Four

Sherlock POV:

Sherlock stepped out of the apartment and immediately saw the small, rather unkempt man standing before a cab parked in front of 221 Baker Street. The man was staring at him and seemed to smirk a little.

"Cab for Sherlock Holmes." He called and Sherlock arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't order one." He said and the man's smirk became more apparent.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one." He said, he had a rough; east London accent.

"And what if refuse?" Sherlock asked and the man looked up behind him towards 221 B.

"Then I might just run into your lovely lady friend, Charlotte if I'm correct." He said airily and Sherlock felt his hands clenched.

"If you even touch her…" He started but the man cut him off.

"I promise; I won't hurt a hair on her head. I didn't even kill those people Mr. Holmes, I talked to them and they killed themselves." He said with a proud note in his voice.

"If you call the police now, I won't run; I'll come quietly but I can assure you one thing… I'll never tell you what I said." Sherlock felt the first stirrings of interest. This was his greatest weakness and this man knew it. He looked back to the apartment above him and sighed. Sociopath he was but he definitely wouldn't allow Charlie to get hurt, or John for that manner. He turned back to the cabbie and nodded, stepping towards the car and climbing into the back seat. The man grinned and walked around to the front of the car, got in and started the engine. Sherlock took the time to study the interior and noticed a photo on the dashboard. It showed two smiling children, a tear down the middle removed the mother from the picture. Interesting. As they drove away he looked back and saw Charlie burst from the apartment and start to walk away. He smiled to himself and settled back against the hard, leather seats as they rounded the bend.

John POV:

Alright everyone, we're done here." Lestrade announced to his team and murmurs of relief were heard throughout the apartment. John looked at the tired inspector in shock.

"Where are they going?" He asked and the man shook his head.

"God knows and I feel for the people they run into." He said.

"You know him better than anyone though." John pointed out and Lestrade shook his head.

"I've known him for five years - her for about five hours - and no I don't." The police inspector sighed and John felt for the man. Sherlock definitely wouldn't be an easy person to put up with.

"Why do it then?" He asked.

"Because, and I hate to admit it, we need him. He's a great man true and I think, if we're incredibly lucky and that Charlotte straightens him out enough, he'll become a good one." Lestrade said and John stopped and thought about. He struck himself on the head for not seeing the odd relationship forming between his flat mates before. He looked up at the inspector and wished him good night. Donovan, always having to have the last word, spoke.

"He'll always do this; he'll just let you down." She said bitingly and John found himself wishing Charlie hadn't left. Donovan finally left and the apartment was still and silent so John sat down heavily on the Union Jack pillow on one of the stuffy armchairs. A loud 'ding' echoed through the room and John rushed to the laptop, in the rush of things he had forgotten about the tracking device. He saw the red dot which showed the location of the phone and typed in the phones number as fast as he could. It rang out but, with no surprise, wasn't picked up. Charlie's number was typed into his hone and as it dialed he hoped they weren't too late.

Charlie POV:

The air outside was freezing. It bit through her jeans and leather jacket as if they didn't exist and Charlie's breath came out in enormous foggy puffs. She saw a black cab drive around the end of the street. She walked rapidly, her direction unknown and many times she nearly crashed into other people. She wrapped her hands around her arms and focused all of her attention on the case in an attempt to rid her mind of the frustrating images of police officers pissing people off. She wondered who the killer could be. He had to be someone who had the means to hunt people in the middle of a crowd, someone who all these unconnected people trusted even though they had never actually met. This meant he was smart, smart enough to kidnap people and get them to trust him long enough to kill them. He was also a narcissist who had nothing to lose so he would keep killing until he was caught or killed himself. It hit her in an instant, hadn't she just seen… Her stomach dropped. At that moment her phone rung so she stopped suddenly and pulled it out.

"Hello?" She asked and John's voice floated through to her.

"Charlotte, I know the address." He said and she heard him pull on a jacket.

"What is it?" She demanded and listened carefully whilst he told her.

"Meet me there in less than ten minutes, I don't care how just do it." She yelled and snapped the phone shut. Her head reeled for a moment as she began to think. Without warning she flung herself off the pavement and out onto the busy road. Tires squealed and she fell heavily as another black bonnet hit her legs.

"Shit." It was definitely going to bruise and she was lucky not to have broken something but now was not the time for it. She picked herself up and ran to the cab door, swung it open and yelled the address to the terrified driver. In hindsight it hadn't been the smartest thing she had ever done but it had gotten results and not ten minutes later she was standing in front of two identical white building. Her cab drove off and she waited for as long as she could for John to arrive, nerves running higher and higher as the minutes ticked by. She noticed that another cab was parked out the front and her cab driver hypothesis was confirmed. In the end she had to stop waiting. The cleaners were obviously in so she headed to the building with lights on but no sounds. Got to give cabbie's credit, they knew a quiet spot for a murder. This killer was obviously unstable, had nothing to lose so it wouldn't be surprising if he had already done Sherlock in. She preyed earnestly, for the first time in her life, that she was wrong. Sherlock could be rude, childish and at times down right clueless but, against her better judgment she had come to enjoy being around him and John. Over her dead body was he not getting home to pay the rent. She began to run through the neon lit corridors, checking every door for the tall, sarcastic person who was Sherlock Holmes. Although worried she didn't allow herself to panic, if Sherlock had at least two brain cells to rub together, which he had proved earlier that he did, than he was one of the few people she knew would be able to get out of this ridiculous situation alive. She approached the final door. She recognized the deep, even tone of her room mate and sighed in relief, she tensed however at the softer, lightly accented tone that could only belong to the killer. She inched carefully to the door and peered inside. The two men sat facing each other separated by a plain wooden table and two identical pill bottles. The killer had his back to her so she couldn't see his face but she could tell by the grey hair, hunched shoulders and soft voice that he was older, his accent suggest origins in east London and his arrogant posture; nothing to live for. Sherlock had a slightly bored expression on his face and the two men continued to stare at each other. Sherlock spotted her and his eye widened slightly.

"I'll have the gun." He said casually and Charlie heart squeeze painfully.

"Are you sure no-one's ever gone for that option." The cabbie said.

"The gun please." Sherlock repeated, as calm as if he were just asking for a new cigarette. She could now see that the man had an ugly, black gun pointed directly at Sherlock's chest. She bit her lip, very unsure; the gun had to be either fake or unloaded or Sherlock wouldn't let this man point the thing at him however this fact didn't stop her from crying out when the trigger was pulled. Sherlock stood and Sherlock smirked at her. The cabbie turned with a look of surprise but recovered.

"Ah Charlotte, right on time." Sherlock drawled and she scowled.

"Ah Miss Myers, a pleasure to meet you." The cabbie said and she started, uncomfortable that this man knew she was. She herself recovered.

"Traffic was awful." She said and, eyeing the man carefully, walked over to the table. She moved to stand beside Sherlock and the two of them looked down at the man who was now grinning.

"I can always tell a real gun when I see one." Sherlock said smugly.

"The others couldn't." The killer said and Sherlock nodded thoughtfully.

"Obviously." He smiled slightly. Charlie had a sudden urge to hit him. He had just scared the living hell out of her and now he was having a lovely little tete tete with a serial killer.

"Oh well." Was all the cabbie had t say after that and Sherlock drew away. He placed a warm hand on the small of Charlotte's back and began to steer her away. Charlotte could feel the heat radiating from that spot and her whole body seemed to become incredibly sensitive to his touch. She firmly pushed the feelings away and allowed herself to be guided back towards the door. A voice rang out from behind them.

"Just out of interest, which bottle would you have chosen?" Charlotte felt Sherlock's whole body tense as he stopped, his hand dropped away from her back.

"Ignore it?" She tried and her smirked down at her. Damn his bloody height. She rolled her eyes, knowing nothing she could do short of shooting him would stop him now. Slowly Sherlock turned and moved back towards the table, pointing at one of the bottles.

"Oh, interesting." The cabbie said and stretched out his hand for e other bottle. Charlotte now recognized the genius behind the game in front of her, how this man "killed" his victims. The two men twisted the caps off the bottles and tipped the pills from them, barely taking their eyes from each other. Sherlock raised the pill to his lips, his eyes moving from the killer's to hers. Charlie stared at him and nodded.

"It's your life." She joked weakly and he smiled. The pill touched his bottom lip. A shot rang out and, hearing the window smash, Charlie whirled around to look out the window, catching a dark sleeve as it disappeared around the frame. She cursed and turned to see Sherlock towering threateningly over the now dying man.

"Your sponsor, who is he?" Sherlock growled and Charlie stalked ot his side. Using her finger she plunged it into the wound making the man scream in agony.

"The name!" Sherlock bellowed as the weeping man twisted in the steadily growing pool of his own blood.

"Moriarty!" He screamed and, with a dreadful sighed relaxed against the blood soaked tiles. Charlie pulled her now bloodied hand from the wound and stood, pulling Sherlock away as well. For a moment the two of them gazed down at the dead man then looked at each other. Charlie spoke first.

"Sherlock," She said and he nodded.

"Charlie?" He said and she jumped at the first use of her nickname.

"The next time you want to for a drive with a serial killer will you please let me know where you're going?" She demanded and he smiled. They stared at each other for a long moment. Charlie felt the urge to hug him but fought it. The sound of sirens filled the air and the pale walls of the classroom began to glow blue and red.

"Oh fantastic." She muttered.

"Right on time, as usual." Sherlock said sarcastically. They grinned at each other and Sherlock walked to the door. Charlie gave one last look at the contracted killer then followed him out f the building.

It was some time later, whilst Charlie and Sherlock sat wrapped in bright orange shock blanket and wearing horrified expressions, that Lestrade came to see them. Sherlock stood and began to berate Lestrade.

"Why are we wearing these things again?" He demanded.

"It's for the shock." Lestrade said and Charlie snorted.

"That and some of the boys wanted to take photos." Lestrade then asked about the shooter.

"That shot had to have come from a professional, a kill shot from more that 25 feet, has to be ex-military or something similar..." Sherlock began and Charlie looked around to see John standing some distance away, has in his pockets and a very interesting look on his face. It clicked. Her foot collided with the back of Sherlock's knee and he spun aound to yell at her. She indicated with her head and Sherlock followed her gaze, it clicked as well. He shut up.

"Actually forget that." He said and Lestrade stopped writing.

"What?" He stuttered.

"Forget what I just said, I'm in shock look I have a blanket." Sherlock said and indicated to said blanket. Charlie stripped off her own blanket and walked over to where John was standing with a feigned look of casualness on his face. She threw her arms around him and hugged him, it was awkward but she meant it. After a moment he wrapped his own around her two.

"Thank you." She whispered in his ear and they parted. He shrugged and winked at her. Sherlock arrived and the two men gazed at each other.

"Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything... the two pills..." John said and Sherlock nodded.

"Good shot." He said

."Yeah, It would have to be wouldn't it, through the window..." John said in a wondering tone.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked and Charlie thought suddenly about the fact that John had just killed someone and tried to imagine how normal people usually feel about this.

"Yeah I'm fine." John answered casually.

"Well you did just kill a man." She pointed out and he nodded.

"Yes, that's true...but he wasn't a very nice man." He stated.

"That's true." Sherlock remarked and they turned as one to walk away.

"And frankly," Sherlock continued.

"He was a bloody awful cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here." They all laughed at that, grateful to each other for different reasons for still being able to have this conversation. "Ssh!" John demanded and hey tried to sober a little.

"We can't giggle! It's a crime scene!"

"Well you're the one who shot him!" Charlie pointed out and he looked horrified.

"Keep your voice down!" He hissed, as they passed Sergeant Donovan he spoke louder.

"Sorry, it's just nerves."

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked, almost as if they hadn't just spent the entire day hunting down a serial killer. Charlie nodded and looked up to where a man in a suit was getting out of his car.
"Sherlock! That's him! That's the man who kidnapped us!"
He looked up and his face darkened.

"Oh I know exactly who that is..." He muttered and they walked forwards to meet him.

"So..." the man spoke as they neared, "Another case cracked then. How very public spirited."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded rudely and the man tutted..

"Always so aggressive. I'm concerned." He mocked and Sherlock grew angrier.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern." He looked over to his two companions, Charlie turned her own scowl on the man as he looked at her apologetically.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we should be on the same side?" He said to Sherlock. Charlie suddenly noted something between the two men but now was obviously not the time to say it, although she was busting to let it out.

"Oddly enough...no." The detective said and the man sighed.

"This petty feud between us is silly, people will get hurt. You know how it always upset mummy..." The man said and

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me who upset her Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled and John spoke up.

"Mummy?" Asked John. "Who's mummy?"

"Oh just their mother John, can't you tell their brothers? Same eye shape, moderately similar build…" She said and the Holmes brother's looked at her in astonishment.

"How long have you known?" Sherlock asked and she shrugged.

"Officially, about five seconds but I've had my ideas since Mycroft, if that is indeed your name, kidnapped John and I." She said and Sherlock nodded.

"Mycroft Holmes, I apologise for not introducing myself earlier." He said and Charlie extended her hand. He brushed her knuckles with a smooth kiss and Sherlock went rigid beside her. Charlie pulled her hand back and simply stared.

"So he's not like a criminal mastermind or something?" John asked.

"Close enough." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft sighed.

"I occupy a minor position in the British government." He said and Sherlock snorted.

"He is the government. When he's not being the CIA, the FBI... Good evening Mycroft, try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does to the traffic." He gently walked Charlie away, hand on the base of her back again. Charlie went away but gaze back to where Mycroft still stood. John stayed behind for a moment.

"So when you say you're concerned about him...you actually are concerned?" He asked and Mycroft nodded.

"Of course, he is my little brother after all. He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners." Mycroft said with a despairing look at his brother's retreating back. Charlie smiled a little and Mycroft smiled back at her. He waved and John nodded farewell. Charlie felt the pressure on her back build slightly as Sherlock pressed slightly harder, almost pushing her away.

"Good night Miss Myers, Dr. Watson." Mycroft called.

"Good night." John murmured but Charlie merely nodded. The three of them walked away and began talking. Mycroft watched them retreat again.

"So..." Charlie started. Sherlock's hand was still on the small of her back.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, Chinese. I can always predict the fortune cookies." He said smugly and she hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"No you can't." John teased and Charlie smiled.

"Almost can. By the way where were you actually shot John?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yeah, in the shoulder." He said.

"Shoulder, I thought so."

"No you didn't" Insisted John.

"Left one?"

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess." Charlie shook her head a this.

"Yes you do. What was with those bottles back there?" Sherlock sighed and tried to deny it.

Mycroft POV:

They talked amiably while Mycroft watched from afar.
"Those two could be the making of my brother. Or they could make him even worse than ever. Either way we had better upgrade their

surveillance status. Grade 3, active."

"I'm sorry sir?" His assistant replied.

"Who's status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Charlotte Myers." He said and watched them until they disappeared out of sight.

Sherlock POV:

It was around 3 by the time they entered the lounge room of 221 B Baker Street. John had muttered about going to bed and Charlie hadn't returned from checking in on her aunt so he sat down and picked up his violin. He didn't play, just ran his fingers over it. Footsteps on the stairs told him Charlotte was coming. She entered the room and sighed, closing the door and leaning against it. Exhaustion was whittled into very pore of her body.

"Go to bed Charlotte." Sherlock said and her head snapped up. She removed her jacket and hung it on the close peg.

"What about you?" She said and he grinned at her through the darkness.

"See unlike you I'm used to staying up his late, you'll be useless tomorrow if you don't try to sleep now." He said and she nodded.

"Fair enough and moved to the couch, not to her room as he had expected. She lowered herself down onto the chair and closed her eyes.

"Wake me up in four hours, I have work tomorrow and thanks to your wonderfully considerate brother I can no longer afford to be late." She said and he nodded. He grinned as she curled up and drifted off to sleep. In a rare moment of kindness he picked up a blanket in the linen cupboard and covered her with it. Just as he did so he saw the same scar she had tried to cover before and wondered what would have had to have happened to her for it to happen. He realised at that moment that Charlotte Myer was one of the few people he couldn't read, an odd and slightly disturbing notion that both thrilled him and annoyed him. He went back to his chair and sat down, staring into nothing as a new day began to dawn over London.

So there you have it people. He final installment of "A Study in Pink" don't worry there will be more chapters but only a few. I want to get the whole first series done by the time the next season comes out so we'll see how this goes. Thanks for reading. Stay safe everyone in London, my thoughts are with you. XXX