Show them all you're not the ordinary type
Let's kill tonight

- Panic! At The Disco - Let's Kill Tonight -

The next few days were slow ones for Sebastian. He'd done much of the work he could scrounge together on that first day, and now there was little else left. He gave Harrison a few other things to do, but for the most part they were short administrative tasks, without the weight he was hoping for.

Lorna was on her way back to the building with groceries when she'd ran into him, mumbling apologies before she even looked up, before she recognized the coat, the curly locks, the sharp look. Then she was sprinting off, groceries forgotten, just trying to keep out of his sight before he had a chance to really look at her. Ten minutes later of what should have been a thirty-minute walk she jogged briskly out of the elevator, her heart struggling to keep up, and immediately knocked on Sebastian's door. She was not going to Jim first with this, ooohhh no.

He opened his door a few moments later, studying her flushed cheeks and bedraggled appearance. "What's happened?" he asked immediately, stepping aside to let her in.

She gratefully stepped in, taking a split second to drag in a breath before she hurriedly replied; "I just ran into fucking Sherlock Holmes, Moran. I don't know if he got a good look at me, I don't know if he caught up with me, but I ran into him."

He stared at her, nostrils flaring slightly. "That's not possible," he growled. "Holmes is dead. Jumped off a fucking building. I watched him do it myself."

"I. Just. Saw. Him," she repeated, staring up at him with wide eyes. "And it was definitely him. He must have faked it, like Jim. It's possible."

"He jumped off a fucking building," Sebastian restated. "Sixty-two feet onto cold, hard cement. You don't just walk away from that. Are you drunk, Harrison?"

"No," she growled, grinding her teeth together. "I saw him. I saw him, and I'm stone cold sober. Get surveillance out - you'll find him."

He didn't argue further, walking over to the intercom and punching it through to the surveillance. "Get every person we have out on the street," he barked as soon as he got an acknowledgment. "Call in anyone off duty, I want this city scoured. Look for Sherlock Holmes. Get his location, where he's going, and anyone who draws attention to themselves is going to be dealt with by me, personally. Be sure to let them know how good a mood I'm in." The last phrase slipped past in a sickeningly sweet tone that was more terrifying than the angry snarls before it. He turned away from the device, pacing.

She stayed pressed up against the wall, keeping the attention from herself as he started pacing. "I haven't told Jim, I thought I should get confirmation from surveillance first. Fuck, Moran, I shouldn't have run like I did."

His head snapped up, stared at her for a moment. "Tell me everything that happened," he ordered shortly.

"I was out getting groceries, I wasn't watching where I was going because some asshole nearly ran me over with a bicycle and I ran smack into his fucking chest. As soon as I realized who it was I panicked and made a run for it. I didn't want him to see me, I thought he'd figure out who I am, grab me or something, I don't know," she rattled off, one hand clutching her elbow insecurely. "Then I came to you."

He watched her, his expression passive, but tight. "You're the grifter, Harrison, you tell me what Holmes is going to think the instant you make a runner."

She shook her head, looking helpless. "Hoping for the best? Someone who knew he was supposed to be dead and got the snot scared out of them. I didn't think increasing my exposure to a reader was going to help anything. My job is pretty much my personality."

He sighed, reached up to press a hand to his eyes. "I don't have a choice. I have to tell Jim. Now."

"Okay," she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. "Don't be snide with him, please, for your own sake."

"So glad you're concerned," he said with a hint of sarcasm as he went into his room to get dressed. But he had no intention of being snide. Holmes being alive was a serious matter which put everything else into perspective.

She stayed where she was, even though she was honestly tempted to slip out the door and take a really, really hot shower in her own apartment. She didn't know if Moran had a job for her or not, and disappearing on him now was going to make him pissed off.

He walked out five minutes later, freshly shaved, straightening his collar. "Right, come on," he said, heading out into the hall. "You're with me."

Lorna had to physically stop herself from questioning him, instead following him with a nod. She didn't exactly fit the part to be meeting Jim; she was bedraggled from both the run and the light rain outside, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing one of the rattiest t-shirts she owned. Standing next to him was only going to make her look worse. As she hit the button, she glanced at him, clearing her throat slightly. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

He nodded, glancing at her. "I'd give you time to change, but Jim will appreciate the urgency of the situation, believe me. He'll want to hear your story."

"Oh, great," she said, unconvincingly. "If I faint its because I'm mildly asthmatic, not because I'm terrified out of my wits."

He smirked, nodded. "Just remain calm. You've stumbled- albeit awkwardly- upon a very vital piece of information. He might be pleased."

"I desperately hope you're right, Moran," she breathed, running her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to try and put herself together. "I've had enough of making my superiors angry at me."

"I should hope so," he smirked, punching the elevator button as they stepped in.

She rested her head back against the wall of the lift, closing her eyes for a long moment, doing her best to keep herself from panicking. "Boy, do I need a vacation. Maybe just a quiet day. That or a week-long booze-cruise filled with hot people."

"Good luck. With Holmes back in the game, we're both going to be on high alert." He sighed slightly, stretching before straightening his jacket.

Lorna raised her eyebrows, opening her eyes to look at him. "It's not as if I'm going to be much use - yeah, I'm a convincing enough liar with body language and whatnot, but if Jim can read me that easily, so can Holmes. I don't see the opportunity for much grifter work there. Do you?"

"Maybe not, but it might not be Holmes that need grifting. It may be Watson, or his girlfriend, or any number of other people," he took a breath as the elevator stopped. "Come on."

"I see your point," she sighed, massaging her temples as she followed him. It wasn't easy to follow him, where they were going.

He took a breath, straightening and reaching out to knock on Jim's door. "Sir? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's an urgent situation."

Lorna fidgeted by his side as they waited for an answer. This would not be fun.

Inside, Jim was being slow about answering because he had a muffin in his mouth. It was precisely the reason he didn't like eating often. "Come in," he called as soon as he'd swallowed and disposed of the evidence, shoving his trash can under the desk with his foot.

Moran nodded, turning to Lorna. "Stay here for now," he said quietly, before stepping inside, nodding at his employer. "I have some... interesting, and as of yet, unconfirmed news, sir," he said quietly but firmly. "Harrison spotted Sherlock Holmes."

Jim stayed where he was for a long moment, too distracted with this new information to react physically. Sherlock Holmes had beaten his game after all. It had been everything he'd dreamed, if not considered as a statistically possible reality. He snapped back into life, standing quickly from his desk and nearly knocking over his computer monitor in the process, leaning forward over the desk, a manic excitement on his face. "Is she certain?"

He allowed a slight smirk to slip onto his face. It was oddly reassuring to see this life back into his boss. "She seems certain, sir. I have every deep cover we have on the streets with instructions to observe only, see if we can get another look at him."

He let his old crazed grin slip onto his face, beginning to pace, his movements sharp and energetic, his usual cool demeanor thrown to the side for the moment. "Fantastic. I want updates on this every hour, understood? Into the night, even - have someone else report to me if you must sleep, I have to know," he ordered giddily, loosening his tie. "Oh, she better be right. If she is, buy her a nice dinner for me. If not, well.." he met Moran's eyes, looking significantly darker, "You let her know that uncertainty is unacceptable."

"She's outside, sir, if you want to make that clear for yourself. As for the rest of your requests, absolutely. Consider it done."

"No, no, I have planning to do, you tell her," he waved off, spinning on his heel and throwing himself back into his chair. "You're dismissed, Sebastian, thank you."

"Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything." He turned for the door, stepping outside and closing it quietly. "He's very pleased. Said to buy you dinner if this got confirmed."

Lorna looked relieved, letting her posture deflate slightly from 'straight as a pole' to 'just came back from the masseuse'. "Fucking Christ, I feel like I've had a near-death experience," she huffed, dragging a hand over her face. "Can I go change?"

"Go," he said, waving her off. "I'll let you know if I need you."

"Thanks," she breathed, immediately turning and heading for the elevator. She didn't think it was likely that she'd be needed, but it wasn't impossible. Christ. Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead.

He headed that direction with her. He needed to get downstairs to the command center and start keeping an eye on things.

"This is weird," she muttered under her breath. More than just the whole Sherlock Holmes being back from the dead - it sounded as if Jim was happy with it. When she reached the elevator, she glanced at him. "Do you want me to come find you once I'm suitable?"

He nodded. "I could use a spare hand to handle anyone who calls in," he said. "Meet me down there."

"Will do," she agreed, peeling off from him at the stairwell to allow him to take the elevator - if they were going different ways there was really no need to subject herself to the intimidation of that, and she could always use the exercise of using the stairs, along with the brownie points.

He smirked as she headed for the stairs, walking into the elevator and punching the correct button. He was in an unusually good mood, because Jim was in a good mood, and hell if that didn't make his life easier.

When she finally reached her landing and slipped into her apartment she took the fastest shower of her life and then got changed into their network's casual uniform - all dark clothes, yet all tasteful and suitable for about any occasion. When she was certain she didn't smell like a strange mixture of sweat and rain and that she didn't look like she'd run from the hounds of hell, she took the elevator to the same floor Moran had. Best not to keep him waiting, if he needed something. Christ, their fight had really livened up her work ethic.

He looked up as she entered the ops room, pointing to a chair with a steaming mug of coffee which matched his own. "Sit. We're in for a long haul."

"Oh, wonderful, I was just thinking that I haven't had one of these in a while," she quipped, sinking down into the chair and not hesitating to put her shoes up on the table as she picked up her coffee. "Have we got eyes on Baker Street yet?"

He shook his head. "No, the morons. I have someone heading there now." He studied the screens, which were cycling through CCTV feeds.

She snorted derisively, sipping at her coffee as she looked at the same screens, purposely choosing the ones she knew his eyes weren't on. "I can't see him going anyplace else, even if he is trying to hide himself for a little while longer. He's far too attached to that apartment. Even if Watson isn't there."

"Agreed," he said, nodding. "Unless he's reestablished his drug habit, in which case there are any number of places where he might try to disappear," he pointed out. "I have people heading to his known binge locations."

She made a thoughtful noise, deliberating on speaking for a moment before she replied; "If he has, I know some places he might go. Less well-known places. If they're still there. But I don't see why they wouldn't be, the kind of business that runs through London these days."

He glanced over at her, and deadpanned "You trying to ditch me, Harrison?"

"I'm trying to help," she responded dryly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from getting too snippy. "I can't go back there, not in person. I wouldn't come back."

He cracked a grin. "Lighten up, Harrison. I'm ribbing. Find someone on the street you think'll be good and give them what they need to know." He tossed her a communicator mic.

"Christ, like the mix of teasing and intimidation isn't enough, I have to deal with responsibility, too?" She groaned, catching the mic and holding it up towards her face so she could start going through the process of who was closer to what and who was also least likely to try sampling the merchandise. It took her five minutes, but she finally settled on a grizzled old man everyone in the network referred to fondly as 'Meatloaf'. The name was probably not encouraged to settle by the fact that the old man constantly was bringing in day-old meatloaves to eat for lunch.

He watched her work. She was efficient and clean, and did the work well. He nodded as her selection. "Good," he said quietly, before returning his attention to the screens.

Lorna placed the mic back onto the table and returned to sipping her coffee for a long moment before she could think of anything to say. "You finish off that bourbon yet?"

He laughed. "I did, yes. I'll have to get another bottle. What about you? Seen the end of that scotch?"

"Damn straight I did," she smirked, setting down her coffee and keeping her eyes idly on the screens. "That bottle didn't even last two days. I haven't finished off the vodka, though, been too busy. Looks like it's not going to be finished tonight, either."

"Afraid not," he sighed, taking a long sip from his own mug. "Oh well. Wouldn't hurt you to drink a bit less anyways. Not that I'm one to talk."

"Mm. You drink less than me. I was curious about your tolerance levels so I worked it out for myself after watching you drink. But yeah, I'm totally an alcoholic," she snickered, giving a small shrug. "It's fine, though. Doesn't interfere with my work, and it's not like I'm likely to have a real long lifespan anyway. Could be worse." She glanced at him, grinning. "Could be heroin."

He smirked, tilting his head in her direction. "Touche. And actually, the tolerance is due to some Taiwanese blood. Not much, but enough to skew my tolerance, apparently. I mostly ignore it."

"That's pretty funny, Moran, I'm sorry," she chuckled, sinking into her chair slightly so her head rested against the back. Better to be comfortable earlier. "I'm straight-up Swedish and English. Nothing but a shit-ton of Viking blood and people who had to drink their ways through the winter. I guess I'm destined to be an alcoholic murderess. Although I have a speck of Greek in there."

He glared at her slightly at the comment, but mellowed out as she spoke, kicking up his own feet. "Guess not. Makes sense."

Lorna watched the security feeds in silence for a minute, realizing that she'd accidentally slipped back into banter mode. It was already difficult enough dealing with her shitty feelings when he was being an intimidating hard-ass, but if he was being nice, that was just all sorts of bad news. It would be better to keep herself from being too familiar with him. She pointed at the screen. "There's Watson, leaving work. Can we change the feeds so we can track him?"

He nodded, taking his feet down and starting to type in commands. A map came up on one screen, a blinking red line starting to draw itself slowly along the street as John walked. "We have a program that should track him through the system using facial recognition."

"That's new," she muttered, more to herself than to him. The last time she'd had to track someone in here she'd done it by hand. She'd gotten checked for carpal tunnel the next week. "I'd say it a 50-50 chance he'll lead us to Holmes."

"You're making the assumption that Watson knows that Holmes is alive. He's not that good of an actor. We've had eyes on him, we'd have known by now if he knew."

"No, I've met Watson. You were out of the country for that thing in Russia, remember? Jim had me do some grifting. Easy work. In and out before Holmes was ever home. But he's good at internalizing. Except for his tell - his does this thing with his hands, like he's resetting his fists or something," she shook her head, leaning forward to grab her coffee again.

"We'd still know," he said, shaking his head. "Something this big... It would have blown up. He's been unstable since Holmes died- or 'died', I suppose," he said, making air quotes. "He would have been thrown off."

She turned her chair to face him slightly, her arms folded over her chest. "I think you're wrong. If he was going to blow up, it would be somewhere Holmes or Morstan would have dragged him. Small, quiet, probably somewhere without even any CCTV. He is a vet, you know. Bottling up his PTSD isn't exactly new to him."

"I'm a vet too. I'm telling you, you'd see a difference," he said, shooting her a look. "But you're the grifter. If you think you're right, hey, good for you."

She sighed, shrugging. "If I'm right, we'll find out in the next twenty-four hours. If I'm wrong, eh. I'll cry myself to sleep with my good friend Mr. Vodka. He's from Russia, you know." Shit, I just can't shut up.

He looked over at her like she was nuts, before returning his attention to the screens, adding a few commands as the system continued to follow Watson.

She bit back a smile at the look on his face as she let the conversation drop. It didn't really matter if Watson knew yet, because Holmes would come for the doctor eventually.

He sighed, still watching the screens. "If you're right... Jim will be over the moon."

She snorted. "If I'm right, our lives are going to get a lot more difficult. Can't wait to see what shit he comes up with this time."

"Yes, but they'll be a hell of a lot more entertaining, too," he snorted. "And rewarding, if we play right."

Lorna nodded slightly, conceding that he was right. "I only hope that we steer clear of Mycroft Holmes as much as we did last time. He's the one person in all this who I feel could actually touch us. If someone can grab Jim, they can grab us, you know?"

He shook his head slightly. "Holmes wouldn't have had Jim unless Jim expressly wanted it that way," he said firmly. "And don't let him hear you say otherwise."

"Good tip," she muttered, cracking her knuckles idly just for something to do with her hands. "Still, you and I don't exactly have the same level of foresight Jim does. It wouldn't be hard for them to get ahold of one of us if we fuck up."

"If we fuck up that badly, we deserve it," he snorted, looking over at her before sighing and reaching to pick up his phone, hitting the first number on his speed dial. "Hello, sir. Reporting in. No word yet, we have someone watching 221B for activity and are tracking John Watson." He nodded. "Yessir. Will do." He hung up, sighing.

"Any new orders from the boss-man?" Lorna raised her eyebrows towards Moran, although she was fairly certain that they would be stuck at this terminal for the next twelve hours at least. In a few hours she'd call someone to bring them food, or the lack of blood sugar would make her irritable and affect her work. Not a good thing in a time like this.

"Keep doing what we're dong," he sighed, tapping his fingers absently. "Not much beyond that we can do until someone spots the bastard."

"Christ," she muttered. "Do we have any surveillance inside 221 that we can get back online? Or did someone destroy those?" She swiveled her chair slightly to face him, her feet still up on the desk.

"Destroyed when the police investigation into his death began," Sebastian said. "But Demmings is across the street, watching. If anything moves, we'll know."

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to be right about having seen Holmes, but the idea of a stakeout was deplorable at the least. "In an hour I'm going to have someone bring us takeout. What do you want?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you feel like. I'll eat anything." He reached out to type in a few commands as Watson got into a cab.

Lorna held in a quip that would have gotten her smacked and lifted her hips to wriggle her phone out of her pocket and send a request for Chinese to one of the secretaries. They would take care of it.

The hours passed by slowly. It wasn't until they were almost done with their Chinese that he heard from Demmings.
"I have a confirmed sighting: Holmes entering 221B. Repeat. Confirmed sighting."

Lorna set down her box of fried rice on the table hard enough to send stray bits of rice skittering across the wood as she heard 'confirmed sighting' from his phone. "Fuck. Guess I was right, after all."

"I guess you were," he said, hanging up and immediately dialing Jim. "Sir, it's confirmed. Holmes is at Baker Street. He just arrived."

"Good. Thank you, Sebastian. I want to know where he is in London at all times - wire the feed from the terminal into my computer, if at all possible," Jim replied, barely contained excitement filtering into his voice despite his intentions to remain neutral-sounding. He couldn't help himself. "For now you can go off-duty. My treat."

"Thank you, sir. Wiring the feed through now," he said, smiling slightly. "Who should I leave in charge? And is there anything you want done before I do that?"

Jim made a noncommittal sound, too buzzed with the news to bother with details at the moment. "Whoever you think is capable enough. I plan to supervise most of it myself. And no, that will be all."

"Yessir," he said, nodding and hanging up. "Well, Harrison, I guess the rest is up to you," he said, smirking slightly and picking up the remainder of his food.

"Oh, c'mon, Moran," she complained, sagging into her chair with obvious reluctance. "Ugh, enjoy your free time, traitor. At least send someone to bring me coffee like every hour, huh?"

He laughed. "Start calling people back in. We don't need all of them out there now that Holmes is located. Keep someone on him, and another on Watson, and a few backups. When Alistair gets back in you can have him relieve you. Call me if you have problems."

"Yeah, yeah, I will," she grumbled, waving at him with a roll of her eyes and reaching for her phone. "Go get drunk, I'll take care of it."

He smirked, then his face turned back to its usual stony expression. He turned away and started walking, disturbed by how quickly they'd fallen back into familiarity.

She sighed and got to work, individually recalling most of the people they'd sent out and setting up a rotating shift for the people watching Holmes and Watson, keeping two backups nearby for both of them, and then it was just a matter of waiting for Alistair. When he finally got in three hours later she'd downed another three cups of coffee, and when she stepped out of the elevator into their hallway she was exhausted and just wanted to curl up in bed. Caffeine always made her feel strung out.

Moran lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, strategizing. Running over the weaknesses of 221B Baker Street in his head, running over the known weaknesses of Watson and Holmes. Preparing, for the eventuality that Jim would call him for a strategy meeting at some point within the next few days.

Harrison fought back the urge to knock on his door and start up another banter about him leaving her down there for hours and instead fumbled with unlocking her own door. She liked talking to him too much for her own good. Better to just go to bed.

He heard her enter her apartment, and part of him (A very small part) wanted to get up and go talk to her. Instead, he stayed put, forcing his mind through the weaknesses again. Back window, front bay windows, weak wall on south side...

She got ready for bed with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. Literally. She broke a glass in the bathroom trying to get a glass of water, and, after considering it for a long moment, decided that the glass wouldn't move in the night and that she'd take care of it tomorrow morning, and so gingerly left the bathroom and crawled into bed.

Moran was knocking on her door early the next morning. "Up and at 'em, Harrison," he called loudly. "Lot of work to do today and I'm gonna need an extra set of hands."

"Coming!" she shouted back before she was even really awake, pushing herself out of bed with a groan and stumbling into the bathroom - she had a near miss with the glass on the floor as she got ready - before she got dressed and shuffled out of the flat and directly into his shoulder, feeling like death, although she'd managed to make it look like she didn't. "Fuck, what time is it? Coffee?"

He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "We'll get it on the way. Come on. It's about five." He headed down the hall towards the elevator.

Lorna made a thoroughly disgusted sound at that information and followed him blearily, just keeping the fuzzy image of his back in front of her so she didn't walk into something else. "What the hell needs doing this early, Moran?" she grounded, stopping next to him and stabbing at the button with her finger.

"Retrieval," he said nonchalantly. "We're going into the field. Maybe bringing Holmes in. The boss and I haven't decided yet, so for now, it's recon."

"You're bringing me in for a retrieval job? I haven't exactly got the arm strength for that sort of thing," she yawned, crossing her elbows over her chest and leaning against the wall as they waited for the elevator. Who the hell else was using it, at this hour? "You having me drive or somethin'?"

"No, might need your help getting into the building. And like I said, we're doing recon, as well. You're a grifter, you know how this stuff works." He stepped into the elevator as it arrived, punching in the button for the garage.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, 'm sorry, I'm half dead," she yawned again, stepping into the elevator and leaning into the nearest corner with her eyes closed. "If I remember right the easiest way in is to get on the roofs a block over and travel up high until you can lower yourself onto the window ledge. Victorian style housing, very easy for arboreal entrance."

He nodded. "That's correct, if you're sneaking in. We'll assess the situation and see what we can do. I might have you go in more directly. If I remember correctly he doesn't know your face, and it'll distract him for a bit while he tries to place you and figure out why he saw you on the street."

Lorna nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the wall as they reached the garage, and stepped out after him. "What do you want me to be, if we go that way? Fan? Client? Lost, even?"

"Whatever you think he'll buy... Fan might be good." He started heading for a car. "Jim didn't bother with specifics, just said get it done. Yeah, fan would work. Explains why you bolted on the street. You got overwhelmed."

"Here's hoping he doesn't see through me as easily as he did Miss Kitty Riley," she muttered, heading after him with a slight shake of her head, trying to wake herself up. But then, she was a much better actress than the reporter ever had been, and she didn't have to lie for long. "What's the boss hoping to accomplish with this, anyway? We won't be able to hold him long."

"Scare him, let him know he's not the only one back in the game," Seb said, climbing into the car. "He doesn't want Sherlock running around feeling victorious for too long."

She more fell into the passenger seat next to him than climbed in, shutting the door, buckling up, and immediately resting her head against the window. "Mm. Okay. Can we please get coffee? Please?"

"Coffee," he agreed with a smirk, starting the car and heading out of the garage. "Coming up."

Lorna dozed on the way to their usual cafe, - it was frequented by a surprising number of people like them - trying not to fall completely asleep before they got there. When they did finally pull up, she cracked an eyelid. "I had a dream you asked me out for coffee so you could lay an ambush for me inside, so you can go in alone," she murmured, smirking slightly.

"Oh, darn, my cunning plot to kill the person who'd be a pain in the arse to replace has been foiled," he muttered, getting out of the car and heading into the shop.

A few minutes later he returned with two large coffees, passing one to her. "Here."

"Thanks," she rasped, vaguely wondering how long he'd been awake and why he wasn't half dead like she was before throwing out that line of thought and burning her tongue on the coffee. It was worth it to wake up.

He set his coffee in the cup holder, heading across town towards Baker Street, though he parked a few blocks away. "Come on, we'll take the tube closer," he said, piling out and grabbing his pack of equipment, pulling it on.

She made a sound of confirmation as she quickly swallowed down the rest of her coffee and climbed out of the car, much more alert than she had been fifteen minutes ago. Luckily, she'd come unarmed, so if they were going with a plan that involved lying to Holmes, that was one less giveaway.

He headed down into the terminal, swiping his oyster card and waiting for her to join him. "So, we'll scope out the place, but your priority is to maintain your cover, so if he notices you, you're a blithering, giggling fan, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed, although not sounding thrilled. It was always a chore to pretend to be that damnably bubbly. "I don't suppose you have a pen with you I could borrow?"

He pulled one out of his breast pocket, handing it over with a smirk as they got on the tube. "Enjoy fawning over him," he chuckled.

"Thanks," she said dryly, gripping onto one of the overhead bars as the carriages lurched into motion. "You need me to bring him outside, though?"

He shrugged. "Better if you keep him inside, in the front room. I'll come in through the back window, and we'll corner him inside where he's quiet and off the street."

She nodded, giving someone who'd passed by her a little too closely a dirty look, then returning her attention to Moran. "Don't fall. Then I'll be up shit creek without a paddle."

He shrugged. "Just get his signature, try to snog him, and get him to toss you out," he said, staring down a teen who was invading his own space. "But I won't fall."

Lorna hummed in agreement as they reached their stop, pushing past a few people who were too keen to enter the tube and making a small, slim path for Moran and his equipment in the process. The level of excitement she'd need to have for interacting with Holmes was going to require a lot of energy, and it was best if she started racking it up now.

He bouldered through behind her, the tiny path she left widening around his hulking form, and ducked to exit the tube. "Right. Surface and get in there, I'll be next door watching for a good moment."

"Alright," she nodded, patting herself down quickly to make sure she didn't have anything incriminating on her that she'd forgotten about before heading for the stairs. She needed to do well here or the good favor she'd picked up spotting Holmes in the first place would all amount to nothing.

Moran surfaced through the opposite entrance, going the long way around the block and getting to the street behind Baker, climbing up a fire escape to the roof and jumping over to the buildings along Baker with little issue, starting to work his way along roofs.

Lorna walked along the sidewalk, eyes flickering between the brass addresses on each of the houses. 221. Her target. She trotted up the few stairs to the door and knocked, making sure to add an eager, almost nervous tremor to her hand as she stepped back and waited.

The door was opened- not by Holmes, but by a sweet looking older woman who studied Lorna with curious but kind eyes. "What can I do for you, dear?"

"Oh! I, uh, I was looking for Sherlock Holmes?" Lorna stammered, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet with a beaming smile on her face. People were more likely to help someone who looked nice and happy. "Sorry, I know its early.."

"Oh! No, no problem, he never sleeps anyway. Have you got a case? He'll be eager, he's been pacing a rut in the floor." She stepped back, waving Lorna in. "Up the stairs, quick as you like."

"Thank you!" Lorna gushed, stepping over the threshold and waving to the woman she assumed was Mrs. Hudson before heading up the stairs. She was not faking the nervous shaking in her hands at this point. When she knocked on the door at the top of the landing, it was with real trepidation.

Sherlock looked towards the door, having heard the exchange, and debated. "Come in," he said finally, not bothering to get up from where he was sprawled on the couch, thinking.

She slipped through the door with a deep breath, closing it behind her and coming to a halt in the middle of the room. There was something oddly familiar about being in the room with Holmes like this - something about it reminded her of waiting for Jim to speak. "Oh my god, Mr. Holmes, I- I don't know what to say, I'm an enormous fan," Lorna rambled, wiping her sweaty palms off on her jeans.

He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. He'd seen her before. The woman on the street who'd run. Fan, then? She was certainly nervous, eyes wide and palms sweating, breathing rate elevated... He sat up, still studying her carefully. Remains of coffee just at the corner of her lip... pen in her pocket, pockets otherwise empty. No standard employment signs, which was interesting. Someone who bounced around from job to job, then, or whose job was versatile. Nails clipped short...
"Most people are." His eyes flickered up to hers, and he smirked just slightly. Blowback callouses on her hand from gun burns. "Then again, most people stopped caring quite so much when I died a few years back."

She let out a relieved laugh at his sign of amusement, forcing herself into a more relaxed, relieved pose. He didn't need to believe for too long - just long enough for Moran to see his opportunity. "I'm so sorry about running the other day, if you even remember," she shook her head, looking sheepish, "I hadn't heard you were okay, and then seeing you on the street! Scared the shit out of me, I'll tell you," she chuckled - an easier thing to do, since she wasn't lying about that part. "Could I perhaps grab your autograph? Just to show my friends, you know.."

He stood, walking over to shut the flat door. "Unfortunately I do need to preserve the secrecy of my return for a while, so I can't do that. But how about we have a cup of tea to make up for that?" His voice was calm, still a bit amused.

Sebastian crawled to the edge of the roof, watching. Out of habit, he glanced across to their other watching post, an apartment across the street. He frowned when he didn't see anyone, and dug into his pack, pulling out his scope and aiming it at one of the windows.
Shit.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course, that'd be great," she laughed, stuffing her hands into her pockets so stop them from fluttering about like nervous butterflies. "Sorry I'm so out of it, I've had a pretty whirlwind 24 hours."

He smiled, turning to lead her into the next room. They turned the corner, and staring at them was Mycroft Holmes, calm as could be. "Ms. Harrison, how good to see you."

"Pass the kettle over, would you, Mycroft?"

He did, and Sherlock got about filling it. "Now..." Mycroft said, walking forward. "I wouldn't run. The instant you step out that door you'll be shot."

Lorna was frozen in the doorway, her teeth clamped together, her body tensed to run. But she couldn't, not if Mycroft wasn't bluffing. And she didn't think he was. Christ, she had to warn Moran. How? "I'm a little disappointed," she managed, frowning slightly. "I thought I'd managed to stay out of the system. Or is it just you who knows who I am?"

"I know everything, my dear," he said, walking forward, eyes cold and piercing. "You work for James Moriarty. Consider this. He's chosen my brother as his equal, and when we were growing up, Sherlock and I both thought Sherlock was an unfortunate idiot. There's a reason Jim has left me out of the picture."

She had to fight the impulse to run. This was not a fight she could win. Alone with either one of them, it might have been possible, but now it was two to one and she was armed only with a pen. "How about I just... leave..." she hedged, leaning back slightly. "And we'll forget all about this?"

Mycroft laughed, and Sherlock's amused expression never left his face as he put the kettle on the stove. "Oh, it'd be rude to run out on tea, don't you think? No, Ms. Harrison. I believe that you and Colonel Moran will be staying with us for some time."

"Aw, shit," she groaned, leaning against the door frame, shoulders sagging in defeat. If they knew about Moran, it was beyond her control. "I'm really cursing myself for not bringing a knife," she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall.

"Now now, don't be too hard on yourself," Mycroft smirked, walking over towards her, one hand in his pocket, the other leaning against his umbrella. "Had you done that, my men would be dealing with you rather harshly, as they are Sebastian, rather than us having this lovely conversation."

Lorna couldn't help the glance towards the window, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself under control. Fighting back her concern for him, she looked up at the elder Holmes with a rather amused expression. "Oh, I don't flaunt my weapons like dear old Moran does. I think I would have had time to incapacitate you and make a run for it. I suppose we'll never find out."

"Tell me, Lorna, how was the Chinese takeout last night?" He turned as the kettle boiled, but Sherlock was already taking care of it. "I've heard that that place is excellent, haven't had a chance to try it... Must make you sleepy, though, if you were so tired this morning." He glanced over at her. "You really ought to clean that glass you broke up. Now, what was that about flaunting?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, looking at him for a long moment, just considering. It was unlikely that he had a mole; no one would have been able to get in her apartment... well, no, the accountant could have, and he would have had to have someone plant cameras... "Know a lot about Jim's financial situation, do you? Hmmph. Should have joined up with the government, instead. Guess I won't be cleaning up that glass anytime soon."

"No, I suppose not." He took the kettle from Sherlock, pouring it into a teapot. Sherlock glanced over at Lorna. "Cream and sugar?" he asked with a smug smile.

Lorna shook her head, brushing past Mycroft to sit at the overcrowded kitchen table. "No, thank you, I take mine without," she replied, her voice perfectly pleasant. She was in for the long haul, now. They could imprison her as long as they wanted - she didn't doubt that they had the evidence to do so.

He handed her her cup without comment, adding both cream and sugar to his own, though Mycroft apparently took his plain as well. "So, Ms. Harrison. Here's where the discussion begins. Obviously, we aren't letting you go."

"No, I didn't think so," she sighed, sipping at her tea with a tiny shrug of her shoulders. "But you should know that I can't tell you anything of use, either. I only take the orders, I don't make the plans, Mr. Holmes."

"No, you don't," Sherlock agreed, as Mycroft observed the situation.

"However, you're rather high up in Moriarty's food chain. I believe, if you agreed to be cooperative, you could be rather useful." Mycroft took a long sip of tea.

"I'm afraid that won't be occurring any time in the near future," Lorna snorted, setting down her cup of tea with a vaguely insolent expression. "If I cooperate with you, I set myself up for the chopping block. You may be smarter than Jim, Mycroft Holmes, but he's definitely got the upper hand where it comes to sadism."

He laughed, shaking his head just slightly. "I suppose that's the logical wager to make, isn't it?" he sighed, standing. A few moments later, Sebastian Moran entered the room. However, it was not under his own power, but rather dragged by two rather impressively built figures, who were carrying Moran, limp and trussed like a turkey. Another two headed for Lorna. "Don't injure them yet," Mycroft murmured lazily. "I want things fresh when we begin."

Lorna took one look at Moran, took another sip of tea, and then held her hands out to the men approaching her. There was no point in fighting, not if they'd knocked unconscious the mountain of a man that was Sebastian. Luckily, the handcuffs they put on her were not too tight. In a life or death situation, she could probably be motivated to break her thumbs and slip out. But that would have to be quite the motivation. "I guess I'll see you later, Mycroft," she smiled, then winked over at Sherlock. "Nice meeting you, Sherly boy."

"And you, Ms. Harrison," he said, draining his tea. "I'm sure I'll see you as well." His eyes didn't leave her as the two prisoners were forced out of the room, down the stairs and into the back of a low, black car.

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Let's Kill Tonight