A/N: Shorter chapter than recent ones, apologies in advance. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

krikanalo: Thanks for the feedback! Dialogue has never really been a strength of mine so i'll be sure to work on it! I'm trying to make appropriate references to the past series' as much as possible. Donovan and her knees is one of my favourite inside jokes in Sherlock. ;)


"I never did trust that receptionist." Anderson mumbled to himself before closing the door to Sherlock and John.

Anderson had told them that Amanda was on his doorstep one day after he had taken a short walk. She looked distressed and gravely upset, her hands trembling to her own touch. Taking her into his home, not even wondering how she got his address, he asked her what had happened. She made up a bogus story about how her fiancé had shouted at her and threatened her with a knife. Anderson believed her and unfortunately fell into her carefully devised trap. She knocked him over the head when he was making some tea for the terrified woman she posed as and within hours placed cameras all over his house. When he woke up, she told him almost immediately that he was not to go back to work until Sherlock arrived to the rescue. He was not to contact anyone hence the reason why she was the one who made the calls. He was being watched from every corner of the house, every angle so making a false move would not be unseen. She had humorously dubbed him as 'the damsel in distress' and continued to refer to him as such over the days he was under house arrest. She did this all under the name of 'Amanda' to conceal her identity which pleased Sherlock. He didn't want anyone else knowing who she was and neither did she.

Back at 221B, Sherlock had called Lestrade informing him of what had occurred that Amanda had struck again. She was becoming very unpopular at Scotland Yard.

"So, what do we do now? Sit around and wait for Evelyn to make another move?" John asked, pacing the room with his hand on his chin.

"John, she's doing what Moriarty did. Playing a game. We make a move, she makes a move." Sherlock responded, twirling his violin bow. He tried to remember what tricks the consulting criminal did two years ago and debated on whether his former assistant would be able to do the same ones.


Evelyn aimed the gun at John. She was amazed at how steady her aim actually was and the fact that she was on cue was just astonishing. It took her a while before she saw the brash Moriarty pull out from the shadows.

"Sorry, boys, I'm sooo changeable!" he said.

Evelyn tried to contain some laughter that Jim had caused. She didn't understand why she was finding him funny. She hated him when he forced her to do what she had done, but she had to admit that she found him entertaining from time to time. Her focus on John gave her a good view of the show which she actually disliked. She just didn't want to be here, on a balcony hanging over a pool with a sniper rifle aimed at John Watson's chest. She would rather be at home with a cup of tea, lounging on a nice, warm sofa watching shoddy television. But alas, Jim would not allow it.

Suddenly, she saw a nod from John. In curiosity, she looked over to Sherlock, keeping her rifle aimed at the ex-army doctor. The consulting detective first aimed at Moriarty but then, he lowered his handgun to point directly at the explosive-rigged jacket now lying near Jim. It was that moment when she knew that her pain would be over. She never thought she'd ever be pleased to die, but Sherlock was doing a favor and she was grateful. However, looking at Jim, she felt a sudden urge to give him a last hug. She cared about him and she hated to admit it. Doing the tasks she was given was something she despised, but pleasing him meant a lot to her. She liked seeing the look on his face when she completed the jobs and that was her weakness. She liked him too much and that made her come back. It was not just out of fear; it was out of the care she had for James Moriarty.


Sherlock rested on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. John had gone to get milk, like he had done too many times. He started to think that Sherlock was deliberately using all the cartons for his experiments so he could be left alone to dwell in his mind palace. Of course, this was exactly what Sherlock was doing and his mind palace, he was currently trying to work out why Anderson had not been killed and why it was Anderson in the first place. Who'd want to speak to Anderson of all people? Surely the cost of antihistamine pills weren't the reason why they didn't find a dead corpse at the common, dull London house where the forensics examiner inhabited. No. It was because Anderson meant nothing to Sherlock.

The woman, the client, was no one; she was distanced from her family. The least important. She also asked the consulting criminal to arrange the deaths of a few people. All the more reason to die.

The police officer had family and friends, however. But Sherlock didn't know him. Important to some but not to him.

Anderson. He was close to Lestrade and Donovan, and maybe even to all members of Lestrade's team. But why was he spared?

Unknown to Sherlock, who was looking too deep into this, Evelyn spared the forensics examiner because she knew that Sherlock wants everything to be complex so he could boast and look clever.

The same mistake was made when Sherlock thought that there was a code to remove Richard Brook's existence because Moriarty tapped digits into the arm of a chair. Sherlock saw it as something meaningful when really they were just chords to a song.

Sherlock expected an overdose because the victims ran in order of importance in his mind when they actually were used because they were easy to find.

Unfortunately, Sherlock didn't think this. He assumed that the next victim would be someone close to him and no one else. And then after that, someone who was close to everyone would suffer. If they'd die or not was still a question yet to have an answer to.