This is a bit more of an important chapter that will set up for where we will go next.

Thanks to hannahhobnob, pourquoibella, bored411, 13eyondx, Splendiferous7, JobanaBallack and Guest for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but any OC's and any plot idea's you don't recognize.

Avery's fingers were cramping. She'd been pouring over paperwork all day, every bone in her hand numb from writing, to typing on her phone, and her eyes were developing a strain from reading over small fonts. The solitude in her office was welcomed for once, especially when she wished to be elsewhere whenever she was trapped behind the oak door for eight hours most other nights. It had been nearly a week since her bizarre trip to the Yard that she had shared in with Sherlock, and while she had not heard from the Consulting Detective himself, she had heard from his flatmate. John was constantly keeping her up to date with the on goings of the life of Baker Street. It didn't bother her, in fact, from the brief words of his texts she figured he was in a bit of a rut himself. Something to do with the manifesting tension that had not been resolved since Sherlock's return, but she never pressed him on the matter because she didn't want to get involved. She had her own opinion formed on the matter of course, but it would only rear its head if John was in desperate need to hear it, and so far she did not think it so. Really, she was quite glad he hadn't spoken about much of anything, other than mentioning their new neighbour of course. Garon the forensics photographer, who apparently was an ardent fan of Sherlock's. With his fame reaching new heights, it seemed like everyone was those days.

She'd been given peace from Mycroft, though he had gone through Max to continue to deliver his warnings about being too close to his brother. Clearly she was being watched. They still had their own operation to be doing that had nothing to do with detective work, and she knew she had to get her priorities sorted though. Yeah right, easier said than done.

A knock at her door disrupted her brooding, and she called with her permission for the person to enter. She blinked in surprised as Max limped his way on his walking stick through the threshold of her office, a thoughtful look present on his face once he closed the door and took a seat before her.

"This is brief, but we need to talk." He started as he settled his walking stick against the desk, linking his hands together as he rested his chin down on his interlocked fingers.

"Shouldn't I have come to your office then?" She asked, finding the situation to be confusing because it broke their routine of how things were done.

"I needed the walk," He spared a dry chuckle, indicating to his numb leg with a callous shrug. "I'll be frank. The brother of our friend is starting to become a problem."

"Sherlock?" She confirmed, finding it to be a strange coincidence that her previous thoughts had also been centred on the Consulting Detective. "What's he done this time?"

"Wendi came to me earlier, saying that he had contacted her for a task with the case." He was sporting a grim look which she shared with after processing his words.

"And she said yes." She finished for him without him actually having to speak.

"Of course she did. You know how she is."

"Did you say anything to Mycroft about it?"

"Yes, over the phone. He was already aware of what his brother was doing of course," Max straightened in his seat, as if preparing what he had to say next. "It's a small concern that he is starting to get too close to what we have going on here. Mycroft is under the impression that you are the cause."

Avery made almost no reaction, save for the little twitch of her nose as her brows rose on her forehead in surprise. "Really, why does he think that?"

"Because you've let them get too close to you."

She felt soured by Max's words, his judging opinion sounding like he was comparing the situation to a moth to a flame. Sure, she could admit she was captivated, but she wasn't about to let either party burn for it. "And he's really so innocent in all of this? The only reason Sherlock is curious is because he has seen me with Mycroft. Our relationship is a puzzle for him. Mycroft has vaguely explained how he is with Sherlock, how they are similar in the fact that they do not form relationships with other people, normal boring people like us. John Watson is the first exception to this, but as far as Sherlock is aware, Mycroft has yet to make friends with anyone, so he wants there to be a reason at the end of the line so he has something to figure out."

"But Avery, you don't fall under the category of normal, not completely at least." Max warned. "There is something to figure out at the end of this, and I assume it is not to be revealed under any circumstance."

"Mycroft won't let that happen," She dismissed with a demurred frown. "He can't let that happen . . ."

Max pinned her with a sharp look. "You would know more about that than I do."

"Feeling left out?" She quipped.

"Not even a little bit," Max assured with a smirk. "I think you should speak to Wendi about this. She is going to leave early to go to their flat tonight. I'm letting you leave early too, because you know she will go through with whatever Sherlock has asked of her, and you need to be there to know the full details. You are still more experienced, and it might put Mycroft at ease to know you went along."

Why was it that everything she had to do was to pacify Mycroft Holmes these days? Avery felt her hands shake with nervousness, something she fought to get a tight hold over as she spoke thinly. "Fine, but after this case is finished, we have to make a clean break from Sherlock and John."

"Mycroft will expect nothing less," Max stated simply. "Will you be able to do that though? You seem attached to both the doctor and the detective."

"Consulting Detective," She corrected, her response natural and without discretion. "And it means nothing. They don't even know me Max."

He looked at her sadly. "Avery, I don't even know you, not truly."

"There isn't much to tell," She stood from her desk, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair as she readied to find Wendi. Before seeking the girl out, she caught Max's gaze, his expression unwavering as he waited. "I am sorry about that though. This situation is unfair for you, and I understand that with a lot of regret."

"No, it is fair, I agreed to do it," He disputed humbly. "What about you Avery?"

Her stare was as blank as a summer sky in the early morning, still fresh from the dew of night. She blinked rapidly and was headed out the door, leaving Max to lock up and show himself back to his own office without an answer to his question. The riotous sounds of the club could be heard through the thick hallway door, the only barrier between her and the other people. It was a weeknight, hardly a large crowd present, yet busy enough for her to keep questioning what else these people could be doing besides coming to 'Vicarious' night after night. They had their usual patrons, familiar faces that had made a routine out of making an appearance. It was usually a cause for concern if someone was to break their habit, but then again, she was only keeping an eye on a handful of particular individuals, the ones that mattered for their cause.

She traveled down the back hallway to the staff lounge, going through the door just in time to spy Wendi at her locker, grabbing her coat while fumbling with her over-sized handbag.

"Oh dammit." She cussed under her breath.

"Wendi," Avery called for her attention, and the girl looked up in surprise before guilt bled all over her features like spilt ink on paper. "Off already then?"

"Max gave me permission." She promised hurriedly.

"Oh I know, I have a few questions about that, which I'm sure you can answer in the cab as we make our way over to Baker Street."

"He told you already?!" Wendi whined someone with a pout, though still managing to keep her composure. "Doesn't he trust me? It's not like anything bad will happen."

"Wendi, it's not that we don't trust you, but you should know Sherlock well enough from reading the blog that he can figure out the most hidden lie with but at glance at a person. Keep your guard up, or else you'll be the one dealing with Mycroft should a mistake be made."

"It's not like the rest of us are on the same level as you," Wendi shot back before looking ashamed by her flippant remark. Avery couldn't help but think that shame was misplaced. Wendi was like anyone else involved; she didn't know anything more about Avery than the next person, so she had nothing to feel regret over. "I'm sorry. I appreciate your concern, but you know I am quite capable."

"Oh I know that, there was never any doubt," Avery told her with a small amount of praise hidden in her tone. "But I am head of security, and I have to stick to that duty."

"So does that mean you are in on the case too?"

"I already am involved," From giving up Taylor's medical records to going to the Yard, she could say with certainty that she was already an intricate part of the case; might as well bury herself further into the part. "But once we find and bring Taylor's killer to justice, this stops. No more contact with Mycroft Holmes' brother or his doctor."

"I suspected," Wendi said as she scrunched up her nose and pulled a face. "Don't know if they'll leave you alone though. You have more secrets than anyone here, and that's just what he wants."

While Avery already realized that, to be told it so candidly was like a splash of cold water to her face. "What makes you think that they won't stop?"

"He mentioned you briefly when I texted him over the phone. Not by name mind you."

Avery frowned, drowning in concern over what that could mean. "He did? What did he say?"

"Only that he knew you would end up coming with me. It's kind of hard to distinguish tone over typed words though," Wendi said as she shut her locker. The metal door closed with a sharp clank echoing through the room. Avery tugged a little tighter at her coat, suddenly feeling a draft ripple through the material of her clothes that rattled through to her bones. "Should we go then?"

"Why didn't you just say no Wendi? It would have been easier for everyone." Avery said as she started her way towards the door with Wendi following, the clicking of her tall heels scuttling after her across the tiled floor.

"I want to help for Taylor. She was my friend, and she was yours too."

"No, I don't have friends," Avery said flatly, though it caused her head to buzz with emotions when she thought of the dead girl. "And I did my part to help, he knows now about the killer. If you had said no, the case would still be solved by Sherlock's own means. Neither you nor I can make that difference."

One sidelong glance at Wendi and she could tell the woman had more of an argument left in her, but she ran out of steam as they stopped at the back door where Brendan was waiting.

"Heading out boss?" He asked as he grabbed the door for them with one quick look at Wendi.

"Yes, to Baker Street," She answered tersely. "You're in charge until I get back. If I'm late, make sure someone leaves with Max."

"Of course."

His loyalty was appreciated by her. There was so few people left in the world that came close to the meaning of reliable, and Avery liked to think because of the way her life had ended up, that she was fortunate to witness such small miracles. Trustworthy; she had almost forgotten what it meant until Mycroft. Maybe not always the man himself (she knew him to hide the truth), but he had introduced her to a life where that was still an important piece, and she was always grateful towards anything positive.

Once she was settled in the back of a cab with Wendi, she let her thoughts stray. The feeling that a change was about to happen had been following her around like a lost dog, and she had not been able to shake it since it began. She'd been through enough changes to last her a lifetime, but unfortunately she was also too privy to when those things were about to occur, and she resigned herself to the heavy feeling in her stomach. It was like stones thrown to the bottom of a pot, and she could sense the numbness sinking in. She hated change, but she could at least be prepared for it.

John stared at the bottom of his tea cup with a thoughtful frown. It had nothing to do with the object being empty, but he was plagued with a case of wanting to jabber, and it couldn't have come at a worse time because he couldn't do anything about it with Sherlock mostly ignoring him and the room. Mostly mind you, he was still sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace with Lucy walking in circles around him. John had to tip his hat to the feline; she was consistent, like an arm of a clock continuously going around and around, nothing stopping her path, not even Sherlock's long limbs. For the first while it had been a comical sight, but John found himself wanting a different view after watching that spectacle for nearly three quarters of an hour. That had found him finishing his tea and staring into the cup in dismay, as if it would give him all of the answers. He wasn't even sure if Sherlock would listen, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"She's going to be angry you know."

Sherlock blinked, breathing out a quiet exhale before his eyes shifted to him. "Who?"

At least he was semi listening, and it wasn't the case of him being in his Mind Palace again. "Avery. She's going to be annoyed that you went behind her back to do this, and frankly I can see why."

"Oh that," His interest in the conversation was minimal, and John was afraid he had already lost him again. "What is the issue if it's only her employee?"

John didn't even have an answer to that, and that gave Sherlock a small victory. Despite having conversed with Avery for a few weeks of being acquainted with her now, he still knew absolutely nothing about her, but he was going on a strong hunch that she cared about those girls employed at her club. She was head of security, it was only natural for her to feel an attachment after a prolonged time; John knew he would if he was in her shoes.

Getting agitated with his flatmate, he stood from his chair and bent at the knees to pick up Lucy before she could complete her one hundred and twenty-seventh lap around Sherlock. Sadly he had been counting, even from his peripheral vision after he had chosen to look away, and it had reminded him of when he had been keeping track of the many obscene moans that had come from Sherlock's phone so long ago. He carried the squirming cat to the door to the flat, dropping her out in the hallway before shutting the door again. It was rare these days for Lucy to actually share in their space. She seemed quite comfortable at Garon's—much to Sherlock's chagrin. He had a childish attachment to the animal, and John suspected the only reason Lucy had been upstairs in their flat was because Sherlock had brought her there.

"Well, get dressed, or at least straighten yourself out so you look presentable. There is a small chance we will be entertaining two guests."

"Entertaining, no, not my area, I shall leave that to you," Sherlock said, sitting up as he fussed with the strings of his dressing gown. "And you'd best have tea made for two. Avery will be arriving with Ginger."

"Wendi," John interjected. "Please, if you're going to use the woman for the case, at least get her name right."

Sherlock said nothing, appearing unfazed, and John wasn't certain if he would take to the suggestion. "Thought you must have been hopeful John, dressing like that. Pressed trousers, a new jumper and—" Sherlock stopped to inhale deeply before continuing. "Oh my dear blogger, you should have spent the extra and gone with the Calvin Klein."

John thought his eye might start twitching after that embarrassing deduction, but he managed a small grimace instead. "Should I write up in my blog that in your private time you are a cat enthusiast, and are knowledgeable in the finer things such as men's cologne? Many people out there are dying to know the real you."

"Not a cat enthusiast, I much prefer dogs," He said with a hint of disgust, but at the prospect of cats, or for his intrusive fans wanting to know about him was unclear to John. "And the properties in many fragrances have much to reveal in the science of how men and women respond to each other in a sexual manner."

He started to ramble about how once a case had come down to the small detail of the woman's perfume, and that had he had more insight on the subject then, he could have solved the case in half the time. John smiled at the passion behind Sherlock's eyes whenever he spoke of such things, and that same magic he had felt the first day when meeting him was still near and dear in his heart.

"To end all of that, I would just like to say that I don't fancy Avery. I didn't think it would hurt to try and get back into the dating pool however." John said, missing the company of a woman as of late.

"Dating pool; idiotic term."

"Well the way you say it, you'd think I was talking about the cesspool," John said with a chuckle before there was an interrupting knock at the front door downstairs. Mrs. Hudson was aware they would be having company, so John didn't immediately leave to go greet them, and he was relieved that Sherlock had finally stood up off the floor and returned to his chair. His hair was in bad need of a comb, and he hadn't bothered changing from his pajamas or his dressing gown, making him look like he hadn't left the flat in days. That was not far from the truth of course, but John doubted Avery or her friend would be put off by that, even if it did make him look like he was aspiring to be the next Howard Hughes. Hearing a knock come from their own door, he quickly went to answer it. "Hello again."

"Hello Doctor Watson," Wendi greeted with a beaming smile that was almost too bright for his eyes. She might have used those teeth whitening strips, or maybe it had to do with the bright red lipstick she had painted on her mouth. She stumbled in on tall halls, and on an embarrassing note, made John realize he would be the shortest one in the flat that night. "Such a cozy little place you have here."

"Thank you," The flat was in disarray, and was a pigsty at best, but he took the polite compliment with grace. "Hello Avery."

He welcomed the other woman as she closed the door behind her, surprised at how comfortable he was around her presence in such a short window of knowing her. "Hi John."

At that moment, John wished for just a second that he had Sherlock's powers of deduction. Her response had been so lackluster, and he couldn't help but think her eyes looked tired . . . and sad. Like a phantom, she placed her hollow shell soundlessly on the couch beside Wendi, not even offering up a terse argument at Sherlock when he was certain she would have. His flatmate seemed to have been anticipating that to be her first move as well, but he did not share his surprise when she kept her eyes straight ahead to the wall.

John stood in the middle of the room, momentarily frozen as he tried to think of something to say. "Tea anyone?"

Wendi requested a cup, but Avery denied the offer politely while she crossed her legs and rested her hand against the arm of the couch. The flat was suffering from an uncomfortable quiet, but Wendi tried her best effort to get people speaking. Sherlock would not speak until he thought he had to of course, and John didn't think it would take long. The girl was quite agreeable, and her role to play in the case would be small, though nevertheless important if they wanted to finish things before another murder could take place. John of course had initially been completely against Sherlock's idea, as it essentially centred on using Wendi as the bait.

"I'm sorry Avery," John said while he handed Wendi her cup of tea. He received a soft thank you while he took his seat in his chair, waiting for the blonde woman to respond. "We are probably overstepping some line by asking this of Wendi."

"It's fine." Wendi piped up, but from the demur look in Avery's eyes, she didn't appear to agree.

"I don't particularly favour the idea of someone going behind my back and approaching one of my staff to enlist their help in a dangerous case. It makes my job more difficult, and is quite frankly a pain." She finally shot that ill-mannered look on Sherlock that both Doctor and Consulting Detective had been waiting for. It almost was a relief, and John felt he could breathe easy now that all of the egg shell walking could be put to rest. It might have only been him and Wendi doing that, as Sherlock was much too blunt to ever attempt such a thing.

"The only inconvenience would be if I am to repeat myself at anytime. I have no intention of doing so of course, so it would be better for me if everyone were to shut up and let me speak," Sherlock said as casually as if he was discussing the weather. "And please refrain from loud thinking."

"What's loud thinking?" Wendi inquired.

"Something I'm sure you've been blissfully unaware of lo these many years." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

While John had thought Sherlock would give one of those insensitive remarks, the scandalized look on Wendi's face made him think that maybe the woman wasn't as daft as she appeared. If he picked up on that, his flatmate most certainly would too.

"Oh enough," Avery huffed in exhaustion, like a mother scolding her disobedient children. If seems she was on the same page as John, wanting to get through the arduous night with as little hassle as possible. "You plan on using Wendi as your in to the practice, care to explain the thinking in that?"

Sherlock, who was still harbouring a petulant frown for having been reprimanded, brought his legs up on to the chair in a rather undignified manner before continuing to speak. "She's the right demographic for what the murderer is looking for. The three Doctor's at the practice do not have outstanding credentials; not top of their class and not even the highest rated schools did they graduate from. Most of the patients they receive will have identical backgrounds to the other four victims, save for the homeless victim obviously."

"We've done our research on the optometrists." John said, a hint of pride that he had actually been of some help in that area. It was a pleasant feeling to be consulted on matters from the one man who did enough consulting for the rest of the world.

"It is required that I sometimes need to look elsewhere on matters that are outside my level of knowledge. A wide network of people is good to have around in these occurrences. That's why I need . . . you." He said looking at Wendi, her name slipping his mind once again.

"It's Wendi," She supplied for him, no trace of animosity to be found in her voice which caused Sherlock to almost look apologetic unlike the many times he would forget Lestrade's first name. "So how does it work? Will I be going in alone?"

"No, Lestrade will be going with you." John piped up.

"Why not one of you?" Wendi asked with a frown.

"Due to your recent height in fame, a serial killer would be keeping a watchful eye for both of you. He'll expect you to come looking." Avery concluded as she looked to both John and Sherlock for confirmation to her theory.

"Unfortunately," Sherlock murmured with a faint scowl. "However, Lestrade is a suitable replacement. He simply needs to ask the right questions and keep the doctor distracted. He'll be posing as the fiancé."

While Wendi smiled at the prospect of playing such a role, there was still a questions that she seemed to ponder over. "But you said there are three optometrist's? How certain are you that it is the one Taylor went to?"

"He says he has it all figured out," John said with a shrug and a smile. To him, this half plan was fairly decent when compared to past cases where they had gone in with less evidence, yet still managed to come out with a victory. True, having their faces splashed across the media had taken the chase out of some of their work, but Sherlock still found a way to keep him on his toes, and the same thrill had returned to his life, almost as if Sherlock had never left. "We'll still be present at the scene, but we can't enter. What about you Avery, do you have any questions?"

"I have to go now," She said abruptly, causing John's eyes to widen as she rose from the couch while he looked at her. She appeared distraught, and the small gesture of putting her phone back into her coat alluded to the fact that she had received some troubling news that had sent her into a tizzy. She had jumped up faster than a rabbit, as if someone had lit a fire beneath her tail. "I'm sorry I—goodbye."

"Wait, I'll split the fare with you. I don't have enough for a full trip back." Wendi said as she leapt up too, to follow after the woman who had made her way to the door.

Sherlock sat watching the turn of events with all the acute quietness of an owl, his eyes beady and hawk-like. John let him continue to deduce in peace, getting out of his own chair to do his own little investigative work as he offered to walk both women out to the pavement. Avery had been strange and distant throughout the visit, and he would find out what he could before she left.

"Wendi, can you give us a moment?" He asked as they stopped in the cramped area before the front door at the bottom of Baker Street, the entrance filled up by their presence.

"Alright. I guess I'll talk to you before we finish the case," She said, tossing an unsure look at Avery who gave her the nod to leave. "I'll get us a cab.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Avery said as the door closed, leaving her with just him in the hallway. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

"You just seem, I don't know, not like yourself tonight. Maybe I'm over thinking this, but I was worried, and I thought I might lend my ear."

"You're sweet John Watson," She smiled, small but genuine unlike the forced expressions she had been displaying the rest of the evening. Maybe it came from being a doctor, who was he to say, but he always had a way of knowing the signs of someone in pain, be it mental or physical. "I'm alright. Just a bad week. I fly too close to the sun sometimes, and it can get too late to pull back if I'm not careful."

"Sounds like something Sherlock would do," John said with a chuckle, though he could tell he wasn't going to get much more out of her then that. "His two years away is proof of that."

Avery grew somber by his words, looking at her feet as she spoke. "John, it probably isn't my place to say this, but have you considered what Sherlock's two years away from you were like? I know it's easy to evaluate your own pain, but I'm sure his suffering was worse than you think. He put himself on the line out of his friendship with you and the others that were threatened, and you think that was an easy choice?"

He wondered why now was the time she chose to share her opinion about the sore topic. So many times before he had talked with her about Sherlock, dropping small hints that he wanted and needed an outside voice. Maybe he had grown comfortable around the idea that she would never speak it, and he had liked clinging to the thin rope that she would never point out what be had feared was in his heart. In truth, he had thought about what she said often, what Sherlock had endured those two years that they had been separated. Of course his first reaction when Sherlock had returned had been to land a solid punch to his face, and it couldn't be helped, not with how aloof Sherlock had been as he suddenly reappeared in his life. John had done what any normal person would have done, the expected reaction, and it had left him culpable then, and it still did now. Hearing Avery's words, it set off his anger. "You're right, it wasn't your place to say." He said as his features transformed into a frown.

"Then I'll leave it at that." She said with regret colouring her words. "Goodbye John."

Instantly he was filled with shame for his poor reaction, but he didn't try to stop her as he watched her retreating back head out towards the lights of a cab parked at the pavement with Wendi already waiting inside. Without thinking, he quickly tapped a message out on his phone to send to her, asking if she would come to see them for the case with Wendi tomorrow.

'Of course,' was the quick reply, and she didn't even bother to sign her initials which meant she had skimmed reading his text, only bothering with a short answer.

John sighed just as Sherlock's violin broke out into limpid song upstairs, and his feet hit the steps as be trudged up in the direction to his flatmate while the sound grew louder. Sherlock's back was to him as he entered through the door, the bow moving in fluent strokes over his shoulder as he faced the window where the curtains had looked to have been rearranged hastily. "Did you find what you were looking for, or did you ruin the chance." Sherlock asked without stopping.

"Like you don't already know the answer." John huffed as he flopped down on to the couch, pulling the Union Jack pillow into his lap, wanting to squeeze his frustration out on the poor cushion. "What do you think the hurry was all about?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock said as if that should have been obvious. "But this time was different. She was upset, though I commend her efforts of trying to hide it."

"Crying women alarm you?"

"Avery isn't a crying woman. She collects guns, and was a heroin addict." A movement was heard in the downstairs flat, and Sherlock promptly ceased his playing on the violin as his eyes lit up with glee. "Wonderful."

He set down the instrument with care, making sure it was safely put away in its case before he bee-lined for the door. His dressing gown billowed out behind him as he left down the steps, and John was left on the couch, bemused as he looked to where Sherlock had been standing, and then to the door which he had left opened carelessly. He considered following after his flatmate, but no sooner had Sherlock departed downstairs before he heard the thud of footfalls sprinting back up to their flat. Sherlock came back in in a rush, a small brown envelope in his hand while the opened door remained forgotten. John stood and shut it for him, only to find Sherlock had disappeared from the room as he spun around on his heel. He had gone to his bedroom (unlikely for sleep) and John followed, having nothing better to do than find out what his charismatic friend was up to that late.

"Sherlock, what did Garon give you?" He asked aloud so he would be heard.

The reply was muffled. "Another piece for the game."

"What game?" He suppressed a shudder in horror, remembering the last time he had heard that word, it hadn't been pleasant for any of them.

"My game with Mycroft," He remarked offhandedly, his voice coming from behind the bedroom door as John stood beside it. Sherlock was in his room, with the door closed no less, and alarm bells started to go off in John's head. Something was amiss. "I find this case to be a distraction at best, and I will be glad to be rid of it so I can focus on the game."

There it was, that word again that John had come to hate. "Can I at least know a bit about what you are up to?"

The door opened a crack, but Sherlock didn't immediately invite him in as he blocked the orifice with his frame. "Better yet I can show you, though I suspect your reaction will be as predictable as I have it envisioned."

John didn't know what he was getting at until he shouldered his way through the crack in the door, shoving the consulting detective back with some of his military strength. Sherlock kept an impassive face while John openly gaped at what he was seeing. It wasn't as if he had come to know Sherlock's room in great detail, being able to count the number of times he had been in there with his fingers, but he certainly wasn't used to it looking like this. Red string was taped all over the walls like webs, connecting points of interest from pictures he had acquired of Avery that now acted as wallpaper over the dark paint. If it was anyone else, he would have thought it to be a mad sort of shrine from an obsessive stalker, but with Sherlock it went a step beyond that. This was a complete invasion of her privacy. "I . . . what is this . . . why?" John managed to sputter out.

"As you can see, she does often share in visits with my brother," Sherlock said, stepping over his bed as he went over to the far wall, indicating to a picture where Avery was seen talking with Mycroft outside of the Diogenes club. "They're very careful with their conversations though. Must have known I had members of my homeless network listening in on them."

"Sherlock no, this is creepy. You have to get rid of these right now." John argued, coming to his senses. "And how could you drag Garon into this?"

"Quite simple really; I asked and he volunteered. It's as you said; he's quite eager to please."

John couldn't resist rubbing his hand down his face in a sign of exasperation. "You could get him fired from his job at the Yard if someone were to find out you have him employed on the side as your own personal investigator. This is almost the legal definition of stalking."

"Oh he's hardly an investigator. I simply need a visual to draw from as I form my own theories." He traced a line of red string, walking over to a connecting wall as he put up the few new photos he had just received from the downstairs flat. The consequences of the matter didn't seem to bother him, almost as if he was oblivious, and John didn't doubt that Sherlock might have been ignorant to a few of the details that others would perceive as strange. John had half a mind to go down there and yell at Garon, but he unfortunately knew something like this was sure to happen with the way the man had seemed so pleased at the prospect of even living in Baker Street. Much like he did with Molly, Sherlock was quick to jump on the opportunity to exploit that feeling to use to his advantage.

"And your homeless network hasn't heard anything of interest." John said, calming a little as he waited for an explanation.

"Hmm, afraid not. Mycroft has them speak around the desired topic. Quite clever really," John took a moment to look around at some of the photos, spying her boss and her employee's in several other captured moments. "What do you see in these photos John?"

He realized it was one of those tests Sherlock always gave him, where he knew the answer before even asking, but was curious to see if John could come to the same conclusion. In all honesty, John didn't know what he saw. He was a bit out of practice with his observing, and Sherlock had managed to catch him completely off guard with this new hobby of his. "I see Avery."

"Not quite what I was looking for, but not completely incorrect either," He walked back over to John, placing his hands on his shoulders while steering him over to the wall by his bed with force. "If you want to see Avery, I will have to teach you. Pay attention."

"Okay?" John shrugged while focusing on what his flatmate was saying.

"The Avery you have come to know is a ruse. Her personality built around her job title is a lie," His long finger pointed to pictures of Avery coming out from her building. John frowned, not seeing anything different which promoted a sigh from Sherlock. "Her clothing John. Notice her clothing, and the expression on her face."

John did as he said, first noticing the colour of her clothes, much of it bright and feminine unlike the drab black she always had to parade around in for her job. Though she wasn't flashing a smile in many of the photos, he could see an ease from the hardness that was always present in her eyes, and the contrast was now much easier to discern. "Alright, I'll admit I'm curious, even if I think having her followed is wrong. What do you think Mycroft's angle is for keeping her close?"

"A connection to myself. This has started since my return to the public, it cannot be anything else. Where he fails; I succeed," Sherlock said as he sat on his bed, hands folded together under his chin as he thought. "Such great lengths he has gone to hide it."

Sherlock started to mumble quietly to himself while John continued to be amazed at the impressive—though slightly terrifying—experiment he had created for himself. This was the first one not conducted in the kitchen, and the test subject was a living person. John wondered if he should be concerned, but nothing had gotten out of hand yet, so he would remain silent on the sidelines until his intervention was absolutely necessary. "Well, just hope no more little cameras have been placed in your room, otherwise you've already been discovered."

Sherlock grunted in reply as John left him to his Mind Palace. It had been a long day, with much to process, and he needed a good night's rest before they were to wrap up the other case. A lot of things ran through his mind as he walked back into the heart of the flat, mainly about Avery and what she was hiding. A part of himself felt that there was a deep story behind her sadness, and he worried what they would stumble across if they pushed too far, though he suspected Mycroft would intervene long before that would happen. The brothers were still very much children when it came to interacting with one another, and it was territory John had a difficult time inserting himself in because of their high level of genius. He sprawled out onto the couch, tucking the Union Jack pillow under his head as he stared up at the ceiling, finding humor in the reversed situation. Normally it was Sherlock keeping post on the couch, but not tonight. He fell asleep with his phone on his chest, waiting for a message that never came.

So a lot to think about, and I can say with excitement that we will get to know more about Avery now and start on the the slow-romance that many of you are probably wondering where it is. I won't apologize for going slow, I have to be realistic with Sherlock, and I just don't see love at first sight for that guy, nor with Avery. It will be good though once I start, I have many interactions planned for those two.

Next chapter: The conclusion of the first case, and a twist that will definitely leave some people wondering for more. Also, John's first opportunity to talk with Garon about helping Sherlock with the photos.