I had every intention to update this chapter in less then a week after posting the previous one but I reached the point where I just wished the chapter would magically appear rather than write it.

So instead of writing this chapter I have: read several 20+ chapter stories, wrote 2 one-shot stories, painted the living room and the kitchen, refolded the clothes in my closet (it looked like a bomb exploded in it), organized a Star Trek marathon with my friends (we watched all 12 movies), and got a dog.

Sherlock stopped in front of the glass doors of the restaurant and quickly glanced towards the CCTV camera mounted on the corner of the building opposite. He had no doubt Mycroft ordered his movements to be followed now that he knew who the subject of the investigation was.

He snorted at his brother's belief he would back down just because he told him to. It was like Mycroft didn't know him at all.

He opened the door and entered the restaurant. Instantly, a host greeted him. Quick deduction told him the man was in his fifties, happily married over twenty years, two kids but no grandkids, had two small dogs and a cat, and hated his job. The final deduction was made due to several small stains that proved he didn't care all that much about his own appearance and most likely hoped he would get fired.

Sherlock thanked the host once the man seated him at a table for two next to a window and looked outside. He was still in sight of the camera that had rotated and was focusing solemnly on him.

He made a mental note to inform Mycroft the tax payers don't pay so that he can stalk his own brother on a potential business meeting. Mycroft will without a doubt claim he did it for Sherlock's safety despite both of them knowing he was doing it because of Magnussen. Because that man knew something.

The waiter brought the menu before going to the kitchen to pick an order, leaving Sherlock enough time to pick something. He wasn't really keen on eating, he preferred not to while on a case, but because he needed to wait for Magnussen he also needed to order something and keep the pretense.

Also, he knew Molly would approve of him eating a little something since they both skipped dinner last night when she was called in to help out after a fatal traffic accident.

Screaming startled him and he instantly looked outside, thinking something terrible was going on, but instead only seeing a young boy being dragged away by his mother. It seemed he saw something he wanted and refuse to take a 'no' for an answer.

Turning away from the sight and focusing on the entrance he saw the newspaper magnate had entered while he was distracted. Instantly he scowled himself for it, he needed to be focused if he wanted to get information he required from Magnussen.

A small grin appeared on the older man's face as he spotted Sherlock sitting alone at the table. He waived his two bodyguards away and walked towards the table where the consulting detective was sitting; informing the host in the process he had a meeting and would require a table for four, but needed to greet an acquaintance first.

"Mr. Holmes, I would say it's a surprise to see you here but I have been expecting you." Magnussen said, taking a seat opposite of Sherlock, just as a waiter brought the bottle of wine to the table.

He poured the glass to Sherlock and was about the pour another one but Magnussen waived his hand at him, signaling him not to and to just leave.

"Then we don't have to go through the entire pretense." Sherlock commented as the waiter walked away, leaving them alone, "I believe you know why I'm here."

"A client?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, a client hired me to return something that is currently in your possession."

"Ah, Mrs. Smallwood." Magnussen grinned after leaning back in the chair, "Isn't she such a lovely woman? Bold, proud, meticulous. Smells rather well too, not sure if you noticed."

"I have." Sherlock responded, rather bored with the small talk, but aware he needs to keep Magnussen interested.

"Of course you have, after all you notice everything. Don't you? The great consulting detective." Magnussen leaned towards Sherlock and smiled maliciously, "So, tell me Mr. Holmes… does Miss Hooper smell as delicious too? Claire de la Lune is for younger women after all."

Sherlock instantly sat straighter, "What does doctor Hooper have to do with anything?"

"Oh, not much. She's meaningless to me, most boring person I ever encountered actually. Her only pressure points are you and kittens. But I also know she's one of your pressure points, along with few other people… and heroin. But I won't fall for that one, that information is useless to me. There are more important ones, ones that are worth more."

"Like the certain letters." Sherlock offered.

Magnussen smiled and reached to the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He didn't take the letters out completely, only enough for Sherlock to see they were indeed in his possession. But it was all Sherlock needed. He needed confirmation Magnussen had the letters with him in London and not hidden away in the underground vault in that glass palace of his.

"Tell your client I refused." Magnussen said before taking the wine glass that was in front of Sherlock and taking a sip of the red liquid before spitting it back out, "A waste of grapes. And a waste of my time. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Do not contact me ever again; you don't have what I want anyway."

"And what is that?" Sherlock asked as the older man was standing up from the table making him stop and look back at the consulting detective.

"Deduce it."

John was standing for almost ten minutes in front of a tall glass building when a cab stopped in front and Sherlock walked outside. Instantly he scowled. When he received the text message he instantly left his home and drove for almost half an hour to the place where Sherlock told him to wait and not to be late. But who was late in the end? The consulting detective who refuses to explain what this case is all about.

"Is there a reason why you told me to be punctual and then be late yourself?" he instantly asked as Sherlock walked past him towards the entrance. John of course followed.

"I had a sort of a meeting, and then had to acquire an item." Sherlock answered.

"And that's why you're late." John concluded.

Sherlock stopped in his track and waited for his friend to catch up before he faced John and corrected him, "I was not late. I merely told you to be here earlier because I wasn't sure how long I'll be at Barts."

"You were at Barts? You went to see Molly?" John's brain was working overtime, "Does it had anything to do with this morning?"

It took several seconds for Sherlock to realize what John meant and once he did a frown appeared on his face, "Don't be ridiculous, John."

"Once this bloody case is over we are going to it down and have a nice long chat about what in the world is going on in your life."

Sherlock frowned again and continued to walk; his friend's words were not something he wanted to hear. He was Sherlock Holmes; he didn't have long meaningful conversations with anyone.

As he approached the building the detective looked up towards the top floor and a small smile appeared, replacing the frown. According to the building plan the office took the entire South side and all but one window currently dark, meaning everyone were on schedule and the final stage of his plan could be set in motion.

And that one window was the entrance office where the personal assistant that made a rather big human error was currently still working.

Sherlock made one final glance towards John before entering the building, acting like he belonged there, to prevent anyone from stopping him and asking what he was doing there at that time of the evening.

"What's the plan?" John asked after catching up to Sherlock.

"We need to get to Magnussen's office, it's on the top floor and has its own elevator that can only be opened with an access card." Sherlock began to explain and was right away interrupted.

"A card which we don't have." John interjected.

Sherlock obviously wasn't worried because he didn't even bother to slow down. Instead he pulled the access card from his coat pocket, "I borrowed it earlier today from a rather slowwitted bodyguard that refused to move and let me pass. Of course I can't use it; he isn't supposed to be here right now, so I need to improvise."

John watched as his friend moved the card several times over his cell phone, "You are destroying the strip."

"I don't need the strip. I need the faulty access card so that Magnussen's personal assistant has to activate the inter-phone."

"What?" John was completely baffled by that plan, "Are you crazy?! How is that supposed to work? I doubt his assistant will simply let you in."

Sherlock looked at his friend and smiled, "You are forgetting something John. I always have a plan."

"And that plan usually consists of rather idiotic details. For instance, jumping of a building."

"That was one time."

"One time watching you die is more than enough for me Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't pull the access card through the slot, instead he turned towards his friend, "I don't have an intention of putting you through something like that ever again. That's why I made some precautions."

"Like what?" John asked, completely confused. As far as he knew Sherlock didn't do absolutely anything in the past month apart from faking a drug use and a relationship with...

John's eyes widened as he realized what Sherlock meant when he said it was all for a case.

As expected the scanner didn't recognized the card and inter-phone screen came to life. And Janine looked rather shocked at the sight of her boyfriend trying to get access to her workplace.

"Sherl, what are you doing here?"

"Let me up and I'll show you." Sherlock answered and John groaned. His friend was such an idiot sometimes.

"I can't. I could get in a lot of trouble." Janine said with a smile, she was glad he wanted to come upstairs even though she wasn't allowed to let him up.

"Oh, come on. Are you really going to make me do it like this? Over a screen?" a wicked smile appeared on Sherlock's face and John couldn't help but feel worried.

"Do what?" Janine giggled and then gasped and had to sit on the chair. On her computer screen was a video feed of Sherlock Holmes holding a little black box with an engagement ring inside.

John's mouth was wide open at that point. He couldn't believe Sherlock would do such a thing, but then again the consulting detective had previously proven to be willing to do just about anything to solve a case. Even drug his best friend with a powerful hallucinogen.

And let's not forget jumping of a building.

"Janine?" Sherlock asked innocently and then gave her a wide smile as the doors of the elevator opened.

John stepped in after Sherlock and couldn't help but observe the consulting detective carefully for any signs of insanity. After few moments he shook his head and decided to ignore his suspicion.

"So… you just got engaged to get into an office. Does Molly know about it?" he asked shortly before the doors opened so Sherlock didn't had the change to give him an answer.

The front offices were empty, with no soul in sight. Which was odd before Janine supposed to be there waiting for them. She supposed to be excited and giddy and hugging her fiancé and demand he places the ring on her finger. But she was suspiciously absent.

"Did she faint?" Sherlock asked mockingly, "Do women really do that? I'm going to have to ask Molly?"

John stopped and gaped at his friend for a moment before asking, "Are you going to ask her if she fainted when Tom proposed or you plan to propose to her as well to see if she'll faint?"

"Shhh…" Sherlock turned to John, "Not so loud. I don't want Janine to hear you mentioning me proposing to Molly."

John frowned not really understanding what was going on. Did he understand it correctly? Was Sherlock actually planning to propose to the pathologist? Was it that serious between them? It's only been a month since that night at Molly's flat that could, in a way, count as their first date.

He was about to ask all those questions when he noticed something that took his breath away. A pair of legs behind a desk.

"Sherlock…" he called his friend's name as he was rushing to the unconscious woman.

Janine was lying face-down on the floor. There were no signs of struggle or any visible wounds. He gently probed her head and found a bump at the back of her skull. She was hit from behind, never stood a chance against her attacker. Speaking of the attacker…

"He could still be in here." He whispered to Sherlock who was kneeling on the other side of his fake fiance.

Sherlock nodded and stood up, looking around for a moment before sniffing the air. It reminded John of a bloodhound looking for a trail. It's as good description of Sherlock as any other. Once he was on to something he didn't back down.

"Do you smell that? I know that perfume. I've smelled it before." Sherlock muttered and quickly moved away.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you going? He could be armed!"

"If she was then Janine would be dead." Sherlock answered before rushing up the circular stairway to the upper level of the office.

He was annoyed; she should have waited for him to get the letters instead of trying to get them herself. It was incredibly stupid and dangerous. If the police got the wind of it, which was likely considering she assaulted Magnussen's personal assistant, her career could be over. A pity really, he liked her and he didn't like many politicians, but there was something about Lady Elizabeth Smallwood that appealed to him. He deduced her within seconds of meeting her and she didn't have any annoying or ridiculous habits, appeared to be rather kind but had a backbone.

That was probably why Molly had agreed to go along with his plan, with deceiving Janine the way he had. She was present when Lady Smallwood came to see him at Baker Street and was appalled at Magnussen's blackmail.

Sherlock stopped at the side of opened door and peaked inside. He wasn't surprised to see a figure dressed in black standing in the middle of the office but to his surprise Charles Magnussen was present as well. That wasn't a pert of his plan, the man was supposed to be on a business dinner.

Briefly he wondered if her should remain hidden, have Lady Smallwood retrieve the letters herself, but when the faint reflection caught his attention he noticed the figure in front of him held a gun pointed at the kneeling man.

"This isn't the right way Lady Smallwood. You hired me to get the letter back, you should have trusted me to do so." He spoke, slowly entering the office.

Magnussen instantly looked at him, his face expression mixture of relief and confusion. He obviously believed he would live now that there is a witness in the room.

"Lady Smallwood?" he asked looking from Sherlock to the person in front of him, "This isn't Lady Smallwood."

Sherlock's head snapped back in surprise at the words and he could almost feel his heart skip a beat as the person in black in front of him turned around and he came face to face with no other but Mary Watson.

"What…" it was the first time in years that he couldn't find the right words.

"Is her here with you?" she asked, "Is John here with you? Answer me!"

"Yes." Sherlock answered briefly and Mary nodded silently, "Mary, what-"

"Stay back. Don't make another step forward or I will be forced to shoot you. I don't want to do that Sherlock." She warned him as he tried to approach her.

"Mary-" Sherlock decided to disregard the warning and stepped forward only to feel a sudden sharp stab in the abdomen that came after a muffled bang.

He looked down and saw a red stain coloring the crisp white shirt he was wearing, slowly spreading from the hole in the material. A gasp escaped him as he tried to comprehend what just happened. She shot him, she really shot him.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, so sorry. But I need to protect him; you of all people understand that." Mary spoke sadly before she suddenly turned around and hit Magnussen in the face with the base of the grip, rendering him unconscious. She looked at Sherlock and took out a burner phone from her pocket.

"You need to fall down." Sherlock could hear Molly's voice somewhere on his right and he turned around to look at his pathologist, "You were shot Sherlock; you need to fall down now."

"Tell me how." He muttered to the one he could always count on.

"On your back. The bullet is still in you; it will serve as a tampon and prevent a massive blood loss. It will give paramedics time to reach you, to save you. Fall down Sherlock."

He could feel his body losing battle against gravity and hit the floor, on his back like Molly instructed him. And the moment his back touched the hard wood floor a sharp pain that was previously localized now spread to his entire body.

"Molly, I need you." Sherlock muttered closing his eyes.

"Focus!" a loud cry followed by a slap made him gasp and open his eyes again. Right away he realized his surroundings changed, "You can't end up here again. I had you on my slab once before, I can't have you lying dead in front of me ever again Sherlock. But I can't help you this time; you need to do it yourself. You need to save yourself."

"You are already saving me Molly. Tell me what to do." He whispered, unable to talk louder from the immense pain that clutched his entire body.

"You managed to delay blood loss. Next thing that could kill you is shock. You can't go into shock; your heart won't be able to handle it. Take deep breaths and calm down." Molly instructed him.

Sherlock took a weak breath and tried to calm down but he could feel his heart beating forcefully in his chest. Adrenalin was rushing through his vanes, preventing him to do as Molly suggested.

"I can't. All I can think it Mary. She shot me!" Sherlock cried out and Molly took his hand in hers.

"Yes, you can. I know you, you can do it." It was obvious she believed in him more then he believed in himself, "You managed to stay awake for days, eat bare minimum, and still solve the hardest cases. But you need to get your body to work with you again."

"I can't!"

"Yes, you can!" she yelled at him, "You just need to calm down."

"How?"

"You have a whole Mind palace at your disposal." Molly reminded him, "Are you telling me you don't have a single happy memory in there. Have you deleted them all? There must be something, something that would always relax you, remind you that you are cared for and that you always have someone willing to help you. Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again and forced himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the numbing pain in his abdomen, and when he opened his eyes again he was no longer lying down on the cold sterile slab in Barts morgue. He was standing in the middle of Molly Hooper's sitting room.

"Molly…" he called her name and right away he appeared on his side. She was always on his side, even when he tried to chase her away. When he was rude and condescending, when he insulted her in front of their friends and when he ignored her. Molly was the one who counted the most, the one who saved him, who made his survival possible.

And he knew she would help him now too. She already had, her knowledge and calmness were the key. Her affection for him was the key.

"What do you need?" she stepped closer.

"You." Sherlock answered, and offered his hand, "Dance with me."