The Mind Palace for the special won in bucket-loads, so here you are, I hope you enjoy it!

A Hidden Rebellion

The tips of Sherlock's fingers tickled the underside of his chin as he entered the large debating chamber, his attention focused on the familiar room ahead, ignoring the light boom as the heavy oak doors closed behind him. Plush red leather seats stood empty as he descended the stairs, his footsteps muffled by the royal blue carpet. Hesitating at the chamber's centre, he turned to face the deserted amphitheatre, pursing his lips as his gaze flicked over the most used room in his mind palace. It came as some form of relief to find that nothing had changed; there were no signs of decay, of rot or ruin. The ceiling still soared upwards with four chandeliers hanging from a decorative ring of plaster as big as a football pitch's centre circle. Marble pillars punctured the upper walls, revealing four cavities on the north, south, east and west sides of the room, containing red chairs hidden in their shadowed hollows. A black wooden border served as the room's equator; separating the chamber in two. The northern hemisphere contained white walls and marble columns which clashed with the melted-glass textured wallpaper of the southern sphere, its turquoise hue repeated in the artwork mounted in impassive frames on the walls.

Releasing his lips with a slight popping sound, Sherlock dropped his hands and nodded four times at the bench on his left.

You, you, you and you.' He said in a demanding voice, his order obeyed when four figures appeared in the seats he'd allocated.

Sylvester Sacs sat nearest to Sherlock, the first victim of this case. Multiple stab wounds littered his shirt and in his hands he held two DVD's which were turned upwards so Sherlock could read their titles: The Shining and Psycho. Next over was the second victim, holding another DVD which read American Beauty, his hair matted with blood from the bullet hole in the back of his head. The third victim had a bullet hole right between his eyes and held a DVD entitled Pulp Fiction. Finally, the latest victim, Sergei Bratva, stared up at Sherlock, his entire right-hand side stained with blood and the movie SE7EN clasped in his hand.

'You were all criminals who escaped Detective Smith's grasp, correct?' Sherlock asked.

'Correct.' They responded in unison.

'She is the glue which holds these murders together, but she didn't kill you. So the question is… who did?'

'It was me.' Came a lilting voice to his right and Sherlock turned to find Leo Shannon standing next to him, still wearing the same blue hoody and black leather jacket he'd worn when he'd tried to escape the police during The Thumb Thief case.

'It was you?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes… Well, probably.' Leo said with a slight shrug.

'Probably?' Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows, looking back at the victims. 'You fit the profile, your guilt is unquestionable; you have a profound interest in the film industry, you're a former lover of Detective Smith. Conclusion: you broke out of jail and murdered these former criminals as an act of utter devotion.' Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 'C'mon, think! You're not asking the right questions!' He frowned at Leo before firing another query at him. 'If there's any doubt about you being the serial killer, then there is something wrong with my trail of logic… You escaped from prison, didn't you?' Sherlock stated while pointing at Mr Shannon.

'Yes.' Leo replied curtly.

'Your interest in the film industry can be classified as fanatical.'

'Yes.'

'You were romantically involved with Detective Smith.'

'Um…'

'But you were. My own deductions of the time proved that.' Sherlock's brows furrowed as his eyes darted towards the victims and then back to Leo Shannon. 'You were her lover –'

'But he wasn't her lover, Sherlock.' A disparaging voice boomed and suddenly Leo Shannon and the four murder victims vanished. Sherlock jerked around and grimaced when he identified his older brother, occupying the mediator's chair.

'I don't understand.' Sherlock said quietly.

'Of course you don't, you have no idea about the fickle workings of the heart, something which usually aids you but in this case has been tremendously inhibiting. Now, concentrate little brother. For Mr Shannon's motivation to commit murder, you need him to be Ruby's lover. Remember your deductions of the time.'

'Obviously he was more invested than her, but that would only fuel his feelings of jealousy, not act as a paralytic for them!'

'You're getting distracted, look at the facts, Sherlock. There would have been indications of Mr Shannon's volatile feelings before he was ever sent to prison. You know murders like this do not simply happen.'

'The universe doesn't appear to be in a lazy mood with this case.' Sherlock admitted, his fingers tapping impatiently against his thighs. 'Which is proof in itself that the prison escape is not irrelevant. It's linked, it has to be.'

'Obviously it's not irrelevant… but it does not mean what you think it means. Focus Sherlock, what has Mr Shannon's escape got to do with this case? What purpose does it serve?' Sherlock chewed his lower lip and turned his back on his older brother, pacing the small space in front of the mediator's chair. After stopping, he turned and suddenly Leo Shannon appeared, standing in front of him and Mycroft vanished from his position of power. The four victims had returned, still seated patiently in the opposing bench.

'Why did you go to prison?' Sherlock demanded.

'One too many parking tickets and I missed a few court hearings. You already know that.' Leo said with a small smile.

'Why did you escape?'

'Prison isn't exactly a holiday; Sherlock, no-one wants to stay there until they're institutionalised.' He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

'But escape… rather a drastic solution. How long was your custodial sentence?'

'Nine months.'

'Not exactly the most taxing of verdicts. Why not just… wait it out? Why go to the troublesome lengths of faking your own death, employing the skills of a corrupt mortician and smuggling yourself out of prison to avoid a nine month jaunt in jail?' Leo blinked slowly at Sherlock, his face unreadable. 'Aha! Showmanship, a distraction, you wanted, no, you needed me to find out that you had escaped from prison – it was a necessity. You wanted me to play the game… but why?'

'Sherlock, you're forgetting who you're talking to.' Mycroft chastised, forcing Sherlock to wheel around once more and look up at his brother. Mr Shannon and the four victims promptly disappeared at the arrival of Holmes senior.

'The suspect is Leo Shannon, a small-time meth dealer who rapidly ascended the criminal ranks, unusual for someone so young. Smart… but not the definition of a criminal mastermind.' Sherlock rubbed his hands together, beginning to feel the glow of an epiphany.

'Which leads to the conclusion…?' Mycroft asked.

'Though he was taken from prison, he did not orchestrate the event. It was not his idea to escape… but someone else's.' Sherlock's eyes widened at this, his nostrils flared in excitement.

'And who do we know who fits the criteria for organising such an illegal event?'

'James Moriarty. But he's dead.' Sherlock said baldly.

'And what happens when a man like that dies?'

'It creates a power vacuum.'

'Which leads to…?' Sherlock spun around and pointed at the space next to where Leo Shannon had stood, blinking rapidly as he spoke.

'It means there's a new dragon to slay.' His voice deepened as he pronounced this statement and Mycroft vanished once again as the room was populated by the people who had been murdered. Facing the four victims once more, Sherlock stepped towards the man holding the Pulp Fiction DVD, eyeing him with renewed interest. 'But you… Leo Shannon's thumb print was found at your crime scene on the wallet. You were what tied Leo to this case, unquestionable forensic proof…'

'And crime scenes cannot be tampered with little brother?' Mycroft scolded, forcing Sherlock to abandon his examination of the third victim and confront his brother.

'If the fingerprint was planted, then Leo Shannon obviously didn't agree to his DNA being used. Furthermore, his escape from prison was not his idea, he didn't have a say in it. He was taken so he would appear as the sole suspect for Ruby's case, stopping Scotland Yard and therefore me from conducting the investigation properly and looking for other suspects. So, the question is; who would want to steal Leo Shannon from his prison cell and make him take the blame for these murders?' Sherlock's hands leapt to their signature steepled position, his eyes closing for a moment as he ran through the possibilities.

'Focus on practicality first, brother dear. Where is Mr Shannon now?' Mycroft asked after a few moment of silence.

'I don't know.'

'And why is that?'

'Because he hasn't surfaced and my homeless network hasn't seen any signs of him.'

'Which means…?'

'That he's being very cautious.'

'Or…?' Mycroft drawled.

Sherlock's shoulders sagged with the weight of his epiphany and he slowly looked to his brother for confirmation. 'Or Leo Shannon is currently being held captive, his DNA plucked from him forcefully and used as a method to disguise the identity of Detective Smith's true stalker.' Sherlock turned to find the four victims were lying on the ground, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Leaning against the highly polished bench of the front row of chairs was Leo Shannon, his gaze focused on the victim's bodies. 'Who would know the identity of these men in connection with Detective Smith and be smart enough to frame Leo Shannon?' Sherlock mused, stepping around the victims and sitting on a bench, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Four bodies, one man framed, not a jot of evidence to highlight the identity of the true culprit.

Sherlock rose from the bench and began pacing beside the row of bodies, fingers clasped in prayer beneath his chin. His pace was erratic from impatience and restless energy; he didn't know how to proceed, he needed data… but where to look?

'I know the connection between the bodies; I have had personal interactions with Leo Shannon, not to mention that the person the murderer killed for happens to be a close friend. Information, data, new angle… God, what am I missing?' He yelled, tugging at his curls in mild desperation.

'Don't be stupid Sherlock, there's no need to be when the answer is so obvious.' Mycroft drawled, reappearing in the mediator's chair and sending the apparitions of the four victims scuttling.

'I'm not stupid.' Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth, pointing a finger savagely at his older brother.

'Then prove it. What do you know about Miss Smith which would narrow it down for you?'

'I don't know!' Sherlock snapped.

'Then find out.'

Raising his head slowly, he gave his brother a stinging glare. 'I'm not letting her in here – not willingly.' Sherlock spat.

'I don't see how you have a choice. Control Sherlock, she is hardly something which can wreak the havoc you fear, just another piece of the puzzle.' Sherlock swallowed painfully before walking towards the entrance of the debating chamber, hurrying up the steps and resting his hands against the doors. With a bitter sigh, he pushed them open and held onto the well-varnished wood to allow someone to enter.

Ruby Smith took a step inside the debating chamber, her eyes wide as she gazed around her plush surroundings. The colour of her hair matched the leather seats and her clothes were casual, the usual jeans, t-shirt and suit jacket combination with a splash of character added from her unusual choice in braces. After closing the door, Sherlock indicated that she should descend and join the four victims and Leo Shannon at the room's summit, an order she quickly followed. She perched on one of the benches and stared at the four victims with unshielded curiosity and Sherlock wasted no time in beginning his interrogation.

'Who else in your past would have the motivation to kill these people for you?' Sherlock asked bluntly, his hands behind his back as he watched Ruby, waiting for a sign of rebellion.

'My family's made a lot of enemies; it's part of the reason I decided to leave them behind.' She answered, her eyes leaving the victim's bodies and gazing at Sherlock with an intensity he was unable to hold. Glancing at his feet, he set out his demands.

'I need specifics. The only reason a family enemy would be involved is for money and as you are a perfect candidate for ransom, this motive can be ruled out. These murders aren't about money, or power or your family. This is about you, the four crime scenes have been created as shrines of adoration, for you. Why?'

Instead of answering, Ruby hopped off the counter and began to circle the four victims, pointing at Johnny Sacs and grimacing at the sight of him.

'He always asked for a private dance, this one. In fact – they all did. I was their favourite at The Flamingo.'

Sherlock's hands snapped together in triumph and he jumped a foot in the air, his curls slamming comically with the pull of gravity as his feet were re-united with the blue-carpeted floor.

'The Flamingo! The man who forced you into that undercover operation, the one which you never feel comfortable talking about – it's his work; he's the one who orchestrated this entire event! Oh, this explains so much! Thank you for cooperating and not wreaking chaos as I thought you might, you've been rather helpful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to interrogate the real you about the identity of this mystery man. Then, the case will be solved!' He proclaimed excitedly, his smile dropping when he realised that Ruby had disappeared entirely.

'Watch her, Sherlock.' Mycroft's voice warned, having resumed his mediator post, his beady eyes observing Ruby as she mounted the stairs beneath him.

'Where's she going?' Sherlock asked; his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

'This is your ridiculous mind palace; you should know exactly what her intentions are.' Sherlock strode across the now deserted heart of the chamber and hurriedly ascended the steps which brought him astride Ruby.

'What are you doing up here?' He asked bluntly, watching the redhead who stood behind Mycroft, her gaze darting about the vast chamber.

'Why is Mycroft sitting up here? Shouldn't you be?' She asked while tilting her head, green eyes blazing inquisitively from behind Mycroft's back.

'Sherlock…' Mycroft said in a dangerously quiet voice.

'This is how I built this room, Ruby; I need a detached mediator to sort through the facts.' He said in a voice reserved for explaining to stubborn children that 1+1=2 not 3.

'Oh, I suppose that makes some sort of sense.' She said with a shrug before stretching upwards, her shoulders popping from the small exertion.

'Come down from there and leave the way you came.' Sherlock's voice was strained as he gave the command. Confusion tore through his mind when Ruby ignored his order and waved at someone on the opposite side of the chamber instead. Turing to look, Sherlock's breath caught in his throat when he identified The Woman. Irene Adler was perched in the exact same spot which Ruby had vacated moments ago; her high heels the only man-made item adorning her body. Hair and make-up was as it had been the first time he'd met the dangerous female, her brown locks piled extensively atop her head, complimented by her aquamarine eyes and blood stained lips. With a seductive smile, she returned Ruby's wave in a slinky manner before her eyes locked with Sherlock's wary gaze, raising an eyebrow in a suggestive manner. When she received no further encouragement, the smile disappeared and The Woman bared her teeth in an unmistakeable snarl before slyly getting to her feet and crossing the short distance to the podium, aiming to mount the stairs and arrive at Sherlock's level.

'No!' Sherlock's shrill voice echoed around the amphitheatre, stopping Irene Adler mid-stride. She tilted her head in mock confusion, both eyebrows raised in an innocent fashion. 'Go away. I'm working.' Sherlock ordered, turning his back and sighing when he was confronted with the other woman who watched the interaction with interest.

'But I feel like exploring instead.' Ruby said with a devilish smile, turning around and striding through the door behind Mycroft's chair before Sherlock could stop her. His hand raised out in futilely after her, rolling his eyes in lazy annoyance as her hair whipped around the corner and the door closed with an odd sense of finality.

'You best find her.' Mycroft casually remarked, reappearing beside Sherlock, his raised eyebrows accompanied with a simpering smile which he received a filthy glare for.

'I wouldn't have to find her in the first place if you hadn't brilliantly suggested I let her in.' Sherlock snarled.

'Go. Before you lose her.' Sherlock strode towards the door, yanked it open and after swallowing an indignant sigh, proceeded down the corridor. It was a brilliantly lit hallway with a white floor which practically gleamed in the bright light. The walls were covered with a wooden panelling which extended the entire length of the corridor, doorways interrupting the smooth expanse of oak every twenty feet or so. The sound of a door slamming at the end of the corridor instantly attracted his attention and he hurriedly set off in pursuit, arriving at the door in question and pausing for a moment when he realised where it led. Sherlock inhaled deeply before pushing the door open and striding down the next corridor. All of his momentum was knocked from his body as he took in the scene occurring ahead. This was Redbeard's corridor, a forbidden place of calming sanctuary used only in emergencies. Sherlock didn't like reliving memories of his deceased dog if he could help it, but this was something entirely unexpected.

'What are you doing, Ruby?' Sherlock asked in an oddly croaky voice, one he quickly rid himself of by clearing his throat.

'He was lonely.' Ruby said with a smile, sitting on the ground and rubbing Redbeard's belly affectionately. The red setter's tongue lolled out of his mouth and he panted happily, his eyes rolling into the back of his head from the abundance of attention. 'And he misses you.' Withdrawing her affectionate patting, Redbeard quickly rolled over and after leaping to his paws, he galloped towards his master who greeted him with a rare smile, scratching him behind his ears with well-versed affection.

'Hello Redbeard.' Sherlock murmured, crouching on his haunches and grinning when the red setter tried to lick his ears.

'He's lovely Sherlock. A childhood friend?' Ruby asked, sitting down next to him and rubbing Redbeard's coat gently, trying to avoid a beating from his thrashing tail.

'Well, he was a more human choice than Mycroft.' Sherlock admitted, warily glancing at Ruby. 'Why did you come in here?' He asked quietly, calming Redbeard's enthusiastic friendliness with slow pats to his stomach.

'I came in here because you wanted me to.' Ruby replied with a grin which threatened to cleave her face in two. 'His coat is lovely, not too many shades off my own hair colour, is it?'

'It's a radically different hue.' Sherlock argued, stiffening when Ruby climbed to her feet and started heading towards the door. 'Where are you going now?' He called after her, rising to his feet and preparing to follow. Sherlock turned to bid Redbeard goodbye and almost fell over when he was met with The Woman instead. One of her delicately shaped eyebrows was cocked in a sly greeting and her eyes gazed inquisitively at him with unconcealed desire. 'I thought I told you to go away.' He hissed, not wasting another second and hurrying after Ruby's disappearing figure. However, the door slammed in his face and when he angrily re-opened it, Ruby was nowhere to be seen. Glancing behind him, he could see that The Woman was still there, stubbornly ignoring his commands to vanish. Without hesitating, he banged the door behind him and focused on locating Ruby. After closing his eyes for a moment, he quickly turned right and entered the door at the end of the hallway.

A staircase was revealed, where the metal supports for the banister extended the length of the rigidly curved stairway in an aesthetically-pleasing pattern. Ruby was sliding down the banister, her glee echoing around the exposed chamber. Sherlock wasted no time and descended the stairs rapidly, putting his hands out to stop himself from slamming into the stone walls.

'Ruby, STOP!' Sherlock roared, his voice thrown back to him from odd acoustic vantage points, mingling with the aftermaths of Ruby's squeals of delight. The laughter quickly silenced and as Sherlock rounded the last bend of the staircase, he could see why. She had arrived outside of the most forbidden wing of his mind palace, a place of last resort and where he kept chained the part of himself which clashed with his ability to carry out his work. At least she hadn't entered the room – but that didn't stop her from peering through the spy-window in the door, revealing the horrors within.

'What is that?' She whispered, eyes trained on a bundle wrapped in chains and a strait-jacket, curled in the furthermost corner of the padded cell.

'It's nothing.' Sherlock reached out to place a hand on Ruby's shoulder, to draw her away from this forsaken place.

'It can't be nothing if you've gone to such lengths to keep him locked away.'

'And you have no secrets which you like to keep under lock and key?' Sherlock angrily challenged, though he spoke in a whisper, afraid of waking the monster within.

'None that you know of.'

'I know they exist; I merely lack the possession of the exact details of your personal demons.' Sherlock admonished.

'Am I in here?' She asked quietly. 'Is that where you keep them? All of your suppressed feelings?'

'No.' Sherlock said, shutting the spy-window with a violent slap. 'Something much more powerful than stupid feelings resides in that cell.'

'Like what?' A strong voice behind him inquired, forcing Sherlock to turn. He almost fainted when he saw a different Ruby addressing him, her arms folded over her chest, watching him warily. 'Like what, Sherlock?' She repeated and Sherlock closed his eyes before slowly returning to the present, his hands dropping from their steepled position and landing on the green armrests of his chair in 221B. The real Ruby stood over him in the exact spot she had in his mind palace, a crease forming between her brows. 'Sherlock? You okay?' She asked.

'Uh… yeah. Fine. Any reason I shouldn't be?'

'You were muttering to yourself –'

'Sometimes I need an expert's opinion.' He slowly got to his feet, tying the button on his suit jacket as he rose. However, Ruby didn't back away; she stood her ground, her gaze defiant.

'You kept saying my name.' She said reproachfully, knocking Sherlock's guard for a split second – though he quickly recovered.

'This case centres on you; it would be strange if my thoughts didn't stray to your person at some point.' Brushing past Ruby, Sherlock entered the kitchen and promptly began rummaging through the cupboards. 'How long have I been away?' He asked while examining the end of a well-worn wooden spoon.

'Hours. I've been here a good twenty minutes trying to rouse you from your self-induced coma! How deep did you go?' Ruby asked, chewing on the side of her thumb as she watched Sherlock's rapid movements.

'Deeper than I'd planned.' Sherlock replied truthfully, slamming the cutlery drawer and returning to the living room where he flung himself onto the couch. 'How's my brother? He seems to be making a habit of kidnapping my friends… Maybe he believes that if he continues with this behaviour, my friends will want to be his friends. Ha! Moron…'

'He was bloody awful… which led to us having a little dispute in the Diogenes Club.' Ruby admitted before sitting at the end of the couch next to Sherlock's feet.

'What kind of dispute?' Sherlock asked, sitting up a little on the couch, his interest piqued.

'Well…I told him his surveillance on you was obsessive, he told me I should be more respectful of a man in his position. This was swiftly followed by me throwing one of his expensive crystal glasses which shattered against a wall. Less than a minute later, he asked me to vacate the building in a speedy fashion with heavy implications that if I didn't hurry, I'd be man-handled off the premises.' Sherlock couldn't help but let the approving smirk tug at his lips; any person who openly antagonized Mycroft (as long as said person didn't threaten national security), was a friend of his.

'My brother isn't overly fond of you.' Sherlock confessed.

'Oh yes, he explained that in exceptionally candid terms.' Rubbing her hands slightly due to the chilly dimensions of the room only made the entire encounter with Mycroft stink even more.

'And I predict he'll loathe you for wrecking one of his most prized possessions – the queen herself gave him that decanter and glasses set after a particularly productive year of manipulation.' Sherlock smiled apologetically before allowing his head to fall back against the cushions of the sofa. 'What's that?' Pointing at the desk with his finger, he drew Ruby's attention to the package positioned on top of a stack of old newspapers.

'It's for you, Mrs Hudson told me to bring it up to you when I arrived; said she'd signed for it about two hours ago.' Without pausing for thought, Sherlock jumped to his feet and grasped the package with a wild enthusiasm, running his fingers along the coarse brown paper and analysing the untidy handwriting scratched into the wrapping. After he'd deduced his share, he plonked himself onto the couch beside Ruby and shook the package experimentally.

'So, what's in the box?' Ruby asked with a grin, knowing the movie reference would fly over Sherlock's head.

'Are you sure it's wise to quote the very film which your killer drew inspiration from in order to murder his latest victim?' Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow, smiling smugly at Ruby's flabbergasted expression.

'How –'

'Watching films is not completely beneath my person, Ruby. Plus, it was of vital import to the case that I sit in front of a screen and waste valuable thinking hours watching a director's crude commentary on society in order to fully understand the mind-set of this killer.' He balanced the package on his knees, licking his lips in expectation. 'My patience grows thin and I'm unable to deduce what resides inside. Let's open it!' He proclaimed, and he wasted no time in tearing the brown paper-wrapping from the mysterious box. After glancing at Ruby, his fingers slowly prised the lid from the package and after a few tense seconds, he threw the top of the box to the floor.

With a quiet thunk, something was activated within the box, but before Ruby or Sherlock could react to the new threat, a black powder was propelled into their faces.

I don't have much time so I just want to say I hope you enjoyed the special, it was atrociously hard work and I had to conduct a busload of research for it so, fingers crossed that I did the beautiful memory technique justice! I will do everything within my power to post another chapter by Friday and thank you thank you thank you for the wonderful response to the latest chapter. Those of you who followed, favourited and reviewed never failed to put a smile on my face, so to you faithful soldiers, I say: my gratitude is as boundless as the sea, my happiness as deep; the more I give to thee. The more I have for both are infinite.
Y'all take care now!