Oops, I did it again. I don't really know what to say, I've been really busy, and I'm sorry. I hope you guys are having a really good break so far. This chapter has some pretty gory stuff right at the beginning, so ye be warned. It's not that bad, but if you don't like that sort of thing, there will be a mark lower on the page where you can start reading, if you so choose.

Chapter Three

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Small pieces of glass crunch between the soles of my boots and the cold, hard floor. I watch as Dredger picks up a few shards and drives them into the mans neck, causing red to soak through the crudely placed bandages. I almost cringe; I prefer not to get blood on my hands, at least only figuratively, I think with a smile. Dredger doesn't seem to mind. His legs buckle around the legs of the chair, letting out a garbled howl, blood brimming over his lips and dripping onto his silk blouse, spreading over his torso. His words come out in short, quick bursts that are difficult to decipher.

"I..-telled- you-everythin..." He manages to get out. Dredger picks up his bat from the corner of the boathouse, hoping to get out answers with another technique. I stop him with my hand, the man is useless.

"He is telling the truth." I say, in a low voice, my hat covering my eyes from the man across from me, his limbs tied to the wooden stool and eyes barely open, but focused on me. Dredger smirks.

"But he has told us nothing." He says, with glinting eyes. He pushes past me, wrapped up in the moment. I shove him backward, with a little more force this time.

"Do you recall the last time you disobeyed my orders?" I ask, my index finger tracing the contours of his scar. He flinches. "There is some gasoline outside, if you wish to beat the poor man some more, shall I retrieve it?" I say, my lips inches from his face. His demeanor quickly goes from lively to fearful. I could end him at any moment. "He has told us a name."

"Yes, Sir." He is a few feet taller than me, and much larger in stature, but his eyes are cast downward to the creaky wooden floors.

"Good." I say, more to myself than him. I walk past him, and towards the man bound to the bar stool. I lean down, but not on my knees. The waiter leans back s far as one could in a stool without toppling over. He gargles with his own blood, struggling to take in oxygen. I check for his wallet, but there is nothing there. The man goes silent, and only the water can be heard from outside the small shack. I check his pulse. He is gone.

-Start- "A letter." I mumble, with a small smile on my face. "You know what to do." With a gloved hand, I press a gun into Dredger's. "I expect you to finish him off. Do not get carried away, we cannot leave any more evidence than what we already have. This message is for them, and no one else." Dredger nods at me, a grin on his face. I exit the boathouse, throwing my gloves into the blue abyss.

When I open my eyes, I am laying on Sherlock's bed. I slip off the covers, and out of the bed as quietly as possible. I look around the flat for him, and have a bit of trouble finding him over the jungle that is his apartment. I soon locate him, slumped over his desk, head leaning on the cover of a large book, entitled Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos, I observe, from the binding. He fell asleep scribbling notes on a scroll of parchment. I make my way over to the side table, where he set down the file on my last visit. I pick it up, and read through the new expansions. I subconsciously twist my newly lifted earrings as I read the latest file on myself.

"Having fun there, darling?" Sherlock says, a dull look on his face. The remnants of sleep glaze over his eyes, which makes him look as though he'd been smoking again. His left cheek has the words 'upon' and 'various' imprinted unto it. I smile and wipe it out with my thumb.

"We'd better make our way to King's Cross now, if we intend to make the eight-fifteen." I say, walking past him and picking up my bag.

"We don't." He says, now fully awake. He turns in his chair, legs on either side of the back. "I can't have you going out looking like that." He gestures to me with his pipe. "No doubt Moriarty has already not discovered your dead body, and will have his men out on a search." He gets up from his chair, and slips his jacket on.

"I assume you have a plan." I say, more of a question as to what it is.

"Always. You'll need new clothes, at least enough to get out of the country, and a few changes in case we get spotted along the way." He picks up his pipe from his desk, and puts on his hat. "Watson will be by shortly, and he would be very pleased if you returned those viles of his." He quips offhandedly, slamming the door behind him.

"Why would he call so early in the morning, John?" Mary asked as she buttoned up my coat.

"I'm not sure, but knowing him it's not extremely important. He's probably forgot that he's called for me already." Mary gives me a lazy smile, and tilts my head up as she fastens the last buttons.

"Except for the few times where it's been very important." She says. "You haven't gone around in a while. And he can't have much company."

"He doesn't like company." I tuck the scarf Mary made me into my coat.

"Everyone likes company, John. He's your best man." She places her hands on my shoulders, gives me a light peck on the cheek, and opens the door. "If at all possible, be back by ten. Tonight." I smile, give her a kiss, and make my way over to Baker Street.

I knock on the front door three times, my breath making a small bit of fog in the cold air. Mrs. Hudson answers the door, mumbling to herself about a "barmy git". When she sees me, her face lights up.

"Oh, hello Dr. Watson. Please tell me you've come to take Mr. Holmes out."

"Actually, he called me over." I say, stepping inside.

"That's odd." She closes the door. "He just ran out." I start to take my jacket off myself, but Mrs. Hudson interferes. "Oh, let me dear. Come, have a cup of tea." We sit down at the kitchen table in Mrs. Hudson's rooms.

"The darnedest thing happened the other day..." Mrs. Hudson starts, a small smile gracing her features.

"Oh?" I ask, sipping my tea.

She leans in over the table, her eyes bright. "Sherlock brought a woman home." She whispers excitedly. I nearly choke on my tea.

"A woman?" There's only one woman Sherlock has ever been remotely interested in.

"Is the woman here yet?" Her eyebrows furrow.

"You know, I didn't see her leave with him." I stand up from my chair, taking one last sip from my teacup.

"I'll be upstairs, Mrs. Hudson. It was wonderful to see you." She waves her hand while taking a bite of her biscuit.

"Oh you too, dearie."

I hope all of you guys had great Christmases, or at least better than mine. I have a horrible cold right now. Hope you liked this chapter, R&R?