Sherlock and Watson made their way across the street. No words were said as Watson walked briskly behind the other man, his body racked with guilt over the canceled dinner plans with his wife. He couldn't believe he had canceled things to help Sherlock with this case. The man just waltz back into his life and instantly it was like nothing had happened and he allowed it to be that way!

He should have still been cussing him out for all that he had done!

He should have been bashing him over the head with stray bottles found along the road side! - well, there weren't exactly any bottles along the street because the city kept it relatively clean - but still!

Poor Mary.

She was probably sitting at home, crying her eyes out.

"She's fine." Sherlock suddenly spoke up as they entered into the apartment building across the street. Watson followed him inside, though said nothing. He knew his wife wasn't fine. She was more than likely holding onto their wedding album, wondering why she married a man that brought her so much disappointment. "Will you stop?"

Watson peered at Sherlock. "What? I didn't say anything!" He snapped.

"You were thinking it." Sherlock snapped back, leading him up the stairs. "Your wife is fine. Mary is a good woman, she would never think badly of you. In fact, I bet she has made herself some tea, popped in one of her favorite movies, and is cuddled up on the couch, forgetting that the two of you even had plans this evening."

"My wife - she wouldn't - how...How do you even know what she would be doing?" Watson asked, now feeling a bit flustered that Sherlock seemed to think that he knew Mary better than he did.

"I've seen her." Sherlock replied, stopping at a door on the second floor of the building. He and Watson faced one another and Watson gave him a bit of a scowl.

"You've seen my wife?" Watson asked, not believing him.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes." He replied.

"What does she look like then?" Watson crossed his arms over his chest.

Sherlock didn't answer right away.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a key, then brought it to the door lock and inserted it. A second later, with the flick of his wrist, the door came unlocked and he opened up the apartment. Once that was done, his mind was free to answer John.

"She's a small woman." He replied. "Slender, heart shaped face, bright green eyes and ginger hair. She has some freckles speckled about her cheeks and her arms and hands which seem to stand out more after she's been in the sunlight for some time." Sherlock shrugged and stepped inside the apartment that was bare. No furniture, no anything. Watson could only guess that Sherlock had rented the place for the sole purpose of staking out their old apartment across the street.

However, right now, his mind was not on the case at hand.

He wanted to know what else Sherlock knew about his wife. "How did you see her? Do you know anything else about her?" He asked.

Sherlock locked the door back, then marched through the empty apartment and made his way to one of the back rooms that faced the apartment. Inside a room to the right was a room that had two chairs in it. Apparently Sherlock had been planning on John taking him up on his offer.

"Sherlock." Watson said firmly. "What else do you know about my wife? Have you been spying on her or something?"

Sherlock went to the window and peered out of the blinds.
It was the perfect view to see everything going on in the apartment across the street. The dummy set up was doing a splendid job looking just like him. He smiled.

"Sherlock!" Watson snapped.

With a sigh, Sherlock turned to his friend. "Of course I was spying on her."

John's eyes grew large. "WHAT?"

"After everything we went through with Moriarty? I wasn't about to take any chances. I had to make sure she had no connections with Moriarty or those who worked for him." Sherlock explained. "I know she's a hard working young woman who comes from a middle class family. I know that she was madly in love with you the day she married you and still is. I also know that no matter what you do, she will always forgive you...because that's the kind of woman she is." His voice had softened and Watson's anger had subsided. "She's a good woman, John. Congratulations is in order."

"A congratulations is a bit late..." Watson replied, offering a faint smile.

Sherlock motioned at the chair for him to sit and Watson did so, straightening out his shirt and pants before looking over at his friend who had took a seat beside him.

"Tell me about her." Sherlock's request came as a bit of a surprise to Watson. He stared at him as he he might have heard him wrong. Sherlock motioned for him to go ahead though. He truly wanted to hear more about Mary.

"What is there to say?" John said after a moment, looking away from his friend. "She helped keep me sane. She...chased away the darkness that your death put me in."

Sherlock smiled faintly, though his eyes were filled with a certain kind of sorrow.

John continued. "She's a good woman, Sherlock. The best in fact. I don't know what I would do without her...and I feel horrible for leaving her home alone on our only night to be together. She didn't have to work this evening and now she's sitting at home, all alone. She was looking forward to that dinner."

"I'll make it up to you both. I promise." Sherlock replied. "Besides, I doubt this stake out will take very long. Moran usually shows up rather quickly-" He was suddenly cut off by the sound of the apartment door coming unlocked.

"Who is that?" Watson asked. "No one lives here, right?"

"Exactly. So, there's only one person that could be." Sherlock slowly rose from his chair. He spoke quietly now, making sure that he couldn't be heard by anyone but Watson. "It appears, John, that Moran has had the same idea."

Watson quickly got up from his chair. "He'll have a gun." He said. "He'll be armed."

"I know."

"Do you have a gun?" Watson asked.

Sherlock gave a shake of his head. "Nope."

"Then what do we do?"

"...I say we go out there and confront him." Sherlock began making his way out of the room.

Watson stood there in shock for a moment, then quickly, willed himself to move and began making his way after Sherlock. "Stop!" He hissed. "What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed - again?" But his words fell on deaf ears as Sherlock stepped out and into the hallway, making his way to the living room where there was another window facing the flat - and where Moran was currently setting up his sniper rifle, getting ready to shoot the dummy Sherlock.