Chapter Thirteen: Deduction Games

"No more further questions," Lestrade tells the press on the way to the New Scotland Yard. I stand a metre away from him with my hands in my pocket and my eyes cast downward. I let Lestrade answer all the questions. I stand there and nod my head after a few of them. With this, Lestrade puts a hand on my lower back and leads me into the building. The press crowds behind us as we climb the steps to go inside. "Have you talked with Helen?"

The case closed three days ago and though we have done a press conference, with little answers about it and the sudden suicide of Dr. Roylott. Since he was such a public figure, a press conference and being hounded by the press was completely unavoidable. So, Lestrade and I humour them, Sally tries to ward them off but it doesn't do any good. They want the reason that we do not have.

I nod my head before following him inside. "She's… doing okay, considering." I've texted her, she texted me, I am, however, not comfortable with leaving her alone but her grandparents are coming down to help her through this time. I've offered all the help I could give to her.

"Good… that's good. Listen," Lestrade starts to me as we walk through the Yard to get to where his office is and my desk is. I slump my shoulders and glance over his way. "You're a good detective, Wilder." He tells me, stopping in his place for a moment. I purse my mouth and furrow my brow at him. "And… and a good person. I know you are doing the right thing with helping this girl out, but…"

"It's inappropriate." I finish for him. "Don't worry, Greg, I know how to separate my job and my personal life. I've learned my lesson before."

"I know that. You've mentioned that." Greg says to me. "I'm just looking out for you. You have become a friend, Meredith, and I don't want to see you upset over this because you're her friend. It's part of the job."

I cast my eyes away from his. "I know."

"Do you though?" I look back up at him slowly. I know what he sees and I have seen it. I don't know. I have taken this too… too personally, and I'm not even supposed to be in that situation. She can be my friend, but the case should not be affecting me like it is, and it really should not anger me that we didn't get Roylott behind bars and a reason out of him. But the funny thing is, I want the answers just as much as she does—the actual victim of the case… not the dead one. And I feel like I failed her personally.

He didn't even leave a note.

You… you would usually leave a note explaining why you committed suicide right? I'm not going crazy. If he would have, maybe it'll provide a bit more closure for all of us.

Lestrade's hand comes onto my shoulder. "I'll be lying if I said that I haven't been in your shoes before." I take a deep breath through my nose. "I've come close to people involved in a case before, too close, and it always would get me into trouble. It's okay to help her through this, but any more than that—."

"I know." I cut him off, repeating what I said before.

Greg looks at me carefully. "I'm not telling you that you can't be friends with her. I'm just telling you to not be hung up on this case and… not let it affect you. I've seen it happen to many great detectives and I don't want it to happen to you. You have a bright future ahead."

His words are heavy. Though I am reminded of the time where Sally told me to stay away from Sherlock Holmes, Greg's advice approach is different, and it's just has a different affect on me. They have an effect on me, that's the difference. He talks to me like I am a friend of his and isn't talking down to me. I smile at him, perhaps this is my first smile in days, and nod my head. No matter what people would say about Greg, that he's slipping and incompetent, he is good at what he does. It just depends on what he's good at.

But… to say that I have a bright future ahead of me… that's just… I shake my head at him and say, "Well… I don't really know about that."

"Stop being so modest, Meredith." He says to me. "I have seen you work and already I wouldn't be surprised to see that you're promoted to Detective Sergeant in five years with how you work on these cases."

"I… I hope to see that day soon," is all I come up with. I look away from him and think his words over in my head. It… it is… it seems… overwhelming. "Thank you, Greg."

"I don't want you in today." Lestrade tells me quickly. My head snaps at him confused. My brow knits together. Greg is being overly nice to me… overly nice to me, which means… well I don't know what it truly means actually. Should I be appreciative or be worried? "Take the day off, come in tomorrow, and you'll get the leftovers of what I finish today."

My smile turns into a frown quickly, "But, Lestrade, I don't think—."

"I can hold my own, you just get your rest and think things through and then come tomorrow. I can tell you have a lot on your mind."

I stare at him for a moment before my smile makes its appearance again. "Thank you."

"You deserve it for your work on the case, Meredith. I'll check in with you later." I deserve it… That's what he tells me? I wasn't the only one who solved it though—it may not have been completely solved, but I'm still not the only one. I take a deep breath as I watch him leave to his office. It takes me a moment before I go back the way I came in.

"So… how's New York?" I balance the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I make my cup of coffee. For once, I called him. It doesn't happen often, I usually wait for the contact, but I miss him way too much for it.

Carter sighs deeply, "A bit boring, but we are actually busy."

"Boring? How's it boring if you are busy? Richard being a dick?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Carter laughs from the other line. I smile hearing his laugh. "I'm filing for a new partner. I can't deal with him any longer."

"Garrett will never allow it." I pick up my cup of coffee before transferring myself to my living room. The film I have on is paused. In honour of Carter, I have decided to put on the movie, 300. Do I like this movie? Not really, but I watched it a lot with him… he always picked it on our movie nights, the bastard. "He'll actually make sure that Dick is your permanent partner."

"No he won't, he'll just make sure that you're never allowed to come back."

I chuckle lightly before tucking my knees underneath my blanket. "That is very true. I think that's why he gave me a job here."

"So what time is it there?"

"Around noon, maybe later." I take a sip out of my coffee. "I've just finished another case a few days ago and I am off for the day."

"Ah nice, you know I've been reading the blog that Sherlock's assistant is up to writing, and he's written up the one with your previous case… the one with the serial killer, and I'm pretty impressed."

"Christ, I'm not mentioned in that now, am I?"

"Oh yes you are," he tells me. I can hear the grin in his voice. I didn't even tell him yet that I have worked with his Sherlock Holmes. "So… how is he?"

"Who?"

"You know who! You haven't even told me you've been working with Sherlock Holmes? Why haven't you told me? You wouldn't even know about him if it wasn't for me!"

I had to pull the phone away from my ear because of his screeching. For Christ's sake, is this man five years old? I put my cup of coffee on top of my table before I hold my phone back to my ear. "I didn't think it mattered."

"It matters, Mere. It matters. I can't believe it!"

"He's really not all that."

"He's not all that? You're not all that. He's all that."

"Don't let him hear that, his head will grow to unfathomable heights." I shift on my sofa and lean back on it. "Honestly, Carter, the man is absolutely brilliant, but he is the most arrogant sod I have ever met."

"He has every right to be."

"No, he doesn't. Now can we change the subject? I honestly don't want to be talking about him right now. I deal with him enough as it is."

"But… wait, are you guys friends?"

"I… I think we are?" I tell him not really sure of the answer. I'm not really sure of the status of our relationship, but we may have graduated from acquaintances during our last case. His flatmate is more of a friend. "Now subject change, please?"

"Yeah, subject change, so I've been thinking—."

"Oh no, did you hurt yourself?" I cut in quickly, seeing the opportunity.

He sarcastically laughs, "Hah, you're so funny."

I smirk into the phone, "I try to be."

There is a slight pause. I wait for him while smirking still and then I hear him go on, "Anyway, I've been thinking about flying up there soon… in December, around Christmas time."

"You're kidding?"

"I am not! I'm very serious! I miss you, Mere." Carter says to me. My smirk slips off suddenly and my jaw shifts slightly. I'm glad I'm not the only one missing him, to be honest. I'd rather it go both ways than it being one-sided. "I'm thinking about staying for nine days, spend Christmas and New Year's, you know, in London. Could be fun, right? You, me, and maybe Dupree?"

"Who's Dupree?"

"I don't know, but I'll totally bring the movie so we can watch it together!"

"But where are you planning on staying? In my flat or a hotel?"

"In that smelly deportation inn you've called home for a month. Where do you think, Meredith? I kind of thought that you would—."

"Of course, I would! It's just… what about work and all? I mean, I don't know if I can be free from it and I don't know if Garrett will go for it." Garrett is an arse. I've worked under the arse for years and I can honestly tell you, that I may have been on his shit list and I think Carter has gotten on that list as well for being associated with me.

"He'll go for it, just leave it to me. All I want you to think about is having to set another place mat on your dinner table for nine days in December."

I laugh at him, "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe you can introduce me to your new friends over at 221b, eh?"

"I will and maybe it'll put an end to your fascination of him." I say to him. I shift my hold on my phone and lean back on the sofa. "I hope you can really make this happen, Carter, and that you're just not saying this."

"I hope so, too." I try not to grimace at the sound of his voice. He sounds like he's sad over this. My best friend is across the pond, and we barely talk as it is now. A few phone calls and texts are not nearly as much as we did in New York. "Oh, and I saw that bastard fiancé of yours on Lexington."

I pick up my head at this. My body stiffens at the small mention of him. Paul… "I didn't talk to him or anything. I gave him a dirty look for you though." I thought Paul would have been long gone by now. I'm… I'm sort of happy that they didn't talk. But… I would think… I don't know that maybe the government would have gotten to him because I have the money, some of the money, that he was supposed to give back.

"Did he give you one back?" I ask trying not to seem worried about Paul.

"He didn't even look my way. I don't think he saw me… oh, I got to go, Mere. I got a text from Dick and he's not happy."

"Tell him to go screw himself."

"Work calls," he tells me, "but I'll call you later tonight, okay? Don't get yourself in too much trouble, Mere, love ya." I mutter a quick goodbye as he hangs up with me. I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment before just holding it away from me. I glance over at it and then realize I have two new text messages, one from John and the other from Sherlock.

I raise my eyebrow before shutting off the television. I really hate that movie. Why did I even put it on again? I open John's text message first.

Hey, Mere. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time. Look, my friend Mike is throwing a little birthday dinner this Saturday for me. Kind of late, since my birthday was a week ago, but it's a nice thought. I wanted to know if you're able to make it. I'd like you there.

I give a small smile to my phone and think for a moment. Am I doing anything on Saturday?

Most likely, no.

I text back to him: I'd love to, John. Just tell me when and where and I'll be there. –MW

Okay, that's settled. I go to Sherlock's text message.

Meet me at 221b. John's at work and I know you aren't. –SH

I'll be there. –MW

I may complain about Sherlock Holmes, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't drop most of what I'm doing to see his fascinating mind work. After my talk with Lestrade, I understand why Helen and I should not be as close as we are and talking to Carter, I feel like my spirits had honestly been lifted enough to be in the company of Sherlock.

My phone vibrates again.

Never mind, meet me at the park by your flat. –SH

My brow furrows confused.

You don't know where my flat is. I've never told you. –MW

I don't receive a text back. I'm assuming that he has figured out where my flat is? I wouldn't be surprised if he knows because of Lestrade or his brother. I get up from my sofa and go to my coat hanging up. It maybe summer but it's a little chilly outside because of the breeze. Sherlock would most likely be wearing his long coat so I wouldn't be the only one. Then I make my way to the park close by, almost forgetting my keys.

"Why'd you ask me to come out?" I enquire as I sit next to him and cross my arms over my chest. My eyes watch the people who pass by us. Sherlock has his collar up as his eyes roam around.

Sherlock heaves a sigh before answering. "The air in my flat is stifling because of the most ordinary of people entering it and leaving it… and I was bored."

"You've been getting a lot of cases though." I tell him with a smirk. "Those are hardly boring."

"Oh, they're dull. You know, some of them is who's cheating on who, where has my husband gone, where is my little bunny, superheroes coming alive, all of it is so trivial."

"I'm sorry, superheroes coming alive?" That is all I got from that. My brow knits together confused and I frown, because I don't understand why that is so… so trivial. Sherlock dismisses it with a wave but I think I'm going to make it a point to read that one on the blog. I'll fish out the title of the post from John later because Sherlock looks like he's not in the mood. "That hardly sounds dull."

"It was tedious at most." Sherlock says. He definitely is the epitome of modesty.

"What about the bunny? Did you find it?"

"I've received an email about a bunny that glows in the dark that has gone missing from a little girl." He explains to me. "I don't think it's of importance to look into it. The father probably killed it without telling her."

"Oh, I hope you didn't tell her that, Sherlock!" I scold him immediately. That would be such a cruel thing to tell a little girl that her father must have disposed of her glow in the dark bunny without telling her. Sherlock turns his head at me and raises a brow. "You didn't email her back saying that, did you?"

"I was going to, but John didn't let me." Good John, very good, I'm happy that John is Sherlock's flatmate for reasons like this. I nod my head at that with a slight smirk on my face before I go to look at other people around us. Sherlock goes on, "Well, anyway, John went to work today and I have taken in a few people who want me to solve their cases, but none of them are interesting enough. I contacted Lestrade to ask where you were or if I could take you to help me with these because apparently I'm not exactly a 'people person' and he said that he allowed you to take off today and then that is how you are here."

"Oh… well, thank you for that because I was bored myself." Or I would've been bored after Carter hung up with me. "Well, why aren't we at 221b then to help you with them?"

"I don't want to hear the jabbering of idiots, they don't offer me anything that is interesting."

"Oh, I see." See, if this is what Carter sees of him, I think he would actually agree with me.

"Yes, so what do you think about that woman right there?" I glance over at him and see his long, slender finger pointing in the direction of a woman, who is standing by herself with a book in her hand. I raise my brow at this and sit back against the bench and examine her. My eyes look her up and down. The woman is thin and is wearing pants that don't go all the way down to her ankles. She looks young; maybe she's not a woman at all. She looks like a teenager, but the glasses on her face age her.

My eyesight is limited, but I can see the book she's reading is The Hunger Games… so she maybe a young adult. Her shirt is a little too small for her. Her dark hair is back away from her face, and she is right-handed. Her left hand supports her book and her right hand turns the pages.

She's wearing Mary Janes; my mother wore those for work. People who are uptight usually wear the footwear. Her shoulders are slumped so she maybe inferior to something—once again, young adult, teenager. And I look around her now to see a group of teenagers a little further away from her. She's not part of the group, so she could be a bit of a loner. They seem to know her just how they glance her way. That can mean one of two things, she is a loner, or that they aren't friends. But sometimes people who aren't friends still say hi to each other. So, I say loner. She holds her jacket tightly around her body, doesn't zipper it, she only lets go of it occasionally to turn the page of her book.

"Not a really woman," I first say. "A teenager, maybe just going into university. She looks older because of her glasses but when you look at how she's dressed then you could see that she's younger."

"She looks older, yet younger. What do you mean by that?"

"The glasses age her. But her clothes are too small, though her pants look like they belong to an older lady because of their colour. However, if you look at how her shoulders are slumped, her demeanour is one of a school girl's." When I look over at Sherlock, I see a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. I try to hold back mine as I look at him; his eyes are on the teenager. There is something in his blue-green eyes that confuse me.

"Would you say that she's uptight?"

"Yes, I would." I tell him. "She's wearing Mary Janes, she's hold her jacket over her chest. I'd say not only is she uptight, but also a bit insecure. She doesn't want to be seen, which could be why she is under that tree in the first place."

"What about her being lonely?"

"Yes, she's that also. The other kids her age are just ignoring her. They obviously know her though, I mean they are looking her way." Sherlock has a smirk on his face now like he is impressed by all of this.

"What about the man across from us?"

"What about him?" I look to the bench across from us to see a sulking man sitting on the bench. "Obviously something bad has happened."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? He's practically sulking while reading his paper."

"Would you say he's just come from lunch?" Sherlock casually asks, crossing his leg over the other and looking up into the sky. I look over the man to see that he is rather… large. I don't want to say fat because that is actually rude, obese is being politically correct, but that sounds arrogantly rude. I don't know what he sees to suggest that the man has come from lunch.

I shift my jaw, looking the man over. "What do you see that suggests that?"

"Observe, Anne. I want you to observe."

"Don't call me Anne," I say through gritted teeth before looking over the man again. I narrow my eyes at him, but I try not to seem too creepy while doing it. I take a quiet deep breath before allowing my eyes to take him in. The portly man not only has a glutinous trait about him, but I spot the very faint crumbs along his white beard. Sherlock must have good vision to spot those, but anyone can see them if you are sitting right next to him. His stomach is slightly out and his white shirt looks recently stained with ketchup. He tries to cover it with his paper but obviously it doesn't work because a) it's a lot and b) it's peaking out on his neckline. "Ah, I see now."

"The stains of ketchup, the crumbs on his beard. Come on, Meredith, it was all so…"

I offer, "Elementary?"

"Don't say that." He says to me quickly before going, "It was all so simple."

"Well, Sherlock, why don't you deduce for me why he's upset? Because I think you may have an answer for that." I suggest to him. I'm not really sure what we're doing right now, but I have a feeling that he's enjoying me deducing other people from a distance. I glance over at him to hear him chuckle to himself. He hooks his thumbs outside of his coat pocket while his smirk makes its appearance. "Well?"

"Do you see his posture?" Sherlock starts to me. I glance over at him and nod his head. "He's sulking because he was just recently laid off."

"How would you know that?"

"Simple, Wilder, a school boy could even see it,' he tells me, gesturing over to the man in front of us. "I'm assuming you have heard the strike with the tube workers?" I nod my head at this slowly, waiting for him to continue. The strike has been going on for a week or so. I stay away from the tube usually because… well, I don't really like it. They've been keeping the trains running, of course, but it is always such a hassle to get to them because of the lines of workers at each station. There are few workers actually working. "This man works with the tube."

"How do you know that?"

"It's obvious if you look at the state of the clothes he's wearing. You would also want to know that the strike has recently ended. They needed to make way for the influx of workers about to take part, instead of letting the ones that aren't a part of the union still work, they laid off the few that did and he is one of them. His clothing is filthy, obviously he works along the rails and he is still wearing the gloves to protect his hands and also the uniform and the nametag indicate that he does work with the tube. Now, I know you are going to want to ask 'well, maybe he's on break?'" He imitates my voice as he says this, and I try not to comment at how bad his imitation of me is.

He goes on, "But add in the fact that the average tube worker's break is at noon and it's," Sherlock pulls down his sleeve to reveal his watch, "nearly two hours past noon, and he has just come from lunch, he didn't go to work today. A lunch break wouldn't be long enough for him to sit down and eat and then read a paper casually in the park."

I practically gape at him and look between the man and him with my brow creased. I blink several times, trying to place each of his deductions in my head. How in the bloody hell does his mind even work? How does he actually process all of these things? I would have never guessed what he just did and although these could be guesses, but the man does in fact, work with the tube, or worked with the tube, and I have seen on the news earlier today that some workers did get fired after the strike, mostly the workers that weren't a part of the union.

And his explanation can be… plausible. I can see what he means. I mean there isn't a tube station by me so why would he go to lunch so far? He wouldn't really have time for a lunch and a park outing. Maybe his shift just ended. "How do you know it's not because his shift just ended?"

"If he's out here because his shift just ended, wouldn't you think that he would go home and change out of that uniform? There isn't a tube station by here. So he could've been on his way home and just stopped to eat lunch and came here to read the paper and think. It's improbable."

"But not impossible?" I ask him with a nudge to his elbow.

"Nothing is impossible." Sherlock adds, "And we can never know for certain unless we ask him."

"Well, I don't want to ask him, you can do that." I mutter to him, pulling out my phone to look at the time. Sherlock didn't come to the park right away. I stood waiting at the entrance for him and once he came we walked around for a bit before settling on the bench. We were honestly both quiet during our walk, not much to really say to each other, but we might have walked the park aimlessly for an hour because I left the flat an hour ago. I think I've talked to Carter for a little less than an hour, maybe forty minutes.

I look through my text messages to see if John has given me the information about his birthday dinner. He didn't text me anything as of now. Hmm, maybe Sherlock knows more about it. He'll probably be going to it. "As much as I like to play this little deduction game we're playing—."

He cuts me off, "No, let's not stop. We've only just begun."

"Okay, well we'll get back to it, my friend," I say to him quickly before pocketing my phone. "But I want to just ask, do you know anything about Saturday?"

"Saturday?" Sherlock asks me confused. "What's Saturday?"

"John's… John's Birthday dinner…" I say to him slowly. Why does he sound so confused about it? He's his bloody flatmate for god's sake, shouldn't he know about it?

Sherlock parts his mouth at me, still looking slightly confused at what I just said, but then he starts, "Oh, right that." I nod my head slowly at him. He didn't… he didn't forget about it, did he? I mean, I was only invited at least an hour again, but he must have known for some time. He is John's flatmate… correct? They both live in 221b Baker Street, right? "No, I do not. Why should I know anything of it?"

"Because… you're John's friend and you are his flatmate." I explain to him slowly like the answer is pretty obvious. Then I enquire, curiously, "Were you invited?"

"Of course I was invited to it. I'm just not going, I have a thing that day."

"You… you have something to do that is more important than be with your best friend during his birthday dinner?" I ask him, almost sounding incredulous. I don't get it. This confuses me. Sherlock may not think John is his best friend, but they are close with each other. I know that they are, you can tell that they are. Sherlock doesn't really answer me. I glance down at his lips for a moment and watch how they shift uncomfortably.

He ignores the question and tells me, "I don't know why John is even having this birthday dinner. All of his friends hate him."

"That's not true."

"How would you know? You haven't even seen any of their faces. All you would have to do is look at them. I've actually written an essay about suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends." Sherlock says to me. I take a small breath and look at him thoughtfully. Though that is a horrible thing to do and I hope that John didn't read that essay, or that he would ever read that essay, I give Sherlock a slight smile. He glances over at me, "What are you smiling about?"

My smile falls off my face immediately and I look away from him quickly. "Nothing… uh, so does John know that you're not going?" Smooth, very smooth recovery. I was just caught smiling and looking at him, and I come up with that? I'm slipping.

"I don't see why he has to know that I'm not going. I think he'll just notice me not there." He didn't even tell John? I stare at him almost in shock before I slowly turn my head forward. But… did he not even have the courage to actually tell John about this? I mean, if he had something to do, he could have told John and he would have understood perfectly. This… no… I don't want to think of it like that, but the conclusion comes into my mind so quick that I couldn't stop it.

I frown to myself. "You're just not going because you don't want to… is that right?" I slowly glance at him to see his eyes elsewhere.

"Don't be ridiculous. I have a thing." He tells me matter-of-factly. I don't think I should believe him. I stare at him in disbelief for a moment turning my head. I try to ignore it, and turn my head forward.

I cross my legs as we fall into silence. Sometimes our silences are awkward, other times they are comfortable. This time around it's awkward, really uncomfortable. But I don't feel like leaving him and I assume that he feels the same way. I don't know if what I said is true, but it sure seems that way. But… I'm not going to press further. Obviously it's not any of my business.

But I think I may just tell Lestrade about this tomorrow morning.

After a few minutes pass, I begin to scan around the park for our next victim of our games of deduction. The clouds are beginning to stir above us, but neither of us looks like we are about to move. Some people actually consider leaving the park while we just sit here. But then I spot a young man with a million piercings, a Mohawk with purple streaks, and eyeliner along his eyes. I smirk to myself before muttering, "I spy with my little eye, a rebellious youth with daddy issues and a low level of self-esteem."

There is silence next to me, no response… until a minute later. I feel Sherlock's eyes on me before looking straight at the rebellious youth. "Anarchist, if you haven't noticed. He's wearing a backpack with red spray cans inside of it."

"How do you know that they're red?"

"The backpack isn't closed and it only fits three, judging its size. I see them all peaking out, and they're all red." Sherlock states. I shrug my shoulders, I guess I can see that, he probably also listens to punk music. He looks like a punk in both the musical genre sense and the general meaning of the word.

"He has a beanie in his back pocket." I add on.

Sherlock sighs, "An ugly beanie, that could mean that he has no friends."

"What are you talking about? Just because he has an ugly beanie doesn't mean that he has no friends." I tell him immediately. I know plenty of guys, or rather, I have seen plenty of young men his age that wear those type of ha—wow, I'm starting to sound old. I'm commenting on a kid, and calling him a young man.

He explains to me, "No one would want to be seen around him while he's wearing that hat. He'd look ridiculous in it. Have you seen his hair?"

"I have, of course I have. And I'm having trouble with figuring out how he fits it over his Mohawk. Maybe he's holding it for someone?"

He scoffs at that suggestion, "No, that would be stupid. It's his."

Sherlock and I have gone back and forth concerning the beanie belonging to the young man, until I decide to take matters into our own hands and check with him. Sherlock stands up and brushes himself down. I check him myself to be sure that there isn't anything on his long coat or his purple shirt that is straining to stay buttoned over his… over his chest. Why… why am I paying attention to his—damn, anyway…

I give him a slight thumbs up. We have agreed to him purposely tossing the hat on the ground and giving it back to the rebellious youth.

I stand up as well and follow him as he goes toward the kid. I stop in my place and watch once I see Sherlock a few metres away from him. I'm close enough where I can hear them both. Sherlock does exactly as we agreed he should do, he casually walks past him and then with one swift move drops the beanie onto the ground. It looks as though it fell on its own.

He acts so well, it's almost unbelievable. Sherlock's tone takes a polite approach, one I've only seen once before, and as he picks it up he taps the kid on the shoulder and asks him, "I'm sorry, I found this on the ground. Is this yours?" This isn't the Sherlock that has called his hat ugly. This one is completely different.

"Yeah… yeah, it is. Thanks." The kid says taking the hat from Sherlock's hand. I curse under my breath and grit my teeth as Sherlock's polite smile quickly turns into a smug grin thrown my way. I try not to seem to phased, but once I see him coming my way, I couldn't help but grimace at him and shake my head.

Before he comes to my side, I get a text message. I take out my phone before glancing down at it and opening the message, I see it's from Helen. My mouth parts reading it to myself and I take a slow breath before locking my phone and putting it in my pocket. It's information about the funerals for both her stepfather and her sister—for the wake and the funeral. I quickly put the phone in my pocket, pretending that I just didn't get that information, and then look to Sherlock whose approached me with his long, prideful strides.

"Satisfied?" I ask him.

"Hmm, I don't really know, what's the score in this game? I, two, you, none."

"Uh… what about that one in the beginning? I believe I won in that."

"I didn't really participate in that, it doesn't count."

"What? What do you mean it doesn't count? I won that!" I begin to defend my loner, bookworm deduction as we make our way back to the bench to continue on with this game. We both don't want to go home, it seems. My flat can be lonely sometimes, and John is at work and Sherlock doesn't want to deal with clients which… I guess can be understandable…

"That was practice, I was giving you a chance at warming up your deduction skills."

"If I would have known we were tallying up how many deductions we can make, I would have brought up my game. You didn't even give me a chance. You brought it up so nonchalantly, how was I supposed to know what was going on?" It is a weak defence, but I try it.

Unfortunately, he doesn't even pity my weak defence enough to give it to me and by the end of our little… Deduction Game, I guess, the score is…

Sherlock: 5

Meredith: 0

Though today was an unsuccessful day… I mean, I did lose to Sherlock, I have forgotten about almost everything that was on my mind when I was in my flat earlier. Now, I pour myself a glass of wine and crouch over my kitchen counter with my eyes on my phone, waiting for a phone call from either Carter or Lestrade, since he did promise me that he was going to check in.

I take quiet sips from it and then, quietly, I walk over to my window that is across my flat. I lean my body against the glass, watching the raindrops hit my window, which make the only sounds heard in my flat. I swirl my glass of red wine for a moment and look down at the street. My eyes scan the London sidewalk; I'm not that far up, if you are wondering. I am on the second floor of my building, so I can still see things very clearly.

No one is on the street, except for a few passing cabs. A few people are walking on the sidewalk with umbrellas over their heads hurriedly. I bring my glass to my mouth, and look across the street to see an umbrella tilted up and a figure standing there. My brow furrows at this and I pick up my chin as my eyes droop down further to see that it is a woman, a woman that I have never seen before, staring up at me. The only thing I can see of her that is clear is her red painted lips.

At first, I don't pay any mind to it. I keep sipping at my wine and move my eyes away from her for a moment. Then I notice her movement from the corner of my eye, so sudden and so swift, that it makes me turn my head her way and watch as she goes to a car that's waiting for her on the curb. I see a smile on those red lips as she looks back my way for a final moment. Her umbrella comes over her just before I can get a really good look at her. I swirl the wine in my glass again before I watch the car drive away.

That is… that is strange. I step away from the window, watching the raindrops that will be the last I will see for the day. I put my glass down on the desk next to me and then I close the drapes over my window and… try not to think about the woman that… I think… was watching me before.

I take my glass of wine and then grab my phone from the kitchen before settling down on my sofa, but before I'm fully settled, I stand up and go to my bedroom. I scan my room quickly before I go to where I have neatly folded my work clothes from today. On top of my neatly folded clothes, is my gun. My hand hovers over its handle and for a moment I hesitate taking it up in my hands.

I only touched it once, held it like I was going to use it once and that was a month ago when my first case was about to close. I grip the gun tightly before taking a deep breath, and then, I take a pillow and move myself to my living room. I neatly place the gun on the arm of sofa and place my pillow directly over it. I lay down with my phone on my stomach and my eyes on the door to my flat. In the complete silence of my flat, it has taken me fifteen minutes before deciding on putting on my telly and tuning in to BBC News.

Hello everyone! I am basically in a Sherlock mode right now, because of that amazing episode on New Year's! Anyone else watch it? Well, it inspired an update and I have to say, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter while being stuck in my house because of all the glorious snow outside… Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! I am taking a slight break from cases, but when I do go back to the cases I may write up the Aluminium Crutch going by John's blog, or write up the other cases he put up recently on it that happened before Reichenbach. We'll see, but for now I think I'll be dipping into Many Happy Returns… John's birthday dinner… I tried looking up John's birthday to see if I can find it anywhere, and some people say March 30th or July 7th, I decided with July 7th for this story.

Okay, I think I'm done rambling for now, I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter and the next one will be up again soon! Oh, last chapter I messed up Dr. Roylott's name and called him Dr. Stoner, so I'm just going to fix that. And Happy New Year!

Review Reply:

A Fan: Thank you so much! Wow, hearing that… honestly thank you. I get so nervous with keeping the characters in character because many of them are just so complex in little ways, especially Sherlock, and thank you so much for your review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And P.S. you may just be right about our Anne Taylor ;)

Jessica: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!

Rousdower: Thank you! Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the update! Why Fireflies Flash, out! ;D (I like that, I actually think I stole that from you last chapter didn't I?)

Guest: Wow, thank you so much! I'm so happy to hear that. And thank you for that, too! I have to go back sometime soon and edit what I have. I always miss things when I'm editing chapters first time around. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!