A/N: Sorry for the late update, I was in need of some inspiration. I just want to mention that updates may not be as frequent, you may need to wait a few days before a new chapter is added because i've suddenly become busy with the typical routine of student life. Nothing to worry about though, I am not keen to let this story end adruptly. Anway, enjoy! :)

Evelyn didn't like Mycroft Holmes, so it was unfortunate that he was sitting on her sofa, eating her biscuits. He visited unexpectedly, knocking on the door with the end of his umbrella. When Evelyn greeted him, he wore a nice, cheery smile and made his own way into her living room.

"I didn't expect to see you in my humble abode, Mycroft." Evelyn said, sitting opposite him in her favourite chair with silk pillows. "I thought you spent your time walking the Queen's corgis."

"I have more pressing matters to be concerned for." Mycroft replied, placing his umbrella by the side of the chair and picking out another biscuit.

"Thanks for warning the doctor about me, not exactly what I asked of you."

"Torture is not something I was too keen on doing, Ms. Stowe."

Evelyn wondered how Mycroft knew her real name. She never did tell him, but she ignored it.

"Don't be so formal, Mycroft. We are friends, remember?" she said.

"More like adversaries, taking into account, you are trying to overthrow my little brother."

"No, I am trying to impress him. That is the aim of an entertainer."

"And what a show you're putting on! The screenplay has similarities to Moriarty's great piece."

"I learnt from the best. It's a shame the best couldn't live to see the masterpiece that is being created."

"I'd love to chat about your deceased friend but I am here on business." Mycroft pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Evelyn. "I received this letter when I was spending some time in the Diogenes Club last week."

Evelyn wondered what this letter consisted of. A feeling in the back of her mind told her it was not good. It read as follows:

"Dear Mr. Mycroft Holmes,

After your meeting with her, we have discovered Fiona Favell's real identity. Her name is Evelyn Stowe. However, there are no records of her. She has no job or school history or even a birth certificate so it was to our surprise that we found out her real name. We want to make sure that you remain safe, Mr. Holmes. Stowe is dangerous, having been the assistant to James Moriarty for quite some time, we fear she may share his hatred for you and your brother, Sherlock Holmes."

Evelyn looked at Mycroft, who watched her show small signs of worry. Eve knew that Mycroft would be trouble when she convinced him to meet her in a dark warehouse. She was foolish to think that blackmail was enough to coax him into doing what she asked. Now, she knew that Mycroft had gotten someone to find out who she really was. She couldn't trust him with that information.

"Don't worry, Evelyn. The police have no idea who you are." Mycroft said, retrieving the letter from Evelyn's grasp. "No one knows besides Sherlock, John, some of the secret service and I of course."

"What will this information be used for, exactly?" Evelyn asked in concern.

"Oh, no use at all. I just want you to know that we are watching you. If you go on like this, you will end up in prison. I have people who want you spend the rest of your years in a cell. I do not wish for that to happen, however." Mycroft explained.

"Why? Am I too valuable?" Evelyn responded, mocking the Holmes brother.

"No. I know your story. The reason why you are here today murdering as you please." Mycroft stood up, picked up his umbrella and offered a hand to Evelyn. "And I know what Moriarty did to you and it's a good enough reason for me to keep the information I have."

Evelyn shook Mycroft's hand and stood up as well to meet him in the eye.

"Why can't you just tell Sherlock, then? It would solve this case quicker."

"I would prefer my brother to find out the answers himself. It pleases him."

With that, Mycroft walked out of Evelyn's house leaving her confused and partially annoyed. Mycroft could potentially ruin her plan. He probably had a list of every alias she ever used thanks to his friends in the secret service.

Sherlock looked through the windows of Lestrade's office while the detective inspector was searching for case files in the messy stack he had on his desk. Sherlock wasn't sure of what do with himself, he was bored, bored because Evelyn hadn't done anything. It was like she was on hiatus, a small break from committing crimes. But, Sherlock had some luck as Donovan barged into the room.

"Sir, there's been another murder." She announced.

Sherlock and Lestrade followed the sergeant out of the office. John, who was chatting up one of the female officers, was suddenly yanked by his knitted jumper courtesy of his friend who was elated with the news of there being another murder.

John approached the man who wore a white shirt that was now stained with red velvet blood. The hole in the middle of the chest, the bullet still lodged in between organs somewhere. Sherlock examined the window where the bullet had passed through. It had only left a small hole in the glass where it had broken itself into the room and landed in the victim, causing him to drop dead instantly. The consulting detective then turned his attention to the far wall where a message was written in yellow spray paint.

"Are you impressed yet, Holmes?"

Two dot eyes and a smile were drawn in the middle of the 'O' in 'Holmes'. Just like Moriarty had done on the glass case when he stole the crown jewels and wore them like a self-proclaimed king.

Sherlock was impressed at this murder because it didn't involve an overdose of antihistamine. Evelyn was adding some diversity to her crimes, which was now something to look forward to. Sherlock wandered over to the ex-army doctor who was still looking over the corpse.

"So, I assume you think she did this?" asked John, titling his head to the sprayed wall behind them.

"It is fairly obvious. There is another warehouse opposite this one. You can clearly see it from the window. She sniped him from over there." Sherlock explained. He began to run his gloved fingers over the bullet hole. "You said she was a sniper at the pool. No wonder Moriarty asked her, he must have known she had a good aim."

Sherlock was then startled when Lestrade handed him two plastic bags over the consulting detective's shoulder.

"Evidence." Lestrade said bluntly. "A mobile phone and a name tag."

Sherlock took them, studying the two bags in his hands. He found interest in the name tag which bore the name 'Fiona' on it in clear, bold letters.

"It was found in his shirt pocket. The mobile phone was on floor, not far from the body." Lestrade continued. "Do you know a Fiona, Sherlock?"

"No, not exactly."

Sherlock had a clear idea of who Fiona was. Just like Amanda, she was just another alias of Evelyn Stowe. He remembered the backstory Eve gave for Amanda, how she had a degree in psychology. Forged documents. It would come to no surprise that Evelyn was working at some shop or supermarket to receive this name tag, having forged documents to prove she was who she said she was to be able to get the job. Sherlock then took a look at the mobile phone. It had a few scratches on it and it was barely new. The scrapes indicated it had been used quite a lot and it was out of date as if it had been passed through generation to generation. The victim did not look like someone who would own a phone like this, he looked too business like. Sherlock concluded that he was given it, just for the purpose of following instructions.

The body lay on the floor vertical to the window, so the victim was standing directly in front of the glass when he was shot, facing his killer who was present in the opposite warehouse.

"How near was the mobile phone to the body?" Sherlock asked, pacing the room to re-enact the scene.

Lestrade stood two steps from the body.

"It was around here. Why?"

"The impact of the shot was enough to knock the phone out of his hands, but look at the body." Sherlock quickly walked over to the dead man before crouching beside him gracefully. "It was moved. His arms would not be straight; neither would his legs from a shot with enough impact the remove the phone from his hands to land two steps away."

"So, the name tag was placed in his pocket after he died?" John asked.

"Yes, the killer came to the body, placed a calling card and sprayed the wall before leaving. The corpse was straightened to make it obvious it had been moved." Sherlock said as he tried to imagine what happened after the victim dropped dead. "This murder had no reason to happen other than to taunt us." Sherlock raised his head to face the message written on the wall. "To taunt me, especially."

"What makes you so special?" sneered Anderson who had gone back to his usual routine of belittling Sherlock, even though he was the one who removed all cameras from the forensics examiner's house, allowing him to return to work.

"You lot, the police, don't care for games. You want to find the criminal in a swift manner. However, I do care for games; they make life that little less boring and boring is not what this murderer wants."

Sherlock stashed the two plastic bags of evidence under his coat, ignoring the protests from Anderson who was complaining about contamination of the crime scene and Sherlock's possession of vital evidence.

John stood up and followed his companion out of the warehouse, cursing to himself as he noticed Sherlock had already crossed the road to find a cab.