NOT DEAD. So, so sorry about my little hiatus there. I turned sixteen recently so I had a lot of birthday plans to come up with. Anyway, I am terribly sorry and I hope you forgive me. By now I hope all of you have seen S3 because this chapter contains SPOILERS (oh noes) but there will be some original writing next chap :) hope you all enjoy and the fluff is still to come.

Some notes about this chapter: For the skip code text I had to change the first "John or James" because of the gender bending and all. So I used "Joanna or Judith" because not only does "Joanna" fit but also because they are biblical woman as well. Another thing was the date of the bonfire. Guy Fawkes Day is November 5th but when John and Sherlock go to find the dissapearing train carriage, it is November 5th as well. So in this chap, the bonfire is going on November 4th.

anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 36

"His moves were so silent, so furtive, that he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent. With precision unmatched, he did not merely observe, he danced, while unlocking every secret the murderer could hope to keep from him."

"What?"

"I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law."

"Don't read that." Jo-Ann complained from the doorframe of the bathroom, peering down the hall towards the kitchen. Marius only smiled in response as he scrolled through her blog on his tablet, reading old adventures. In the past week, since Sherlock's return, Marius grew curious as to why the detective was so fascinating. "Come on, its-"

"-Ancient history, I know." Marius finished for her, rolling his eyes and standing straight from leaning over the kitchen counter. "But it's not now, is it? Because he's-" He began to speak but stopped abruptly when he caught a glimpse of Jo-Ann. Her long hair hung wet over a wide towel on her shoulders. But what caught his eye was the pair of scissors she held in her left hand. "Are you cutting your hair?!" Marius asked as he sped walked to her, looking with disbelief.

"You said it doesn't work for me." Jo-Ann answered.

"Sherlock said that."

"Apparently everyone is saying that!" the doctor shouted a bit, then calmed herself. Marius laughed a bit and began acting like a schoolgirl.

"Are you going to see him again?" he fidgeted around with concealed excitement. "Again" did not necessarily refer to the night of the reveal. Several times in the past week, Sherlock attempted to make contact with his doctor. Each, unfortunately, ended in Jo-Ann showing a particular finger to his face or spitting out profanity.

"No, I'm going to work." Jo-Ann replied without amusement.

"Oh and after work you're gonna see him again." Marius concluded.

"Oh for God's sake." she exclaimed quietly and retreat back into the bathroom. Marius chuckled and leaned against the door frame with crossed arms.

"Six months of subtle suggestions for a haircut from me then Mr. Cheekbones shows up and tells you to do it-"

"I don't obey Sherlock Holmes." Jo-Ann said angrily and combed her wet hair.

"You should put that on a T-shirt."

"Shut up."

"Or what?" Marius asked with a teasing tone.

"Or I will shave away all your precious hair while you sleep." Jo-Ann snipped the scissors in his direction with a sly smile. Marius only smiled wider as he watched her slice through the first strand of her own hair.

"London. It's like a cesspool to which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes, it's not a question of 'who?' it is a question of 'who knows?' If a man cancels his papers, I need to know. If a woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know. There are certain people, they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up. Like rats, deserting a sinking ship. These are the little, unusual things often deemed as 'coincidences' that tell me everything, dear Jo-Ann. They are the keys to any mystery and giveaways to any plot."

"What the hell are you doing?!" Sherlock yelled at his brother, who innocently looked up from reading. But his choice of reading material happened to be Sherlock's personal journal.

"Just enjoying your little 'letters', brother mine." Mycroft smiled and flipped the page of the brown book. "You do love to be dramatic, don't you?"

"Piss off." Sherlock muttered and grabbed the journal from him before he could read any more.

"You write to her as if she were your savior. Well, I suppose in a way she is." The elder Holmes relaxed in his leather chair, slightly adjusting the tableside.

"I am continuing to regret living with you." Sherlock sneered as he moved a lampshade out of place, just to spite his brother.

"You've done it before and survived, what are a few more days? Until you 'patch things up' with Jo-Ann… If she'll have you."

"She will." Sherlock said immediately while flipping through his own journal. Normally he would have never written a word about personal matters, but two years away from Jo-Ann and civilized areas made him vulnerable.

"What will you do if, god forbid, she doesn't forgive you?" Mycroft smiled a bit. "I would imagine we would see far more of each other."

"Hardly."

"Oh come now, brother, we are two geniuses living in a world of goldfish." Mycroft chuckled. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the irritating and even painful memories of childhood. Mycroft, the 'superior' and 'smarter' condemning older brother that constantly reminded Sherlock he would never be normal.

"Yes, but I've been away for two years…" he raised his eyebrows.

"Meaning?" Mycroft questioned.

"Well I just thought you may have had yourself a… goldfish." The younger Holmes smirked.

"Drop the subject!" Mycroft ordered and stood up abruptly. "Sherlock Holmes, I am not lonely." The detective stared at him with piercing grey eyes and smiled.

"How would you know?"

"This one has us all baffled." Lestrade explained as he ripped down the yellow tape confining a door to a crime scene. Sherlock and Molly followed closely behind, ready to investigate. Due to Jo-Ann's stubbornness, the pathologist was substituting as the detective's assistant.

"I don't doubt it." Sherlock commented with a smile and went through the door. Climbing down a narrow staircase, Molly scrunched her nose from the smell of mildew and the tickle of dust. They had to step through a hole in a brick wall, but the trio made it to the crime scene. It was too dark to see much of anything until Lestrade turned on the portable lights that were previously set up. Once the darkness peeled back, Sherlock observed everything in sight. A dusty desk, a glass and pitcher in desperate need of a wash, and a skeleton to make things interesting. The jaw had fallen off the head and it now rested on the extended shoulder. It was dressed in a Victorian costume and held a pen in the hand on the desk. Sherlock approached and got out his supply kit, noting Lestrade's giddy look of admiration. It was no secret the DI was happy to have him back.

Sherlock selected his magnifying glass and began inspecting the sleeve of the skeleton. Fine fabric, in fair condition, too fair for the rest of the scene. A scent drifted by his nose, what was it? Pine? No, spruce? Maybe cedar. New mothballs in the clothing and… carbon particulate? Things were adding up in the detective's mind but not the things anyone was expecting, surely. The scene seemed cold and damp so why was there fire damage on the outfit?

Sherlock stood up straight and got out his phone.

"What is it?" Molly asked, mid-note taking. "You're onto something aren't you?" she said with slight excitement.

"Maybe…" Sherlock answered instead of explaining.

"Show off." A familiar voice muttered behind Sherlock's eyes.

"Shut up, Jo-Ann." the detective whispered and continued to examine.

"What?" Molly asked when she heard him talk to himself, but it was directed to someone who wasn't there.

"Hm? Nothing." Sherlock responded without a glance and continued to investigate. Lestrade threw a concerned look at Molly, visually asking if that really happened. A few moments passed before the DI leaned in to talk to the detective as Molly took notes.

"Is this gonna be your… new arrangement, is it?" he asked with a small glance at Molly.

"Just giving it a go." Sherlock answered without much attention.

"Right… so, Jo-Ann?" Lestrade stood up. Sherlock stopped for a moment, not long enough for anyone to notice, and inhaled sharply.

"Not really in the picture anymore…" he said with as little emotion as he could and walked past his "boss" before he could ask any more questions. He rejoined Molly across the room and felt a slight vibration in the atmosphere.

"Trains?" she wondered out loud as she noted the falling dust and dirt from the ceiling.

"Trains." Sherlock agreed and kneeled to look at the crime scene from a different angle. There was a slight fade on one side of the costume, telling him the clothes had been in exposure to the sun at a regular angle on a regular basis. Molly stepped in and took a closer look at the bones.

"Male… forty to fifty..." she examined and stood up as Sherlock approached. "Oh, sorry! Did you want to…?"

"No, please. Be my guest." Sherlock answered her fragment of a question.

"Jealous?"

"Shut upppp." He groaned, not realizing how loud it was. Lestrade and Molly glanced at each other and Sherlock with growing concern. The detective used his magnifying glass again to look at the hand of the skeleton.

"It doesn't make sense…" Molly said as she leaned away from the victim.

"What?" Lestrade chimed in. "What doesn't?" Sherlock blew the dust away from the edge of the desktop and found something interesting.

"This skeleton, it can't be anymore than-"

"Six months old." Sherlock finished with her and opened a secret compartment and the side. The other two looked in awe from the sudden discovery as he pulled out the hidden treasure. A book, extremely dusty and aged. Sherlock blew off the surface with one strong breath and muttered "of course" when he saw the title. He briefly tilted it for Molly to see before tossing it on the desk.

"Wow…" she breathed.

"'How I did it' by Jack the Ripper!" Lestrade read.

"It's impossible!" Molly added.

"Welcome to my world." Sherlock smiled for a bit while he put away his supplies and Lestrade beamed in delight.

"Smart arse."

Sherlock grunted as he physically tried to shoo the thought. "I won't insult your intelligence by explaining it to you." He said politely as he began to leave.

"No, please! Insult away!" Lestrade said, ready to hear the brilliance that was absent for two years.

"You forgot to put your collar up."

Sherlock sighed as he stopped in his tracks and turned back around. Molly and Lestrade watched as he explained with closed eyes and in slower manner than usual.

"The-the corpse is six months old, it's dressed in a Victorian outfit from a museum that's been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading in the fabric. It was sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago." He concluded.

"So the whole thing was a fake?" Lestrade asked as he nervously rubbed his head.

"Yes." Sherlock answered simply and began walking off. Lestrade sighed in disappointment.

"Looked so promising…" he said.

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly asked loudly for Sherlock to hear.

"'Why' indeed, Jo-Ann!" Sherlock called back, never realizing the name he said not out of habit, but because he wanted it to be that name.

Doctor Watson. A title normally appreciated by Jo-Ann had become a curse in a single morning. Within a few hours, she had three patients with intimate complications and she was beginning to wonder if the clock stopped working. How long had she been in that suddenly-too-small room? Jo-Ann groaned and set her head on the desk, hoping, praying the intercom would ring with something actually worth her time.

Arms crossed beneath her head, she glanced at the mobile by her side. It was lifeless, quiet, and dark. Just like her morning. She should be doing something exhilarating, fast-paced, challenging… Just like Sherlock.

"Damn it!" Jo-Ann resisted the urge to slam her fist into something. She should forget about him. He crashed into her life and flipped it completely upside down. Then, when she was ready to live in an upside down world for the rest of her life, he left. He was arrogant, pompous, rude, dishonest, impatient, stubborn, risky, and too clever for his own good… Confident… dashing… intelligent. Witty, fantastic, adorably childish, and addictive.

Why was it so painful? Jo-Ann should be moving on. She should be mad at Sherlock and she should be burning everything in her possession that once belonged to him. She should leave Sherlock be and she should forget about all their adventures because Sherlock chose to leave all that behind by lying to her. Her nightmares should be about the war, not about Sherlock. She should be happy having a normal surgery job and helping the everyday crowd instead of running around London chasing baddies.

She should be doing all these things.

But thank the Lord she couldn't.

"Samuel?" Jo-Ann buzzed the intercom. "How many appointments have I got left? I need to be somewhere."

How is she? –SH

Haven't seen her since she left for work. -MM

It sounds like you live with her. –SH

With how often I visit, it seems like I do. But you have nothing to worry about. Annie and I are just friends. -MM

Don't do that. –SH

What? –MM

Nothing. I am planning to stop at Baker ST for my old equipment. Is she back yet? -SH

How do you know I'm at Baker Street? -MM

Please. -SH

Uh well she isn't back yet. But she was supposed to be home a while ago. –MM

Oh my God, Sherlock where are you now?! –MM

Outside. –SH

Marius opened the door with strength and wasted no time saying hello to Sherlock or asking why he was eating fish and chips at 221B's doorstep.

"Marius, what's going on?" Sherlock asked with more concern than he'd like to admit. His expression and body language showed something was very wrong.

"Sherlock! I think someone's got Annie." He breathed. Sherlock felt Baker Street fall from beneath his feet as he stared and let the chip in his hand fall back in the paper.

"Tell me everything." The detective demanded. Marius let him inside the door and got his phone out.

"Someone sent me this. A-At first I thought it was just a bible thing or spam, but it's not." He opened a text on his mobile and held it towards Sherlock as they stood side by side. "It's a skip code." Marius said with normality and scrolled through the message. Sherlock glanced at him for a moment, wondering how a tutor would know what a skip code was. But the weight of Jo-Ann's safety was heavier than his curiosity.

Save souls now! Joanna or Judith Watson?

Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?

"The first word then every third…" Sherlock said as he deciphered the code.

Save souls now! Joanna or Judith Watson?

Saint or Sinner? James or John? The more is Less?

"'Save Joanna Watson'" he read and felt the adrenaline beginning to pump. "…Now." Sherlock dropped the fish and chips without a care and bolted out the door.

"Where are we going?!" Marius asked with the determination Sherlock showed as he followed him.

"Saint James the Less! It's a church!" he answered as he reached the street. "Thirty minutes by car. Did you drive here?!"

"Y-Yes, yes…" Marius answered. The sky was getting darker by the second as it lightly rained, somehow telling them they were running out of time.

"Too slow, too slow, too slow…" Sherlock mumbled as he paced in the middle of Baker Street. He needed to get there now, now, but what could he do? A car honked loudly as it swerved around the detective. Marius almost pulled him away.

"Sherlock! What are we waiting for?!" He yelled, not feeling comfortable with the possibly approaching deadline and standing in the street. Sherlock looked left and right until he spotted what could help them.

"This." Sherlock breathed and planted his feet firmly, holding out his hand and ordering the approaching motorcycle to stop.

"Bloody… what in God's name…" Jo-Ann barely processed the thought as she came to. Her eyelids hung heavy and refused to open as she tried to figure out where she was. The headache and warm line down the side of her face told her she had an injury to the head, that much she could tell. Her throat burned as she struggled to get air to her lungs. A cry for help rose as she realized the severity of her situation, but when she gathered enough air…

No sound came out.

Jo-Ann's eyes shot open. Her throat was swollen, not letting her shout materialize as her lips formed the word that couldn't be spoken. She tensed nearly every muscle in her body but none of them moved enough for her to cause any kind of commotion. Her surroundings were becoming clear. What was that? A tree branch? It smelled of damp wood and dust as she shook her head, still trying to use her voice.

The two wasted no time racing through London as they maneuvered between cars and taxis. Sherlock drove while Marius sat behind him, balancing himself by putting his hands on the detective's shoulders. A mental map laid out in Sherlock's head as he devised the fastest route to Saint James the Less. ETA: ten minutes. Marius tapped Sherlock's shoulder and held his phone out, showing him a new text.

Getting warmer Mr. Holmes. You have about 10 minutes.

"What does it mean?! What are they going to do to her?!" Marius shouted through the full helmet he wore.

"I don't know!" Sherlock said with frustration as he tried to focus on his path.

Voices reached Jo-Ann's ears, not a few, but many. She was somewhere public, joyful, with children it sounded. Why would her kidnapper take her somewhere she could be discovered? She shook the thought and focused her energy on getting her voice back. If there were people, her safety was in reach. Only small dashes of light reached her eyes, signaling it was dark out but with street lights or torches. All her strength poured into her neck as she managed to make an almost inaudible sound.

8 minutes and counting.

Marius showed Sherlock with a steady hand. The detective read it and cursed in his mind. But the curse became audible when he skid to a stop, blocked by police.

"Damn!" he mumbled and tried to find another way. His mind raced with rolling streets as he found another route. ETA: five minutes. The motorcycle tires burned the asphalt in frenzy as Sherlock rode through parked cars and barriers, earning shouts from the police man. The detective could care less as he didn't bother slowing down when they reached a staircase. They bounced as the motorcycle struggled to keep balance on the steps, but Sherlock was a better biker than he led on to be.

The sound of music and laughter filled the area Jo-Ann had to move. She was at a festival? What day was it? Her brain slapped itself over and over as she tried to remember. Then it finally dawned on her. The tree branches, logs, November 4th…

Bonfire night.

Jo-Ann panicked. She used enough force to scream as she tried to loosen her throat. She needed help! Fast! Her mouth let out a tiny, struggling sound. The struggle turned to short noises, getting louder as she tried with all her might. She gasped and tensed as heat began to collect at her feet. Someone was about to kill her and not even realize it.

Better hurry, things are heating up here.

Sherlock quickly switched lanes after reading that text, hoping to speed up the journey in any way.

"It's not gonna work! Too damp." A man's voice said nearby as the heat went away from her feet. "I'll get something to help it along, yeah?"

"-elp…" Jo-Ann tried to shout with a burning throat, pleased that her voice was recovering but worried it wouldn't matter in a few moments. She had to keep trying. "H…elp…!" her cries were continuous although quiet, getting louder as she went.

Stay of execution. You've got two more minutes.

The detective created a new route, although a dangerous one. ETA: one minute. He swerved off the road and nearly crashed on the sidewalk, tunneling down into an underground way.

"He doesn't like it Daddy!~" A little girl whined. "Guy Fawkes! He doesn't like it!" Jo-Ann gasped and uttered more sounds, so close to being a full word. The girl must've heard her and thought it was the Guy Fawkes dummy! She was so close, so close to being rescued!

"Stay back." 'Daddy' told the little girl and approached the bonfire. Jo-Ann had a small bit of hope flash past her eyes. But that hope disappeared when something splashed her leg. The smell of the liquid was so strong that it made the doctor's nostrils flare.

Petrol.

Marius held on for dear life as Sherlock raced up a flight of stairs, making his way back to ground level. They were almost there, just a few more seconds. The church was in view passed a crowd of people having a festival.

What a shame Mr. Holmes. Guess you weren't the Guy Jo-Ann needed!

"What does it mean?!" Marius asked.

Sherlock glanced at the phone for a moment before suddenly considering a detour. Why was "guy" capitalized? Why was there a festival-

"Oh no…" Sherlock thought as he looked at the crowed of people and what their attention was centered on. A small torch was thrown into a giant pile of wooden crates and tree branches, causing the whole thing to go up in flames.