This has to be one of the more challenging chapters to write; none of which would have been possible without the help of 'a wolf is a perfect paradox'. Thank you for your help, I don't think I could say that enough.


Wilhelm valued silence. But the quietness that clung to the air in the Diogenes Club felt heavy and thick. He observed from the hallway the occupants in the sitting room and could probably decipher which state secrets were kept by whom and what scandal what hidden by others. His general consensus - hard working bureaucratic politicians at rest, or at least trying to look at rest as they plotted. Not a really surprising conclusion when one considered the Club he was in.

A few would look up from whatever they were doing to examine Wilhelm down their noses. Granted Wilhelm did not look like much at the moment; his suite was simple and unimposing, and his hair was a bit ruffled by his hat which he had given to one of the attendants when he first walked in. He would nod a silent greeting to them and they would quickly look away as if ashamed to have been acknowledged by him.

An attendant finally appeared and motioned Wilhelm to follow him. After a moment of resisting the temptation of yelling 'Fire!' just to see what would happen, Wilhelm followed the silent man to the visitor's lounge. The air there still felt heavy but not as thick if by the mere fact the allowance of speech in the room gave it relief.

He looked around at the furnishing of the room as he waited. He did not have to wait long before he heard the door creak open and close. He turned to face the new occupant of the room.

Mycroft stood there, dressed in his bureaucratic best, looking as he always does – completely in control. Though, if Amelia was there she would probably smack Mycroft upside the head for not taking better care of himself. The signs, though subtle, were there; mostly it was his expression. He could convince people it was boredom but Wilhelm saw it for what it was – exhaustion.

Having a hand in most governmental operations could do that to a person. Wilhelm did wonder if the job Mycroft had created for himself had become too much for him to handle or even bear.

Wilhelm had the strange sense that he was looking at a form of a mirror image of himself. Since discovering that there was a possibility of a copy cat of his last FBI case he had been throwing himself into examining every single piece of evidence several times over, hoping to find something, anything, that could lead to a break in the case

Mycroft looked over Wilhelm quickly before heading to the liquor table.

"You look dreadful." He remarked pouring two scotches.

"I was going for atrocious, but dreadful works." Wilhelm eased himself gingerly into a chair before completely releasing the tension in his body. He accepted the glass from Mycroft but made no move to drink any of the content.

Mycroft sat across from him and waited. Wilhelm would speak when he was ready and not before. Past experience made Mycroft know better than to push.

Wilhelm seemed lost in thought for awhile looking distantly at a wall before turning his sight to Mycroft. "How did that affair in Istanbul work out for you?"

"It concluded satisfactorily with a few minor hiccups."

"Good." Wilhelm took a sip from his glass lingering on the action and thinking about nothing except for dull burn of the alcohol.

"How's your book?"

"On hold at the moment." Wilhelm looked thoughtfully at his glass. He leaned forward to rest is arms on his knees. "I need to extract a favor from you."

"What do you need of me?" Mycroft asked without hesitation, though he had idea of what Wilhelm would ask him based on the phone conversation the two men had earlier that day. He told him about the surprising interview with Lestrade. Beneath the rather flippant manner in which Wilhelm spoke the underlining aspect of being shaken to the core was evident in his voice.

"Stop me," Wilhelm looked up, still hunched over. "If I go too far."

Such a request would make most men flinch at the implication, but Mycroft did not. Whether people wished to acknowledged it or not, everyone had darker impulses. The impulses were stronger in some and others had better control of them.

Mycroft was one of the few people outside of a few of Wilhelm's old FBI partners and Amelia who knew the full extent of how Tomica affected Wilhelm.

"Even if it isn't Tomica," Wilhelm leaned back into the chair, not really caring about proper sitting etiquette at the moment. "The simple implications of someone similar is going to stir up trouble in me. I hate the idea of my family being in danger from me."

"And if it is Tomica?" Mycroft sipped his scotch.

"If it is Tomica," Wilhelm mirthlessly laughed. "'I am a man, and therefore have all devils in my heart.' A sentiment you can understand, I'm sure."

"I'll see what I can do for you." Mycroft felt uneasy. His suspicions were confirmed – Wilhelm was afraid. Whether the fear was of the possibility of Tomica's returns or of what Wilhelm would do when pushed too far was unclear.

The whole situation was uncomfortable.

-MHSHEH-

It was not difficult for him to ease her into the chair. She offered no resistance as her head lolled to the side as it hit the headrest. After a few shifts he was certain that she would not slide out or fall from her position. Satisfied with how she sat he moved her feet so her ankles crossed and draped her arms gracefully over those of the chair. He brushed the hair out of her face taking a moment to look at her face; it was a lovely face.

He looked around the room; it was well lived in and showing the signs of only one person living there who only used the place to sleep, eat and repeat, often working through the day.

Looking back at the seated girl, he smiled. His final touch a seal envelope placed in the lap of the girl. One last look over his work before turning to leave. No one would know that he was there.

She really did have a lovely face; at least that was before the cuts and the dead milky eyes

It would be a few hours before the owner would return home. When he did he was tired from his long day at work. When he turned the key to the door all he wanted to do was to eat his take-out. But, as with the rest of his day, his plans changed when he caught sight of his unexpected visitor.

"Great." Lestrade mumbled as he holstered his gun. He noted the bloodied and ripped dress on the body but it was the patterned cuts on the face, arms and legs that really caught his attention.

His home was a crime scene with a victim that he now strongly suspected to be connected with his current case.

"Just great." He breathed reaching for his mobile and dialed his Sergeant.

-MHSHEH-

"Something tells me that you didn't want to hear that." Isabelle remarked as John racked his hand through his hair then his face.

"A possible serial killer?" John wanted to groan in frustration. Was it so awful to ask for a simple murder for Sherlock's first case back with the yard; that they might get back into the swing of things. Even the slightest whisper of 'serial killer' and the press would be all over it; it was sensationalistic news and the public wanted sensational and reporters would do their best to give it to them at any cost. The press was the last thing that John needed around Sherlock. The sight of Sherlock getting giddy at the mere mention of serial killer was too easily imagined.

"That's just the preliminary and we're not certain the two deaths are connected, but Lestrade thought it best for Sherlock to have a look before the other consultant did." It always surprised Isabelle how people were so entranced by the concept of serial killers some even romanticizing the idea making everything from television shows to Jack the Ripper tours in London. "Where is Sherlock anyway?"

"Other consultant?" John wanted to make sure he heard that correctly.

"Serial killers," Sherlock smirked as he rushed from his room. As John feared he was happily excited at the prospect. "They always keep things interesting."

"Do you have any idea how unsettling that sounds?" John shook his head watching Sherlock shrug on his jacket.

"Well, everybody gotta have a hobby." Isabelle remarked. John, so used to Sergeant Donovan from before the fall, looked taken aback with how Isabelle brushed it off. As if sensing his thoughts, she looked to John and shrugged. At least she was taking Sherlock's strangeness in stride, one thing that John could be grateful about. "Give you guys a lift? Save on fare."

"Yes, thank you." John said before Sherlock could say no.

-MHSHEH-

"What do you mean 'other consultant'?" Sherlock spoke from the back seat. "Also, why am I in the backseat?"

"I don't trust you not to touch my radio settings." Isabelle deadpanned. "Chief Lucas thought with the severity of the case it might be good to bring on another set of eyes. You're not being kicked off the case, if that's what you're worried about."

"There shouldn't be a need for another consultant." Sherlock hissed through his teeth. At the moment he was more annoyed that the back of the car did not have more room for his tall form. From what he gleamed from Isabelle, that was most likely the truer purpose for sticking him back there.

"Well, ya know what they say – the more the merrier." Isabelle smiled into the rear-view mirror.

"It can't hurt," John remarked almost glad he could not see Sherlock's face who was probably boring wholes in the back of his head for the statement.

They reached their destination and Sherlock sprung from the car and closed the door with a little extra force than needed. He immediately went to the windows to examine them. Isabelle, doing her best not to laugh, quickly followed him to make sure he followed regulation. They knew he would but her actions were simply precautionary. Knowing that Sherlock would not want to be crowded as he worked and that he would not noticed his friend not there, John went inside.

John had only been to Lestrade's home a handful of times. Lestrade had gotten it after he separated from his wife the first time and kept it through the years. Each time John had been by there was something else there that made it more personal and lived in.

"Based on the autopsy photos, I would say that the marks are similar. I could venture to say by the same hand but it would be safer to say it's the same technique." John did not recognize the voice and looked over to see who was talking.

Lestrade was standing next to the chair with the body with notebook in hand listening to a second man who was knelt next to the chair examining the body. He looked a bit older than Lestrade, but at the same time had that ageless quality about him; his dark hair graying at the temples and faint smile lines about his face. He wore reading spectacles perched on his nose that were not quite threatening to fall off. His gray eyes were his most remarkable feature, keen, observant, and clever to the verge of cunning as he examined the body.

John felt the hackles stand up slightly on the back of his neck; having been a solider, his instincts reacted and his gut told him that the man kneeling before the body was more dangerous than he appeared. Lestrade nodded to John and then to the body, causing John to turn his focus to the victim.

Unlike the first victim the body was posed and placed as if she had just fallen asleep in the chair. Her hair was loose with a few strands over her face that could simply be brushed aside with one motion; but that would reveal more of the empty eyes, clouded from death. Her dress was a mess with rips and blood stains that matched the damaged on her body.

"Maybe even a medical background." The man added thoughtfully mostly to himself. "Did the first victim have chloroform burns around her mouth as well?"

"Lestrade!" Sherlock exclaimed as he entered causing both John and Lestrade to cringe. They knew what was about to come from him. Isabelle trailed behind him with a neutral expression, wondering why John and Lestrade looked like they were waiting for an explosion to happen. "What's this about another consultant?"

"Sherlock," Lestrade held up his hand in hopes that Sherlock would just shut his mouth long enough from him to explain. But Sherlock was not looking at him but at the other consultant.

The older man just looked up to him over his glasses unfazed by the dramatic entrance. If John was not mistaken, there was a ghost of a smile on the bespectacled man's face.

Both John and Lestrade waited for Sherlock to say something to insult the new consultant and push him off the case; John had his money on the other man leaving absolutely flustered and angry, maybe even tears if Sherlock pushed enough, and he could tell Lestrade was thinking along the same lines. However, Sherlock's face was set in an unreadable expression as he gazed down at the crouched man. It seemed that he was considering something. Coming to a decision, he knelt next to him.

"What have you found?" Sherlock asked.

"The tears in the dress do not match the wounds on the body."

"Ripped in an attempt to escape."

"Unlikely, something like that would be more along the sleeves and shoulders. Look here, they're mostly around the abdomen. The strips of material removed from the skirt caught my attention."

"Invoking the sense of vulnerability."

"That was what I was thinking; same with the lack of shoes."

"But she's wearing shoes," John remarked looking at the victim's feet.

The two consultants now looked at John as they both stood up. There was an eerie similarity in their gaze that John had to blink a few times to be sure he was not seeing things.

"Wrong size." Sherlock stated.

"And the style of the shoes doesn't match that of the dress." The other consultant added pointing to the shoes.

"Wait a moment!" John demanded. Something in his brain clicked and he saw it. "Do you know each other?"

A phone rang. The timing of the phone call amused Lestrade, annoyed Sherlock and surprised John.

"Excuse me," The second consultant left to answer his phone and immediately began speaking in what sounded like French.

"So you know him?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock turned back to the body.

"You're willing to work with him?" Lestrade was in slight shock.

"Yes."

"Who is he?" John wanted more than a one worded answers.

"Wilhelm Lehrer." He had returned just finishing his phone call. "I'm sorry for the lack of a proper introduction." He held his hand out to John. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson."

John did not shake his hand but stared at Sherlock. "So another person you haven't told me about."

"Dr. Lehrer provided valuable resources while I was looking for the remainder of Moriarty's organization." Sherlock explained noting the tension in John's stance and the frustration in his voice.

Even Lestrade noticed the snub from John to Wilhelm. Most of the time Lestrade relied on John to keep Sherlock in tow, to be the one to apologize when Sherlock was rude, and now things were in reverse.

Definitely not a good sign.

"What resources could he possibly provide that you couldn't get from Mycroft?" John pushed. He was tired of the secrets that Sherlock was keeping from him. And a bit angry to be quite honest. There was a gnawing feeling in his gut that maybe Sherlock truly did consider him useless in his consulting work, thus went to others for help.

"I'm retired criminal analyst for the FBI in the Behavioral Science Unit." Wilhelm interjected to keep the argument from going any further. "I psychologically analyzed crime scenes to find the perpetrator; which is a very fancy way of saying I use the state of the crime scene and victim to figure out the identity of the bad guy. I happen to be in the country when this happened; since I worked a case that had a similar methodology it's believed that I might provide some insight. As to Moriarty, I knew people that knew people."

"Not that this isn't interesting, but can we get back on point?" Lestrade asked. He did not know what set off John, but he caught his Sergeant's eye who shrugged. She had called it when she noticed that Sherlock was a bit distracted from his work.

"Do you think that the same person did this?" John asked. For the moment he decided to wait to talk with Sherlock about whatever else he may have hidden from him. "From your case?"

"All I will say at this point is it's similar method and I'm still unclear with anything else." Wilhelm sighed.

"You were saying about shoes." Lestrade motioned to the victim's feet, sense a calm before the storm between the two friends.

"Half a size too small and too narrow." Sherlock stated. He turned away from John and kept his eyes on Lestrade. "The feet were forced in."

"Broken before being forced in." Wilhelm added as he pointed to the feet. "You can tell by her legs she was an avid runner. Lestrade has told me that you already deduced that the injuries correspond with aspects of the victim's life. Broken feet and ill-fitted shoes, difficult to run with those."

"She was a person of decorous taste," Sherlock added; almost not wanting to be outdone by Wilhelm. "Her manner of clothing is considered modest, covering most of her body. Having so much skin exposed would make her apprehensive."

"Think of a small child using a blanket to cover his head as a shield against the things that go bump in the night." Wilhelm said glancing over to Lestrade and John. Sherlock frowned at the interruption. Wilhelm only shrugged at Sherlock's reaction.

"It was the first step of torture." Sherlock continued. "Mild discomfort then to more – "

"And that's where it get's graphic." Wilhelm, again, interrupted Sherlock, but with a bit more force than necessary with an undercurrent of warning. "To be discussed later."

"Like a lot of other things." John muttered under his breath. He did not care if anyone heard him. Fortunately the intended target, Sherlock was the only one who did. Wilhelm did notice Sherlock slightly bristle as he slowly turned so he could glare at Wilhelm.

"Did you look at the windows?" Wilhelm asked his tone switched from warning to curious. He had taken great care in observing the interaction between Sherlock and John. Having never the doctor, Wilhelm was curious about John, the best friend of his daughter's brother. One need not be a genius to notice the tight tension that descended between the two. He made a mental note to talk with Sherlock later. "I haven't had the chance."

"Markings – all of them placed to infer a break in." Sherlock sighed.

"What do you mean 'infer'?" Lestrade demanded.

"Look at the lack of disturbance with the objects around the windows." Wilhelm motioned towards the windows that Sherlock had examined outside.

"They could have put everything back where it was." Isabelle pointed out.

"True," Wilhelm walked over to the windows and looked closely to the table underneath. "But there's only one problem with that theory. The dust."

"Sorry?" John had to take a moment to makes sure that it was actually Wilhelm that remarked about the dust and not Sherlock. It was too much of a Sherlock response to be actually coming out of the other consultant's mouth.

"As with most people who spend most of their time working," Sherlock jumped in. "Dusting their residence is not a priority. You, what – dust once a week if you're lucky."

"When I can." Lestrade was still waiting for an explanation. He was not ashamed of his busy lifestyle or home but he wanted Sherlock to get to his point.

"The dust isn't disturbed around the area set up to look like the point of entry." Sherlock went on looking at John and Lestrade. It was almost like he was trying to avoid looking at Wilhelm. John noticed that he had stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. This was an annoyed, but calm Sherlock; something that did not sit right with John, another item to his ever grown list.

Sherlock would have been moving about examining everything. Then quickly going through every single thing he found relevant to the case at hand. The possibility of a serial killer would have made him hum with energy that Sherlock could not wait to burn running about the city.

But that was before the Fall. John understood that people change and Sherlock went through a lot over those three years, but it did not stop John feeling a bit alienated from his best friend.

"But why even bother to create a false entry?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, snapping John out of his thoughts. "That's spending more time than necessary at the crime scene."

"To hide something." Wilhelm had slipped away and was looking intently at the floor in the hallway. "I don't know wha-"

"The sophistication of the entry." Sherlock interrupted. "Hiding the modus operandi leading to wasted time investigating false leads."

"Or it could be as simply hiding the identity of the perpetrator." Wilhelm remarked, still in the hallway. He had one arm across his chest supporting the other elbow with a hand to his face resting his chin on the thumb and forefinger against his face. "Or maybe to could be as ridiculous as the perpetrator wanting to screw us over."

"Either way, it's risky." Lestrade pointed out.

"And a bit taunting when you think about it." Isabelle spoke up finally. She rubbed the back of her neck hoping to get the stiffness out. It had been a long day without stop and now it looked like it was going to be a long night without reprieve.

The men turned to look at her. John had almost had forgotten her presence since she was so quite; he was sure he was not the only one to do so. When Isabelle noticed that everyone was looking at her, she removed her hand from her neck and continued on.

"Well, no matter the reason for staying longer than necessary, he spent more time here, he didn't rush." She explained. "I mean, he even tuck some hair behind her ear after he put her here. He's not afraid of behind caught and it's almost as though he's flaunting it subtly but still in our faces."

"Well put." Wilhelm nodded slowly as he thought over Isabelle's remark. "Overconfidence, something that can be exploited."

They finished going over the crime scene and Sherlock dashed off to catch a taxi. John suspected that Sherlock did not want to be cramped in the back seat of Isabelle's car.

He wanted to stay and question the American consultant. John wanted to demand how he knew Sherlock, how they met, why they worked together, how was it possible that he could contribute to Sherlock's mission, what he meant by 'knew people'.

John spent a bit of time observing Wilhelm who was observing everything as Lestrade and Isabelle discussed a few details of wrapping up there. It was Wilhelm who caught John looking at him; he was not surprised by John's scrutiny, in fact he was quite at ease with it. Instead of saying something, Wilhelm waited on John to make the next move.

It would be incorrect to say that John lost his nerve to demand answers from Wilhelm. But under the American's infuriatingly patient gaze, he realized that this was neither the place nor the time, no matter how much he wanted answers. A woman was dead, killed in an awful fashion.

Without giving any acknowledgment to Wilhelm, John turned on his heel and walked out.

As he followed his friend he wanted to demand a full story of Sherlock's trek across the world – more things happened then just him destroying Moriarty's organization. Things that Sherlock had never offered to tell him, and John found that it more than a punch to the stomach.

But Sherlock was now very involved in the current case, as evident of him typing away on his phone as they both climbed into a taxi, that John probably would not get a full explanation. But John was beginning to realize that he could only wait for so long. Well, maybe no longer.

With a deep breath of determination John faced Sherlock.

"We need to talk."

Movement over the phone stilled; any confidence and ease Sherlock had while at the crime scene melted into dread as he lowered his phone.

The unavoidable moment had come.

Back at Lestrade's home said owner looked around and the facts of everything that had transpired were finally sinking in.

His home was a crime scene.

"Does this effect your involvement in the case?" Isabelle asked as she approached him. Thankfully they were out of earshot of everyone else.

"If anything they'll just be more scrupulous in watching over my actions." Lestrade breathed in deeply and let it out slowly in an attempt to stay focused. "I'll see this to the end; we both will."

"Any idea where you're going to stay?"

"Haven't really thought that far." Lestrade confessed; he had been so focus on getting the scene secured. There was also a part of him that did not want to dwell on the fact that his home had been broken into and used as a body dump.

"No one really does." Wilhelm said causing Lestrade and Isabelle to jump at his sudden presence. "I'm sure your superintendent is making arrangements."

"Now when you said 'know people'. . ." Isabelle left her statement open ended for Wilhelm.

He smiled. "Criminal informants; I'm sure you've used a few in your career." He glanced at his phone as it rang. "Speaking of superiors. Excuse me." He put the phone to his ear. "Dr. Cuddleback, I have a perfectly good explanation as to why I have requested to withdraw myself from the lecture tour and it is a fascinating story."

"I'm getting eccentric genius vibe from him." Isabelle remarked after Wilhelm walked away. "Maybe a dash of insanity. What about you?"

"If he can help us like Lucas believes I don't care." Lestrade, at this point, just wanted to sleep and find someplace to reheat his takeout that he had forgotten in the chaos.

Despite the hunger pain developing in his stomach, he watched Lehrer as he chatted away. That strange feeling from before with the American's wife had returned. There was definitely something off about this couple and Lestrade resolved to keep a close eye on them and do a little digging on them.


I hope everyone is enjoying this story. Please leave a review and tell me what you think.