This is the start of the second movie. Enjoy!


Sherlock was back at it again, disguised as a Chinese street bum and waiting for Irene to drop by. He'd caught her scent not too long ago and with the bombings going off, he knew she would be involved in the sinister plot created by Moriarty. Sure enough, she strode by with a parcel and he slipped up behind her, replacing it with a loaf of bread and letting out a whistle to draw her attention. He was tense though, already seeing four men trailing her and preparing himself with what he needed.

"When did you start working for the postal service?"

"That was you back there," Irene noted, rather annoyed by his meddling. "Shame your activities have landed you in the gutter. I do hope Noah managed to fare a bit better."

"A curious parcel," Sherlock noted, rocking the package a little. "Who's the intended recipient?"

"Why don't we discuss that over dinner tonight?"

"I'm free for lunch," he offered.

"I'm not. How about the Savoy, eight o'clock? You can bring Noah with you. Actually, I'd almost prefer her."

"Splendid," Sherlock hummed.

"Will you be coming as yourself?"

"Most likely," he replied, tugging her to the side then and speaking low. "Four men have been following you for the last half mile. Their motives… highly unsavory."

"No," Irene breathed, tugging him along into an alleyway before stopping as one man stepped out and took off his bowler hat. "Oh, by the way, they're not pursuing me, they're escorting me."

She took the package from Sherlock and handed him back the loaf of bread.

"Steady hands with that, Irene," he warned, earning a smirk.

"Oh, I don't think it's my hands you have to worry about." She looked at the other men. "Now, be careful with the face boys. We do have a dinner date tonight. Don't fill up on bread."

The man in front stepped forward and whistled a Motzart song as the others began to get rid of Sherlock's disguise. Sherlock then stopped short, turning to face the biggest man.

"I forgot the rest," he noted before a hand wrapped around his throat and pinned him to a wooden support. "Ugh, it's coming back now."

He kicked the man in the leg, getting released, and hit him in the face before dodging a punch and throwing rice into the eyes of another man. A chunk of bread hit the third man before he launched a kick off his chest, was grabbed around the throat, and dodged to knock the man off him. Rice to the eyes again and he went back and forth punching the two men in front of him until one attempted to tackle him through the wooden supports. He ended up stuck and the other men charged forward, Sherlock starting to struggle as his hand was soon wrapped by a chain, his other grabbed and a leg pinned as well. The largest man started forward with a glare, bringing a box up to hit Sherlock with only for someone to drop on him from above and twist.

With their legs wrapped around his neck, they threw their body weight around and slammed the man into the ground, getting up and throwing a blade into the arm of the man holding Sherlock by the arm. Noah picked up the crate then slammed it into the second man as Sherlock punched the third in the temple and faced her with a frown.

"You're late."

"Yes, well, you're welcome," Noah huffed, leaning back against the supports with him casually as a couple of officers walked past, eyeing them and the men scattered around briefly before moving on. "I heard we've been invited to dinner?"

"Yes, Irene was rather adamant you join us," Sherlock hummed, seeing the weapons the men had waiting on them and giving Noah a subtle look.

She knew as well, a hand behind her back fingering her own weapon and once the officers were out of earshot, everyone moved. A blade was drawn and blocked by Noah who spun around and shoved it into his companion with the brass knuckles. Sherlock went and faced off with the man wielding the baton, flipping him over his shoulder and landing in a crouch. The leader of the group brought a pistol up to his head, but Sherlock easily disarmed him the same moment Noah had her blade pressed against his throat. He awkwardly watched as Sherlock dumped out the ammunition from the gun and handed it back, leaving Noah to scowl and begrudgingly move the blade away from his throat. Sherlock lunged at the man just to make him flinch before nodding to Noah and they walked away.

"Did you see where she was headed?"

Noah scoffed. "Direction she was walking in, dress that fancy—" She bit into the apple she'd caught from earlier. "—Biggest public venue would be the auction house down the road. She can slip in the back unnoticed, deliver the package, talk, and leave before the bomb goes off and wipes out a number of rather rich men with too much money on their hands."

"Tell me, is it the fact that their men or that they're rich that upsets you?" Sherlock teased, getting a look.

"Both. Men with too much money get big heads," she hummed, giving him a look. "It's why I tolerate you. You don't have the money to afford stupid luxuries."

He gasped in mock hurt as they slipped into the auction house and Sherlock grabbed a number to bid with, sliding up behind Irene and her victim and slapping it down just in time to stop the initial trigger to the bomb.

"Hold it, hold it, hold it," Sherlock warned the man to keep him leaping out of his seat. "Don't move it. Judging from its size and weight, it's not the payment you were expecting. I wager the contents are rather more incendiary."

"Who is this?" The older man demanded and Irene sighed.

"Hello, darling," Sherlock hummed, kissing her cheek as Noah slipped in the chair beside her and took the letter she'd received.

"Enjoying the auction?" Noah asked idly, getting a dirty look in return.

The seated man moved some paper only to see more mechanisms of the bomb moving.

"Oh, dear. I told you not to move it," Sherlock said, removing his hat. "It seems a secondary charge has been activated."

Irene started to stand, but Noah grabbed her shoulder.

"Stay," she ordered and Irene closed her eyes in exasperation as the bidding war went on and Sherlock stood.

"One million pounds," he declared before the pipe he'd laid near a tapestry lit it. "Oh, and by the way, fire."

"Fire!"

Everyone started to hurry out of the auction house while Sherlock warned the dead man walking.

"Leave my side and you'll be dead within an hour."

Noah released Irene, who doubled back with a scolding on her lips.

"And don't be late for dinner," she said sharply. "I expect that my schedule will be quite tight because of these activities here."

"I've never been late in my life. Only early," Sherlock drawled, frowning as she slipped right past him and towards Noah, who raised a brow when the woman saddled up close to her.

"Do keep him in line next time."

Noah cracked a small smirk. "You're the one who drove me in his path. I really can't help it that I'd rather his dangerous escapades than yours."

"Feisty," Irene purred, surprising Sherlock when she pressed her lips to Noah's.

Said woman hummed, holding up the paper Irene had been reaching for as she pulled away.

"Nice try," Noah hummed, "but I'm not about to let that work a second time."

Irene wrinkled her nose as Sherlock leaned back to eye them.

"Sorry, did you say 'a second time?'"

Noah rolled her eyes as she tucked the paper away. "We'll read it together at dinner."

"Fine. Dinner and a show," Irene huffed, sauntering away as Sherlock moved over to Noha's side.

"You did say 'a second time,' yes?"

"The diamond was the first," Noah explained, holding out a hand. "Bomb."

Sherlock hummed, passing her the package that she took and headed for the leftover sarcophagus.

"Stay," Sherlock told the older gentleman. "Trust me. This is what we do for a living. Hey, Hoffmanstahl? You should count yourself lucky. This faceless man with whom you find yourself in business is no ordinary criminal," he said, helping Noah roll the coffin into a nearby open safe. "He's the Napoleon of crime. Fortunately, you now have me as an ally. I'm a consulting detective of some repute. Perhaps you've heard of me. My name is Sherlock Hol—"

The bomb in the sarcophagus went off, letting a bit of smoke billow out when the lid popped off slightly.

"Holmes," he coughed out as Noah sighed, peeking out into the main room.

"He's gone. You scared him off… again."

"Again?" Sherlock whined, waving the smoke out of his face.

"Well, you scared John off well enough."

Sherlock pointed a stern finger at her for teasing and she cracked a smile as they headed out in search of the man. They found him too, already dead.


I heard John downstairs and looked over at Sherlock's little hiding place. "Sherlock—"

"Sh!" He shushed me, throwing a finger in my direction and gesturing for me to turn back around and face the window once more.

"He's not going to be happy," I muttered, adjusting the wig on my head that made me more reminiscent of Sherlock than I'd like. "I did tell you to be nice to Mrs. Hudson."

He shushed me again as the door opened and John stepped into the jungle that had become the entrance to the flat.

"Your hedge needs trimming," John chimed as Sherlock breathed.

"Where am I?"

"I don't care where you are, as long as you're ready."

"I'm waiting."

I rolled my eyes, idly plucking at the strings of the violin he'd let me borrow to more accurately appear as him when John got through the foliage. It's the stag do tonight… Wonder if I can convince them to drag me along.

"I'm not gonna play this game," John complained. "And where's Noah? I did think she'd be a little above this. Remember, I have to catch the last—"

Sherlock launched a dart into the back of John's shoulder, making the man frown in the direction it'd come from.

"—train."

"Oh, um, that's you there, I'm afraid," Sherlock said as John grabbed the paper and sat, waiting for this charade to be over.

"You win. I lose," John said, though I spotted him looking around out of the corner of my eye and I swiveled the chair around, startling him. "My God. Noah?"

I plucked another note on the violin and lifted a hand. "Hello, John. Having a better afternoon than I?"

John's lip quirked up in a smile, shaking his head and lifting up the paper only for another dart to pass right through it.

"Still don't see me?" Sherlock questioned and John folded the paper down as Sherlock came out of his corner with a laugh. "Quelle surprise." (What a surprise.)

John watched as he took off the head covering of the onesie he was in. "I'm not going out with you dressed like that."

"Would you prefer I joined you in the fashion folk pathway and fine military dress with the Hedonist handmade scarf? Clearly one of your fianceé's early efforts."

"Oh, how I've missed you, Holmes."

"Have you? I…" Sherlock leaned in. "I've barely noticed your absence."

"No thanks to me, of course," I drawled, swinging the violin bow around to point at Sherlock. "I did tell him the point of an urban disguise is to blend in like we do when we dress as the homeless."

"He obviously took the 'blending in' part rather seriously," John mused.

"Well, it was better than her checker-patterned green and brown outfit."

"Which blended in far better to the jungle you created than your painful-to-look-at jumper," I huffed. "John didn't even notice the manikin."

John blinked in surprise at the figure she pointed out, hidden well in the bushes and plants with the scattering of greens and browns blended in on the shirt and trousers it wore.

"Blimey, how did you do that?" John questioned, impressed which only made my smirk larger as I looked over at the pouting Sherlock.

"Camouflage," I hummed. "The disruptive color patterns naturally hide the shape of your body and tricks your mind into perceiving it as part of the foliage. I've got a whole other one that looks rather silly but does the job infinitely better with strips of green cloth that you carry around to make you look like a physical bush."

Thank you military ghillie suits and uniforms.

"I'm knee-deep in research," Sherlock cut in, annoyed with my praise and his lack thereof. "Extracting fluid from the adrenal glands of sheep and designing my own urban camouflage. All the while verging on a decisive breakthrough in the single most important case of my career and perhaps all time."

"Meaning he's stuck and bored," I cut in, standing and playing a few lulling notes on the violin as Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Mrs. Hudson, how are you?" John asked the woman who had a silver platter in her hands while Sherlock attempted to snatch back his violin as I danced out of his swiping hands.

"Oh, I'm so pleased to see you, doctor. Thank you for inviting me tomorrow," she smiled, rolling her eyes at my antics as Sherlock finally grabbed the violin and tossed it into a chair.

"Dear, dear, simply sweet nanny. Might I have a word?" He swiped the cloth off the glass holding the mice on her silver tray. "Yummy. Feed the snake, woman."

"You feed it," she snapped back and he took the tray.

"Touchy, touchy."

"And worm the goat, Sherlock," I chimed at him as he frowned. "You know we won't do it and you're the one who wants the results."

Sherlock mocked me and complained about "taking in women," "never again," and being "not bored" as Mrs. Hudson whipped to John desperately.

"Doctor, you must get him to a sanatorium. He's been on a diet of coffee, tobacco, and cocoa leaves."

"I got him to eat a small lunch yesterday," I piped in, wiping my face free of makeup and tugging off the wig. "After I threatened to burn his little jungle to the ground if he didn't."

Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to care. "He never sleeps—"

"Knocked him out the other day in a spar. He slept for a few hours," I added, unbuttoning the dress shirt I wore and pulling out the added padding for my broadened shoulders.

"I hear multiple voices as if he's rehearsing a play."

"I do exist, you know," I frowned, getting ignored by her which was more often than not.

She wasn't exactly pleased that I, as a woman, did nothing even vaguely reminiscent of one and had settled for ignoring me despite my attempts to handle Sherlock's manic episodes. You'd think after the last year of me dealing with him she'd at least try to be civil with me. My thoughts latched onto that for a moment, making me stare out the window at the smoggy London city. A whole year I've been here with no signs of going back. I'll have to get used to it, I suppose. It's possible I might never go back. Perhaps I died and this is some way for me to cope. I let out a soft sigh, attempting to brush away the thought of my distraught sister who might be waiting for my return back in my world as Mrs. Hudson left and Sherlock reappeared to hug John after he reminded him of his marriage.

"You lost a few pounds," John noted as Sherlock removed the dart in his shoulder and let him go.

"And you picked them up. Nurturing on Mary's muffins no doubt. Pour us a brandy. The stag party has begun. It is our last adventure, Watson," Sherlock said, slipping past a set of red curtains as John removed his scarf and I trailed after him to find a more appropriate set of clothes than Sherlock's oversized ones. "I intend to make the most of it. Don't touch anything, Noah!"

I drew my eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "I wasn't planning to. I know how your web works, though I wish you didn't do it here. Have you seen my—"

A pair of trousers was held over the top of Sherlock's partition and I frowned as I took them from him. John raised a brow as well and I shook my head.

"He thinks it's funny to steal my clothes and make me hunt for them throughout the house. Found my shoe in the bathtub once." I lifted my eyes to John with a bland expression. "He tore open the insole to make a home for a pair of dead frogs."

"I was testing if leather had an effect on the decomposition of amphibians," Sherlock argued as I gestured to him.

See what I mean? John nodded in understanding as someone who'd also lived with Sherlock eccentricities for longer than he would've liked.

"Well, I see you've made good use of my old office," John commented, eyeing the red strands scattered around a world map and newspaper articles.

"Do you like my spider's web?"

"Is that what you call it?"

"Follow that strand," Sherlock demanded as I stripped off my shirt, much to John's unease.

"Bloody—Noah, do you have no decency?"

I paused in the process of pulling on some trousers. "Ah, sorry. Sherlock tends to be rather unaware of his surroundings so I got used to just doing whatever." I pulled up the trousers and belted them, grabbed a new shirt, and tugged it on, facing away from him to do up the buttons. "So, no. Not really."

John sighed, shaking his head before trailing his fingers down a thread to follow it as Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Question. What does a scandal about an Indian cotton tycoon, the overdose of a Chinese opium trader, bombings in Strasbourg and Vienna, and the death of a steel magnate in America all have in common?"

"Well, according to your diorama, Professor James Moriarty," John concluded.

"Indeed."

"Mathematical genius, celebrated author, and lecturer," John rattled off.

"Boxing champion at Cambridge where he'd made friends with our current Prime Minister."

"Do you have any evidence to substantiate your claim?"

"Haven't met him yet, if that's what you're asking," I hummed, buttoning up a waistcoat now and sitting on the arm of a chair, reaching out to tap an article. "There is this though."

John went over to look at it, frowning. "Dr. Hoffmanstahl's death?"

"Yes. I've heard you speak of him," Sherlock noted, coming out from behind the partition better dressed. "Extolling his virtues."

"Hoffmanstahl was at the forefront of medical innovations. A true pioneer."

"Just the other day, Noah and I averted an explosion that was intended for him."

"It says here he died of a heart attack," John pointed out.

"He was hit by a dart, dead outside after we saved him," I informed him as Sherlock huffed.

"Has all of my instruction been for naught? You still read the official statement and believe it?"

Sherlock went to pour a drink but I snatched the bottle from his hand with a pointed look, tapping the label. He tried to take it back, but I shoved the correct bottle of brandy in his hand and he scowled but poured it instead as I shook my head and put the formaldehyde up.

"It's a game, dear man. A shadowy game and we're playing cat and mouse, the professor and I. Cloak and dagger."

"I thought it was spider and fly," John joked as I drawled.

"While I just get dragged along like a dog on a chain."

"I'm not a fly, but a cat," Sherlock grumbled, drinking his brandy.

"Not a mouse, but a dagger. And thank you, Noah, for keeping an eye on him."

"You mean stopping him drinking formaldehyde?" I scoffed. "Please. You should be glad I'm durable or he'd have killed me by now."

Sherlock scoffed, pointing at me. "You're far more tolerable to most poisons now. You can thank me for that."

"Poison?" John gaped as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You took Gladstone and I needed a replacement."

I wasn't sure John's mouth could open any wider.

"Holmes! Noah is not a replacement for Gladstone nor is she someone you can just, just experiment on!"

"She was fine with it," Sherlock waved off as John looked at me in shock and I shook my head, waving a hand in front of my face mouthing the words, "not really."

John took a steadying breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock, you certainly are acting a bit—"

"Excited?"

"Maniac."

"I am."

"Verging on—"

"Ecstatic?"

"Psychotic. You just admitted to poisoning our friend—"

"Oh, I've been upgraded," I drawled, finishing off Sherlock's brandy as John sighed.

"I should've bought you a sedative."

"I'll give my life to see his demise," Sherlock informed him. "He must be stopped before his evil machinations come to a crescendo."

"And how will you do all this?"

"Don't be a dingy bird. Bad people do bad things because they can. No one—not the victims, the police, the governments—not anyone!"

"Except the great Sherlock Holmes..." John finished for him.

"Correct."

"...on this diet, will work it all out."

"Right."

"Or thereabouts."

"Thereabouts. Not quite that."

John offered him the refilled glass of brandy I passed over and they toasted. "Here's to your good health, and to Noah who will attempt to keep you in check when I'm not around."

I snorted but lifted the bottle of brandy with them as Sherlock called him a dingy bird. I frowned then though, vision swirling and I coughed, grabbing at my throat and shooting Sherlock a glare.

"Y-You absolute—"

"Ah, thought it was taking a bit long. I got you with it just when John showed up," Sherlock chirped, bounding over to grab something. "Excellent timing, Noah."

John rushed to my side as I leaned heavily on the table. "Noah? Holmes, what—"

"Ricinus Communis," Sherlock hummed, looking pleased. "The fruit is highly toxic."

"She's having trouble breathing," John said, a couple of fingers on my throat as I wheezed.

"It was an excellent opportunity. This should be just the thing. Hope you don't mind some adrenal extract."

"Arse," I spat as he tipped my head to the side and jabbed a needle into my neck.

I sucked in a lungful of air and coughed as he pulled back, grinning as John kept a firm hold and I quivered.

"See? Better already," Sherlock smiled before my fist flew out and hit him square in the gut, making him double over with a groan. "I-I probably deserved that."

"You're lucky I don't kill you in your sleep," I spat, absolutely jittery now that the adrenaline injection he'd given was taking effect.

"Are you all right, Noah?" John asked, taking my heart rate with wide eyes. "Your heart is racing!"

"A-Adrenal glands," I grumbled, flexing my hands in annoyance. "They house adrenaline. He just gave me an adrenaline shot after trying to kill me with something that simulates a severe asthmatic attack."

"Well, I might need one of those in a minute," John joked as Sherlock handed him a pouch.

"Consider it a wedding gift." Sherlock grabbed me by the arm and hefted me to my feet, keeping hold to ensure I was steady as I dealt with the aftereffects of the shot. "Careful now. I'll help you down the stairs."

"Oh, how gentlemanly of you," I grumbled sarcastically, earning a fond smile from the man who knew I didn't mean any harm.

"Hold on," John said, hesitant as we started down the steps. "She's coming with us? You can't come with us."

"Oh, please, Watson," Sherlock drawled. "Like you're going to catch her dead at a hen night."

"All that clucking," I joked, earning a chuckle as Sherlock finally released me and we stepped into the entry. "I swear I won't embarrass you or make any comments. You boys be boys and I'll just enjoy myself with some fine drinks and conversation. It's not like anyone will notice."

"Ah! That reminds me," Sherlock said, dashing back upstairs and returning with a full beard and a set of glasses, a top hat for him, and a false nose he put on me.

"You're joking."

Sherlock cracked a grin and stopped John from opening the front door. "Watson, might we use an alternative exit?"

"Is there something different about you two?"

I rolled my eyes at his joke while Sherlock explained. "I'm under observation."

"As you should be."

"You drive."

We were soon seated in a motorcar and on our way as I whistled idly.

"Will your beard and false nose be with us all night?" John asked, eyeing Sherlock and I briefly.

"I'll remove it once we're south of Trafalgar Square."

"If you believe Moriarty has you under observation, isn't this a bit conspicuous?"

"It's so overt it's covert," Sherlock chimed and we eventually reached the point where we could remove our false disguises before Sherlock eyed John with a sad look.

"Why are you looking at me with such concern?"

"I'm so very worried. Your vitality's been drained from you. Marriage, it's the end, I tell you."

"I think of it as the beginning," John argued.

"Armageddon."

"Rebirth."

"Restriction."

"Structure."

"Answering to a woman?"

"Have you seen you and Noah?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Please. She's—"

"If you call me a dog again, I swear," I silenced him, pointing a stern finger in his direction and he cleared his throat as John cracked a small smile.

"A life in matrimony. The possibility of a family. Who wants to die alone?"

My soft smile of amusement fell as a brief flicker of that plane crash echoed in my mind again. Sherlock's voice dragged me out of my thoughts as he hummed.

"So, we'll have a good old-fashioned romp tonight. You'll settle down, have a family and I'll… die alone."

"You've still got Noah unless she's planning to get away from your ridiculous behaviors."

I hummed, a bit downtrodden myself and not noticing the glances I got from both men as Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Perhaps it's better for one to die alone than to live life in eternal purgatory."

The car pulled to a stop and John hopped out, kicking the tire a bit. "Not bad, that. So, where are we going?"

"In the future, there will be one of those machines in every town in Europe," a new voice hummed, drawing my attention to the slightly portly man stepping out of the shadows.

"Loitering in the woodshed again are we, my king?" Sherlock joked as I eyed the man before understanding who he was as they bickered.

"Evening, Sherly. I see your bootmaker is ill, dear brother."

"As I detect that you've recently changed the brand of soap with which you shave."

"May I point out the chimney in the front room of Baker Street is still in need of a damn good sweeping out."

"I knew I forgot something," I muttered idly as we walked.

"Are you aware that the hackney carriage by which you arrived had a damaged wheel?"

"Yes, the left, and it's plain to the meanest intelligence that you've recently acquired a new bow for your violin."

I poked around Sherlock's shoulder. "New strings, actually. I offered to purchase a new bow for Christmas but he adamantly refused."

The man raised a curious brow at me as John cleared his throat.

"And may I deduce, Mycroft—Good evening by the way." John went to shake his hand, but I pushed his arm down.

"No, he doesn't shake hands, John. He's a germaphobe."

Mycroft tipped his head as Sherlock smirked. "And how did you deduce that, Miss…"

"It's Noah," I frowned. "Noah Harris, not miss."

"Ah, a modern woman then," he snorted, only to hesitate when I stepped up directly in front of him, purposely making him uneasy.

"And if you must know, there's not a hair, not a crease, not a stain on your clothes despite having stood outside for the last five minutes. Not even a speck of mud or water on your boots. Your weight, complexion, and gait suggest that you rarely if ever, go out unless absolutely needed. You take pride in being as lazy as possible while getting others to do your work for you. The only calluses on your hands are from when you lift your pen to sign something. That, and the fact that you did not give the immediate, customary greeting the moment you met us nor made any movement to accept what would've been John's offer at a handshake means you dislike having physical contact of any kind if you can help it. Namely with people very much not up to your standards." I scoffed, giving him a once over. "It's a wonder you're even here. Suppose there's someone rather high up the government inside the gentlemen's club we're about to enter. Big surprise."

I rolled my eyes as I stepped back away from him, tucking my hands in my pockets as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Right, well, where did you find this one, brother mine?"

Sherlock practically preened. "Miss Adler found her and dropped her in my lap. Fun, isn't she?"

"Indeed. Well, with all the conflict in Europe at the moment, the whole situation could—" He started off again towards the club, pausing when confronted with a tight squeeze past a rather dirtied man.

"My God," I sighed, moving in front of him and glaring at the man. "Oi, move it."

He frowned but moved aside as we passed and Mycroft continued.

"—suddenly erupt. I am here to avoid a dire catastrophe. If the concerns of two nations, which will remain nameless—" He paused here, facing us. "But I can tell you they speak French and German."

"Canada and Austria?" I joked, getting a short "hm" and quirk of the lips from Mycroft.

"—are not dealt with tonight, I shall be forced to go to Switzerland. To attend a ghastly peace summit in Richtenburg. Worst thing about Switzerland is the altitude," he rambled on, walking off as the rest of us stayed put for a moment.

"I'm so glad you invited your brother," John complained as we headed in and my eyes drifted to two women hanging upside down from a swing.

Men cheered and we were brought to a table where two more masculine-styled women set up a tablecloth and John smiled at Sherlock.

"This looks promising."

"And your poison of choice, gentlemen?" One woman asked and John grabbed a flute of champagne.

"We'll start with the champagne. We may need several more chairs."

"Perhaps a good cigar," Sherlock offered, stopping the woman once more. "And um, don't bother with the chairs."

I flagged her down too, smiling at her politely. "Gin and tonic, if you can."

She nodded and went to get the drinks as John gave Sherlock a look.

"What is it your brother does, exactly?"

"He's the... keeper of the Broome covet of state. No ambition, no energy, and yet I'm repeatedly told that he's indispensable to the British government. Particularly the foreign office. I would like to propose a toast," Sherlock said then, making John glance around with a frown.

"Really?"

I had already drunk over half my champagne but lifted my glass hastily as my eyes drifted away from the swinging women overhead.

"To my dear friend Dr. John, um…" Sherlock staggered on his speech, looking around idly. "Hamish Watson."

"I'm right here," John said, noticing his distraction.

"On the eve of his wedding, he has been the best of companions."

"Shouldn't we be waiting? For the boys from my rugby club?" John asked, realizing slowly that all was not what it appeared.

"He's always kept us—They couldn't attend," Sherlock slipped in. "—flat-footed on the ground."

"All of them? Hm, what about the chaps from my medical school?"

The woman appeared back at my side with my drink and I thanked her with a smile, grateful for the alcohol given the brewing fight. I hastily ordered a whiskey as well and, given that this was all on Mycroft's tab, told her to keep them coming. Sherlock was up to something obviously, on top of having forgotten about the stag party he was supposed to set up, and I knew that if I was going to deal with it and John's frustrations, being a bit tipsy would be nice.

"You completely forgot about my stag party, didn't you?" John finally accused.

"Oh, here we go," I breathed into my glass.

"Why are we here?" John demanded as Mycroft wandered over.

"You're in very good health, doctor. Shame none of your friends could make it."

Sherlock chuckled and John laughed as I attempted to blend in a little more with my chair until John abruptly stood.

"I'm going to the gambling tables. I refuse for this night to be a total loss. Give me my money."

"Happily. Give me the wedding ring," Sherlock said, making John scoff.

"Oh, now you are interested in being the best man. I was almost starting to think I'd have to make Noah do it."

"Don't drag me into this," I muttered as they bickered some more, and John rushed off to gamble.

Mycroft too sauntered off to play with some well-known acquaintances of his and I'd just about settled in for a night of drinking when Sherlock kicked my foot off his chair and made my tipped back seat right itself firmly on the ground once more.

"Come on. Places to be," he said, making me sigh as I finished my glass and grabbed the second that had been dropped off before following him up the stairs to a curtained area.

"You really should have at least tried to remember about his stag party," I lightly scolded Sherlock. "You could have invited his mates at the very least."

"And if there was danger, you would have protected all twenty of them on your own?" He challenged, and I rolled my eyes as we slipped away.

"Don't give me that," I hissed under my breath. "We've been living together for a year, Sherlock. I know when you're coming up with clever excuses to try and seem like you're not a total ass. Just admit you forgot and this woman happening to work here was a happy coincidence. John knows you well enough to not be angry."

Sherlock paused, looking back at me with a dubious look.

"Not as angry as he should be, anyway."

We stepped to a small table where a woman was preparing something while her back was to us.

"Please sit," she said, not bothering to look as I wrinkled my nose, smelling sweat. "Put your money on the table and we will begin."

I gave Sherlock a glance, knowing his nose was far better than mine and he caught my gaze with a nod. We weren't the only ones here and given the nature of our visit, the fortune teller didn't know. That being said, I didn't expect Sherlock to push me down into the chair at the table and drop some coins into the bowl. I scowled up at him, but he just smiled innocently and gave my shoulder a pat as the woman turned and sat across from me.

"Welcome. I'm Madame Simza," She greeted, lighting a candle. "Cards can illuminate your past, clarify your present, and show you the future. If you have a specific question, hold it in your mind."

I frowned, giving Sherlock a look, but he waited idly and I turned my gaze back to the woman as she drew three cards and placed them face down.

"First, your past." She flipped the first card with a curious look. "Death. You went through a great change, a transition. One that left your old self behind and…" She flipped the next card, showing a Reversed Hermit. "...has left you feeling lost and isolated. You struggle to move forward and when you look inward, what you find is madness and the abyss."

My eyes were fixated on the cards and a sort of ringing was in my ears. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want my life thrown out in front of me like this. It was hard enough trying to forget about it during this last year, yet every little thing kept shoving it back in my face. The future card was flipped and I stared solemnly at the Upright Tower.

"Your future…" She looked up at me. "A great disaster will fall upon you. A change that will force you to abandon the truths you think you know. A sudden loss that will shatter your world and force you to find what is truly important. Something you have only just begun to realize but are constantly overlooking. Your relationships will be very important to you at this time. You will need that support to rely on."

She started to stack the cards again only for Sherlock to suddenly stop her, grabbing the deck.

"Mind if I give a reading of my own? Your future, perhaps?"

The woman didn't look thrilled, but his interruption allowed me to get up and step away for a breather. I downed my drink quickly, grimacing at the burning of my throat. Sherlock can handle the assassin just fine, I reassured myself, finishing off the glass and glancing over at Sherlock as he grabbed an umbrella and prepared himself to deal with the man hiding in the rafters. Still, I can drown in my sorrows later. We have a client and a long day ahead of us. Whatever disaster is to come in my future has no hold on me currently. I let out a soft sigh, drawing a blade from under my waistcoat.

"And fortune-telling is all rather bullshit anyway, right?" I muttered just as Sherlock jerked the assassin down from the ceiling.

I watched idly as he grabbed the man's arm with the crook of the umbrella, disarming him easily only to raise a brow as multiple blades hit him in the chest and he fell back through the curtains. I looked over at the fortune-teller, impressed.

"Well, that was a bit anticlimactic."

"He won't be down long," Sherlock said, rushing to Simza and pulling her up from her seat. "Come with me. I need you alive. Now."

We slipped out and past a few people only to nearly run right into the assassin had I not blocked the blade he held with my wrist, punched him solidly in the stomach, and flipped him over my back. Sherlock and Simza hurried past me as the man rolled with my throw and flipped over himself after running up a wall to turn around.

"You could've just turned, show off," I grumbled, dodging a swipe, blocking a kick, and swinging him around only for Simza to crack a bottle over his head. "Thanks?"

"You're welcome."

I shook my head and twisted his arm back, straining his wrist and throwing him onto the sofa there, cringing as he pushed his blade up against my cheek to draw blood. I was forced to swing myself away should his blade slip towards my neck, but he didn't get far before I grabbed him under the arms and swung him towards the edge of the balcony. He rolled over the side railing but swung easily back around, kicking me back into a small nook where Simaza yelped and Sherlock used a pole to swing the man away from her. He hit the assassin a few times before Simza kicked Sherlock's pole, pushing the man out the window.

"Sherlock! Waist!" I shouted, making his eyes drop to the hook that had been attached to him just as he flew back out the window with the assassin.

I rushed over, considering dropping down to help as he struggled with the man in the pit of men holding cock fights. The two fought in there and I turned to Simza when I saw the assassin climbing up the wall.

"We need to go. Now."

I grabbed her and pulled her forward, the two of us rushing across the second level as a commotion rang out from below. I couldn't focus on the brawl happening there as we reached a smaller clearing and the assassin swiped my legs out from under me. I cursed, rolling and getting back on my feet as I stole Simza's blade from her thigh holster.

"Borrowing this, sorry!" I grit out, swiping at the man who was quick to push the blade aside and swing a fist into my jaw.

I stumbled back a step, ignoring the taste of copper in my mouth as I swung back and he ducked before attempting a heel kick to knock me back. I dropped my elbow before it could land, letting the knife go and catching it in my other hand to swing up towards his face, cutting into his jaw and up his lip. I then spun with a kick to his stomach and threw the blade. He caught it between his hands before it could hit him, but that left him open for me to slide right under his arms, grab him by the shirt, wrap my arm around his leg and chuck him out a window into the water below just as Sherlock swopped in. I panted heavily, glaring at the detective who realized I'd finished off the assassin and lowered his fists as he cleared his throat.

"Well, then. Excellent work, Noah."

I spat a glob of blood to the ground, running my tongue over the cut in my mouth. "You're lucky I didn't get as much alcohol as I would've liked."

"Yes, well…" He coughed into his fist just as a rather drunk John poked his head around the corner.

"Hey! You, you run! Where's you—" John spotted us then. "Just had a fight."

Sherlock rushed towards him as he fell to the ground and knocked some things over.

"Just had a fight," he repeated. "Where were you two?"

"I'm glad to see you're taking your best man duties so seriously, Sherlock," Mycroft chimed in from the stairs.

"Oh, piss off, Mycroft," I spat, attempting to help Sherlock get John up to his feet as he ranted about his money and his fight. "Talk anymore shit and I'll sneak into your little club and replace all the sweets with veggies."

Mycroft scowled at that. "I'll have Carruthers put some fuel into that motor carriage of yours. You do have a wedding to attend."

"Oh, I'll drive," John offered with a laugh.

I sighed. "I'll drive, I think."

"I can—" Sherlock started to offer, but I waved him off.

"No, no. I've gotten more sleep than you, given your whole 'I'm not going to sleep until I solve the case' thing. Just help me get him to the car."

"Right," Sherlock said before pausing. "Mind if I grab just one thing?"

I glared as John hung off my shoulder, biting out my response. "Quickly."

"Yes. Yes, of course."