The flat was finally done. All the piping was fixed, the walls painted, cracks sealed, and the fans and heating installed. It had taken a while, but it was finished and Avery had a choice to make. She could take up Sherlock's offer to stay. It would give her the chance to get him to remember her and give her a semi-stable job. However, she was already living in a nice flat with comfortable people that she'd gotten used to. She might not have the most stable of jobs but she felt as though she was being a bit selfish staying around to get Sherlock to remember her.

She sighed, double-checking that she had all her things only to stiffen as she heard gunshots go off. She immediately thought back to Cordona and the gang wars that often happened, then remembered that she wasn't the only one there. Sherlock. She got up and hurried up the stairs, reaching for the knife she had, only to stop in the doorway as John came up behind her with his hands over his ears—having just returned home to hear the shooting.

Sherlock was lounging in his chair, barely even sitting on it, with a pistol in his hand as he fired shots at the spray-painted face on the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" John shouted, pushing past Avery as she slid the knife away and frowned at the holes Sherlock had been punching in the wall.

Does he know the cost of fixing that?

"Bored," Sherlock muttered, making her turn to him with a raised brow as John looked at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"Bored!" He said louder, standing up and firing one shot then another from behind his back. "Bored!"

John finally stepped in to take the weapon from him as he walked over to eye the damage done. Avery simply shook her head and started back downstairs. There was no point in her sticking around up there when they were obviously about to have a row. Sure enough, there was some shouting from upstairs as Avery went back to grab her things in 221C. Mrs. Hudson returned home just in time as John stormed downstairs to leave again.

"Are you done already then, dear?" She asked me, giving John a small wave as he stormed out. "Ooh, must have had a row then."

"Sherlock was shooting the wall," Avery informed, making her frown.

"Oh, that man. I'll take it out of his rent, I will."

Avery cracked a small smile. "The flat's all done though. I've taken out my tools and things and made sure the paint's all fixed up after installing the heating and fans."

"It looks lovely, dear," Mrs. Hudson remarked, setting down her shopping and roaming through the flat. "Absolutely lovely. I'll be able to get some tenants in now, so long as Sherlock doesn't go scaring them off."

"Sounds like something he'd do," Avery hummed, eyeing the ceiling. Especially if he wants me moving in.

"I just need to take this shopping up to Sherlock and I'll finish giving you the rest of the money for your work," she said. "Is cash all right or should I write you a check?"

"Whichever is easiest for you. Would you like some help with the shopping?"

"Oh, that'd be lovely."

Avery nodded and set down her bag of tools and scooped up the shopping for Mrs. Hudson, following her into Sherlock's flat.

"Have you two had a domestic?" She asked Sherlock, who stomped up over his coffee table to watch John leave from the window.

Avery eyed his back for a moment, mind changing the tall, curly-haired detective into that little boy she used to play with waving at her on the back wall of his house from his room. She pulled her gaze away and started helping Mrs. Hudson put the shopping up as the older woman chatted with Sherlock.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more."

"Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" Sherlock spat in annoyance, getting a snort from Avery.

You never could handle boredom, she mused as Mrs. Hudson left the receipt and Avery trailed after her towards the door.

"Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder. That'll cheer you up," Mrs. Hudson hummed. "Come on then, Avery. I've got what you need in my flat."

Sherlock had turned with a frown, eyeing Avery as she followed the older woman downstairs. She'd been quiet but watchful, as she appeared to always be. She wasn't the talkative type, but Sherlock chalked that up to whatever time she'd spent in prison. Though, she never did say why she was imprisoned in the first place… Clarke… That name rings a bell. He fully turned away from the windows and started for his laptop to search her up, but was swiftly interrupted by a loud explosion rocking the street.

Car alarms blared from outside and glass scattered the floor. Avery was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, thankfully protected from the majority of the blast by the thick walls as they were tucked in the back of the building in Mrs. Hudson's flat. After a brief check to make sure she was okay, Avery told her to call the police about a bombing while she went to check on Sherlock. Her heart was already pounding away in concern for her childhood friend. A bombing would startle anyone but knowing someone she knew was just upstairs and possibly hurt made her mind spin with dangerous theories.

She burst into the flat and looked for Sherlock, finding him lying prone on the ground. A harsh ringing started up in her ears at the sight. The dark blue dressing gown and tangled hair suddenly seemed to warp into something more sinister.

Red pooled on the tiles of the kitchen floor, mixing terribly with the dark evening dress her mother wore that dreadful night they'd fought. It was hard for her to breathe for a moment, then Sherlock groaned, cutting through the haze of the memory and pushing her into action.

"S-Sherlock? Are you all right?" She asked, hurrying over and cursing at the slight stutter she had after the brief flashback of her mother's murder.

He groaned again, making to push himself up but Avery grabbed him first, hauling him to his feet before he could cut his palms on the broken glass. She dragged him away from the mess and dropped him onto his chair, leaving him and going to grab things from the kitchen. A broom was set aside for the moment as she poured scotch she'd found into a beaker she'd dumped and rinsed.

Not the most sanitary but I'm not going to waste time searching through his cupboards. She grabbed the broom and headed back in, setting the beaker on the small table near him and the broom on the ground. She knelt down in front of him and pushed his hand away from his face, grabbing him by the jaw. He frowned, still a bit dazed and confused as she tilted his head a bit for a better look at his eyes. Whatever she saw was satisfactory, it seemed, as she let him go and stood with the broom.

"Drink. It'll help with the shock," she told him, waving at the beaker and getting to work sweeping the glass up.

Sherlock frowned, eyeing her before taking the beaker and downing the scotch in it with a small grimace. It definitely helped with the haze the bombing had caused by blasting him across the room. Enough so that he realized what he was drinking from.

"This beaker held embalming fluid."

Avery paused briefly. "I poured it out, sorry. Didn't know where the cups were. I rinsed it if that helps."

Sherlock grunted, ribbing at a temple from a mild headache. "What happened?"

"Dunno. Bombing? Burst gas pipe?" Avery peered out the window with a frown. "Not a pipe. Pattern doesn't match up."

Sherlock scoffed. "How would you know the difference?"

"I've seen the aftermath of exploding gas pipes. Gas is usually still running after but there's no sound of it outside. Fires are the usual and gas leaks can take down more than just the front wall of a flat." Avery glanced at him. "They can level a flat and all adjoined flats in seconds. This just punched a hole in the wall and caused enough noise and pressure that it blew out your windows and knocked you to the floor."

Sherlock was curious now, listening to her trail of logic and wanting more. "What is it then?"

Avery glanced back out the window, brows furrowed. "It's just the front wall, debris blown outward but the center of the flat is clean. Scorching on the floor is hard to see from here, but I'll bet a small explosive was dropped off in the center of the room."

Sherlock leaned forward, eager. "To what purpose? Why put a bomb in an empty flat?"

Sirens grew louder as the police, firefighters, and paramedics started to arrive. Avery took that as the opportunity to turn back to sweeping.

"To make noise. So get someone's attention."

Sherlock watched her, understanding what she was hinting at. "My attention."

Avery shrugged. "You're a detective apparently. You've got more enemies than I do."

Sherlock hummed, accepting that as she finished sweeping and turned to him.

"I should probably head home. I've got a dog to feed and I need to start looking for my next job."

"You have one here," Sherlock argued, annoyed that she'd blown off his offer on the downstairs flat.

Avery sighed. "I need a regularly paying, stable job, thanks."

"Has my brother contacted you?"

Avery frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"That is a yes, then," Sherlock mused, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "Just take his offer to spy on me. We can split the fee."

Avery was quiet for a moment. "He didn't offer me a job spying on you."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he frowned. "He didn't? That's odd…"

As he pondered the meaning behind his brother's change in attitude, Avery shook her head and started for the door.

"Mrs. Hudson will probably want me to repair your windows, so it's not like you'll be rid of me yet. I'll see you later, Sherry."

"It's Sherlock," he called back, getting a wave over her shoulder as she walked back downstairs.

Yet, it doesn't bother me that she calls me that… who is she? Sherlock scowled and jumped up from his chair, moving to grab John's laptop and returning to his seat. I think it's about time I find out who you are, Avery Clarke.


"Sherlock!" John called as he hurried up the stairs, having seen the news of the explosion on the television.

Yet, upon entering his flat, he saw his friend sitting peacefully in his chair, idly plucking at his violin while his brother sat opposite him. He blinked, taking a moment to eye the calm scene and the broken windows, proving that Sherlock had experienced the effects of the explosion, before speaking.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?"

"Hm, what?" Sherlock questioned, glancing over at the windows and back again, having apparently forgotten about the whole incident. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." Sherlock turned back to his brother then. "I can't."

"Can't?" Mycroft questioned.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big," Sherlock answered as the door downstairs opened again. "I can't spare the time."

Mycroft raised a brow. "You mean your research on Miss Clarke?"

"What?" John questioned, turning away from the broken windows to face Sherlock. "You're looking her up?"

Sherlock plucked extra harshly on his violin, ignoring John. "How's the diet?"

Mycroft plastered on a tight smile. "Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, Avery."

Avery had only just stepped into the flat, hand raised to knock on the open door and let them know she was there. She slowly lowered her hand at being addressed, giving a pouting Sherlock a glance as the man stubbornly refused to look her way, before turning to Mycroft.

"You expect me to get through to that?"

Sherlock glared at her out of the corner of his eye as Mycroft smiled.

"Yes, well, perhaps you're right about that. Could I interest you in a job then, Avery?"

"What?" John questioned, looking between Avery and Mycroft. "Do you two know each other?"

"We've been acquainted," Mycroft hummed, ignoring how Sherlock was boring holes in his head with his stare.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock snapped at his brother as Avery shook her head at their antics and took her tool kit over towards one of the broken windows.

"No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so…" Mycroft trailed off as all eyes went to him—even Avery watching him in the reflection of what little glass was left in the frame. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this—It requires… legwork."

Avery snorted, putting on a set of gloves to start removing the glass as Sherlock interjected again, doing his best to keep Mycroft away from Avery.

"How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Sofa," Mycroft said, glancing at his pocket watch the same moment Avery said the same.

They didn't even look at each other when they spoke in tandem, though the action made Sherlock pluck his fingers again on the strings of his violin as John frowned, confused about the strange interaction going on.

"How…" John shook his head, not really wanting to know and Mycroft hummed.

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became… pals. What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."

Sherlock glared at him, but John answered honestly enough.

"I'm never bored."

"Good. That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft stood, offering the folder to Sherlock and getting ignored as his brother scooped up his violin bow.

So, he instead cleared his throat and took a few steps toward Avery.

"If you would, Avery?"

The woman raised a brow, glancing at him and the folder with a hint of uncertainty.

"I assure you that the pay is well and I will give you any information you might need, keeping it well inside the law, as you are so fond of doing."

Avery sighed, but removed her gloves and took the folder, flipping through it.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," Mycroft explained. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked.

"Seems the logical assumption."

"But you wouldn't be asking Sherlock and me to look into it if it was," Avery noted, getting a smirk from Sherlock as Mycroft continued.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system—the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John snickered as Avery paused in her reading to shoot him a look. "That wasn't very clever."

"It's not the only copy," Mycroft reassured the man. "But it is secret and missing."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft turned away from John and looked at Sherlock for a moment before switching to Avery. "You've got to find those plans. Otherwise, I may have to order you to, Sherlock."

"I'd like to see you try," Sherlock challenged.

Mycroft eyed him for a moment, then shook John's hand and nodded to Avery. "See you very soon, Avery."

"You could just text," she drawled, still eyeing the folder.

Mycroft's lip twitched. "Quite right. Do let me know if you'll take up the challenge. I trust you'll keep this between us?"

"Always do," she hummed and he nodded and left.

Sherlock jerked his bow across the violin strings just to annoy Mycroft before lowering it and still looking very much annoyed. His gaze drifted to Avery as she finished with the folder and set it down for later, putting her gloves back on to continue her work.

"Why aren't you taking the case?" John asked Sherlock, still rather lost as to why Mycroft was there in the first place if Sherlock was obviously not interested in this assignment. "You've got nothing on, not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why wouldn't you take the case?"

"Why should I?" Sherlock bit back.

Yet, John seemed to understand something. "Oh! Nice. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock went to argue but his phone rang first, interrupting him. He huffed, but pulled out his phone and answered it, before a smirk started to stretch across his face.

"Of course. How could I refuse?" He hung up and stood. "Lestrade. I'm being summoned. Coming?"

John scrambled to respond. "If you want me to."

"Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger. Avery!" He called from where he was grabbing his coat. "Get your coat!"

"I'm fixing your windows!" She called back.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They'll still be there when we get back!"

There was a moment of silence before Avery poked her head out of the flat with a scowl.

"I'm not just going to go with you whenever you feel like it, you know."

Sherlock gave her a once over, before smirking lightly. "Lestrade said it's about the bombing."

Avery's frown deepened and they watched each other for a moment before she gave in with a heavy sigh. "Fine, but I better get something out of this. Mrs. Hudson wants those windows fixed before it rains again. Last thing I need is to have to fix water damage to your flat too."

"Perfect," Sherlock hummed, and they all stepped out to hail a cab.


Avery frowned once they'd stepped out of the cab at Scotland Yard and Sherlock scowled from a few feet ahead of her.

"Are you coming?" He huffed. "I'd like to investigate this today."

Avery begrudgingly caught up with him but said nothing, shoulders hunched up towards her ears and lips pursed as they stepped into the station.

"You all right?" John asked her, seeing she was obviously uncomfortable as they moved past the lobby and further into the building.

"As an ex-criminal, I suspect she's not comfortable with police," Sherlock hummed, earning a harsh glare in return from Avery as she bit back at him.

"Tell the whole place, why don't you," she grumbled, eyeing an officer who'd been close by when Sherlock openly said that and quickly turning away.

"There's no point in worrying," Sherlock replied easily. "As you said, you were wrongfully imprisoned and no one here even knows about your case other than myself. I was rather surprised to find it was a case that I solved."

"Yeah, I know. Mycroft told me," Avery remarked, making Sherlock wrinkle his nose in disgust. "If I'd known we were going to the police station, I would've stayed back and fixed the windows."

"They're hardly going to arrest you here, Avery," Sherlock drawled.

"Doesn't mean I trust them," she grumbled, stuffing her hands in her pockets and eyeing everyone they passed by cautiously.

"Sherlock! 'Bout time you got here," Lestrade greeted when they'd made it to the right division before he saw Avery. "Who's this?"

"Avery Clarke," Sherlock replied. "A… friend of mine."

Lestrade raised a brow, glancing at John who shrugged, and gave Avery a look but knew he wouldn't be able to really argue with Sherlock. The woman was suspicious though, refusing to look at him and eyeing the department with a gruff frown. Still, for Sherlock to call her a friend… Lestrade shook his head and simply gestured them on.

"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones?"

"Obviously," Sherlock hummed.

"You'll love this. That explosion—"

"Not a gas leak. I'm aware," Sherlock cut him off, making him pause in shock along with John.

"What?"

"How did you—"

"Avery figured it out, actually," Sherlock waved off, making the two turn to her in surprise as she frowned at Sherlock's back.

She didn't like being the center of attention, unlike him. She glanced at Lestrade cautiously before looking away and speaking.

"The destruction caused by the blast isn't typical of a gas leak, and it originated in the center of the room and blasted outward. Gas leaks don't do that. They blast outward from a pipe that bursts and typically start a fire in the process."

Lestrade's mouth hung open as he tried to figure out what to say in response to that, but when he couldn't come up with anything, he simply dragged a hand through his hair.

"A-Alright. Well, there was hardly anything left of the place except a strong box—a very strong box—and inside it was this." He gestured to an envelope on the desk, unopened.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock noted, looking at it.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"It's an envelope," Avery scoffed as Sherlock reached for it. "Not much to booby trap that wouldn't be obvious from outside the envelope."

Sherlock picked up the envelope, moving to a desk lamp where he looked under it more carefully. "Nice stationery. Bohemian."

"What?"

"From the Czech Republic," Avery explained simply, eyes focused solely on the envelope in Sherlock's hand, though she was leaning against the wall nearby with her arms folded, attempting to appear uninterested.

"Fingerprints?" Sherlock asked, getting a shake of the head from Lestrade.

"No."

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold, iridium nib," Sherlock noted, glancing at Avery who'd somehow moved to look over his shoulder at the letter.

" 'She?'" John questioned, but it was Avery who responded.

"Women tend to write neater, rounded, and curved characters while men tend to squish things together or space them out unevenly with sharper strokes."

Sherlock glanced at her with a raised brow and she blinked, before realizing she was in his space and backing off. He watched her for a minute before slicing open the envelope and dropping a familiar pink phone into his hand. Avery stared at it in confusion, but Sherlock recognized it and so did John.

"But that's… that's the phone. The pink phone."

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked, recognizing it as well.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like…" Sherlock frowned then, whipping around to Lestrade. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"

"Course I read his blog. We all do," Lestrade said before smirking. "Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the Sun?"

Sally Donovan snickered, having walked in at some point and making Avery frown.

"What does that matter?" She interjected, making Donovan and Lestrade glance at her in surprise. "Bit of useless information, if you ask me. Does the Earth going 'round the sun help you catch criminals?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then, who cares?" She huffed. "You've just had somebody bomb a residential street and you're all too busy cracking jokes? You lot are as bad as those officers in Cordona. It's no wonder you've got to bring Sherlock in on cases you're too oblivious to figure out."

Lestrade looked a little ashamed, knowing she was right about their lack of sincerity on the case, but Donovan looked ready to bicker with her if Avery hadn't fully turned her back on the woman and faced Sherlock.

"What's this phone thing you're talking about?"

"Finally, someone with some sense," Sherlock drawled. "My first case with John was a woman killed in her flat by poison capsules. She was a reporter wearing all pink and it was with the help of her phone we were able to locate the cab driver that was poisoning victims all over London."

Avery nodded. "I read about that case in the papers. Sounded like something you'd do, helping police when they're lost and clueless. The phone's new though, right? Made to look like the one from the case?"

Sherlock nodded. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership, John."

"And that I was right about the bombing being used to get your attention," Avery noted as Sherlock turned the phone on and an alert sounded.

The voice message was just four short pips and a long tone.

"Was that it?" John questioned, confused by the meaning.

"No. That's not it."

There was a picture Sherlock showed Lestrade, who eyed it with a frown.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!"

"It's a warning," Sherlock informed.

"A warning?"

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again. Avery." Sherlock tossed the phone to her and she haphazardly caught it. "Thoughts?"

"Why're you giving it to her?" Lestrade questioned.

"She works odd jobs. She's more likely to recognize it than you are," Sherlock replied, catching the slight paling of Avery's face and the tightening of her hand. "You do recognize it."

"Yeah… Yeah, kind of hard not to."

"How do you mean?" John asked as Avery handed it back.

"I've been working on that flat for weeks. It's 221C." Her gaze went to Sherlock's. "We were dragged here and someone broke in while we were out. We're being toyed with."

Sherlock turned away and Avery took off after him, leaving John struggling to catch up.

"H-Hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John questioned and Sherlock mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Boom!"

It didn't take them long to return to the flat and Avery was quick to pull out the key they needed. Sherlock raised a brow.

"You still have the key?"

"Mrs. Hudson wants it back by the end of the week but left it with me so I can check up and make sure the heating and fans are working properly and there's no sign of damp coming back. Door's been picked recently though," she said, pushing open the door, and moving through the entryway only to frown.

A pair of shoes were on the floor in the main living room and that was it. Sherlock started to approach them when John offered a word of caution.

"He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stopped for a moment but kept moving towards them, crouching down and leaning close, only to make everyone jump when the pink phone went off. Sherlock stood back up and pulled it out, answering the blocked call and turning on the speaker.

"Hello?"

"H-Hello, sexy," a shaky female voice spoke up, a sob escaping her as Sherlock frowned and the others exchanged looks.

Only Avery was focused on the phone, giving no real reaction as her mind spun with questions and theories.

"Who's this?" Sherlock continued.

"I've sent you… a little puzzle… just to say hi."

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not crying… I'm typing… and this… stupid bitch… is reading it out."

"The curtain rises," Sherlock muttered under his breath, drawing John's attention.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No," John argued. "What did you mean?"

"It's expected," Avery cut in, sharing a brief look with Sherlock before glancing back at John. "When the street bombing happened, we knew it was someone trying to get his attention. They're giving Sherlock a puzzle to figure out, to watch him run."

"T-Twelve… hours to solve… my puzzle, Sherlock… Or, I'm going to be… so naughty."

The phone call ended and the group was left to soak in what had just happened. There was nothing they could do. The police had hit a dead end and brought Sherlock in, and now a woman was being held hostage somewhere with only a pair of trainers for a clue. Sherlock took them to Barts, but Avery refused to follow him this time. This was something only he could do. She'd never been good at chemistry.

Still, the case kept her up at night once she'd returned Mrs. Hudson's keys to 221C and got new glass ordered for Sherlock's flat. Deimos would lay by her side and whine, as he had always been quick to tune in to her emotions. She would often wake from nightmares of her time spent in prison, dealing with guards or other prisoners. She had nightmares about her mother as well, haunting her about her dress and actions while shouting through a bloody face with her entrails falling through gaping wounds in her stomach.

Deimos would always be right there, applying pressure and nudging her awake. She didn't know how she dealt with things before him. Insomnia was one way. She drowned herself in work and only slept well when under the influence of drugs or alcohol while completely exhausted from a long day's work. Now, she had the opportunity to step back and relax. He gave her that comfort and she would've been fine if things hadn't started up again upon meeting Sherlock.

She honestly wanted to throttle the man and demand why he didn't remember her. She knew it wouldn't help though. While she hadn't gotten the full story from Mycroft, it was obvious something more happened with his mother's death than she knew and it had caused Sherlock to repress things. His imaginary friend Jon was proof of that and she silently wondered how long Jon had stayed around after what happened.

For now, though, she played ignorant and occasionally dropped a hint of their past relationship when she could or when she just slipped up. She was hoping he'd remember her before it got too painful for her to be around. That was part of why she turned down moving into 221C. It hurt to not be able to see a hint of recognition from someone who'd been her best friend.

But he solved my mother's murder. He said as much himself. That should have given him a clue about us, shouldn't it? It happened in Cordona, his childhood home just down the road. Yet, Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything more about it. He didn't go into detail, didn't see the obvious signs, and Avery was forced to bite her tongue and wait. Pushing him into remembering would only cause them both pain.

A pounding on the door startled her and made Deimos stiffen, facing it without growling but alert and prepared. Avery wasn't expecting anyone and cautiously approached, a hand on Deimos's collar. A glance through the peephole told her who it was and she let Deimos go as she opened the door to give Sherlock a look.

"Why are you at my flat?"

Sherlock blinked, glancing just past her shoulder into the flat before Deimos sniffed his hand, making him flinch and frown at the dog.

"Sherry," Avery said sharply, drawing his attention back to her.

"Don't call me Sherry."

"I'll call you what I want," she countered. "Why are you at my flat at…" She glanced behind her at a clock on the wall. "…7 in the morning. I was about to take Deimos for a walk."

Said dog perked up at the mention of a walk, bounding back into the flat as Avery shook her head lightly and pushed the door further open—not letting Sherlock in, just leaning against the door jam.

"You can bring him," Sherlock blurted out, uncaring of the dog and more focused on eyeing what he could see of Avery's flat—which wasn't much, to his disappointment. "We're needed at the Yard."

"You mean you're needed," Avery corrected as a wet nose nudged her arm and Deimos deposited his head collar and leash in her hand. "Last I checked, I'm just fixing your windows."

"Please. You were interested in the case. You know there's going to be another one. I just solved the last one."

"With the shoes?"

"Carl Powers. Poisoned and made to look like an accidental drowning. It was my first case in London."

Avery frowned at that, not liking how much this killer knew about Sherlock. "And the hostage?"

"That's why we're needed. Lestrade's gotten her statement. Could be a clue."

"Doubt it," Avery muttered, moving to put Deimos's head collar on. "Bomber went through a lot of trouble to get your attention and was careful. You wouldn't be able to trace them back through the hostages. Probably just picked at random and—" She cut herself short, shooting Sherlock a glare as the man just smirked knowingly.

She was proving his point. The case was interesting, far more than what she usually ended up with. It was hard not to try and work it out. Sherlock was offering her a chance to get involved, to get her mind working properly again. Problem was, to what end? What did he get out of this partnership? Sherlock didn't do things without purpose. Avery knew that. Is it possible he subconsciously recognizes me? He's dragging me around to learn more about me? She hesitated, knowing this also meant returning to Scotland Yard. Police just generally made her uncomfortable.

"Why are you hesitating?" Sherlock asked then as she stood.

"I don't like police."

"No, there's something else. I don't understand why you wouldn't want to be involved in this case. It's obvious you're interested. You're intelligent enough that you could prove helpful in solving it—"

"Gee, thanks," she grumbled sarcastically, grabbing a service dog vest as well since she'd begrudgingly decided to go with him.

She didn't need to get kicked out of the Yard for bringing Deimos.

"So, why—Oh." Sherlock eyed her as she faced him finally. "It's because of me."

Avery glanced away, not wanting to admit that but it was very obvious at this point.

"Why? You act as though we're… friends."

"You introduced us as such yesterday."

"Only because you did so first and it'd be easier than trying to explain things to Lestrade," he huffed as they started walking out of the building. "I understand some people not wanting to be around me, however, you appear to be tolerating me far better than normal people. You act as though I'm familiar to you, but I'm positive we haven't met."

Avery winced, gritting her teeth and tightening her hold on Deimos's leash, making him pause and whine up at her. She relaxed immediately, taking a slow breath, but Sherlock hadn't missed the action.

"What?"

"Nothing," Avery said, though unable to control the hint of bite to her tone.

Sherlock frowned as they hailed a cab and climbed in to go to the Yard—Deimos seated on the floor between them and setting his head on Avery's lap with a small whine.

"We haven't met," Sherlock pressed, though able to see her frustration growing the more he said so. "Have we?"

"It doesn't matter whether we met or not," Avery finally said, rubbing at her face in frustration. "Because even if we did, you obviously don't remember."

Sherlock didn't say anything more on the topic, uncertain what he could say as the cab approached Scotland Yard where John was waiting for them. Avery got Deimos out and started to climb out herself when Sherlock finally did speak.

"I… apologize."

She frowned, leaning down to look at him through the open door. "Sorry?"

"For not remembering," he muttered, opening his own door and getting out as she walked around the cab to come up beside him.

He didn't give her a chance to respond to that apology as he walked quickly to where John was, leaving her to follow behind him with a slight frown of confusion. John noticed the tension and went to ask Sherlock about it, but the man walked right past him, leaving him to look at Avery.

"Did I miss something?"

"It's nothing," she muttered, and as they headed for the doors John realized someone else was with them.

"You're bringing Deimos?"

He'd met Deimos before when she was working on 221C. Dog gave him a fright but was well behaved and sweet with Mrs. Hudson so he wasn't bothered.

"I have issues," Avery muttered. "He keeps me right… and Sherlock dragged me here when we were going to go on our walk this morning."

"Oh. Sorry about that."

Avery waved him off, frowning at the few officers who'd started to come over to stop them only to see the service dog vest and hesitantly stop. "It's fine. Sherlock does what he wants. It's my own curiosity that has me here anyway."

John nodded as they watched Sherlock wait for them while impatiently tapping his foot outside Lestrade's office. "You sound like you know him well. Are you old friends?"

Avery's lips pursed and Deimos nudged her hand, shifting closer to her leg. "Something like that…"

John frowned in confusion but there was no more time to ask questions as Lestrade let them in, only to point at Deimos.

"You brought a dog?"

Avery rolled her eyes, walking with Deimos right past him into his office. "We were going on a walk when Sherlock dragged us here. He's certified as a service dog, so you don't need to worry about him."

Sherlock too stepped in without caring about Lestrade's slightly stunned expression before the man just shook his head and closed the door behind John. Sherlock went to stand near a window, hands steepled before his mouth while John and Avery took a seat and Lestrade began to explain about the hostage they'd rescued.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park, and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house." He glanced at Sherlock. "Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager."

John scooped the item up but Avery and Sherlock ignored it.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off," Sherlock concluded.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case," John tacked on.

"Oh, elegant."

"Elegant?" John gaped in disbelief as Lestrade spoke up.

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?"

"Boredom," Avery supplied with a shrug.

"You're joking."

"They're playing a game with Sherlock," she huffed. "He gets bored, he shoots holes in the plaster. Clever bomber gets bored, he finds someone to entertain him."

There was a phone alert that went off and Sherlock pulled out the pink phone, drawing eyes to him as he played the voice message. It was only four pips this time though.

"First test passed, it would seem," Sherlock mused, eyeing the photo he was sent. "Here's the second."

The photo was of a car that appeared abandoned but the license plate was plainly visible.

"Abandoned car?" Avery hummed. "Bit dull unless there's a body in it."

John and Lestrade gaped at her but Sherlock snorted, amused. Shaking the oddity off, Lestrade went to see if the car had been reported stolen or missing just as Donovan poked her head in the door with another phone.

"Freak, it's for you."

Avery glared at her, petting Deimos as the dog sensed her unease and shifted between them. Sherlock took the phone and stepped out to answer it, Avery keeping an eye on him through the window. She frowned lightly, seeing him spot her and tip his head for her to come out and join him, so she did, lightly kicking John's shoe.

"Bomber called," she muttered as they stepped out to where Sherlock was talking.

"Stolen another voice, I presume," he said as the panicked man on the other side responded.

"This is about you and me."

"Who are you?" Sherlock pressed, not expecting an answer but any kind of slip-up would help, especially when the bomber obviously knew him.

His gaze snapped to Avery briefly but she was frowning. This wouldn't be her. She knows me somehow, yes, but she didn't know Carl Powers when I mentioned his case… or she's a good actor. The seed of doubt planted itself in his head and he hastily turned his attention back to the phone. There was something in the background. Traffic?

"What's that noise?"

"The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry… I can soon fix that." There was a small choked sob before he continued. "You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight."

Lestrade stepped out of the office announcing they'd found the car as the phone went dead and the group hurried out.


"The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind. City boy. Paid in cash," Lestrade rattled off as they ducked under the police tape. "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip but he never arrived."

John lagged behind a little with Donovan as Avery, Sherlock, and Lestrade reached the car. There were a few glances at Deimos as he sniffed around but Lestrade had allowed the dog on site and couldn't really say anything against it. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Avery was a tad intimidating and the dog more so. It's a service dog, he kept reminding himself, taking a step back to let Sherlock do his thing. Sherlock trusts her and it's just a dog.

"I'm more likely to hurt you than he is," Avery said then, startling him.

"Sorry?"

She poked her head over the top of the car with a dead stare. "Deimos won't hurt anyone unless I tell him to, so you can stop eyeing him like he's going to eat you."

Lestrade flushed at getting caught, making to apologize but Avery had ducked back down to eye the blood pooled on the center console of the car.

"Lot of blood," she noted, glancing at Sherlock as he eyed it and he moved to check the glovebox. "Strategically placed with no splatter. Not even on the door or the seat."

"It's too clean," Sherlock agreed as Lestrade spoke.

"Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out."

"No body?" Sherlock asked, pocketing a business card as he stood upright.

"Not yet," Donovan remarked.

"Get a sample sent to the lab."

Lestrade gave her a look and she huffed before storming off to do as Sherlock said. Sherlock had gone over towards the wife of the possible victim, but Avery moved a little further ahead with Deimos. Much like Lestrade, the woman had glanced at Deimos a few times in caution. Getting closer wouldn't help Sherlock get any answers and could potentially shut her down, so she waited patiently as he and John spoke to the wife. She glanced over though, hearing the woman talk with a bit of frustration and the slight tremble of Sherlock's voice. She raised a brow from where she waited just past them at the edge of the police tape and Sherlock rolled his eyes before heading for them as the wife complained to an officer.

"Having fun?" She questioned him lightly. "Your acting's gotten better."

He furrowed his brows and she didn't expand on that tidbit, having forgotten for a moment that he didn't seem to remember their childhood together. John hadn't heard her quip though and interrupted without knowing it.

"Why did you lie to her?"

Sherlock pulled his gaze away from Avery, taking the lead as they walked. "People don't like telling you things but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Sorry, what?"

Avery understood though. "Bit early, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded. "I referred to her husband in past tense. She joined in. It's premature given they've only just found the car."

"You think she murdered her husband?"

"There's no murder here," Avery scoffed, surprising him.

"There's not?"

"It's too clean. Or, well, too messy for a murderer."

"I don't understand."

"Fishing!" Donovan called out. "Try fishing!"

"Don't try fishing," Avery told John who looked confused.

"Sorry?"

"If you're looking for a hobby. Fishing is dull. Lots of sitting around, bickering over how big or small a catch was. Expensive to pay for. Get a dog." She gestured to Deimos. "They'll keep you on your toes."

John opened his mouth, trying to come up with a response to that, but Sherlock was still hooked onto the case and hadn't even heard the exchange as he held out a business card to them.

"Janus Cars. Just found this in the glove compartment."

Avery passed it to John who was still lost as they got in a cab and headed to the business.

"Sorry, Avery, but why are you suggesting hobbies to me?"

Avery shrugged. "Donovan was offering poor ones that wouldn't help you at all."

"Help me with what?"

Avery glanced at him, brow raised and John felt a tiny bit judged as Sherlock spoke up.

"You've gained a bit of weight."

"I have not!"

"I meant help with getting excess energy out when you're not dealing with Sherlock. Military men don't just step back into daily life as if it were easy," Avery drawled.

John whipped to her, not remembering if he'd ever mentioned he was in the military to her. "How did you…"

"It's pretty obvious, John," Sherlock cut in and John sighed.

"Yeah, okay, look. It's bad enough dealing with one Sherlock, let alone two."

Sherlock huffed at the comparison while Avery snorted in much the same manner, though for very different reasons. No one could be like Sherlock. They both agreed on that. Sherlock didn't think anyone could compare to his intellect aside from his brother. Avery knew Sherlock was far more intelligent than her and wouldn't argue that for a second. She was smart, sure. She saw things other people didn't, understood how things worked generally, but she had her faults. Far too many to be considered even half as good as Sherlock.

"Your hair," Avery blurted out then, surprising John.

"What?"

"Your haircut," she repeated, petting Deimos absentmindedly and looking out the window of the cab. "And the way you walk and hold yourself. Confident, with purpose. Only a few people with specific occupations act that way. We may not be close, but you're a decent man, John. Honorable, loyal." She glanced back at him. "A soldier is suiting."

John looked a bit embarrassed as Avery turned back out the window.

"And I'm not even slightly close to Sherlock's level. I just pick up on a little more than other people. Just enough to make me useful."

"Well, I think you're brilliant," John replied. "I couldn't have figured out some of the stuff you did. And I sure as hell couldn't fix up a flat like that."

Avery snorted, cracking a small smile. "Yeah, well, whatever pays the bills."