A/N: Really short chapter! Sorry! I'll be posting the next soon enough. Please comment!

Chapter Nine

Florence Nightingale was a nurse in the 19th century, and most famous from her time during the Crimean War. She would make her rounds in the evening, carrying an oil lamp. Her mere presence was said to bring warmth to hearts of the wounded. Sherlock was certain she was the one being referenced and because it was the last clue, he had a feeling it would lead him to the place of their proposed meeting. She went to school at St. Thomas' Hospital, which had been incorporated into King's College. The detective mulled this over. There was another, more blatant, possibility. It fit precisely into Moriarty's theme for this game. There was a mental health institution by the name "Capio Nightingale" and this was where Sherlock was headed.

Standing outside of its doors, he realized a more complicating matter. Where would he go once he was inside? The solving of the game had his pulse rate up. His excitement was dulled by the loss of John, but the prospects behind those doors seemed to overpower that setback. John was gone, but he would be back. This was the now. This game needed to have its ending. Sherlock wouldn't, couldn't, just let this go. Not when he had come this far. John had been a distraction, but this was reality. This was the mission, and his body was already feeling the effects of being so close. As soon as he trudged through those thoughts, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

Sherlock strolled through the doors without an ounce of nervousness. When he bumped into the front counter, he offered the nurse behind it a glorious smile. She couldn't help but smile back. Who would be able to deny it when looking at that face? "Hello," he said, his voice maybe a little lower than its usual.

Her smile remained as she replied simply, "Hello."

"I'm here to see my niece," he explained, those eyes absorbing her.

"Ah," she replied, her eyes lingering a second too long at those lips, "What's her name?"

"Alice," a pause, "Liddell."

The name seemed vaguely familiar to the nurse, but she couldn't quite place it. Maybe the patient had been here a long time. Would be a shame. Such a fine man having to worry over a family member. She typed the name into the database, and sure enough, there she was. She looked back to the stranger to find his gorgeous blue eyes were still on her. She could feel a slight blush creep across her cheeks as she replied, "Room 470. I'll have one of the orderlies show you the way."

"Thank you, Cassie," he replied, and there was that smile again.

She was certain she was half a shade to tomato red by the time the orderly came. She just nodded him a goodbye and buried her nose in her book to hide her embarrassment.

Sherlock smirked to himself as he was led to an elevator. He wasn't surprised Moriarty had repeated himself. He would have had to figure out the name to get to the room anyway. No card key this time. Only knowledge would get him in. The guard didn't get off the elevator. He just pointed to the left and wished the visitor a good day. Once again the sleuth was making his way down a hallway to meet with the illustrious criminal mastermind. He was not nearly as nervous as he was the time previous. He had some expectations. Well, he did. His plan this time around may throw things into chaos. But right now, Sherlock wanted chaos.

He rapped on the door that supposedly contained a Ms. Alice Liddell. The door swung open easily, he had doubted James would have the door locked by the institution. The dark haired man stood before him, a smile playing on his lips. "Sherlock," he stated, eyes consuming the man in a way that had shivers running down his spine.

"Jim," the detective replied moments before he slammed his fist into the side of the criminal's face.