The woman she saw in the mirror was not her. Arabella sat in her chair in her dressing room as the seconds ticked on by on the clock upon the wall, counting down to the time when she would have to go onstage and perform for all of her fans who were arriving. As she stared at the mirror before her, she saw the face which looked back at her own. Same features, same outfit, but it wasn't her. Arabella was slowly becoming that other person which the world knew her as: Blair Ravenna. Her face had been painted with dark eyeshadow and black eyeliner, her lips adorned with a deep garnet lipstick, almost bordering on black. With her very fair, pale skin such makeup made her look like she was a Goth, which she wasn't. This was all part of this stage life which she felt that she had no choice but to accept, and now she regretted it so much. For the public and all of her fans she had to look this way, as if wearing a mask and having to conceal her true identity. No one really seemed to care about Arabella Stevens, the true person which she was. Whenever she did interviews or was addressed, she was always called by her stage name, very rarely was she called by her real name, not even in the media.

And yet, despite the fact that Arabella hated becoming Blair, she had to suck it up and do as she was told. Five years she had to do this, and with each day that went by when she had to take on this persona made her want out even more. Unfortunately the moment she had uttered a word about it, someone...some very awful person had to come into her life and begin threatening her. All she wanted was to be happy again, why did someone have to try and deny her this? At least the one comfort she had at that time was that Sherlock Holmes was investigating her case and trying to shed light on whomever was leaving those threats for her.

"Hey, are you feeling okay Arabella?" Heather asked her as she was brushing Arabella's long hair into a ponytail.

Arabella's amber eyes snapped out of their state of just staring off into space as she glared at her reflection, looking up at the reflection of the blonde haired woman standing behind her. Heather was a sweet person, one of the few people on her crew she could truly stand. Watching as she continued to work on her long brunette hair, styling it for that night's concert Arabella sighed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied.

Heather smiled a little. "It's the final set of shows for your tour, then you get to head home and relax for a while. I'm sure you're looking forward to that."

Home. Home for Arabella would always be that small town in Indiana she grew up in, not some fancy mansion in San Diego, California where she had been moved to when she agreed to her contract. Heck it was a home she barely even saw she was kept so busy and on the road, and having a large home which she lived in by herself was awful. She would prefer being in an apartment, but when did she ever have a choice when everything was chosen for her?

"Yes, I suppose so."

At her response Heather could tell that Arabella clearly was not as enthusiastic about the idea of going home.

"Arabella, are you still thinking about quitting?" Heather asked.

Hearing that question Arabella felt a shiver course down her spine, not knowing if she should say anything. Instead she shrugged. In response Heather finished tying the ponytail holder in Arabella's hair and placed the brush on the table before turning to her friend and looking her in the eye.

"Look, I know this has been on your mind lately. Every time you get ready for a concert you don't seem to have any drive or motivation to get onstage and perform. Afterwards you always seem happier and seemingly glad that it's over. Clearly you're not having fun."

Swallowing hard Arabella tried not to get emotional or say anything about this subject, even though she desperately wanted to confide in someone who was being so kind to her. She had already told Sherlock and John, but that was on a professional note, they weren't her close friends or anything like that. Weeping in front of them was not an option for her, she did not want to humiliate herself that way or make them feel like she was putting on a pathetic display of emotion. John seemed like he might be more understanding, but Sherlock was much more intimidating. When they had first met he had thought she had blindly chosen this life because she was a small town girl who wanted to achieve fame and fortune and probably acted like typical rock stars. It was the exact opposite for her.

"Maybe you should take off for a while," Heather offered. "Take a vacation away from everything and think about what it is that you want. It makes me upset to see you like this, conflicted and unsure about what you do."

Arabella bit her lower lip, still trying to hold back those awful emotions. "Maybe you're right."

Heather smiled a very friendly, reassuring smile and delicately patted Arabella's shoulder. "You should do whatever makes you happy, Arabella. Don't let others tell you what you should or shouldn't do."

A small smile managed to break through on Arabella's lips. Heather was very kind to her, so understanding, unlike so many other people. It was nice to have someone on her side.

"Thanks, Heather," she said before hugging her. "You really are a good friend."

Just then a knock came on the dressing room door before it opened and in stepped a man with thick rimmed glasses and salt and pepper colored hair.

"You're on in three minutes," he said to Arabella.

Arabella sighed and nodded. "Alright, Rick. I'm ready."

Smiling back at Heather who told her to have a good show, Arabella got up from her seat and walked out of her dressing room. Rick walked beside her as she walked towards the backstage area.

"So Arabella, it has come to my attention that you allowed two men to have backstage passes granting them access to every area they choose. A little unusual for you isn't it?"

Her amber eyes rolled a bit, of course her manager would find out somehow. Maybe his idiot nephew ratted them out.

"Is this a problem? Last I recall I was able to give such passes to whomever I choose."

Rick sighed. "Yes you have that choice, but since when did you have friends around London, especially men like them? I would have thought you would have people who were about your age coming backstage."

"Rick, it doesn't matter. I don't have people my age whom I spend time with. I barely spend time with anyone in this profession. The only time I ever have anyone backstage is if fans win a contest."

"Exactly, hence why I am asking who these men are," Rick continued. "You're not having relations with either one of them are you?"

Arabella sent a very dark glare at her manager. "Rick! What the hell are you asking me that for?"

Rick sighed, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, Arabella. Just understand, I am trying to look out for you."

"You're not my guardian, Rick. I appreciate your concern but you should honestly allow me to make some of my own decisions instead of making them for me or allowing the record company to do it, okay? For once just trust me, I know what I am doing. Those men are friends of mine and I allowed them to come."

He then nodded a bit. "Alright then. I didn't mean to upset you, I was just concerned. You seem to be acting different than usual as of late. I know you were talking about possibly wanting to explore other career choices, which I hope you have changed your mind about. You have so much potential, and you have achieved so much, just...think it over before you do anything drastic, my dear."

Exhaling a heated breath through her lips, Arabella tried to calm herself down. Rick's comments had driven her up the wall so easily on top of her dislike for what she was about to do that night.

"Don't worry, Rick. I'm fine, you don't have to be so concerned. I will make my decisions carefully," she told him hoping that her response would satisfy him.

With a smile, Rick nodded. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Alright, have a good show, Arabella."

She gave him a polite nod as he left. Arabella then waited as the lights inside the arena went out, hearing the excited cries of her fans. If there was one thing she did care about in this career she had grown to hate so, she did care about her fans. If she did walk away, she would hope that they would understand why she did. She adored her fans who praised her ability to sing, but still she could care less about the fame and the money. At least she got to sing. Finally the band began to play those rock metal sounding notes as the lights from above rained down on the stage. Breathing out one final exhale, Arabella walked out on stage as her fans erupted in cheers. Thus began her need to don the mask of her alter ego, Blair, and perform as if nothing was upsetting her.

Elsewhere John and Sherlock wandered about the backstage areas, both going their own separate ways to cover more ground, searching for anyone or anything suspicious. If the last threat warned of something fatal, it could be that someone intended to harm Arabella. Earlier that day Sherlock had checked everywhere around the stage and above where the catwalks were, looking for anything which might be out of place. Nothing. Maybe the person threatening her would not do something so spectacular in front of a crowd. With very little to go on, Sherlock had to keep the possibilities open to several ideas.

For a short while he did pause to listen and watch Arabella as she performed. He was off to the side of the stage, watching the woman who had come to him just the previous day seeking his help. This was not her. Once more she looked very much like she had in that photograph in the paper, that awful eye makeup, an outfit consisting of black skinny jeans, knee high black boots, a lacy black off the shoulder top with long sleeves, and her torso concealed by a black corset-like top. At least she didn't flaunt herself, showing off a ton of skin and dancing in a suggestive manner. Although he could not hear it in her voice, she was hiding it very well, he could plainly see that she was not happy. Sure she gave appreciative smiles and words to her fans in the crowd, but there was something in her eyes which spoke of her unhappiness. Speaking of her voice, while he absolutely thought the music and the dark lyrics were abhorrent...he couldn't say the same about her voice. As John had said, her singing had an almost operatic sound to it as she could hit high notes and she articulated her words, not slurring them or sounding incoherent. That was very interesting to him. If she sang anything from an opera, or even a good musical, her voice would surely sound much better and show her true potential.

Two hours passed rather uneventfully, no threats seemed to be present that night and Arabella's concert was now entering the encore performance. Sherlock and John met up behind the stage, both of them were unable to track down anything leading to a suspect.

"Two hours have passed and there's no one out there who seems to want to show any signs of threatening her. Not even that ex-boyfriend of hers, he's been at his post all night and no one suspicious has been moving about the stage. We have nothing to go on other than those threats," John declared.

Sherlock too was at a loss and very annoyed about it, even though he loved challenges. "It's not over until the curtain falls, John."

The two men went backstage again to continue watching as Arabella was starting one of three songs to wrap up the night. Arabella was exhausted, which was normal after a long night of singing and moving about the stage under strong stage lights. She couldn't wait to sleep. At least the concert was going just as planned.

As she reached the middle of the first song she was singing, she looked out into the crowd of excited fans and noticed a strange look come across so many of their faces. They turned from excited and enthusiastic to...confusion...horror. Suddenly several of them began screaming in terror at something which was clearly happening above her. Arabella turned and witnessed a most frightening sight...someone falling from the catwalks, plummeting towards the stage several feet below before landing with a sickening thud and remained contorted in a very disturbing manner. Arabella's body petrified in shock for a moment, her voice had gone completely silent. Her terrified eyes soon recognized the horribly beaten and bloody body which had just fallen upon the stage. The microphone in her now shaking hand slipped from her grip and hit the stage as the realization of what happened came over her and who she was looking at.

Heather.

As her fans screamed at what they had just witnessed, Arabella felt her body tremble before she too screamed as hot, terrified tears ran down her cheeks. Finally as the band scrambled to get off the stage in the confusion and shock, Arabella sprinted off the stage as the lights were suddenly being turned off to conceal the body. She ran past everyone, even those who shouted out her name, running out of the backstage area and back to her dressing room. After the horror she had just witnessed, she needed to be far away from that scene and alone.

Sherlock and John both witnessed the scene which unfolded unexpectedly, having a good vantage point of the body falling from above and what it looked like when it landed upon the stage. Amongst the chaos, Sherlock noticed Arabella running from the scene.

"John, go to Arabella. Although she seems strong enough not to, I wouldn't rule out the possibility that she might faint and it would be best if someone trustworthy was with her," he quickly told him.

John nodded in agreement and left to follow the distraught singer. Sherlock quickly pulled out his phone to call Lestrade directly, knowing that several people were probably flooding the phone lines to the police already.

"Lestrade, there's been a murder at the Blair Ravenna concert," he began as he moved to run upstairs to the catwalks.

Inside her dressing room she slammed the door behind her, her back pressed against it to further try and stabilize her trembling body as to keep her from falling over. Her breathing became very uneven as she cried. What on earth had happened? Why Heather?

Soon she managed to sort of stumble away from the door, wanting to remove the makeup on her face which was likely running down her cheeks with those tears. She moved towards the table in front of the mirror to find the makeup removing cloths she always used...but she came face to face with something. Something very sinister.

Instead of seeing her own reflection in the mirror, Arabella found her reflection was obstructed. On the glass she found words written in red paint, obviously to resemble blood. Small veins of the paint were slowly running down the glass, giving the appearance of the message a much more eerie one.

You were warned, and now her death is on your head.

Seeing this message displayed before her, Arabella trembled more as her eyes widened more to their fullest capacity if not beyond that. Now the threat she had received had come true. Not for her, but someone close to her who cared about her situation. Never had she anticipated that someone else would have been killed, she thought her life was the one which would have been fatally harmed.

A bloodcurdling scream escaped her mouth as she collapsed to her knees and she embraced herself tightly.

"WHY?" she screamed. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? LEAVE ME ALONE!"

With that she hunched over and cried profusely.

Hey everyone! Hope you all enjoyed this update, obviously now things are going to get a lot more interesting as the case gets darker. I want to thank everyone who commented, I really appreciate your feedback! IKhandoZatman, your comment regarding the last chapter totally made my day! And thank you to everyone who favorited and followed this story, it means a lot! :)