In the classroom, Sherlock lifts his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff carefully, "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?"

"Time to play," said the cabbie as he nods down to the bottles.

Sherlock unfolds his fingers and place his hands into a pray position in front of his mouth, "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photography's old but the frames new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts."

Sherlock then extends his index fingers, "Ah, but there's more. Your clothes recently laundered but everything you're wearing at least… three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?"

The driver got control of himself again and show no signs of emotion.

"Ahh. Three years ago is that when they told you?" Sherlock asks softly.

"Told me what?" the cabbie snaps.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you," the driver reminds him.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

The cabbie smiles, "Aneurism," he lifts his hand and taps the side of his head, "Right in here. Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock frowns, "And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can have on an aneurism," the driver corrects him.

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."

The driver sighs, "Ohh. You are good, ain't you?"

"But how?"

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing," Sherlock adds.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me."

The driver leans forward, "I have a sponsor."

"You have a what?"

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think. Mr. Holmes would you do anything for your child?" said the driver as he looks at Ophelia who was sleeping.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him, "Do you think I care about her?"

The driver scoffs, "I know you never wanted to raise her, but you didn't had a choice did you? No, you had a choice but you didn't want the mother to have her."

"How do you know all of this?"

"My sponsor."

Sherlock frowns, "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes," the driver replies instantly.

"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man… and they're so much more than that."

"What do you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?" Sherlock demands.

"There's a name no-one says, and I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."

The driver sighs with disappointment and lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock, "You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no ones ever gone for that option."

Sherlock smiles calmly, "I'll have the gun, please."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock continuous to smile, "Definitely. The gun."

The driver slowly squeezes the trigger. A small flame burst out of the end of the muzzle which made Sherlock smile smugly, "I know a real gun when I see one."

Calmly the driver lifts the pistole and releases the trigger. The flame goes out.

"None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case," he stands up, carries Ophelia in his arms and walks towards the door.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out?"

Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him.

"Which one's the good bottle?"

Sherlock smiles, "Of course. Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?"

Sherlock opens the door a little but still hesitating if he should leave the room or continue the game.

"Which one would you have picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?"

Sherlock closes the door which made the driver chuckle, "Come one. Play the game."

Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. He place Ophelia on the chair once more and gets to the table, he reaches out and sweeps up the bottle that was near to the driver, then walks past him.

"Oh. Interesting," he picks up the other bottle as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand. The driver opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely as Sherlock examines his own bottle, "So what do you think? Shall we? Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?"

The driver continues to hold up his pill as he looks at Sherlock, "I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?"

Sherlock takes out the capsule and raise it to the light to examine it more closely.

"Still the addict, but this… this is what you really addicted to."

Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it.

"You'd do anything… anything at all…"

Sherlock fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipationg.

"To stop being bored."

Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth.

"You're not bored now, are you? Isn't it good?"

Then a gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts on the drivers chest, then goes through his body and smashes into the wall behind him. As he falls to he floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. Ophelia got up from her seat and starts to scream. Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window. When he look at the building that the bullet came from there was nobody in sight. As Sherlock straightens up, the driver breathes heavily while Ophelia sits underneath the table pressing her ears with her hands and sobs. Sherlock turns back, sees the pill lying on the desk he picks up the pill, kneels down, "Was I right? I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?"

The driver's only reply was a scoff. Sherlock angrily throws the pill across the room and stands up, "Okay, tell me this: Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me. My fan. I want a name."

"No," the driver replied weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name."

The driver shook his head. Sherlock lifts his foot and place onto the driver's shoulder.

"A name! Now! THE NAME!" he yells furiously.

"MORIARTY!" the driver yells as his eyes close and his head rolls to the side.

Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. Then he heard a little sob from underneath the table. He knelt down and saw Ophelia crying.

"Ophelia," Sherlock replies calmly as he reaches for her. Ophelia backs away from him slowly.

Sherlock looks at her with a hurtful expression, "Ophelia, it's okay… everything is over. Come out sweetheart." Ophelia looks at him with confusion wondering if she was with the same man before… the man who gave no mercy to the driver.

"You won't hurt me?" she whispers.

Sherlock smirks, "I promise I won't… now come out darling," he reaches out his hand for hers. Ophelia looks at his hand for a moment and slowly accepts it.

Later Sherlock and Ophelia are sitting on the back steps of an ambulance, a paramedic puts an orange blanket around their shoulders as Lestrade walks over.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting these blankets on us," he looks at the blanket with annoyance.

"Yeah, it's for shock."

"I'm not in shock," Sherlock protest.

Lestrade nods, "Yeah, but you're daughter is. And some of the guys wanna take photographs," he smiles while Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Who killed the man Uncle Lestrade?" Ophelia asks as she cover herself with the orange blanketed.

Lestrade shook his head, "We don't know Ophelia… Cleared off before we got here but a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but got nothing to go on."

Sherlock looks at him pointedly, "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade roll his eyes," Okay, gimme."

Sherlock stands up, "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ..."

While Sherlock was doing his deduction Ophelia looks around and saw John standing behind the police tape, "Umm daddy…," Ophelia tugs his jacket.

"Not now Ophelia! And nerves of steel…" he trails off as John looks back at him innocently and turns his head away. Sherlock begins to realize the connection, "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

"Sorry?" Lestrade looks at him with confusion.

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking," said Sherlock as he starts to walk towards John.

"Where're you going?"

" I just need to talk about the rent," Sherlock explains.

"But I've still got questions for you."

Sherlock turns around, "Oh, What now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!"

"Sherlock!"

"And I just caught you a serial killer… more or less. And look even Ophelia is in shock!" he places his hand on Ophelia's shoulder who was looking at the two men innocently.

Lestrade looks at them thoughtfully for a moment, "Okay, we'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."

Sherlock walks away, taking the blanket from his shoulder, Sherlock bundles it up and gives it to Ophelia, "Here, you can keep it."

Sherlock and Ophelia were now approaching to John who was standing at the side of a police car, "Um, Sergent Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

"Good shot," Sherlock whispers.

"Yes, Yes, must have been through that window," said John trying to look innocent.

"John, we know it's you," Ophelia points out.

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case," Sherlock whispers to him.

"Are you alright John?" Ophelia asks.

"Yes, of course I'm all right!"

"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock points out.

"Yes, I…. that's true, isn't?" he smiles.

"But he wasn't a very nice man."

Both Sherlock and Ophelia nods in agreement," No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie," All three of them chuckles, and then they all start to walk away.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

John and Ophelia giggles and Sherlock smiles.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down!" John snaps at him as they walk past Serfeant Donovan.

"Sorry, it's just, um, nerves, I think," said John.

"Sorry."

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?"

Sherlock turns back to him, "Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No, you didn't! You were going to take that pill! If you only you knew both of them were posion," Ophelia points out.

Sherlock stops and looks at her, "Wait? You were awake the whole time?"

Ophelia nods, "Yeah."

"I thought you were drugged."

"Daddy, you taught me not to take candy from strangers," Ophelia reminds him.

"How did you know both of them were bad?" John asks.

Ophelia smiles at him, "Because he wasn't planning to take the pill."

John looks at Sherlock, "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot."

After a moment Sherlock smiles down, "Dinner?"

"Starving!"

"But I'm not hungry!" Ophelia complains.

"Oh, stop complaining you don't have to eat with us," said Sherlock as they start to walk again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

A car pulls up and the man who kidnapped John earlier gets out, "Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

Sherlock looks at the man, "I know exactly who that is ."

He walks closer to the man and stops looking at him angrily,

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock raised his voice.

"I'm concerned about you and Ophelia," the man explains.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock replies sarcastically.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

John frowns as if unsure of what he just heard.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock looks at the man with confusion, "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!"

"No, no, wait… mummy? Who's mummy?"

"Mother… our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft."

"Hello Uncle Mycroft," Ophelia smiles widely at him.

"Why isn't it my favorite niece?"

Ophelia frowns, "I'm your only niece."

Mycroft smiles, "Precisely."

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock asks Mycroft.

"Losing it, in fact."

"He's your brother?" John asks still not sure what's going on.

"Of course he's my brother!"

"So he's not…" John trails off not wanting to sound stupid.

"Not what?"

"I dunno a criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock looks at Mycroft with disgust, "Close enough."

Mycroft rolls his eyes, "For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic," said Sherlock as he walks away.

"Bye uncle Mycroft!" Ophelia waves as she follows behind her father.

"So, when you say you're concerned about them, you actually are concerned?"

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners," said Mycroft as he still looks at his brother.

"Yeah… no. God, no!" he turns to follow Sherlock, "I-I'd better, umm… Hello again," said John as he looks at Anthea who looks up from her phone and smiles at him brightly, "Hello!"

"Yes, we met earlier on this evening."

She stares at him for a moment then remembers who he is, "Oh!"

"Okay, good night!" said John as he catches up to Sherlock and Ophelia.

"I can always predict the fortune cookies," said Sherlock with pride.

"No, you can't."

"He can," Ophelia points out."

Sherlock smirks, "Almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Told you so!" Ophelia sticks her tongue out at Sherlock.

"Shoulder! I thought so," said Sherlock ignoring Ophelia comment.

John shook his head, "No, you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Sometimes," said Ophelia as she smiles up at him who was also smiling down at her.

"What are you so happy about?" John asks.

"Moriarty," Sherlock whispers.

"What's a Moriarty?" Ophelia asks.

"I've absolutely no idea!" Sherlock replies cheerfully.

Back at the car, Anthea turns to Mycroft who is still watching the three walking away.

"Sir, shall we go?"

"Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother than Ophelia… or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade three active."

Anthea looks up from her phone, "Sorry, sir whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Ophelia Holmes, and Doctor Watson."