It was, at first, a quiet ride as Lestrade drove her to the church. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the explosion of her car, although the realization that, if it hadn't been for the delay, she'd have been driving it at the time it blew up was admittedly chilling.

It was now, of course, impossible to deny that someone wanted her dead.

The man beside her cleared his throat and Janine's eyes drifted around the car, trying to distract herself from this terrifying reality. The car was a mess. Fast food wrappers littered the floor and papers (case files?) were strewn across the dash. There was a bottle of antacids in the passenger door compartment, along with some napkins and a few pens without caps. The car had a little computer in the center console and a complicated looking radio, on top of which was taped a photograph of two small children, a girl and boy.

Now that she was shut up in a closed space with him, Janine realized that it was definitely his cologne she'd smelled earlier. It was masculine and somehow old fashioned. Not like the fragrances all the men seemed to wear today that were practically unisex.

"How old are your children, Detective Inspector?" she asked to break the silence.

"Call me Greg," he said between chews of the nicotine gum he'd popped in his mouth the second they'd gotten into the car. "My son's 5 and my daughter is 7."

"Oh. I was guessing 6 and 8."

Greg chuckled. "Chandler will be pleased to hear that. She's in a rush to grown up."

"They live with their mother?"

He nodded. "For the past year. I work long hours and a little girl needs her mother…I have them on weekends…"

Janine heard the guilt in his voice. "You don't have to explain anything to me. My parents were divorced," she said.

"It's not what I wanted for my kids. We tried for a long time to make it work, but she…I was gone too much."

Janine nodded, even though he couldn't see her with his eyes on the road. She didn't know what to say.

"Have you ever been married, Miss Hanigan?" Greg asked out of the blue.

"Janine. And no, I haven't."

"But you must be…seeing someone now," he edged.

"Why?"

"Oh…well…just…you know…possible suspects."

"Oh. No, I'm not."

"Good," he said and then clarified quickly. "Good to know all the facts."

Janine nodded.


Molly was stunning in her 1920's style lace gown and Sherlock was, well, Sherlock. Tall, dark, and gorgeous.

The wedding went off without a hitch, as far as the bride and groom were concerned. From Janine's perspective, however, it was a bit….well, bumpy. Greg, seated beside her, was incessantly jiggling his leg during the vows. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and placed a hand on his knee to still him. He flashed an apologetic smile.

"Do weddings make you nervous, Greg?" Janine asked, when they were back in the car on the way to the reception hall.

"What? No? Why should you ask that?"

"Hm…you're on your third piece of that gum. And I thought you might vibrate right off the bench during the ceremony."

"No. It's just, you know, we've got a murderer on our hands."

Janine chuckled. "Yes, but as far as I know, he's after me, not you."

His eyes slid over to her. "So?"

"So why should you be nervous?"

"I don't want anyone to get hurt. It's my job to see that they don't," he said gruffly.

"Yes, but you're off duty now."

Greg shook his head as he made a left turn. "I'm never off duty."


Greg and Janine merged into the large mass of black and yellow swarming into the dance hall. Sherlock and Molly had wanted a small, intimate affair, but then Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes had gotten ahold of the guest list and it had exploded somehow to 250 people. Sherlock tried to protest, but Molly insisted it wasn't worth the fight. The more the merrier.

And now, for Janine, the more the deadlier, she thought wryly.

And yet, everything had gone fine so far, and she felt safer with Greg (and his gun) by her side.

The reception hall looked lovely. Janine had tried to keep the theme subtle and classy: little bee insignias on the place settings, mini jars of honey as favors, and elegant glass jars with live bees inside as bases for the flower centerpieces on each table.

Janine guessed she was the only person in the room who wasn't surprised when the groom swept his wife into an elegant waltz around the dance floor. She couldn't help but feel a little smug; her plan had worked like a charm, and now here they all were just a year later.

She winced as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sliced into their wedding cake, an anatomical heart, complete with a substance that looked remarkably like blood oozing from its center. Molly giggled when she "hit a vein" and it suddenly spurted out in stronger bursts and she jumped up to kiss Sherlock on the cheek; he was the engineer of the spectacle.

"That's disgusting." Greg made a face in his seat beside her.

"Squeamish, detective?" Janine teased with a shrug. "Heaven knows, I'm not that girl, but if it floats her boat, I think it's wonderful."

"Do you?"

Janine realized that he was asking about more than the unconventional cake.

"Yes, I truly do," she replied firmly.

Greg nodded and they both fell silent.

A few minutes later he pushed back his chair and stood up. For a moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance, but then he said, "I just need the loo, I'll be right back. Stay here."

"Alright."

Janine watched the couples on the dance floor wistfully. Why did she always end up watching at these things? What did those girls have that she didn't? Young women, children, old ladies, all in shades of yellow and black. And…blue?

Janine's eyes met those of the blue clad woman in the middle of the dance floor and the woman froze. Then she whirled and took off through the crowd.

Janine searched the room for Sherlock, but he was laughing and dancing with his mother. She couldn't bring herself to interrupt. Greg showed no sign of coming back from the loo. If she hesitated one more second, the woman would lose her.

Janine took off after her.

Reaching the edge of the ballroom, she disappeared through a door. Once Janine reached it, she saw the fabric of the woman's dress waving in the wind as she broke out into a run across the garden. Kicking off her heels, she took off after her.

The woman began to progressively slow down, probably losing breath, and Janine caught up to her beneath the branches of a large tree. The strong breeze made the leaves sway violently above their heads.

"Why did you kill Tom?" Janine blurted.

The woman turned. Janine didn't recognize her at all. She had obviously dyed blonde hair, was plump, and looked to be in her forties.

The stranger started to laugh. "And why did you follow me? You're even dumber than you look, and that's really saying something."

Looking around the dark garden and realizing they were completely alone and far enough from the hall that nobody would hear her scream, Janine found that she had to agree. She was stupid.

"And maybe next time you crash a wedding, you should make sure to follow the dress code, so you won't stand out like a sore thumb." It wasn't much, but it was the only comeback Janine could think of. In her mind, she was screaming out for Greg, and his name was blocking out all other thoughts.

It was no surprise when the woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at her chest, so Janine didn't flinch.

But her voice still wobbled with fear as she spoke. "If you're going to kill me, at least tell me why. I deserve that."

"My brother belonged with Molly Hooper. She broke his heart. For Sherlock Holmes. Because you couldn't hold him. If he'd just stayed with you…you deserve each other…demons. That's what you are. If you'd just stayed with him..." the woman trailed off and Janine saw the glimmer of insanity in her eyes. And she realized that's what this was. And why she'd die. Over the delusions of a mad woman.

"You killed your own brother?" she asked, stalling.

"I put an end to his suffering. It was an act of mercy. He couldn't live without Molly Hooper. And the pain of her marrying someone else…it was killing him anyway."

Janine shook her head and slowly, very slowly stepped backwards. "Molly didn't know. He…he never told her."

"No, well he wouldn't. My brother was selfless. Unlike you. Selling your stories to the papers like the slut that you are." There was so much hate in the woman's eyes and it was hard for Janine to understand how a total stranger could detest her so. But there was no logic in mental illness. No logic in this. And yet, what could she do but try to reason with her attacker?

"Sherlock broke up with me. The engagement was never real. He was just using me to get to my boss. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't have stayed with him if I wanted to…he…he never loved me," Janine pleaded. "There was nothing I could do."

"Liar!" Tom's sister shouted. "I read the papers. He was infatuated with you. 'Seven times a night.' And you ended it. Freeing him up and pulling Molly away from Tom."

"No…no, the papers." Janine shook her head. "That wasn't real. I just made it up all up. It was just stories." Janine realized she'd started to cry. She was so afraid.

"And now that's all you'll be. Just a story. Janine Hanigan."

"No, no, please d-"

The air erupted with the sound of a gunshot.


This is the last full length chapter, but there will be a short epilogue posted soon to wrap up loose ends.

Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews!-Listrant