Watson led Ms. Elise up the stairs of 221B to the flat's sitting room. She would be safe from her brother here.

"Mrs. Hudson will bring up tea shortly." Watson reassured the young woman. He laid his service revolver on the desk and limped towards the fireplace, stirring up the embers. It was so dreadfully cold outside.

"I do not feel safe here." The young woman said. Her voice was calm despite her nervous words. She was a sturdy girl. Watson suspected her restrained demeanor was one of the main reasons Holmes had decided to take her case.

"I can ensure your safety." Watson turned from the fireplace and inclined his head to indicate the revolver on the desk.

"I am a proficient shot."

Ms. Elise tipped her head to the side. Her eyes looked altered in the firelight. Darker, deeper, more shadowed.

"My brother knows of you and Mr. Holmes. He knows this place. May we at least go to the park? I would feel safer in a crowded place. He is a coward, Doctor, and less likely to harm either of us if there are others to see." Ms. Elise straightened her neck and her eyes slipped further away in the dusk of the room.

Watson considered for a moment. It would do no harm to honor the lady's request. Holmes had most assuredly caught up with the Villain by now and the bitter air might distract Ms. Elise from her concerns.

"Let me get my overcoat." Watson said, kindly. He moved to the far end of the room, to the door where he had hung the garment upon his entry. His progress was slowed by his leg, aching still from the weather. It would surely cause him even greater trouble after their foray into the neighborhood park.

Watson pulled on his coat, his scarf, and was adjusting his bowler when he heard a distinct click behind him. It was soft but unmistakable to his ear: hollow sounding but weighty with connotation.

Afghanistan.

Blood.

Death.