~Outside Scotland Yard~

Harlequin headed towards the entrance of the building, doing her best to look friendly and not too suspicious. She stopped halfway there, decided against going in, and just stood there, in the darkness. He came out soon, looking up at the sky, at the billions of stars that dotted it.

God, he's such an idiot…

He passed right by her without actually noticing her, and she let him get a few feet in front of her, before running and jumping on his back, hands locked around this neck.

DI Lestrade's reaction came as a half-surprise to her, if that was even possible. His hands went to hers, wrenching them off with surprising speed, and she thought she'd just fall on her ass, but no, the bloody man had to do something else. He whirled around, his elbow cracking against her jaw, and only then did she fall.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Wait, aren't you that bloody girl from the crime scene? Oh God, I didn't mean it, I thought you were, you jumped at me, so I, I…" he trailed off. She looked up at him, unable to speak from the shock.

Harlequin felt humiliated. As though he'd personally told the world that he- an incompetent, bumbling fool- had beaten her. Her. Harlequin Moriarty.

"All I wanted was to say hello!" she finally burst out, glaring at him as she got to her feet. "You're so mean, do you know that?!"

"Who asked you to do that anyways?"

"That's what people DO!" she screamed, watching him flinch and enjoying it. A spark of insanity somewhere in her ignited, causing flames to spread across her mind. But she had to keep it down. Had to keep it silent, or the game would be over, and she'd have wasted her efforts. Lestrade stared at her, slightly unnerved. "What do you want from me, anyways?" he asked.

"I just wanted to ask you if there were any latest developments in that murder."

"We've identified the victim: Chelsea Hood."

She nodded, as if interested. "Oh, cool. Hey, look, if anything new comes up, just give a ring, yeah?" She told him her phone number, made him repeat it back to her as proof that he was listening, and nodded again. "Great." He strode away, and she followed him.

"You should be home by now," the detective commented, giving her a glance.

Harlequin shrugged. "I'll hitch a ride."

"You're expecting me to give you a lift home, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Really."

"Really?" He gave her a dubious look, and she held up her hands.

"I'm not fucking kidding, Silver. I'm walking."

Lestrade reached his car, unlocked the door, and slid in behind the wheel, shutting the door. The engine roared to life. She stood there, a few paces back. The car did not move. The window rolled down to reveal a very annoyed looking detective. "Oh, alright, get in the damned car, for God's sake," he growled. "I can't stand leaving you here alone."

"Thanks," she said, giggling, as she got in the passenger seat. This time, the car did move. She told him an address that wasn't too far from her real one, and they drove in silence, with only the radio to fill it in. "Um… You single, looking for love?" she asked, trying to somehow steer the conversation towards something that could be used as a weapon against John. "…Have a burning desire for a certain dashing army doctor who has a blog?"

"I'm… Uh… Divorced. And, no, I don't have a burning desire for John. I mean, what kind of rubbish is that?!"

"You could be keeping it inside." Harlequin patted his arm. "It's okay, you can tell me. It'll be our dirty little secret."

Rolling his eyes, he continued driving, and she gazed out the window. The address she'd given him was about ten minutes from their current location, and at the speed Lestrade was going, they'd be there in no time. She had to do something. And fast. "Tell me about John."

"John?" He shot her a quizzical look.

"Yep."

"John… Nothing much to tell you: He's just John. He's loyal, strong, Sherlock's best man, the ex-soldier."

"Aha."

The car slowed down, coming to a gradual halt. She digested that information, even if it was just a few miserable scraps, and got out of the car without so much a word of thanks. She didn't think the detective would need it. Watching the car cut through the night like a shark, Harlequin sighed. She'd give anything, absolutely anything for a ray of inspiration to strike her so she could continue her little game.

But nothing happened. So she walked up the street, hands in her pockets, whistling softly. Tomorrow would sneak up on her, and she'd be damned if she wasn't ready for it.

~The next morning~

The knock on her door came just as she finished her breakfast of a single, red apple. "Door's open," she called, and Sebastian came in, carrying a paper bag in one hand, duffel bag containing his gun in the other.

"Morning, Seb."

Setting his bag down, he placed the bag directly in front of her and pointed at it. "This is yours. I want no buts. All I want you to do is eat every single fucking thing in the bag, got it?"

"What?" She peered into the bag, wrinkled her nose. Inside were various types of food: Buns, bagels, even a couple of cupcakes and a steaming cup of coffee. "I can't eat all this!" The sniper growled at her, a guttural sound, and fished out one of the bagels.

"Eat or I won't hesitate stuffing this down your throat," he threatened.

"You're not my father. You're not even related."

"No, but I'm the only friend you've got, and friends care for each other. So eat the fucking bagel, Harlequin Moriarty, or else."

"Fine." Rolling her eyes, she snatched the bagel out of his grip and nibbled it. "Why the sudden need to feed me?"

"You've lost weight since the day I told you about Jim's death. Lots of weight. I don't want to see you become anorexic or something."

"Aw, go to hell, you bastard," she said, extracting the coffee and removing the lid before drinking it. It burned going down her throat. Burned in a nice way. Sebastian watched her, judging every morsel that passed through her lips and slid down her gullet. His eyes went distant pretty soon, so that made the whole scenario less awkward. Her stomach felt full as she finished the bagel, but she wanted to prove to him that she was alright and that there was no need to sweep in and make a damn fuss, and chose a cupcake to eat next. It tasted like chocolate, the sprinkles weren't too bad either, and she had to admire the sniper for his wonderful taste in food.

"Hey, Seb?" Harlequin asked, swallowing.

His eyes snapped into focus, sharpening on reality. "Yeah, Quin?"

"Do you… You know, miss him?"

"He was my boss. It was a professional relationship at its best, but we had our share of memories, so, yeah. I miss him."

"What if he's alive?" The question broke a little part of her deep inside, but on the outside, she showed on actual emotion, just curiosity.

Sebastian laughed, a bitter sound. "That's the stuff of bloody fantasies." Shrugging, she continued her slow struggle through the rest of her breakfast.

When she had finished, the sniper nodded, approvingly, and stood up. "I was doing some thinking last night. How about you keep on killing randomly, but in such bizarre manners that the DI fellow will show up with his team, get stumped, call in the doctor, and you'll tag along? Each time, the messages will get more cryptic, as though Jim himself is committing murder from the grave."

"Or if those people were somehow connected to Jim."

"Exactly!"

They locked eyes with each other. A grin broke out on Harlequin's face. "God, Seb, you're a fucking genius!" she announced. Ducking his head, he shrugged, modestly, then wandered over to the sofa and threw himself down as she jumped up and began pacing around the room, hands behind her back, thinking, thinking.

"Let's begin with something simple," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her. Her eyes were distance. "Perhaps we don't necessarily need the murders to be connected to Jim. Perhaps they could be connected in a different way."

"That woman at the crime scene. I'd describe her as snow white, you know. Did you see how pale she was?"

The pieces clicked. Her head snapped up, and Harlequin would've grabbed Sebastian and kissed him there and then if she could. But, clearly, that would be unprofessional. So she grinned. "You really are a fucking genius! Fairytales! Jim loved fairytales, he did."

"So I guess we're going on a murder-spree tonight?"

"God yes."