I'm gonna point out, by the way, that I have no idea about law and about will stuff. So, what Arthur says later in the chapter may actually be completely wrong.

Also, it's been brought to my attention that the last chapter would have been better as several. So would this one, actually. However, I decided to do this like the last one and the rest of the chapters will be spread out. Just means I need to come up with more chapter titles... *sighs*

"That's it?" asked Jack Tolson, tapping his cards against the table.

"Yeah, that's it," said Alfred, throwing a few more chips on the pile.

"But where's the twist?" Sandy Timson demanded. "Where's the real killer?"

Alfred shrugged, looking towards Jack's wife who was acting as the dealer for their poker game. She was a pretty woman, blonde and petite, and was the HR manager of Jack's publishing company. Jack, meanwhile, had broken his nose at some point in his life and it was crooked, making him less photogenic. Sandy, in contrast, was a much more handsome man, his greying hair and beard not detracting from his appearance whatsoever. Both he and Jack were prominent authors and good friends of Alfred's as they had helped encourage him from the starting blocks.

"Come on, Al," sighed Jack. "You're better than this. I know you've killed off Diana but you can't be slacking now."

"Hey, now – maybe he should turn to science fiction," Sandy suggested as Mrs. Tolson began to turn over the cards and sort herself out.

"Maybe," Alfred agreed, waiting for Jack to play.

"No, no," said Jack, shaking his head vigorously. He leaned forward and pointed at Alfred. "Look, I know you're going through a hard time with inspiration but what you need to do is find that one detail, that one piece of information that could turn that story around. After all, as a crime writer, I find it hard to believe that someone with that sort of mental disorder could plan those murders. And why wasn't the psychologist first? If you ask me, the other two were meant to be a shield for that one."

"Oh, come off it, Jack," Sandy protested, looking amused. "Not all crime writers need to put in red herrings. Unlike you."

However, Alfred's eyes had widened. They were right, of course. The details were all wrong and he had been mulling on it since they arrested Turner. And it wasn't just the dress on Clara Knight. Coming back to the moment, he spoke up before the two authors could get into an age-old argument.

"Hey, no, he's right. You're both right. But, hey, if neither of you want to win your money..." Alfred gestured at the table, bringing their attention back to the game.

When Arthur arrived at the precinct the next morning, drink in hand, he was annoyed to find Alfred at his desk. Somehow, it didn't surprise him. Narrowing his eyes, he stomped over. "Hey! What are you doing here?"

Alfred jolted a little and spun around on Arthur's chair. Sheepishly grinning, he said, "Oh. You're here. Good morning."

"Good morning," Arthur replied, somewhat out of habit. "Now, what are you doing?"

"Well, I just thought you were awesome," said Alfred, standing now and holding something behind his back.

"Awesome?"

"Yeah, for putting up with me, an' all." Alfred smiled brightly but Arthur was getting more suspicious. For some reason, Alfred didn't seem as confident as normal, much more subdued than Arthur had seen him. But, before Arthur could say anything, Alfred added, "So I came to give you something."

"Oh?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, his eyes trained on Alfred's face. He really was rather handsome, with those brightly blue eyes and the blond hair. The grinning got on his nerves but he had a nice smile... He wrenched himself from his thoughts as he watched Alfred bring an arm forward, holding a book. Arthur stared at it, a little wide-eyed.

"A copy of Storm Fall, just for you, babe," said Alfred with a wink.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur took it with a small smile. "Well. Thank you. You didn't need to."

"'S'cool. I even signed it for you – but don't read the message till I've left or I'll be embarrassed." He put on a pronounced pout even as his lips tugged upwards in jest.

With a shake of his head, Arthur said, "All right." He paused for a moment, biting at his lip a little. "Well. I suppose this is it, then. Goodbye, Jones. It's been..."

"A pleasure? Awesome? Super cool?" suggested Alfred, his grin back in full force.

"Interesting," Arthur finished, smirking at him.

Alfred laughed. "It sure has." He brought his other hand from behind him and handed over a single, red rose. Arthur stared at it, frozen in place. What the hell was this? What was Alfred up to now? "I thought, since you love my books so much, I'd give ya a rose. It's a Fairy Prince, same as in my book."

"Wh-? I- You... You didn't need to," said Arthur, sure he was blushing by now. Not that he was going to let Alfred into his good graces just because of this, of course.

"Sure I did. Anyways, you know where to find me. See ya!" And, just as suddenly as he had breezed into Arthur's life, Alfred left. He watched him go, stopping to talk to Gilbert and Antonio on the way. And then he chatted to a couple of police officers. When Arthur saw him reach the lift, he quickly sat down and turned away: he didn't want to be caught staring. Especially since he could practically hear Alfred say Just couldn't keep your eyes off my ass, huh? and he could see his wink that would accompany it.

Sighing, Arthur turned to his desk and put down the book. He would have to read it later tonight. Preferably in a nice, relaxing bath. Carefully, he placed the rose next to the rabbit ornament his brother had given to him as an eighth birthday present. Arthur had loved it, squealing with excitement at the cute, green animal with wings. Smiling sadly at it, he indulged himself in thinking of his family.

And then he noticed what was missing.

Alarmed, he searched under other papers and opened the drawers in his desk. The file was nowhere to be found. Panicked, he stood to ask if Gilbert or Antonio had seen it – and froze.

"He didn't," he murmured to himself. Replaying the brief encounter with Alfred, his eyes narrowed. "He did, the bastard." Quickly, he grabbed the receiver of his telephone and dialled down to the front desk.

Alfred sat, triumphant, in the New York Public Library. He was sure this was the proof he needed to convince Arthur that Turner was innocent. Maybe the detective would even think of him as a hero. Now he just had to check this out and return to the precinct.

Hopefully before Arthur found out he had taken that file.

Before he got the chance to stand, the door was thrown open and several people walked in. Alfred glanced over his shoulder to see who it was and spotted Arthur and a couple of police officers. He grimaced but kept still, just in case. Several others in the room looked over, interested to know why the police were on the premises.

"Alfred F. Jones!" snapped Arthur, stalking over. "On your feet. Hands behind your back."

Slowly, Alfred did so, keeping his back to them. He suspected that trying to point out what he had been up to would only serve to anger Arthur. "What am I being arrested for?"

"Obstruction of justice," answered Arthur, stepping up behind him and grabbing his right arm. Alfred felt something hard hit his wrist as Arthur busied himself with the handcuffs.

"You know, you might want to wait till we get to a bedroom to do that." Alfred couldn't help it: he'd been thinking of being handcuffed to a bed since he had met Arthur. Plus, he kind of wanted to know what Arthur would do.

As it transpired, Arthur seemed to ignore him, grabbing his other wrist and cuffing that one. "You have the right to remain silent," he said. "Please use it. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law – including anything which can be used as evidence of sexual harassment. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney – which I doubt – one will be appointed for you." Finished with the Miranda rights, Arthur turned Alfred around and gently pushed him towards the other officers. "Take him away."

Letting himself be pulled towards the door, Alfred looked over his shoulder. Arthur was standing there, looking down at the file and the book beside it. Alfred had the feeling that Arthur would be able to tell what he had been checking and grinned. Arthur was definitely clever enough to piece together what he had worked out already: the roses were all wrong. Instead of the rose Alfred had given Arthur, the roses left on the body were a Hybrid Tea called American Dream.

With a horrible squeaking, the door to the holding cell was pulled open. Alfred looked up from where he was sitting and smiled at the sight of Arthur in a long-sleeved, bottle-green top which made him look even more attractive than normal. Standing, Alfred sauntered over. "Hey, beautiful," he said, stopping just short of purring.

"Hello, idiot," Arthur replied, dashing his hopes. Alfred pouted at him but Arthur merely stepped back. "Your family has posted your bail. You're free to go."

Stepping out of the cell, Alfred looked along the hallway and saw his mother and daughter standing beside a cop, looking rather worried. He grimaced apologetically at them before turning to the detective. "Are you still pressing charges?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment before looking at Madeline. "No. And you should be thankful. Don't let me see your face again, though."

There was that sinking disappointment again. Alfred sighed and rubbed at his arm, as if he was reassuring himself. Perhaps he was. After all, this wasn't over, not yet. Taking a breath, he said, "He's not the guy, y'know."

That caught Arthur's attention and he brought his gaze back up to meet Alfred's. There was a flicker of something: understanding, perhaps, or guilt? Regret? Alfred couldn't tell. Then Arthur shook his head and nodded in the direction of the exit. Taking that as his sign to move along, Alfred stalked down the hall and smiled at his family.

"Heya. Sorry 'bout that," he said to them as he reached them.

"Honestly, Alfred, what were you thinking?" asked Elizaveta.

"Heh. I probably wasn't," admitted Alfred with a wince. He placed a hand on Maddie's back to guide her out and hooked his arm around his mother's. "Let's go home."

"You're not going to do something else stupid, are you?" asked Madeline, looking weary.

"Uh..."

"If you are, I'm going to need a raise in my allowance."

Both Alfred and Elizaveta chuckled at that.

Alfred's first stop after a rather late breakfast was to the home of Mr. William Karthington. There was no way he was going to let this lie and, since he had no clue whether anyone in the precinct would continue investigating, he would have to do this alone.

Karthington was the CEO of a shipping company which had done rather well for itself. Rich, he worked in a swanky office at the top of a metal and glass building. Even the reception desk was metal with wood inlaid to make it look pretty. A vase of flowers sat at one end and a pretty black-haired woman sat in the middle. She looked up when he entered.

"May I help you?" she asked, politely.

"Sure! I'm Alfred F. Jones. I was hoping to speak to Mister Karthington?"

"Do you have an appointment?" Glancing at her computer screen, she began to click her mouse, obviously bringing up a schedule.

"No," Alfred began but noted the woman's frown. "But this is really important!" he added, quickly. Leaning on the desk, he smiled at the woman who promptly blushed. Winking, Alfred tried again. "Can't I just go up for a couple of minutes? It won't be too long..."

"I-I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist murmured, staring at him. "I... I can't. It's... against the rules." She glanced away and took a breath. "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave."

"Aw, miss, please?"

"If... If you don't go, I'm going to have to call security."

Worried that she would follow through on that threat, words tumbled from Alfred's mouth. "Not even if I went on a date with you?"

The poor receptionist looked trapped, eyes wide and her mouth flapping. Alfred winced; he prepared to retract his statement and leave before some sort of burly security guard turned up to throw him out. However, as he opened his mouth and the receptionist's hand began to shift towards a panic button, a familiar voice spoke behind him.

"I'm sorry, love. He's with me." With wide eyes, Alfred spun around to find Arthur holding up his badge. Those beautiful eyes shot him a quick glare before Arthur returned his attention to the receptionist. "We're both here to see Mister Karthington – he just got here a little early. May we go up?"

"Oh. Uh. Yeah," said the receptionist, looking quite flustered and confused. Alfred wondered if that was a typical reaction to Arthur speaking: it wasn't often that sexy people with English accents became cops in America.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Arthur, all polite, and quickly stalked towards the elevator. Blinking, Alfred quickly shot the woman a smile and hurried after Arthur.

"So, uh," he said as they waited.

"Not now," Arthur practically growled.

And so they waited. Finally, the elevator reached the first floor and opened. A couple of men in suits exited and Arthur and Alfred got in, the mirrors reflecting Arthur's mildly annoyed expression and Alfred's sheepish one. Arthur hit the correct floor number and the doors closed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Arthur demanded as soon as they were completely alone.

"Uh. Well..." Alfred thought faster than he had ever done before. "I came to pay my respects!"

Arthur looked at him, then, eyes narrowed. "You didn't know Polly."

Opening his mouth a few times, Alfred finally said, "Uh."

Shaking his head, Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you're going to be here, don't say anything. Let me do the questioning. Got it?"

"Sure thing!" exclaimed Alfred.

As the elevator opened, Alfred was sure he heard Arthur mumble, "I sincerely doubt you'll be able to keep your mouth shut, though."

Before Alfred could reply, a tall, thin, greying man approached them. His skin was pale and he looked positively miserable, almost as if he was drooping. "Are you the detectives?" he inquired.

"Yes. I'm Detective Arthur Kirkland. And this is-" Arthur broke off and glanced at Alfred as though he was unsure how to introduce Alfred.

"Alfred F. Jones!" he said, to fill in the stretching silence. "I'm consulting on the case." As he held out a hand for the man to shake, Alfred was sure he heard Arthur sigh.

"I'm Timothy Karthington. It's a pleasure to meet you – if only it could have been in better circumstances." Karthington turned and gestured for them to follow. "Please. Come into my office."

He led them down the bare hall, simple signs dictating what each door was for. They reached the end of the hall and Karthington held the door open for them. Inside, they found themselves in a rather large space. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the light in whilst showing a view across New York. A desk sat in front of them while bookshelves lined the wall opposite the door. Steps led to a sunken area within which sat a couch, a coffee table and a kitchenette. Everything was sleek and shiny yet functional. There was no decoration.

With the door closed, Karthington moved over to the desk. "I've heard that you've arrested the man who killed my daughter. May I ask why you're talking to me now?"

Before Alfred could protest, Arthur spoke. "We want to make an iron-clad case against him, sir. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions?"

Karthington nodded as he stared down at some papers on his desk, his fingers pinning them in place. "Of course."

"When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?"

"The night before she was killed – she would call me once a week."

Since Alfred wasn't allowed to speak, he began to wander around the room. Naturally, he gravitated to the bookcases but, after looking at the utterly boring, functional titles, he wandered towards the couch as Arthur continued with his questions.

"Did she mention anything odd? Any of her patients acting strangely? Anything at all."

Shaking his head, Karthington said, "No." Then he paused and frowned. "She only mentioned that she had visited her brother recently. He married her best friend and that's the only reason I ever hear about him."

"Why's that, sir?" asked Arthur, sounding intrigued.

"I cut him off, that's why," said the man. He looked up at them, Alfred staring up from his place beside the table. "Liam was using my money for all sorts of stupid ventures. Bad investments, prostitutes, buying his girlfriend of the week expensive gifts. We had an argument and I cut him off."

Spotting a few photo frames on the table, Alfred lifted one to see Karthington's family: Timothy stood between a smiling Polly and a grinning young man with messy brown hair and a glint in his hazel eyes. Gently, he returned it to its place; he knew only too well how precious the memories of family were.

"If you excuse my prying but..." said Arthur, pausing as though he was unsure how to word his question.

"Who gets your money if you die?" Alfred asked, coming back up the steps. Karthington looked shocked and Arthur spun to stare at him, clearly alarmed. "Er," said Alfred, rubbing the back of his neck. "If ya don't mind me asking...?"

Sighing, Arthur turned back to Karthington. "I'm sorry, si-"

"It's all right. If this helps any, only Polly would have profited." At that, Karthington's eyes flickered down to the paper on the desk. Interested, Alfred tried to peer at it. "I'll need to change that now... But Liam isn't getting anything from me. He already takes enough from his wife."

There was another brief silence before Arthur nodded. "All right. Thank you, sir. This was much appreciated."

"No, no, detective," said Karthington, looking up with a smile. "Thank you for catching the man that did this."

Alfred felt a stab of guilt and wanted to say something to fix the mess Arthur seemed to be in. Arthur seemed to sense this, though, and began to drag Alfred from the room. "Good day to you, sir," said the detective as they passed through the door and let it swing closed.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur snapped as soon as they were out of the building.

"What d'ya mean?" asked Alfred as innocently as possible. He glanced around before starting off in a random direction – they couldn't stay standing in front of the stairs, after all. Besides, he'd just spotted a hot dog stand!

"I told you not to speak! But, regardless, you were way too blunt!"

"You were gonna haveta say it yourself eventually," Alfred pointed out. "Want a hot dog?"

"No," came Arthur's short answer as Alfred jogged the last few feet to the stand.

After placing his order, he turned to Arthur. "Didja see, though?"

"What?"

"He's got his will on his desk."

"I did notice, thank you," said Arthur, scowling. "I'm not blind."

"He's probably dying," noted Alfred as he took his hot dog from the vendor. He took a large bite and watched Arthur's lip curling in disgust. "What woulda happened if he hadn't got around to changing the will?"

Arthur seemed to understand what he was getting at. "I don't pretend to be an expert but Liam could possibly have claimed his sister's share – especially if she doesn't have a will of her own."

"So, we gonna visit Liam?"

There was a brief pause before Arthur sighed. "Fine. But you're not getting in my car with that."

Since no-one had answered the door at the Karthingtons, they had had to drive across town to where Mrs. Karthington worked as head of an events company. They were led into a small, compact office filled with binders and folders stuffed full of papers. Small windows were set in two of the walls and the bulb above provided most of the limited light. The desk was strewn with papers and pages from magazines and a computer monitor sat to one side, taking up a third of it. Behind the desk hung a picture of some kittens – Alfred figured it was a stress reliever.

They didn't have long to wait for Mrs. Karthington to appear, her brown curls bouncing as she hurried in, her skirts billowing behind her. She looked harried and stressed. Her make-up seemed a little smeared and Alfred could see the hint of bags under her eyes, as though she hadn't been sleeping well recently.

"Good afternoon, detectives," she said as she closed the door over, dragging a fire extinguisher to sit behind it. "I'm afraid this door doesn't shut properly. I've been meaning to get it fixed."

"That's quite all right, Mrs Karthington," Arthur assured.

"Oh, please. Call me Susan."

"Well, Susan, we hear that you were best friends with Polly Karthington."

The poor woman looked distraught for a moment and dropped into her chair. She sighed and massaged her temples. Arthur waited, not a hint of impatience crossing his face as Alfred watched him. Finally, Susan looked up. "Yeah. We... We were overjoyed that we'd be family. And now..."

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," said Arthur, kindly, moving a little closer to the desk.

"Yeah. Well." Susan sighed and suddenly looked quite teary. "She was acting really odd recently."

"Oh?"

"She kept telling me that she'd still consider me family if I divorced her brother. But she knew how I feel about him and I don't understand why she was talking as though she knew it was inevitable."

"How do you feel about him?" asked Alfred, without thinking.

"I love him, of course," snapped Susan, scowling at Alfred. "Even when he was fooling around with those bimbos before we got together, I loved him. He's always been kind to me. And after we got together, he's been loyal to me."

"Did your husband get into any trouble recently?" asked Arthur.

"No. Not that I know about, anyway."

"How was your brother getting along with Polly recently?"

Susan immediately became suspicious. "Why? Why are you asking me that? You've already got the guy, didn't you?"

Arthur seemed to decide to take a chance. "We're not entirely sure it was him – he may have been framed."

Alarmed, Susan stood. "My husband didn't kill his sister! He was at a conference in Vancouver."

"And where were you?" asked Alfred.

"I was at dinner with friends!" cried Susan, looking quite distressed. "How dare you-!"

"Su?" said a voice from the door. Arthur and Alfred turned to find Liam standing there, having pushed the door open with some effort. "What's wrong?"

"Li? What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's lunch. Want to see if you wanted to get something to eat?" Liam paused and looked back at Arthur and Alfred. "Who're these two? I've never seen them around here before."

"They're detectives. They're investigating your sister's murder."

At that, Liam's eyes widened. "I thought you'd caught the guy."

Arthur stepped towards him, gaining his attention. "We're under the impression that the man has been framed."

That seemed to shock Liam for he paled slightly and his eyes darted between his wife and Arthur. "R-Really?"

"Yes. We were just reasserting where everyone was at her time of death."

"I was in Vancouver. Wasn't I, Su?"

"That's what I told them," replied his wife, frowning at Arthur.

"What was the conference about?" Arthur pressed.

"It-It was just a general business conference. I'm trying to get mine off the ground, see?" Liam, however, was looking at Alfred more than Arthur – perhaps he felt Arthur was a threat. Alfred's eyes narrowed and Liam glanced away. Hurriedly, the man made his way to his wife's side and looped an arm around her waist. "Then I won't have to rely on Suzie here for money so much. Right, honey?"

"Right," Susan responded, smiling proudly at him.

A ringing sound interrupted them at that moment and Arthur's hand disappeared into his coat pocket. "Thank you for your time. If you'll excuse us." With that, Arthur strode to the door, pulling his phone out.

Alfred, however, paused and surveyed the couple. Liam still looked rather jittery and Susan looked annoyed and upset. "We'll be in touch," he told them and followed the detective.

As he caught up, he heard Arthur say, "All right, Carriedo. Thanks. But here's something else for you to be doing instead of reading that book: find out about a business conference in Vancouver and where he was during the days leading up to Polly's murder. Yeah. I'll check in soon." Hanging up, he turned to Alfred and raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"It's him," Alfred assured him.

Arthur nodded, leading the way back out of the busy office space, people staring as they hurried by. "The only problem is that he was over two thousand miles away. How do you explain that, Mister Jones?"

"Well, Detective Kirkland, there are a few explanations," replied Alfred, catching up to him.

"Care to share them, Jones?"

"Sure! He got a car and drove back."

"People would notice he was gone if he did that and would defeat the purpose of his alibi," said Arthur, rolling his eyes.

"Then he had to have gotten on a plane."

"He'd have had to have used his passport."

Alfred hummed, thinking. They exited the building just as a thought occurred to him. Grinning, he grabbed Arthur's arm to stop him. The shorter man blinked up at him, obviously surprised. He opened his mouth to speak but Alfred got there first.

"A fake passport!"

"What?"

"He gets all his money from his wife. If he took enough out of their bank account, he could get a really good fake passport."

Frowning, Arthur's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"Uh. Research for a book," said Alfred, quickly.

"Uh huh..." said Arthur, sounding disbelieving. "If you're right, we're going to have to search his flat."

"Great! Let's go!" Alfred turned to walk down the street.

"Not so fast, Jones."

"Huh?" asked Alfred, turning to give Arthur a bewildered look.

"First of all, the car's that way," said Arthur, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Secondly, I need to get a search warrant."

Arthur pulled on the handbrake and turned to Alfred. "You're staying here this time."

"But-" Alfred began, already pouting.

"No buts," Arthur answered, gathering himself before he opened the door to the car.

They had had to go back to the precinct for the search warrant – something Alfred protested as it was likely that Liam Karthington could get home before them and destroy the evidence. Arthur hadn't listened to him, though, going through the proper channels to get the warrant. While they were there, Gilbert and Antonio told them that they had found that Liam had removed several thousand dollars the week that Worthington had been killed. Seeing as it was an amount larger than his normal transactions, it was deemed enough evidence for the warrant. Once that was sorted out, they had all driven over to search the apartment and, hopefully, make an arrest.

"You can't leave me here! I was the one to crack the case!"

Sighing, Arthur paused, his back to Alfred. "Fine. Just... wait there, for now." With that, Arthur stood and swung his door closed.

Meanwhile, Alfred felt giddy with excitement. He couldn't believe Arthur had just said 'yes'. Did that mean he was making progress? He hoped so. It wouldn't be long before he had managed to woo him enough to go on a date. Grinning, Alfred glanced up when Arthur opened his door for him, ready to go with his Kevlar vest. He swivelled out of the car but stopped when Arthur held up a hand, grabbing the handle attached to the roof to keep himself from toppling to the ground.

"Wait. You need a gun. There's one in the glove compartment."

"Oh? Really?" said Alfred, getting more excited. He turned his attention to the compartment and opened it. Gazing into it, he frowned. "Wait... I don't-" A hand gripping his arm and a clicking noise stopped him and made him look up, eyes wide. Sure enough, there was another click as Arthur finished handcuffing Alfred to the handle.

Smirking down at him, Arthur leaned forward. "If I say you stay here, you'll stay here, Jones." His voice was low and it sent a shiver up Alfred's spine: he wasn't sure if it was fear or arousal because, damn, was that sexy.

"You-You can't-"

Instead of listening, though, Arthur turned as Gilbert and Antonio approached. "You ready?" asked Gilbert, glancing at Alfred.

"No, he's not. He's accidentally-"

"Yes," said Arthur, cutting Alfred off. "Let's go."

And so Alfred was left to gape as Arthur, Gilbert, Antonio and several Kevlar vested police officers hurried into the building. He pouted and grumbled to himself until, finally, he was sure he was alone and no-one was paying attention to him. Then he grinned.

"Don't underestimate a Jones!" he exclaimed, pulling out his wallet. Inside one of the pockets was a handcuff key which he had taken from a set he had at home (for research – totally not for bedroom activities). He carried it around, just in case. After all, as a crime writer, he had to expect the unexpected. Or something like that.

What he didn't expect, though, was to fumble with the key as he tried to pull it out – and drop it.

"Shit!" said Alfred and looked around for it. Thankfully, it hadn't fallen down a drain. But it was rather far away. Sighing, he slipped from the seat and twisted around so that he could reach with his free hand. Imagine his consternation when he realised that it was just out of reach. "Oh, come on!" he growled, stretching until his arms ached.

Relaxing, he frowned. How could he reach it? There had to be something to help him... So he searched the glove compartment and under his seat but found nothing to aid in his quest. He just needed something which would extend his reach slightly and drag the key towards him.

"Huh," he said as he stared at his shoes. As quickly as he could he untied one and pulled it off, almost dropping it in his haste. He breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't get away from him. Then he took a deep breath and stretched once again, shoe upside down so that the opening for his foot could 'hook' the key.

And it worked. He dragged it closer before dropping the shoe and stretching for the key. This time, he was able to pick it up with a quiet "Yes!"

As he began to unlock the handcuffs, he looked up at the building, wondering what was going on inside. Arthur had parked directly in front of an alley which ran between Liam's building and the building next to it. A set of stairs and ladders for the fire escape was attached to Liam's building and ended between two dumpsters. Beyond them, a white van was parked in front of a wire fence. A man was currently climbing down the fire escape with a briefcase in his arms.

Alfred blinked and squinted as he tried to make out who it was. As the man turned to go down another set of stairs, he could see that it was definitely Liam Karthington. "Oh, my God," he murmured before frantically returning his attention to the handcuffs. "Kirkland!" he yelled, trying to catch someone's, anyone's attention. "Guys! He's down here! Kirkland!"

Finally, there was a click and the handcuffs were released from the handle. Free, Alfred leapt to his feet and ran towards the alley – he had to stop Liam from getting away. As he did so, though, he realised that he couldn't run properly with only one shoe on. Briefly, he paused to tug it off and throw it away, continuing on his way.

"Down here!" he shouted again as Liam reached the ground and began to wind his way to the back of the alley.

"Jones?!" came a cry from above. But Alfred didn't stop to look up, continuing to run at full pelt towards the culprit.

Dodging behind the van and out of sight, Alfred hoped that he could catch him before he climbed over the fence. He rounded the van – and straight into the sights of a gun. Freezing, he glanced up at a panicked Liam, his breath catching and his heart skipping a beat. "Ah, hey," he began, hoping to talk him into lowering the weapon, his heart speeding up as he stared down the barrel. Slowly, carefully, he raised his hands as if in surrender. But there was a chance he could disarm Laim...

Another shout of Alfred's name caught both their attention. Unfortunately, Alfred reacted slow and was unable to do anything as Liam grabbed his arm and tugged him around until they both faced the same way, the gun pointed at Alfred's head. Shoving at him, Alfred stumbled out from behind the van so that Arthur could see his situation.

Whilst Alfred was relieved to see Arthur, he was a little disappointed that Arthur had his gun trained on Liam and seemed to only glance at Alfred. Besides, he had wanted to catch the guy himself, be a hero. So much for that. The three men regarded each other for a few seconds before they spurred themselves into action.

"I'll shoot him!" yelled Liam – right in Alfred's ear. He winced.

"Put down the gun, Karthington!" snapped Arthur. "You're only making this worse for yourself. Let him go and the prison sentence won't be as severe."

"Liar! Let me go or I'll kill 'im!"

There was a brief pause and Arthur glanced at Alfred. "Jones. You okay?"

Startled that Arthur had spoken to him, Alfred shrugged. "Sure. More or less. This guy needs a volume control, though."

"Says you," Arthur mumbled – or, at least, that's what Alfred thought he said. Then he was right back down to business. "Stop this, Liam," Arthur said, his tone soothing. "Think of Susan. What would-?"

"Shut up! It's always about her! Even Polly sided with her and she was my sister!" Liam yelled, brandishing his gun. Arthur flinched and his finger tightened on his trigger. "Just because I was stuck with her, it meant I couldn't have fun? Bullshit. And Polly-"

At that point, Alfred got fed up with him not making any sense so he elbowed Liam in the gut. Quickly, before Liam could pull the trigger and hurt someone, he grabbed at his gun, wrenching it from his grasp. Then he spun, faced Liam and punched him in the jaw. The murderer dropped like a stone as Gilbert and a couple of other police officers hurried into the alley.

"Bloody hell!" said Arthur as he pulled Alfred out of the way. "What the fuck were you thinking, Jones?!"

Alfred shrugged. "He was boring. And that was the only way I could look super cool, right?" He grinned at Arthur who sighed, holstered his pistol and rolled his eyes.

With both shoes back on his feet, Alfred waited for Arthur to return from his questioning of Liam who was sitting in the back of a police car. He wanted to know what Liam's outburst had been about. Also, he wanted to find out if Arthur would be willing to see him again. If he didn't... Well, Alfred had a plan for that.

Watching Arthur, he saw the man nod to a police officer before walking back to his car. He stopped to speak with Gilbert and Antonio who had been stealing glances at Alfred. Then he continued on his way and, finally, stood before Alfred. The writer grinned up at him.

"Wasn't I awesome?"

"Hm," said Arthur, merely raising an eyebrow.

"So? What'd Liam say?"

"He confessed everything," Arthur explained as he watched the police officer drive off with Karthington in the back. "Apparently, his loose moral lifestyle from before his marriage was hard to give up. But he needed the money which was why he married Susan. When Polly found out he was having affairs, she threatened to tell Susan. Liam knew his father was giving everything to Polly and also knew he'd have nothing if he divorced Susan, so he came up with this plan to stop her in her tracks."

Nodding, Alfred said, "Yeah... So he'd have stayed married to Susan and used her money for his various girlfriends and stuff. And there was still that slight chance that his dad would've bequeathed his wealth to him, for lack of anyone else to give the money to."

"And he almost got away with it, too-"

"-if it hadn't been for us pesky detectives?" said Alfred, grinning again.

Arthur sighed. "I was going to say, 'if it hadn't been for you', but you rather ruined that."

"Aw, I know I was the hero, Kirkland. No need to tell me."

Closing his eyes as if to stem his temper, Arthur said, "Right. Now. Get out of my car."

"What?" asked Alfred, blinking in surprise.

"I've got a pile of paperwork with my name on it and I need to go back to the precinct. You need to go home. Get a taxi. Walk. I don't care but I don't have the time to drop you off at your place."

Standing, Alfred pouted. "What? That's it? Not even an 'I'll see you later' or a 'thanks'."

"I did just thank you!" exclaimed Arthur, throwing his hands in the air. "And I'm not giving you that sort of thanks either." He stared at Alfred for a moment before sighing again. "Look, this was... fun, I suppose, but it's over now. I hope I don't have to see you in the precinct again, of course. Now, this is goodbye, whether you like it or not." And, pushing Alfred out of the way (gently), he closed the car door and walked around to the driver's side.

"But..." said Alfred, miserable now. He had been hoping to have a date with Arthur. Why was this so hard?

However, the only reaction from Arthur was a stern look. "Goodbye, Alfred. Good luck with your writing." And then he was gone, getting into his car.

Arthur entered the precinct the next morning at a leisurely pace. No pressing cases to take care of. No paperwork left over. No Alfred F. Jones to deal with.

Although he may have disliked Alfred's presence, he smiled at the sight of the solitary Fairy Prince rose sat upon his desk. He had brought in a vase when he had found the time between Alfred's arrest and his release, in an effort to keep the flower alive for as long as possible. It seemed to be a symbol of Alfred's influence on Arthur's life – a sudden appearance before wilting in a few days.

Setting down his things, he began to situate himself before anything happened. What case would he get today? Mugging gone wrong? Murder of a cheating husband? Poisoning of an important business person? Something more complicated?

The human psyche was rather messed up at times but he thrived on his work. If he didn't have that, he knew he would go back to obsessing over that. He took a deep breath as he thought of it and glared at the rose, as though daring it to pass comment. Yet, he couldn't stop his eyes from flickering over to the mint bunny. No. Concentrate, he thought.

"Kirkland!" shouted someone and Arthur looked around, spotting Ludwig standing at the door of one of the back rooms, usually used for going through papers during a case. Arthur frowned, wondering what had happened that he was needed. Plus, Ludwig looked rather stressed. Had Alfred's presence in the last case mucked up their chances in court?

Hurriedly, he strode over, frown still in place. "Sir? What is it?" he asked as Ludwig turned and made his way back to the table. Arthur followed – and froze as he stared at Alfred F. Jones.

"Hiya!" said the writer, grinning from his seat.

"Sir..." said Arthur, slowly, trying not to lose his temper. "What is he doing here?"

Ludwig sighed. "Apparently, Mister Jones wishes to base his next major character on you."

Startled, Arthur looked between them, rather wide-eyed. "I... Well, that's flattering but... why is he here?"

"I need to do research," Alfred piped up. "So I wanna tag along on your next cases. Just till I've written the book and stuff."

Arthur's eyes widened further and he looked back at Ludwig. Before he could protest, Ludwig shook his head. "The mayor insisted that this would be good publicity for the precinct. And the Police Commissioner agreed."

"But-!"

Pulling him aside, Ludwig lowered his voice. "There's nothing I can do, Arthur. I'm sorry. But if he ever does anything you're uncomfortable with, you come to me, all right?" Ludwig sounded so sincere that Arthur could only nod in agreement. Satisfied, Ludwig turned back to Alfred. "Right. Well, since that's settled, there are some forms you'll need to fill in, Mister Jones."

As Arthur watched Alfred enthusiastically jump from his chair and shake Ludwig's hand wildly, he could only think of one word to describe this situation.

"Bollocks."

Ah, Arthur. That's only the half of it.

American Dream and Fairy Prince are actual varieties of red rose. American Dream is a Hybrid Tea (I have no idea what that means, but there you go) and Fairy Prince is a Polyantha, actually bred in England from 1981. (At least, I think that's what that date means.)