A/N: Hey, all my lovelies! I've had more than 1800 view! Thank you so much for sticking with me this far. Unfortunately, I'll be taking a brief hiatus. I'm moving, so I'll be busy doing moving-type stuff. I should be posting again sometime next week. I promise, it'll be worth it though! Sexytime coming up very soon!


It took me a week to convince John that I was well enough to bind my breasts regularly again. I was stuck at the flat, and my boredom was growing exponentially by the day. I was ecstatic when Lestrade texted me to go over a cold case with him. I threw on my suit with my purple shirt and rushed back to the living room. I was pulling on my freshly laundered coat when I noticed John staring at me.

"Yes?"

"It's just, um, if I hadn't seen proof otherwise, I'd never guess you were a woman."

"I've worked very hard for that to be the case. Just make sure you don't go calling me 'she', okay?"

"Got it," he grinned, shrugging on his own coat. I wound my scarf around my neck, and we headed down to the street and caught a taxi.

When we got to Lestrade's office, Donovan stopped us. "Oh, look, it's the Freak again with his loyal sidekick."

I saw John tense and open his mouth to insult her. They were going to know something was off if he acted out of character. "Yes, well, at least John is loyal, unlike your sidekick." I turned away and strode to Lestrade's office with John close behind me. Lestrade was on the phone, so I took the chance to talk to John.

"John," I hissed, "if you keep acting like that, people will suspect something's not right."

"Sorry. It's just...I'm really tired of her attitude. People shouldn't say things like that about you."

I was speechless for a moment. However, I quickly regained my composure and replied, "Thank you, but we need to be especially careful right now with what we say and how we act." John opened his mouth to reply, but Lestrade motioned for us to enter.

"Feeling any better, Sherlock?"

"I'm feeling fine. I told you, John was overreacting." John rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Anyway, I have a cold case I need you to look at. Pole dancer was killed by gunshot. We just found the weapon, but there were no fingerprints or anything else to link it back to the killer."

"Where was it found?"

"In the mud near Vauxhall Bridge. Some good samaritan called it in." He ran his fingers through his greying hair. He was agitated. His clothes were wrinkled, about two days; and the way he moved his head indicated a stiff neck, suggesting a night spent on a sofa. Problems with his wife then.

"Let me look at the file." He handed it to me, and I scanned the file looking for any significant points. The body was arranged oddly. The arms were placed above the head with the palms flat together, and the sole of the right foot was placed flat against the inside of the left leg. No signs of sexual assault or defensive wounds. Labs indicated no drugs. Single gunshot wound to the right side, just under the axilla.

"The placement of the gunshot wound is odd. If you were going to shoot her in the chest, why not aim for the front or back?"

"I dunno," Lestrade said.

"And what's with the way the body's arranged?" John asked.

"That was intentional. The killer was very specific about her placement. It has some similarities to dancing. See the way the foot is positioned? That's something you would see in ballet." I glanced at the file again. No personal effects were found on the body. I moved on to pictures of the ground surrounding the body. There, footprints.

"Judging by these footprints, you're looking for a male, approximately 6', thin and lithe. Probably some sort of background in dance, based on the placement of the body and his stride. There are no defensive wounds or signs of drugs in her system, so she must have been brought to the scene at gunpoint. Most likely, she was shot first, then robbed."

"Robbed?"

"Yes, robbed," I said impatiently. "Look at her outfit. She's a pole dancer, just coming off shift. Where's the money?"

"So this was a robbery?" Lestrade asked hopefully. "That's not our division."

"No, it was as much about murder as it was about robbery. Look at the care he took in arranging her. It's a performance to the killer. But he also took care to take her money. If he was trying to cover up a robbery gone wrong, he wouldn't have bothered with arranging the body."

"So what have we got here, Sherlock?"

"Something different. Call me if you have any more details. Come on, John."


I unlocked the front door at Baker St. and stepped inside. We were halfway up the stairs when I caught a whiff of something familiar. Ah, yes, I'd know that cologne anywhere. I stopped in front of the door, and John looked at me questioningly.

"John," I said, "we have a visitor." I pushed the door open and saw Mycroft sitting in John's armchair.

"Ah, Sherlock, Dr. Watson, what a pleasure," Mycroft oozed as I hung my coat up on its hook.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's umbrella swung at his side as he stood up. "I merely stopped by to have a quick work with Dr. Watson."

"Tired of sending your assistant to kidnap me, Mycroft?" John asked wearily, a slight smile on his face.

"Not at all, Dr. Watson. The issue at hand requires my immediate attention however. Would you mind seeing me out?" John glanced my direction, and I sent him a warning glance. Mycroft was being more interfering than usual, and I knew exactly what this was about.

"Sure," John said, appearing calm except for the hand that he kept clenching and unclenching. I listened at the door as they walked down the stairs. Mycroft waited until he got to the bottom to start speaking. He obviously knew I was listening because he adopted a low tone that made it difficult for me to hear what was being said.

Mycroft's voice was first. "...sure you are aware...sibling's...secret…if any harm...will find your body." I sighed. Mycroft was being extremely dull. I did not think he could be any more predictable, yet here was proof.

I focused my attention again at John's voice. "...absolutely nothing has changed in our relationship. It's exactly as it was before." Ah, John was speaking loudly so I could hear what he was saying. "She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Goodbye, Mycroft." I heard footsteps on the stairs and the front door open and close. John was standing up for me to my brother, even though I know that ordinary people find him intimidating. I was grateful. It was the second time that morning that he did something like that.

I took a few steps away from the door as John climbed the stairs. I made it appear as though I hadn't been listening even though he would know better. John opened the door and glanced at me before he hung his jacket on the hook. "Tea?" he asked.

"Yes." He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Um, John," I started.

"Hm?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Um, that thing. Both of those things. They were, um...good. Thank you."

"That's what friends do, Sherlock."