A/N: Two chapters posted in a row, since they are shorter than previous ones.

Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. Also, credit to Ariane DeVere for her series transcripts that had been extremely helpful.

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The case was shaping out to be quite interesting, with an added bonus of having opportunity to observe Joan Watson in high-stress situations. He had to say, she was doing admirably well, even coming to his defense without knowing his history with drugs. Touching. He also filed away the information about her near-death experience for later examination. For now, the case had priority.

And then the killer was there, the cabbie, tempting him with answers, with challenge. Of course, he went along. How could he not?

The setting was a little dull, but you can't always get high-end locations for a final stand-off. The killer's game was unfolding. Frequent mentions of a fan were mildly irritating, but the thrill, the adrenaline, the confirmation of his theories, all of it was worth it. Sherlock loved these moments, where he could pull on a thread of details and unravel the plot, and the person in front of him, to the very core. The silky touch of a mystery, of a puzzle… it was dazzling. It made him feel alive. There. A small flame burst from the fake gun, and suddenly the puzzle clicked together, solved. There was nothing more for him to learn about this case.

"Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case." He needed to eat something, now that the case was closed.

"Did you figure it out?" The question stopped him in his tracks. "Which one's the good bottle?" Here it is again. The remaining challenge.

"Of course." He had never been able to resist. "Child's play." On some level he knew that he shouldn't play along now. The killer was desperate to score points, this risk was unnecessary. But…

"Come on, play the game!" After all, why shouldn't he? He chose the right pill. There was no risk, right? The cabbie's voice was enthralling, trapping him inside the game, inside his own ego. "You're not bored now, are you?" Tangles of grey and dull cowered in the corner of his mind, always ready to take over. But at that moment, the world came into sharp focus, full of color, excitement burning through his veins, bringing more relief than heroin ever had. "Innit good?" Yes, it is.

BANG.

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She saw the cabbie fall. It wasn't an instant kill, but she wasn't holding a sniper rifle either. Dropping to her knees immediately, to avoid being seen by the hawk-eyed detective, she crawled to the door, cursing the heavy vest she was wearing, and ran to the nearest bathroom to wash away powder burns. She managed to find the back entrance, avoiding the swarm of patrol cars that were sure to come over any minute now, and walked at a brisk pace through back alleys, putting some distance between the shooting sight and herself.

The adrenaline rush was over for now, and her breathing came in small gasps. It had been awhile since she took a life.

Images invaded her mind. Sand, sun, gunfire, smiles, blood, beer, explosions, night sky full of stars, silver and golden… Everything tangled together in a mad kaleidoscope. Joan crouched against a brick wall, pressing both hands against her temples to reign in the onslaught. It made her a little nauseous. It was nothing new. Breathe, Jay. In and out. In and out. London, remember? In and out.

Slowly, the flashback faded away. It was rather lucky than she collapsed in a non-frequented alley, or else some worried civilian would have tried to help and made it worse. She wiped the sweat that gathered on her brow with the back of her hand. Now that she felt better, if a bit shaky, she was glad to have that winter vest on. Wouldn't do much good to catch a cold.

Contrary to her therapist's belief, she wasn't traumatized by the violence of the war zone. It was the loss that shattered her.

Back there, she grew used to injure and kill in defense, even if it wasn't a common occurrence. Doing it again after a long period of living as a civilian brought back the guilt and the feeling of failure. There were people who had relied on her, who counted on her to protect and save them, and she just got herself shot and left them alone. Joan knew that it would take time to heal. She just didn't allow herself to take it.

Shaking off the rest of her weakness, she got up, and meandered to the main street. Blue lights were flashing in the distance. The cavalry had arrived. She started walking towards them.