"Tell me everything. Now."

"N-No…No…I don't know anything."

"You're lying.~ I'm not stupid, Sam. You've somehow managed to predict every one of my moves, which means you know things, and I want to know where you got it from and how much you know…Now tell me!"

"…No…It'll mess everything up…I-I can't…"

A gun was pressed to my temple, making me hold back a whimper and swallow thickly as sweat slid down the side of my face.

"The games are over, Sam. I've been playing nice so far, but I'm very changeable." The man smiled sickly sweet, caressing my cheek with his free hand. "Please don't make me resort to other means. I'd rather not get my new suit dirty."

"I won't tell you…I-I won't…"

"That's a shame. Perhaps a bit of incentive? They'll die if you don't…Everyone you've ever cared about."

"No…p-please don't…don't hurt them…"

"Then tell me what I want to know."

I hesitated. I couldn't tell him, but if I didn't, he'd kill them all. I couldn't give him up. Not to this man. Not to…Moriarty.

"Tick tock, Sammy~"

I couldn't do it. They were all going to be killed because of me.

"Sorry…I-I'm sorry…I can't…"

"That's a shame. I was hoping to spend a little more time with you, but now…you're just in the way."

Bang!

I suddenly sat up, sweat practically pouring from my body as tears trailed down my face in the early morning glows of the sun peaking in through the window of 221B. The nightmare was far too realistic for my liking and it only further proved to me about how I needed to keep what I knew about Sherlock a secret. But it will slip sooner or later. I thought, dragging a shaky hand down my face. I can't hide it from Sherlock. One little slip and it's over. One slip…and everyone I know will be put in danger…

"You talk in your sleep."

I jumped, heart practically pounding out of my chest as I stared in panic at the detective as he strolled out of the kitchen in his blue bathrobe.

"W-What?"

He raised a brow, a hot cup of coffee in his hand. "You talk in your sleep. Though perhaps it was just because of the nightmare you were having. You're obviously hiding something if you're having nightmares about being threatened for information."

Don't think about it. He doesn't know anything, he's just deducing you in the hopes you'll give something away. I slowly calmed down, sighing as I pulled a hand through my hair and got up. "Can I use your shower?"

Sherlock seemed surprised, before schooling his expression and moving to sit in his chair, not saying a word.

"I'll take that as a yes then." I muttered, grabbing a change of clothes from my suitcase and taking a shower, using my time in there to relax a bit and calm down after my nightmare.

Once I was far more relaxed, I came out wearing some skinny jeans, a white printed shirt, and a set of dog tags dangling from my neck as I dried my short hair with the towel I brought with me. Already though, I felt the chill seep in and I vowed to put on my hoodie as I glanced around the room.

"John's not here?" I asked, receiving silence, so I went to ask again only to have someone grab me from behind and put a rather large sword against my neck.

My eyes widened as my heart thudded wildly in my chest, the man speaking another language that I didn't quite understand. There was one word I understood though, even in his heavy accented language.

"S-Sherlock?" I questioned, feeling the man behind me press the sword to my neck tighter as his muffled whispering grew more aggressive. "I-I'm not him if that's w-what you're asking."

The man kept speaking in his other language and I was beginning to panic. Isn't this the guy who attacks Sherlock in the beginning of the 'Blind Banker' episode? That w-would explain why John's not around, though I could use a bit of help from Sherlock right about now. My eyes shifted to the kitchen, but I didn't spot the curly haired man and I took a deep stuttering breath to try and calm down. Now's not the time to be a damsel in distress. If I want his respect, I have to be able to handle this on my own. No matter how afraid I am.

I quickly slammed my elbow into the man's gut, ignoring the sting of his sword cutting into me for now, and turning around to grab a fist full of his turban and smash his face into my knee. He fell to the ground, though not completely out, and I went to grab a thick book to knock him out with when he managed to get up and throw a punch. I just barely dodged it and smacked the flat of the book across his face, only for him to grab my ankle and pull me to the ground. I used the corner of the book to hit his hand and scrambled up and into the kitchen for something a bit harder to hit him with, but when I heard him come in, I was met by his sword and had to lean back across the table and scramble to keep him from slicing my head off.

I kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back and leaving a nasty mark on the wooden table. I then grabbed a dirty pan from the sink and hurried out into the living room, dodging a swing of his sword by leaning back and then standing upright, hitting him solidly across the head with the cast-iron pan, earning a nice thud and groan from the man as he hit the ground. Breathing hard, adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I felt a small smile twitch onto my lips as I twirled the pan in my hand.

"O-Oh mama, I have got to get me one of these." I said, copying a line I remembered from a Disney movie I watched not long ago in a vain attempt to keep calm. "R-Rapunzel knew what she was doing."

Just then, the door clicked open and Sherlock walked in, only taking a couple of steps before he caught sight of me and the man who had attacked me. He glanced at the frying pan in my hand and back to the man, before apparently getting a hold of himself.

"Well, he came sooner than I expected."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I pulled a hand through my hair.

"Y-Yeah, well…you should keep better track of people trying to kill you and when they're coming to visit."

He hesitated, before nodding and approaching me, taking the pan from me slowly as though I was going to beat him with it next. He then went to put it away, giving me a glance from over his shoulder.

"You should, um, sit."

I nodded, doing as he said once I realized that my legs were shaking. Once sitting, I felt that panic from before, rear its ugly head as I realized what had just happened and what I just did. T-That was an assassin…and I just…I knocked out an assassin! W-With a frying pan! Oh God. Are they going to come after me next? And what does this mean about the plot?! Sherlock was supposed to be fighting him, not me! What if everything changes just because of this?! Oh man, oh man, oh man. That's it. I've ruined everything. Moriarty knows now and Mycroft knows and everyone's going to die and—

"You're bleeding."

My thoughts hit a dead end there are I lifted my head—which had been buried in my hands at some point—to find Sherlock glancing at me holding a small first aid kit. It took me a moment to realize what he was saying and I glanced down to realize that I was bleeding. Seems the assassin had managed to cut me a bit pretty bad across my collar bone when I elbowed him and I hadn't noticed until now.

"Oh." I muttered out, mentally hitting myself in the head at how stupid I must've sounded. Idiot! That's all you have to say? 'Oh'? You've just knocked out an assassin and are bleeding, thus ruining your favorite shirt, and all you can say is 'oh'?!

"Let me…help." Sherlock said, coming over and pulling a chair up across from me, having bound the assassin while I was internally panicking.

He took out an alcohol swab then and pressed it to the wound, causing me to wince, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from complaining about the pain. He was pressing the swab a bit hard, letting me know he didn't often do this sort of thing, but he stayed silent through the process and sat back with a small grimace.

"It may need stitches. I'll have John look at it when he returns." He got up and went to put the medic kit back, leaving me on the couch to continue calming down.

Well, at least I'm alive and I handled that situation pretty well, if I do say so myself…Aw, who am I kidding? I could've died. My brothers are going to kill me…I heard a groan then, letting me know that the assassin was waking up and I felt panic rise up again. The man lifted his head, catching sight of me and immediately going off in his own language as he struggled against his bonds. I already knew that he wasn't pleased about being knocked out by a frying pan and that only made me wince as he steadily grew more agitated.

Sherlock came back in the room then and proceeded to shout something back at the man in that language, before knocking him out again. Sherlock let out a huff and picked up his phone, calling someone to come pick him up—I'm guessing—before settling back down in his seat, eyeing me. His stare unnerved me and I found myself picking at that scab on the back of my hand before I realized it and stopped; deciding then that I needed to do something to get rid of the tense atmosphere since leaving it to Sherlock usually ended up with a fight of some sort.

"S-So, um, what language was that?"

"Arabic."

"Oh…Don't know that one."

"Not many people do."

I swallowed thickly, trying to keep the conversation going, but not wanting to make him uncomfortable by dragging it on.

"Do you know a lot of languages?"

"Over 30."

I let a small smile twitch onto my lips. "That's cool. I only know four."

He raised a brow. "Four?"

I nodded. "English, French, Korean, and Japanese."

"Odd variety."

"I had a phase, as my brothers call it. Asian cultures interested me and I was a quick learner, but French was just for knowledge's sake. Though now I barely remember much." I chuckled a bit. "Not enough people around me willing to converse in those languages."

"I see."

The conversation trailed off then before a knock came at the door and Sherlock got up, letting a couple of men in black suits come in and take the assassin away. Assuming they were Mycroft's men, I just watched them as they went about their business before Sherlock returned and sat down. Things grew quiet once more, until Sherlock spoke, now holding a book and pretending to read.

"Apologies for putting you through that."

My head snapped up in surprise, having not expect those words to come out of his mouth.

"W-What?"

"You heard me." He grumbled, glancing up from his book. "I'm not saying it again."

I couldn't help the grin that stretched across my face, making him roll his eyes before returning to his book as I settled on the couch and dug out my laptop to see what notes the professor sent me about what they did yesterday for class. Reviewing criminal profiling and what to look for…Causes of what could cause people to become criminals…childhood trauma…mostly things I already know. No change there. I'll just have to make sure I read the chapters covering that in the textbook. Just then, I heard footsteps come up the stairs and looked up to see John return looking less than pleased about something. He looked around, as if expecting something to have happened, but apparently found nothing.

"You took your time." Sherlock said, not even looking up from his book.

"Yeah. I didn't get the shopping."

Sherlock looked up in surprise, seeing that John really didn't have the shopping. "What? Why not? We need it since we have another person to feed."

John furrowed his brows, looking upset. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-pin machine."

I blinked. "You mean those self-serving things at checkout?"

He turned to me. "You have those in America?"

"Of course they do, John. Don't be stupid." Sherlock quipped.

I nodded. "They're a pain. 'Item not scanned'! 'Unexpected item in the bagging area'! Annoying little things." I said, mocking the automated voice, making John smile a bit.

"Right, well, have you got cash, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card."

John headed into the kitchen to get it but stopped, looking slightly annoyed. "You could always go yourself, you know. You two have probably been sitting there all morning. I know you've not even moved since I left, Sherlock."

Sherlock acted nonchalant as he turned a page in his book, waving a hand at me. "Not true. Sam had a nasty fall and cut herself. You might want to check it though. Might need stitches."

John quickly glanced at me as I chuckled nervously with a little wave, him finally noticing the white bandage peaking out under my shirt collar, which was still red with blood.

"Jesus, Sam! Why didn't you say anything?" John said, grabbing his own medic kit and coming over, peeling the bandage from my wound and wincing. "Definitely needs stitches."

"I just didn't think it was that bad." I lied, trying to play it off as Sherlock had done.

"This may hurt a bit." He said, readying the stitches and glancing at me in concern.

"I'll be alright."

As he stitched me up, he went back to talking with Sherlock. "What happened about the case you were offered, Sherlock? The Jaria Diamond?"

"Not interested." He replied, snapping his book closed and sliding the assassin's sword that had been left under his seat out of sight. "I sent them a message."

You mean I did? I mentally sighed and John packed up his medic kit, giving me a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You might have a bit of scaring, but it'll heal up pretty quickly."

"Thanks." I muttered, before looking over at Sherlock. "Thank you too, Sherlock."

He raised a brow at me, but gave a miniscule nod as John headed into the kitchen once more and grabbed Sherlock's card, spotting the gash on the table and running his hand over it. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath, before glancing at me.

"Do you want to come with me, Sam? I don't know what you like and I would've asked before, but you were sleeping."

I got up, grabbing my hoodie and pulling it over my head with a cringe as my stitches stretched. "Sure. I'll come. You'll be okay, right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Please. Don't start acting like my brother."

I winced at the comment, but nodded. "I'll, uh, try not to."

With that, John and I headed out to do the shopping, taking a cab to the grocery when he decided to start up a conversation.

"So no fighting this morning then?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, turning back to watch the cabbie in the rear-view mirror out of boredom. "Well, not between me and Sherlock…Sherlock and I, I mean."

John raised a brow. "Who else would you be fighting with? Mrs. Hudson?"

"Or an Arab assassin." I muttered, making John laugh.

"Heh, can't say I'd be surprised."

He's taking it as a joke…Though I guess that's for the better. Who knows what he'd do if he knew I was telling the truth.

"Anything from your professor yet?" He asked, making small talk as the cab pulled up to the grocery.

"Just information on what the class went over yesterday while I was gone."

"Is it interesting?"

I nodded, eyes glancing around the grocery and spotting the cameras on the ceiling, automatically searching for blind spots in my idleness.

"Criminal profiling, childhood trauma, what could cause a person to become a criminal. Things like that. Mostly review for me though."

"You sound like you've taken the class before." John chuckled, having picked up a head of lettuce and dropped it in his cart.

"I've taken numerous criminology courses and I tend to…pick things up quickly." I scratched my cheek absentmindedly as John sent me a look.

"Well, that's good. You probably get some good grades then. My grades were average at best." He chuckled, looking nostalgic as he grabbed some milk.

"I probably could ace my classes, but I find a few Bs here and there."

John raised a brow. "If you could ace them, why don't you?"

I shrugged, starting to get nervous with the looks he was giving me. "Too much work, I guess…and I don't care for the attention it brings me."

"You weren't…bullied, were you?" He asked hesitantly.

"A bit, yeah. Kids would knock my lunch to the ground or if I asked them for food when I forgot my lunch, they'd throw it in the dirt and tell me to eat it if I wanted the rest…High school was a bit better."

"And you let them do that?!"

I looked at John, surprised at his little outburst. "I, uh, just put up with it, really. I actually got rid of a couple bullies by purposely making things worse for myself a few times…I kind of, uh, dipped a chip in dirt on purpose to get a bag of chips because some girls were teasing me. Though now that I think about it, they were probably jealous because I hung out with the guys all the time…"

John stared at me in surprise, mouth hanging open, and he stopped as I kept walking a couple of steps before noticing he wasn't beside me.

"What?"

"You were bullied and you not only let it happen, but you showed off?"

"I…suppose you could say that. It's not like things ever got violent."

John waved his hands wildly. "Wait, wait, wait. You said high school was better. How?"

"Hm." I hummed in thought, feeling more comfortable around John that I would've expected. "The few friends I had were pretty nice, though they did tease me on occasion about being smart. They also teased me quite a bit on my masculinity."

"I-I…see."

"I'd say it didn't bother me, but I guess it did on occasion." I said with a shrug as he grabbed some noodles and cans of soup.

"Well you seemed to have gotten over that."

"Yeah…" Though sometimes I wonder if I actually have…It still hurts sometimes.

"Is there anything you want? Food-wise, I mean?" John asked.

I glanced around, thinking, before spotting the frozen aisle. "Could I get some ice cream? And hot chocolate, if they have any."

"Sure. Just grab whatever you want." He said with a kind smile. "Sherlock's the one who's paying after all."

I smiled at that and headed over to pick out some ice cream. "He is, isn't he."

Once I had grabbed my hot chocolate and a couple of quarts of ice cream, we headed to the checkout and this time, I scanned the groceries and we somehow managed to get out of there without issue. When we showed back up at Baker Street though, we found Sherlock sitting there with John's laptop, his hands steepled in front of him.

"Is that my computer?"

"Of course."

"What?!"

"Mine was in the bedroom and I couldn't figure out the password to Sam's." Sherlock seemed to glare at me and I smirked a bit at that, putting away some of the groceries in the kitchen.

"And you couldn't be bothered to get up and get yours? And mine's password protected too!"

"Took me less than a minute to guess yours." Sherlock said, shifting his glance to him. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right. Thank you." John said, annoyed.

He closed his laptop, nearly pinching Sherlock's fingers in the process, and put it beside his armchair on the ground as he sat down. I had finished putting away the cold items from the grocery bags by then—thankfully no body parts in the fridge yet—and went into the living room to see John flipping through some mail. Bills, most likely. Sherlock though, had his hands steepled in front of him once more and appeared to be eyeing me, disgruntled.

"How could I not figure it out?" He muttered, catching my attention.

"My password?" I questioned, to which he narrowed his eyes. I guess so. "I just pick a set of eight random letters and numbers a week and memorize them."

His eyes widened, as John too, looked up in shock.

"You do what?"

"Why?"

It was my turn to raise a brow. "I have two overprotective, nosy older brothers, who now have degrees in law and engineering. Why wouldn't I?"

"Good point." Sherlock hummed, going back into his thought process as John glanced back at the bills with a shake of his head, dumfounded.

"Need to get a job." He complained.

"Oh, dull." Sherlock quipped back.

I waved my hand. "I could get one too, if you want."

John shook his hand. "Oh no. You don't have to do that. You're our guest!"

"Doesn't mean I couldn't help you out. You're paying for my food and stuff anyway. I wouldn't mind. I've actually been told that a job helps keep me occupied and focused."

"Your therapist told you that." Sherlock commented, making me flinch.

"Y-Yeah."

"Hmph. Boring."

Sensing the tension rising once more, John turned to Sherlock leaning forward a bit in his seat.

"Listen, um, if you'd be able to lend me some—" He cut himself off, frowning at Sherlock. "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank." Sherlock suddenly announced, standing and heading for his coat. "Come along, Sam, John."

I sighed and John rolled his eyes before we both got up and hurried after him, squeezing into a cab on the way to, undoubtedly, the bank where the Black Lotus group left a message for a light-fingered smuggler.

Now, I may have known what the bank was like from the Sherlock series, but that still didn't prepare me for seeing it firsthand.

"Whoa…"

"Yes, now when you said we were going to the bank…" John muttered, as we passed through the rotating glass door and onto an escalator.

The building had that more modern feel too it, with the extensive amount of glass used in the structure. The technology they were using in the security was also top notch. They had everything from extensive security camera coverage to card keys to metal detectors, though I personally thought it was a bit overkill. I was looking over the different times displayed around the room, when we approached the front desk and Sherlock announced ourselves.

It didn't take long for the secretary to confirm our meeting with Sebastian—Sherlock's old colleague, from what I remember—and we were sent to wait in his office until he arrived. His office was pretty dull looking, even with the couple of paintings and potted plants outside on his balcony, and I fidgeted as boredom began to settle in. Finally, Sebastian walked in and came over to shake Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"Sebastian."

They shook hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's in both of his and, though Sebastian seemed pretty pleased to see him, I could Sherlock was less than excited.

"This is my friend, John Watson and Sam Foxe, a college student assisting me."

"Friend?" Sebastian asked, seeming surprised, and John was quick to correct him as they shook hands.

"Colleague."

"And you're a friend too then?" Sebastian asked, looking at me and shaking my hand as well, though I wish he didn't.

"Just a, uh, assistant, I guess." I muttered, not really caring for the way Sebastian eyed my appearance in distaste.

Sebastian forced a smile on his face before scratching his neck and heading behind his desk to sit, asking if we needed anything before waving off his secretary. The moment she was out of the room, Sherlock smirked a bit.

"So you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot." Sherlock commented.

"Well…some."

"Flying all the way round the world, twice in a month?"

Sebastian laughed. "Heh, right. You're doing that thing." He glanced at us briefly. "We were at Uni together. This guy here had a trick he would do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock said, quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've…seen him do it." John replied.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

My hand twitched at that, remembering a few choice instances where I had done something similar, making my own enemies in school. When I looked at Sherlock though, I could tell that Sebastian was making him uncomfortable too. As much as I wanted to get Sebastian to shut up though, I was worried that doing so would mess up the plot somehow. Sherlock does get back at him…but it doesn't mean I like what this guy's saying.

"You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed." Sherlock said.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world. You're quite right. How could you tell?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, but Sebastian cut him off.

"You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

John smirked towards the ceiling, but I frowned.

"No, I—"

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes."

Sherlock stared for a moment, but before he could say the lie about talking to Sebastian's secretary, I spoke.

"Your watch."

Sebastian turned to me, as did Sherlock and John, all three of them surprised, though Sherlock quickly narrowed his eyes inquisitively.

"What's that?"

I gestured to his watch. "The date's wrong but the time's right. You crossed the dateline twice and your watch is brand new. Came out recently. February, I think." I turned away from him then, looking at the painting on the wall to avoid eye contact as I scratched at the scab on the back of my hand.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, making me swallow in nervousness until Sebastian let out a humorless chuckle.

"Another weirdo? What did you do, pick him up off the street?"

I grit my teeth with a small frown and kicked John in the shin when he went to speak up, sending him a glare that told him to just let it go. Sebastian soon stopped laughing, though the smirk is still on his face, and he clapped his hands together, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

He stood up then, and we followed him out, though John hung back with me, grabbing my arm and speaking in hushed whispers as we walked out onto the trading floor.

"Why'd you stop me before? You and I both know he didn't have a right to say that!"

"Because John." I whispered back, keeping an eye on Sherlock and Sebastian to make sure they weren't listening in. "It didn't matter what he said about me. I don't care."

"That face you made said otherwise." He grumbled.

"That's because he's an annoying git." I complained back. "But that doesn't matter because I was only trying to keep his attention off Sherlock."

"What? Why?"

"You can't tell me you didn't notice." I said, glancing at the tall detective. "Even I could tell he hates the man. Besides, they know each other. I will probably never see Sebastian again, so what do I care what he thinks of me? But Sherlock wouldn't have taken this job if he didn't care at least a tiny bit about Sebastian's case."

"But what does that have to do with—"

I sighed. "If Sherlock upsets Sebastian by being cocky, all access he has to this case is gone. So if I replace Sherlock in that aspect, then Sherlock gets to enjoy Sebastian being surprised as if he was doing the deductions, and he gets to stay on the case."

"I…guess that makes sense." John mused.

Sherlock turned around then with an annoyed look. "Are you two done whispering like children? We have a case to solve."

I nodded, walking a bit faster to catch up to him and Sebastian as the man led us to the office where the crime happened.

"Sir William's office; the bank's former chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sebastian replied, turning around for a moment. "Just left a little message."

He then scanned his card key and opened the door to the office where the painting of Sir William had been vandalized with yellow spray paint; a solid line across his face and another symbol on its left. I swallowed back the urge to just go out and say what it was and end this whole thing before it even started, but I didn't know what consequences that would cause and kept my mouth shut as Sebastian brought us back to his office and showing us the security footage.

"Sixty seconds apart." He said, pushing a few keys on his computer to switch between the images of 11:33pm last night and 11:34pm. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?"

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting." Sebastian said with a smirk, leading us down to the front desk while I began thinking.

Is there anything I can tell them? I can't let anything important slip or who knows what'll happen. I have to make sure I have evidence to back it up too. I can't just go out and say 'Oh hey, Sherlock? You know those symbols? Yeah, they're a book code made from that ancient Chinese number system that traders use. And the book key? It's London A-Z. How do I know? Well…I just do.' I frowned. Yeah, no way is that going to work…But what can I do? Nothing from what I see…Wait. Maybe I could keep John from being kidnapped. I could be the bait and—Could I handle that? Doubt started to sink in and along with it, fear. I was scared when I faced that assassin earlier…and as much as I want to be that brave, confident, fighting person, I don't know if I can. I'm just a college student. I don't know anything about these people other than what the show explained. And worst of all, they're actual killers. They're not afraid to just shoot me or strangle me. So…could I really handle being put in that life or death situation?

"Come along, Sam."

I jumped, eyes wide as Sherlock suddenly walked away, forcing me to trail after him without knowing exactly what was going on. I soon figured it out though when I realized John wasn't following and that Sherlock was leading us back up to the office. He pulled out his phone and began photographing the graffiti, but spoke to me.

"You're more observant than I expected."

I swallowed thickly, scratching the back of my head and looking out the window, trying to think up a good lie. "N-Not really. You said he went around the world twice in one month. I just looked for information that supported that."

I could feel him watching me before he turned to the window as well.

"Pull those curtains up."

I quickly glanced at him, before nodding and doing as he asked. He then smirked.

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"Not that I know of…why?"

His smirk grew bigger and he grabbed my arm, pulling me out the window and standing on the ledge along with me as I struggled not to look down. O-Oh man…I may not be afraid of heights, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid of falling! Sherlock must have caught my look, because he smirked.

"Something wrong?"

I glared at him, cheeks slightly flushed due to embarrassment. "You know what's wrong."

"I did ask." He said with a roll of his eyes.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to forget where I was. "And I'm not afraid of heights…I do, however, don't really care for falling."

I, unfortunately, took a brief glance down and paled, quickly looking back up and closing my eyes while taking a deep breath in the attempts to calm myself. I can practically feel him smirking at me…He's the one who jumped though, and that…that always got to me.

"Sam."

I flinched, losing my footing for a split instant, before Sherlock pulled me up and pushed me back into the office. I hit the ground with a small 'thud' and opened my shut eyes, looking up at him in a panic as my heart beat quickly in my chest. Sherlock looked down at me with a scowl, moving towards the office door.

"Pay attention."

"R-Right." I said, bowing my head as my hands shook slightly and I stood. "Sorry."

I hurried after him, still trying to calm down after my scare, and seeing Sherlock duck down and pop back up again behind some computers, had me on the verge of laughing. H-He's doing the pillars check, but…it's so funny! He looks like a prairie dog! I began to snicker, when he turned to me and pointed over towards another area of the trading floor.

"Don't stand there giggling like a child. Go stand over there and tell me if you can see the message."

"A-Alright." I said, still fighting a smile as I did what he asked. "Nope. I can't see it."

He nodded, moving to another area as I did the same.

"Anything?"

I shook my head, moving again as Sherlock hurried into an office and checked there. I felt kind of silly mimicking Sherlock, but it felt good to get a little laugh. It was only now that I realized how stressed I had been and getting a good laugh seemed to do the trick, myself already feeling better.

"Found it." Sherlock announced, and I smiled, heading over to him as he waved a card from the office he had been in.

I nodded and followed him back downstairs where John was waiting, a silly grin on my face. John glanced between us with a confused look.

"Did I miss something?"

I nodded. "Yup. Sherlock was—"

I was cut off as Sherlock covered my mouth with his hand and gave me a glare, turning to John.

"I was just explaining what I had found and she thought something I said was amusing."

Sherlock removed his hand as I looked away to try and hide the redness in my cheeks, and John eyed me curiously.

"Is that so?"

I turned to him with a nervous grin. "Y-Yeah. That's it."

"Okay." He didn't look convinced, but gave in for now, looking back at Sherlock. "So do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Hm?"

"That graffiti was a message…for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…" He trailed off, waiting for us to come to our own conclusions.

"…we find the person who sent it." I said.

"Obvious."

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked.

"Pillars."

"Oh!" I said, faking surprise.

"What?" John looked between the two of us confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Pillars and screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it."

I nodded, glancing around as we exited the bank. "Only a few people would be here at that time of night."

"That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." Sherlock then showed John the place card. "Not many Van Coon's in the phone-book. Taxi!"

He hailed a cab and we hopped in, heading off to the address he looked up, before turning to me.

"So what have you deduced?"

I looked at him, confused. "What?"

He rolled his eyes. "The case, Sam. What have you figured out about the case?"

"Oh, um…" I closed my eyes, furrowing my brows as I thought.

I can't give away anything important. He already explained the pillars and giving him the meaning behind the message would be bad, even if I just gave him the numbers. What else could I figure out? I thought of something and opened my eyes.

"I think I know how he got in."

"Do you?" He said, dubiously.

"Well, there's no way to come in through the door—"

"He could have stolen a card key." Sherlock said, eyes shining mischievously.

He's testing me…I shook my head. "No, because then he or she would've been caught on some of the other cameras."

He nodded. "A ventilation shaft then."

"That wouldn't work either, because—though they're capable of fitting a person—they wouldn't be able to handle that much weight."

Sherlock began to smirk. "So how did he do it?"

"He climbed." I said, feeling my own smile try to form on my face. "Climbed up the side of the building and onto the balcony."

"Impossible." John suddenly said, reminding me that he too, was in the cab.

"That's not true." I said, turning to him. "Because of how the building was designed, there was an area where someone could climb up…though they'd have to have a lot of upper arm strength."

"Hm. Good job, Sam." Sherlock said, surprising me, but making me smile a bit.

It's been a long time since I've been genuinely praised…I…miss it… I thought, as I settled down for the ride to Van Coon's place, having forgotten just how dangerous this case was going to get.