4.

The soft melody coming from upstairs was a large concern for both Mrs Hudson and John. It had been exactly a month since the death of Angelina Lopez and whilst Sherlock was acting as emotionless and unaffected by anyone's death as always, John knew that Angelina was a greater loss than he let on. Whilst the two hadn't known each other for very long (well Sherlock didn't know Angelina for very long) it seemed that her apparent suicide had more affect than he was letting on. Going by the fact that had been searching for anyone who could've pushed her, John knew that he was missing Angelina.

"Should someone check in him?" Mrs Hudson asked as the haunting song from upstairs suddenly stopped and no more noise could be heard; they both look up at the ceiling as if they could see Sherlock himself.

"I'll go." John said, heading towards the stairs and listening to make sure that no one had broke in to attack Sherlock.

As he reached the living room, he found Sherlock looking out the window, still in his pajamas and dressing gown.

"Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly, aware of Sherlock's hate of talking when he was thinking. "You alright?"

"John, get my phone." Sherlock said instead of answering John's question, not taking his eyes from whatever had caught his attention outside. John shook his head at his flatmate but did as he said - ordered more like - and handed Sherlock his phone from where it had been in his coat pocket. Sherlock immediately started typing and John waited patiently for him to turn around and explain. It took him a full minute before he did and a smirk had found it's way onto his lips.

"What's up?" John asked and Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head and replying to whatever text he had just received.

"Nothing." Sherlock replied and walked away, leaving John to watch after him as he made his way into his bedroom. It took thirty minutes before he left his room, fully dressed and talking to Lestrade about a case that he was supposed to have solved weeks ago.

John had no idea who had made Sherlock better with a few simple texts, but he knew that it was a good thing. A moping, depressed Sherlock was worse than a bored Sherlock.

*Sherlock*

Look to your left

Mycroft Holmes

John rolled his eyes but looked to his left, and sure enough Mycroft's black Mercedes was parked on the left of where he was stood. Taking his card from the cash machine, he left the queue and got into the car without hesitation and smiled at Anthea, or whatever she was called today.

Half an hour later, John was once again sat in Mycroft's office with his legs crossed as Mycroft sat opposite him.

"So, what's the matter this time and why isn't Sherlock here?" John asked, leaning back slightly in his chair and ignoring the vibration of his phone in his pocket, knowing that it would be from Sherlock.

"How is my brother?" Mycroft asked instead.

"Fine."

"Really?" The smirk on Mycroft's face told John that he knew just how Sherlock was. "He seems a little distraught over the death of Miss Lopez considering he knew her for approximately ten minutes." He drawled before leaning forward slightly. "How is my brother?" He asked again and John sighed.

"Terrible." Was all John said and Mycroft leaned backwards, looking up at the ceiling with a calculating face. "He isn't eating, sleeping and is constantly playing his violin." He said and Mycroft looked at him again.

"And now is that any different as to how Sherlock usually is?" John took a deep breath before looking Mycroft in the eye.

"He turned down a case." Mycroft momentarily looked stunned before skillfully turning his face blank, standing up and turning to look out the window with his back facing John. He was silent for a few moments and John looked longingly at the door, wanting to leave but also wanting to know if Mycroft would help his brother.

"I think... It's time I speak to my brother." He finally said, turning back to John who nodded slowly.

"Alright." John said, standing up and Mycroft walked to his desk.

"Do make sure he'll be ready to speak to me tomorrow morning." He said, looking at some papers on his desk as John walked out if the office until he made his way outside the building to where Mycroft's car was waiting for him. However, what attracted his attention was the tallish figure who was leaning against a sleek red car.

"Doctor Watson." She greeted him as he made his way over to her, stopping in front of her with his anger barely concealed.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead!" John said loudly, not quite shouting and the woman in front of him scoffed.

"Really darling, did you think I was so easy to kill?" Angelina Lopez scoffed, taking the dark sunglasses off her face and looking at him with amused eyes.

"Now come along, Mr Holmes will be waiting." She smirked, getting in the car. John froze, his thoughts racing before he made up his mind and quickly jumped into the passenger seat.

*Sherlock*

Dinner? I'll bring your coat x

Goodnight SeƱor Holmes x

Shall I take you ignoring me as a bad sign? x

As much as I love the coat, are you sure you don't want it back? x

It's a little cold, you only have to ask x

Sherlock flicked through the texts he had received what seemed like a long time ago. When Angelina Lopez was alive.

He didn't know why he was acting like this. He didn't even know the woman! But she had been... A puzzle. And Sherlock Holmes never could resist a puzzle.

Looking out the window into the street below, Sherlock contemplated the enigma that was Angelina Lopez.

She was smart. That much was clear. She made commented that she could ruin Mycroft (and anyone who could do that was was considered a good person in his book) and she held a lot of power overthrow man who was basically the government. She was capable of manipulation, something he was good at himself, and that made her easy to get along with.

The only suitable comparison Sherlock could come up with to describe her was fire. She was like fire. She burned bright and dangerous and was capable of drawing someone in, even the elusive Sherlock Holmes. He could hear John in the back of his mind as though he was stood beside him: "Opposites attract!" he would say and laugh at Sherlock's misfortunes over a simple woman.

But she wasn't simple. She was Angelina Lopez. She was fire. The fire to his ice. She was bright in ways where he was cool and he knew that, if she was still alive, they would've been capable of a lot. He smirked at the trouble they could've caused Mycroft.

"Sherlock!" Ignoring John's shout, Sherlock continued staring out the window even as he heard the door to the living room open. "Sherlock, there's someone here to see you."

"If it's Lestrade tell him that it wasn't possible for the sister to have killed him." He drawled in a bored voice before raising an eyebrow as a pair if footsteps could be heard. And it definitely wasn't John walking towards him, unless he had suddenly started wearing high heels.

"Well, such a welcome." Turning around he looked down onto the smirking Angelina who raised an eyebrow. "I could really do with a cup of tea, flying dies take a lot out of me."

And for once, Sherlock Holmes said nothing. Instead, he turned and walked into the kitchen, flicking the switch of the kettle on his way.