A.N.- Wow. Huston, we've breached 3,170… thanks you guys for all the support!

To clear something up- yes, a nickname for Madeline is commonly Madi. But I have not intended to model this OC after me. It's something I strongly disapprove of amongst writers to a great extent. That's why you won't see John or Sherlock call her by such a nickname- I have no desire for Madeline to be my avatar in Sherlock's world whatsoever. She is a separate character, please remember that.

TheParadoxialOxymoron- Shhhh! I was waiting for someone to notice and say something. XD Glad you caught the references! (Hetalia day is later this month, so I had a what the heck phase)

Reviews make me post a little faster! (The more you know!)

The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 11

The force of the blast made John stagger, and his vision was dominated by white flares and flashing lights. Madeline was thrown to the side, just barely clearing the edge of the mine field. Sherlock braced himself against the blast and clutched the gun tightly in his hand; shielding his eyes from the debris flung around by the explosion. When the light dimmed, there was a medium sized crater where Dr. Jones and Madeline had been standing. There was no sign of Jones, but Madeline was lying unconscious on the edge of the field. John let go of Henry and sprinted to her, shining his light around on his way over.

The left side of her face was bloody, but other than apparent bruises and scratches she seemed to be fine. Madeline soon began to slowly regain consciousness, stirring awake with John supporting her neck and Sherlock standing behind the doctor's shoulder.

"Madeline, are you okay?" John asked, she heard him; but his voice sounded distorted and muffled. She sat upright, but he gently pushed her back down with murmurs of doctoral nonsense she couldn't hear. She tried to sit up again, but the world began to spin wildly. John pushed her back down and the sky began to tilt into an inky blackness.

. . .

"So what happened?"

"I shot the gun at a mine, Dr. Jones stepped aside and both of the mines went off. You didn't move fast enough and got thrown."

"You're going to have to speak louder, my hearing is still muffled." Madeline muttered, rubbing at her left ear. The blood on her skin was gone, but she was having trouble hearing anything on her left side. She was currently perched on Henry's couch with John to her right, Henry to her left, and Sherlock standing irately in front of her. The detective scowled at her as he tapped his finger crossly on his arm with evident impatience. Madeline frowned back at him until Henry broke the tense silence.

"But what about those words I saw?" He asked. Sherlock's expression brightened considerably, and he began to pace agitatedly.

"Excellent question, Henry!"

"W- really?"

"No, shut up." Sherlock snapped, continuing to pace. John sighed and tried to reach over and check Madeline's pulse, but she swatted his hand away. "The night I spent at Baskerville-"

"You mean when we were legally allowed to be there?" John asked, earning him a glare.

"I researched the genetic branch. Apparently it spanned into a larger scheme of networks that were categorized underneath warfare usages. The words you saw were "Liberty" and "In". At first I thought it was just you being stupid and remembering something from another ordinary day, like an earworm." Sherlock continued, Henry opened his mouth angrily; but the detective cut across him carelessly. "But apparently not, so I researched the branches farther and found that there was an experimental test site located in Liberty, Indiana in the United States." Madeline couldn't help the surprised look that ran across her face like water on oil before disappearing. Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her reaction dismissively.

"My thought is that you accidentally saw some papers of your father's. Either that or he showed them to you as a precaution because he realized that his coworkers were becoming distrustful of him. Then Dr. Jones killed your father in your presence but made sure the drug was dispersed into the air so you'd think he was some monster… probably played growling noises to complete the effect, too." He mused, tucking his hand under his chin thoughtfully as he paced. Madeline pulled herself into a ball on the couch, following the detective's movements with her eyes.

"Wow, you seem to know a lot about the drug." She said bitterly. John plucked distractedly at his torn sleeve the dog had ripped the night before, obviously still irritated with his flatmate. Sherlock avoided looking at them and instead surveyed Henry's backyard through the glass windows.

"It was in the base, everywhere. You got a dose of it when you were in the lab, Miss Carver and it lasted until later that night when you saw the hound with Henry. Judging from how long that took to wear off I think we should all be clean of the drug by nightfall." He said absently. Madeline rubbed at her ear in frustration.

"It feels like there's water in my ear." She complained. Sherlock frowned and typed a few words into his phone emotionlessly, ignoring her.

"I think that might be an issue." John said, snapping his fingers by Madeline's left ear. She flinched at rubbed at her ear, still trying to get the sound back. Sherlock snorted dismissively and slid his phone back into his pocket.

"Good news, there's a case waiting for us at home. Mycroft has been kind enough to procure tickets back to London for us, and he was insistent that he speak with us." Sherlock's voice started out cordial, but dropped to a restlessly hateful tone by the end of his statement.

"He doesn't like Mycroft much, does he?" Madeline whispered to John.

"I'm not the partially deaf one, Miss Carver- I can hear you." The detective snapped before disappearing upstairs.

A few hours later the tenants of 221 Baker Street were in Dartmoor's small airport, waiting to board a tiny jet that Mycroft had ensured would take them straight to London's airport. John shook hands with Henry professionally, as did Madeline, and Sherlock gave the man an acknowledging nod when Henry turned to him gratefully.

"Thank you all. I think I would have gone insane if you hadn't come when you did- and thanks, Miss Carver for the thing with the gun and all." Henry said awkwardly, Madeline gave him a small encouraging smile, not trusting herself to talk about the event aloud. As she, John, and Sherlock were boarding the tiny jet Madeline turned and leaned out of the door.

"Henry!" She shouted, "Find James and tell him to stay away from the moor!" He waved back at her and she withdrew into the plane with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

"I don't see what you're so happy about." Sherlock said. Madeline frowned at him, remembering her agitation with the detective.

"I don't want people going back to or anywhere near that hollow. The gas is dangerous, and it's scary. I'm trying to help people; and at least I don't gas them on purpose." She said coldly, the last statement coming out more vehemently than she expected. The three of them sat in silence as the jet began to rumble its way down the runway and take off. Sometime after the landing gear had folded in on itself Sherlock coughed like something was wedged in his throat.

"You have my… apologies for that." He muttered, John turned his attention to his flatmate and Madeline perked up. Sherlock glared at them to balance out his words. "It was for the case, so I had to; but- there." And he left it at that. Madeline snuggled into her seat across from her two neighbors and soon fell asleep to the lull of the jet's engines, as watery as they sounded through her ear. John passed out soon after, leaving Sherlock to study his hands and the interior of the jet's cabin aimlessly. His eyes drifted over John, whose head was leaning against the window unconsciously with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock studied the twitch in his flatmate's fingers as he slept, obviously in some kind of dream. The detective rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the cabin.

Phenom 300.

Halted production in 2009.

Pratt and Whitney engine.

Capable of 324 mph.

Brazilian leather seats.

Sherlock's eyes drifted around the cabin of the jet until they swept over Madeline. She was snoring softly and had her tucked under her head like a pillow and her legs curled up underneath her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration like she was focusing hard on something. Sherlock subconsciously brought his eyes to her semi-exposed wrists and swept over them. Clean. He banished the small sigh of relief he felt and began to amuse himself by withdrawing into his mind palace.

. . .

Madeline jolted awake about two hours later with a sharp intake of breath and wide eyes. Sherlock withdrew from his mind palace and glanced at her out of annoyance.

"What?"

"Nothing- just a dream." She said, feeling her breathing and heart rate return to normal. Sherlock frowned and assessed her condition.

"It looked like a bad one. I haven't seen you take your medication in a while, Miss Carver; perhaps you should take your dosage for the afternoon." He said critically, almost mockingly. Madeline glared at him.

"I took it, I'm fine." She said carefully. Sherlock grunted like he didn't believe her and cast a look at John, who was still out cold.

"He has my cigarettes." Sherlock said bitterly. "I need one." Madeline shifted her position and crossed her legs together on the leather seat.

"Yeah, so I notice you smoke." She stated. "But you never smell like a pack of cigarettes." The detective shrugged dismissively at her, drumming his fingers agitatedly on his armrest.

"I need some," He growled. Madeline gave him a wary look and looked out the window.

"It's funny, I'd just never seen you smoke before now. You looked really stressed that one night, and John made it sound like you were getting over an addiction." She observed thoughtfully. Sherlock shot her a patronizing glare and rolled his eyes.

"So we both have an addiction. Bravo. It doesn't curb my need for a stick of nicotine; and John won't let me have any." He muttered. The way he phrased his words took Madeline aback. It was different; not in a bad way, just a different side of the detective. It almost amused Madeline to see him so frustrated over a cigarette. The entire cabin gave a jolt as the landing gear began to descend, Sherlock woke up John by prodding his shoulder forcefully and demanding a cigarette, to which John responded that Sherlock had "stolen Henry's stash of them in Baskerville, and we don't have any at home and it's your fault for breaking the habit". Madeline followed the two bickering flatmates off of the jet quietly, completely absorbed in her thoughts.

He said we both have an addiction. She thought a little tenderly. It's like a dystopian connection or something. She quickly shook the silly thought from her head when Sherlock dropped her bag on the dirty ground and nudged it towards her with his foot as John staggered behind him carrying both of their luggage.

. . .

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Carver. Sherlock has told me so much about you." Mycroft Holmes said cordially as he shook Madeline's hand in his brother's flat.

"Oh, he has?" Madeline asked nervously, fighting the urge to run to her room and hide under the bed sheets. Mycroft Holmes emanated power and intimidation, both of which were battering Madeline's social confidence like winds in a storm.

"Oh yes, like how you have a gray tabby cat and read lots of books. You also wear contacts instead of glasses, but you have a habit of chewing on the ends of the frames, anyway." Mycroft said.

"Oh come off it." Sherlock snapped from his chair. "I never told you anything. Quit reading her and take a seat." He gestured with his violin bow at John's chair; at which Mycroft grimaced and sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion like it was radioactive. John huffed and took a seat with Madeline awkwardly on the couch.

"So he can read people, too?" Madeline whispered, John nodded and watched the brothers intently. They both emitted a hateful mood towards each other, that much was obvious. They began to discuss the Baskerville case, with Sherlock omitting nothing and disclosing everything.

"Then Dr. Jones stepped off of the mine he had been on and my shot triggered another one. The resulting explosion killed him instantly and threw Miss Carver to safety." Sherlock didn't even glance at her as he said her name. Madeline fidgeted with her fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart nervously.

"And now I'm kind of deaf." She blurted suddenly, earning her chastising glances from the brothers. "Um, Sherlock said you have good ties with- people. Is there any way you can fix that?" She asked quietly, more timid now that she had their attention.

"Maybe you should think before chasing criminals onto active minefields, Miss Carver." Mycroft sniffed, Sherlock shot him a glance and the elder brother amended himself more politely.

"I'm afraid I don't have those ties. Besides, you're only cocking your head to the right a little bit, so the deafness is only partial." He concluded dismissively, waving his hand in front of his face as if to ward off a bee. Sherlock glared at his brother irritatedly and picked up for him.

"It should wear off soon. You might always have some hearing trouble, but that's life. Back to the case, Mycroft." He said meaningfully, swinging his violin bow around his finger impatiently. His brother scowled and reclined in John's chair, thumping the end of his umbrella against the floor irritatedly. They began to discuss the newest case that Lestrade had found, but Madeline began to tune them out after the first few words. She fiddled with her fingers while John sat forward, listening intently. Madeline began to hum to herself absently, losing herself in her mind and finding small crevices in her mind to explore and amuse herself with. Mycroft glared at her disruptive noises, but Sherlock sawed his bow over the E string sharply to recapture his attention.

"You were saying?"

"I was saying, Brother Dear that you need to start watching your step. You're already beginning to sink to- normal standards." Mycroft cast a disapproving glance at the couch, and John frowned back while Madeline smiled brightly at him. "Moriarty will try to exploit them, you know that." Mycroft continued in a lower tone. Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he began to play his violin loudly and disruptively. Mycroft groaned and stood, hooking the curved end of his umbrella over his forearm regally and snatching his coat from the rack by the door. He gave a curt nod at John and Madeline before grimacing at his brother and descending the stairwell regally and leaving.

"So that was the great Mycroft Holmes." Madeline muttered after him. "It wasn't what I was expecting, but then again I don't know what I was expecting." She turned to Sherlock cautiously.

"So why do you two hate each other?" She asked, Sherlock stood and strode to the window; dancing his fingers up and down the violin's neck artfully and pulled the bow across the strings with precision and grace.

"What are you talking about? Mycroft and I don't hate each other." He said dismissively, John snorted from his couch and tried to cover it with a cough.

"I may not be as smart as you, Mr. Holmes; but I can still tell when people don't like each other. Jeez." Madeline huffed playfully, Sherlock rolled his eyes and tucked his violin under his arm thoughtfully and spun away from the window.

"We don't hate each other, Mycroft is a- what is he, John?"

"A git."

"Exactly. Excellently put. Now hurry up, we're heading to the police station." Sherlock grabbed his scarf and wound it around his neck, John sighed and plucked his coat from its hanger. Madeline followed them into the hall and then deviated to her room.

"Love to tag along guys but I have work." She sighed wistfully. John lent her a sympathetic glance and Sherlock ignored her, breezing down the stairs and out the door without so much as a backwards glance.

"I'm sure he wishes you could come with us." John said before hurrying out the door after his flatmate. Madeline made a disbelieving noise before returning to her room to grab her bag and catch a cab to St. Bart's in the street.

"You should make an effort to be nicer to her." John stated after he and Sherlock had arrived at the police station. "You did almost deafen her." Sherlock made a small grunting noise and pushed the doors open, seemingly ignoring him. John chuckled and followed him.

. . .

The day passed uneventfully, with a couple complimentary visits from Molly and only a few samples to analyze. Everything was quiet until closing time.

"I'll go down by Sherlock's lab." Madeline murmured to herself before closing up. She made sure to securely lock her door, something she'd become increasingly paranoid about since Moriarty's visit. She pocketed her key and hopped down the steps two at a time until she reached the floor holding the lab Sherlock often commandeered. She could hear someone muttering and the clink of vials coming from inside.

Madeline slowly eased the door open and slipped inside the lab as quietly as she could, knowing how much Sherlock hated to be disturbed. The detective was perched meticulously on the edge of a lab stool by the counter, deep in thought. Madeline skirted the tables until she came up on Sherlock's left side. He didn't notice her and kept staring intently at the table surface in front of him. Madeline noticed a brown and red tinged cloth spread out on a silver tray like a lab specimen. She could barely make out faded black strokes on the cloth, and tilted her head to read it better. Her arm accidentally brushed Sherlock's shoulder, and he jolted backwards in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, "Why didn't I hear you come in?"

"You were in your mind palace." Madeline said as he stood from the stool and rounded on her. "I was closing up for the day and checked to see if you were working in here." Sherlock rolled his eyes and took his seat again.

"That's incessant, do you come by here every day at this time to see if I'm here?" He asked condescendingly.

"Wha- no!" Madeline said defensively, "You'd gone to see Lestrade earlier so I was certain you'd be working day and night on whatever case he had for you." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left hip defiantly. Sherlock looked at her curiously, debating whether or not to read her. He decided to hold back when John's nagging swept through his mind: You should try to be nicer to her. He sighed. Fine, then; an experiment, nothing more.

"You were certain?" He said lowly.

"W- no. I had a hunch. You'd probably either be here or in your kitchen working on something. Where's John?" Madeline said, growing a little nervous.

"He went home. It's late afternoon, you should be returning home as well." Sherlock said dismissively, turning back to the cloth on the table. He gritted his teeth and turned back to her with a painful looking smile. "Come look at this and see what you make of it." He said, pointing to the cloth.

"Me?" Madeline asked, pressing her finger to her collarbone as if to single herself out.

"Of course you." Sherlock snapped before trying to smile again. "We found this rammed into the back of her throat. Her face was bloated and contorted into a-"He reined himself in at the green tinge creeping into Madeline's face and cleared his throat awkwardly. Being normal was more difficult than it looked. "She was killed like the one on Halloween, but at least we have a clue this time." Madeline studied the cloth, a little wary to touch it. The strokes of the writing looked harried but elegant, like they were purposefully messy.

"So they're trying to make it hard to decipher." She murmured. "But wouldn't the blood and… bile make it hard enough?" Her fingers felt their way to her wrist and rubbed it agitatedly. Sherlock's eyes followed their movements.

Not an uncomfortable tell?

Thinking hard.

Answer is obvious.

He groaned loudly and spun in a quick circle to slow the thoughts racing through his head. Madeline pulled back from the cloth and watched him curiously.

"Um, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The detective groused. "Just trying to be normal." Madeline laughed, a loud laugh that bounced off the walls and plunged the lab into silence after it ended.

"I have no idea why you'd be trying to do that." Madeline said between giggles. "God knows what John and I would do if you acted like a normal person. Where'd the excitement be?" She poked his shoulder once lightheartedly but recoiled at the glare he gave her, all of her levity gone. Madeline cleared her throat and turned back to the cloth.

"So, um what about this here?" She asked more quietly, gesturing softly to the cloth stretched out on the table. "I looks like-"

"Harried brushstrokes with a paintbrush and old coal ink." Sherlock interrupted brashly. "I've gathered all of that already." John's chiding flashed through his head again and he growled quietly. "But what do you see, Miss Carver?" He said rather forcefully, although trying to be polite. Madeline shifted away from him slightly and pointed at the canvas.

"It looks like some foreign language."

"Croatian. Yes."

"Oh, okay. Um, can you read what it says?"

"No, that's why I asked you."

"Well I can't read Croatian!"

"Then that's your problem." Sherlock snapped. "I speak it fluently, but I can't make out the caricatures. It's closely related to Russian." Madeline scowled at him and returned her attention to the cloth.

"Maybe a warning? To you or Lestrade? Seems like something a serial killer would write; or one of those 'catch me if you can' notes." She said quietly. Sherlock snorted.

"Ah yes, just like any Americanized killer. Bold and careless." He said. Madeline narrowed her eyes at him.

"Okay look: I have no idea what your deal is but you need to get over it. You need to decide if you're going to be nice to people or if you're gonna just always be an asshole to them." She snapped. "Sometimes I don't even know how or why John and I put up with you." Madeline gathered her things and swung her bag over her shoulder angrily before storming form the lab. The door swung shut behind her with a soft hiss, leaving Sherlock behind in the lab.

"That's what I get for being 'nice' and 'normal'." He growled before reexamining the cloth again.

A.N.- DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the afore mentioned or used characters in this story except for my own original character, Madeline Carver and other minor characters. Any relations between these characters and other people, living or dead is completely coincidental and not of the author's intent.

Phew, that should last me for the rest of the story.

Thanks for your continuous support! (And hey- Madeline met Mycroft!)