Chapter 2

Two weeks later…

Another body.

This one female.

She had been left at the docks and had the customary knife wounds on the upper torso, but, again, Sherlock noticed, no bruising. Like the previous victims, the throat was not cut and she wasn't rich.

Another substitute, maybe?

If so, who was the intended victim?

His piercing blue eyes narrow in thought. And a small photograph, placed carefully under a brick so that it would not float away, was put near her head: a picture of Moriarty smiling the words 'DID YOU MISS ME' written in red marker by someone who was clearly left handed.

Was John right?

Was it Moriarty?

It had been a while since they had seen any activity from the consulting criminal…perhaps he was making a comeback.

Sherlock shakes his head slightly to dismiss the thoughts and turns back to the corpse. She had long, curly, dark brown hair and worse simple but modest clothes. A pale purple blouse and black pants, both pieces easily over three years old and mended carefully each time suggesting she was unable to afford replacements. Her shoes, although scuffed and worn, had been carefully preserved.

So, she was down on her luck like the brothers and the other victims…but, as Sherlock later found out, she was also new to town. She and her fiancé had planned on buying the flat across from the brothers but, after the murder, had been less eager and went to look for lodging elsewhere.

And now she was dead, and he was missing: strange. Even stranger, the fiancé could not have killed the brothers because he had been out of the country on business and just recently came to London three days ago…so he couldn't possibly be the killer they were looking for. If Sherlock was correct, and he was seldom wrong, this woman had been murdered by the same killer as the brothers.

But why had she been targeted?

All this was racing through Sherlock's brain as he paced the length of the flat over and over again, much to John's displeasure. Finally, John sighs and goes to check the mail to give Sherlock some more space, if only for a moment.

Footsteps fun frantically back up. John's heart races as he runs to Sherlock with the mail held tightly in his palms. "You've got another one, Sherlock. Another letter." John says upon reappearing at the top of staircase, his brow furrowed in worry. "Looks like the same person as before, mate." The letter vanishes from his hand in an instant as Sherlock snatches it into his own. He examines the envelope before opening: standard issue paper, simple and neat handwriting, left handed writer…was it Jim Moriarty?

"Well? What does it say?"

Sherlock sighs with irritation and opens it.

Another poem. Why poems?

...

Can you see it?

Can you hear?

Dear detective, your death is drawing near.

I'll make you pay for what you did,

And to burn out your heart

Will only be the start.

When you find me, look again

Because dear detective, you'd have failed once again.

...

So, it was him. The bodies were substitutes for him. He had assumed as much before but it had been a theory concocted by coincidental evidence. But was the coincidence of finding another body and getting a note, again, in the same day? Who ever was killing these people was doing it for a reason and the reason glared up at him with every cut and puddle of blood they had found: revenge.

"That's it." John declares after reading the note. "We're getting Lestrade involved, and get the police to keep an eye on the flat. This is getting too dangerous Sherlock."

"No, John."

"No? What do you mean 'no'? Some maniac is out to get you and you're just okay with that? I'm not going to stand here and watch my best friend die, Sherlock!"

"I'll be fine, John. Do you honestly believe this is the first time I've been threatened? I've handled it before and, look, I'm still here aren't I?! We can use this to our advantage, lure the killer out."

"You mean Moriarty?"

"Quite possibly." The facts were certainly leaning that way, but it felt wrong. Moriarty was not one to hide in the shadows, he loved to gloat to take the credit, especially when dealing with Sherlock. All these corpses and all Sherlock gets from him is a picture and two threatening poems? True, Moriarty was not exactly what one would call consistent…or sane…but surely he would have threatened him in person, or at least with a phone call.

Letters? No, letters were traditionally used by Moriarty to give him clues and he got nothing out of these. But, it wouldn't be entirely out of the question for Moriarty to change up his style to make the game more interesting. The writer of the letters was definitely left handed like Jim and knew about their encounters together, bur was it him?

Or was it someone else?

"'Possibly'? So, the picture of Moriarty with the 'DID YOU MISS ME' and then, just now in the letter, 'burn out your heart', the idea of it being him just eludes you? Who ELSE could it possibly be?" His voice rises into a shout.

"You okay, dearies?" Mrs. Hudson walks quickly up the stairs. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine." Sherlock says quickly. He saw no reason to scare the gentle old woman needlessly, she was worried enough after discovering those bodies and about the killer returning to claim more victims. "John is just being dramatic about a case we're working on. No reason to worry." He smiles a crooked gin and she beams back at him before walking carefully back down.

His smile melts away the moment she is gone from sight and he turns to glare at John accusingly and John glares back.

"Okay, then." She shouts over her shoulder, "I'll be in my flat if you need anything." And then she's gone.

"This is dangerous, Sherlock and you know it." John says roughly as he struggled to keep his voice low. Like Sherlock, he didn't want to worry the grandmother-like lady.

"And that's exactly why we need to act quickly. If my plan works, we'll have caught him and ended this madness within the end of the week."

"And if you fail?" His voice low and defeated.

"I'll die and Moriarty will finally win."

"So you do think it is him, then?"

He nods, "Yes." And he did. Moriarty was flexible and psychotic. It would be like him to jerk the rug out from underneath them just when they finally thought they had the rules all figured out. So, why not him?

So, it is Moriarty? Or is someone else? What do you guys think? Sorry if this chapter was a little slow, but I plan to make the next one faster paced.