, slightly strangled. "Sorry, Charley," she apologized again, seeing his expression. The bright grin on her face didn't leave, however. Now that her brother was reassured, she was extremely excited to tell her tale.
"Just keep talking," Charley ordered, pointing a finger at her, slipping back into parental control. Felicity placed the broken bands on the table at Charley's request to keep going.
"The human body has a series of pressure points around the torso that can trigger unconsciousness. They are really quite convenient; arteries to the arms are in the same area, as well as your lungs, obviously." Felicity slipped back into the lecture, using herself as a model. "If you apply consistent pressure to those areas, your body faints, almost all blood pressure is cut off to the arms, and your breathing is restricted to just what is necessary to keep you alive; which is very little if you think about it." She paused to take a sip of tea. "So, I planned out when the boys usually go by those alleys and then placed the bands around myself and set out to find them. I had very little time to provoke them before I'd faint, so I had to time it very accurately. Thankfully, I found them fairly quickly, and it didn't take much to get them to go at me. I blacked out during it, and planned on waking up alone, free to walk back home, tidy up, and act like nothing every happened. The plan was to show up at school tomorrow and see the looks on their faces when they thought I'd risen from the dead." Felicity was grinning again by the end of her story, looking very proud of herself.
"How did you know they'd think you were dead?" John asked after a moment. The level of detail in her plan astounded him to a point where it was hard to even formulate that question. If Sherlock were in Felicity's position, he would probably chide John for 'seeing but not observing', but Felicity was not Sherlock. She beamed in response to John's question. She clearly loved revealing things of a hidden nature whereas Sherlock was mostly impatient that you didn't see it in the first place.
"Psychology." Sherlock answered before she could, considering he had already put together the pieces of her plan. He was also impressed with the level of detail she had put into her plan as well as her knowledge of human anatomy and psychology. She was frighteningly clever, and Sherlock loved it. Felicity reminded him of himself when he was a child, scaring Mycroft and Mummy half to death over the smallest things. "Very clever, Felicity." He added, and she blushed a little at his praise.
"What? Psychology?" Charley repeated, leaning over his long forgotten cup of tea. Felicity nodded at him, grinning.
"I know that at least half of those boys watch a lot of crap telly and a lot of the programming includes bad crime shows that would have made the boys think that when someone collapses they're instantly dead. The show would have also instructed them to feel for a pulse. Considering the bands only reduce blood flow to the arms, I had to psychologically deter them for trying to feel at the usual place, which is the carotid artery. Therefore, I wore a turtleneck. If they assumed that their actions caused my death, they'd be less likely to want to touch me in the first place, never mind get under my collar. The next logical place would be a wrist, where I wouldn't have any pulse that they could detect. Once they thought that they'd killed me, the boys would panic and leave the scene of the crime." Felicity explained breezily, wiggling her fingers experimentally. Without proper oxygen circulating to her arms and fingers, her nails had started to turn blue, but now her fingernails were starting to turn pink again.
"Hang on," John said, sitting up straighter. "You said that you were only supposed to be dead for five minutes- but if I hadn't started chest compressions and snapped the bands you would have died for real without proper oxygen intake."
"Oh, very good!" Felicity chirped, face practically glowing now. "The bands were so tight that after five minutes their strength is supposed to fail and go slack. Your pressure caused them to actually snap. Regardless of another human presence, I would have been revived over time."
"Felicity, the nerve and tissue damage caused by five minutes of little oxygen and very little blood flow could have been severe. You're lucky that you only your fingernails turned blue." John said disapprovingly. Felicity shrugged.
"The benefits outweighed the risks." She said, and then turned to Charley. "I'm really, really sorry, Charley. I never meant for you to know about any of this. I just wanted the problem to go away." She admitted, and for once, she really seemed to be seven years old. Despite her excitement over her success and her overall happiness with her audience, her voice had very nearly cracked on the word 'problem', betraying her true emotions. Charley reached over and mussed her hair, the movement masking how Sherlock shifted slightly. He could remember the same feeling, the same desperation to end the 'problem', along with the confusion as to why it was happening in the first place. If she'd gone this far to try and stop the bullying, then it must have been worse than she'd let Charley know. Sherlock had to resist the urge to get up and find all the boys and give them a good reviling.
"If this is your solution to problems like this, I'd rather you just punched them." Charley said, giving Felicity a half-hearted smile, making her giggle. "Fee, if this is getting bad, you have to let me know. I'm proud of you for trying to solve it on your own without violence, but faking your own death is not ok. Alright?" Charley said firmly, and Felicity nodded to her tea. "Right, then, enough of that." Charley laid the matter to rest, getting up and pouring himself another cup of tea.
"You solved the case," Felicity said suddenly, raising her head and looking directly at Sherlock, a smile returning to her lips. "You must have- that's why you're here."
"The case is solved. Would you like me to explain it to you?" Sherlock asked, and Felicity nodded eagerly. Sherlock glossed over exactly how he'd gotten the DNA that he used for the tests that eventually incriminated the three men, but he did go into intense detail about finding the fourth. Felicity listened silently the whole time, nodding once or twice, her finger absentmindedly running around the rim over her teacup over and over again. "While in the midst of trying to find you, I happened to notice the experiment in your room." Sherlock noted when he'd finished explaining and there was a moment of silence. Felicity's eyes lit up as she processed what Sherlock had said.
"Uh oh," Charley noted as she wiggled down off the phone book and chair, abandoning her tea, "You might be here all night." Charley chuckled at Sherlock, who had half risen, unsure of what Felicity wanted as she dashed around the table.
"You have to come and see it, I want your opinion on the matter anyway," she said, seizing him by the hand and forcefully dragging him down the hallway to her room which was difficult, considering he was about four times her height. "It might be a little overdone now, but that won't matter. I'm still testing the ability of bodily fluids to hold an electrical charge. It's been a long process, a little smelly too, but it's just so fascinating," she chattered as she turned on the light, releasing his hand to go and kneel by her experiment, switching off the current and removing the metal prongs. Sherlock crouched beside her, awkwardness forgotten as he took in the experiment. He patiently supplied opinions and listened to her, reading over her notes. The experiment was interesting, but Sherlock had other things on his mind. He wanted to talk with her about her problem even though her brother had let it go. "Is something wrong? You're very quiet." Felicity said in a brisk tone from behind a book as she was looking something up and writing a note at the same time.
"Felicity, I want to talk about what happened to you today." Sherlock managed to keep his tone gentle. Whenever he thought about 'what had happened' a furious pit of rage ignited in him for what the bullies had forced Felicity to do. Felicity stiffened and then resumed writing like she hadn't heard him, her face unusually set. "When I was your age I got a face full of dirt almost everyday. The torture was relentless." Sherlock continued calmly. Felicity slowly lowered the book, her writing stopping. As her eyes came into view, one blackened, the look in them nearly broke Sherlock's heart. They had a forced calm about them and yet he could see just how much pain was behind that wall, that barrier. He knew exactly what it felt like, and that made it worse.
"Why does it happen?" She asked, for once sounding like her age. Her voice was quiet and small; it was clearly hard for her to admit that the bullying hurt her.
"It's not because they hate you or are jealous of you, Felicity. You've done nothing wrong. They bully you because they don't understand how extraordinary you are." Sherlock felt the words escaping from him more than he heard them, his tone gentle and yet extremely firm. His tone was so sincere that Felicity quickly looked away as her traitorous eyes started to well up with tears.
"I want them to understand," she whispered, shaking her head. "Why can't they understand?"
"Felicity, I don't think the bullies ever will. However, others will understand you. They'll accept you for who you are if you stay true to yourself and don't let others change you." If Sherlock could have gone back in time and said those same words to himself, he wondered if he would have had a less tormented childhood. It was that thought that made him hope that his words would help Felicity.
"Do you really think so?" She sniffed, meeting his gaze again. Sherlock gave her a gentle smile.
"I know so. Look at John; he is my best friend. He understands me and accepts me, all of me. It will happen, Felicity." Sherlock reassured her, and then had to catch his balance on the desk when Felicity quickly hugged him, becoming lost in his large coat. Sherlock returned the hug, knowing inside that he'd done the right thing, done all that was socially acceptable to do. It felt right, and that made him happy. After a minute, Felicity pulled away, eyes dry, expression determined. Even with Sherlock in the crouch he was in their faces were barely level; Felicity was rather small for her age.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, giving him a shy smile. "I appreciate the effort that took you." Sherlock blinked at her words and she gave a little huff, rolling her eyes. "I've seen your website, Mr. Holmes, and if you are a sociopath, that took a lot of effort. I'm thankful that you made social contact just for me." Just when Sherlock thought she had gone back to being a normal little-girl, she completely destroyed his expectations. It was an odd, fond sort of feeling.
"Call me Sherlock." Sherlock insisted, skipping over the bit about his sociopathic tendencies. Felicity beamed at him, giggling behind her hands at his reaction. Before either of them could say another word, Charley knocked, peeking his head around the door, his expression clearly prepared for the worst.
"Oh good, no casualties." He said in a voice filled with fake relief as he teased his sister. Felicity gave a half delighted, half annoyed huff as she shut the book she'd been making a note out of. "I know that you don't want to hear it, Fee, but its bedtime." Charley added, and Felicity pulled a face.
"It's seven." Felicity scoffed.
"Yes, well, we've got to get you cleaned up, I have to cut the power to your room so that I don't wake up to another explosion, and I have to count in two hours of reading time before you actually fall asleep." Charley said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"Checkmate," Felicity muttered in defeat. Sherlock rose, instantly towering over her with his height. "At any rate, thank you for letting me consult you on my experiment and for saving my brother a lot of trouble." Felicity said, offering her hand for Sherlock to shake. Sherlock had to lean over to accept the handshake.
"I am always at your disposal." Sherlock said, returning the gesture, keeping his words a bit more vague than usual so that Felicity would understand his deeper, more implied meaning. Felicity looked cautious, but she was biting her lip to hide back a smile, something that Sherlock took as a good sign that she'd already given a lot of thought to what he'd said.
"Let us know how those boys react tomorrow, alright?" John said as Charley and Felicity showed Sherlock and John out. Felicity grinned again, promising to do so as she waved them out the door. Only when they were in the car did John speak to Sherlock.
"She is absolutely amazing," He said, half to himself as Sherlock put the car in gear. "She faked her own death and Charley said that she's only seven. She's seven years old, Sherlock, and she already reminds me of you." John continued.
"Felicity is a gifted child," Sherlock agreed, his heart bursting with irrational pride for his new friend. He was no longer afraid of Felicity turning out like himself; to the contrary, he wanted her to. He wanted her to be confident and smart and happy, and he was prepared to help her get there.
"Did you talk with her about it?" John asked nonchalantly, referencing her problem with bullying without actually saying it. When Sherlock raised an eyebrow in his direction, hoping that John would let it go, John rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete dolt, Sherlock." John said, and Sherlock's grip tightened briefly on the steering wheel. He knew that John was a lot more pensive than he seemed, but he never thought that he would be able to pick up on something like this.
"I tried to offer her some advice." Sherlock admitted finally, keeping his eyes on the road. "I think it went well." He added for John's benefit when he realized how cryptic he'd been.
"You think, Sherlock?" John asked, sounding half amused, half confused. It was interesting for John to see Sherlock so out of his element. The detective was always confident to the point of being arrogant, but now he was extremely unsure.
"She ended the conversation comforted, but commented that I was a sociopath." Sherlock said, and after a moment, John snorted with laughter. Sherlock sent him his best disapproving glare, but John didn't see it; he was too busy chuckling to himself.
"A girl that smart would know that you aren't a sociopath, Sherlock." John said once he'd calmed down. His tone was firm- Sherlock and John had been over this topic once before and Sherlock had promised to stop telling people that he was something he wasn't. He hadn't taken down that information from his website, however, and that's where Felicity got the idea in the first place.
"She said that if I was a sociopath as my website dictates then the advice I gave her must have been difficult for me to give, which it was." Sherlock said a tad defensively, and John chuckled again.
"Just because it was hard for you to give advice based from your own bad experience doesn't mean that you're a sociopath, Sherlock." John said gently. His words made Sherlock feel better, but he didn't want to talk about that 'bad experience' he had, and he could tell that John wanted to.
"You need to stop seeing your therapist, you're picking up ideas there that are dangerous." Sherlock muttered, and John just chuckled once more. They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment before Sherlock posed his question from before. "When Charley Muller was so upset when he thought that Felicity was dead…was that because of sentiment?"
"Sherlock, sometimes you are too oblivious to common sense. It worries me." John said sarcastically. "Yes, Sherlock, it was because of sentiment. Charley cares a lot about his little sister. He feels particularly sensitive about her because of what you said, she's all that he's got left. He also feels slightly guilty about not always being there for Felicity, especially because she has so many problems with bullies. If she were to die because he wasn't properly watching her it would make him feel so guilty it would break his heart." John voiced his thoughts aloud and for a moment, the car was silent.
"Like I said- stop seeing that therapist. It's definitely dangerous." Sherlock commented, yet he was secretly glad that John hadn't lectured him on not understanding the sentiment. That was one of the main reasons he felt comfortable with John; he didn't criticize him for being himself.
"Yeah, yeah. Just drive," John said, laughing again. For the rest of the car ride, Sherlock's mind was peaceful. He'd set out and accomplished something not easily done for him, and he knew that it would help Felicity a great deal. Sherlock knew that she would grow up and excel at whatever she chose. For someone who didn't like children, that made him unexpectedly proud.
A/N: Chapter two! How did it go? I'm sorry if Sherlock seemed a little OOC- it's hard writing him as anything other than Sherlock 'I'm smarter than you' Holmes. I've always pictured him hating kids, so it's been difficult writing him this way. The stuff about the bands and the pressure points on the human body that Felicity used to fake her own death is complete garbage that I imagined and then made to seem real (at least, I thought that it would be convincing enough).
I probably should have mentioned that this fic takes place before A Study in Pink but then will move forward into The Blind Banker. Also, this isn't just a two shot. I know that the final sentence seems a bit, well, final, but the story will continue on!
Finally, lots of love and thank-you's to my beta, louisuperwholocked on Tumblr. Your input makes the story so much better, so THANK YOU again.