"The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford," Lestrade told them.

A few minutes had passed since they had received the second phone call in Lestrade's office, and Max and the others were currently in the middle of an open space next to a small river. They were walking towards the abandoned car that was in the photograph, watching as a team of forensics officers worked on it. Lestrade was currently flipping through the notes that he had gathered on the case and reading them off to everyone.

"Banker of some kind, a city boy," Lestrade continued. "Paid in cash. Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived."

By that point they had reached the car, and Sherlock and Lestrade started examining the car alongside the forensics officers. Max hung back with John and Sergeant Donovan, all three of them watching as Sherlock and Lestrade worked.

"You're still hanging around him," Donovan commented.

John cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly wishing that he was anywhere else right now. "Yeah, well..." he trailed off.

Donovan shrugged. "Opposites attract, I suppose," she mused.

John blinked in surprise. "No, we're not-" he attempted.

"You should get yourself a hobby," Donovan continued. "Stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer." She glanced at Max. "What's your issue?"

Max raised an eyebrow, doing her best to ignore the other woman's tone. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Donovan gestured to Sherlock. "Why are you hanging around with the freak?" she wanted to know. "You don't have anything better to do?"

Max scowled at her. "I work at the Bibliotheque offices, thank you very much," she snapped. "And my reasons for being here are my own."

For a moment they shared a look, neither of them willing to back down. Then Donovan shook her head, breaking the staring contest. "You're an independent woman, Max," she told her. "You don't need him. Might as well walk away now and save yourself the pain."

Wait... what?

"Max," Sherlock called. She turned towards the car and saw that Sherlock was looking at her, clearly waiting for her to join him. She glanced back at Donovan, who was watching her carefully, then headed off towards Sherlock.

Might as well walk away now and save yourself the pain...

Sherlock nodded to the car as Max approached. "What do you see?" he asked.

Max frowned as she glanced at the car. "Uh..." she trailed off. "Well, there's blood on the island between the front seats. A lot. Uh... no body."

"Not yet," Donovan added from behind them.

Max glanced at her in irritation, then turned back to the car. "Do we know whose blood it is?" she asked.

Lestrade nodded, and Sherlock looked at her proudly. "The DNA checks out," Lestrade told her.

Sherlock gestured to the blood. "Get a sample sent to the lab," he ordered. Lestrade nodded and headed off to do as he said, but Donovan lingered behind, eyeing them as if she thought they would blow up the car. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes and walked off.

And now it was just the three of them.

As soon as Donovan was far enough away, Sherlock leaned forward and opened the glove compartment and started poking around. He straightened up a few seconds later, brandishing a business card and smirking at Max. See? he seemed to be saying. Look at me. I know what I'm doing. She just rolled her eyes.

John looked from Max to Sherlock and back again, not believing his eyes. Oh my God, he thought incredulously. Is he actually flirting with her? I think he's actually flirting with her.

Sherlock, meanwhile, turned away from the car and headed back to the road, where a woman was talking to one of Lestrade's police officers, clearly on the verge of tears. Max and John shared a look, then hurried after him. "This is not gonna be good," she muttered.

"Mrs. Monkford?" Sherlock asked as they approached her.

The woman turned to them sadly. "Yes," she acknowledged. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen."

John shook his head. "No, we're not from the police, we're-" he started.

Without giving him a chance to finish, Sherlock stepped forward and held out his hand to her, suddenly appearing distraught. "Sherlock Holmes," he interrupted. "Very old friend of your husband's. We, um..." He sniffed, fighting back tears. "We grew up together."

Oh God, Max thought.

Mrs. Monkford frowned in confusion as she shook Sherlock's hand. "I'm sorry, who?" she asked. "I don't think he ever mentioned you."

Sherlock looked at her, clearly startled. "Oh, he must have done," he insisted. "This is... this is horrible, isn't it?"

"Uh, Sherlock-" Max started.

But Sherlock continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. "I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian, not a care in the world." He smiled tearfully at her, pretending to reminisce on the memories that he didn't have.

Whatever reaction Max had been expecting, it wasn't the annoyed scowl that Mrs. Monkford gave Sherlock. "Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months," she told him. "Who are you?"

Sherlock sniffled, and by this point he had tears running down his face. Behind him, Max was staring at him like he had gone insane. "Really strange that he hired a car," Sherlock continued on, pointedly ignoring Mrs. Monkford's question. "Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Mrs. Monkford blinked in surprise, clearly taken off guard. "No, it isn't," she stated. "He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Sherlock chuckled. "Oh, well, that was Ian!" he remarked. "That was Ian all over!"

By this point Mrs. Monkford was clearly about to call one of the cops over to arrest Sherlock- not that Max blamed her at all, considering how this was going. "No, it wasn't," she said.

Instantly, Sherlock dropped his fake persona, his eyes filled with that familiar spark that he got when he was onto something. "Wasn't it?" he asked. "Interesting." With that, he turned and walked off.

Max and John shared a confused look, both of them trying to comprehend what had just happened. "Uh... sorry about that," Max said. "He's just... uh... yeah." Then they both turned and hurried off after Sherlock.

"Who was I just talking to?" Max heard Mrs. Monkford ask someone.

It didn't take them long to catch up to Sherlock, who was ducking under the tape around the crime scene. "Why did you lie to her?" John asked.

Sherlock took off his gloves and wiped the tears from his eyes, but besides that he showed no sign of his earlier distraught. "People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you," he explained. "Past tense, did you notice?"

Max's eyes widened. "Oh, I get it," she realized. "When you started talking about her husband in past tense she did too."

He nodded. "Right," he agreed. "Bit premature- they've only just found the car."

John raised an eyebrow. "You think she murdered her husband?" he asked.

Sherlock grimaced. "Definitely not," he answered. "That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

John nodded. "I see," he said. Max raised an eyebrow at him. "No, I don't. What am I seeing?"

They walked past Donovan, who gave Max a pointed look. Once again, Max heard her words in her head. Might as well walk away now and save yourself the pain... She shook her head to clear it and turned away, focusing her attention back on Sherlock and John.

"Where now?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled out the business card that he had taken from the glove compartment, holding it out to John. "Janus Cars," he answered.

000

"Can't see how I can help you gentlemen."

Max cleared her throat pointedly.

"...And lady."

She, Sherlock, and John were currently in the office of Janus Cars, the car hire company that Ian Monkford had gotten his car from. Sherlock was standing by the door and looking out at the forecourt filled with cars, and Max and John were sitting at the other side of the desk to the owner, who had introduced himself as Mr. Ewert.

John frowned. "Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," he stated.

Ewert nodded. "Yeah, lovely motor," he agreed. "Mazda RX-8." He chuckled. "Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

Sherlock walked over to the other side of the desk so that he was standing beside Ewert, then pointed at one of the cars in the forecourt. "Is that one?" he asked.

Ewert turned his head to look at where Sherlock was pointing, but the detective was no longer looking in that direction; instead, his attention was on Ewert's neck.

Max's eyes widened in horror. Oh my God, what's he doing? she thought.

"No, they're all Jags," Ewert told him. "Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

He chuckled and turned back to look at Sherlock, who by this point was looking straight ahead as if everything was normal... which was clearly far from the truth. What are you doing? Max mouthed to him. Sherlock gestured at her with his hand, silently telling her to roll with it; sighing, she nodded and didn't say anything.

"But, er, surely you can afford one- a Mazda, I mean?" Sherlock asked, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Ewert shrugged. "Yeah, it's a fair point," he admitted. "But you know how it is. It's like working in a sweetshop; once you start picking at the liquorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

Max snorted. "Oh, he definitely knows how it is," she agreed.

It seemed like Sherlock was about to protest, but Max just raised an eyebrow, daring him to say anything. Sighing, Sherlock nodded.

John let out a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh disguised as a cough, and everyone turned to look at him. Instantly, he cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry," he said. "So. You didn't know Mr. Monkford?"

Ewert shook his head, scratching at his left arm. Even though Max didn't think anything of it, she saw Sherlock eyeing him carefully as if that had been the answer he needed. "No, he was just a client," Ewert answered as Sherlock walked back around to the other side of the desk. "Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod."

By that point Sherlock had reached the other side of the desk, and he stood next to Max's chair. "Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?" he asked casually.

Ewert blinked in surprise, clearly not having expected that. "Eh?" he replied.

Sherlock looked at him innocently. "You've been away, haven't you?" he wanted to know.

Max glanced at Sherlock suspiciously, then turned back to Ewert. "You have a tan," she clarified.

Ewert gave her a small smile. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid," he told her. "Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though- bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock asked suddenly, completely interrupting the entire conversation.

Everyone stared at him like he had lost his mind. "... What?" Ewert asked.

"Why do you want to use the cigarette machine?" Max added.

Sherlock gave her a look. "To get a cigarette, clearly," he answered, as if that should have been obvious. He turned his attention back to Ewert. "I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change. I'm gasping."

Even though he looked slightly confused- Max was too- Ewert reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Um, well..." he trailed off. He opened the wallet and flipped through it, then looked up at Sherlock. "No, sorry."

Sherlock shrugged. "Oh well," be commented. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert. You've been very helpful."

With that, he turned and headed out the door. Max smiled politely at a very bewildered Ewert, then headed after Sherlock, pulling John with her.

"Since when do you smoke?" Max demanded as soon as the office door closed behind them.

Sherlock gave her a look. "I don't," he stated. He patted his left arm. "Nicotine patches."

John frowned. "So what was that all about?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged as they started heading towards the exit. "I needed to look inside his wallet," he explained.

"... What?" John asked.

Sherlock smirked. "Mr. Ewert's a liar," he said.

000

A few minutes later Sherlock was sitting in St Bart's lab, examining the blood from the car. Max and John had left to bring back lunch, so he was the only one in the room.

He had a drop of blood in a petri dish, and he placed the dish gently on the desk in front of him. Without tearing his gaze from the dish, he reached out and grabbed the small dropper on the table next to him. He squeezed out a drop of the liquid into the dish and watched as the blood started fizzing.

Suddenly the pink phone started ringing, and Sherlock straightened up to look at it. Caller ID: Blocked, the screen read.

He knew who it was.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked as he picked up the phone.

Even before anybody on the other line spoke Sherlock knew that it would be the same man who he had spoken to earlier. "The clue's in the name," the man said, sounding like he was holding back tears. "Janus Cars."

Sherlock scowled. "Why would you be giving me a clue?" he asked suspiciously.

"Why does anyone do anything?" the man replied cryptically. "Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced around the lab to make sure that nobody else was there, then leaned closer. "Then talk to me in your own voice," he said softly.

The man on the other side of the line hesitated, then took a shaky breath. "Patience," he said.

And he hung up.

Sherlock was quiet for a second as he thought over the conversation, analyzing it from all different angles. Then, without warning, the door to the lab was thrown open.

John held the door open, and Max walked in, holding a pizza box. "Pizza delivery!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. But then she saw the brooding expression on Sherlock's face, and she frowned in concern. "Sherlock? What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing," he replied "I-"

But then his attention was drawn back to the petri dish in front of him, and he eyed it carefully. He grinned and looked up at her, his eyes twinkling happily. "C'mon, we're leaving," he said. "Call Lestrade, tell him that we'll be at Scotland Yard in a few minutes."

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock stood up and headed out the door.

"... But we just got here!" Max protested.

000

"... Why do you have pizza?"

Max glared at Lestrade as she took another bite of her pizza slice, balancing the box in her other hand. "I'm eating it," she said, as if that was obvious.

Lestrade blinked. "Yeah, but- never mind," he replied. He sighed and shook his head. "Forget about it."

The two of them were in the police car pound, as well as Sherlock and John. There were countless cars all around them, but the only one that had any significance was the one right in front of them: Ian Monkford's car, which had been moved here after their examination of it earlier in the day.

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked, changing the topic.

Lestrade shrugged. "How much?" he repeated. "About a pint."

Sherlock shook his head. "Not about," he said. "Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

"Frozen?" Lestrade asked incredulously, as if he didn't believe what he had just heard.

Sherlock smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "There are clear signs," he told them. "I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the sheets."

John frowned. "Who did?" he demanded.

Sherlock nodded to the car in front of them. "Janus Cars," he answered. "The clue's in the name: the god with two faces."

"Like Harvey Dent," Max commented through a mouthful of pizza.

Everyone started at her blankly.

"... From the comics?" she asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They provide a very special service," he continued, as if Max hadn't said anything. She huffed. "If you've got any kind of a problem- money troubles, bad marriage, whatever- Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble- financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat..."

John frowned. "So where is he?" he wanted to know.

"Colombia," Sherlock answered casually.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Colombia?" he repeated.

Sherlock nodded. "Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet," he explained. "Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

Lestrade frowned. "His arm?" he asked.

"Kept scratching it," Sherlock said. "Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars."

John stared at him with a blank expression. "Mrs. Monkford?" he demanded.

Sherlock nodded, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, yes," he agreed. "She's in on it too. Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best."

Without giving Lestrade a chance to reply, Sherlock turned and started heading out of the car pound. "C'mon, John, we need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved," he said. "Max, are you coming?"

Max and John shared a look, then turned and walked after him. See you later, Max mouthed to Lestrade, waving at him with her pizza.

"I am on fire!" Sherlock exclaimed happily.

000

A few minutes later, the three of them had returned to 221B. Due to the explosion from earlier in the week, the heating couldn't be turned on, so they were currently bundled up in their coats at the dining table. Sherlock's laptop was open to his blog, and they were all eating the pizza.

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia, Sherlock typed.

And he sent it.

Barely a second had passed before the pink phone rang, receiving a call from another blocked number. Sherlock answered it and switched on the speaker.

"He says you can come and fetch me," the young man sobbed. "Help. Help me, please."

Max sighed in relief.

A quick phone call to Lestrade ensured that a bomb squad was sent to pick up the young man, and a few minutes later they had received confirmation that he was safe and the bomb was diffused.

Two down, three to go.