"Take a left," Holmes said as they approached the next intersection.

John could feel his heart beat in his ears. It appeared that his passenger was in a rush so whatever he had to do solve the case couldn't be done on his mobile. It was clear that it needed to be done at a computer or at least his residence.

He acted like he didn't hear Holmes and took a right at the light.

"What are you doing?"

John didn't respond. He went down the street at a normal pace as to not alert Holmes that anything was amiss.

"Did you hear me? I said turn left."

John gestured towards his ear. "Eh? Sorry, didn't hear you. Bad ear."

Holmes looked at him with doubt. "Well turn left at the end of this street."

John did as he was told this time but blew past the next light.

"What do you think you're doing? Let me out," Holmes said.

John kept driving as Holmes' phone rang. He had the volume at its top level and John could hear an elderly woman's voice on the other line.

"Please, I know the answer," Holmes said. "I can't get to my computer. Just give me a few moments."

There was mumbling on the other end. It sounded as if the woman was crying as she tried to speak.

"It was the housekeeper," he said.

More mumbling.

"The Botox. He killed her with the injections."

Holmes' face grew more desperate as he spoke. John turned left and back towards Baker Street. His guilt was gnawing at him.

"Hurry," Holmes pleaded as John picked up speed.

He turned back to his phone call. "Just give me two minutes. I'll send it to you."

John felt his own phone vibrate.

Good work.

Shit, he thought. What had he done?

"No, please. Stop talking," Holmes said.

There was clear crying on the other line.

"Stop. Do what he says—"

There was a shattering bomb that burst through the other line. Holmes pulled the phone from his ear and winced at the sudden noise. He slowly lowered the phone to the seat of the car and stared out the window. His face had fallen and John could see that he was angry and upset. He needed to get Holmes out of the car as fast as possible or he'd be found out or beaten up, whatever his passenger felt like doing first.

"Sorry, mate," John said.

Holmes blinked away his frustrations and faced towards the front. "Take a right," he said.

"You alright?" John asked.

Holmes' eyebrow raised. "Alright? Yes, I'm fine. I do need to get to my flat. Down this street."

John had already begun the turn before he was instructed and he knew that Holmes hadn't missed that. He'd given away that he'd been here before. So many stupid mistakes that he was positive he'd have to account for later.

He parked in front of the flat but Holmes didn't get out right away. He sat there and looked out the window as if expecting a visitor.

"This the right place?" John asked. He wanted nothing more than to get the man out of his car.

Holmes looked out but his mind still seemed a thousand miles away. He nodded distractedly and made a motion towards the handle. Just as he opened the door a crack and stepped a foot on the concrete he turned back towards John.

"You want some tea?"

John shook his head. "I'm alright."

He plastered on a smile that looked unnatural. John felt an uneasy sense that this wasn't good manners at work. "Just a bit. You were quite a help today. Mrs. Hudson will make a pot. Come."

John wrapped his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. "I really shouldn't. I'm expected back…"

Holmes cocked an eyebrow. "You live alone. You are not expected anywhere."

John felt the lump in his throat grow. There was something hypnotic and terrifying about Holmes. It felt like he was arguing a concrete wall that would not take no for an answer. There was no hiding behind any more lies. If he didn't go upstairs he knew that Holmes would simply follow him to his flat. He'd made himself available and he'd have to take the consequences.

As he took the keys out of the lock he pulled out his phone and hurriedly sent a message.

In his flat. Send help.

A part of him knew that he was alone.

And there was no telling what Sherlock would do to get revenge.