It was 11:07 and there was no sign of Ainsley. Of course, Sherlock already knew timeliness wasn't her forte, so he wasn't too offended. Besides, it was only polite to let her have a few minutes before he shattered her heart and proved that he won. Absentmindedly, he browsed the internet as he waited.

Most of the websites he looked at were silly little newspapers chocked full with articles about stupid celebrities and mundane lottery winners, but eventually he found himself on John's blog. There weren't many entries since his 'death', but the few there were all talked about Moriarty, how he was real, how John met him, how all this business about Sherlock being a fake was ridiculous. It put a small smile on his face to read it. Moriarty had been right about one thing - John was an incredibly loyal man. It was quite touching, really.

An obnoxiously loud buzz broke the peaceful silence. Ainsley had arrived. Moaning to himself at the unfairness of having to get up, Sherlock threw his laptop on the couch and thrust open his door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said dryly as she tip-toed behind him, looking around warily at his collections of gruesome memorabilia. She seemed equal parts intrigued and disgusted by the various body parts he had lying around.

"This is where you live?" she confirmed incredulously.

"Nice, isn't it?"

"'Nice' wasn't exactly the word I had in mind," Ainsley sniped, using the tips of her fingers to pick up his bloody riding crop on the counter. "'Horrifying' seems a bit more appropriate."

"Tomato, to-mah-toe," he shrugged breezily. "And you might want to put that down; that's human blood on it." She let go of the crop with a high-pitched shriek. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Could you please try to control yourself?" he added.

"Sorry, it's just not everyday that you meet someone with such a nasty fetish," she accused. Sherlock's cheeks went half a shade redder.

"It's-it's not a fetish," he objected. "It's for experiments."

"Lovely, so I'm stuck in a flat with a mad scientist," she spat.

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about the fact that you're about to be out £500," Sherlock threatened lowly, spinning around so they were mere inches apart. "Does your sister know you've gambled away the money that's meant to be saved for her firstborn?"

"I haven't gambled it away," Ainsley insisted. "Not yet."

"Haven't you, though?" he snarled.

"Would you just shut up?" she gulped. Sherlock was embarrassed to note that her eyes were now glistening with tears. Just what I need, he thought to himself. A crying woman.

"If you knew you were going to be this upset if I won, you shouldn't have played the game at all," he admonished her softly. Her hazel eyes flashed.

"You haven't won!" she shouted. "You have no proof that you won."

"Fine," Sherlock growled. "I'll take you through it step by step, shall I? You went to a party at Edinburgh University, where you met a man called Ewan Neil. Ewan, as it happened, was an enemy of your neighbor, Gregory Hull. By some means of coercion, Ewan convinced you to steal something from Hull as payback for getting him put in jail. You agreed, but having a very strong moral code, you decided to sabotage yourself and made enough noise to alert Hull to your presence. You got off with a trespassing charge only, and forgot about the incident entirely, until a year later when Ewan cut the brakes on your parent's car, leaving your mother dead and your father critically injured."

Ainsley stared up at him for a few minutes before making any noise. Her eyes were wide open, and Sherlock couldn't help but be fascinated with the amazing kaleidoscope of greens and browns they held. Her lips were slightly parted in shock and for a moment she looked rather beautiful, even to a man as callous as Sherlock. Then, suddenly, she began to giggle.

"Oh, that was a good show, Arthur," she panted between bouts of laughter. Her eyes screwed closed and he noticed the tiniest dimples form on her cheeks.

"What on earth is so funny?" he boomed. "I've just beat you!"

"But you haven't!" she howled. "You've got it all wrong, all of it!" Heat rushed through Sherlock's face. It wasn't possible; it had all added up perfectly. He'd been so, so sure.

"You're lying," he alleged. She sobered a little, but the smirk never left her face.

"What, did my left hand twitch?" she sneered. "I've never met Ewan Neil in my life and I can prove it to you." Without waiting for a response, she skipped over to his computer and opened a new tab. In a few seconds, she navigated to the website of carpenter Ewan Neil. "Give me your phone," she ordered.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock breathed.

"Your phone," she repeated. "Now." Reluctantly, he tossed her his mobile and watched her dial in the number listed.

"Shall I put it on speaker?" she wondered. "Yes, I think I will." The dial tone rang through the room and Sherlock felt his hands get uncharacteristically clammy.

"Hullo?" a man's voice answered after what seemed like an eternity. "This is the Neil Carpentry Company, Ewan Neil speaking." Ainsley shot Sherlock a mischievous glance.

"Ewan!" she enthused. "It's been far too long! It's me, Ainsley! Ainsley Boyd."

"Uh, sorry?" Ewan grunted.

"Don't you remember? We met at Edinburgh. Ainsley Boyd! Doesn't that ring a bell?" The other end of the line was silent. "No?" Ainsley pouted. "Oh, well. That's just like you, Ewan. Always so forgetful."

"Right, is this a prank?"

"Of course not! I was just wondering if you wanted to get together for a cup of coffee or tea sometime! You know, reminisce about that old bastard Greg Hull."

"What?!" Ewan hollered. "Listen, lady, I don't know who you are, or why you think we met at Edinburgh when I've never even been to Edinburgh, but I have to tell you, I've had quite enough of this. If this is a joke, hang up now. Hang up now, or I'll call the police."

"Whatever you say, Ewan," Ainsley sighed before ending the call. She smiled smugly at Sherlock.

"Did it sound like we'd ever spoken before?" she asked. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. Grinning, Ainsley waltzed over to him. "Nice try, Arthur Nichols, but you'll have to be a lot better than that to figure me out."

"This is impossible," Sherlock managed. Her expression softened. It almost looked like she pitied him.

"I really am sorry to damage your ego like this," she told him. "But I'm afraid I have no other choice. I will tell you this, though." She leaned in conspiratorially. "You've got all the pieces right in your hands. The only problem is, it's damned near impossible to fit them together." She walked away from him and swung open the door.

"Oh, and Arthur?" she called, looking back. "The next time we see each other, I'd prefer it if you gave me the 500 quid in a check. It'll save a lot of time that way."

And with that, she was gone.

A/N: Ooh... What do you think is going on here? Is Sherlock possibly starting to like Ainsley? And how it possible that he's (gasp) WRONG?! Reviews are much appreciated, as always. See you soon! (Well, not really. Write you soon, I guess.)