Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: I want to thank those who have reviewed! They really give me inspiration to write. Finally getting some more plot in this story. Enjoy the chapter!


Watson woke up to the smell and sound of a match being lit. "Ah, the good doctor wakes. It's time to start the day, my friend." Holmes said in between puffs of tobacco.

Watson stretched. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Of course not." Holmes changed the subject. "Now, we can find a market along the way to eat a fruitful breakfast, however I must insist the we be quick. I need to see the city's inspector." Holmes' voice drifted throughout the apartment as he walked around.

"For what, exactly?"

"A case, Watson!" Holmes' voice was ecstatic.

There goes my holiday. Watson muttered under his breath.


Just as Holmes and Watson departed the building, the clock struck 10 in the morning. People were walking lively down the street as the sun shined even through the tall industrial canopy.

"Holmes do you know where we're going?"

"According to this flyer on the light post, 53rd and West is where we can find the inspector and the police building." They passed by the first fruit stand. He picked up two apples, handed one to Watson, and gave the seller the appropriate amount of money.


"I want the three of you to patrol 14th today. There have been tips of petty crimes by the public. It will be a good first go for one of your first days here." The inspector pointed to three of the younger men clad in uniform. Watson and Holmes walked into the building. The whiff of must over powered the other stenches in the room. Holmes walked up the front desk.

The inspector finished talking to his men and turned his attention to the two men that were standing in front of him.

"Hello, I was curious to know if you had the body of the victim on Adams Street?"

"Sorry, we do not allow regular visitors. We did a search in the house and we didn't see any family letters," the inspector stated in his American accent.

"We're the photographers." Watson said quickly.

"Pardon, sir?"

"We photograph the recently deceased." Watson held up his Gladstone bag. Watson tried to twist his calm demeanor into something different.

"Quite…quite a small bag for a camera to fin in." The inspector was suspicious.

"Newer model," Holmes interjected, and then gave a small smile.

"Well," the inspector sighed, "the person is to be cremated later today, so get on to your job."


"Quick thinking, Watson." Holmes said.

"I learned it from you." Watson smirked.

"Ah, Adams Street victim. Here she is." Watson walked over to the body.

"Cracked ribs, major bruising, on the face, torso." Watson inspected closer. "An altercation of sorts – probably was somehow thrown against the wall. Retaliation was most likely in the situation." Watson looked closer at the victim's face. "Her eyebrows were singed."

Holmes walked over to get a closer look at the body. He drew a finger across the woman's face from her temple to the edge of her chin. "The singed eyebrows are a trademark. This isn't just a single murder, Watson. There are others, and will be others."


Watson loosened his stiff collar, and threw it on the desk beside him. "I tried my best at cooking this stew." The doctor chuckled. Dinner was relatively quiet, except for the usual noises from outside. "Luckily, I've managed to pick up a few patients that I'll see every fortnight. It can give us some extra cash." There wasn't a response. The rest of the dinner was quiet. Both returned to their bedrooms.

Holmes peeled off his clothes and put on his nightclothes. He almost fell asleep immediately, however the rest of his night wasn't as peaceful.


-Four months prior-

"Holmes!" Watson called after the detective, who was running ahead of him. The Case, they signed onto merely weeks ago took a turn for the worse. They managed to find the art thief – granted it wasn't a difficult task, although Holmes didn't seem too troubled and welcomed the work.

"Yes Watson? I'm a little," the robber fired his gun at the duo's general direction, "inconvenienced at the moment!" Holmes shouted back. Pulling out his trust gun out once more he fired the weapon, just missing the thief. A shot from Watson zipped right past his head. The robber took a sharp right, behind a building. It gave him protection, but allowed him to see his surroundings.

Holmes and Watson ran behind a largely stacked pile of crates. They were covered in nets and mildew, however provided enough secrecy in the situation at hand, but maybe not the best protection that a wooden crate could offer.

"Did you find out where our friend happen to hide the paintings?"

"Found in his," he pointed at the thief, " basement about to be sold. Is Lestrade and his team at the end of the road Watson?"

"Yes, I informed him twenty minutes before you literally dragged me along on this chase." Watson commented sardonically.

"How else was I supposed to make you come along?" Holmes started to line up his aim with his pistol.

"You could have asked." Another shot was fired from their opponent's gun. Holmes waited until he found his window of opportunity. He fired and clipped the man's right arm. The bullet became lodged in his muscle. The man stumbled over in pain, barely moving once he reached the ground. Holmes and Watson checked the area to make sure it was clear. Watson flicked his arm towards the officer at the end, motioning that it was okay to make the arrest.

"Ah, what do we have here?" Lestrade said as he rounded the corner.

"The art thief of Mr. Brigade's estate."

"He has a bullet lodged in his right shoulder and should be removed immediately, then quickly bandaged – he will then be ready for his sentencing." Watson made his diagnosis. Lestrade waved over three of his men to carry the wounded thief.

Watson leaned on the brick wall, getting some red dust on his suit. He put a hand to his knee, wincing whenever he moved it slightly.

"I think what you need is a nice warm bath." Holmes said.

"What I need, Holmes, is a nice cold glass of brandy, once we get back to Baker Street. We're not too far away – I can walk."

"Watson, I will not let you injure yourself any more." Holmes placed his arm behind Watson's back with the doctor's arm around the detective's neck. Holmes held Watson and just didn't want to let him go.

Holmes woke up from the memory in a cold sweat. He sighed heavily upon realizing he was still in the apartment in New York City. He pushed the recollection into the back of his mind, focusing on the case that was still in need of taking care of.


A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. More is to come! Reviews are most gladly welcome.