It's rainy and blech today so here's a chapter for you. Next one won't be until the weekend.

DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story that you can find in your Sherlock Box Set are the property of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I am not making any money, nor are they hocking my products (which I have none). I don't get anything from this except the pure enjoyment of writing!

This story is un-betaed.

Chapter 9

"All I'm saying is you can't have sex then act as if nothing happened. Especially with a woman like Molly. Molly feels everything quite deeply and she loved you for so long. I am very sure that sex with you wasn't casual for her. How did it happen anyway?"

"You're the doctor, you should know the mechanics."

"I'm actually surprised you do."

"The porn on your laptop was quite informative." Mrs. Hudson couldn't hear anything else as the boys ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut. With a sigh she went back into her flat and shook her head. She could read the mood Sherlock was in and was thankful she was no longer sleepy. She wasn't about to get any more sleep that morning.

…..

"I can't thank you enough for this Greg," Molly gushed, grateful and relieved that she didn't have to spend any more time in her flat. "And again, thank you for letting me bring Toby."

Greg smiled. He was realizing he would do just about anything for Molly. "I'm happy to do it."

"You are a good friend Greg." This made the lonely DI deflate a bit. That certainly wasn't what he wanted…

"Here is where you will sleep…" He showed her to a room down the hall from his own. He didn't want to freak the girl out by giving her the room across from his. That certainly wasn't the way to woo the woman. "…and there's a loo en suite so you have plenty of privacy." Greg set the overnight bag on the bed and stepped back to the doorway. "How about I make us some breakfast?"

She nodded and smiled then looked at her watch. "I have to be at the morgue in two hours."

"I can drive you there if you like."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to. We need to keep you safe and the easiest way to do that is to drive you where you need to go. Please… let me do my job. If something should happen to you…" Greg sighed. "…Sherlock would have my head."

Molly shrugged nonchalantly. "I doubt he would care."

"Oh I don't know about that…" Greg turned to leave but then stopped. He didn't turn around as he said, "…we will get whoever killed your friend."

"I never had any doubt about that." Molly sighed resignedly. "I have Sherlock on my side; what could go wrong?"

SHERLOLLY***SHERLOLLY***SHERLOLLY

Later that day, when John got back to the flat after running a few errands, he found Sherlock pointing something at the wall.

POP!

"SHERLOCK! STOP IT!" John screamed over the popping of the handgun in the consulting detective's hands. He rushed to his friend's side. "Why are you shooting up the wall? You can't be bored!"

"I'm not bored!" POP! POP! POP! "Do you happen to notice what is attached to my gun?" He whipped the gun in front of John.

"A silencer. That's nice. What's the point?"

Sherlock looked at John as if John were a space alien who'd just informed Sherlock the reason for his visit to earth was to mate with him. "What's the point? I think you've been hanging out at the Tesco far too long. Why haven't you asked Ms. Morstan out already?" John's mouth opened with indignation but he slapped it shut. "I'm testing gun patterns…"

"Bull shit. It's a good try but you're a lot more transparent than you think. No, you're pissed off about Molly staying with Greg." Sherlock turned his back on John with a huff. "Makes you wonder what they will be doing to get to know each other better, doesn't it? I wonder if her bedroom is across the hall from his…" Sherlock sent John a death glare then turned back to the wall. John's head cocked to the side. "…and she has been through a very traumatic day. She will probably have nightmares. Do you think that when she has them he'll go to her room and comfort her? And just what kind of comfort do you think he'll provide?"

Sherlock's hand gripped and un-gripped the gun. "We need ballistics on the gun that killed Georgie Callivario thirteen years ago." Sherlock's voice had lowered to a menacing tone. Even John knew it was time to quit the goading. "See if it matches the gun found on the guy in Molly's flat."

"Do you think it will match?"

"No but it must be eliminated."

"What makes you so sure Molly's intruder isn't Falcon?"

"John must I really walk you through everything? You're concentrating more what you think is there with Molly than the case. Why do you think I avoid this sort of thing?" Sherlock stepped closer to the wall to examine the holes. "The one who orders the hit never does the dirty work. Why do you think they have henchmen? Or contract killers? They can't afford to be directly implicated in anything. But we need to search ballistics imaging from around the world. There is a chance that if we can find where this gun has been used, we could, possibly, track down who the gun belongs to."

"But according to what you just said it won't be Falcon." John said, stepping closer to the wall. "How do gun patterns and striations help this case? Michelle Livingston was strangled."

"I would have hoped, by now, that you had realized I'm not concentrating on a lowly housewife." John looked at Sherlock in horror. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes in response. "I think you know what I mean. Michelle Livingston is a small fish in a huge fishbowl of criminal behavior." John's eyebrow rose at the analogy but he didn't say anything. "When we discover who this Falcon is, we discover who murdered her, obviously. And we discover why she was murdered. John…" Sherlock took a moment for John to acknowledge the seriousness in his countenance. "…I want him. I want to know who Falcon is and how he has eluded everybody for so long. He's not Moriarty..."

"He is, in some ways. He's ruthless and willing to do whatever he wants to serve his purpose. Only he's not crazy jealous of you."

Sherlock's head cocked. "You are right. Falcon seems very detached. He doesn't want glory for what he does because he understands that anonymity is his best friend. Moriarty had a raging ego problem. And, in some ways, that makes Falcon even more dangerous and that much more elusive." Sherlock looked back at the wall. "John, if your Keyser Soze analogy is correct, he will need to stay mythical." Sherlock turned to John, still holding the gun. "And myths don't walk up and present themselves for your perusal."

"In the movie Keyser Soze never contacted anybody himself. He used his lawyer to do his dirty work." John looked back at his roommate, friend and fellow crime fighter. "I think we need to determine just how many crimes that gun was used in. Then find the shooter and glean more information about who hired him and how it was done."

"Lovely thought John but exactly how will you get them to talk to us? I suspect he wouldn't be too eager to have tea and 'shoot the breeze', as Americans would say. Besides, don't you think the police tried to locate the bullet thirteen years ago?" Sherlock's question wasn't one of provocation. He truly wanted John's opinion.

"Perhaps but, then, they could have written it off as a bad guy bumping off another bad guy, thereby ridding the world of the scum, and left it alone."

Sherlock nodded. "That seems possible. It is the untamed Midwest, home of Wyatt Earp and Jesse James."

"You aren't one to subscribe to stereotypes Sherlock. You hate them."

"Perhaps." Sherlock paused and dropped the gun on the sofa on his other side. The sofa's arm exploded with a POP!

"HOLY…!" John's expletive was muffled as he hit the floor. They heard a scream and a thump and the men turned to see a woman crouching in the doorway, her hands covering her head, a fresh bullet hole at the top of the doorway. John was the first to respond, jumping up and running to the frightened woman. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." The woman shakily responded. She stood up and regarded the two men, wringing her hands to calm her nerves. "Is this how you treat all your prospective clients?"

"As a matter of fact that was …" Sherlock said, turning his back to the woman, dramatically flaring his dressing gown at what John assumed to be a pompous, bratty attempt at intimidation. The woman clearly wasn't intimidated. She was rapidly calming and was now evaluating her new surroundings. "A test."

"And how did I do?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at her and John, rolling his eyes, turned to the woman. "Please ignore him. Sherlock is working through a rather difficult puzzle at present."

"Not difficult John just out of my reach. So many variables I cannot manipulate…"

"Manipulate?" The woman asked. She watched the detective with brilliant blue eyes that contrasted nicely with her ginger hair. Sherlock studied her for a moment. The woman was perhaps a few pounds overweight but on the tall side, around 5'10". She wore a very stylish and slimming skirt suit and a royal blue silk blouse unbuttoned dangerously low, hugging her generous bosom. Given the cut of the suit, the expense of her simple jewelry and the haute couture look of her shoes, this woman was wealthy with a very impressive eye for understated and definitely conservative fashion. Her wedding ring was very clean but not new so she was happily married. And her breasts were real. That gave Sherlock a moment of confused ire. Since when did he pay attention to womanly parts? Since he'd spent some quality time with Molly's? "Detectives aren't supposed to manipulate the variables of a case."

"Oh don't mind him…" John said. "Sherlock doesn't have access to all the information he needs and it is killing him."

"No it's not." The subject in question snapped at the man.

"Anyway…" John said and looked back at the woman. "I am Dr. John Watson and he is…"

"Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I know."

John's eyebrow, and curiosity, rose but he didn't say anything. "What can we help you with Miss…?"

"Missus Abigail Turner." Abigail pulled an envelope from her bag but kept it to her side. "I received a letter in the post today…"

"Really? Congratulations. You must be somebody special…" Sherlock snapped.

Abigail ignored the swipe. "I believe I am being watched as a target."

"A target? A target for what?"

"I have no idea. I have a high profile job but nothing that would warrant something like this." She leaned against the wall but John took her arm and gently helped her to a chair in the middle of the room.

"Let me fix you some tea Mrs. Turner." John said, going to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"What is your profession?" Sherlock asked as he took the seat beside the woman.

"I'm a fashion designer." She pulled out her card and showed it to him. Even Sherlock had heard of the brand.

"You're the owner of Winthrop and Wallace?"

Abigail nodded. "One of them. I'm Winthrop. My business partner is Wallace."

"Is that your maiden name?"

"No. It's my married name. I use my maiden name in public."

And as much as he didn't want to admit it, Sherlock was impressed with this woman. It was clear she was smart, which lent to her credibility and his decision to actually listen to her. However, she still didn't seem like the type of person to receive such a letter, which only made this case that much more intriguing. Sherlock folded his hands together under his chin and regarded the woman. "Are you sure the letter is legitimate?"

Abigail shrugged. "Whether it is or it isn't, it's quite worrisome. Whoever sent that to me doesn't sound as if they have all their faculties with them if you catch my meaning."

Sherlock's ears perked and he locked eyes on the letter sitting in the woman's lap. "How did you hear about us Mrs. Turner?"

"My husband is a work colleague of Molly Hooper's. And I am a personal friend of hers as well." She looked up and smiled charmingly at John who smiled dopily at her. Sherlock simply eyed the woman who suddenly gasped. Abigail looked at Sherlock. "Wait… does this have to do with Molly?"

Sherlock was surprised to hear that question. "What makes you say that?"

Abigail eyed the man Molly called 'the master of deduction'. She had been very impressed; she'd never met somebody as smart and alert as he was. And she'd met a lot of people in her journeys. "The way you reacted to my mentioning of Molly. You perked up there."

John set down the tea service on the table in front of the others and waved his hand dismissively. "That's only because he's in love with her. He perks up like a love-sick puppy at the mention of her name."

"JOHN!" Sherlock roared and the woman snorted rather unladylike.

"I'm sure Molly would be thrilled to hear that." Neither man could ascertain whether that statement was sarcastic or not. Abigail finally handed the envelope to Sherlock. "Read it for yourself and determine whether it's legitimate or not."

Sherlock eyed her with impatience before he stood up and took the letter to the window for better light. He took a few moments to study the envelope. "There's nothing particularly unusual or different about this envelope." He held it up to the light, turning it this way and that. He then extracted the folded letter but kept his eyes on the envelope. "It looks to be an ordinary security envelope, one that could be purchased at any discount shop." He then opened the letter and something fell out, fluttering to the ground. John gasped and Sherlock said, "Hmmm…" Leaning over he picked it up and held it in the light. "I'll take the case." Sherlock muttered, studying the falcon feather in the light.

A/N: Thank you again for reading! I appreciate it!