I have no idea how I've managed to write another chapter on such a short notice, but I definitely had fun writing it. I hope you'll enjoy this one too! Thank you for reading my story and, of course, for the reviews!

LuckyMuddypaw: I'm glad you liked the story! Happy birthday! 3 I wish I could be sixteen again ^^

spirouFr: Thank you for reading! :)

Please, let me know what you think of this chapter! And for now, enjoy! :)

Another file, another simple case. Her hand started to hurt from all the words she'd scripted throughout the day, but nothing hurt as much, as the perspective of spending the entire evening in the office. Lestrade asked her to stay with him, claiming that something important might come up. Why was he so sure of that, she had no idea, but her guts told her that it must have been connected to Sherlock Holmes somehow.

Victoria watched Lestrade like a hawk, trying to figure out the reason for his unusual anxiousness. He kept glancing at his phone, checking the hour and… well, doing nothing productive. She was pretty sure that the files piling up on his desk weren't going to disappear on their own and she really hoped that he wouldn't stick them into her arms.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he ran out of his office and gestured for her to follow him.

"Come on! We have to go. Sherlock says there's a bomb hidden underneath the Parliament," he stated and rushed towards the elevator.

Victoria blinked once and grabbed her leather jacket immediately, excitement filling her entire body. She joined Lestrade, before he could have left without her, and grinned widely.

"Bomb? Underneath the Parliament? How the hell does he know about it?" she asked and Lestrade shrugged.

"He told me to expect his call. Of course, he didn't elaborate on anything," Greg rolled his eyes and scowled. "I've already called the bomb squad, but I really think we should get there to make sure that no one tries to punch him out cold, or worse, lock him in jail."

Victoria nodded her head and made sure her gun was hidden inside the holster. She knew that smiling after having just learnt about a bomb under the building with hundreds people inside wasn't exactly appropriate, but her inner freak couldn't stop herself. Finally, something interesting was happening!

"Wait, why did you order me to stay with you, instead of Donovan?" she asked, after a realisation hit her.

"It's Sherlock we're talking about. I don't think it's a good idea to get her involved."

Well, it was rather obvious. Why didn't she think of that on her own? It must have been the excitement's fault.

"Do you have any idea how exactly did the bomber manage to put the explosives underneath the Parliament?" Victoria changed the subject and Lestrade shook his head.

"All I know is that we need to get to the Westminster station as fast as possible. Sherlock said that we'll see one of the doors pried open. That's where we need to go."

"Is he already there?"

"Knowing him, yes," Lestrade muttered and she cursed.

"Please, tell me he knows how to defuse a bomb."

"He's Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. The only thing he doesn't know is that the Sun doesn't go around the Earth."

Victoria had never liked darkness very much, but walking down the tunnel in the London Tube was even scarier than the darkness itself. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about how nasty her body would have looked like after getting hit by a carriage. She knew it made little to no sense, but her mind raced out of control, coming up with more and more terrifying images.

Her gun provided some comfort, at least. The cool metal beneath her fingers felt familiar, giving her the ability to keep her nerves on a leash. Not that shooting a speeding train could have helped her in any way. Still, the firearm proved to be helpful practically in every other situation.

"I think I can hear some voices," Lestrade said quietly and sped up his pace.

Victoria followed him with ease and soon, she found herself in front of a carriage that had undoubtedly been the one, judging by the bomb squad bustling inside. She looked around, only to find Sherlock Holmes and another man –a shorter one- standing not so far away from the carriage.

Lestrade trotted in their direction, holstering his gun without hesitation. Victoria sighed and did the same thing, realising that travelling through a dark tunnel would probably be the most interesting part of today's adventure.

"Holmes, Watson! You okay?" Lestrade called and Victoria realised that the man standing next to Sherlock must have been the famous doctor.

"Of course we are," Holmes answered calmly, although Watson seemed quite disturbed by the events. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Oh, I don't know. Because of a freaking bomb?!" Greg growled and shook his head. "What were you thinking, Holmes?!"

Victoria stopped next to him and grinned. She had known Greg too well not to notice that he wasn't actually furious. It would look bad if he hadn't yelled at Holmes, though. What he'd done was really reckless after all.

"It was perfectly safe. Besides, I called the police, didn't I?"

"Perfectly safe..." John muttered underneath his breath and shook his head. "We've almost died!"

"No, we haven't," Sherlock protested and his gaze rested on Victoria. "Why not Donovan? Does she refuse to work with me?"

"She doesn't," Lestrade answered, choosing not to elaborate. Holmes had probably known the entire story even before he'd asked.

"Pity. I was hoping not to see her face ever again."

Victoria snorted and earned herself a harsh look from Lestrade and an interested one from John Watson.

"I don't think we know each other," the doctor said and extended his hand towards her. "Doctor John Watson."

"Detective Victoria Radcliffe, pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Just John, please," the man smiled and Holmes rolled his eyes.

"John, refrain from flirting. You're not her type."

Victoria raised her brows, wanting to ask about his deduction, but John wasn't going to give her the chance to do that.

"I'm not flirting! I'm engaged!"

"Ah, yes. I've forgotten." Sherlock's response sounded generally uncaring, which pissed John off even more.

Before the doctor could have said anything, though, Lestrade cleared his throat, forcing everyone's attention back to him. Everyone's, but Sherlock's, who kept staring at Victoria with a mysterious expression.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened," Lestrade ordered and was answered only by silence. "Holmes? Holmes!"

"I've discovered that someone was plotting to blow up the entire Parliament on the day of voting on the Terrorism Bill," the consulting detective had finally answered, but Lestrade wasn't satisfied by his explanation.

"And?"

"And I've prevented it from happening. Detective Radcliffe, why are you afraid of the darkness?"

Everyone looked at Victoria, while she tried to contain her surprise. How did he know that, huh? Oh, right. He probably deduced it from the way she was clutching her flashlight or something equally unsuspicious.

"Is my possible fear of darkness relevant to the case?" she asked and raised her eyebrows.

"Not really, no. Just curious," Sherlock answered and tilted his head a bit. "You don't look like the abused type."

"Thank you." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Let's strike a deal. I'm going to tell you why I'm scared of darkness and you're going to tell us how did you know about the bomb," she offered and Holmes smirked at her.

"No deal. Goodbye," he said and turned on his heel, moving towards the exit.

Lestrade called after him, but Holmes disappeared into the darkness, his coat hugging his silhouette perfectly. Victoria had to admit, it was one of the best dramatic exits she had ever seen, even if it made her thoughts run wild.

Why didn't he want to know? She'd heard all about his urge to brag, to show off his impressive skills. So why didn't he say anything? Was it because he'd already known all about her reasons, or was it because he'd rather figure it out on his own?

"He's making me want to rip my hair off," Lestrade muttered, forcing her to stop analysing Sherlock's departure.

"Can't really blame you," Victoria said and smiled. "We've just wasted our evening because of his whim, didn't we?"

"Get used to it, Radcliffe. Get used to it."

Her eyelids fell so heavy that she was praying not to fall asleep. As much as she loved interesting cases, they also tended to give her a really hard time. Victoria rarely faced a homicide with a seemingly impossible solution, but when she finally did, sleep became the last thing on her mind. She spent every minute of her spare time trying to figure out the identity of the killer, without any plausible effects. Lestrade began to get impatient; he even threatened to call Sherlock. Not that letting him solve the case would feel particularly terrible, but it was still a matter of her professional pride. Victoria had to do everything to solve it on her own, before she finally gave up.

Unfortunately, desperation to keep her records immaculate resulted in a massive sleep deprivation. She yawned every thirty seconds, while her eyes continued to sting like someone had poured sand underneath her lids. She really needed some good coffee, which Scotland Yard couldn't provide her with.

"I need a break," Victoria muttered and put on her coat. She didn't even look at Donovan's face, knowing that it would show nothing, but contempt.

She couldn't believe that Lestrade had actually liked this woman, claiming that she could be charming and quite nice. But, on the other hand, everyone felt the need to be nice to Greg. He was a fine man, but, more importantly, he was their superior. Maybe Sally simply wanted to slither in his good graces? No matter how hard was she trying to come up with a different reason for Donovan's bipolar behaviour, it all came down to one conclusion: she didn't really care.

Without hesitation, Victoria left the building and started her search for a good coffee shop. After several minutes of inhaling London air, she walked into a cosy little cafeteria and almost moaned out of pleasure when her nose got attacked by the heavenly scent of coffee. She ordered her drink and soon after that, she took a sip out of her cup, closing her eyes with delight.

Victoria thanked the barista and turned around, only to freeze in complete shock upon seeing Sherlock Holmes standing outside the cafeteria. What on Earth was he doing here? It couldn't have been a coincidence, right? Slowly, she walked out of the shop and immediately caught his attention.

"Detective Radcliffe," he greeted her calmly, while Victoria narrowed her eyes, searching for a reason for his unexpected appearance.

"Mr Holmes. Could you tell me what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock. Mr Holmes is my brother," he corrected and hailed a cab, gesturing her to come with him.

"Um... That doesn't answer my question." She watched with a baffled expression, as he opened the door to the cab, but her obtrusive gaze did nothing to earn her an explanation.

"Lestrade wants you to come with me," he just stated and disappeared inside the cab, clearly waiting for her to join him.

Victoria really doubted that the DI wanted her to skip her work and indulge Holmes' whims, so she bent over to voice her concerns.

"He didn't tell me about any of this."

"Yes, I've promised to convey the message. It's for a case, Detective. Hurry up, I don't have all day."

Victoria sighed and joined him in the cab, putting her hot cup between her knees and taking her phone out of the pocket. Before she could have done anything, Holmes grabbed it, opened the door and threw it on the street.

"What the hell?! That was my phone, Holmes!" she yelled, but he didn't even flinch.

The cab started to move and she figured out that Holmes must have already revealed their destination to the cabbie, while she was standing on the sidewalk, contemplating. It made her even more furious; not only did she have no phone, but also no idea as to where they were headed.

"Distraction." Sherlock's reply was dry and completely emotionless. To her surprise, he took out his own phone ad began typing a text message.

"Are you serious?!"

He looked at her, clearly realising that she was upset and a frown appeared on his forehead.

"It's a distraction for you, Detective. My mind works in a completely different way."

Victoria opened her mouth in pure outrage and kept staring at him. He didn't seem bothered by her gaze, which made her realise that no matter how hard she yelled at him, he still wouldn't apologise.

"You own me a new phone and a damn good explanation," she finally said and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Lestrade told me you have a problem solving your case," Sherlock said, pocketing his phone and meeting her gaze. "He thinks you might need my help."

That bastard… He promised to give her more time! Why would he go back on his own word?!

"Of course, he claimed that you're doing just fine, but his body language said otherwise."

Right. Apparently, her boss didn't break his promise. He didn't have to. All it took was a bit of hesitation on his part for Holmes to come to his own conclusions. Victoria wanted to grind her teeth, realising that Lestrade probably didn't even know that the consulting detective decided to help her anyway.

"He doesn't know about me being here, does he? You just said it to get me to go with you."

"Yes. Brilliant deduction, Detective." She couldn't have missed the irony in his voice, even if she tried to and it made her seething with anger.

"I am supposed to be at work, Holmes. They can fire me because of your stupid… Wait. What exactly am I doing here?" she asked, making Sherlock smile.

"I told you, it's for the case."

"I don't need your help!" she protested, but Holmes looked at her with amusement.

"Yes, you do. You haven't been sleeping for two days, judging by the dark circles underneath your eyes and by the amount of caffeine you've ingested in the past few hours. Your desk looks atrocious, by the way," he said and scrunched up his nose.

Victoria had to grab the seat with force to stop herself from punching him. It took only a couple of minutes to fully understand the common dislike for the consulting detective that everyone in the Yard seemed to nurture. He was bloody annoying.

"Well, if you want to help me so much, you should probably know that the crime scene is in the completely opposite direction," she stated and averted her gaze, unable to look at him any longer.

"I said it's for a case. I didn't say it's for yours."

Victoria closed her eyes, realising that Holmes probably tried to annoy her as much as possible on purpose. He tricked her into coming with him, then he threw her phone away and he did those things so she could help him in his case.

"I hope you know that I'm on the verge of killing you."

Holmes snorted and looked out the window with a tiniest smile.

"No, you're not. During our entire ride you haven't touched your coffee once, because you immediately stopped needing it."

"You should be glad I haven't drank it. I have a feeling I might have spat it all over your face otherwise," she muttered and closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that she still felt sleepy.

The truth was, she didn't. The coffee, resting between her legs, couldn't make her more awake than she already was. Bloody Holmes and his brilliant mind…

"Are you going to tell me where are we headed?"

"Crime scene. Stop talking, I'm trying to think."

He was probably right. Victoria really needed to shut her mouth, if she didn't want to show him how dirty she could talk.

The apartment was rather small, but it surely felt incredibly cosy. It took only a couple of seconds to figure out that it must have belonged to a woman –a girly one at that. Victoria didn't really care much for all the flowers and other plants decorating the flat, just as she didn't care for the candles, or cute photo frames, laying on top of practically every shelve.

Everything seemed perfectly fine at first glance, but Victoria knew better than to assume things. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have brought her to this place, if he wanted an opinion of a simple police officer.

"What happened here?" she asked quietly, letting her eyes search the room slowly, taking in every single detail.

"Don't you know?"

Holmes stood behind her, with his hands clasped behind his back. He had no intentions of going deeper into the room, his eyes focused on the window. Victoria decided that, for some unknown reasons, he wanted her to interpret the situation before he could enlighten her with his own brilliance. She felt her heart speed up its pace. Sherlock Holmes was trying to test her and she really didn't know if she liked this idea.

Victoria turned her back on him and let her mind focus entirely on the scene in front of her. It really didn't seem like a very serious crime had happened here, but it wasn't hard to tell that no one had been inside the flat for quite some time. The flowers had already started to wither and a thin layer of dust had settled onto each surface in the room. She took a step closer and examined a mug, standing on the coffee table. Whatever had been inside, its remnants were still visible on the bottom, completely dried down. None of the windows had been opened recently; the musky scent hanging in the air testified to that.

There were no signs of break-in, but Victoria was sure that something bad must have happened inside the flat. There was a distinctive discolouration to the wooden floor, which meant that the rug must have been moved recently. It seemed weird; the apartment was very clean, or at least, it used to be clean when its owner was present. There was no way that the woman would leave the rug like this, with the discolouration so visible to everyone's eyes. The coffee table wasn't properly aligned either; it got moved along with the rug and no one fixed it ever since. A couple of the pictures on the nearby chest of drawers were flipped over and some of the smaller figurines dropped to the floor in chaos.

"There are signs of struggle," Victoria finally muttered and Holmes snorted.

"It took you so long to figure out something this obvious?"

"No break-in, though, so she must have known her assaulter. The signs of struggle are obvious, but he clearly wasn't trying to hurt the woman. There's no blood and nothing points to the presence of excessive violence."

"He?" Holmes asked absentmindedly and she knew that he did it, because he wanted to make sure that she understood what had really happened.

"He. This rug is quite big and heavy. With the coffee table standing on top of it, moving it wouldn't be so easy. She wouldn't be able to do so on her own, which points to someone strong. Besides, if she was assaulted by another woman, there would be a lot more damage," she said and faced Sherlock, who stopped staring at the window and was now watching her with caution.

"What happened here?"

"I think she was kidnapped. Killers rarely take their victims with them, and if they do, it's just to dump the body elsewhere. She must be gone for at least a week now and it is wise to assume that if he had dumped the body somewhere, it would already be found."

"What if he had dropped the body into the Thames?" Sherlock asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Then there's nothing we can do," she shrugged and looked around once more. "I don't think that he did, though. It's not so easy to simply drop a body into the river."

"Especially if you plan to do it in the morning," Holmes added and Vitoria looked at him with surprise. He rolled his eyes and said: "The paper on the table, underneath the mug that you've already examined. It's dated from eight days ago, and judging by the stash of other papers underneath the TV, the owner liked to read the news every single morning, while drinking coffee. If the paper is still on the table, it means that she didn't quite finish reading it, ergo, the kidnapper must have taken her in the morning."

Victoria opened her mouth and gazed at the newspaper, confirming Sherlock's theory. Of course, he must have been to the apartment before, but it was still incredibly impressive.

"Also, she hasn't shown up at work," he added and smirked.

"So she really is missing?"

"Of course she's missing. No one would be able to drag her body out of the building without raising suspicions."

"He could have waited for the nightfall, theoretically speaking."

"Yes, if he is a complete moron," Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

Victoria chuckled and tilted her head, watching Holmes with curiosity. She was able to figure out at least part of this riddle, but why did he even bring her here, if he had already known everything?

"Why am I here?" she asked, deciding to simply cut to the chase.

"The police is doing nothing to find this girl. They chose to ignore the obvious signs pointing to her abduction," Sherlock stated and frowned. "A woman came to my house, claiming that her sister went missing and no one believes that it wasn't her own doing."

"Why not? I mean, it's pretty obvious."

"Because of the message. Her sister left her a voice mail, where she explained that she needed some space and that she was leaving town."

"But her things are all here," Victoria said and gestured to the only jacket hanging on the rack. She was sure that if she decided to venture into the abducted woman's bathroom, nothing would be missing.

"Yes. Apparently, it doesn't mean a thing. Like I've mentioned, Police is doing nothing to find her."

Victoria clenched her fists and sighed with annoyance. Suddenly, the reason for her presence at this apartment became crystal clear.

"Why didn't you simply call Lestrade? He's got bigger influence," she mocked and Sherlock offered her an annoyed look.

"I don't need the police to get involved," he scoffed. "I just need the access to your database."

Victoria raised her eyebrows and chuckled. According to Lestrade, he had no troubles hacking into his account. Why couldn't he do that now?

"Really?"

"No. I just need an assistant and you just proved to be worthy of the spot."

She blinked a couple of times and then started to laugh.

"Please, you're smarter than everyone I know. You don't need an assistant."

"It's easier to think when I talk out loud and it looks better when I talk to someone."

"Then find someone. Preferably a person, who doesn't have an actual job." Victoria rolled her eyes and sighed. Sure, the experience was really interesting, but she really needed to get back to the Yard.

"It can't be just anyone," he exclaimed angrily. "Most people don't understand my work. I can't waste my precious time, trying to fight them!"

"Like you're fighting me right now?" she asked with amusement. "Because I really can't follow you everywhere you go. I have stuff to do."

"And yet you're here."

Victoria stopped smiling and shot him an angry glare. Of course she was here! He kidnapped her, oh irony!

"You tricked me!"

"Yes, you could say that. But that trick wouldn't have worked if you haven't already wanted to come." He smiled smugly and took a step closer. "You decided to trust my words, instead of thinking them through, because you wanted to be here. You wanted to come with me."

Victoria bit her lip and tried to come up with a counter-argument, but her mind decided to go completely blank. Finally, she sighed and scowled lightly.

"Fine, I wanted to come. So what?"

"It's obvious that you want to help me. It excites you."

"You know what else excites me?" she asked and before she could have continued, he smirked and said:

"Of course I know. It's hardly a mystery."

"Well, then. I really hope that having a job made it to your list. Greg is not going to approve of me spending my days with you while I should be solving those dull cases you hate so much."

"You hate them too. Which is why you can't solve the simplest case ever," he mocked, forcing her to frown. "You were so desperate to get an interesting homicide that you've created one for yourself."

Victoria opened her mouth, trying to find a clever retort, but how could she respond, when she had no idea what he was even talking about?

"It was a suicide, Detective!" Holmes said with exasperation and looked up to the ceiling.

She blinked a couple of times and then slapped her forehead, realising that Sherlock had been right. She was so desperate to do anything interesting that she'd forgotten that not every death had to be the result of a murder. Fuck, she was such an idiot…

"My name's Victoria," she muttered and forced herself to meet his gaze. "And I'm not going to dance to your tune. I'm your assistant, not a slave."

With that, she brushed past him and exited the apartment, feeling both ridiculous and exhilarated.