I won't claim to be a mystery writer, so if this gets a bit sketchy at points, bear with me, please?

Also, even though I've forgotten this up till now, I don't ownSherlock. If I did, I'd be off following Benedict around.

Sherlock sat in the armchair, in the fetal position, fingertips pressed together under his chin. Amelie watched him with interest. John was busy making tea and cereal. Sherlock didn't acknowledge the stares of young Amelie. Instead, he let himself wander through his mind palace. Amelie made a face at him, stuck her tongue out. Nothing. "John, what's he doing?"

"He's in his mind palace," John replied, not even bothering to look up. "He does that a lot."

"Your friend's weird, John," Amelie observed.

John laughed. It felt good to laugh. "He is. But he's a genius and a good friend, too." John settled Amelie at the table and brought a bowl of cereal over to Sherlock. He snapped his fingers in front of the detective's nose. "Eat something, Sherlock."

Grudgingly, Sherlock took his bowl of food and ladled some into his mouth. The movement was so incredibly Sherlock, John couldn't help but smile. Living a year without Sherlock was the most painful thing he'd ever had to do. Sometimes – every five minutes, at least – it felt like Sherlock would vanish again. John was developing the habit of watching Sherlock like a hawk.

"Sebastian Moran. Dishonourable discharge," Sherlock jumbled, food still in his mouth. "Friend of Moriarty's, apparently. He did say he was going to get a live-in one…"

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Moran's a sniper. Which only makes it more dangerous for us. Finally something interesting! You have no idea, John, what it was like not being able to solve crimes…!"

John did not grace that comment with an answer. The newspaper lie on the coffee table. John reached for it, rifling through the pages as if they held the secret to Moran.

Halfway down the last page, John saw it. A small advert – just a very small one.

If you have seen a man by the name of Richard "Rich" Brook…

"Sherlock…."

The consulting detective snatched the paper away. Amelie looked up to see him scowling at it. Angrily, yet still somewhat gleefully, Sherlock threw the paper down and stormed to his room. John followed him. Amelie crept off her chair, pulling the paper towards her.

If you have seen a man by the name of Richard "Rich" Brook, please call

0101001101001101

Amelie could tell right off it was a fake phone number; there too many digits. But Sherlock had understood the message. Amelie's stomach tied itself in knots. She didn't want to leave, but she knew they wouldn't let her stay. People only sent secret messages in spy movies, and there was always collateral damage in spy movies. Carefully, Amelie picked up the paper. She handled it like it was explosive, about to blow. She didn't know why. John and Sherlock were in Sherlock's room, rummaging through the piles of things he hadn't yet set to rights. "What does it mean?"

Sherlock looked up, then back down. As he pushed piles of papers aside, he explained, "It's Binary Code. It's used for computers and things."

"So? Why would the army guy give you computer code? Who's Richard Brook?"

Sherlock's mouth stayed shut. He gave John one of his looks. "It's a long story," John sighed. "Sherlock's a detective, as you know. He managed to make an enemy, Moriarty. And Moriarty created the persona of Richard Brook to make it look like Sherlock faked his genius. Only he gave himself away. "Rich Brook" in German is Reichenbach, the case that made Sherlock famous. Moriarty had assassins that were going to kill me and Sherlock's other friends if he didn't jump off the roof of St. Bart's – so we all had to think he was dead until it was safe for him to come back. Moriarty killed himself to ensure the killers couldn't be called off. And now his henchman, Moran, is avenging him."

Sherlock straightened. "Excellent memory, John. I thought you weren't listening the other night."

"Sherlock, it would've been impossible for me not to."

Amelie raised her hand like a child in school. "One question. Why the Binary Code?"

John's eyes went big. "Sorry. Got side-tracked. Moriarty broke into Pentonville Prison, Bank of England, and stole the crown jewels using a universal key. The key used Binary Code. Moriarty used Binary Code to tell Sherlock there is no key, too, but that's another story."

Amelie just nodded. "Okay."

Sherlock had taken a breath to respond to that when Lestrade walked in. "You probably want to see this," he called. Sherlock stepped out of his bedroom still in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Seeing him, Lestrade rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, just come like that. I don't think the cadavers will mind."

….

Sherlock stood over the body of Amelie's guardian. Molly stood a little off, whispering with John. "Why is he dressed like that?" she asked. Sherlock did make quite a sight, bending over the corpse with his magnifying glass in pyjamas. In response to Molly's question, John just shook his head and laughed. Molly watched the detective work for a minute before continuing. "How's he doing?"

"Him? He's doing fine. Wouldn't even think he missed me."

"He did, John."

"I know. But he's Sherlock. We're never going to know what goes on in his brain."

"AHA!" Sherlock practically yelled. "Who was on forensics, Lestrade?"

Annoyed, Lestrade replied, "Anderson."

"Well, he failed miserably." With that, Sherlock was walking out the morgue, upstairs to find Anderson. Lestrade trailed after, with John behind.

"What is it, Sherlock? What did we miss?" Sherlock's only response was laughter.

Anderson had been appointed to wait with Amelie. He sat awkwardly next to her while she read her book, ignoring him completely. "Anderson you colossal idiot!" Sherlock shouted, almost giddy.

"So it's true. Pity you lived."

"Anderson, would you like to explain how a knife makes a bullet hole? We'd all love to know."

"What?"

"The woman. Before she was stabbed, she was shot. By – drumroll please – a sniper." Here Sherlock paused and turned to Lestrade. "God I have missed this – the thrill of the chase. We all know which sniper I'm talking about, correct?"

"I don't," Anderson piped up.

"You don't need to."

"Oh how we missed you, Holmes."

Lestrade chimed in, "Anderson, shut up. Sherlock, are you saying Moran killed Amelie's guardian?"

"Yes."