A Debauched Heart
So here we go, time for the special for 700 reviews! The "Sherlock's reaction to Mycroft's accusation when Ruby is incarcerated in her safe-house" option won in something beyond a landslide, and realising that I would be back-tracking; I did some proper thinking and decided that there will be essential information in this special which will play a role in the following chapters. Otherwise this special will deviate away from the story and be of no real use! This chapter takes place after Sherlock's awkward discussion with Mycroft and I've decided it will be snippets during the five days following their little chat. Enjoy, and thank you so much for your support, this story is nothing but a pleasure to write for you all.
5 Days Before Ruby Leaves the Safe-House:
John sighed happily as he mounted the stairs, his cheerful disposition so buoyant that he didn't care if Sherlock had stuffed a full cadaver into the fridge. Humming tunelessly to himself, he entered the flat and at his leisure, began making some tea. Oh, it had been a good day, a very good day, one which made him feel immensely satisfied and at peace with the world. Discovering a couple of burnt matches in the tin containing the tea bags couldn't put a dent in his good form. In fact, he didn't really remember a time when he'd felt this… happy. Glancing around the flat, he was glad to see that Mycroft had vacated the living room – but Sherlock was nowhere in sight either.
'Whoo whoo!' The odd hooting noise accompanied a knock on the front door.
'Come in Mrs Hudson, I'm just making myself a cuppa, d'you want one?' John asked, smiling in her direction as he poured the boiling water into his favourite mug.
'No, thank you dear, I just had one not so long ago. You sit down now, I'll see if you boys have any biscuits rattling around the back of your cupboards.'
'I doubt you'll find anything, but suit yourself.' John said with another smile. Mrs Hudson paused in her searching, her head tipped curiously as she watched John's expression. A moment later, her face was split by a wide smile and she forgot her quest for mythical biscuits, preferring to beam at her tenant instead.
'So, you've someone new in your love life?' She asked wisely, her eyes sparkling with delight.
'Mhmm, yes. That I do.' John nodded while blowing cool air across the surface of his tea, trying and failing to conceal a grin.
'Oh that's lovely John, really, it is! Although… I do hope Sherlock doesn't mind.' She smiled quickly before continuing her search for some biscuits.
'Why would Sherlock mind, exactly?' John asked with a frown as he took an experimental sip of his tea, wincing as he scalded the tip of his tongue.
'Oh, you know what he's like beneath all of his… chilliness. He cares for you – in his own way, of course.' Mrs Hudson finished matter-of-factly, sighing in defeat as she rooted through the last cupboard and found nothing resembling a crumb of a biscuit.
'Yeah, I know he does, but just as a mate.' John raised his eyebrows warningly at Mrs Hudson who looked at him innocently, though her eyes shimmered with annoying knowledge on the subject.
'Alright then dear, if that's how you see it.' She moved to the door, absentmindedly tapping her index finger against her lips. 'I'll check my own presses for biscuits then… Oh, and John?'
'Yes?' John asked; trying to claw back the perfectly good mood he'd experienced only minutes previously.
'I hope this new fellow of yours makes you very happy.'
'Oh Christ, not this again…' John shook his head, gritting his teeth as he fixed his smiling landlady with a chiding gaze. 'Mrs Hudson, for the last time, I'm. Not. Gay. Never have been and judging from the date I just had with Mary Morstan, I never will be, especially with someone such as Sherlock Bloody Holmes!'
'Don't have high expectations of information penetrating the thick skulls of the ignorant, John.' A disparaging voice floated up the stairs, forcing Mrs Hudson to frown at Sherlock as he swanned into the living room, a folder nestled in the crook of his arm. 'Biscuits, Mrs Hudson, don't be forgetting your important quest now.' He said with a false smile as his landlady seemed set on including him in conversation.
'Oh, you're in a right mood young man; though I can hardly say I'm surprised, that brother of yours never leaves you in good spirits.' Mrs Hudson shook her head in motherly disapproval.
'Hmm, what soft thoughts you have, Mrs Hudson.' Sherlock pursed his lips before striding towards the wall where all available information regarding Ruby's case was pinned. Without taking his shoes off, he mounted the leather couch and blinked slowly at the maze of information, his fingers tracing lightly over a map of London, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. Taking out pictures from the folder, he pinned the copies of evidence he'd received from the crime scene, the pictures of Sergei Bratva's mangled body and the meticulous layout of the crime scene, including a photo of the rose and letter hidden in the back of the painting. No fingerprints, no blood, no mistakes. The murder had taken place in Leo Shannon's former place of residence, so why, exactly, did something about this crime scene not feel right?
'You weren't joking in your text when you said you were investigating a murder… It's Ruby's serial killer isn't it?' John asked quietly, his eyes scanning over the brutal pictures. 'He's struck again.'
'Indeed.' Hands flying to their usual steepled position, Sherlock's gaze flicked over the new puzzle pieces, trying to figure out a pathway he'd yet to think of. So far, new links had been swiftly avoiding his conscious mind, especially when his gaze happened to land on Ruby's picture. Mycroft's chiding regarding his fondness for all things "red" was of no help either, stirring a bitter resentment in his stomach which made focusing that much harder. Sherlock didn't have time to prove his older brother wrong about the main implication of his disparaging deduction; it didn't take a genius to notice the crude Red/Redbeard/Ruby parallel Mycroft had drawn while they'd played "Snakes and Ladders", with his delightful anecdote of how Sherlock had always liked things red due to his fondness for the colour. Becoming so involved was illogical and would only hinder his work, Sherlock was well aware of this and was annoyed that Mycroft's ignorance continued to shelter him from such a blaring conclusion.
So much for Mycroft being the smart one.
'Eh, Sherlock? Mate? D'you need anything?' John asked; his eyes fixed on Sherlock's motionless figure.
'Ten grams of heroin, three hundred quid in cash and a few mugs of tea.' Sherlock spoke quickly, his eyes slowly opening as his finger pointed to a specific section on the map. After John cleared his throat, Sherlock turned to look at his flatmate, suddenly realising that he'd spoken his last thought aloud. 'Oh. You meant anything you could do.'
'Yep. Nothing illegal – if it's not too much trouble.' John added with a smile. Returning his smile with a smirk, Sherlock stepped off the couch and onto the coffee table, pausing for a moment as his eyes glanced over John who, for some reason, was wearing his pyjamas and nursed a different mug of tea. His gaze flicked around the flat and stared at the empty space where Mrs Hudson had stood only seconds previously.
'Weren't there more people…?' Sherlock asked, his frown deepening.
'Mrs Hudson went to bed over an hour ago; you were too busy staring at the wall to notice.' John replied, shaking his head in mild disbelief at Sherlock's ability to ignore his surroundings. Despite living with Sherlock for the amount of time he had, John found that the impact of Sherlock's eccentricities hadn't dulled.
'You're quite enamoured with your new lady friend, already made plans for two night's time and you're fighting the urge to send her some God awful text with lots of squishy hugs and kisses. From my observations of you and your…many relationships, I would advise against indulging such a desire. Nobody's interested in a man who stinks of desperation.' Sherlock stepped down from the table and ruffled his hair before pacing the length of the room.
'I wasn't going to text her –'
'Your phone is in the trouser pocket of your pyjamas, of course you were going to text her!' Sherlock admonished, straightening as he pointed at the scraps of information pegged together on the wall. 'There's no more data to be gained with Ruby locked away in a dungeon somewhere… what we need is a distraction. Though it will take time… but yes, it'll have to do.'
'Wait, what?' John asked, frowning at his flatmate.
'The killer is holding all of the cards John; I think it's about time we take a little peek at his hand, don't you?' John ran his tongue along his teeth as he tried to make sense of Sherlock's metaphor.
'Would it really kill you to stop being such a drama queen and spit out the information for a change?' John snarled, not liking the way Sherlock's eyes sparkled with excitement. That expression always led the two of them into trouble with a capital T.
'Fancy a midnight stroll?' Sherlock asked casually.
'Sherlock, I've got work in the morning –'
'Oh my mistake, I forgot how you wouldn't be suited to the roaming of abandoned tunnels rife with all the ruffians London has to offer. Shame, you would have needed your gun too.' Retaining a politely disinterested look, Sherlock began organising himself to leave the confines of 221B. He grabbed his torch from the empty biscuit tin in the kitchen and knotted his scarf efficiently around his neck before heading towards the door. Once John began glowering in his direction, Sherlock knew he'd won. The addiction to danger which existed in John's personality would forever work in his favour.
'Give me five minutes; I'm not chasing the scum of the earth in my slippers!' John snapped, hurrying upstairs and trying to ignore Sherlock's throaty chuckle which chased him up each step.
'Are we looking for a member of your homeless network?' John asked some twenty minutes later, his breath misting in the late night air as their taxi abandoned them.
'Excellent deduction John.' Sherlock said in a snarky voice, rooting in his pocket for his torch before switching it on and peering into the tunnels ahead.
'Any particular reason why this couldn't have been done in daylight? You know… so we can see into all of those shadowy corners?' John's voice was rock steady as he quickly took out his own torch and turned it on. The beam wasn't half as strong as he would've liked, but it was better than nothing.
'We don't want to let what's in the shadows see us either. Besides, you don't get the same thrill when you can see the monster up close and personal compared to when it's cloaked in darkness. This way.' Sherlock set off down the nearest tunnel, delicately stepping over the rubbish strewn ground, his eyes trained ahead as John quickly followed.
'Who are we looking for, exactly?'
'I'll know him when I see him…' Sherlock replied mysteriously.
'Then we might as well ask for directions from this lot if we have a chance of finding him here.' John scoffed, his torch highlighting the hunched figures of homeless people curled on the ground. His nose wrinkled at the stench but he forced himself to breathe through his mouth and swiftly pursued Sherlock.
'Wait what did you say?' Sherlock snapped, standing stock-still.
'I was joking –'
'About directions, yes! Brilliant, stay there, I'll be back in a minute.' The torch beam disappeared and the sound of Sherlock's muffled footsteps sprinting to John's right accompanied his words.
'Sherlock, don't just blunder off –' But it was no use, John knew he'd gone. Casting around him, he decided to make a quick exit; not fancying the company of sleeping strangers. Forcing himself to walk instead of run, John marched out of the tunnel, his back unnervingly straight and his eyes fixed on the dulling beam of his flashlight. The fresh air of a London night couldn't have been a more welcoming presence as he staggered out into the open, looking around but discovering that he was completely alone.
'John.' John flinched, resisting the urge to grab his gun and point it in the direction of the voice. 'Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.' Sherlock said sincerely.
'S'fine, you didn't startle… did you find him?' John quickly asked, preferring to ignore how he'd almost pulled a revolver on his best friend.
'Not yet, though one of the homeless women was rather helpful, said he'd been sent to the hospital. Scurvy disease.'
'So we're looking for a pirate. Excellent.' John heaved a great sigh, watching his breath mist with a tired sort of fascination.
'Nothing as interesting as a pirate, I'm afraid.'
'Yeah, wrong part of town for plunderers and booty-seekers.' John flinched at the dodgy euphemism he'd accidently employed, though he retained the hope that it had flown directly over Sherlock's head.
'There's a chance she lied; the homeless are far more loyal than ordinary folk. Still, I think it's worth our while to check the hospitals, don't you?'
'Of course. Got a name?' John asked.
'Bill Wiggins. Late twenties, brown hair, blue eyes.'
'Sounds like a junkie version of you.' John muttered while walking away from Sherlock towards the road, hoping he could hail a cab from this bad part of town. 'I presume you want me checking the hospitals for this Billy character on my own?' He threw over his shoulder.
'Yes, that would be most advantageous and I'll keep an eye out here. Either way, see you back at the flat in a few hours.'
Straightening his shoulders, Sherlock stalked back into the tunnels without bothering to turn his torch back on. His prestigious memory presented the array of sleeping bodies in his mind's eye, meaning it was highly unlikely he would tread on one of the slumbering figures. It didn't take him long to return to the fork where he'd met the helpful girl – that had been her first mistake. No-one who was homeless snitched information for free, meaning it was almost certain that this Bill Wiggins still lurked in one of the more shadowed parts of the tunnel. It was just a question of finding out which section he occupied.
Frantic whispers to his right signalled that a private argument was taking place some ten metres ahead. Stalking silently towards the voices, Sherlock could discern a man and a woman speaking quickly, the conversation heating up with each passing second. Sherlock's lip quirked as he heard the familiar gravel of Bill's voice, knowing he'd been right once again. Reaching forward, his hand gripped Bill's bony arm while his other came up to muffle his cry of alarm.
'Hello Billy. Nice to see your scurvy has cleared up.' Sherlock greeted calmly, his wide smile hidden by the shadows.
3 Days Before Ruby Leaves the Safe-House:
'Mrs Hudson!' Sherlock roared, staring at his laptop and sighing heavily, tapping his fingers impatiently against the table.
'What is it Sherlock, you know my hip can't take these stairs too many times in a day!' Mrs Hudson chastised, carefully making her way down from John's room.
'How's the patient faring?' Sherlock asked, ignoring the rough clearing of the throat from John who sat in his usual armchair by the fire, his expression far from happy.
'He's much better than yesterday dear. I think he might even be up for a few visitors.' Mrs Hudson said optimistically.
'Excellent. Now go away.'
'Honestly, the manners your mother never taught you, I don't know how she didn't cast you out –'
'Something to do with unconditional love, fluffy sentiment, you know, all those things I hold most dear. Don't be frightened of closing the door after you.' Sherlock said with a simpering smile which sent Mrs Hudson running from the room, her head shaking so much it was in serious danger of falling off. John sighed heavily while getting to his feet, staring at his oblivious flatmate for a long moment, wondering how he was going to start what would undoubtedly be a painful conversation. But if he didn't conduct it with this ridiculous man, then no-one would and Sherlock Holmes would continue to terrify the commonwealth with his razor-sharp wit and lack of awareness.
'Um, Sherlock? Mate?' John resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, stepping forwards and shutting the lid of Sherlock's laptop with a gentle click.
'John! I was working –'
'Yeah, I know. We're both… working.' John pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, completely baffled with how he was supposed to properly begin proceedings. Now, if only he hadn't misplaced his How To Train Your High-Functioning Sociopath manual…
'You look worried, why are you worried? It's not about your date tonight; I've read her replies to your texts, all very positive –'
'You read my… When did you take my…' John's voice drifted off, scolding himself for becoming distracted. 'I am worried, yes, but not about Mary. It's you who I'm worried about, Sherlock.'
'Oh this is Mycroft's doing isn't it? He gets one stupid conclusion into that balding head of his, and it must be right because he's Mycroft Holmes who practically is the British government, not to mention the most inept member of society this kingdom has had the misfortune of producing!' Sherlock hissed, actually spewing spit at some of his words.
'Mycroft? No… God no. This has nothing to do with him, Sherlock, or anyone else for that matter. It's just me, actually, who's worried. Y'know, someone has to do it, and the responsibility usually falls to… well, me.'
'Oh, well, what is it then? And keep to the short version; you pause a lot in your attempts of expressing sentiment.' Sherlock went to open his laptop but Johns hand slammed down on the lid pinning it in place.
'Listen; stop being such a dickhead when I'm trying to help you!' John said with a murderous expression. To Sherlock's relief, the murderous smile didn't come to join the fray, meaning he wasn't in too much trouble.
'I'm listening.' Sherlock murmured, folding his arms as he leant back in his chair. Swallowing harshly, John ploughed onwards.
'Look, are you alright? And don't answer me with some bloody twisted words, if you could be so kind.'
'I'm fine, John. Why shouldn't I be? I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, not driving you up the wall –'
'Not driving me – Sherlock, I came home from searching through countless hospitals two nights ago to find that you'd decided, out of the kindness of your heart, to let this Bill character sleep in my bed! Oh, and seeing as he's a junkie, he's been going through something I imagine you're quite familiar with.'
'Battling with the dullness of our society?' Sherlock ventured.
'WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS, SHERLOCK!'
'No need to shout…'
'WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS, IN MY BEDROOM! HAVE YOU ANY IDEA OF THE MESS –'
'Shhh, stop being hysterical, you'll wake Billy up.' Sherlock chastised, momentarily knocking the wind from John's expostulations.
'All I'm saying is this: you seem a bit more eccentric than usual. Losing it in Scotland Yard, missing out on Jahmene's involvement with the case, inviting junkie homeless men into our home for a crash course in rehab –'
'A sound investment –'
'– And no true progress on the case.' John snapped.
'No progress? Have you lost your mind? We know who the killer is –'
'We don't know where he is! No-one's seen him since his prison break a few months back. No sighting of him whatsoever, he's practically invisible.' John argued.
'That's why it's so important that we play nurse with Billy, John.'
'I don't see how –'
'You do see, you just do not observe!' Sherlock sneered, his nostrils flared in disdain as he suddenly stood up, marching towards the door where his coat hung on a hook.
'The next time you say that to me, I'm making a laminated sign and sticking it to the back of your coat.' John threatened, pointing to the door where the famous Belstaff hung.
'You wouldn't dare.' Sherlock said with a hint of a smile, throwing on the coat with a nonchalant grace which John rolled his eyes at. Without another word to his flatmate, he strode out of the door and quickly descended the stairs.
'Don't forget to pop your coat collar; the world might rip at its seams if you forget to look cool!' John yelled after him.
2 Days Before Ruby Leaves the Safe-House
'Kidnapping is what this is. I should go to the coppers; you'll be in a right load of bother when they hear my side of the story.' Billy said with a sickly smile. His skeletal face had that haggard look of decayed fruit, and the old clothes he wore hung off him loosely, once belonging to Sherlock who was no-ones definition of a chubby man.
'A highly ambitious strategy seeing as the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard is my friend. Eat. Drink. You'll feel better.' Sherlock said while pushing over a plate of Mrs Hudson's cooked breakfast, watching Billy carefully who slouched in his hard kitchen chair.
'Oh, had a lot of dalliances with the needle eh, Mr Holmes?' Billy asked with a lopsided smile.
'Unfortunately, yes.' John said through gritted teeth, his arms folded rigidly. He stood behind Sherlock's chair and glared daggers at the man who had, in no better terms, sodomized his bed during his withdrawal period.
'You dragged me out them tunnels and sobered me up because you have an ulterior motive.' Billy said quickly, yanking his eyes away from the murderous gaze of someone he'd just identified as a former war veteran.
'Oh, do I?' Sherlock asked.
'Yeah, you do. I can see it in the way you're watching me, you want me to eat and drink so I'll be healthy and strong.' John cleared his throat loudly, but Billy ignored him and ploughed ahead. 'This free food and lodging here only comes at the price of running a small errand for you, and I imagine this errand will be one which I will have no interest in carrying out. I don't handle any girls, or white nurses –'
'White nurses?' John asked with a furrowed brow, an odd image of a nurse from a porno he'd watched in his early twenties leaping to mind.
'Heroin.' Sherlock said absentmindedly.
'Oh.'
'Anyway, like I was saying, I ain't interested.' Billy said in a tone which he sincerely hoped sounded final. Before Sherlock could respond, a loud beeping emitted from behind him.
'Oh, Christ. That's work!' John yelped, glancing at his phone and paling significantly. 'Sherlock, gotta dash. I'll see you later and I seriously hope I don't see you.' John said while pointing at Billy. Within a few seconds, he'd thrown on his black coat and hurried down the stairs, muttering curses under his breath which were silenced by the front door opening and slamming.
'Charming, he is.' Billy said snidely, watching Sherlock as he stood and walked into the sitting room. After chewing his lower lip for a moment, Billy began to rip into the breakfast, unbelievably happy that his stomach wasn't rejecting the food.
'Do you know who this is, Billy?' Sherlock asked casually, returning and presenting a picture of Ruby for him to look at.
'No, but I wouldn't mind knowing.' Billy said with a cloying smile which forced Sherlock to expel the air from his lungs in a disparaging fashion.
'She's a detective who has a serial killer murdering former criminals who escaped her grasp over the years as a token of admiration.'
'And you're asking me to run some sort of errand that'll help you upstage that in order to win her affections?' Billy asked incredulously, his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline.
'What? No, don't be stupid.' Sherlock said a little too venomously, shaking his head firmly as he put all thoughts of that disturbing dimension in the part of his mind where he stored information on the solar system. Or as he liked to call it: the incinerator.
'Mr Holmes, she's a redhead. I wouldn't blame you for wanting a taste of that vixen.' Sherlock blinked rapidly for a few seconds before shaking the ludicrous comment from his mind. Why did everyone seem intent on bringing his attention to the colour of Ruby's hair and his supposed fondness for the detective?
'She's a friend –' Sherlock began.
'Oh naw, she never friendzoned you, did she? What a foxy player…' Billy licked his lips while chuckling slightly.
'Friendzone? What ludicrous nonsense are you spouting now?'
'Oh, you really are behind the times Mr Holmes. The friendzone is this awful place where girls put you after they decide they don't want to do the dirty with you. You might as well be an inanimate object to them where sex is concerned as they view your relationship as purely platonic…' Billy shuddered as he spoke the words.
'Brilliant, why would you paint it as something bad when society might have accidently created a helpful concept?' Sherlock said while frowning, his fingers twitching by his sides. 'With guaranteed platonic friendship, there would never arise the awkward rejection of future seductive attempts, the work would always be able to come first. It appears one side of the gender question is finally applying logic as a whole instead of as individuals. Fascinating.' Sherlock's gaze drifted off into space as he considered all dimensions of this new concept.
'You're a right weirdo you are; wanting to be friendzoned… I bet you do all the friendzoning yourself and don't bother waiting for a girl to do it for you.' Billy said with an expression of disgust.
'Anyway, onto things of actual importance.' Sherlock said sharply, returning to his seat and facing Billy head on. I may have an errand for you to run…'
'I knew it!' Sherlock stifled a sigh of frustration and quickly grabbed a map of London from a bookshelf before spreading it out on the kitchen table, covering the remains of Billy's breakfast, much to the junkie's annoyance.
'I am not exaggerating when I claim that the safety of my own person and this…' He took a deep breath while closing his eyes. 'Vixen… as you so delightfully dubbed her, both rely on the success of your errand.'
'But she'll be in some safe house surely with a serial killer after her. What would she be needing someone like me snooping around for?'
'She won't be safe in two days' time if I have my way. Now, listen to me very carefully – do you know where this street is?' Sherlock pointed to an alley on the map spread out between them.
'Yeah, I do. It's just two streets away from here, ain't it?'
'Very good Billy. I need you to be here at 8am in two morning's time, bang on the dot.'
'And what makes you think I'll be there at all Mr Holmes? You've placed an awful lot of faith in my person, if I say so myself.'
'You're smarter than the majority of your fellow hobos, and your survival instincts are telling you that if you ever want a chance to get off the streets, then I'm your best shot.' Sherlock said smugly, his razor gaze never breaking contact with Billy's questioning stare.
'Alright, and say, on a hypothetical note, when I get there, what exactly would I be doing?' Billy asked, trying to keep the note of curiosity from his tone and failing miserably.
'Oh, you'll know when you get there Billy. It couldn't be plainer if I wrote it on the wall in neon graffiti.' Sherlock said with a dangerous smile, relaxing slightly in his chair. 'Don't be surprised when you see both myself and Detective Smith coming into the alleyway; just make sure you're ready for when we do arrive.' Sherlock quickly bundled the map into a small packet and replaced it on the bookshelf, smiling slightly at the ingenuity of his plan. This was going to rattle Leo Shannon's cage in a way which even Donovan would grudgingly compliment him on.
Phew, there we go! This was tough as I had to think very precisely about particular details for this chapter, make sure it all fit with what I had previously said in other chapters! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the special; it is always a joy to write for a character such as Sherlock when he is in the midst of a case and being distracted by emotions. HOORAY FOR THE APPEARANCE OF BILLY WIGGINS, he was one of my favourite characters from season three, it would have been horrible to have not included him at some point (though how terrible is it that he made his entrance before the darling Mary Morstan? Well, as you can probably tell from the beginning of the chapter, John is already smitten with her).
Posting will now revert back to Friday's, so don't be getting used to Thursday postings, it's just not going to happen (like fetch from Mean Girls!)! Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews, I received 34 of them for the last chapter over five days, which is beyond incredible for a Sherlock/OC fic with a very small, almost non-existent level of fluff! And a massive big round of applause for those of you who have followed and favourite, you never fail to put a big smile on my face!
I recently made a tumblr account which I use JUST for researching this amazing universe, it is dead handy, and I'll be posting some in-depth analyses of some of my favourite scenes from the series, so follow thethumbthief if you're interested in that sort of thing (though don't expect a fabulous page, I'll probably have to hire someone to organise my blog for me!)
Have a fantabulous weekend and I look forward to seeing you next Friday for when you will be rewarded and find out the result of the cliff-hanger scene where Sherlock is pinning Ruby to a wall… Oooooh!
