Author's note: okay guys, this is a massive chapter, seeing as this story is so long I decided join to chapters together so it fits nicely together. This is the main bulk of the climax, but there will be another chapter to finish off the story. Please let me know what you think about this chapter.

Oh, and I should warn you, there is a bit of violence in this chapter..

Episode Four, The Case of the Old Caretaker; chapter Ten

"Yes Dr. Watson," said a voice that certainly didn't belong to Sherlock behind me. "Tell Miss Holmes if her agent will be okay; tell her if his wounds really are as bad as they look."

I instantly stood up and turned around, my gun pointed in the direction of the voice that had come out of nowhere. I quickly saw that it had apparently been the old man who we had met out front who had spoken and I glanced at Anthea, who had her own gun trained on Norseman as she walked around Matherson's battered body to stand beside me, shaking her head to tell me not to speak. Sherlock took a few steps backwards towards me as well, seeing as he was the only one out of Anthea and me who wasn't armed and once he had reached me I moved so that I was slightly in front of him.

"How are you involved, Mr Norseman?" Anthea asked, her hands so steady that I wouldn't have been surprised if she had have shot Norseman then and there, but I knew that she wouldn't; she had already shown me that she was far too much like Sherlock to do something like that.

"Involved?" the old man asked innocently, and I was at a loss, not quite able to see how this man was connected.

"Yes," Anthea said shortly. "You were the one who wrote and sent the note for whoever it is that you are working for, why? How could someone of presumably high stature know you, let alone ask you to be involved with something like this?'

Norseman continued to smile at Anthea, and I glanced back to Sherlock, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet the entire time that we had been here.

"What is it that you actually do here?" Anthea pressed, her gun still aimed at him, but it didn't seem to faze him.

"I am the caretaker," He told her simply.

"Yes, you said that back in reception, but what does that actually entail? It isn't as though you've been doing the gardening or the repair work, one look at the state of the roof is – ah…"

I looked sharply back to Anthea, recognising the tone that she had uttered the word 'Ah.'

"Clever," she whispered with a nod. "Wrong kind of caretaker, am I right? You are employed by a man to take care of certain things, certain people who get in the way or lose their worth or find out too much. They are brought here to you, and then what? You threaten and kill them, torturing them for information? But this man –"she paused, pointing to Matherson behind us. "- this man is different; he isn't like the rest of them, you can't break him, he's far too strong for an old man like you and you can't get anything out of him. So you and your boss decide to bring me here, why?"

"You are very good, aren't you?" Norseman said with a smile still, "Although I haven't heard much from you, Mr Holmes."

"This is my sister's case, not mine." Sherlock said from beside me now that it was evident that Norseman wasn't going to make a move. "Besides, Anthea is doing very well without my assistance and I am here as her guest. I don't wish to overstep my mark."

"It's never stopped you before," Norseman sneered and couldn't help to agree with that one. "But don't let his compliment go to your head, Holmes, I know that you rarely receive compliments from your brothers."

Anthea took a few steps forwards, her gun still raised threateningly in response to the man's words that I felt were a bit too close for comfort for Anthea, and I even saw a guilty expression flash briefly across Sherlock's face.

"How do you know so much about me?" Anthea asked.

"Is it time to show everyone your true colours yet?" Norseman asked all traces of humour and niceties gone now.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"Well, your little sister has made powerful enemies already, hasn't she?" Now how do you suppose she has made 'em so quick eh? It can't be by the usual means, surely?"

"This is irrelevant," Anthea snapped quickly.

"It's really not, you know." Norseman told her seriously. "You've pissed off all the wrong people on your last big job and they would love your head on a silver platter. Oh, don't get me wrong, they thought you infiltrated their little group perfectly; they would never have expected someone so young in such a dangerous situation. I reckon people will write books about you, maybe even movies. You know, once you're dead and gone."

"So in a very long time then?" asked Sherlock with a new edge to his voice.

"Oh I wouldn't count on it," Norseman smiled.

"They can't get me here." Anthea said so quietly that I had almost missed it and Sherlock looked to her sharply as Norseman raised his eyebrows. "But how could you possibly know all of this?"

"I've got my contacts,"

"Your employers?" she asked lightly, the air of authority returning to her voice. "Because you don't just work for my friend do you, you work for anyone who needs someone taken care of, am I wrong?"

"And how could you guess that?"

"You're ex-military," Anthea started to say, and I glanced again to Sherlock who was looking directly at her. "Your clothing, how you hold yourself, your tight, neat haircut all screams British Army. How old are you early eighties; old enough to have fought the Germans at least. A young, eager lad who wanted to serve his country in honour and glory, lying about his age, only to be captured and tortured by the enemy – oh, about a month in."

"Very good, Anthea," Sherlock said lightly as if all of this were just some game to him now, and I saw Norseman's face fall.

"Prisoner of war!" declared Anthea and Norseman snarled in disgust. "You've got your prisoner numbers on the underside of your wrist, your nose has been broken three – no – five times and you walk with the slightest hint of a limp, not to mention what you did to Matherson was a dead giveaway."

"If I was a prisoner of the Nazi's," he said, spitting in disgust on the ground before Anthea's feet. "How is it that I am still here today?"

"You are a very lucky man." Sherlock said calmly.

"And a man with the most intimate knowledge of torture that a criminal mastermind could ever ask for." Anthea continued, now moving even closer to Norseman, lowering her gun, making me grip hold of mine even tighter than I already was. "You know what works and what doesn't because it's all been applied on you."

She came to a stop beside Norseman, standing very close to him in a somewhat intimidating manner.

"I bet you learnt some amazing techniques in Asia," Norseman said to her quietly, Anthe giving a slightly disturbed smile.

"Oh Mr Norseman, I could get you to sing." She said very quietly, moving the end of the barrel of her gun to the left side of his head. "What did my operative see that he wasn't supposed to? The letter said that he was too nosy, what did he find out?"

Norseman grinned at her as she glared at him, and I couldn't see how this whole situation was going to end well.

"Would you like me to show you some of the techniques I learned?" Anthea asked him hotly, and my heartbeat doubled as the lights suddenly went out and we were all plunged into darkness.

"Sherlock," I said as I felt him brush past me hurriedly in the direction Anthea was and my heart quickly sunk in fear. "Oh God, Anthea?" I exclaimed as I tried desperately to see through the pitch black, thinking the worst had happened to her and cursing myself for having dropped the torch beside Matherson somewhere on the ground behind me.

"John, I'm fine," I heard Anthea say quietly, and I moved forwards a few steps with my left arm held out in front of me, wondering why Anthea and Sherlock hadn't put their torches on. "John," she added in pain as I walked headfirst into her.

"Sorry," I stammered apologetically, taking a step back so I wasn't on top of her. "Where's Sherlock why haven't you got your torch on, and where has Norseman gone?"

"Shut up, John!" hissed Sherlock somewhere beside me and I felt someone, presumably Anthea, grab my right arm loosely to keep me still.

I understood almost immediately after Sherlock had spoken why he had done so in such tones; a dull sort of sound could be heard somewhere behind me, like from where I had been standing moments before the lights went out. I tried to pick the sound, quickly remembering what it was that I had left behind; someone was dragging James Matherson's limp body across the uneven, damp ground.

"No," Anthea gasped quietly and I felt her try to move forwards but something other than me seemed to stop her. We stood in absolute silence for several long moments, straining out ears to try and hear something, anything that could help up. I could make out the soft, if a little sharp, breathing of Sherlock and Anthea, which meant we were all standing very closely to one another, and I could hear the rain hitting the distant metal roof.

As suddenly as before, light filled the room, leaving us dazed and blinking in the light for a few seconds before our eyes adjusted. We were now alone in the warehouse, Norseman and Matherson having disappeared out one of the doorways on my left. Anthea rushed forwards to the spot where the operative have been, her gun still drawn and her eyes darting around quickly.

"Drag marks," she said quickly, looking back to Sherlock and I, before we followed her as she half ran towards a small door not too far from where we had been standing. Gun raised, she pushed open the door forcefully and I saw her clear either side of the doorway before I followed her through into a narrow corridor.

"We'll need to split up," Anthea said quietly.

"No," I said firmly as she looked back to me, raising her eyebrows. "That is probably exactly what Norseman wants us to do."

"We need to find him quickly," Anthea told me. "This isn't open for discussion, John."

"She is right, John." Sherlock said quietly behind me before I had the chance to argue back. "He can't have got far, Matherson isn't a small man and Norseman isn't exactly young and strong. I will go down this way to what probably leads to his office."

"There is a set of stairs further down this way, I will take them." Anthea said determinedly.

"I guess I will take the corridor then," I said, not feeling too impressed with this plan, but Anthea gave me a thankful nod.

"Sherlock," she added as we all made to move off, and I turned back to look at her as she knelt down and retrieved a small, concealed firearm from her right leg.

"Jesus, you weren't lying when you told Lestrade that you were armed." I said, shaking my head in mild disbelief and I noticed that Sherlock was looking at her with a deep frown.

"Take this," she said, handing what I assumed to be a Glock 26 to Sherlock, who seemed to take it reluctantly. "You've got twelve rounds, use them carefully."

"Be careful," he said quietly as she moved to my side.

"You too," she said, making for the stairs and Sherlock and I exchanged a quick glance before we too headed down opposite ends to the corridor, wondering how this was all going to end.

I walked down the corridor that was dimly lit with a weak light every metre, my gun raised and ready to fire at any moment. This was ridiculous; I was stalking a man who was at least eighty years old who had been a prisoner of war in World War II that had tortured a British Secret Service operative. It was mental and I couldn't quite believe it. What was I even meant to do if I found the guy anyway?

I shook my head, not liking the current situation in the slightest. As I continued down the empty corridor, I wondered where Lestrade and his Armed Response team were considering that Anthea had guessed that they would have arrived within about half-an-hour of us being here.

I came to a disappointed stop; I had reached the end of the corridor and there were no doors, just a cast-iron staircase, probably the same one that Anthea had gone up. I took a deep breath, deciding that climbing the stairs was my best option as opposed to doubling back and I had a quick look around once I had reached the top.

To my right, there were large window frames with broken glass that looked through into the main warehouse. This must have been some kind of viewing platform when the warehouse was a functioning factory that important people came to observe the work that went on. To my left was a series of small offices (which I checked in each of them before moving on) that still had decks and chairs, and even a few old typewriters had been left abandoned in them as well. I continued on as quietly as I could past the stairs that Anthea had used in the hope of catching up to her, which surprisingly I did.

At the end of the raised walkway I found Anthea standing looking over the railing beside another set of stairs. I frowned as I approached her, and when she turned to glance at me she raised a finger to her lips indicating to stay quiet.

"What is it that you want with me?" I heard Sherlock say as I stopped beside Anthea and peered over the railing down to Sherlock who stood in front of an open window that had thick bars over it.

"You received your letter then?" asked Norseman, who stood on the other side of the barred window, his uncaring voice floating up to us. "What did you think?"

I exchanged a quick glance with Anthea before Sherlock gave an answer.

"I think it was creative for whoever your boss is; two voices within one note and all." Sherlock said eventually.

"I reckon you'd find it refreshing to see handwriting these days, no?" Norseman asked with a chuckle.

"Who employed you to do such a thing?" Sherlock asked coldly, and although I couldn't see him, I could imagine what expression was on his face.

"Now you know that I can't tell you something like that," Norseman said giving a long cruel laugh. "You're meant to be the consulting detective, aren't you? Surely you can figure it out."

"Oh, I can assure you that I most definitely will," Sherlock told him, and I was surprised to hear how much hate seemed to radiate from just his voice. "Any enemy of my sister's is an enemy of mine."

"Don't you think you've got enough of a challenge in Mr Moriarty?"

I felt myself wince slightly at the mention of Sherlock's very dangerous, and very real, arch-enemy Jim Moriarty, and I pictured the look of loathing that I assumed would have been on Sherlock's face now. I saw Anthea's worried eyes on me and I tried to hide the fear that I seemed to experience every time Moriarty was mentioned.

"What could you possibly know about him?" I heard Sherlock ask in a spiteful tone.

"You'd be surprised, Holmes," Norseman said and I could hear the grin in his voice. "I know a lot through my boss, you know."

"Like what?" asked Sherlock with blatant scepticism in his voice.

"Things that would shock even you," Norseman said quietly, Anthea and I having to lean forward more in order to hear the conversation now.

"I doubt that very much,"

"It's fine that you don't believe me," Norseman said lightly. "But I even know what the letter I sent you was all about. A lot of lives have been ruined all around the world, and some people want to get even. As for your sister, well, she is a pretty young thing, I'll admit, so I wouldn't exactly say no to some alone time with you if you catch my meaning."

My eyes met briefly with Anthea's, and I had the sudden urge to yell out something that would hopefully make him regret saying or thinking such things, but Anthea placed her hand on my left arm and shook her head, so I forced myself to remain silent.

"I'll have to wait a long time for my chance though," Norseman continued. "There are other people who want to get their hands on her first, and if they do, it'll be the last you ever see of her, that's for sure. Like I've already said, she's made very powerful enemies; some of the things I've heard they want to do – phew – it even makes me cringe. But, enough talking now, I have the disposal of an MI6 double agent to look after."

"No – Norseman!" yelled Sherlock, banging on the narrow doorway beside the barred window and I followed Anthea quickly down the stairs to him.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Anthea said as she moved to the door.

"Would you like me to tell you what he said?" Sherlock asked her, moving back away from the door.

"No need, I heard it all." She told him, rattling the obviously locked door handle.

"Was it true?" he asked.

"Are we really going to have this conversation right now?" she asked him hotly, turning to look at him incredulously.

"Are we going to have this conversation at all?" Sherlock pressed her.

"Uh – no," she said simply turning back to the door. "He's bolted the door, stand back."

After Sherlock and I had taken a few precautionary steps back, Anthea aimed her gun at the door handle and fired. The door handle broke away and Anthea pushed through the door with me quickly following after her. I thought I could hear sirens in the distance, which I sincerely hoped was true as we descended five steps into a much smaller and darker warehouse.

"Relying on the police doing your dirty work, Holmes?" Norseman called from a few metres away from us, holding what looked like an old Webley Revolver to Matherson's temple, Matherson on just managing to remain upright.

"Give up Norseman," Anthea ordered forcefully her weapon aimed directly at him.

"He isn't going to, surely you can see that," Sherlock said from beside me in what sounded like despair, making me frown in confusion but I didn't look away from Norseman.

"There is no way out of this alive and he knows it," Anthea snapped glancing behind her to Sherlock briefly and I saw the pair share a concentrated look and I realised what was going on; they were playing Norseman in an attempt to confuse him and end it without the use of force. "If it isn't me who kills him, it will be his employers."

"They won't kill me," Norseman grinned at her.

"How confident are you?" Anthea asked him seriously. "Even if you somehow managed to kill all of us and escape, what honestly makes you think that everyone you have ever worked for won't come looking for you? There is a paper trail of you now, sitting on my desk at Vauxhall Cross waiting for someone else to look through them and track you down. This doesn't end with me and your employers know that. You are now a liability, one that they will be keen to be rid of. Think it through."

I saw Norseman's smug, confident expression falter slightly.

"Or you can tell me what I need to know, and we can discuss an alternate ending." Anthea continued calmly. "Who was this all orchestrated by?"

"This was all meant to be a little exercise for you," He told her with a furious expression on his face. "You know, to see if you've still got it. Apparently my boss knows a bit about your case in Asia and he was a bit curious to see if all of that had been you. But it isn't the right time for you to know, see, all of this was just a warm up round."

"Why Matherson?" she pressed, obviously hungry for answers.

"Wrong place at the wrong time," Norseman shrugged.

"What else is being planned?" Anthea asked quickly, but Norseman looked away from her, lowering his gun away from Matherson's head. "Come on, Norseman, I can't help you unless you help me first."

"Help me? How can you help me?" he asked disbelievingly.

"How long do you think that you will last out there on the streets, a creature of habit that rarely strays from his place of work?" she said, trying to negotiate with him. "If you cooperate I will be able to take you back to Vauxhall Cross, if you don't then unfortunately I can do nothing to stop the others."

Norseman remained silent for a few moments, seeming to think this over very carefully, but I could feel it in my gut that something that Anthea had just said wasn't right.

"You would put me in a cell?" He assumed in a very quiet and I saw Anthea lower her gun ever so slightly perhaps taken off guard. "You would turn me into a prisoner?"

"No," Anthea said, cursing to herself as she realised her potentially deadly mistake. "Norseman, don't do it, I am giving you a chance to walk out of here alive!"

Norseman gave a laugh, a hollow laugh of a man who already knew what was going to happen here.

"Or, how about another agent shot through his head?" he asked quickly, starting to raise his gun up to Matherson's head again.

Anthea didn't hesitate; she fired her weapon once before Norseman had even realised, his own gun not even reaching its target as the bullet passed through his forehead. In what felt like slow motion, Norseman's body fell to the ground in a lifeless heap beside Matherson who had collapsed also. We all stood perfectly still for several long moments, I myself feeling completely shocked by what had just happened; Anthea Holmes had just killed a man. I looked to the back of her head; she hadn't moved a muscle since she had fired her gun, and I wondered what was going through her mind, considering the last thing Norseman did was threaten to kill Matherson just like her partner had died.

"Nice shot," Sherlock said eventually, his voice sounding off, and I guessed that it unsettled him to have seen her do such a thing.

"Not really," Anthea said slowly, not turning around, her voice quiet and reserved. "I was aiming for his shoulder."

That was a blatant lie, I just knew that much as she moved forward to check on Matherson after kicking Norseman's gun away from his body. Moments later, Lestrade's large armed response team burst through every doorway near us, their submachine guns all raised at the ready and Lestrade himself came rushing in the same way we had.

"I heard the gunshot," he panted as the armed police officers huddled over Matherson and Norseman, calling for the paramedics through their radios. "I thought I was too late."

"It was me, sorry." Anthea said standing back up to turn and face us, not meeting my gaze as two paramedics rushed past us. "I couldn't wait for you, I didn't want to have to inform the operatives family of their son's untimely death."

"So, you sorted everything out then?" Lestrade asked her uncertainly.

"Hardly," Anthea told him, still avoiding my gaze. "I stopped this man, yes, but he was nothing but a pawn in someone else's chess game and I've barely scratched the surface. We did manage to save Matherson, so when he wakes we will be able to fill in a lot of the blanks, like whom it was that he actually saw in the first place."

Lestrade gave her a nod as Anthea placed her firearm back in its place underneath her overcoat and Sherlock held out her smaller back up firearm that she returned to the calf under her pant leg. After Lestrade gave her a surprised look, Sherlock and I followed Lestrade and Anthea out towards the reception room, a little way behind the paramedics who were carrying Matherson on a spinal board while the Armed Response team continued to search the rest of the warehouse. While we walked, I glance to Sherlock to see a small, smug smile on his pale face.

"What are you looking so smug about?" I asked him as we walked out the door we had first entered, stepping into the cold night air, the rain falling lightly in comparison to when we had arrived.

"Smug?" he repeated with a frown. "I'm not smug."

"Alright then," I said, rolling my eyes. "How is it then that you hardly opened your mouth the whole time that we've been here?"

"I have already told you," he told me. "This was Anthea's case and she was doing brilliantly without my help, for once I didn't need to talk."

"And care to explain that message you sent me earlier?" I added, watching him closely.

"I must have been wrong," Sherlock answered slowly with a deep frown.

"That's unlike you," I said lightly.

"I need more data." He said quietly, looking ahead to Anthea, something obviously upsetting him.

As Sherlock came to a stop beside Lestrade, I continued walking to catch up to Anthea who was still following the paramedics.

"Are you alright?" I asked her quietly once I had reached her.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked in a familiar way.

"You did just kill a man," I reminded her.

"He wouldn't have let us leave that warehouse alive, John." Anthea said quietly, looking to me briefly. "It was one life, or four, and I wasn't about to let you and Sherlock get hurt. It was an outcome that I was prepared for."

"Anthea?" said an unfamiliar voice from the spinal board and Anthea quickly moved forward to look down to the operative anxiously.

"James, it's okay, we've got him, you are safe." She told Matherson quickly, motioning me over to have a look at him.

Matherson squirmed uncomfortably as he tried to speak.

"It was always… him…" he said in a painful whisper before coughing and managing to sit up to grab hold of the front of Anthea's overcoat tightly. The two paramedics made to pry him off her, but she told them to stop as she herself grabbed hold of Matherson's arms to keep him upright. "Him… I never suspected him."

"Who James?" asked Anthea intently and I thought that she would finally get some answers. "Do you know who made this all happen?"

Matherson nodded, gasping for breath. "You are – in danger!" he managed.

"I need a name, James, you know how this works," Anthea pressed him and I made a small protest but she ignored me.

Again, Matherson nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but just as he started to talk a single gunshot rang out and a second later the bullet hit Matherson just under his right eye. Anthea let go of him in shock and his body fell back onto the spinal board. I swore in surprise as Anthea turned back around to face the warehouse.

"Lestrade – the roof!" she yelled and Lestrade started shouting into his police radio for his team to get up there but again, moments later the sound of gunshots filled the air.

I quickly pulled Anthea, who looked as though she were about to pull her own gun out again, behind one of the closest police cars, trying to keep her shielded from any possible attack. I could hear Sherlock yelling for me to keep Anthea where she was and the shouting of Lestrade, ordering all his men back into the warehouse.

There were a few minutes of silence before Anthea and I hesitantly stood up again, now covered in mud. One the ground beside Matherson and his spinal board, the two paramedics lay motionless with their eyes tightly shut. Frowning in disappointment and a feeling of hopelessness, I didn't need to go over to them to know that they, like Matherson, were both dead. I watched as Anthea moved over to Matherson, looking down to his face with an empty expression on her pale face, placing her hands over his eyes to close them.

"Matherson, okay, but why the paramedics too?" I asked her slowly.

"So that they couldn't resuscitate him in the sniper had a bad shot," Anthea told me turning back to me with a furious expression on her face and we both looked up to the roof.

"I want that sniper found!" Lestrade yelled into his radio angrily.

"They won't find him," Anthea stated.

"Why not?" asked Lestrade, looking over to us.

"Well, he'll be up there," Sherlock said, striding out from behind Anthea's car. "But your men won't realise it."

"And why the hell not?" snapped Lestrade angrily.

"Because the sniper was someone on your Armed Response team," Sherlock told him as he walked straight up to Anthea, placing his hands behind her elbows and looked at her closely. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

"I'm fine," she nodded, attempting to avoid his stare unsuccessfully before he looked to me beside her.

"John?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I said giving him a nod.

"How can it possibly be one of the AR team?" Lestrade asked Sherlock hotly, "They have all had security checks and worked their way up through the MET from general duties. How do you know that someone hasn't been waiting up there the whole time?"

"He doesn't," Anthea said now that her brother had let her go. "But it is more likely that someone has infiltrated the team if you remember why Matherson was undercover with you in the first place."

"I should have seen that coming," Lestrade said angrily after swearing under his breath.

"If it makes you feel any better, I trust your work force more than mine." Anthea said with a small (somewhat forced) smile.

"Why?" he asked her in surprise.

"I work with people who get paid quite a lot to spy on other people," Anthea said lightly. "Do we sound like a very trustworthy bunch to you?"

Lestrade gave an accepting nod.

"Fair point," he said. "But if it is one of my own guys, how am I going to find him?"

"I'm not going to leave you to clean this mess up, Greg." Anthea told him honestly. "If I am right in the sniper belonging to the Met, then you are going to need all the help you can get."