A/N: new chappie! enjoy!

Chapter 38: Sir Boast-A-Lot

"Sherlock, you're making me nervous," Quennel told him as he paced in front of her while she and John sat, outside one of the offices in Scotland Yard, waiting for Lestrade and Donovan to finish speaking with the children they'd just saved. He stopped and looked to her in question as she patted the seat next to her, urging, "Sit down, won't you?"

"I have to keep moving," he replied, still pacing.

"He's like a shark that way," John smirked, making her chuckle as Sherlock shot him a quick glare before the door to the office opened and Donovan stepped out, followed by Lestrade.

"Right, then," Donovan smirked as she strolled out of the room. "The professionals have finished if the amateurs want to go in and have their turn."

Quennel glared at her as she stood along with John, but Lestrade stopped the three before they entered the room.

"Now, remember that she's in shock and she's just seven years old so…anything you can do to—"

"Not be myself," Sherlock cut in for Lestrade.

"Yeah," Lestrade nodded. "Might be helpful."

"Maybe I should go in first?" Quennel asked, making them look to her in wonder. "I was a reporter. I know how to make people feel at ease. I can explain to her that Sherlock's…eccentric."

"Actually, that could be good," Lestrade agreed, making Sherlock glance between them.

"Trying to live up to our title, are we?" Donovan shot back, making Quennel glare at her, knowing she was referring to the title the press had recently given her as Reichenbach Heroine.

"Go on in, Quennel," Lestrade urged, seeing the sparks in her eyes.

She took in a breath before turning to the door and stepping in, seeing Claudette and a social worker sitting with her at the table in the room. She shut the door behind her as Claudette continued to stare into space, ignoring Quennel for a moment before the woman sat down.

"Hello…Claudette, right?" Quennel smiled, and the little girl nodded, still not looking at her. "My name's Quennel. I work with the man that helped the police find you."

She waited for any kind of response, but when Claudette said nothing else, she continued her explanation.

"If it's alright with you, he's going to come in and ask you some questions. Now, I know the police asked you some questions already, but his questions might be a little different. He's also not very good with people, so he's a little…weird and awkward, but I'll be here the whole time to kick him under the table if he says anything mean, alright?"

Claudette finally gave a small giggle as she glanced up at Quennel, who gave a smile when she nodded.

"Perfect," Quennel grinned, standing from the table to head toward the door and lean out to tell Sherlock, "Alright, come on in."

Sherlock turned his collar down and stepped in as Claudette kept her gaze down when Sherlock and John stepped in. She finally looked up completely when he was in front of her.

"Claudette, I—"

She gave a blood-curdling scream as her gaze connected with Sherlock's face, cutting him off from his introduction.

"I know it's been hard for you, Claudette—"

She still screamed as the woman next to her took her into her arms to comfort her, and Sherlock tried to calm her as well, urging her to listen to him, but everyone else only stared on in shock as Claudette pointed at Sherlock.

"Get out!" Lestrade shouted, grabbing Sherlock by the arm and dragging him out of the room, but Quennel stayed back as John ran after them.

"Claudette, it's alright—"

"You, too!" Lestrade snapped, grabbing Quennel's arm and pulling her out of the room as well as she stared at Claudette in confusion and disbelief. "Come on!"

"Wait, Greg—!"

"Out! Now!"

Later...

"Makes no sense," John objected, shaking his head as he, Sherlock, Quennel, Lestrade and Donovan all stood in Lestrade's office.

"Kid's traumatized," Lestrade restated. "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."

Quennel looked to Sherlock as he stood next to her. They were standing at the window, Sherlock staring out through the blinds, watching the building across the street.

"What's she said?" John wondered.

"Hasn't uttered another syllable," Donovan replied.

"What about her brother?" Quennel asked, looking back at the officers.

"No, he's unconscious," Lestrade replied. "Still in intensive care."

Quennel gave a small sigh and turned to the window to stare outside along with Sherlock, slipping her hand into his. He said nothing as they continued staring out the window…and noticed the lights flicker on in the building across the street. Quennel's breath caught and her hand tightened on Sherlock's as they both stared at the spray painted letters on three of the windows: IOU

"Well, don't let it get to you," Lestrade assured him just as the lights flickered off. "I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room. In fact, so do most people."

Quennel looked up at Sherlock who met her gaze, both knowing the other had seen what was written in the windows. Without a word, and without letting go of her hand, Sherlock turned and pulled her toward the door.

"Brilliant work you did," Donovan suddenly spoke up to Sherlock as he followed John out of the office. "Finding those kids from just a footprint. Really amazing."

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered as he passed her.

"Unbelievable," she added, making Sherlock's steps falter slightly as Quennel frowned in wonder, but he still pulled her along, heading toward the exit.

Once they were outside they marched toward the edge of the sidewalk and john hailed a cab.

"You ok?" John wondered.

"Thinking," Sherlock replied as a cab rolled up and he opened the door. "This is my cab. You get the next one."

"Why?" John wondered.

"You might talk," Sherlock replied, bluntly as he dragged Quennel after him.

"And Quennel won't?!"

"No."

Sherlock shut the door behind Quennel and the cab pulled away from the curb as they sat back and he unexpectedly wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her against him.

After a moment of silence, she muttered, "You know I'll talk, too. So why'd you really bring me along?"

"Remember when I said there's a give and take to our relationship?"

"Yes."

"It's your turn to give."

Nodding in understanding, Quennel chewed on her lower lip as she leaned her head against him, reveling in the fact that he was holding her because he needed her, in a way. They were silent for a moment before she chanced to break the silence with a question she wasn't sure he would even answer.

"Why would that girl scream like that when she's never seen you before?" she wondered and her heart raced in panic when he gave a sharp sigh.

"To plant doubt," he replied, making her frown in wonder and shift to question him further, but the small screen behind the passenger seat suddenly came to life with an advertisement on jewelry, catching their attention. "Could you turn that off, please?"

When no response came, and the advert still ran he sat forward to nearly shout, "Could you turn this off?"

"Sherlock…" Quennel shuddered in absolute terror, and when he looked to the screen he realized why.

Moriarty's face flashed through static and the warped advert, cutting through it like an eerie specter, making the couple stare fixedly at the screen until it settled and showed his face fully. He was grinning as he sat in front of a backdrop of animated clouds, as if he were on a children's show.

"Hello," he greeted with a smile, sending a cold shill down Quennel's spine that made her shiver, and Sherlock pulled her closer. She buried her face into his coat lapel as he kept his glare on the screen and Moriarty continued, "Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-A-Lot.

"Sir Boast-A-Lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the round table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories of how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain. And soon they began to wonder, are Sir Boast-A-Lot's stories even true?"

The animated clouds behind him, once white on a blue sky, where now dark and rain was drawn beneath them, the sky behind them darkening as he shook his head. Quennel and Sherlock now stared at the screen together, both knowing the meaning behind the story and its characters.

"Oh, no," Moriarty murmured, before continuing, "So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said, 'I don't believe Sir Boast-A-Lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.' And then even the King began to wonder…"

"God, no," Quennel whispered, trembling all over as Sherlock remained silent, both watching Moriarty give exaggerated, thoughtful expressions, the animated clouds behind him launching animated lightening.

"But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-A-Lot's problem," Moriarty resumed, still shaking his head, and pausing before adding, "No…that wasn't the final problem."

Quennel's breathing became shallow and panicked as Sherlock's hand tightened on her arm as it was still wrapped around her, making her look up at him to see him silently snarl in rage as he glared at the screen.

"The end!"

The image changed again, from 'Moriarty's Story Time' to the jewelry advertisement that had been on before it.

"Stop the cab!" Sherlock demanded as it made a left turn, and once it was in a position to take off again when ready, it stopped. Sherlock shoved the door open, releasing Quennel and climbing out to confront the cabby on the other side of the door. "What was that?!"

Sherlock leaned into the driver's window as the cabby looked to him…revealing a familiar face.

"No charge," Moriarty grinned, and punched the gas just before Quennel could make her way out of the cab.

Sherlock grabbed onto the open door, but it slipped from his grasp just as he heard Quennel scream with a start, being thrown back into the cab by the sudden movement forward. The door shut as it hit Sherlock's hands and he panicked when he saw Quennel's terrified face staring out the back window at him, making him burst into a run after the cab, but it was now going far too fast for him to keep up with.

"Sherlock!" she screamed, seeing a car coming up behind him as he still ran, but became smaller in the distance. "Look out!"

She sighed in relief when she saw someone grab him and pull him out of the way of the car and completely out of the street. She turned and sat back in the seat, but jumped when, in the next moment, she heard three gunshots and turned to try to see if Sherlock was alright…but the cab turned down another street.

"No!" she shouted, then turned back to the cabby…knowing it was Moriarty, and that he was torturing her now. "What do you want?"

"Oh, sweet Little Bird, I want what I've always wanted from you," he crooned, eerily before parking and shutting the lights off, but not the engine as he turned to face her. "I want to make sure he's suffering, and as long as you're here with me, he's suffering. You losing your focus? I haven't gotten too many texts from you lately."

"I didn't think you needed my texts as much anymore, since you have so many foreign gangsters spying on him as well," she shot back, now putting a brave face, but inside, she was trembling with terror…and anger.

"No, no, no…that wasn't the deal, was it?" he murmured, shaking his head lazily before giving a false pout. "You wouldn't want anything to happen to dear mummy and sissy, would you?"

Her shaking intensified to the point that she could no longer control it, making him give a slow, evil grin at seeing her reaction.

"You ordinary people are so easy to manipulate," he nearly giggled.

"What else could you possibly need of me?" she shuddered, tears streaming from her eyes and down her cheeks, but she refused to break eye contact with him…which made his grin widen.

"Oh, don't worry, your part is almost over, but isn't this game fun?" he murmured, then turned around and nodded at the door, ordering, "Now get out."

Quennel swallowed hard before slowly turning and shuffling out of the cab, pushing the door open and nearly stumbling out. The cab zoomed away down the street as she watched him go, her knees shaking, making her nearly ready to collapse.

"Quennel!"

She gave a gasp and whirled around to see Sherlock racing toward her at top speed, his coat flying up behind him. She gave a shuddered sigh of relief that he was alright and launched herself toward him, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Sherlock!" she sobbed as he held her tightly for a moment before she pulled away to look up at him. "I heard the gunshots! I thought you'd been shot!"

"Not me," he replied, looking her over and asking, "Are you alright? Did he say anything to you?"

She swallowed hard as she hesitated before shaking her head and replying, "Not really. I asked him what he wanted and he said that having me with him and out of your sight was making you suffer…and that's what he wanted."

He took in a sharp breath before he wrapped one arm around her shoulders to lead her back the way he'd come running.

"We have to wait for the police," he explained, making her frown in wonder. "The man that saved me from being hit by a car is the one that was shot."

"What?" she breathed, looking up at him in disbelief. "But…why?"

"Because he shook my hand," he replied, making her frown in confusion.

They arrived at the scene where John was waiting as well, and she still held onto him, even when the ambulance came and took the man that had been shot away.

"That is him," John reported to Sherlock. "It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. Big Albanian gangster. Lives two doors down from us."

"He died because I shook his hand," Sherlock explained.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" He took Quennel's hand in his and pulled her along, calling, "Come on. We have to get back to the flat."

221B...

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep," Sherlock began, stepping through the door of the flat and stripping off his scarf and coat. "They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive."

"But why?" Quennel wondered, watching him sit at his laptop.

"I've got something that all of them want," he theorized, typing at and examining his laptop. "But if one of them approaches me…"

"The others kill them before they can get it," John finished when Sherlock trailed off as the doctor looked out the window next to Sherlock.

"All of their attention is focused on me," he explained as Quennel leaned over his shoulder to see him looking at the wifi networks in the area. "There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"Lovely," Quennel sighed, sardonically as Sherlock looked around the flat while she stood tall to look at him and question, "So what's this important thing you've got that they all want?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock lifted a hand and ran his fingers over the surface of his desk, then examined it, finally replying, "We need to ask about the dusting."

"I'll get Mrs. Hudson," John nodded, rushing toward the stairs.

"I thought she wasn't your housekeeper," Quennel recalled, leaning over Sherlock to murmur into his ear. He looked to her before standing, making her stand tall with him as he loomed over her, their gazes locked, both looking for something in the other…and neither one of them knowing exactly what it was.

"She's not," he replied, calmly before swiftly moving around her to start searching over the room, making her frown in wonder as she turned to watch him. "Still, that doesn't stop her, does it?"

"Yoo hoo," Mrs. Hudson called, rushing in wearing her nightgown and a robe over it with John behind her. "John said you needed me."

"Yes, precise details," he ordered, without pretext, still moving about the flat. "In the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino—"

"No, in here," Sherlock cut in. "This room. This is where we'll find it. Any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust. Dust is eloquent."

Quennel frowned, still wondering what was going on, but Mrs. Hudson was the one to voice it for them.

"What's he on about?" the landlady whispered over her shoulder to John, behind her, who only shrugged and shook his head in response.

"Sherlock…should you be climbing on that?" Quennel wondered as he climbed up on a bookcase against the wall, peering through the gaps in the books.

"Cameras," he blurted in explanation, still looking. "We're being watched."

"What?" Quennel breathed, her eyes shooting wide in terror as Mrs. Hudson gasped and John moved toward the kitchen.

"Cameras? Here?" Mrs. Hudson panicked as the doorbell downstairs rang, and she made her way toward the door, as did John to answer the front door while she fretted, "I'm in my nightie!"

Sherlock jumped down from the case, making his way around the perimeter of the flat where the fireplace was, searching every nook and cranny with and fingers…even his skull on the mantle. Quennel watched, silently as he moved methodically, deciding to wait once he was finished to voice her concern as he climbed up on the second bookcase next to the window where he played his violin. She frowned when he stopped, moving a book slightly from side to side before pulling it back and reaching into the top corner of the shelf, making her eyes widen in disbelief.

"Is that…?"

"Yes," he replied, climbing down with a small, black object in his hand as she stepped closer to him to see it.

"Oh, god," she groaned, making him look to her with a slight frown.

"The answer is yes," he replied, flatly to her unasked question, making her look to him in wide-eyed terror. "They most likely saw us here when we—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sherlock," she urged, lifting a hand for emphasis. "I don't need to be reminded that I am now an Albanian gangster's wet dream."

"It's a good thing he's dead then, and the others, no doubt, soon will be," he blurted, making her look up at him in astonishment, but her silent question was answered when he added, "No man should see you in that state but me."

She let out a small sigh of emotion as their gazes locked, not knowing how to respond…until she did. Her arms slowly coiled around his neck and, but her lips pressed against his quickly, making him give a small sound of surprise before wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her closer. A moment later, they emerged from the kiss, but kept each other's gazes as she gave a small smile and he remained stoic.

"No, Inspector."

Quennel frowned in wonder as Sherlock still stared down at her as he spoke, but they both soon looked to the door to see Lestrade standing in the threshold with John next to him.

"What?" Lestrade frowned in wonder.

"The answer is no," Sherlock reiterated.

"You haven't heard the question," Lestrade snapped, irritably.

"You want to take me to the station," Sherlock deduced as Quennel turned to face Lestrade, John frowning between the two other men. "I'm just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade began, but was interrupted.

"The scream?" Sherlock guessed.

"Yeah," Lestrade sighed.

"Who was it?" Sherlock wondered, then guessed, "Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you're gonna have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home…" He lifted his hand and gently touched Lestrade's forehead, adding, "…there."

With that, Sherlock turned back to his laptop as Quennel and John frowned in wonder at the scene, but Lestrade wasn't confused at all.

"Will you come?" he asked.

"One photograph, that's his next move," Sherlock reported, typing at his laptop. "Moriarty's game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to be destroy me inch by inch. It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Lestrade sighed in exasperation before turning and marching down the stairs to head outside and into his car, followed by Donovan, both heading back to the station.

John watched them out the window as Sherlock was able to bring up an image of himself through the camera he held in his right hand, and Quennel leaned back over his shoulder to watch him work. Sherlock glanced to John as he still stared out the window, obviously worried.

"He'll be deciding," Sherlock explained.

"Deciding?" John echoed in wonder.

"Whether or not to come back with a warrant to arrest him," Quennel sighed, drawing John's gaze to them. "It's standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him," John voiced, turning back to gazing out the window, and Quennel turned to sit in Sherlock's chair. "People will think—"

"I don't care what people think," Sherlock cut in.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid or wrong," John shot back.

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're—!" John cut himself off as he turned back to look at his best friend who looked up at him when he grew silent.

"That I am what?" Sherlock prompted, his intense stare on John, making him swallow before he answered.

"A fraud."

Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his seat, voicing, "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset, you can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right," he nearly ground out, becoming angry, and Quennel could hear it in his tone. "You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No, I'm not," John shot back, in a definite tone.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind, too. Can't you see what's going on?!" Sherlock shouted as he slammed a fist down on the table, making Quennel jump with a start and glance between them while John looked to Sherlock.

"No, I know you're for real," John replied, calmly.

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock wondered, skeptically.

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time," John shot back, making Quennel give a dry laugh.

"He has a point," she smirked as he turned to look at her, John turning back to the window.

"And what about you, Miss Yule?" he asked, making her frown in wonder.

"What do you mean?" she voiced.

"According to you…am I a fraud?"

Her frown deepened in more confusion as he only stared at her, waiting for her response, and she could see the doubt in his eyes, not only of her…but in himself.

She gave a tender smile as she stood from the chair and made her way toward him again to stand behind him, making him frown as he turned to face forward. She set her hands on his shoulders before leaning forward until they were cheek to cheek, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he glanced around in confusion and wonder. She kissed his cheek, then nuzzled him, hugging him slightly before pressing her lips to his ear to whisper five words that made him smirk in triumph…and relief.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

A/N: i had to use that line. I know Anderson said it, but i wanted Quennel to tell him, because even though he loves her, he would've doubted her in the same way he doubted John, even for a moment. reviews?