CHAPTER TWO: DETAILS

"You're an investigator again?" Dylan asked, and Alex could almost hear her grin over the phone.

Dylan still worked with Charlie, though not as an Angel anymore, now more as a special consultant. Not unlike Sherlock, Alex thought, with a small smile.

"What's that smile for?" Dylan asked, "ooh, is it a boy?"

"I'm not smiling," Alex lied, and Dylan scoffed.

"We're Angels, Alex. That means we're detectives. I know you're smiling."

"Fine, I'm smiling," grumbled Alex, "happy?"

"Yes- now you have to tell me who the guy is," Dylan ordered.

"It's not like that," Alex groaned, "Sherlock's a friend. An interesting one. He'd have made a good Angel."

"Except for the part where he's a guy." Pointed out Dylan.

"And the fact the only real defensive training he has is single-stick."

"Single-what?" Dylan asked.

"Single-stick. It's sort of like fencing, except you can only hit the pate and- oh, never mind." Dylan laughed.

"Sounds like you've got your hands full!"

"That's the biz, sweetheart." Alex grinned.

"And you're smiling again," Dylan said. Alex just grinned harder.

"I'm about to go in, talk to you later?" she said.

"Definitely. You take care, Alex."

"I promise. You too, Dyl."

Slipping her phone back into her jacket pocket, Alex used her key to enter the brownstone. She went to flick on the light, only to find the light bulb was out in the foyer. Frowning, she called out, "Sherlock?"

"I'll let you live if you tell me where Holmes is." A voice, altered by a voice changing machine, declared from behind her. Alex didn't hesitate, flipping away as the owner of the machine-altered voice lunged forwards, bringing up her foot to kick her attacker in the solar-plex as she landed.

The figure started gasping for breath, falling back grabbing his throat. Alex stood over him, holding her arms in the ready position, and jabbed her heel into his throat. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"W-Watson!" croaked the invader, and Alex felt her eyes widen.

"Sherlock?" she asked, in disbelief, removing her foot from his throat. Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position and massaged his throat, gingerly. "What's your damage?" she demanded, hands moving from the ready position to her hips.

"Besides my throat?" Sherlock asked, and she glared at him. "You were held recently at gunpoint by a criminal who infiltrated the brownstone when I wasn't here," Sherlock said, seeming to get the fact she wasn't playing, "I thought an exercise in self-defense was warranted, as I could never forgive myself if something happened to you. It turns out, though, that my worries were… unfounded."

"You bet your ass they were," Alex said, turning to march up the stairs, still pissed at him. She could have really hurt him!

"I will find out what you're hiding!" Sherlock called after her, and she gave him the same reply she did at the station.

"You do that, Sherlock."