What's new:

I'm thinking of changing my penname. There's supposed to be a poll on my profile, but it won't show up. But I want it to be 'FollowedByImplosion'.

I'm writing an original thing too. So now my time is divided.

I still have nine exams to go. So time is even more divided.

Apparently this isn't what my parents bought my laptop for. So I'm going to be writing less now. Sad face.

And what I mean by point no.4 is that I'll be doing lots of this at school. So I'll only manage about two hours writing a day.

BUT THERE IS GOOD NEWS; summer holidays in a few weeks! So I can do much writing! A ten hour plane flight is always useful.

Except whenever I turn my internet off for plane journeys, it magically turns itself back on every time I start the damned thing up. So it's not really safe for planes.

And my MSWord expires on 2nd July.

Okay, in short; Lots of exams, thinking of changing my penname, and missing the reviews. But enjoy this chapter, and chances are I'll put another one up in a week. Well, exam stress should be gone by then, so it's almost definite.

And some of this chapter was written based on an idea from my friend, 'SherWhoHead'. Enjoy. :D

'John won't understand anything we're saying.' Adele had only just realised this herself. Why hadn't Sherlock told John about this?

'Oh yes. John, Hammet's out, and riddles.' Adele almost started laughing when John's expression of complete confusion turned into one of utter shock. How normal he was. Sherlock had simply strolled into the kitchen to… whatever.

'What… When? How? Why?' John was actually quite funny when he was stuttering.

'No idea for either of those questions.'

'Helpful.'

Back at Baker Street. Adele had quite literally thrown herself onto the sofa as soon as she got back. Big mistake. Apparently broken ribs didn't just heal on their own. Huh. John had been glancing at her pretty much every five seconds ever since, which was annoying. Then again, everything was suddenly very annoying.

'What?'

For what seemed to be the five hundredth time that day, Adele caught John watching her. Every time she asked him why, he muttered 'nothing' and looked away.

'What, John?'

Once again, he muttered some sort of nonsense, and went back to the paper.

'John, spit it out.'

He still ignored her. What was the point?

'John, say it before I throw something at you.'

John put the paper down, and leaned forwards, looking serious. Oh joy.

'Have you been diagnosed?'

This confused Adele. 'With what?'

John deliberated before he spoke again. 'Asperger's.'

'What? No, I haven't really thought about it.'

John grabbed a torch from the table and shone it in her eyes. Adele jumped away, almost falling over.

'Don't blind me, you idiot! What does that determine?'

'People with Asperger's are sensitive to light. I was testing it.'

'By blinding me? John, if you shine a light in my face, I'm going to react!'

'Yeah, but most people don't yell.'

'Well, I don't like bright lights. So?'

'You're fascinated by guns. And reflex actions.'

'Interesting subjects.'

'You can't empathize, you don't care about having friends, and you refuse to make eye contact. You're pretty insensitive; your behaviour is repetitive and abnormally focused. You can memorise anything, provided that you find it interesting, you take stuff literally. You have a highly developed vocabulary, but you don't understand figurative language. You understand the idea of teasing and humour, but you react badly to it. You can recognise patterns easily; you don't like loud sounds or intense lights, and probably have one of the most messed up sleep patterns I've ever come across.'

Sherlock had appeared in the doorway, unheard. Adele had realised that it was him instantly. John couldn't speak that fast. She glared at him.

'Thanks for your input. Look, I don't care; I'm more interested in-'

'And now you avoid the subject. And I've got another point.'

'Oh joy. What?'

'You won't work with anyone you don't recognise, even from Scotland Yard.'

'You do that! And anyone working for Scotland Yard is an idiot. If you think I'm going to work with an idiot, you're mad. I have enough trouble putting up with you and John.'

'I'm a sociopath, we established that ages ago. Now, prove me wrong.'

'I can't. You... Look, what does it matter?'

'It doesn't, but we were on the subject.'

'Then why are we still discussing it?'

John looked conflicted. 'Adele, I'm sorry if-'

'No, you didn't upset me. People have said stuff that's way worse. Besides, it isn't insulting to ask. It is if you make fun of it, though.'

'Look me in the eye and say that.'

'No. I'm bored now.' Adele decided that at this point, retreating to the land of headphones and her computer would probably be a good idea. Preferably in her room. Chances of getting away without being questioned were pretty small at the moment though. So she would have to either put up with it or stay where she was and hope that John didn't speak again.

Not that she was annoyed. No. More agitated. The absence of suspicious activity and Hammet being… well, silent, there wasn't exactly much to do. Lestrade was also being quiet. And Sherlock had been composing. This would be absolutely fine, except for the minor issue of the quality of Sherlock's playing. On several occasions, even John had grimaced at the dodgy notes and the slips o the bow. Adele had seriously debated going out, but she couldn't be bothered, and then she'd be given a lecture about something or other. More trouble than it was worth.

So maybe Adele was annoyed. Eliza was being silent too. Just as well. So, to recap: Hammet was after almost everyone she knew, and everything relied upon Adele solving some probably impossible riddles. What could possibly go wrong?

'So you told Lestrade, right?' Adele had been meaning to ask Sherlock this. Thankfully he had stopped composing now.

'Yes.'

'Wait, you told him before me?' John asked. Oh. Maybe sparking a lovers tiff right now wasn't the best idea.

'Had too. Matter of importance.'

'I think that-'

'If it makes you feel better, John, you are important. But I don't think that's the point. I was going to make a point.'

'Go on then.' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'He's on his way here.'

'How do you know? How did I not know?' A terrified Sherlock was quite funny. Probably one of the funniest things Adele had ever seen.

'He texted me.' It was almost impossible to keep a straight face. Sherlock scowled. He checked his phone, frowning.

'He didn't text me.'

'Shame.' Adele yawned. 'I should have taken a picture, your face was priceless.' Even John was trying not to snigger. 'Jealous?' Sherlock shook his head. Yeah right.

'Did he say why?'

'No. He never says why until he gets here. At which point something bad normally happens. You know the drill.' The doorbell rang downstairs. John, being the type of person he was, went to answer it. Adele raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, who responded with a shrug. Adele caught the words letter and what's he playing at? Drifting up stairs. Letter? What letter? Who was sending letters and why did it have anything to do with them? Lestrade had now followed John into the room, and he actually looked amused. Okay. Considering that Lestrade had been on Hammet's list, and that Lestrade knew about all of that, it was probably sensible to assume that wither Sherlock hadn't told Lestrade that Hammet was after him, or that Lestrade was on drugs. One of the two.

'Short stuff. You've got a letter.'

'Don't call me that. Why did you have to come all the way over here to tell me that?'

'Because it's addressed to Scotland Yard, but it has your name on it, that's why. And what happened last time?'

'Sherlock got a letter and then we had some fun with bombs and Irish maniac. History doesn't always repeat itself, you know. We have yet to see a monarch with seven wives or another Third Reich.'

Lestrade just stared at her. So maybe that wasn't a normal response. Oops. Sherlock was sniggering, and John was frowning.

'I think you should have a look. In case it's anything to do with-'

'Hammet? Seemed like more of a texting person to me. I'll look at it, if it's addressed to me.'

'Good.' Lestrade stood there, as though waiting for something to happen. What did he expect? For her to go now? At nine in the morning? No way.

'Well?' Lestrade was still standing there.

'Well what?' Adele glanced at him. 'I'll be there later.'

'Why not now?'

'Because he,' Adele indicated Sherlock 'Doesn't want me to.'

'Really? And why-?'

'I have my reasons. John can go.' Sherlock grinned, pretty sarcastically at John. 'I'm sure he'd like a bit of time to engage in some normal conversation.'

'But I-' John started to protest. He should really have known better by now.

'Off you two go, have a nice time. We'll be there later.' He practically shoved John and Lestrade out of the door. 'And if either of you open that letter, I'll be seeing you in Bart's morgue.'

'Because we were going to open it anyway!' Lestrade yelled from downstairs. Sherlock waited until they were outside, before almost jumping into the air.

'It begins!'

'And that's good because…?'

'Because it means it ends sooner!'

'You make perfect sense.'

'I know I do.'

'But why is he sending letters?'

'Because you can trace texts. Remember? And calls. So he's slightly clever.'

'No cause for concern, then?'

'Not at all. Although we should probably be careful.

'And to think, this all started because you thought that jumping off a building made perfect sense.'

'I had too.'

'Well I can think of several other solutions to the problem, but you can have it your way, if it stops you from sulking. And why did you make John go with Lestrade?'

'Because I want thinking time. You can be quiet, but John has the amazing ability to interrupt every single important thought going through my brain.'

'Oh. Makes sense.'