Author's Note:

It feels like I took forever to update so if you feel the same way I apologise. My only real excuse is I've been travelling around a lot to look at universities, have two weeks of school work to catch up on and needed some inspiration. On that note, I have an idea for a final chapter but I need some ideas to fill the time gap between this and that one so I will be taking suggestions and requests. I am really sorry about the issues with the last chapter. I had no idea what had happened until people started reviewing it but I fixed it and it works now!

Personofmanythings- Thanks for letting me know about the problems. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

xDarklightx- Glad you liked it (once you could read it)

Thanks to my new favouriters/followers:

Mrmjones, Arya9237, pokeyno1, and sbayless44

Now for the chapter!

Chapter 7

If there was one thing Alex could be relied upon to be, it was secretive. He would leave without a word, return in brooding silence, hide behind locked doors, and rarely socialised outside of his small circle of acquaintances (John doubted that he called anyone a friend). It was a huge surprise, therefore, when he showed up at a crime scene. He had been increasingly paranoid and sombre since Rosie's kidnapping; a pall of thick guilt hung around him as he walked, slumping his shoulders and shortening his stride. He had barely left his flat since he returned a week ago, leaving only to talk to Mrs Hudson, babysit Rosie and persuade John to do his weekly shop. Yet here he was. His hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune, he appeared to all the world a curious bystander. John knew better. His hands were in his pockets to hide their tremor, he was whistling to hide his shaking voice. He was afraid; eyes darting to and fro, feet tapping restlessly. He looked up and nodded at John politely but there was a barely restrained panic in his gaze, a plea for help, and John wandered over to the cordone to speak with him.

It turned out Alex had come to speak to Sherlock about the stench from one of his experiments but his closely held paranoia combined with the appearance of several people who resembled past enemies meant he was almost physically shaking. John had helped him calm down slightly before calling Sherlock over too.

It was no surprise that Lestrade followed. He was New Scotland Yard's own personal houndmaster, with Sherlock as his best hound. It was in his nature to be inquisitive about people and Alex, as a new 'friend' of Sherlock's, was an enigma. Even John had been introduced as a 'colleague'. Sherlock was in a foul mood. The case, while seemingly easy, was proving difficult as suspect after suspect was proven innocent and scenarios discounted after a moment's investigation. It was no surprise that he snapped at Alex, who took a half step back. He explained as briefly as possible about the smell ("but decomposing body parts are supposed to smell") and then wrinkled his nose comically at the response. He asked about the case, only out of courtesy, and Sherlock went to great lengths to explain the whole thing to him. Alex frowned briefly, as if the setup were familiar. "May I take a look?" he asked Lestrade, who nodded slowly and lifted the police tape to let him through.

The body hadn't been moved from its position, tied to a chair in the kitchen. There were no foot or fingerprints, no bloodstains or signs of a struggle, just a dead man tied to a chair. Alex knelt momentarily by one of the knots, examining it, then stood. "I can tell you who it is but you won't be able to arrest him and you'll have to deal with SIS and MI5." Lestrade looked as shocked as John had ever seen him, with his mouth gaping and his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. Sherlock had actually flushed with consternation and was bursting with fury, but he said nothing as Alex pulled out his mobile (the one John had got him for Christmas with only his closest friends' numbers). They listened to the dialling tone then heard someone pick up. Alex talked for a few minutes, chuckled, then asked if 'Ben' had called the Bank yet. The answer appeared to be a negative as he sighed in exasperation, chuckled again, and hung up.

The man arrived a few minutes later. He wore a suit as if he were a businessman but the wary eyes and cuff tugging gave away his true profession. Alex clapped him on the back as he arrived and they laughed together like the oldest of friends. Sherlock was eying him up, taking in the tanned face and hands, muscular frame and quiet stride. But Alex had introduced Ben Daniels as a friend from work "who's saved my life more times than I care to remember." Ben Daniels had laughed and told Alex it was four and that he owed Alex for Singapore so to watch out next time Jones sent him out of country. He did not have the face or mannerisms of a murderer. Then Mycroft arrived.

He did not wait for authorisation. He simply swept in, Not-Anthea tapping away at her Blackberry behind him, and ordered the agent to report. Ben Daniels looked once from Alex to Mycroft and began to speak. "The agent had in his possession a memory stick with a number of sensitive documents. I apprehended him but he refused to divulge its location under intense interrogation." Alex visibly winced at this and Ben shot him an apologetic look before continuing. "The agent attempted an escape so I tied him to a chair while I searched the building. From what little information I extracted, the memory stick is in the building but hidden and I thought I could find it. When I returned to the room, the agent was dead and all signs of a struggle had been cleared. It was clearly a way to stop him from revealing information. An assassination based on evidence." Mycroft nodded as his eyes scanned the room; they landed on Alex and stilled, growing almost sad as Ben continued. "I continued my search for the stick and left when I found it before giving the police an anonymous tip off. I had no idea your brother would be called to the scene." Mycroft stood still before turning sharply and leaving again with a curt nod to his agent.

Ben instantly relaxed and slung an arm around Alex's shoulders, ignoring his shudder at the unexpected contact. He turned to Lestrade with laughter in his eyes and told him to expect the paperwork to come through in the next few days. A protesting Alex was dragged out with him as he left, leaving a flock of furious officers in his wake. Case closed.