Sherlock arrived not 10 minutes after ending the call with his brother. He was finally going to have some control over John's survival. No longer relying on someone else to keep his doctor safe. With a slight skip in his step, he entered the building and was met by Lestrade, tailed reluctantly by Mycroft. The look on his face was comical. He didn't want this. And yet, here Sherlock was. So, he was going to relish in this. "Show me where everything is, Godfrey. I'm itching to start." He rubbed his hands together with a short glance at Mycroft. He'd been in the same clothes at least 24 hours. Likely hasn't seen Mary in the same amount of time. He missed his morning coffee and was perhaps too proud to take any from the break room. So, he'd been smoking to make up for it?

"Alright." Lestrade's voice pulled him from his deductions. "Our acquired evidence is in Room D, Sally is examining footage in Room A. We have witnesses in Interrogation Room B- "

"What witnesses? I thought no one had seen the murderer." Sherlock cut in.

"Family and anyone who was close enough to the victims the night of their death who might give us clues into what happened."

"I see." Sherlock adjusted his coat. "Where should I start?"

"Go talk to the witnesses." Mycroft spoke up before Lestrade could speak.

Sherlock nodded and followed Lestrade to the interrogation rooms but stopped as he looked into Room B. "I don't want to talk to them."

"And why not?" Mycroft eyed his brother suspiciously.

"The man to the left, I incarcerated his sister. She was an art thief. And the woman next to him, her father is the Silencer. Trust me, I'll be dead before I can step foot in there."

"Fine." Mycroft shifted his weight to his other foot. "What about one of the other rooms?"

Sherlock looked into two of the other rooms and came to the same conclusion. "No. They're all families of people I've gotten executed or imprisoned. I think that one has made an attempt on my life at some point." He gestured to a man with a scar through his left eyebrow who was busy picking at his teeth.

Lestrade nodded, musing over this new information, "Interesting. A connection. I better bring this up with Sally." He walked back the way they had come and disappeared into Room A.

Mycroft's eyes followed Lestrade, "I wonder if they know…" He trailed off then turned to face Sherlock again. "I think this Midnight Howler is rallying the troops. Gathering people with a grudge against you by hurting them where they've already been hurt, and for the same reason. You."

"But then why would they want to keep me from getting involved?"

"I don't know. Reverse psychology? Getting you involved by telling you not to. Either way, nothing else is going to happen. We will catch this guy."

"Show me the video." Sherlock wasn't sure he believed his brother, but also wasn't ready to fight him about it without proof that he was wrong. He followed Mycroft with long strides to the room at the end of the hall. Mycroft pushed play on the computer and Sherlock watched the man in question closely.

Lestrade stood in the doorway watching the two men silently. He entered and took his seat in front of the computer, plugging in a flash drive he must have gotten from Donovan.

"What's on there?" Mycroft asked, bringing over another chair to sit beside Lestrade.

"Photos. Sally managed to procure them from other security cams around the city." Lestrade clicked open the folder and scrolled through several pictures which clearly showed the man in the hat's face. "What do you deduce?" He looked up expectantly at Sherlock.

"Ex-marine. Scottish. But from America. He's got a thinning issue and walked with an odd gait, like a poorly healed war injury. May also be slightly blind in one eye. Did anything pop up in the database?"

"Not yet. Still running the pictures through the system." Mycroft stood while Lestrade responded and moved to the filing cabinet. He rummaged through it before seemingly remembering that what he was looking for was still sitting on the desk. He picked the letter up, but Sherlock quickly snatched it away.

"You know I was going to give it to you. No need to be so hasty."

"Thought it best to take control of the situation. This is that letter right?" Sherlock smirked and pulled on a rubber glove to begin looking over the message. He opened the baggie and sniffed it, lifted it up to look at it through the ceiling light, and even took out a small test kit from his coat to check for chemical droplets. "It's a woman's handwriting. Much too controlled to be a man's. She's in her late thirties, judging by the way she rounds her G's and dots her I's. Her curvature suggests an above average intelligence but also a mild case of PTSD due to the tremor in her writing, seen each time she begins a new word. She tries to control the tremor with alcohol and coincidently has become something of an alcoholic. She spilled some rum on the paper there." He pointed out the alcohol stain which made the thick paper ever so slightly more transparent. "She likes being in control and dislikes losing it. And while she pretends to be brave, she's actually quite cowardly. Took her about an hour to write these few lines."

"It's not the same person that was following John then?" Lestrade looked up from his research.

"Obviously Grim." Sherlock put the letter back into the bag and handed it back to Mycroft.

"Still think it's likely that she's working with Moriarty?" Mycroft teased and refiled it into the cabinet. Sherlock glared at his turned back.

"I really don't know. It's possible for it to be a copycat. I didn't get anything from the note that screamed Jim, except the structure." Sherlock removed the glove and dropped it into the bin by Lestrade's desk. He noticed it was full of crisp wrappers and more than a few nicotine patch packages. Stress response. This case was something else. "I…" Sherlock sighed. "I'll talk to the witnesses."

Mycroft looked surprised. "You sure? I planned on talking to them in your stead. I'm not as good at investigating, but I'm smart."

"I'll do it. Just give me 5 minutes." Sherlock walked away briskly and entered the room with the art thief's brother. After a few minutes of yelling, he stormed from the room and ran face first into Mycroft, who had on his coat and trademark umbrella tucked under one arm.

Mycroft set the tip of his umbrella on the floor. "You didn't have to yell. They're the innocent ones."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away. "They started it! I told you, they don't like me."

Mycroft took Sherlock's shoulder gently. "Why don't you join my family for dinner tonight? We can pick up John and then head to my mansion. Mary wouldn't mind, and I'm sure Caroline would be thrilled to see you. You haven't been to see her in months."

"Dinner with your family-! It's not like she likes me." Sherlock brushed his brother's hand off.

"She likes you well enough."

"Is there a bribe?"

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. "I guess you could interrogate the staff. Our set of knives has slowly been going missing, and no one seems to know what we're talking about. Caroline believes it's the cleaning lady. Mary thinks it's the gardener."

"And you?"

"Neither. They have no motive."

"Why should I care about your missing silverware?"

"Not kitchen knives, Sherlock. Throwing knives. The silver-plated ones my mother-in-law gave us last Christmas. They have inscriptions from the late 1800's."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh. "Your mother-in-law? How often is she over?"

"Once in the last five years. A few days after Care was born. She's American and can't come visit regularly."

"I forgot Mary was American. How has Mummy forgiven you?" Mycroft glared at Sherlock, but he just laughed again. "I'd listen to Caroline. She's right. Nothing against you or Mary of course."

"Are you coming or not? I was about to leave."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not unless you want me to take John home alone."

"No! I'll come, but don't think I'll enjoy one minute of it." Sherlock followed Mycroft from the building, nodding to Lestrade as they walked past. He got in the back of Mycroft's car and stared out the window. "I never trusted you behind the wheel."

Mycroft sunk into the driver's seat and turned the car on. "Because I can't drive?"

"Because you almost got us killed. Do you remember?"

"Obviously not." Mycroft pulled out onto the main road and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You were driving us home from the cinema and hit that light pole." Sherlock heard the sharp intake of air from Mycroft and grinned.

"That wasn't my fault! That dog ran in front of the car. I had to swerve, or I would have hit and killed it."

Sherlock pushed the image of Redbeard from his mind and changed the subject. "What are we eating?"

Mycroft seemed equally ready to change the subject as the tone of his voice shifted drastically. "Caroline chose lasagna and garlic bread tonight. It's her favorite."

"Is it her birthday?"

"No. We switch off who gets to choose dinner. Her birthday is in August. The seventh."

Sherlock took a second to file this new information away in his mental family room. "I guess I should know that." John mentioned that he should try to be a better uncle. Familial ties and all that. He noticed Mycroft looking at him through the rearview mirror and turned away to stare out the window again.

"Thank you."

Sherlock looked up again. "Why are you thanking me?"

"For caring."

"Thank John. If it were up to me- "

Mycroft threw Sherlock a half smile. "Nonetheless…"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it and remained silent the rest of the way to 221B. When the car pulled up to the curb, he jumped out, hoping Mycroft wouldn't follow, and raced up the stairs into the flat, "John!?"

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John looked up from his paper, which he had been reading whilst relaxing in his armchair. His blonde hair was messy and wet.

Sherlock couldn't help it and licked his lips. "I uh… I was going to tell you, but better late than never I suppose." Sherlock chuckled nervously and composed himself. "The Police department received some… untraceable notes. Mycroft believes you'd be safer staying elsewhere. So, pack a bag, we're going to dinner."

John looked confused and put the paper on the coffee table. "Safer…?"

"I'll have to explain later. We could be being watched."

"But I thought you…"

"I did, but somehow they still know things." Sherlock walked into the kitchen to alleviate some of the raw energy that coursed through his blood. "Just… get a bag together. Please." He leaned over the sink and did his best not to retch.

Behind him, he heard John stand and walk to his room without a word. A few minutes later, he returned, dressed in his usual jumper with a duffel bag in hand. Sherlock sighed in relief at the sight of the bulge of a gun under his belt line. He stood from the sink and John straightened his back, nodding his preparedness to leave. With a slight, reassuring smile, Sherlock turned and led John down the stairs out to the waiting car. Mycroft stood outside the passenger side door, umbrella resting between his feet. "Doctor Watson. Good. Wife's invited you both to dinner. Thought I'd drive you, since I was just with Sherlock."

"Don't pretend you're environmental brother." Sherlock pushed past Mycroft and got into the back seat.

Mycroft let out a scoff but said nothing; just helped John put his bag in the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat before pulling the car away from 221B. Sherlock sighed. This was going to be a difficult case indeed.

Song: Prepared to Do Anything - BBC Sherlock soundtrack