Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John H. Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are the intellectual copyright of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and I hold no claim upon them.

A/N: This story, although set in the modern 21st Century, is highly influenced by the structure of the original stories about Sherlock Holmes.
I'm highly enjoying writing this- and I hope anyone who reads it will highly enjoy it too!
Rated T. Enjoy! :)
Also- within this chapter there is a fair amount of artistic license. As a hearing aid wearer myself I know some of what I have written is correct- but maybe not to the lengths that it is stretched! :)


By the time the cab that they were passengers in reached the offices that was their destination, John felt about ready to strangle Sherlock. He was full of vigour about the end of this case drawing near, but to John that just highlighted that Sherlock would become thoroughly bored once they were finished this afternoon. The weather outside was thoroughly miserable, John couldn't remember the last time it had rained this hard for this long – as much as he knew London was still under drought warnings! The rain had started late the night before, and since then the downpour had been consistent. The rain seemed to manufacture a very grim mood within everyone, there was just something incredibly depressing about grey skies. Sherlock remained blissfully ambivalent to the weather related mood regulation that everyone else seemed to suffer from. There was a distinct spring in Sherlock's step, John noticed, as they entered the building reception and headed towards the department. At the double doors which acted as an entrance to the department, Lestrade and Donovan were hovering like two overgrown teenagers in uniforms, clearly talking about the case about to be solved.

"Lestrade." Sherlock started commandingly, "I need you to separate Mr. Read and Miss. Riggans into conference room one, keep Mr. Ewans in his office, and put everyone else into conference room two, but accompany each one of them there – don't let any of them out of your sight until they're in the conference rooms. Mr. Ewans will be alright on his own, just tell him to stay put. Once you've done that I'll speak to people." Sherlock waited to see that Lestrade and Donovan had retained all that information, then withdrew back, out of the sight lines of the doors.

"What are you doing?" John asked, watching Sherlock's attempt to hover surreptitiously.

"Move back John." He commanded and John obeyed, moving so he was positioned just behind Sherlock's shoulder. "I want them all to be divided into the rooms I said without seeing us."

The process of collecting and escorting each member of the department individually took just under five minutes, then Lestrade and Donovan returned to the area of the corridor that John and Sherlock were still standing.

"Right, that's them divided into the rooms you requested." Lestrade told them, watching Sherlock for any indication of what he was about to do next.

"I need one of you to stay in the room with Mr. Read and Miss. Riggans, just keep an eye on them." Sherlock answered.

"Donovan, you go and stay in the room with them until we come." Lestrade said to her, she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Oh, don't speak to them." Sherlock warned her as she began to move to go to the room, she didn't reply or make any sign, but there was no possible chance that she hadn't heard him. Once she had disappeared into the room Sherlock bristled into action, moving swiftly through the double doors.

"We need to speak to Mr. Ewans before we confront Mr. Read and Miss. Riggans." He informed Lestrade, heading towards the Head of Department's office. At the door to Mr. Ewans' office John paused infinitesimally, unsure of whether he should accompany Lestrade and Sherlock into the office, but one glance from Sherlock indicated that he wanted John to come.

"Mr. Ewans?" Sherlock acquisitioned as he opened the door to the office; the tall man nodded, flicking away the fringe of the mop of hair out of his eyes. "I'm Sherlock Holmes; you spoke to Dr. Watson yesterday." Sherlock's tone was serious – gone was the childlike excitement at the cessation of this case – this was business.

"Are you a police officer?" Mr. Ewans asked.

"Mr. Holmes is working alongside the police on this case." Lestrade interrupted shooting Sherlock a warning look at the same time.

"Yes – I believe you keep files on the members of staff who work in the department?" Sherlock stated this rather than questioned.

"Yes, they're all electronic files on the computer." Mr. Ewans replied.

"I need you to open Mr. Read and Miss. Riggans' files." Sherlock said bluntly; it looked like Mr. Ewans was about to argue for the briefest of moments, but he seemed to decide that it wouldn't be the best idea with a police officer in the room. He sat down at his desk and began to type furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn into an expression of sullen defiance as he located and opened the files.

"There." He projectured, standing up from his computer chair in an offer to Sherlock. Sherlock rounded the edge of the desk but remained standing, leaning towards the computer, shoulders hunched with his hand on the mouse.

"I have a suspicion…" Sherlock was muttering to himself very quietly, John was sure that only he, near to the desk, could hear him. "Ah-ha!" He ejaculated suddenly, making Mr. Ewans jump and Lestrade blink startled. "Just as I thought – Miss. Riggans has two undergraduate degrees!" Sherlock straightened up, a faraway look in his eyes.

"What difference does that make?" John asked quietly knowing that this meant something, but not connecting what it actually meant; Lestrade and Mr. Ewans were both looking at Sherlock as though he was mad.

"I could have told you that." Mr. Ewans stated huskily, crossing his arms across his chest. "She did a medical degree, but when she was on a paediatric rotation of her course she decided that she didn't want to be a medic. She finished the Bachelor of Science and went straight back to do a Masters in Social Work."

"She told you that?" Sherlock asked, John was concerned to hear the touch of incredulous surprise present in Sherlock's voice; Mr. Ewans was nodding. "Well, why didn't you tell John that!" Sherlock burst out frustrated. "That would have made things so much easier – we knew we were looking for someone with medical or chemical knowledge the moment we saw Mr. Milner's body, if you had told us that yesterday we could have arrested her on the spot!" Sherlock had drawn up to his full height, rivalling that of Mr. Ewans.

"A-Abigail?" He stammered, his face contorted into a paroxysm of horror and disbelief. "You think Abigail killed Terri?" He exclaimed outlandishly, losing all of his mastered dignity of his position.

"I don't think, I have the evidence to prove that Miss. Riggans and Mr. Read are responsible for these children going missing, and for the death of Mr. Milner." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders lazily, Mr. Ewans' eyes were so wide that it looked like they may pop out of their cavities in his skull, he raised a shaking hand to his forehead as he attempted to process the information that Sherlock had just presented in such a nonchalant manner. Lestrade also seemed to be staring at Sherlock with wide-eyed alertness, as though he was trying to follow every minute detail. "Which office is Mr. Reads'?" Sherlock ignored Lestrade and Mr. Ewans as they mentally flailed with the knowledge that they were out of their depth in this situation.

"Uh… the one to the right of Terri's." Mr. Ewans replied shakily. Sherlock was staring at him with such tenacity that John was surprised that it didn't burn, and he knew the reason why – Mr. Ewans' reaction, one of confusion and obvious disturbment, had displayed itself in the manifestation of emotions, the one thing that Sherlock failed to see the purpose of.

"And Miss. Riggans' office?"

"It's the third door on the opposite side of the corridor." He responded.

"A little to the left across from what used to be Mr. Milner's office?" Sherlock pressed, Mr. Ewans nodded once more. "Thank you." His final statement was curt – that was him finished with this interview and he moved towards the door; John and Lestrade taking a few more moments to move into action and follow him. Sherlock went directly to Mr. Read's office and began to riffle, unconcernedly, through the man's case.

"Sherlock!" John began to remonstrate as Sherlock pulled out papers and files and dumped them onto the desktop, but Sherlock replied with a scathing sort of hiss as he appeared to find what he was looking for. His hands moved so fast on the object, shoving it inside his coat pocket, that neither John nor Lestrade got the chance to see what it was.

"It will become apparent in a moment." Sherlock said, leaving the files and papers that he had pulled out of the case strewn across the man's desk. "Got your handcuffs ready Lestrade?" Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile as he passed Lestrade.

"Stop messing about Sherlock, I entertain you with a lot of things, so stop playing about." Lestrade ordered briskly, the frustration ringing through his voice.

"Of course. You will allow me time to question them, yes?" It wasn't even a request from Sherlock, Lestrade didn't have a choice. "I doubt that they're going to be open and tell us everything, but I think I've almost got the story straight – hopefully they'll fill out the bits that I'm unclear about."

"Should I be recording this interview?" Lestrade inquired.

"That would be clever of you." Sherlock murmured under his breath. "Whatever you do, let me do the talking. When I'm finished you can do what you like."

Upon entering the small conference room which had Sergeant Donovan, Miss. Riggans and Mr. Read as occupants; it was instantly noticeable that the two prisoners being held in the room had been trying to communicate with each other through looks alone. Mr. Read was attempting to hide the disposition of nerves that he was currently feeling, but his eyes gave him away – they had a strange curious peturbment within them, that looked like a young child who had just been caught with their hand in a biscuit tin. He was a handsome young man, powerfully built; he looked like he could be an intimidating presence, but even John couldn't miss the subservient glances he was throwing at the woman, she couldn't have been any older than thirty-five, if that; her face was completely impassive to the situation that was going on around her.

Sherlock seemed to be calculating as he positioned himself across from where the two captors were sitting, almost leaning on the wall; letting the silence draw on for longer and longer – John wondered whether he was trying to force one of them to break and start speaking. Whether he had been planning that or not, it was the eventual result:

"Why have you got us in here?" Miss. Riggans asked, her low voice was calm and smooth – like this was a normal everyday situation.

"You know the reason why, Miss. Riggans." Sherlock responded in an equally placid tone, his lip twitching was the only sign that he was enjoying what was going on.

"I am very sure I don't!" She retorted quickly, one of her eyebrows cocked high up on her forehead. "If you're not going to arrest us then will you let us leave?"

"I just want to ask you a few questions." Sherlock was smiling cheerily at the two of them. "No harm in a few questions, is there?" John marvelled inwardly at Sherlock's ability to change his entire personality and disposition in an instant; Miss. Riggans shifted slightly in her chair, but didn't break eye contact with Sherlock. John observed that Mr. Read's eyes were flickering back and forth between Sherlock and his companion, he seemed to be much more disturbed by the current happenings.

"I suppose not." She nodded in agreement and there came a pause in which Sherlock eyed up the two people with an unabjected face, his features blank and unreadable.

"Milkovich Yasmina." Sherlock stated very abruptly; Lestrade and John's heads both whipped round to look at the detective, both instantly thinking that the man with them was clearly mad. But as they focused their attention upon Sherlock, they missed the one thing that was Sherlock's desired reaction – Miss. Riggans had no reaction to this bizarre outburst made my Sherlock, but that couldn't be said for Mr. Read. His eyes had widened momentarily with a look that could only be described as primal fear, the muscles in his jaws had tensed as his teeth ground together, and his hands had tightened convulsively on one another in a spasm of horror; all of these actions occurred unconsciously so that Mr. Read was not even fully aware that he had given away a guilty reaction in the space of a few seconds. Again it was Miss. Riggans who answered to Sherlock's pronouncements; "Who is that?"

"You've never heard that name before?" Sherlock didn't let any colour touch his voice, even though it was no doubt that something had just been clarified in his mind. "He has certainly heard of you, he has recently sent the two of you large sums of money."

"I think you must be mistaken, I've never heard that name before, have you Peter?" John noticed that Lestrade was looking to his left – and noted that a dictaphone was placed at the side of his chair, no doubt capturing every verbal interaction that was going on within the room.

"No." He shook his head, but his voice didn't portray confidence. There was another long pause, Sherlock's brows had knit together and his lips were pursed, the deep concentrative state was emanating from him in waves.

"How long have you been sleeping together?" Sherlock eventually propositioned. "I'd hazard my guess at almost three years." The two of them exchanged glances, it seemed to be becoming plain that what they believed were their private secrets were no longer secret or private.

"Well, that we couldn't expect to stay hidden forever." Mr. Read eventually spoke before his companion. "Just under three years, yes." Miss. Riggans looked distinctly disgruntled at this statement.

"And you've been a widower for eighteen months, how very convenient." Sherlock mused with a twitch of his lips again. "How did your wife die? Fell down the stairs and hit her head, yes?" Mr. Read shifted in his seat, looking more and more openly guilty.

"Y-Yes." He replied.

"This is ridiculous." Miss. Riggans exclaimed suddenly, "Either arrest us, or let us go – these questions having nothing to do with the things that have happened in the past day!"

"That is where you are incorrect, and you know that." Sherlock's eyes were sparkling. "You and Mr. Read were having an affair, until Mr. Read's wife found out… she then conveniently had an accident in which she died, I've read the coroner's report – there was some question about whether the death was an accident. But you could answer those questions for us, couldn't you?" Sherlock was leaning towards the desk now. "You hired someone professional, someone to get rid of her in a way that would be deemed as an accident – which is not an impossible act, someone with a small amount of capability and intelligence could do so very easily." Mr. Read's mouth was hanging open as he stared at Sherlock. "It wasn't a problem, it wasn't questioned at the time, and the two of you thought you had gotten away with it completely blameless… until November, when the man who you hired to kill your wife started making demands upon you… how much money did he want? More than the salary of a social worker, no doubt? So you needed a way to get the money to stop him from revealing your secret and the both of you being charged with conspiracy and accessory to murder…"

"I want a lawyer." Miss. Riggans interrupted suddenly, Sherlock's left eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"I'm correct in my observations then…" He said simply, taking her abrupt demand as evidence of confirmation. "You needed money to pay this man off, and then to succeed in getting away so that you could start afresh from any future demands that this man may lay in front of you." Mr. Read seemed to be floundering under the pressure that Sherlock was placing on him; Lestrade, however, wasn't looking as collected as would be expected of the police officer in charge, he made a tiny jerk of the head where Sherlock had paused, indicating that he wanted to speak to Sherlock outside the room where the prisoners couldn't hear them. Sherlock obliged to this sign, and John also followed, allowing Lestrade to draw the door close with a click making sure that the incumbents of the room would not be able to hear anything.

"I'm giving you a reasonable amount of license here Sherlock, will you stop playing about and get to the point?" Lestrade reprimanded, although lightly. "She's requesting a lawyer, and legally I'm required to comply with that request."

"You haven't arrested her formally – we're just informally questioning them; legally you have no obligation." Sherlock responded instantly. "It was necessary to establish some points of the case before I could confidently instruct you to arrest them!" Sherlock had been bristled by the interruption to his flow of thoughts.

"Alright, just – be quick about it will you?" He said shrewdly.

"When we enter the room again arrest them, cuff them and then I'll speak to them again; they won't be required to answer questions, I'll just put the situation to them and you'll have the perfect evidence for the jury." Sherlock stated. "Just do it, then let me speak and don't interrupt me," Lestrade nodded, John was glancing between the two of them, he could hardly comprehend how Sherlock had been able to slot together all the fragmented pieces of the puzzle into the completed, closed case.

Upon re-entering the room, Lestrade began to give the regulation statement that he had to give while making any kind of arrest; the man said nothing, but his features crumpled together, highlighting the weakness of his chin and the lines all around his eyes. Miss. Riggans did nothing to respond at first, her face completely unresponsive; but after a moment she began to speak, loudly and articulating every syllable of her words – clearly with the opinion that the words coming out of Lestrade's mouth were either a joke, or an insult. Finally, when Donovan had handcuffed Mr. Read and Lestrade had managed to place cuffs upon the irate Miss. Riggans, they sat in their chairs rather subdued. Mr. Read seemed to have given up completely and Miss. Riggans was breathing heavily through her nose; Sherlock began.

"Miss. Riggans, you are a medic – you have considerable knowledge of chemicals and medications, of which you've put into use during the capture, imprisonment and eventual dissection of the children who went missing in December, and also in the murder of Mr. Terrence Milner." John flinched slightly at the cold, harsh tone ringing through Sherlock's voice, especially as he uttered the word 'dissection'. "Those skills were not unknown by your colleagues, although none of them would even begin to think that you would use them in such a manner. Mr. Read, whether you love the woman who you have been in collaboration with, or whatever other reasons you have justified your actions with, you understand fully that those emotions are not, and will not be reciprocated… you guess, although you probably tried to suppress, that when this has become boring, that when all your goals have been achieved, that she would have left you. The thrill is entirely in the chase, not in the capture." John frowned, it sounded like Sherlock was describing his own methods of living. "I rarely get to meet a clinical psychopath such as yourself, Miss. Riggans. I have to admit I'm impressed by the operations that you've organised, very clear, very precise – with no room for error or misdeed. Mr. Read is so infatuated with you that you knew he wouldn't betray you, you had no reason for being caught until someone started showing signs of knowing something was going on." Mr. Read had dissolved, he was shaking from head to foot, his face pale and sweat sparkling upon his brow, as though the full enormity of the understanding was beginning to become apparent to him. "You needed money to pay off this man, that I have alluded to before; as a medic you had a fair idea of how much the organs of a body can raise when sold to the right bidder. Milkovich Yasmina was the man that you finally struck the deal with; you might have been exceedingly careful in all of your dealings and activities, but, alas for you, he is not so careful. He is easy to trace and track, and one internet search can give you all the information you would ever need to know about the man, and his involvement in the selling of organs in the Czech Republic. How do you get bodies? Easy when you're looking in the right places – working in the care system you both know all to well that children disappear off the radar frequently, and very rarely they are noticed and followed up. Six children, chosen, no doubt, because of their histories as run aways… the only rash decision made was taking them all away on the same night – you realised in retrospect that it would have been more prudent to your cause for you to take them one at a time, when demand was necessary. The upkeep of six children was rather difficult, even though you kept them chained and sedated until it was necessary to use them." Mr. Read was staring, still trembling, agog at Sherlock, giving clear indication that every word coming out of the detectives' mouth was either the exact happenings or so close to the exact happenings that it was uncanny. "Especially the last boy – Adam McLachan – he was a particular problem, wasn't he? More aware, more astute than any of the others, more difficult to sedate seeing as he had already gone through puberty and had the size and strength of an adult, although somewhat weakened from lack of food. I'm not so clear as to why you kept him until last, unless it being for that reason, that he was bigger, fully developed, his organs could be transplanted into an adult and get you even more money when needed…" Sherlock allowed for a pause, John was sure that he hadn't designed this to force either of the captors into speech, but that was the result.

"How do you-" Mr. Read began, his voice quavering severely, but Miss. Riggans cut in over him.

"You seem to have done your homework as to what we have been doing." She spoke as though she was addressing us on a subject as trivial as the weather, but her face had changed for the first time, her eyebrow inflected slightly and a look of perturbed interest on her face. "May I ask as to how you know so much?"

"Ah, that is not difficult, given the correspondence between yourself, you have practically given yourself away, unknowingly of course. Also the discovery of the body of Adam McLachan last night gave me the final link as to how you were operating, and from there, it is not too difficult to deduce the conditions that the boy had been kept in, and for what reason." Sherlock was beginning to speed up, spitting out each syllable in an excitable effort to get to the next one, and John could tell that her was internally fighting against the urge to break into a grin over the pleasure of confronting these conspirators with their string of deeds. "The two of you have been spending much less time with each other than previous to this whole situation that is clearly obvious and practical in terms of avoiding any suspicions of raising any questions among your colleagues; even out with work you haven't been seeing each other just in case, but you still needed to correspond with each other in a way that couldn't be traced. For that reason you bought two mobile phones, that you used solely for contacting each other and Yasmina; two unregistered pay as you throw phones that you were sure couldn't be traced, or the messages read – and even if they were, somehow, then there was no solid proof for their affiliation to you. So, on the 6th January, 13th February, or whenever you received a requirement for one or two, you were able to forwards it on to Miss. Riggans so that she could prepare the "goods" for delivery." Sherlock had been addressing Mr. Read in a crisp, brisk tone; but Mr. Read seemed to have given in and decided that all was now known, and there was nothing worth hiding – he was nodding at what Sherlock was projecturing to him and his assailent. John moved, noticing Lestrade checking his watch, and being slightly annoyed at the policeman – who apparently thought that Sherlock's methods of recounting the story that was in the centre of this case were too long, even though Sherlock's bursts of speed came at such a quick pace that it was hard to keep up with the speed of which his brain formed sentences. Sherlock seemed to have sensed Lestrade's impatience because he suddenly seemed to take his discourse off in a completely different route. "Mr. Milner was deaf, that much both of you knew having worked with him for two years; but something that neither of you, nor anyone else knew, was just how deaf he was – and how the hearing aids he used aided in him finding out the circumstances of the children going missing. Leading him to suspecting the both of you, and ultimately ending in his death – but he had foreseen that also. He left messages behind in a safe place, in code, because he wanted someone to know what had been going on, and he hoped that someone might have figured out his code."

"What do you mean by a 'code'!" Miss. Riggans spat furiously. "And how could anyone intercept messages without placing a bug on the phones – it's not possible any other way! And neither of these phones have ever been away from our persons, so no bugs – therefore no tracing could have been possible." She spoke with a scathing confidence as though she knew verifiably what she was talking about.

"You know when you hold a mobile phone to a set of speakers and you get that specific feedback noise?" Sherlock began rhetorically, not waiting for any answers. "That feedback noise is actually the message being broken down into binary and then sent on – if you can decode that binary feedback then you can read what the message being sent says." Sherlock gave a brief explanation of a matter that would serve to make the whole case understandable. "Normally you would need to be near a set of speakers, or an electronic receiver to her the amplified binary transmitted – but Mr. Milner's cochlear implant was nothing more than an electronic receiver… it picked up the feedback. To everyone else that noise is a mere annoyance – one of those things you just have to deal with when you live in a technological society… but Mr. Milner had grown up in a decade predating all the technological advances, then figured out what that noise was while a student when mobile phones had become more commonplace. This knowledge was so trite to him that he could understand the binary breakdown as though it was his first language – he had perfected translating it as he heard it. Just like a non-native, fluent German speaker would translate from German to English in their head while holding a conversation. Mr. Milner's office was positioned almost exactly in between the two of yours – so every message you sent each other during the hours of work he picked up on and translated. I think the anomaly with the missing children had been noted by Mr. Milner and that is the reason he began to transcribe messages when he heard something unusual. He then coded them and sent them to someone he knew would keep them safe until he had further evidence to proceed with. He knew that you have begun to suspect someone, and eventually he knew that you knew it was him and he foresaw what the end result was going to be." Sherlock's smugness had been renewed, especially because of the horrified look on Mr. Read's face, and the dawning comprehension that was displaying itself upon Miss. Riggans' features. "He knew that there was a hit being put out on him, so he left a coded message with everything he knew." Sherlock put his hand inside his coat pocket, plucking out a thin sheet of paper with several lines of writing on it – John guessed that this was the last note that Mr. Milner had left, the one that Sherlock had deemed prudent to remain concealed and secret until time was right. Clearly the time was now right, because he began to read;

" 'Missing, six children: Louisa Stacks; Adam McLachan; Darren Hayworth; Kayleigh Lansford; Samantha Cartairs; Benjamin McPherson. Taken away, for some purpose – think trafficking/ possibly some other medical purpose – sorry that I haven't been able to be more clear about these events. I had to gather enough evidence, but seemingly attracted attention in doing so. Been leaving messages with Corrina, hopefully this won't be in vain. Abigail Riggans and Peter Read, these two have been the correspondents and are culpable for all actions in connection with the missing children. I hope this is found – someone needed to know, regardless of the cost. Terri.'." There was a long silence once Sherlock had finished reading the note – Lestrade seemed to be ogling just as much as the two cuffed prisoners were. "I have here-" Yet again Sherlock's hand delved into the recesses of his coat pocket. "Two passports, and two plane ticket confirmation slips – both registered under different names." The items that Sherlock had taken from Mr. Read's case suddenly became obvious as he laid out the two false, but very convincing passports, complete with photographs and different names – they were caught. "They were intending to leave tonight; their plane booking slips show us that their destination was America. If they hadn't been reprimanded today then they would have made it away, completely unsuspected, and set up new lives in the United States, I have no question about that." Sherlock closed the passports with the booking slips folded into them and held them out, rather carelessly, for Lestrade to take to use for evidence within the case. "I think, Inspector Lestrade, you may now remove these two cretins to a place of secure safety now that you have heard the story of what happened with no overriding objections from their lips." With one flick of the end of his coat, Sherlock had withdrawn from the conference room in that majestic air he commanded after he had just proved himself right. As Lestrade and John caught up with Sherlock's movements, both were slightly surprised to see him walking straight towards Mr. Ewans' office. Just behind Sherlock at the door way John heard Sherlock say:

"The investigation is now completed – the relevant people will be informed, and be assured that there is no way you can be held accountable for not detecting Miss. Riggans and Mr. Read. Their planning was almost of infinite detail, ahd it not been for the advances in technology and the carelessness of their co-conspirators, then I doubt that they would have ever been found out… you'll need to fill three positions within the department now, so I'm sure your excitement won't be over just yet…"

Sherlock had ensconced himself in his armchair back in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street; his head rested against the low back, his legs stretched out in front of him, and each arm dangling over the arms of his chair. John noted the presence of the nicotine patch plastered to the inside of Sherlock's left arm and tried to think for a few seconds what there possibly was left in this case for Sherlock to consider, but busied himself in his usual activity of making a cup of tea for both himself and Sherlock. As he set down a full mug of tea beside Sherlock's armchair,. Sherlock's head jerked up suddenly;

"That was a fairly interesting case, wasn't it John?" He murmured, raising the mug of tea to his lips.

" 'Fairly interesting'?" John questioned incredulously and shaking his head very slightly. How could Sherlock consider a case that had taken him nearly two days with no sleep to complete "fairly interesting"…? "Explain to me…" John commanded firmly, Sherlock cocked his head to one side, his eyebrow raised. "Explain how you knew about Mr. Milner having intercepted the messages between Miss. Riggans and Mr. Read?" Sherlock sat up more erectly in his chair, more than eager to discourse about the finer aspects of the case.

"It wasn't a very difficult leap to draw from some of the facts we had been given. You yourself pointed out the fact that Mr. Milner wore hearing aids, and cochlear implants also; that was the first fact that was of importance. Miss. Drylie then made a comment that Mr. Milner had spoken about 'interference' in regards to the implants while they had been at university; you also know that I then made an assumption about Mr. Milner having sent her messages, and coded messages at that. When I had those messages it wasn't difficult to decode them, and after decoding a few of them successfully it became clear what they were. I had read an article somewhere, that people with cochlear implants sometimes had problems with all the technology that has become a vital part of our lives… It wasn't too complex to draw the conclusion that Mr. Milner's cochlear implants were picking up the binary transmissions that were close to him. The decoded messages were clear in themselves… so there the conclusion was formulated for me." Sherlock recounted, and John saw the links that Sherlock had painted out.

"Ah, I see…" John nodded, "So it all came down to the messages and breaking the code – and then the rest became clear."

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded, then sighed heavily. "Something to add to the blog, hmmm?" He hummed, letting his head fall back onto the back of his armchair once more; John saw the fingers of his left hand tapping on the arm of the chair as though they were playing a violin. There was a very long silence as John drunk his tea and Sherlock delved into deep thought, it was many minutes later when Sherlock broke the resounding silence: "Ah John… What am I going to do now?"


A/N: And here I come to the end of the story... which is a real shame as I've enjoyed writing it so much! I hope if you've read this far that you've enjoyed it- and I would object to a review from you letting me know what you thought, good or bad! :)