Author's Note: So my sister has finally admitted to me being her muse...I consider that bribery enough to let her update. She's still claiming that the main character is in no way a portrayal of herself. That girl cracks me up.

Of course we don't own Sherlock, we'd have discovered some way of using fangirls to take over the world by now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Joshua Kalman, hero.

He'd been sick enough of that term before, when he'd stopped the burglary. Now it was worse.

He looked at the crowd of reporters waiting outside the store for him and swore inwardly. He could get away from them easily enough, but they'd be following him for the next week at least.

Why'd the dude have to be some big important government guy? Maybe I'll change my identity and move to Scotland. He laughed bitterly. Scotland. His one clue.

Turning, he went strode through the store towards the back door. Just as many reporters there.

Nuts.

He turned quickly, surveying the inside of the small shop. There. His mind switched automatically to stealth mode, and he could almost feel himself disappear. Not that he actually disappeared; you just didn't see him anymore. He never bragged about his skill at ninjitsu, but he knew he was really good.

In ninja mode now, he calmly walked over to the wall. He waited til the shopkeeper's back was turned, and then snatched a coat from the rack, and a hat. Pulling a tube of face paint from his pocket, he skillfully drew on a mustache. Slouching over, with his own coat around his waist and hips for padding, he looked like a short, overweight middle-aged man. Ought to work.

He turned and calmly walked out the front door, right past the reporters, who didn't give him a second glance.

After rounding the corner, he pulled off the stolen items and stuffed them behind a garbage can. He didn't like stealing, but right now, publicity could ruin everything. If he somehow recognizes my face. . .

He. It was always just he, a mysterious word for an equally mysterious man. This was a dumb idea, coming here. This city is huge. Unless . . . Scotland . . .

Scotland. Just that. Nothing more. She was delirious. Out of her mind. He laughed ruefully. Yet here I am, hoping against the odds.

Because I'm a moron.

"Mr. Kalman?"

Startled, he looked up. Two large men were standing in front of him. Two very large men. "Yes?" Even as he spoke, the part of his mind that was always ready, always alert, was jumping into high gear.

"You need to come with us."

"Why?" It was fairly obvious why. Big black car, nicely dressed, obviously fairly well-to-do. Government men.

Which meant Mr. Mycroft Holmes wanted to see him. Tough luck for him. I'm not in the best of moods right now.

The men acted as if they had not heard the question. One opened the back door for him.

"Nice meeting you." He turned and walked away.

As he'd expected, they didn't give up that easily. The car kept pace with him, while one of the men stepped forward and took his arm.

Ninja reflexes activate! Joshua smiled slightly, then dropped down and to the side, pulling the man off balance. A swift kick to the leg completed the operation, and he rolled easily back up in time to duck the second man's grab.

The first man slowly stood back up, walking tenderly on his bruised leg. The second man backed off, looking at Joshua more respectfully. The man's phone rang.

Joshua contemplated melting into the shadows, but this was interesting. More interesting than sitting in his room calculating exactly how much money he had left, and exactly how much longer he could live on nothing but potatoes without dying.

"It's for you." The man was holding out the phone to him.

Joshua took the phone casually. "Hello."

"Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. Get in the car."

"Sorry, sir, I'm not in the habit of going with strangers to undisclosed locations for undisclosed reasons. Plus, I'm not in the best mood tonight, and if you want to call up twenty or so goons and try to make me, I'll be just delighted to fight them."

"If I called up twenty more men, they'd have you pinned to the ground before you could even blink."

"Prove it."

The first man jumped towards him again. He dodged, barely even looking at him. "I assume you're watching this?"

"Naturally."

"Pay close attention, then." He jumped forward, ducked, rolled, and faster than either of his assailants could believe possible was behind them. They turned to face him, but he was behind them again, then beside them, jumping in, out, rolling, ducking, never in the same place longer than a half second. He muddled them, disoriented them, and then dropped them both with swift kicks from behind. And then, he was gone.

Groaning, the men rose to their feet, looking around for their opponent, who had disappeared without a trace. They glanced at each other fearfully, then made a beeline for the car.

"And that, Mr. Holmes, is how I take care of bullies." Joshua snapped the phone shut, laughing silently as he imagined the other man's face.

He threw the phone from him. It might have a tracking device. Inching forward, he peered over the peak of the roof in time to see the car driving off. He followed, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, light as a cat and just as silent. A flash of movement, a flicker of shadow. Darkness. The hour of the ninja.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mycroft slowly snapped his phone shut. Not bad. Not bad at all. The boy had skill. And nerve. And, apparently, brains, as he had known who had sent the car.

Of course, there was still the possibility of an elaborate plot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You failed." Mycroft gazed calmly at the nervous men.

"He was everywhere! We couldn't fight him!"

"You were armed."

There wasn't time," one answered dejectedly.

"Maybe you can redeem yourselves tomorrow. I'm not done with that boy." The men exchanged annoyed looks.

Mycroft turned and walked away. He'd send a martial artist with them tomorrow.

"Mr. Holmes?" one of the men called tentatively.

Mycroft turned. "What?"

"You . . . you have something on your sleeve," the man said nervously.

Mycroft looked down. A piece of yellow paper. Odd. He pulled it off.

Not just paper. A sticky note.

Six words. Pencil.

Until the next time, Mr. Holmes.

Mycroft stared at the note. How was that possible? He looked up. A shadow moved on the opposite side of the warehouse. A figure stepped forward. A figure dressed all in black, with a mask that covered the whole head.

A ninja.

Joshua.

The boy stared at him quietly, then stepped forward. In one fluid movement, he bowed, stepped back into the shadow, and vanished.

Mycroft was already on his phone. "Get out of here," he called to the two men, then limped out himself, talking quickly into the phone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That was highly enjoyable. Stupid, but highly enjoyable .Of course, sneaking past the security in Buckingham Palace is probably stupider.

Clinging to the wall, he waited for the men and Mr. Holmes to leave.

I estimate I have fifty seconds. A long time, if one was a ninja.

He carefully opened the window and climbed out, a shadow in the night. He climbed quickly, reached the rooftop, and hoisted himself up.

Forty seconds.

The nearest rooftop was about fifteen feet away. Doable.

He ran swiftly back from the edge to give himself a running start.

Thirty seconds.

He ran forward and propelled himself into space, flying through the darkness to land on the other roof, safe. He paused to smile with satisfaction. My ninja name is not Tamugara for nothing.

Tamugara, a ninja of old, famous for his ability to jump long distances. Joshua could jump almost twenty-five feet. An incredible distance.

Fifteen seconds. He ran lightly across the roof.

Ten seconds.

And then the world erupted around him.