At last, the last chapter! I do hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks to MapleleafCameo, ITell, Ennui Enigma, Kirsten, jack63kids, Quirkyspirit, Innenlebenaussenwelt, Book Girl Fan, Maggiemacjack, Arty Diane, Hummingbird1759, Elmo98, ConstantlyCold, Marylouleach, Raychaelle Dionzeros, chironsgirl, thedragonaunt, patemalah21, Danara, Sherlockedinmyheart, Jbug and other guests for reading and reviewing – I couldn't do it without you!
Disclaimer: Don't own – never did – would really like to…..Pleeeeease?

After that last episode, Greg Lestrade was on the look-out for Sherlock Bloody Holmes as he walked past the deserted desks to his own office, carefully carrying his coffee. Noticing the door was already open he groaned – that could only mean one thing, that the boy wonder was already here.

Sherlock's eyes followed the Detective Inspector as he walked around his desk and set his coffee carefully down before taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat stand.

"I'm sure you have a very good reason to be here," he said "but do you really have to break into my office at a time when most sane people are still in bed?"

"Yeah, tell me about it!" John muttered, not quite under his breath. Greg threw a grin in his direction.

"Get you up early, did he?"

"You have no idea," the doctor sighed.

"And I think you'll be interested to know that we have some connections for you!" Sherlock pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. "I've made enquiries from shipping agents at all the ports, to see if any shipments have come into the country for Carson Importers Ltd – what when and where – and I've sent a request to Companies House for more detailed information about the company itself…or rather, you have."

"Right, okay. And once we have…..hang on – I have? What d'you mean, I have?"

"Well they are hardly likely to respond quickly to any request I make, so I emailed them from your computer."

Greg gaped at him, speechless, and switching on his computer saw several messages in the 'sent' box that were timed at

"6am? You've been here since 6am?"

"Actually he talked his way in past the officers on the front door at around 5.45." John explained calmly. "Seriously Greg, we know he's good, but hacking your system and typing e-mails takes a little time."

"I could have done it that fast if I wanted to." Sherlock huffed.

"That's hardly the point." John pointed out.

"Well what was the point?"

"Not arguing, Sherlock. Behave or I'm sodding off back home to bed. I've been up for hours already and not had nearly enough sleep lately!"

Looking up from the e-mails, Greg glanced at the two men bickering in his office. He was going to make a sarcastic remark, but he looked at John's face and something he saw there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, stopped him. Instead he looked questioningly at the ex-army doctor.

John looked calmly back at him, the merest hint of a frown in his eyes.

"I don't know, Greg. Something feels wrong, it's like overkill. Everything they have done has been too much, too vicious if you like, for it to be just another attempt at making a quick profit on substandard goods."

"And you think…?"

"I don't know, it just doesn't feel right." John shook his head.

Greg looked from him to Sherlock, but the younger man just shrugged. Seeing their puzzlement John smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Take no notice, I'm probably just tired."

"Yes, you are John, but you've been tired before, and it doesn't usually make you twitchy"

"Twitchy?" John grinned suddenly. "With your command of the English language the best you can come up with is twitchy?"

Sherlock chose to ignore the jibe and turned back to Greg.

"If we can catch them in the act…"

"Since when do you care about smuggling and fake designer clothing?" Greg scoffed

"Since they tried to kill us," Sherlock replied quietly "and since John's natural awareness for dangerous situations has made him…" he quirked an eyebrow at his friend "twitchy."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

By mid-morning the two directors of Carson Importers Ltd were standing in a warehouse carefully inspecting the contents of container BCA1887N. A slow smile spread over Peter Carson's face.

"This should net us close to five hundred grand!" he rubbed his hands together "A fair profit for one shipment don't you think Gav?"

"And if this goes well there's plenty more where it came from!" Matthieson agreed. "What about Holmes, though? Has he got anything on us?"

"Nah, if he had I would have heard about it by now. And there is nothing to link us to Phillips' death – as far as the filth are concerned it's most likely a grudge, a falling out of thieves." His lip curled disdainfully "The man was an idiot. He should have finished that bloody Watson bloke off when he had the chance, instead of running scared." Carson waved a hand as if to close the discussion. "Right, we have the orders in place for this stuff, let's get the lads in to load up the vans, sort the paperwork, and get this stuff out of here as soon as possible."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xox

Sherlock, John and Greg Lestrade had papers laid out across the meeting room table. Information had been coming in thick and fast about Carson Importers Ltd and they were fast building up a picture of the new network that, rather like a phoenix, was rising from the ashes of Akaids once mighty empire.

Sally Donovan had – much to her disgust – been brought in to chase down leads and track the information coming from the shipping agents. She was sure it was John's idea of revenge, and so the next fax that came through to her was slapped on the table in front of him, with as much force as she could get away with. Her dramatic gesture missed its mark though, and not just because John was used to Sherlock's theatrical flouncing.

John's eye was drawn immediately to the shipping manifest and he stood, staring at the words on the paper, a look of extreme concentration on his face.

"Found something?" Sherlock asked, seeing his friend's expression. John slid the paper towards him, and Greg leaned over his shoulder to get a look at it.

"Mean something?" the Detective Inspector asked.

"This Vodka, twenty one thousand bottles of Sobiesk Estate, it's all wrong."

Sherlock's interest heightened.

"Why?" he asked

"Look at the address of the distillery –Italy. Not possible."

"They all use fake Russian names these days!" Sally piped up from the doorway.

"No, Sally, not this particular Vodka. This stuff retails at around £24 a bottle, is made in Poland and is one of their premier brands." He glanced at Sherlock, a sad half smile on his face. "I should know, my sister used to buy it by the crate."

Sally looked startled, as did Greg, but Sherlock just gave a slight nod, acknowledging his friend's greater knowledge and looked again at the manifest.

"Vodka from Italy?"

"They make it all over the place these days – even America." John stared off into the distance. "They were taking one hell of a chance, I mean, what if the paperwork had crossed the desk of someone who knew about Vodka? They'd have been seriously screwed."

Greg skewed the paper and scribbled on a notepad in his hand, then ripped the sheet out and handed it to his Sergeant.

"I want a large scale map of this area, and a confirmed time that the container left Felixstowe," as Sally turned away he looked at the detective and the doctor, leaning his hands on the table and letting out a gusty sigh. "If that's cheap booze under a premium label, they'll want to shift it quickly."

Sherlock and John nodded agreement.

"I propose we put a team together and raid the warehouse, now, before they have time to move it out. We have enough evidence here to get a warrant."

"You'll take firearms trained officers?" John asked quietly

"I think so," Greg agreed. "It'll take a little time to get it together…."

"Right, we'll leave you to it then!" Sherlock straightened up suddenly from his scrutiny of the papers on the table. "Come on John."

"Wait a minute…"

"No, really Inspector, you know there is no way the Chief Superintendent would sanction us being involved."

Greg looked both astounded and disbelieving. "And you're just going to walk away?"

Sherlock smiled suddenly.

"Of course not, we'll meet you there." He said as he walked out of the door, John hot on his heels.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Four unmarked police cars, each carrying four officers, slid quietly into the kerbside and Lestrade jumped out to talk to the two men, hidden by the large 'To Let' sign beside the empty industrial unit.

"Two vans went in about thirty minutes ago," Sherlock said as the older man approached.

"And I've done a tour round the building," John smiled as he caught Greg's startled expression "keeping out of sight, of course! There are the two van drivers, a couple of teenagers helping with the loading, Akaid or whatever he calls himself these days, and one other – I'm guessing that's Gavin Matthieson. There's no vehicle access at the back, just a door into the building."

"Right" Lestrade turned to his officers, "I want two cars manned and ready in case they try to make a run for it with the vans, everyone else, with me."

"Me and Sherlock will take the back"

"Okay," Greg thought for a moment, then "Sally, you'd better go too."

"But, Sir…"

"Really Lestrade," Sherlock huffed, "We don't need…"

"It's that or I cuff you to the car." Greg was adamant. "If it all goes tits up I don't want to have to explain it either to the powers that be or your bloody brother!"

Sherlock and Donovan glared at each other, but remained silent. John straightened himself up, gave a sharp nod, and started walking away from the milling police officers, leading the other two along the same route he had taken earlier.

Taking up a sheltered position where they could see the back of the warehouse, Sally radioed their readiness to Lestrade. They watched as Greg and the remaining six officers walked towards the building.

Inside the warehouse, Matthieson was the first to spot their unwanted guests. With a shouted warning to 'clear out, now!' he bolted through the building, closely followed by his co-director.

The two teenagers tried to rush out through the front, but a cry of "Armed police! Stand still!" stopped them in their tracks. Moving carefully, not putting himself between the armed officers and the terrified boys, Lestrade moved forward.

At the back of the building, Matthieson and Carson burst through the doors, only to be grabbed, and in Carson's case, spun round and slammed against the wall, by John and Sherlock. Sherlock held Matthieson in a full-Nelson, while John opted to throw his prisoner face down on the concrete and held him there with a knee in the small of his back.

"Just give me an excuse to break your back, you vicious bastard!" he hissed in the man's ear, removing a gun from the man's pocket and stowing it in his own as Sally approached.

"Peter Carson, or should I say Pierce Akaid?" she leant down as she spoke, and 'cuffed him. "I'm arresting you on suspicion of smuggling incorrectly labelled alcohol, with intend to defraud the public…"

The rest of her sentence was drowned by the squealing of tyres and shouts from the around the front of the building, as predictably the drivers of the two vans tried to get away. There was a thud, and the sound of someone hitting the floor with some force.

John was up and running round the building.

"Sergeant – take him!" Sherlock dragged his struggling prisoner to where Sally stood, a second pair of handcuffs ready, then dashed after his friend. He slowed suddenly as he saw the officers standing around the body on the floor, John on one knee beside the fallen man.

"Greg, can you hear me?" John's voice was calm. He didn't acknowledge Sherlock's arrival beside him, ordering several officers to assist Sergeant Donovan. His hands gently moved over the Detective Inspector's head, then worked down his body, checking for injuries. "Try not to move, Greg, at least not until I've checked you over."

As John's hands moved over the patient's leg, he hissed in pain. John stopped immediately.

"Okay, Greg, it could be worse." John sat back, relieved. "Looks like you've got a broken leg, some nasty grazes, and possibly concussion. Your guys have called for an ambulance." He looked up at the remaining officer standing beside him. "What happened?"

"Van driver, Sir, didn't realise he was in the vehicle, so when he started it we weren't fast enough to get out of the way. He sideswiped the DI and hared off." His radio crackled and he listened for a moment before continuing "they've stopped both vehicles, Sir, and caught the drivers." His words were addressed more to the officer on the floor, and John looked down to see Greg peering up at him, a question in his eyes.

"We got them, all of them" John grinned down at him.

"And you get all the kudos." Sherlock added, an unusually soft expression on his face. "And by the sound of things, you ambulance is moments away." But Greg wasn't listening, he'd closed his eyes and given into the blackness that had overtaken his consciousness.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxo

Slowly, half hopping half walking, Greg made his way to his front door. He still hadn't really got the hang of walking on crutches, and the cuts and grazes were still quite raw.

The doorbell rung for a second time, and he heard a voice outside chastising whoever was leaning on the bell. A smile graced his face as he finally reached and opened the door.

"Sorry Greg, " John said getting in before his flatmate could speak, "I told him not to be so impatient, but you know Sherlock!"

"Well of course he does, John!" Sherlock said with a deal of asperity as he walked into the flat, "Stupid thing to say."

Greg stood back to let the doctor in, eyeing the brown paper bag the man carried.

"Ah," John smiled "We brought Thai, hope that's okay?"

"Great," He hopped along, leading the way to the small kitchen diner.

Once they were sitting, Sherlock filled the older man in on the results of the case.

"The information we had managed to net quite a few of the smaller fish, as well as putting a spanner in the works a couple of foreign networks." He said, pushing his food around his plate. "Akaid/Carson, or whatever he wants to call himself, and Matthieson are both on remand until the trial – they asked for bail but it was refused on the grounds that they are likely to disappear."

"Dimmock is keeping your team in check for you, " John added, "although I think he and Sally don't quite see eye to eye!"

Greg looked a little thoughtfully at the blond doctor.

"I haven't thanked you for…" his voice trailed off and he gestured at his plastered limb.

"No need, mate." John demurred. "I didn't really do anything, other than stop your guys worrying or trying to move you."

"Yeah, well..."

"Oh, and you're up for some sort of commendation" the doctor changed the subject quickly, "for bringing down a vicious smuggling gang, and averting tragedy."

Greg frowned, perplexed, his eyes darting between the two men.

"They let me test the contents of one of the bottles – although they then wasted their money getting the same test done by an expensive independent lab." Sherlock's disgust was obvious in his voice.

"And?"

"And, Greg, the quality and alcohol content of those bottles was lethal. If it didn't kill, it's likely it would leave the drinker blind or brain damaged."

"Jesus!"

"So, here's to the man who has saved a generation of teenage drinkers from the consequences of their stupidity!" John raised his coffee cup in mock salute towards their host.

"Here, here." Sherlock agreed quietly, leaving Lestrade with absolutely nothing to say!