*Hello lovelies! Sorry for the delay, its been a bit hectic lately and I haven't had much time to write. But I finally finished it, all 12,900 words later. It is a longer chapter, yes, but there was a lot of time to cover for Delilah's recovery. The next chapter will be much more upbeat as we're getting a baby Watson! I'm so excited to write this next chapter. I need a break from the doom and gloom. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think about this or any of my other pieces. Have a wonderful day and I will see you all in the next chapter!

Chapter 3: The Long Road

Week 3

I sat in my chair, staring out the window. Sherlock had gone out for most of the day, going to inspect all of the crime scenes. There had been seven other murders in the past three weeks, all of whom had letters painted on their fronts. I'd known three of them, two that I had worked with when I'd been a paralegal and the other had been my downstairs neighbor that found me the night I'd been shot. My stomach turned at the thought of her death. She'd been such a sweet woman and I owed her my life.

Scarlett jumped up on me and I pet her absent-mindedly. She'd helped me a lot on the days where Sherlock was out and about and I was left at the flat alone. Whenever I'd broken down, Scarlett had been there. I was grateful for her, more than I let on.

I jumped when my phone rang. "This is Delilah."

"Hey Del!"

"Hi Mary. How're you feeling?"

"I'm doing pretty well. Our little one is moving around a lot." There was a pause and I could tell that she wanted to ask something. "Listen, are you doing anything?"

"No, nothing at all. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm bored and John's at work. Would you mind if I come over?"

"I don't mind at all. Come over. Are you hungry?"

"A bit," Mary said with a laugh. "I'll be there in about a half hour or so."

She hung up the phone and I sighed, looking down at the phone Sherlock had bought for me the week prior. He'd finally realized that I didn't have one. I dialed the number to order pizza for Mary and then I went back to staring out the window. I knew I should be looking at wedding gowns and caterers, florists and guest lists, but none of it interested me. I wanted to be healed so that I could go and get my sister. That was the only thing that had consumed my mind since the day in the morgue. I'd even turned down Mycroft's offer because of my obsession with putting my sister in prison or in the grave.

I heard the buzzer ring and I was halfway down the stairs to answer the door when Mrs. Hudson got it. "Delilah dear?"

"I'm right here Mrs. Hudson," I said, nudging Scarlett out of the way. "Sorry, it took me a minute to get down the stairs. Ankle was giving me problems. Still not used to wearing this bloody boot."

"Oh, it's quite alright, no problem at all," she chittered as I handed the man the cash. "I was only watching the telly, nothing important."

"Mmm." I took the pizza, closing the door. Mrs. Hudson began to take it from me, but I pulled it closer to me. "I've got it Mrs. Hudson."

"You'll drop it going up the stairs," she said, again trying to take it from me. "Let me help you."

"I've got it."

"Delilah, don't be silly, I'll help you!"

"I said I've got it!" I snapped, watching as she recoiled from me. I winced as I realized what I'd done. "I am so sorry Mrs. Hudson. Its just been absolutely infuriating being unable to do things for myself. I didn't mean to snap at you."

The look of surprise on her face was replaced by an understanding smile and I let out a sigh of relief. "It's fine, I understand. Now," she took the pizza box from me and this time I let her. "Why don't we get you and Scarlett settled in and we'll sit and chat a bit? I feel as if I've rarely spoken to you over the past couple of weeks. What have you and Sherlock been doing?"

"Oh, this and that. We're working on a case and I'm willing myself to heal up so that I can start working again and planning this wedding."

"That's right! Have you and Sherlock had any more thoughts on it since you two picked the venue?"

"We've had a few discussions. I think we're near to finalizing the musicians who will be playing and he said something about rehearsing for our first dance together." I limped over to John's old chair, settling in as Mrs. Hudson set the pizza on the coffee table. "You're more than welcome to some pizza if you'd like. It's cheese. I thought that that would be best for Mary and the baby."

"Oh, Mary's coming over?" She asked as she walked to the kitchen to grab herself a plate.

"Yes indeed she is," Mary said from the doorway and I smiled at the woman. She pressed a kiss to my cheek. "How's the boot treating you? I know John was a bit hesitant to cut you out of your cast and put you in it."

"It's much better. I can at least get around without those damnable crutches." I shuddered, remembering how a week ago I'd nearly broken my neck trying to go down the stairs. Sherlock had barely managed to catch me in time. "How are you feeling?"

"Famished," she answered, grabbing a piece of pizza from the box and taking a large bite. "Mrs. Hudson, I hope you're doing well?"

"Wonderful dear. I decided I would spend some time with Delilah, seeing as Sherlock's out."

Mrs. Hudson bustled back into the living room, handing a plate to Mary before grabbing a piece of pizza for herself. "We were going to discuss wedding gowns."

"We were?" I questioned.

"Oh lovely!" Mary exclaimed, her face lighting up as she sat in Sherlock's chair. "Have you chosen a style yet or are you still combing through the magazines?"

"I...well, I'm not sure," I confessed, petting Scarlett and ignoring the sound of my stomach growling. "I was torn between either a mermaid style gown or a traditional ball gown."

"Oh, mermaid would be a lovely style for you," Mary said and I could see the look of confusion on Mrs. Hudson's face.

"Would you like to see a photo of the style of gown we're talking about Mrs. Hudson?" I asked, reaching for the bridal magazine I kept on the small table next to me.

"Yes please, otherwise I have no idea what you two are talking about."

I flipped through the pages before coming to the section on mermaid style gowns. I handed it wordlessly to Mrs. Hudson before grabbing Scarlett's ball, chucking it down the hallway. The dog scrambled after it, skidding across the tile. I smiled watching her run.

"So, you all have decided the venue. Have you thought of who you'll invite yet?"

I shook my head. "Honestly, I haven't done much thinking about the wedding. I've been a bit busy focusing on my recovery."

"Oh, this one looks lovely Delilah!" Mrs. Hudson showed me a mermaid style gown with what looked to be tiny crystals sewn all across the front into a swirled pattern.

I gave her a smile, not wanting to discourage her. "It looks lovely Mrs. Hudson. I'll have to try one on similar to that when I go gown shopping. Mary, there was something that I wanted to ask you."

"Hmmm? What's that?"

"Will you be my chief bridesmaid?"

The look of shock and surprise on her face was priceless. "Me? Me?"

"Of course you," I said with a chuckle. "Who else would I ask?" She began to cry and I got up from my chair, hobbling over to her to give her a hug. "You are my best friend, Mary. I wouldn't have anyone else up there beside me at the altar."

"I'm just...I didn't...you must think me ridiculous for crying like this."

I laughed. "I don't think you ridiculous, I think you're pregnant and surprised."

Mrs. Hudson set her plate down on the table. "I've forgotten, there's a new show that's coming on. Thank you for the pizza Delilah. Don't be stranger, either one of you!"

"Good-bye Mrs. Hudson," I murmured, watching as the landlady left, closing the door. "She always does know when to give people their privacy."

"Yeah, she always was good at that when John lived here," Mary replied, dabbing at her eyes. "Del, I want to thank you for this. It means the world to me. I know...I know we haven't had the chance to talk about things properly, but-"

I held up my hand, struggling to kneel down in front of her, resting a hand on her belly. I smiled when I felt the baby move. "Mary...you could have killed Sherlock. I know you would have if John hadn't been present. But you didn't and for that I thank you. I'll never truly understand your reasoning as to why you didn't kill him, but I understand why you were after Magnussen. You were protecting yourself and your family." I could see the tears in her eyes as I spoke. "I meant it when I said that you were like the older sister I never had. I also mean it when I say I would not have made it this far if I hadn't found you three. So...will you be my chief bridesmaid?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. Of course." She began to cry again and I pulled her into my arms, rubbing her back. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Hush, Mary. No need to cry."

"I thought you hated me still, but were being kind to me because of Sherlock and John." She sat back in the chair, resting her hand on her stomach, eyes red-rimmed from her tears. "I...I didn't kill him for another reason. Sherlock is good at deducing the obvious, but sometimes there are other factors. Like the fact that I knew it would break you if you lost him. He was wrong when he said that John being implicated in the murder was the only deciding factor in my not killing him. You were too. I didn't want to hurt you."

I was floored by her admission. "Y-you...you thought of-"

"You. Yes. I knew you loved him and I knew that you would be heartbroken if he died."

"I, erm, I can't believe these words are coming out of my mouth, especially in regards to that incident, but...thank you. For not killing him and everything."

Mary let out a watery laugh. "Of course. No problem."

She and I chatted the rest of the day until Sherlock came home. For the first time since December, everything finally felt right with the world.

"Should you be up and about like this?" Greg asked me.

"It's fine. I need to sight this gun," I replied, heading down the hall to the gun range. "Are you going to keep questioning me or are you going to come shooting?"

"I'm coming. I believe Donovan will be joining us as well."

"Donovan?"

"One of the detectives under me. She has helped with a lot of my cases."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"She...well, she's the one that was always calling Sherlock a freak. Before he came back anyway."

"Ah, okay. I know who she is now. Really Greg? You invited her?"

"Well...no. She sort of-"

"Invited myself," a woman said from the doorway to the range, hand extended towards me for a handshake. "Sally Donovan. I-"

"I know who you are. Why are you here?"

"I came down to introduce myself to Sherlock's bride-to-be."

"So you wanted to guarantee your wedding invitation and thought that by introducing yourself to me, you'd win my favor and a spot at our wedding," I replied, watching the shock on her face. "Good try. Tell me, how are those knees of yours doing?"

Greg choked back a laugh as Sally looked at me dumbfounded. "You're as much a freak as Sherlock is."

"Oh, believe me when I say, I'm much worse. I've got a bit of a temper on me. Don't push your luck. You're not getting an invitation." I put the earplugs in before putting on the ear protection that Greg had loaned me, effectively drowning her out.

I stepped into the range, going all the way to the end as I slipped the protective glasses onto my face. Greg followed behind me, taking the lane next to me. He gave me a thumbs up and I produced the gun in my holster. Mary had given me her gun, saying something about her not needing it anymore now that her secret was safe. I'd accepted it and had waited for Sherlock to leave for the day before I'd called Greg, seeing if I could use the range.

I set up my target before going to the control panel, sending it out twenty meters. I quickly took aim, firing off everything that was in the magazine. I ejected the spent magazine, letting it drop to the floor as I slammed a new one in. I took aim and began firing again. I did this two more times before I ran out of bullets. I called back the target, turning to see Greg, Donovan, and a few other officers standing behind me.

I took my ear protection off. "What? Is no one else shooting today?"

"Wanted to watch you, see how you did," Greg replied, stepping beside me and taking the target down. "Bloody hell, remind me not to get on your bad side."

I glanced down at it, frowning. "I've done better. Been a while since I actually had much practice. I-" I saw movement from the corner of my eye and watched as Sherlock stepped in. "I'll talk to you all later. Same time next week?"

I bent down, grabbing my magazines from the floor. I limped over to Sherlock, who had a look of displeasure on his face. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home."

"I was bored. You couldn't expect me to stay cooped up in the flat the entire time, could you? I needed fresh air."

"And instead you're getting the smell of gunpowder. Who's taking care of Scarlett?"

"Mrs. Hudson offered. I told her I needed to get out of the flat and she agreed. Its been almost four weeks Sherlock. I'm going stir-crazy. If I have to stay there one more day-"

"You need to rest your leg!" Sherlock glanced up at the audience watching us. "Oh, what are you all looking at? Never seen an argument before?"

"Not with you angry, fr- Sherlock," Donovan said. "Why don't you all take the domestic somewhere else? Some of us have actual training to do."

We both frowned, but Sherlock took me by my arm and we stepped out of the range. "I've been texting you for the past hour and a half."

"I don't have my phone on me. I left it at the flat. I told you, I needed a break."

"A break from me? From safety? Delilah, your sister and Moriarty are still out there. You need to be more careful!"

I jerked away from him. "Sherlock, I can't be kept cooped up inside because you're afraid I might get hurt. I could get hurt as easily at the flat as I could here. For Christ's sake Sherlock, it's Scotland Yard! I highly doubt my sister and Moriarty are stupid enough to try anything here."

Sherlock sighed and I could tell he was irritated with me. "Come on. Back to the flat. There are a few things we need to talk about."

"I'm not going back to the damn flat! I'm sick of it there!" I shouted before wincing at the pain. "I don't want to be alone there anymore."

"What? What are you talking about?" Sherlock frowned. "Does this have to do with those dreams you've been having?"

"Nightmares. And yes, it does. I can't stay there by myself all the time. It…it's painful."

I could see the pain in his eyes. "I have to work on the case."

"I know. I know you can't babysit me. No one can. But please…next time you go out, let me come with you. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"What do you see in your dreams?"

I looked over his shoulder, seeing the vest, the numbers ticking down, hearing his voice in my ear. I shook myself. "I'm…not ready to talk about it."

"Let me in Delilah."

I shook my head. "Not yet. Soon, but not yet."

Sherlock helped me out to the cab and the ride back was silent. When we got back into the flat, I found two Styrofoam containers sitting on the coffee table, a silver urn sitting beside one of them. I froze in the doorway. "Sherlock…what is that?"

"It's what I was trying to text you about earlier. You have a dinner date."

"Is…is that…Papa?" I crossed to the chair that was beside the other box. "Is that my father in that urn?"

"Molly, Irene, and I chipped in to have him cremated and put into an urn. I thought that you deserved to have him." Sherlock knelt beside me. "I know it hurt you to see him. I wanted you to have a chance to say good-bye."

I looked at Sherlock, lower lip trembling. "Sherlock…you…you all didn't have to."

"We did. Now, have your dinner. I'll be down the hall."

Sherlock got to his feet and left me to sit alone at the table, the urn containing my father's ashes across from me. I stared at it, trying to fight the tears and failing miserably. I reached over, opening his box. "Just like old times, eh? Sorry it couldn't be at the restaurant. It'd probably be awkward for Ted to have me sitting in a corner crying with an urn."

I opened my box, eyes never leaving the urn. I didn't know what to say or do. I thought that I'd scattered my father's ashes all those many years ago. I thought that I'd dealt with the pain of losing him. But ever since I'd seen his body in the morgue, since I'd had my heart ripped back open and smashed on the ground, I hadn't known how to feel, how to react. I'd been so focused on getting my sister that I hadn't given myself the time to feel anything.

Now it all came to me and I began to weep openly, biting down on my knuckle to keep from sobbing and attracting Sherlock's attention. "Papa, I miss you. I miss you so much. It's not fair. It's not. Losing you destroyed me and it continues to do so. God, I want to kill her, to destroy her and everything that she loves. It's eating me from the inside out and I feel like I'm losing myself, becoming consumed with my hatred. I can't eat, I can barely sleep. It's so hard to focus on anything except getting her and her husband for everything they've ever done."

I got to my feet, picking up his urn, pulling it to my chest. "I want one more hug, one more kiss on the forehead, one more off-key song sung before I go to sleep. I want you here to wipe away my tears, to tell me how proud you are of me, how much you love me. I want you here…I want you here to walk me down the aisle and give me away to the second-best man I've ever known in my life. And because of her, I can't have that. I love you Papa. I love you so much."

I sunk down on the couch, holding it close to me, resting my forehead against the cold metal. "I' so sorry. So sorry. I failed you…but I'll make it right. I promise."

When I woke up, I found myself in bed, Sherlock by the window, playing a familiar lullaby. I sat up in bed, staring at him before I began to sing softly. "Over in Killarney, many years ago...my father sang a song to me, in tones so sweet and low…just a simple little ditty…in his good old Irish way…and I'd give the world if he could sing…that song to me this day." Sherlock stopped playing and I could see his reflection in the window. "Where did you learn that song?"

"I heard you singing it one day under your breath when you were doing dishes. I figured that it was important to you."

I nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. "Aye. It is. My father sang it to me before bed, as his mother did for him, and her mother did for her. A family tradition of sorts." I looked around, searching for the urn. "Where did you put him?"

"On the mantel in the living room," Sherlock answered, still staring out of the window. "Lila...will you tell me what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've barely eaten since you were released from the hospital. You didn't even touch the fish and chips I-"

"Sherlock, why would I eat when I was upset?"

"Would you let me finish?"

I sighed. "Fine."

"You have lost almost two stone. Your eyes have enormous shadows under them. You cry out in your sleep on the rare occasion you get any. You jump at every noise and go for the place where your gun used to be whenever you hear something strange. Your smile dies when you're not around people and I can see the rage and murder in your face when you think that no one is looking. You don't sing anymore, you don't laugh anymore." He crossed to me, taking my hand. "I feel as if I am losing you to something that I can't see. Please...talk to me."

I pulled away from him. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine."

Sherlock's eyes grew cold and distant. "I see. Well, I'm going to follow-up on a sighting. You stay here with Scarlett and rest. I'll be home in a few hours."

He left the room and I looked down at Scarlett sitting patiently by the bed. I rested my head on the pillow, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm not ready. Not yet."

I was startled awake by the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Sleepily, I reached for it, glaring against the bright light.

Did you like the present I sent you? -Livvy

No, I didn't. Where the hell did you get that from? -DM

Kept it special for you. I know how much you loved our father. -Livvy

You're a sick and twisted soul, you know that? -DM

You love me. Admit it. It's why you didn't kill me on the bridge that night. It's why you still talk to me when I text or call you. If you didn't love me then you wouldn't reply. -Livvy

I only reply to you because I want you dead you fucking bitch. -DM

Oooooh, such hostility! And coming from YOU which is quite the surprise. What's the matter, seeing Daddy's corpse hurt too much for you? Or are you still upset about the warehouse? You have to understand, (1/2)

I had to keep my boys entertained or else they would grow bored and kill each other. You were only their toy for a little while. I knew that your precious Sherlock would come to rescue you at some point. -Livvy (2/2)

Fuck you. -DM

Not with a ten foot pole. Come on, you're telling me you didn't like the present? -Livvy

Not even a little bit? -Livvy

I know you're there, it's showing me that you're reading the messages. -Livvy

Fine. Ignore me. But don't say I didn't try to warn you. Jim and I are only getting started with you and Sherlock. By the end of it, you'll be begging for us to end it. Talk to you soon dear sister. Love you! -Livvy

I slammed the phone down onto the nightstand. Scarlett jumped, looking up at me fearfully from her bed. I flung the blankets back, going down the dark hall. I wouldn't be able to sleep, not now.

I opened my laptop, entering the password. I began to browse the internet, searching for any sign of my sister's whereabouts. She was going to pay, even if it killed me.

Week 4

"God, I hate this stupid thing," I hissed, scratching around the rim of the boot. "It's so itchy!"

"You heard what the doctor said. One more week and you should be good to go without it, so long as you take it easy." Sherlock was looking over the list that I'd compiled of possible guests. "You're missing a few people on here."

"Like who?"

"Well, Irene for one. And Donovan."

"No and no."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. Put them on my side if you must, but they are at least getting invitations."

"Fine. But that means that George and his girlfriend are getting invitations as well. Oh, and you need to invite Archie and his mother, as well as Lucas and his mother."

"Who?"

I sighed. "The ring bearer from John and Mary's wedding and the little boy that I give private lessons to now."

"Oh. Yes. Of course. We also need to invite Anderson."

"Who?"

"Gentleman that worked with Lestrade before I met you. Went a bit...insane after I faked my death."

"How did you do that if you don't mind my asking?"

Sherlock glanced up at me before returning to the invitation list. "Are you asking because you really care to know or are you asking because you want to see if you can figure out how Moriarty did it?"

I looked back down at the tentative guest list. "Was there anyone else that you wanted to invite?"

"Lila, stop avoiding the question."

"I'm not avoiding anything!" I snapped. "Forget that I ever asked the stupid question in the first place. Let's finish this guest list and be done with it so that we can send out the invitations."

Sherlock and I sat quietly at the kitchen table. I watched as he crossed names and scribbled in others. I was making a plan for the seating chart, writing down the names of people I knew were definitely coming on post-it notes so that I wouldn't have to keep re-drawing the plan.

"Hello Sherlock, Delilah. Going over the guest list like I asked?"

I glanced up at Mycroft standing in the doorway. "What does it look like we're doing? Why are you here? Shouldn't you be rescuing some agent that got themselves lost in Siberia?"

Sherlock snickered and Mycroft rolled his eyes. "It was Mongolia. We were worried that they were going to find themselves in Siberia if they weren't careful. Do you not pay any attention when I call you two?"

"No," Sherlock and I answered simultaneously and inwardly I giggled with glee as Mycroft frowned.

"God, you two together is a combination I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"You should be excited for after the wedding Mycroft," I said with a smile. "You'll not only have a little brother, but also a little sister."

"May the Lord save us all from that horrible fate."

I only shook my head, going back to the seating chart for the reception. "So, what brings you here?"

"There has been another missing agent reported," Sherlock answered, not looking up from the guest list. "Mycroft, would you rather sit with our parents or with Molly?"

"Neither. Sherlock, I came to give you a case to work on."

"Missing agents don't intrigue me, Mycroft. Probably ran off because of the pressure or found somewhere else that would pay them a lot more for their...services."

I looked up at Mycroft, seeing the disdain in his eyes. "Who was it?"

"They were an undercover for MI5, working to track down child sex trafficking rings here in London. They were posing as a prostitute and had managed to get deep in the ranks. They never checked in two days ago and we've been unable to find any traces of her since then."

I frowned, glancing over at Sherlock, who seemed engrossed by the list. "Sherlock, maybe we should take a look into this."

"I'm busy."

"But Sherlock, what if-"

Sherlock looked up at me, blatantly annoyed. "I am trying to plan a wedding, my wedding, and figure out how to capture Moriarty and your sister. You want to add another case to the mix, especially one so simple? I'm not interested, Mycroft. If you'd like, you can join us in planning the guest list or you can go and find your missing person yourself. Now, Molly or our parents?"

Mycroft sighed before taking a seat at the table. Scarlett trotted up, sniffing at the leg of his trouser. "Molly. Is this your newest addition?"

"Yes," I said with a smile, patting my leg. "Her name is Scarlett. She's our puppy. She's, what, nearly three months old now?"

"Three months, one week, and four days," Sherlock murmured, scribbling out someone's name. "She was the last one in the litter. The runt, so no one wanted her."

I patted her head, leaning down to grab the ball off of the floor. I chucked it into the living room and she went scrambling after it. "As soon as I get this damn boot off of my foot, I'm taking her for a long walk. The ball chasing isn't curbing her energy as much as I'd like it to."

Scarlett brought the ball back to Mycroft, who was flipping through my bridal gown magazine. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the slobbered covered ball. She sat down next to him, tail wagging back and forth.

"She wants you to throw it Mycroft," I encouraged.

"I know what she wants me to do. I don't want to do it. It's covered in her saliva."

"That's what tends to get on a ball when dogs fetch them. Throw the ball Mycroft. It'll make her happy."

He stared at me in disapproval before bending over, picking up the ball gingerly. He threw it down the hall towards our bedroom and Scarlett went skittering after it. "What type of wedding gown were you thinking about getting Delilah?"

"I'm not sure." I looked out the window, trying to hide my impatience. I was getting tired of people asking me that one question. "I was thinking a mermaid style gown."

Mycroft snorted. "You can't be serious. You have to have curves to pull off a gown like that. And seeing as you've dropped so much weight, I doubt that you could."

I turned to glare at him. "My weight is my business, thank you very much."

"It becomes our business when you are trying to choose a wedding gown that doesn't suite your frame. At least not the frame you have right now." Mycroft sniffed, flipping through the pages. "Something strapless to show off your arms and frilly on the bottom. We might be able to get away with a dress that has a very exposed back, but-"

"No. No exposed backs," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm not showing off my back. I need something that covers most of my skin."

Mycroft scoffed at my suggestion. "Delilah, this is the twenty-first century. Let's get a bit with the times here. A little bit of back showing isn't going to hurt anyone."

I whirled on him. "I told you. There will be cloth covering my back."

"What on earth for? Don't tell me that you're self-conscious."

Sherlock looked at his brother. "Enough Mycroft. Let her pick her own gown."

"I'm merely suggesting that showing some skin on her back is an elegant way of showing skin instead of wearing something with a plunging neckline or-"

My temper got the best of me and I turned my back to Mycroft, tugging up my oversized jumper to reveal the network of scars and newly formed skin. I began to shake as the blood roared in my ears. I dropped the fabric, letting it fall across my mutilated back to hide it once more. I got up, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"Out."

"Where to?"

"Out!" I shouted, limping down the stairs and out of the flat.

After about two blocks I regretted not grabbing a coat, as it was raining fairly heavily outside. After four, I was shivering violently. But I was nearly to my destination. I couldn't stop until I arrived. I knew that Mycroft had only meant well by his suggestions, but they had upset me. I was getting very tired of people telling me what I should and should not do. Sherlock was the biggest offender. He'd rejected every idea of my going with him to look at the crime scenes or down to the morgue.

Since he wanted to keep me out of the loop so badly, I would go on my own investigation. I arrived at the building, looking up at it with a shaky breath. I hadn't returned since I'd discovered the truth about the group my father had been working with. It had been too risky. Now here I stood, going to investigate the murder of my old neighbor, a woman I had considered a friend.

I went to the panel, examining the keypad. What had the old code been for people who'd forgotten their passcode? Ah yes.

"Zero-seven-one-nine." I hit the buttons before pressing enter, watching as the light lit up green and the doors swung open. "Perfect."

I took the stairs despite my aching ankle, not wanting to be spotted by anyone who lived in the building. Also, I knew the landlord hadn't bothered installing cameras in the stairwell, even though one former tenant had been shot and another murdered. I shook my head, reminding myself that I hadn't come to criticize the landlord, but instead investigate a woman's murder and see if I could get any hints as to where Moriarty and my sister could be.

I saw the door covered in police crime tape. I looked around quickly before picking the lock with ease, opening the door and stepping through the gap in the tape. I glanced around the gloomy flat, frowning. Nothing looked out of the ordinary from when I used to visit her. Then I stepped into what was once her sitting room, noting the blood stain on the cream colored carpet. I knelt down beside it, staring at the rust colored spot.

Sherlock had told me nothing about how she'd been killed. He'd decided to keep that secret from me. But I had an idea of how it had been done. I looked around the flat, noting that the closet door by the front door was open a crack. Now, had they investigated in there or had someone stepped out of it?

"No…the detectives wouldn't have looked at that. They would have been concerned with what was right in front of them. Let's see…" I went to the closet, opening the door. "If I were going to kill her, when would I have done it?"

I stepped inside, staring out into the living room with the door opened a crack. "Her back had to have been to them. So, she was watching television. Later on in the evening then because she had the same job for nearly twenty years and she never got home earlier than six thirty. So she sat down to watch her programs. How long had they been waiting though is the question?"

I frowned. I couldn't remember if it had been raining or not that day. I tried to picture it in my mind, but my ankle was throbbing as I crouched down in the closet. I ignored it, pulling my gun from its holster, holding it down in front of me.

"She had to have been shot. That's the only thing that makes sense. Moriarty and my sister wouldn't have gotten their hands dirty with the likes of her. They only want to make a statement; they're not killing for pleasure." I pushed the door open slowly with my right hand. "So…they waited for her to get home, hoping that she wouldn't go to the closet. No. She would have. So how did they-" I felt a draft of air to my right and I pushed the coats away, revealing a haphazardly covered hole leading to the maintenance room next to her apartment. "That's how. They could have cut the hole when she wasn't home and waited in the next room to arrive. No doubt they paid the maintenance man for it."

"Having fun investigating?" Sherlock drawled behind me and I jumped, cracking my head on the entrance to the hole.

"Fucking hell Sherlock!" I said, backing my way out, using the wall to help myself to my feet. "A little warning would have been nice. I could have shot you."

"But you didn't. What are you doing here?"

"Investigating. I wanted to check out at least one of the crime scenes myself."

"You're soaking wet. You should be in bed resting."

"Not with your brother in the flat I'm not."

"Mycroft…was called away."

"By what? I thought he was going to be spending most of the day going over wedding plans with us?" I saw the look on Sherlock's face and my brow furrowed together. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"It's probably nothing," Sherlock muttered to himself, scanning the room. "So, what have you found?"

"Only a few basic things. The hole, how they killed her. Nothing major."

"Give me your theory."

I rolled my eyes. "I already gave you my theory. Must we do this every time I think of how something happened or someone is?"

"In Magnussen's, you managed to see something that I didn't. But because you were too slow, it was too late. We're working on your speed now. Focus and walk me through what you think happened to Nancy."

I closed my eyes, kneeling down in the closet. "Okay. Alright then. I'm my sister because I highly doubt that Moriarty would have killed her. I've just heard her come home from work. Nancy has a ritual that she goes through every night. Put the kettle on, reheat whatever she made on Sunday, prepare her tea, check her email one last time, and then settle into that chair over there in front of the television." I opened my eyes, seeing the darkened entrance hall looking into the flat. "They would have known that. And they waited until the kettle was screaming so that their gunshots would be masked. Silencers are wonderful inventions, but the gun will still make noise."

I began to go through the motions of what happened, creeping out from the hiding place, going down the hallway. "They would have seen her in the chair. Judging by the lack of blood on said chair and the way the tape on the floor is set up, she fell on her back. Meaning that she was facing them when they shot her. So she either knew them…or thought that she knew them."

I could see it now. I hadn't spoken to Nancy in years. She may have forgotten how exactly my voice had sounded and my father had once joked how it was hard to tell us apart sometimes if he was on the phone. If Olivia had played her cards right…

"Olivia announced herself. Except she pretended to be me. She told Nancy that she'd dropped in to say hello and that she'd found the front door open so she was worried. When Nancy got up from the chair to greet her, thinking that it was me, she found my sister with a gun pointed at her. Tell me…where was the wound?"

"Her abdomen."

I lifted up the front of my shirt, revealing my own bullet wound scar. "So, right about here?"

"Exactly there."

I frowned, letting it drop as I began to hobble around the flat. "But why? Why go to the trouble of shooting her right there? Why bother at all? Unless they were trying to give me a message. A warning. Anyone who helps me…will wind up dead. That has to be it." I turned to Sherlock, feeling myself begin to tremble with excitement. "That's it, isn't it? The people that they've killed that you know, did they do it in ways similar to cases you've been on? Any sort of link to you personally?"

Sherlock only stared at me and I rolled my eyes, going to the window, looking down at the rainy streets below. "There has to be a link. This is a warning Sherlock, only one that you and I can see. They're trying to tell us that anyone who helps will be killed. Can't you see Sherlock? Don't you realize it? We have to find them! We have to!"

Sherlock grabbed me by my upper arms, turning me to look up at him. "I will find them. You need to heal."

I stepped away from him angrily. "You can't keep mollycoddling me Sherlock! I'm not a child. And if anyone is going to have a good chance at predicting my sister, it's me." His gaze didn't waver and I shook my head in disbelief. "You're really not going to let me help you, are you?"

"Not while you're injured, no."

I fought to control my temper, but I'd had a very difficult time doing that lately. "Why…must you always…STOP ME!"

I knocked a lamp from one of the small tables, watching as it shattered on the floor. Sherlock only continued to look on and it infuriated me even more. "Why are you doing this? Why aren't you letting me help? Why are you keeping me away from this case?"

Sherlock said nothing and I began to approach him when he stepped past me, going to the bookcase behind me. "Damn it Sherlock, answer me when I'm talking to you!"

He stepped onto the second shelf, reaching up to the top to pull down a teddy bear. He opened the back of it, pulling out a small camera. "They've been watching us this entire time. How did I not see this before?"

I covered my mouth with my hand as I stared at the camera. "They knew we'd come. That's how they've known that we're still interested in pursuing them. That's why they haven't stopped with the killings yet. We haven't found all of the clues they're leaving behind for us to find."

"If we go back to the other crime scenes, we could find other cameras. If we can pull the footage off of them, maybe we can figure out where they're staying." Sherlock was growing more excited with every word. "I have to let Lestrade know. And then you are going home and resting."

"I'm coming with you."

"You've done enough today. You're going home to rest."

"No!"

"Lila, I am not having this argument with you. Either you go home with John when he gets here or I am having Greg escort you home in a pair of handcuffs when he gets here."

"Fine. Don't take my help then. I'll be out in the hall waiting for John."

"Good. He'll be here in five minutes. I told him that there was another shooting."

"What?! The poor man is going to be scared half to death."

"Exactly the point. It'll make him hurry."

"And what's going to stop him from ringing an ambulance on his way over?"

"Really? Do you think that I wouldn't cover that part of the plan?" Sherlock inspected the camera. "Go out in the hall and wait. I need to go to my Mind Palace."

I left the room, still fuming at what had happened. I stood out in the hall, closing my eyes as I leaned up against the wall, focusing on my breathing. I couldn't let these things get to me like they were. But it seemed like the longer that my sister and Moriarty were free, the quicker I was to anger and the worse the nightmares became. I heard a familiar voice shouting up the stairwell.

"Sherlock! Delilah! Where are you two?"

I walked to the stairwell door, opening it to see John standing there, a look of sheer panic on his face. He grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me around. I stumbled, struggling to keep my balance.

"Sherlock said you were shot. Where were you shot at? You should be laying down!"

"John, I'm fine. Sherlock lied to get you here faster." I watched as relief spread across his face. He doubled over, hands on his knees. "Are you alright John?"

"Fine. Perfectly…perfectly fine. Sherlock won't be in about ten minutes after I've got my breath back. You're really not injured?"

"As healthy as I can be given my current situation," I answered. "I promise you, besides the broken ankle and ribs, I'm fine."

"What are you doing here Del?"

I shrugged. "I was bored, wanted to investigate on my own. I can't stay cooped up in the flat forever. That and Mycroft was getting under my skin."

John chuckled, straightening up. "He has a tendency to do that. Well, let me go and speak with Sherlock and then we'll go out to lunch or something."

John entered the flat, stepping between the same gap that I'd stepped through earlier. I waited outside, watching as Greg appeared with a couple of other investigators in tow, including Donovan. The woman glared at me before cutting the tape. Greg shook his head.

"I should have known you'd be here."

"Why wouldn't I?" I said, feeling myself growing defensive. "I'm his partner. I help him."

"Who picked the lock? You or Sherlock?"

"I did. Although I really wouldn't have needed to if I'd gone to the maintenance closet next door first. There's a gaping hole that was cut into the wall leading into the flat."

"You know I could arrest you for breaking and entering, yes?"

"But you won't," I shot back, stepping away from him. "We're all working together, remember? And he and I found a camera that you all overlooked during the first investigation. So something good came of it."

"I said I could, not that I was going to." Greg sighed. "Next time at least call me and let me know what you're planning on doing? The last thing I need is a report from a concerned citizen that someone is trying to break into a murder scene."

"Will do," I replied, watching as John stepped out.

"Oh. Hello Greg. We were just leaving," John said, taking me by the arm. "Got to get her home to rest."

"What if I have questions for her?" Greg called as we began to walk away.

"Call one of us and we'll answer," I replied, glancing over my shoulder at him. "I really have to be going though. Broken ankle and all that."

We left Greg standing there, confused and irritated. John hailed a taxi as I stood inside, waiting patiently. The rain was still coming down hard. John motioned for me to come out and I limped quickly, getting into the cab. John slid in next to me and the ride back to 221B was quiet. I didn't even try arguing with him about going back.

I went upstairs, John going to pick up Scarlett from Mrs. Hudson. I heard her paws scrambling up the steps as I settled in at the kitchen table, grabbing my laptop and booting it up. John went straight to the bathroom, coming back with two towels.

"Here. Dry yourself off."

"I'm busy."

"You're getting your wedding book wet."

"Damn the wedding," I muttered. "It's not important."

I looked up, finding John staring at me in shock. I realized what I said. I took the towel from him slowly, drying my hair thoughtfully.

"Did something happen between you two?"

"Aye. It's called Jim and Olivia Moriarty. I want them out of the picture before I even think about planning this wedding."

John sat down in the chair next to me, towel draped over his shoulders. "You know, revenge isn't a very good motivator. It'll eat you alive."

"I don't want revenge."

John looked me directly in the eye and I squirmed under his gaze. Unlike Sherlock, John had always had the gift of seeing right through me. "Yes you do. That's all that you're surviving on right now. I can see it in your eyes. You're battle-hungry. Take it from me, I know that look. Wanting to survive and get the bad guy all the time. I know that way of life."

I frowned, glancing at the Richard Brook-Jim Moriarty fan page I'd found the night before. There were a lot of people on it rooting for him, believing the lie that Moriarty had told before the fall, that Richard Brook was real and that Sherlock had driven him to madness. There were hundreds of blog entries detailing his exploits. I had no doubt that the poster was my sister, but I was unable to trace it back to whatever computer she was using.

"I'm not looking for revenge."

"Oh really? When's the last time you ate something?"

"Last night."

"Yeah? Because Sherlock told me that its been nearly three days since you last ate. And from what he said, it was two biscuits with your tea." John went to take my hand, but I pulled away. "Delilah, you've lost a lot of weight. A lot more than I think you can afford to lose. What did you weigh when you first started at the clinic?"

"Sixty-three kilograms."

"And you're what, a meter and a half tall?"

"A meter and three quarters."

"Right. So, back then, given your body type and amount of athleticism, that was a healthy weight. I bet if you stepped on a scale right now, you'd be at least ten kilos lighter."

I rolled my eyes. "I can't have lost that much weight. You're lying."

"There's a scale in the bathroom. Tell you what, I'll make you a bet. If I'm wrong and you're only five kilograms off from your original weight, I'll take you out to Hyde Park. But if I'm right and you've lost that much weight, you have to eat something. Deal?"

I wrinkled my nose. "What a stupid bet."

"If you thought that you would win, you would have already accepted the offer."

I got to my feet, limping towards the bathroom. "I'll show you how stupid a bet this is. There's no way that I've lost that much weight. Where's this scale you're talking about?"

"Beside the toilet. Go on. Step on. Show me how wrong Sherlock and I both are."

I hesitated, but my need to be right got the better of me. I grabbed the small white scale, setting it down on the floor. "Fine. I'll prove you both wrong," I stepped onto the scale, still staring at John. "There's no way that I've lost that much weight."

I looked down, freezing at the sight. John leaned forward, shaking his head. "Fifty kilos even. What would you like to eat?"

"I…there's no way. There's no way I've lost that much weight. This scale's broken!"

"Impossible. Sherlock bought it yesterday. Now, what do you want to eat? I can order pizza or we can go to the sub shop next door." John glanced up at me, moving to catch me as my legs gave out. "Easy Del. Easy. You're alright. What's wrong?"

"I…I don't know John. I don't know. I'm scared," I admitted, clinging to the front of John's jumper. I felt the urge to cry, but there were no tears left in me. "John, I'm scared I'm dying slowly, from the inside out. I know…I know you're Sherlock's friend…but I'm really scared and…I need help."

"I know. Sherlock and I both know. It's why I'm here. Talk to me."

"I feel lost, John. I feel like I'm wandering around in the dark and that you, Sherlock, and Mary are the only candles to guide my way. But I can hear things in the darkness moving around, waiting for the time to strike, to blow out the light. It terrifies me. I'm lost in my own mind and it's causing me to lose myself as a person." My voice began to drop until it was a whisper and John was leaning down to listen to me speak. "I am becoming something I don't recognize. A soulless monster, chained down by the things that Olivia is throwing at me. The warehouse, the videos, strapping a bomb to my chest, and now my father's body…it's killing me John. I don't want to do this anymore."

John pulled me closer to him and I closed my eyes, feeling that emptiness filling the place where the fire had once been. "Have you thought about getting help Del?"

"I've debated on it. But I don't think that going to see someone about my problems is going to help anything. The only thing that's going to help is capturing my sister and her husband and forcing them to stand trial."

"But you have to keep up your strength until that point. What happens when we finally manage to find them and you can barely stand because you've become weak?" He pulled me away, forcing me to look at him. "I have been where you are now. Take it from me. You need your strength when facing your biggest enemy. Don't let it break you Del. You're stronger than this."

"Do you…do you want to go and grab a sandwich from next door?"

"Did you miss me? Did you? Why don't you just die? Go blow up. Go kill yourself. Why don't you just DIE?!"

I jerked awake, confused and shivering. Where was I?

Someone pulled back the shower curtain and I looked at Sherlock sitting on the toilet seat, a frown on his face. "What's going on? Why am I in the bathtub?"

"I was hoping that you could tell me. Last I remember, you were in the bed sound asleep. I went back to check on you and found you gone. I discovered Scarlett laying down by the tub and when I pulled back the curtain, you were curled up in the bottom." In the moonlight, I could see the fatigue on Sherlock's face. "I can only assume that you had another bad dream."

I nodded, laying back down in the tub. "Come lay with me Sherlock."

"In the tub?"

"Yes. I feel safe in here. It's small, confined. No one can sneak up on me." I watched as he got to his feet and I expected him to leave. Instead he stepped in beside me, laying down next to me. He had to lift me up at one point and then I was cradled in his arms, my head resting on his chest, our legs intertwined. "Thank you."

"I suppose you could have had a more ridiculous request. Now…will you tell me what's going on in that brain of yours and what has been bothering you so much that you won't eat?"

"Nightmares," I murmured, closing my eyes to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. "You probably think that I'm ridiculous for letting dreams have so much control over me. Probably think that I should put them aside."

"Lila…I am in a fairly small bathtub with you, holding you in my arms. I wouldn't have done so if I didn't care to know what was bothering you." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, something he hadn't done since I'd first gotten home. "Tell me what is wrong. Let me in."

I gulped, focusing on the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat instead of the lump in my throat. "I…I've been having nightmares for a long while. But they've started taking over my thoughts during the day. I can still see that rooftop Sherlock, still feel the vest attached to me. And when I go to bed, he's always there, whispering to me, asking me…"

"Go on."

"Asking me…why won't I just die? The same thing he has said every time he has tried to kill me." I felt myself beginning to break, but I took another deep breath. "I want to get them so bad Sherlock, for what they've done to me, to you, to John. But I also know that going after them is going to be extremely difficult. Either one of them on their own is dangerous, but combined they're worse than Magnussen."

"You're worried how this is going to turn out in the end. It's why you've been pushing everyone away. Why you've been pushing me away. Do you think that you're going to die?"

I hesitated before nodding slowly, opening my eyes to stare at the black shirt in front of me. "Yes. I do. And I don't think they'll stop until they've succeeded. I've been thinking about giving myself up to them. I'd do it too, if it meant protecting you, Mary, John, and the baby."

"They won't stop once you're dead. You have to know that." I looked up at him in surprise. "They'll kill you, but it'll be very slow and very painful. Once they are done killing you, they'll come for everyone else. John and Mary. The baby. Me. They aren't going to stop because you're dead. It's only going to give them a taste of what they can have if they use the right tactics."

"But, how do you-?"

"Know that? It doesn't take the world's greatest consulting detective to figure it out Delilah. Once a wolf has tasted blood, it won't stop until it's put down. I need your help in doing that." He pulled me closer to him, careful of my ribs and booted foot. "You…have had me concerned for the past few weeks. I was hoping that John would be able to talk some sense into you. He's better at those things than I am."

"I know. I'm sorry. Its been…insane. That's about the only word that I can think of that will sum up the entire situation."

"Well, now that you've admitted it, why don't we get out of this tub and look at a couple of caterers for the wedding and some bridesmaid dresses? I now have to choose a color that suites Mycroft's complexion as he'll be in the wedding party. I was hoping he would choose sitting with our parents instead."

I smiled. "You and this wedding. I swear, we should put you in the wedding gown instead of me."

Sherlock chuckled. "I enjoy making plans. And this isn't something that I thought I would get to do for myself. I want our day to be perfect."

"And it will be Sherlock," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Knowing you, this will be the most fantastic wedding London has ever seen."

"You know me. I never could resist a touch of the dramatic. Now, let's get out of this tub, shall we?"

Week 5

"Is that your professional opinion doctor?"

"Yes, it is. You can take the boot off, so long as you take it easy on your ankle for the next week or so. No taekwondo, no leaping off of buildings, no overly strenuous activities."

"What about walking?"

"Walking, yes. Running, not for another week. I must say, I am quite surprised at how quickly you've healed Ms. McKinley," Doctor Oswald said, sitting down in his chair. "Now, Sherlock tells me that you haven't been sleeping very well."

I cursed Sherlock under my breath. "I've been having the occasional nightmare, yes. Nothing too serious."

The doctor frowned. "That's not what he told me. Mentioned something about you waking up in a bathtub one night. Are you on any medications that might cause you to be sleep walking?"

"Only what you've given me."

"Well, I'm going to give you a prescription for a sleeping pill. They're relatively mild, but they should help to keep you asleep and not have you wandering around your flat." He handed me a piece of paper. "Of course, it's your choice whether or not you fill it. But I highly recommend it, especially for someone in your position."

"Aye? And what position would that be?"

"Fighting post-traumatic stress disorder and refusing to recognize it as a problem."

I walked down the street, pulling my coat tight around me. It was the first day it hadn't rained in nearly a week, but the wind was bitterly cold. I could care less though. I was able to walk around without the boot. I still had a slight limp, but once I'd gotten used to walking again I was sure it would go away. I kept my head down as I walked, thinking over Doctor Oswald's words.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder. Bah, what does he know," I muttered to myself, continuing to walk.

My phone began to ring and I glanced down at it, frowning. I didn't recognize the number. I let it ring until it went to voicemail. I went to put it back in my pocket when it rang again from the same number.

"This is Delilah McKinley."

"Why hello dear sister!" I shuddered at the sound of his voice. "How have you been? Got that hideous boot off your foot?"

"What do you want?" I asked, looking around, trying to see if I could find where he was. He had to be watching me somehow. "Why are you calling me?"

"Called to have a chat. I've got a friend of yours here you see. I think he'd like to say hi."

"Del? Is that Del? Del, don't yeh come here! I'm tellin' yeh, don't yeh come here, no matter what he says!"

"Let him go." My voice was flat. "You let him go right now or I swear to God I will kill you."

His laugh grated on my ears. "Oh so predictable. I'm giving you and Sherlock your wedding present. A puzzle for you two to solve together and you have all the pieces in your possession. Can you fit them together in time to save your precious Ted?"

"Let him go you son of a bitch!"

"You'll have to find him to set him free," Moriarty said in that irritating sing-song voice of his. "Come and find him Del. We'll be waiting when you get here. But don't waste time. You've got four hours. Ta-ta!"

The call ended and I began running despite doctor's orders not to. I made it back to Baker Street, my ankle and ribs aching, but I didn't care. I burst into the flat, finding John, Sherlock, and Irene sitting around the coffee table.

"Delilah? Delilah, why are you out of breath? Where's your boot?" John asked, getting to his feet.

"It doesn't matter," I snapped. "We have to go. Now. We've only got four hours. No." I looked down at the timer on my phone that I'd started after the phone call had ended. "Three hours and forty six minutes."

"Slow down dear. It's not like someone's going to die if you don't explain what's going on," Irene said, taking a sip from her mug. "Tell us what's going on."

Sherlock stared at me. "He called you didn't he?" I nodded. "What did he say? Who does he have?"

"Ted. He has Ted."

"Who? What on earth is going on?" I could hear the irritation in John's voice.

Sherlock held my gaze as he said, "Ted is the chip shop owner that Delilah and her father used to frequent. Moriarty and Olivia have captured him, no doubt making him one of the last four letters to complete their killing spree. I am guessing by the timer on your phone that they've given us four hours to figure out where he is?"

"Yes."

"Well then, looks like we've got a bit of a time crunch. Did they give you any clues?"

"He said we have all the pieces, we just have to put them together. I don't know what he meant."

"That's not a whole lot to go on," Irene said with a frown. "I mean, there could be hundreds of things that we could go through and none of them could mean anything. May as well plan for your friend's funeral now."

I glare at her. "There's something there. Sherlock, where's that disc that you all managed to pull from the teddy camera?"

"In my laptop. Why?"

"I want to look at it. There may be something on there."

"Well, considering I haven't had much of a chance to look at it, there could be." He was pulling his laptop up onto his lap, cutting it on. "Let's see what we can find."

He began to play the video and I sat on the arm of his chair. Irene and John came to stand behind us and I squinted at the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that would help us. At the nineteen minute mark the video flashed a brilliant white light and then faded to dark. There was one small sound, one tiny fraction of a sentence.

"Play that back and turn it up," I demanded and Sherlock did, going back about twenty seconds and turning the volume up. "What is that? Can you slow it down?"

"I'm trying to listen if you would be quiet."

"So am I. Now slow it down!"

"Easy you two," John muttered. "No need to have a domestic when we're all trying our best to figure it out."

"What is there to figure out? I'm going to go and do something a bit more productive than listening to a clip in a video that may not even matter." Irene straightened up. "I'll talk to you all soon. Good luck."

I barely noticed that she left, focusing on the looping clip of audio that Sherlock had managed to isolate. It was sped up, which was irritating, but I recognized the voice as Livvy's. Sherlock got up, beginning to pace. I grabbed my headphones from the coffee table, plugging them into the jack. I looked down at the timer as I did so. Two hours and thirty two minutes. Jesus, there wasn't enough time.

"Smile," I murmured to myself as I made out the words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

A hand shook my shoulder and I looked up to see John next to me. I yanked the earbud out. "What is it?"

"We're going down to the chip shop, ask if they've seen Ted or anyone that he may have spoken to. Come with us."

"Fine." I snapped the lid of the laptop closed. "But when we're done we've got to get those other tapes that you found."

"They won't be done for another three hours unfortunately," Sherlock said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. "I text Lestrade and asked him for them."

"Damn it. So all we have to go on is that small snippet of audio." I closed my eyes, trying to picture myself in my library, but I struggled with even accessing the door to enter. "Let's go then. We'll see if we can't figure anything out."

We piled into a cab, heading for the chip shop. The line was out the door as usual and I tapped my foot impatiently as we took our place. What was taking so long? I glanced up across the street as I stood between the two men. Was that a flicker of red I saw up there?

It was. A red head to be precise. I saw in her hand that she held a small switch. I realized what it was that she intended to do. "Get back."

"What?" John looked at me, confused. "What'd you say?"

"GET BACK!" I shouted, pulling my gun from its holster, firing into the air. "EVERYONE GET BACK! GET BACK!"

People began to scream and scatter. I knew I wouldn't save everyone, but I needed to give people a chance. I turned back to Sherlock and John, shoving them between two sets of brick stairs, watching from the corner of my eye as Olivia released the switch, letting it fall to the ground.

The blast was deafening and I covered my ears, tucking my head down, watching as bits of building flew around us. Sherlock and John both shielded me. When the noise died down, we all peaked over the edge of the stairs. There was nothing but a ruined shell, bodies littering the streets as the flames began to roar. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths.

I got to my feet, shoving away from Sherlock and John, going to the building that she'd been on top of. Sherlock grabbed my arm, stopping me. "No. Not yet. Lestrade's on his way. He'll have a few questions."

"Sherlock, I don't have time for questions. We've got a little under two hours to find Ted."

"If he's not dead already. We've already been lured into one trap. Do you really want to fall for another?"

"We can't just let him die!" I shouted.

"And I'm not saying that," Sherlock said calmly and I noted that John was trying to help survivors of the blast as best he could. "Use the time that we're being questioned to solve the puzzle. You know that we can leave as soon as we have a solution."

"Delilah, I could use a little help here!" John shouted and I looked up at Sherlock hesitantly. "Delilah!"

"Coming John! You'd better be right Sherlock. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

By the time Lestrade had arrived, there was an hour and thirty seven minutes before Ted was killed. I was beginning to panic, but helping people who were injured was keeping me calm. Sherlock explained the entire situation and Lestrade crossed to me as I reassured a young child that he was going to be alright. He had lost part of his leg in the explosion and John had had to tie a tourniquet. His mother had been pronounced dead at the scene. The paramedics took him away and I got to my feet, turning to the detective.

"I would say nice to see you, but this isn't a very good time," I murmured, wiping my hands on the front of my jeans.

"No, it's not. People said you fired a gun into the crowd."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I saw my sister on the roof with the switch. Gunfire was the quickest way to get people to clear out of the area. I did the best I could with what little time I had."

"Sherlock told me that there was another person in danger, the owner of the shop. Have you figured out where he may be?"

"No, not at all. We only have about twelve seconds of audio to go by."

Greg frowned. "Well, they're locking down this entire neighborhood. If you all are going to figure out where Ted is, you'd better get moving. I'll try to keep yours and Sherlock's involvement quiet."

"Thank you Greg. I appreciate it."

"Get out of here." I began to walk away when Lestrade said, "If any officer pulls you aside just…smile and say hello."

I froze. "What…what did you say?"

"To get out of here."

"No. After that."

"Just smile and say hello?"

'Darkness. My head gives a nasty throb and I vomit. I'm disoriented, confused. I can hear men laughing all around me. I hear her voice and she says-'

"Just smile and say hello to the camera," I murmured, walking away from Greg.

"Oi! What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Sherlock! John! Come on! The game is on!"

We were running through the streets. I glanced down at the timer on my phone. Nineteen minutes left. We'd been stopped by three officers on our way out, each one having to be convinced that we were with Lestrade. It had eaten away at precious time and now I was growing panicked.

"How much…farther…?" John panted out.

"It should be two blocks up on the left hand side," Sherlock replied, setting the pace for us. "We should arrive there with about fourteen minutes to spare."

"Good," I said, fighting against the tightness in my chest. Sherlock handed me my inhaler while we were running and I took a pull on it. "Let's get there and free Ted."

We made it to the warehouse and I felt the bile rising up in my throat. I had to remind myself that I was with John and Sherlock and that I was safe. The door was locked and I knelt in front of it, beginning to pick it. I jumped with surprise as John's foot smashed into it, knocking it in. I looked up at him in shock.

"I was in the army. What do you expect?"

We were running in and I was the first one into the main section. I saw Ted tied to a wooden post, kindling all around the bottom. On the front of his shirt was a bright yellow letter A. Sherlock and John both stopped on either side of me and I stared at the old man.

I took a deep breath before saying, "Ted? Ted, are you…are you alright?"

"Del? Is that me lil' Del? I told yeh ta keep away!"

"Ted, hold still. We're coming to get you. We've still got eleven minutes to free you. Don't panic." I looked to Sherlock. "It doesn't look like there's anyone here. Do you think that they have bombs in that kindling?"

"It doesn't look like it, so it should be a simple matter of cutting him down. Be careful with sparks though. It smells as if they've doused him in petrol."

"Del, don't come any closer! I'm fine. Stay back."

I shook my head. "I'll be right there to free you and then we're getting you out of here."

"No!" John shouted as I took a step forward and he and Sherlock both grabbed my arms to pull me back.

But it was too late. I'd triggered the tripwire. I tumbled to the floor as the pile Ted was tied to burst into flames. He began to shriek in agony and Sherlock rushed for a fire extinguisher, going to try and put out the flames. John began to pull me away from the inferno.

"TED! TED! LET GO OF ME! LET GO!" I screamed as I tried to break John's vice-like grip. "NO LET ME GO GOD DAMN IT! TED!"

John dragged me outside and Sherlock followed soon after. It was deathly quiet, save for the wail of sirens in the distance. I stared into the dark doorway of the warehouse. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I looked at the timer. 00:00:00. I could only stare at the timer as we became surrounded by flashing blue, white, and red lights.

"I'm so sorry…forgive me Ted."

I stood in front of the headstone, touching the letter in my pocket. Sherlock and John had gone to wait in the cab, wanting to give me time. There were dozens of bouquets of flowers on his grave. I knelt down at the end of it, staring at the letters.

"Theodore Christian O'Brien. Never even knew your full name," I said with a soulless smile on my lips. "We never did get around to that drink, did we? I kept putting it off, telling myself that there was still time. I guess there's not time anymore." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You were a good man Ted. A damn good man. I wanted to get you this sooner, but I put that off too."

I set the invitation on his grave, nestling it in-between the flowers. I ignored the rain beginning to fall. I had to shake myself as the screams of pain echoed through my mind along with that constant question from Moriarty. I stared at the headstone.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be faster or smarter or…better. I'm sorry that I couldn't be a better person. That's a good place to start. But I'm going to be. If this has taught me anything, it means that I need to be faster at deducing things, I need to be smarter at remembering things, I need to be better than I am now. I am truly sorry that you got caught in this cross-fire. I never meant for you or Nancy or any of the others to get hurt." I closed my eyes, bowing my head, knitting my fingers together. "God, I pray to you today at the foot of this wonderful man's grave to give me the strength and courage to slay the dragon. Guide me to bring justice to the evil people who have caused this man and his family so much grief. Help me to learn and to become a better person than I am now. Amen."

I got to my feet, remembering what my father had said at my grandfather's funeral all those many years ago. "Death is nothing at all…it does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room…everything remains as it was. The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still." I went to his headstone, pressing a kiss to the cold, wet marble. "Good-bye my friend. Until I slip into the next room to join you."

I began the long walk back to the cab. In my mind I was planning our next move.

'The next funeral I attend will either be my sister's or my own. That I swear. I will have my revenge. Come hell or high water, I will have my revenge.'