A/N: new chappie! FINALLY! I had this sitting so long and didn't even realize it! enjoy!

Chapter 3: The Assistants of Sherlock Holmes

Quennel sighed as she flopped into the cab in front of the building she'd been in all day and quickly pulled out her phone to dial a number belonging to the man she'd been thinking of non-stop since that morning.

"Where to, love?" the cabby asked as she kept her gaze on her phone.

"Baker Street, please," she replied before placing the phone to her ear to hear the ringback tone, the cabby nodding and pulling into traffic. It only rang once before the phone on the other end of the line was answered.

"Hello, Miss Yule," Sherlock answered, and Quennel couldn't help but sigh with a grin on her face at the fact that she could hear his voice again. She'd spent too many sleepless nights sobbing at the fact that he was 'gone' and now, here he was, answering his mobile as if nothing had happened. She had feared that perhaps last night was some sort of cruel dream, along with this morning, but hearing him now, she knew it was real…and he was back. "On your way home, I'd imagine."

"Yes, I am," she still grinned. "And what have you been up to while I was away?"

"There's a terrorist cell in the city and Mycroft is having me investigate," Sherlock replied, matter-of-factly.

"Keeping busy then," she nodded. "Is John with you?"

The silence that answered her question made her frown in confusion.

"Sherlock?"

"As of last night, he is, decidedly not, speaking with me at the moment."

"Lovely," she sighed. "But I imagine you have someone with you. Or are you simply talking to yourself? I suppose that isn't unusual."

"I'm not completely alone. Molly is here with me. I do need some medical expertise. And I thought it would be a way to thank her for what she did."

"How very thoughtful of you, Sherlock," Quennel smiled, genuinely. "Would you mind if I crashed the party?"

"Certainly not," Sherlock instantly replied. "We're just about to go meet Lestrade for a small case in between my thinking."

"So, you're taking on little cases while working the big case," she nodded, then smiled, "It always amazes me how well you can multitask that way. I don't think I could do it. Too many distractions."

"Me being one of them, I suppose," he shot back.

"Sherlock Holmes," she scoffed, "Was that a jest?"

"Perhaps," he retorted, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "You're almost here. Stay in the cab."

"Wait, what—?"

The line disconnected on the other end before she could finish her question, and in the next moment, the cab came to a stop in front of 221B. She jumped with a start when the door opened and Sherlock suddenly climbed in, Molly right behind him.

"Hi, Quennel," Molly grinned, sitting in front of her as Sherlock sat himself next to a confused Quennel. "Coming along with us, then?"

"Yeah," Quennel drawled, glancing between them in surprise. "I thought I'd have time to change, but I suppose not."

"No need for that," he replied, then told the cabby, "Scotland Yard."

"I would beg to differ," Quennel shot back. "I would love to be as comfortable as Molly looks, right now."

"Well…it was just so cold today," Molly shrugged slightly before looking down at herself and picking at the ends of her scarf.

"Exactly, it's cold, and I'm in drafty work clothes," Quennel added.

"Which is why I took the precaution of bringing your own scarf and jumper," Sherlock retorted, tossing said items toward Quennel who caught them in a fumble on her lap. She gave him a comical glare before sticking her tongue out at him, and Molly couldn't help but giggle at the exchange. Unfazed by the scene, Sherlock continued, "Lestrade described this one as 'a real whopper.' I suppose it means he thinks it's some kind impossible to solve puzzle. We'll see about that."

"Stop drooling, Sherlock," Quennel retorted, pulling on her jumper and scarf. "It's unbecoming. So, Molly, what's he been forcing you to do? Nothing life-threatening, I hope."

"No," Molly chuckled. "Actually this is the first time today we've left the flat for a case. He's been able to solve them all within moments of meeting the clients."

"Oh, so he's been showing off, eh?" Quennel smirked, glancing toward Sherlock who was only staring out his window. "And I see you've been taking some notes, too. Taking over the blog?"

"Um…well, I don't think so," Molly admitted, glancing at Sherlock, warily, but he made no attempt to correct her. "I think I'm just helping out for today."

"Well, now you get to see him in action, after all this time," Quennel smiled. "Glad you could work with him today."

"Yes…it's been quite interesting," Molly nodded with a wide grin. "Enough about that, though. What are you doing now, Quennel? I heard you were back in media."

Sherlock turned a frown to Molly before turning it toward Quennel who pointedly kept her gaze off of him as she replied to Molly, "Yes, I am. Right here in London. BBC's competitor. Well, one of them."

"Oh, right! CAM Global News! I remember now!" Molly recalled with a grin and Quennel nodded again, ignoring Sherlock shifting next to her to stare on in astonishment. Molly looked at him with a frown of wonder, calling, "Sherlock, what—?"

"CAM Global News?" he echoed, finally making Quennel look to him in feigned wonder…she knew exactly why he was questioning her. "CAM?!"

"Well I had to go somewhere after you left, Sherlock," Quennel retorted, leading Molly to one conclusion when really it was about something else, and Sherlock knew it. "CAM is just as good as any place to start again. I'm not a reporter there, if that's what you're worried about and I am learning all sorts of things there."

His outrage was instantly cooled when she gave him a wink that only he could see before the cab came to a stop. The next moment Sherlock flew out of the cab, making Molly roll her eyes as Quennel dug through her purse to pay the cabby.

"The least he could do was pay some of the bill," Molly sighed as they climbed out and Sherlock sauntered toward the entrance of Scotland Yard.

"I don't mind," Quennel smiled as the cab drove off and she admired his frame before they both followed after him. "I'm just glad to have him back."

"Oh, yes…about that," Molly began, making Quennel frown at her in wonder at her tone, but she said nothing. "I want to apologize for not telling you. I wanted to so many times, and I told Sherlock he should've told you, but he wouldn't listen. Will you ever forgive me? Because I've always considered you my friend—"

"Molly, slow down!" Quennel chuckled, stopping them at the door and placing a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye. "I understand. Plausible deniability. Don't worry about it."

Molly gave a sigh of relief and Quennel pulled her in for a reassuring hug before heading into Scotland Yard to meet Lestrade and Sherlock inside.

The Crime Scene...

"This one's got us all baffled," Lestrade explained, tearing the crime scene tape from a door they were about to enter.

"I don't doubt it," Sherlock muttered as Lestrade opened the door.

Quennel frowned in wonder as she followed Lestrade, Sherlock and Molly down a set of stairs, through a hole in a brick wall where Lestrade then turned on the lights that were set up to illuminate the pitch black room. Her eyes widened in absolute horror when they were met with the sight of a skeleton in a suit, sitting at a desk with a decanter and wine glass.

She looked to Sherlock, who instantly gave a frown before heading for the scene, pulling his kit from his pocket and removing the magnifying glass to begin his examination. The three watched as he sniffed and blew on the suit then stood tall after a few pauses and pulled out his phone, looking for reception.

"What is it?" Molly asked, watching him with her notepad and pencil in hand. "You're onto something, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Sherlock muttered, lowering his phone and tucking it away again before muttering again, softly, "Shut up, John."

"What?" Molly frowned in wonder along with Lestrade, neither of them having heard it clearly.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, stepping around the skeleton to examine the other side as Quennel bit her lower lip in sorrow, having heard him before he lied, "Nothing."

Lestrade shuffled toward Sherlock, who remained where he was in his examination of the skeleton.

"This going to be your new arrangement, is it?" Lestrade asked Sherlock in a low tone about Molly accompanying him.

"Just giving it a go," Sherlock replied before standing tall again.

"Right," Lestrade acknowledged, then asked, "So, John?"

Sherlock paused on his way to stepping in front of the desk again, next to Quennel, then replied, "Not really in the picture anymore."

A rumbling suddenly came from the ceiling above, causing dust to come down as well, making them all look up.

"Trains?" Molly guessed.

"Trains," Sherlock nodded before kneeling and staring at the scene, pressing his hands together in front of his mouth.

Quennel couldn't take her eyes off of him. She'd missed watching him work, but at the same time, she was slightly afraid of his reaction when he figured out the secret she was hiding in that moment. As Sherlock stood he suddenly turned his gaze to her, making her jump with a start and frown up at him.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" she prompted, sounding and looking far more confident than she felt…and he knew it.

"You will soon find out, Miss Yule," he assured her through a smirk as Molly approached the body to begin her own examination.

"Male…forty to fifty," Molly began as Sherlock strolled toward her and she turned to him. "Oh, sorry, did you want to—"

"Uh, no, please, be my guest," Sherlock replied before examining something else and suddenly growling, "Shut up!"

The other three glanced at each other in wonder as Sherlock examined the hand with his magnifying glass and Molly turned back to the body.

"It doesn't make sense," she breathed with a frown.

"What doesn't?" Lestrade wondered as Quennel noticed Sherlock blow on the dust of the desk.

"This skeleton," Molly explained. "It can't be any more than—"

"Six months old," Sherlock said in unison with her as he opened a secret compartment on the side of the desk and peeked inside. He reached in and pulled out an old book, blowing the dust away before casually showing it to Molly who grinned when she saw the title.

"Wow!" she breathed before Sherlock tossed the book onto the desk for Lestrade and Quennel to see.

"How I Did it by Jack the Ripper," Lestrade read aloud as Quennel only took a few steps forward to see it.

"That's impossible!" Molly grinned.

"Welcome to my world," Sherlock retorted, making Quennel roll her eyes, but frowned when she noticed him seeming to wave something away as he mumbled to himself and began putting his things away. "I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you."

"No, please, insult away," Lestrade begged, grinning as well in awe as Sherlock attempted to walk away but stopped.

"The corpse is…is six months old," Sherlock fumbled in the start, making Quennel frown and glance to Molly who had noticed it as well before he smoothly continued, "It's dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It's been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sake a week ago."

"So the whole thing was a fake?" Lestrade guessed as Sherlock turned to head out of the room.

"Yes," Sherlock blurted as he grabbed Quennel's hand when he passed her, making her whirl and stumble behind him.

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly called after him, still next to the body.

"Why indeed, John?" Sherlock called back, marching up the stairs with Quennel in tow.

"Molly," she corrected, making him stop and whirl on her once they reached the top and were standing in the front of the door.

"What?" he questioned with a frown.

"That was Molly, not John," she elaborated, then frowned back when he seemed to realize what he'd done. "Are you alright? You seem…off."

"It's…nothing," he sighed, making her frown deepen as they heard Molly and Lestrade heading up the stairs toward them.

"Sherlock—"

"We'll talk later," he assured her in a hushed tone before pulling her away from Molly and Lestrade as they stepped into the doorway. "Now to our next port of call. Someone has some CCTV footage they find rather alarming."

a flat in london...

Sherlock pushed the doorbell of the door he, Molly and Quennel were standing in front of. The home of the man that had talked to Sherlock earlier that day about something he'd found on a CCTV recording.

"Mind the gap," the doorbell chanted, making Quennel and Molly giggle.

"Sherlock, why do you have that hat?" Quennel couldn't help but ask.

"It's the clients," he explained, as if she should know, making her roll her eyes before the door opened and Sherlock gave a polite smile to the man in the doorway before handing him the hat.

"Oh," the man nodded, taking the hat and adding, "Thanks for hanging onto it."

"No problem," Sherlock nodded before following the man into his flat when he beckoned them to come in. "So, what's this all about, Mr. Shilcott?"

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," Howard Shilcott reported as he led the three into a room crowded with train memorabilia and a computer on a desk.

"Girlfriend?" Sherlock chuckled in astonishment, making Howard turn to him with a glare as Quennel elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted before recovering, quickly and adding, "Sorry. Do go on."

"I like trains," Howard stated, making Molly and Quennel frown at the obviousness of the statement, considering the room they were standing in.

"Yes," Sherlock drawled, noting the obvious.

"I work on the Tube, on the District Line," Howard explained. "And part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared. I was just whizzing through and I found something a bit bizarre."

Howard sat in the chair at his desk to begin showing the footage as Sherlock raised a brow at his use of the word 'bizarre,' looking to Molly and Quennel as he did.

"Now, this was a week ago," Howard reported of the image on his screen, the other three crowded around to see the footage. "The last train on the Friday night, Westminster Station. Now, this man gets into the last car."

"Car?" Molly smirked.

"They're cars, not carriages," Howard retorted with the irritation of a man who's explained it more than a few times in his life. "It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system."

Molly shot a look to Quennel who only shrugged and reiterated, "He said he liked trains."

"And the next stop," Howard continued, as Molly smirked. "St James's Park station. And…"

They all looked to the screen, expecting to see the man disembark the train…but the doors in the image open and close without any other movement. The man had disappeared. Howard glanced up at Sherlock as he frowned in interest and wonder as Molly and Quennel both stare on in confusion.

"Thought you'd like it," Howard smirked. "He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger, and the car is empty at St James's Park station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes."

"Couldn't he have just jumped off?" Molly wondered.

"There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit," Howard refuted, before quickly adding, "But there's something else. The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money."

"Sounds like a man that's been bought off," Quennel voiced.

"So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger did get off," Sherlock theorized.

"There's nowhere he could go," Howard objected. "It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on any map. Nothing."

"The train never stops, and a man vanishes," Quennel summarized before sighing sharply and grinning up at Sherlock. "Right up your alley. Sherlock?"

"I know that face," Sherlock whispered, his eyes suddenly shut for a moment before he instantly opened them and said, "Thank you, Mr. Shilcott. I'll take the case. Come along, Molly…Miss Yule."

He suddenly turned and made his way out of the flat and toward the stairs that led to the front entrance. However, he stopped at the top of the second to last flight of stairs that would take them to the foyer. Quennel continued past him, along with Molly before they stopped when they realized he wasn't following and they both looked up at him.

"He's in his Mind Palace," Quennel reported in realization. "We may be here for a bit."

As if to prove her wrong, Sherlock instantly began rattling off, "The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes and that journey took ten minutes. Ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park. So I'm going to need maps, lots of maps. Older maps, all the maps."

"Right," was all Molly could blurt out as he made his way down the stairs.

"You two fancy some chips?" he wondered, still walking.

"Sorry?" Quennel frowned in confusion as the girls followed.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road," Sherlock explained. "The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly wondered, half joking as they reached the last set of stairs.

"No, I helped him put up some shelves," Sherlock retorted through a smirk.

"Ooh! More jokes! How very privileged we are to be graced with the humor of Sherlock Holmes, aren't we, Molly?" Quennel grinned, teasingly as she and Sherlock reached the bottom of the stairs and she looked to Molly who had stopped on the stairs. Sensing Molly had something she wanted to speak with Sherlock about privately Quennel suddenly felt like a third wheel and blurted, "Yeah, I'll just be…outside. In your own time then. I'll hail us a cab, shall I? Right. I'm off!"

Quennel quickly made her way toward the door and stepped outside into the chilly London air to find it snowing. She shivered and pulled her coat and scarf on a little tighter, not bothering to hail a cab. Knowing Sherlock he may want to just walk to the fish shop. She wondered what they were talking about. She knew how Molly had felt about him, and that Sherlock knew, but she was certain Molly wouldn't try anything, and she felt she owed it to her to let her have a moment with him, since she'd helped him out with faking his death. Still, a prick of jealousy stabbed at her heart that Molly had known all along he was alive, when Quennel never had that reassurance.

"Come along, Miss Yule," Sherlock said, suddenly behind her, making her jump and gasp as she turned to him. He gently took her arm and led her along the sidewalk, but she frowned and looked back to see Molly heading in the opposite direction after coming out of the building.

"What about Molly?" she asked, looking up at him.

"She has a fiancé to get home to," he replied, making Quennel's eyes shoot wide in disbelief. "As obtuse as ever, are we, Miss Yule?"

"Well, I'm not you, am I?" she shot back.

"In any case, you and I have a few things to discuss over fish and chips," he explained, making her frown up at him in wonder. "First off: How I Did it by Jack the Ripper."

Her heart suddenly started pounding in panic as he hailed a cab, never once letting go of her arm.

Fish Shop...

"Alright, Miss Yule, it's time for your confession," Sherlock stated, handing a box of chips to her as she gave a slight pout.

"You already know, so what's the point?" Quennel shot back, taking a bite from her chips.

"Because I want to hear you say it," he retorted with a smirk, making her give him a glare as they turned to stroll back toward Baker Street with their food.

"Well…Phillip thought of getting a case set up that might interest you enough to come out of hiding," she began, then shrugged and popped a chip in her mouth as she added, "He asked for my help, so I gave him an idea and he ran with it. If I had really wanted to make it interesting, I could have, but he wanted to do it himself. He only asked for my opinion on a few things, and in return, he gave me a map of all the places he thought you'd solved cases."

"Ah, yes, that map hanging in your room," he nodded before shoving a chip into his mouth. "I was wondering where you might have gotten that and why Anderson's writing was on it."

"And you?" she prompted, making him turn a frown to her as they still strolled. "You were going to tell me why you've been off all day."

He gave a sharp sigh before glancing around, as if afraid someone might hear him before she decided to state the obvious.

"It's about John, isn't it?" she guessed, and she could tell by the way he glanced at her that she was right. "Sherlock, he can't stay angry at you forever. He's thrilled you're back, but the way you went about it was…not tactful. You just need to give him a bit of time. You'll be back to solving crimes with him in no time."

"Yes, and in the meantime, he's in my head, taunting me," he muttered, popping another chip into his mouth and making her smirk up at him.

"I did notice you telling him to shut up a lot at the Fake Ripper crime scene," she explained, making him give a groan. "Soon it'll be the real John teasing you on a case."

"You seem to be doing just fine in that department, Miss Yule," he retorted. "I suppose it's your specialty."

"It's a thankless job, but someone has to do it," she grinned, then recalled something and gasped, "Sherlock, you can't let Mycroft know that you know about CAM."

"Oh, Quennel…"

"I'm serious!" she cut into his groaning. "He'll have my head if he found out! He was very specific after you came back that you were not to know a thing about it!"

"And I suppose you know why."

"Of course I do, I'm the one on the mission. Just please, don't say anything, and don't ask me any more questions."

"Very well," Sherlock sighed in irritation.

"Thank you," Quennel nodded. "Anything else you feel like sharing?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before shrugging, "My parents are in town."

A/N: reviews?