Hello, all! As promised in the last author's note (which I have now removed), here is the next chapter! I'm sorry that this took so long, but definitely start expecting at least one chapter a month, as that is my goal. I'll try to make it more than that, but with work, my 11/Amy story, and trying to move outta this place, I'm not going to give a for sure promise on that! Anyways, let's get to reading, 'cause that's what you're here to do, yeah? Awesome! Really quick, though, I own nothing! Just wanted to make that clear for those that think otherwise. Now... Enjoy!

Amy had seen train stations more packed than this. She had also seen a lot of space stations more packed than that. Still, there was a sense of business to the air that kept their energy up.

The sooner that it got to the train's arrival, the more antsy the three of them got, especially Amy. They all were stationed at different parts, Amy near where the trains sat, getting ready to be boarded. She was supposed to keep an eye out for anyone getting off of a train or for anyone trying to get on as soon as possible. Sherlock was in the middle, leaning against a vending machine with one hand supporting him as he pretended to be surveying his options, though really able to view the bathrooms and section where the public phones were. Meanwhile, John sat at one of the benches near the front entrance, able to see anyone coming in and going. All three had their grounds covered, looking for any strange activity. There was strange activity, sure, but all of it was just the normal amount that came with public transportation. The homeless man yelling at people about having a lie detector inside of him didn't seem to pertain to the account, or at least that's what Sherlock surmised after about five minutes of watching him.

Out of the three, she ran the most on emotion, and though she'd spent a lot of time cracking cases with Sherlock, she was used to the boldness and lack of a plan that came with traveling with the Doctor and running around planets together. She met John's eyes, who was sitting on a bench with a newspaper over his face. Unsurprisingly, he was actually interested in what he was reading, almost more so than the case. "Shouldn't we be buying tickets or something?" Amy asked them, giving up on the ruse that they were all just strangers placed strategically around the room to get the most viewpoints and cross with the exits. People around her looked at the redhead until they realized she was talking to two men almost nearly across the room. Sherlock gave her a look to keep the cover, but she just shrugged. "What, so we're just going to stand here then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the vending machine. He nodded his head to beckon her over. Amy crossed her hands over her chest, and John folded up his newspaper to meet up as well. "There's an advantage to blending in before the culprit gets here, Amelia," he said curtly, "I didn't think I'd have to explain that to you."

"Well, that's the closest I've heard him call someone smart, so there's that," John broke in, clearing his throat. As uninterested as he was in this particular case, convinced that it really was closed, he still wanted to make sure the mission was a success. It was the soldier in him.

"Jumpin' the gun, aren't ya, Sherly?" Amy asked, her tone innocent, but her eyes fierce. She still firmly believed that it wasn't him.

"Fine, he might not have murdered Violet, but he does have his name on the tickets, and that means something."

"I think we should board the train, buy some tickets-"

"Really, with whose money?" Sherlock interrupted, "Your earnings as a kissogram?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, from your mysterious, vast wealth. Trying to tell me you can't afford three train tickets but you can afford a two-bedroom flat in downtown London?"

"I have a flat-mate-"

"Yeah, who you should be paying for his work, anyways-"

"If you two are done with your squabble…" And they were done, now that John had piqued their interest, though he definitely almost let them continue if this conversation was going to end with him getting a pay raise. Sherlock and Amy followed his gaze to a tall figure in a long coat and a beanie boarding the train with his bike. Both of their heads flashed to the memory of the man that was standing in the fog, only briefly lit up enough that they could see his shape and form. Now that they saw him without the fog, they could see it was the same coat and beanie.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Our bicyclist in the daytime… And without his bike."

"Does that make him a bicyclist then if he doesn't have the bike?" John mused, which made his dark-haired friend give one of those rare, appreciative smirks that he only ever gave John and Amy, the two that could handle him most.

"It makes us passengers on the next train," he surmised.

Now it was Amy's turn to smirk. "I love it when you admit I'm right, Sherly."

"I didn't."

"Oh, but you did," Amy replied, her face straight, though there was mischief in her green eyes. She fished out a small wallet from the back of her denim mini-skirt, which shocked John, as he hadn't expected any sort of wallet to fit with so little material. She held it up to Sherlock mockingly, "So, am I going to be paying for the tickets? Y'know, with my wee, little kissogram income?"

Sherlock's ears went red and he gave an irritated sigh. He could argue with Amy all day, and he didn't have the time for it right now. "We're not buying tickets," he said simply. Though Sherlock was all about blending in before the culprit got there, the biker was here now, and he wasn't going to dilly-dally with capturing the bad guy. This was all fine with Amy, as well, who was used to hanging around attractive men that got straight to the point. Her Doctor did try to be sly from time to time, but he always mussed it up. And just like Sherlock, getting to the big reveal, where he could prove to everyone just how clever he was… That was his favorite part.

She watched as the consulting detective left them behind, going towards the train. He did so smoothly, weaving in and out of the people coming off of it and getting back on. Sherlock only glanced back once at them, smirking at both of her and John and tilting his head towards the train. John gave a small shake of his head. "He wants us to sneak onto a train," he sighed, the statement coming out as more of a question.

Amy was grinning, already walking away towards the train when she replied back to the doctor. "If we catch him before the train starts moving, it doesn't really count, yeah?"

The train itself wasn't too packed, though with the recent stop, there was a lot of movement, people shuffling about, grabbing their bags and standing in the way. They were obstacles that Sherlock was getting frustrated, his bright, blue eyes staying firmly on the man in the beanie and coat. He analyzed his gait and height; it was familiar. Oh, he couldn't wait to prove Amy wrong. His mind was nearly buzzing with dopamine already. If only the people on the train could get out of his way.

"Excuse me, sir, your ticket?" It was a pudgy train operator, holding a thick, black marker in one hand and the free hand waggling his fingers expectantly for a ticket that Sherlock did not have.

Sherlock gave him a humorless smile, one that was meant to be polite for the idiot-brained that he often had to put a show on for so that they didn't all end up wanting to punch him in the face after five minutes of conversation. "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me. You'll see that a tall, redheaded woman has my ticket. She should be right behind me."

"I need your ticket now," the operator insisted. He looked at Sherlock suspiciously, not that the black-haired man saw it.

His eyes were still focused on the retreating figure of the bicyclist, who he could see in the windows between the carts. The bicyclist was one over and stopped on the farthest side before he paused, checking for a seat number. Realizing that he was reaching his seat, Sherlock exhaled impatiently, and when finally looked at the operator, his facial expression was full of contempt. "Look, I have to make a trip to the bathroom. My wife has my information, and I'd like to get my business taken care of as soon as possible-"

"Sherlock!" Perfect timing, he thought to himself as Amy and John got to the cart that he was in.

He feigned another smile, trying to make it more real, but the annoyance in his eyes could not be more clear. "Ah, here she is," Sherlock said, ignoring Amy besides the fact that he was gesturing towards her and placing an arm around her shoulders, "I was just telling this lovely conductor here that you have my ticket. Why don't you fish that out of your wallet while I make a run to the loo, hm?"

She caught on quickly, as did John, who was looking anywhere but at the situation. Sherlock could see from the corner of his eye that she was getting upset that she was being the distraction this time, instead of getting to assist with capturing the bicyclist. But they didn't have many choices, and she couldn't tell him "no," not after Sherlock had already made up his own story. If she tried to correct him or anything of that sort, they'd be kicked off the train before they found the cyclist at all.

Her smile was tight at first, but Amy was great at acting. That was three-fourths of her job as a kissogram, after all. John and Sherlock had learned the difference between the smile that she had on now and the real one, though. "Sure, sweetie. Go ahead, I'll take care of this."

Sherlock was able to go free. He might actually thank Amy for taking care of his dirty work, though he'd probably forget. John would thank her, though, who was also slipping by her and the operator, following his friend to the next cart over. The consulting detective could feel his heart start to speed up, the adrenaline pumping. His mind was salivating at the idea that he was finally going to solve the case. Until he remembered one thing, a thought coming across him as he reached the seat. "You bought two tickets," Sherlock murmured, meeting the eyes of the bicyclist. The person before him looked shocked to see him there, jumping and bracing himself, ready to leap, "You're missing another passenger, aren't you?"

He didn't get his answer. Like a caged animal, the bicyclist bolted.

Amy couldn't believe that she was getting stuck with this. She wouldn't get to see the unveiling of the man that she had helped Sherlock and John track down. The operator was a tough cookie, too, not falling for any of her flirtations or her silly antics, like when she dropped her wallet on the ground and bent down rather slow for him. Normally, Amy didn't do this, especially not for men like him. He looked like a gargoyle, except his strong jawline and sharp, harsh features were softened out by the overall pudginess of him. His skin was a milky white, eyes blue and hair blonde. Amy guessed that his parents were Swiss, though all the Swiss people she had met before were lovely. She kept peeking over in the next cart, watching as Sherlock and John approached the culprit for all the trouble going on in Violet's life. But then Sherlock had stopped right before he reached the seats.

It was when she was picking up her wallet after dropping it again, that she saw the cart doors slide open, a figure squeezing himself hastily through the space in his rush to get away. Amy stood up, ignoring the red-faced and irritated conductor who was now rudely demanding that she give him the tickets or else. Amy waved a hand in his face. "Yeah, yeah, shut up will ya?" As she did so, she pushed the conductor in the way of the runner, taking a step back as he was jostled by the unexpected person in the way. With the bicyclist already slowed down and caught by surprise, Amy prevented him from picking up any more speed by holding her foot out for him to trip over. He landed on the ground with a thud, and as he pivoted so that his back was against the ground, Amy realized who it was.

"James?" she asked, her voice hurt. Amy didn't know the man very well, sure, but she had been sure that he was innocent, that he cared about Violet. James Carruthers… He didn't care about Violet. He had stalked her, terrorized her.

And goddamn it, Sherlock was right after all. Amy gave him a kick in his ribs just to make up for that "I told you so" that she was going to get later.

Sherlock and John seemed to preoccupied to do it when they finally did get to Carruthers, who had backed himself up into a corner of the shaking cart as it sped along the tracks. His eyes were wide, chest heaving, an arm slung down his torso, protecting the sore spot caused by Amy's trainers. The operator was beyond fuming now and had one arm around her elbow to "restrain" her, his fat, little body projecting a booming voice when he caught Sherlock's eye and announced that they were getting off at the next stop.

"John, call a taxi," Sherlock ordered, then looked at the operator, "And you take your hands off my traveling companion here before I cut your hand off and use it in one of my more fascinating experiments. On the bright side, it would probably be the most useful that you've been to anyone in your entire life."

"I thought this was your wife, eh?" the operator sneered. He obviously had no idea what Sherlock was talking about, and that was fine. He didn't see why he would.

Sherlock snorted, still coming off as completely condescending. "Sorry, I hadn't realized you were really that dull. See, that was a lie. Amelia and I are not quite the marrying the types," he replied, "Now, this is official police business, all the way from Scotland Yard. A case for a missing girl, and that man is our suspect. Would you like me to call up my dear friends and have them speak to your superiors? We can all have a nice, long discussion of how perfectly illegal it is to disrupt a crime scene. I can even have my dear friend Lestrade tell you. He uses smaller words."

Amy watched in satisfaction as the operator looked at them, confused. This was another lie, the fact that this was not tied to Scotland Yard at all, but Sherlock had made it thoroughly convincing, enough that she almost did expect him to call Lestrade and have him deal with the man that was getting in the way of their own personal investigation. She watched as Sherlock flashed a badge, something he'd stolen from Anderson when he wasn't looking. It'd come in handy before in situations like this. She almost tried not to laugh when the operator screwed his face up, no comeback to give besides, "Put your bloody badge away. I don't care who ye are, but you're all getting off at the next stop."

John had just shove his phone in his pocket, entering the conversation. "Not to worry, I've called a taxi, everyone."

James didn't go quietly, which was something that truly surprised Amy. She had pictured him to be the perfect gentleman. That was how he had acted before. The cynic inside of her, the one that the Doctor's departures had helped thrive, told her she should expect not to trust a man who seems the "perfect gentleman." He kicked, he pulled, he tried to run away, but there was no escaping a seasoned army doctor, a too-observant genius, and a kissogram with a wide variety of costumes. The redhead smirked from behind the three men, both Sherlock and John on either side of James, their hands firmly on his shoulders and his hands restrained behind his back.

"Do you seriously go around carrying those things?" John asked, still incredulous at how fast Amy had whipped the metal handcuffs out. He was looking at her over his shoulder, and even though half of his face was blocked, she could see that he was a little pink in the cheeks.

Her smirk turned into a grin. "I can't tell whether you're pleased or scandalized by it," she teased.

"We need to get to Violet," James said, his voice quiet but strained. His hands pulled again at the cuffs. He wasn't entertained by their banter, that much was clear, and the three were grateful for it. Just because they had a suspect did not mean their job was over. Not when their client, the victim, was missing.

Sherlock's grip tightened on James' shoulder. "Well, Carruthers, I hate to point out the obvious, but normally we don't let the suspected stalker near the party that he's stalking."

"It's not what you think!" the other man replied, wrenching free from Sherlock and John. He stopped walking instead of running, Amy almost running into him. James turned to look at her, his eyes pleading. "Amy, you have to believe me. I want what's best for Violet; I'd never hurt her."

She crossed her hands over her chest, eyes not meeting John or Sherlock's as they moved to grab him again. "Wait," she told them, then to James, "You think I'm going to help you? After I trusted you, after Violet did? You'd have more luck fishing for sympathy with Sherlock over there, and trust me, that's really saying something."

He shook his head as the two men grabbed him again. "No, you know I wouldn't do this," James argued. Amy tried to ignore the pang in her chest. She was lying before, when she said that he couldn't get her to sympathize with him. Amy had a habit of giving second chances. Hell, even third and fourth. But she always resisted it, always told herself not to get her hopes high with people like James. She observed how his body shook, his jaw tight. James had lighter hair, a sandy blonde that was usually quite meticulous. The beanie and the fighting he'd been doing for the afternoon made him look completely disheveled, his hair falling in a large flop that almost covered half of his face. That ridiculous hairdo… So eerily similar to her friend that had left her. "I wouldn't hurt Violet. Yes, I'm the biker that's been following her, but… I was doing it for her safety, I swear! Someone else is after her."

"And who might that be?" Amy asked. Finally, her eyes met Sherlock's, both of them wondering if they actually still had a culprit to find. John's grip tightened, but out of concern for Violet. She was a lovely girl. He didn't know her very well, but that didn't matter. Still lovely, all the same.

James frowned. "Adam Woodley… He's a business associate of mine… Was, anyways," he explained. Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't believe James; the jury was still out on that one, and when his eyes finished rolling, they observed Carruthers for any tell-tale biological signs that a lie was being told. The scoff was really at the memory of that Adam Woodley man that night that Amy and him had gone to the pub, how he had drunkenly accused the man of being the stalker. "Him and Tom Williamson, they have her. I know where they'll be, that train was supposed to take me there. Violet, too, before everything became so complicated… Please, just take me there now, and I'll tell you on the way."

The detective trio looked around at each other. John was still concerned, Amy conflicted and distrusting, Sherlock amused still over Adam and Tom being involved. One thing that they all had in common was the twinkle in their eye. The chase wasn't over yet.

James kept good on his promise, but Sherlock insisted that his hands stay in the cuffs. Amy had given him a heavy sigh, but complied as she slipped the key back into her pocket. The taxi was moving at a fast pace, pushing just above the legal limit. Countryside wished past them in stripes of green and brown and gray-blue skies. Amy made sure to tip well, sitting in the front of the taxi while the three men sat in the back, and Sherlock had heard her mention something about going as fast as legally possible. The driver was doing his job, quiet the entire time and falling into the background. Meanwhile, the three all faced James, Amy having to do some careful maneuvering with her seatbelt. Sherlock noticed that she was captivated just as much as John was, who normally would be staring out one of the windows, sighing, and saying something pretentious about country air being incomparable to the smog of London. Sherlock, too, was very interested. He listened intently to every detail of the story, dissecting James' words to see if there were any holes, any glaring falsities.

Apparently, Carruthers, Williamson, and Woodley were their own trio. Scam artists. James didn't go into much detail on his previous projects with them, but it was clear that he'd been working with them for some time, and that he had done a scam before. It was how he'd gotten that house, that nice, big house that Sherlock had been so suspicious of. "You haven't been there very long, have you?" he asked, his eyes finding Amy's to tell her I told you there was something wrong with that house. "That, or you really have been too busy to fix up your prize from the last job."

"I got the house because I'm the only one with a child. Janie needed consistency, a home," James explained, "But Tom and Adam got the rest of the money. I was going to use the prize from this job to finally fix it up." Yes, as it turned out, James was actually broke, hence the outdated furniture. He didn't have the money to buy his own, so he had ketpt the person's that he'd stolen it from.

"How did you afford the piano teacher?" John asked, which Sherlock was happy for. That was one hole in the story that he was finding as well. "You were paying her quite a bit, weren't you?"

James sighed. "That was Adam's money. Tom's went towards that goddamn pub of his." He became visibly irritated, and explained that this was meant to be his last scam, that he had been meaning to get out of it after, and that the other two had known it, only trying to bring him in now with the fact that their next prize had been so close, and silently showing him that they would always be right around the corner, always around him… Tom's pub was evidence of that. "I thought if I just became a simple bystander, just a man that let them use his house from time to time… I thought that would be okay."

And that was exactly what James' role had been meant to be during the job. He was just supposed to get the other two within Violet's social circle, specifically Adam Woodley. "Adam was going to… Seduce her, I suppose you could say. Pose as my friend who was staying with me for a holiday and get close to her. But he fouled it up." He smiled now. "God, she hated him."

"And then you drove him away," Amy said softly, finally speaking. Sherlock could see where she made the inference, but it didn't mean the same to him as it did to her. She was now smiling softly at James. "I knew you fancied her."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, looking at John, who was grinning, and then at James, who was blushing. When he rolled his eyes, he really was doing it at James this time. Did it always have to be relationship drama with these cases? Sherlock wanted something a bit more action-y, and he had been quite interested in that scam artist ordeal, the manipulations that a simpleton like Adam had completely failed. He didn't comment, just continued to listen. James kept on telling his story, that he cut off ties with the men, told them that he wasn't doing it anymore. And that was when he became the cyclist, following Violet as she lived her life, just so that he could make sure that she was safe.

"But why?" Sherlock asked as James concluded his story. He'd forgotten the most important part of the story. "Why Violet? She's not some young socialite, not very wealthy. I don't understand what great fortune plan on finding with her."

"That's because you've only talked to Violet, who doesn't know yet. Her father, he died a few months ago. She doesn't know this, but I knew him personally. He was… A fellow player in the field, back in the day. When he died, there was only one place that that fortune was being given to, and that was her."

The car finally reached their destination. It looked like they were close to a city, though no one had been paying attention to any signs while they'd been driving. It was an industrial-looking side of town, and not an expensive one. The taxi sat in front of an old, closed-off building. The windows were boarded up and graffiti scribbled and sprayed on top of that. Sherlock looked up, taking in the rest of the building. There were six stained-glass windows, all depicting scenes of the Bible, a cross atop the roof. Sherlock smirked. "A wedding... I should have brought my tuxedo."

Amy grimaced at the the word "wedding." It made her feel uneasy. "So, your grand plan was to have the idiot with sexual harassment issues marry into the money and split it with you three ways? Wot, you all expected Violet to just hand it over."

James didn't elaborate further, though his eyes were downcast, racked with guilt. Sherlock knew that she had a high opinion of him, though he wasn't sure why. Out of jealous, he did the elaborating for James. "She wasn't going to find out. 'Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead,' isn't that right, Carruthers?"

The blonde man closed his eyes briefly, avoiding Amy's and John's looks of shock, not to mention Sherlock's smug smile. "I wasn't going to kill her. I was just supposed to give Adam the chance to meet her."

"So that he could marry her for her money, and then kill her," John added. Normally Sherlock and Amy would admire that sass, but not right now.

Before they entered the church, James had his hands released. Carefully, he pushed up his pant leg, the denim on his jeans disguising the gun that was strapped just below his knee. No one flinched as he brought it out, aimed at the door. He knew what was going to be in that room, had helped plan it, and he knew the people who were behind this. It was a silent agreement that he go in first, as much as Sherlock wished that he could, just to give a nice quip before he arrested Tom and Adam. The sight that greeted them was surprising enough that he didn't think he'd have been able to get it out anyways.

The church was small, and it smelled like a hospital. There were a dozen pews on either side of them as they entered, the choir pit just above them on a balcony that had stairs to their left. The rug was an ugly beige, the pews a dark brown wood. It was still bright enough outside that the light was shining through the windows perfectly, giving the otherwise drab room some color. At the end of the aisle, there was Adam Woodley, standing with an easy smile, facing his bride, who was her own thing. Violet was handcuffed and sat in a chair, sobbing as she tried to get out. Like Adam, she wasn't dressed for a wedding, and Sherlock had to wonder how they managed to abduct her, though he surmised that they took her while Carruthers had been trying to tail her at the train station. Between them, there was Tom, his nose between the Bible as he read out the vows.

"I don't!" Violet protested, when asked if she would take her husband for better or worse, richer or poorer, and in sickness and in health. "Why are you doing this?! Just let me go, you disgusting moron!"

Adam tsked her, cocky now that he had his prey within the trap that he had forced upon her. "Tommy Boy, I heard that my dear future wife said she does take me for better or worse. Is that what you heard?"

Tom dropped his book and let out a laugh, then looked at Violet and shrugged. "That's exactly what I heard."

Bang!

A shot rang out, everyone in the room jumping. Violet almost tipped over and fell to the floor from the surprise, nearly losing her balance. This was their entrance, Carruthers' right hand raised above his head, his finger on the trigger. "Let her go, the both of you." He sounded brave, not like the man that had been shivering and shaking since they'd found him on the train. Adrenaline rush, Sherlock reasoned, instead of his first reaction being This is what love does to people, I suppose.

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