sᴀᴛᴜʀᴅᴀʏ 12:57 ᴘᴍ

Agatha Jones had been evicted from her apartment two years ago after failing to pay rent. It took awhile to get adjusted to being homeless. She had no other family in London and couldn't hold a job long enough to raise money to visit them. She wondered if they cared that she was surviving by the skin of her teeth. A week ago things had gotten bad — really bad. Then out of all things; she found a coffee can with $10,000 inside and an envelope beside her when she awoke with instructions on where to be — what to do and say — in a timeframe. She would receive another $10,000 if the task was completed.

Whomever had charged her with this was no doubt up to no good; a person that paid another to interfere with an investigation by giving a false statement likely had ties with illegal activity. Yet the fear of the consequences from committing illegal acts herself fled her mind as the desperation to get the other $10,000 and to get back on her feet overwhelmed her.

In the alleyway she'd been told to go the man Sherlock Holmes had approached her asking if she'd seen anything pertaining to the recent murder. Agatha told him what she'd been told to say. "I saw his face, the killer I mean, as he dumped the body."

And then to the sketch artist, "No more curly. He had dark hair, and I remember these striking eyes." It was a rough sketch and a half an hour in the artist recognized who she was drawing and retrieved the man who'd introduced himself as Mycroft Holmes upon her arrival. He was not happy.

Agatha waited, trying to anticipate what was coming next. Seconds ago Mycroft had stalked from the room. He knew she was lying, what would he do?

The door banged open and both the sketch artist and Agatha started. Sherlock led followed closely by John then Mycroft. There was a tense moment of silence where the three of them stared at her, then Mycroft cleared his throat and spoke addressing the sketch artist. "Would you excuse us?"

The woman beside her gave a tight smile, stood and smoothed out her skirt. Her heels produced frantic clicks as she rushed out of the room. When they were alone Sherlock took one large step forward and slapped the sketch onto the table. He asked his tone acidic, "We don't have time for jokes. Who are you?"

Agatha's eyes lingered on the sketch, her mouth going dry as she was inevitably caught in the lie. Thankfully the letter had provided a way to sway the conversation away from an intense interrogation. She faced Sherlock, keeping her tone even. "I'm sorry if he–" Agatha nodded at Mycroft. "mistook this for you. It was dark and this is roughly the man I saw."

Mycroft's face twitched. He laid a hand on his brother's tense shoulder and maneuvered him to the corner of the room, John trailed along. He said quietly, "This is the killer using her as a proxy to get to you, brother. I say we find out his connection to her."

"And if she won't talk?" Sherlock inquired, an edge to his voice. "We currently know nothing about her. Run her prints, facial recognition. Her past could be an angle to exploit."

"Would I be able to ask her some questions?" John spoke up calmly.

Mycroft scanned the man, then inclined his head in agreement. He knew Sherlock was wound up at the moment and he'd rather him not explode at the girl so he added, "Alone."

John glanced at Sherlock who remained silent, not so much in anger rather in thought, and bobbed his head. Sherlock abruptly left their circle and pulled out his phone, snapping a picture of the woman who blinked multiple times, taken aback.

"Hey!" Agatha yelled, indignant. "You can't just take a picture of me!"

John drifted over to beside his friend. "What are you doing Sherlock?"

Sherlock had just sent the picture to a group chat. "Using my own methods to discovering Ms Jones' identity." He pocketed his phone then straightened the collar of his coat. "If anyone needs me I'll be roaming the streets of London. Goodbye John, I trust you'll be able to handle things here."

Sherlock brushed out of the room and John irked a brow asking the other Holmes brother, "Should one of us go after him?"

Mycroft shook his head. "He'll be fine." He paused, glancing back towards the woman who was twiddling her fingers with great concentration. "I assume you will be questioning Ms Jones now?"

John nodded. "Yes — Yes, now."

Mycroft's lips turned upwards slightly and he offered encouragement, "Good luck. I expect you'll inform me if anything valuable comes out of talking to her."

"No doubt." John's brows came together as he gave the assurance. They regarded each other for a second longer, then Mycroft left the room to complete other duties.

A/n Sorry for not updating in a really long time! Another chapter should be out relatively soon. Thank you to everyone who favorited/followed!