Chapter Four: A Study in Pink

Alice watched as Sherlock opened the front door and stood on the doorstep for a moment as he shrugged himself into his coat. Alice narrowed her eyes at him for his cool attitude. Alice was held at the taxi with the cabbie holding her by the shoulder. The cabbie was leaning casually against it.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes," said the cabbie in an cockney accent. Sherlock stepped forward, closing the door behind him.

"I didn't order a taxi," he said simply. Alice growled silently within her throat. She began blinking again.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one."

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Alice raised an eyebrow. Had she missed something important when Sherlock and John had left the flat? "It was you, not your passenger."

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." Alice tensed as Sherlock took a few more steps forward and looked up towards the windows of the flat.

"Is this a confession?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise. I won't hurt the girl, either." Alice wanted to run herself by now, but her body remained in its place.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're not gonna do that."

"Is he?" Alice finally said. "You don't know Sherlock like I do. He would-" The cabbie dug his fingers into her shoulder, making Alice become silent. Sherlock didn't even flinch.

"Am I not?" said Sherlock.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes," the cabbie continued. "I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." He leaned forward. "I will never tell you what I said." Sherlock stared at him. Alice stared at Sherlock. She knew that he was going to risk her life, as he had done many times. After a moment, the cabbie straightened up and started to walk around the front of the cab, still gripping onto Alice and bring her with him.

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result," Sherlock cut in. The cabbie stopped and turned back towards him.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He turned again and continued around to the driver's door. He opened the rear door, shoving Alice in. He then got into the driver's seat, and closed the door, settling into his seat and ignoring Sherlock. Alice looked out of the window, watching as Sherlock walked closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, then he bent and looked into the open side window of the cab.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" he asked.

"Let me take you and your assistant for a ride," the cabbie said as he turned towards Sherlock.

"So you can kill us too?" Alice tensed further.

"I don't wanna kill either of you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer... and then you're gonna kill yourself as for her… She'll be left alone." He turned to face the front again. Alice held back the urge to let tears slip from her eyes. Sherlock straightened up, his eyes lost in thought as he considered the situation. The cabbie calmly sat gazing out of the front window, then smiled in satisfaction as the rear door opened. Alice moved slightly to make room for Sherlock. The cab dipped as Sherlock got in and then the door slammed shut. The cabbie started the engine as Alice dug her fingers into seat.

In the cab, Alice kept her eyes on Sherlock, who was watching the London scenery pass by. What the heck was he doing? Was he trying to get her killed? Of course… this wouldn't be the first time. Alice began tapping her fingers against the seat.

"How did you find me?" Sherlock eventually said.

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes!" said the cabbie. Alice tapped faster. "I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

"Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you."

"Who?" Sherlock leaned forward. He tapped in response to Alice.

Tell me what you see, he tapped. The cabbie didn't really understand what the two were doing. Alice raised an eyebrow but took a look at the cabbie. She caught glimpse of the side of his neck and a photograph on the dashboard, picturing a young boy and girl. She tapped her gatherings to Sherlock.

"Who would notice me?" said Sherlock.

"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes."

"He really isn't," Alice muttered. "Like I said, you don't know Mr. Holmes like I do."

"You've got yourself a fan, Mr. 'olmes," said the cabbie. Sherlock sat back in his seat.

"Tell me more," he said.

"That's all you're gonna know… … in this lifetime…" Alice felt fear now running through her veins.

The cab drove on and finally stopped at the front of two identical buildings side by side. The cabbie turned off the engine and got out, coming to the passenger door next to Alice and opening it. He looked in at Sherlock. Alice inched closer to Sherlock.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly. She was ten years old, you have to give a little fear.

"Your detective know every street in London," said the cabbie. "He knows exactly where we are." Alice turned to Sherlock.

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College," he said, "Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" Alice was pulled out of the cab with a yelp. The cabbie raised a pistol and pressed it to Alice's temple. She became stiff as a stone. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, dull." If he wasn't her only thing keeping her off of the streets, and if he wasn't older than her, Alice would have hit Sherlock by now.

"Don't worry. It gets better."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint or by threatening a child."

"I don't. It's much better than that." The cabbie lowered the gun, and Alice relaxed. "Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me." He confidently walked away, dragging Alice along with him. Alice looked back as she watched Sherlock get out of the cab and follow them.

The cabbie opened the door of a classroom and stood aside so that Sherlock could go in. Alice was grabbed by the cabbie in order to prevent her escape. Sherlock looked at them closely but stepped inside the room. The cabbie released the door and let it swing closed. He pushed Alice into the room as he walked over to some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. Alice began ran over to Sherlock, but the cabbie grabbed her back. Sherlock walked deeper into the room, looking around.

"Well, what do you think?" the cabbie asked. Sherlock raised his hands and shrugs as if to ask, 'What do I think about what?' "It's up to you. You and your assistant are the ones who're gonna die 'ere." Sherlock turned back to him.

"No, we're not," he said.

"That's what they all say." He gestured to one of the benches. "Shall we talk?" Without waiting for a reply, he pulled out two of the chairs and sat down in one. He forced Alice into the other. Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front, flipped it around and sat down opposite. He sighed dramatically.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you," Sherlock said. Alice did not relax her body this time. She was always like this when in a hostage situation. One little slip up from Sherlock, and she could end up dead… like her.

"You call that a risk? Nah." The cabbie reached into the left pocket of the cardigan he was wearing. "This is a risk." He took out a small glass bottle with a screw top on it and put it onto the table in front of them. There was a single large capsule inside. Alice looked at it and only one conclusion came to mind. This was the poison the victims used to kill themselves.

"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this." Reaching into his right pocket, the cabbie took out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and put it onto the table beside the first bottle. Alice raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You weren't expecting that, were yer? Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" said Alice, "I don't understand what you're doing…"

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it." Alice groaned, having been ignored.

"My fan?" said Sherlock.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" The cabbie looked down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" He looked up again into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looked back at him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. He tapped out something on the table.

"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too," Sherlock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." Alice's eyes looked at the bottles on the table as she saw Sherlock doing the same.

"What about the two bottles?" Alice asked. "It still doesn't make any sense." The cabbie sighed.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die," The cabbie explained.

"Both bottles are of course identical," said Sherlock.

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why should he?" cut in Alice. "There is absolutely nothing he can go off of. And besides, why should he even do it?" There was a brief silence.

"I 'aven't told him the best bit yet. Whatever bottle he chooses, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock started to grin. He had become interested. Alice was in trouble. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't. If you take the wrong one, I kill the girl." Sherlock looked down at the bottles, concentrating properly now. Alice prayed that he got it right. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice. But you weren't threatening a-" Sherlock stopped halfway through his sentence. Alice became even more confused than she was.

"And now I'm givin' you one." Sherlock looked up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game."

"It's chance…" Alice muttered loudly.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." With his left hand the cabbie slid the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulled his hand back and left the bottle where it is. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Alice looked down at the bottles and back up at Sherlock. Her dark eyes were desperate.

"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?" asked the cabbie.

"Play what?" said Sherlock. "It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

"It's still just chance," Alice snapped. "I say you just let me go, and allow Sherlock and I to leave!"

"Alice," said Sherlock, finally acknowledging the girl since they were in the cab. "I need you to be quiet." Alice felt something strike her heart, but she fell silent.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance," said the cabbie.

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid – even you." Although he had just told her to stop her observations and from her using her common sense, Alice sided with Sherlock still. No one insulted Sherlock Holmes by calling him stupid. Because he wasn't. Sherlock's gaze sharpened at the statement. "Or maybe God just loves me."

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," Sherlock said finally. He lifted his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazed at the cabbie intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" The cabbie nodded down to the bottles.

"Time to play," he said simply. Sherlock unfolded his fingers and adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth.

"Oh, I am playing. This is our turn." Sherlock looked over at Alice, who straightened up. "Alice. In the cab, I told you to look at our friend here. What did you see?" Alice looked up at the ceiling for a second before remembering what she saw.

"Shaving foam behind his ear…" she recounted, "And… a photo of two children. But I don't see why you want me to practice this when I'm about to die!" Sherlock nodded and shook off Alice's last statement.

"There's shaving foam behind your left ear," Sherlock said, picking off of Alice's notions. "Nobody's pointed it out to you. "Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you." The cabbie tried not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. If she wasn't a hostage, Alice would laugh. "But there's that photograph of the children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." The cabbie's gaze slid away from Sherlock and for the first time since he had captured her, Alice could see a hint of pain in his eyes.

"Estranged father," Sherlock concluded. "She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts." He extended his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more." The cabbie lifted his gaze back to Sherlock as he pointed his index fingers towards him. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" The detective's then eyes widened slightly as he makes his most important deduction, to which was still blank to Alice.

"Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?" he said.

"Told him what?" asked Alice. "Sherlock, I don't understand…"

"That he's a dead man walking." Alice did a quick double take between Sherlock and the cabbie.

"So are you…" said the cabbie.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The cabbie smiled.

"Aneurism." He lifted his right hand and tapped the side of his head. "Right in 'ere." Sherlock smiled in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last." Sherlock's smile dropped. Alice's eyes narrowed.

"So… just because you're dying, you decide to murder people? I thought our killer would be more fun…" she said, crossing her arms.

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter," said Sherlock. "Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children." Alice raised an eyebrow.

"How would you know that?" Alice asked. Sherlock looked over at her, but didn't answer. The cabbie sighed.

"You are good, ain't you?" he said.

"But how?" inquired Sherlock.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"You don't get much money by serial killing either…" Alice said.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise us," Sherlock said.

"I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" Alice said, confused.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who on Earth would sponsor a serial killer!?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" Sherlock and the cabbie stared at each other for a moment. Alice's breath got caught in her throat. "You two are not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man and a child… and they're so much more than that."

"What d'you mean, more than a man?" asked Sherlock, his patience wearing thin. "An organisation? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." The cabbie nodded down to the bottles. "Time to choose." Sherlock looked down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other. Alice felt her heart stop. What if Sherlock was wrong? What if he chose the wrong one? Why would he risk Alice's life like this?

"What if I don't choose either?" said Sherlock, "I could just take Alice and walk out of here." Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, the cabbie lifted up the pistol and pointed it at Sherlock.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you and the girl in the head." Sherlock smiled calmly. Alice blinked. What the heck was he doing?! "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"I'll have the gun, please."

"I won't…" Alice muttered.

"Are you sure?" said the cabbie.

"Definitely," Sherlock replied, still smiling. "The gun."

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Sherlock smiled confidently. Alice tensed up her body for what seemed like the third time in the past hour.

"The gun." Alice shut her eyes tightly, waiting for the gunshots to end their lives. It never came. Slowly, Alice opened her dark eyes. A small flame was flickering out of the end of the muzzle. Sherlock was smiling smugly. Alice relaxed. She was safe. "I know a real gun when I see one." Calmly, the cabbie lifted the pistol/cigarette lighter and released the trigger. The flame went out.

"None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. We look forward to the court case, don't we Alice?" Sherlock stood up and walked towards the door. "Come along, Alice." Alice shot up out of her chair and ran over to Sherlock's side. They walked towards the door together.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out…" Sherlock stopped at the door and half-turns towards him. Alice froze, thinking that Sherlock wouldn't. "...which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course. Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?"

"Sherlock, can we please go?" Alice said, using her common sense. She opened the door a little, but Sherlock showed no signs of wanting to leave the room.

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" said the cabbie.

"Alice, wait outside," Sherlock said.

"What?" replied his assistant.

"Do as I say." Alice nodded and stepped through the door, shutting it behind her. Unlike what Sherlock had said to do, Alice waited outside of the door. She listened and waited. That's when she heard it. A gunshot.

Alice's eyes went wide. She forgot about Sherlock's orders and opened the door. Her mind began racing. It wasn't Sherlock who had been shot. It was the cabbie.

He was bleeding out from his chest as Alice covered her mouth, trying to keep the bile down that was rising in her mouth. As Sherlock had stated before, Alice had seen gruesome things before. He never said that she handled it well. Her eyes met Sherlock's for a long moment. His were narrowed, knowing that Alice hadn't listened to him.

Sherlock straightened up, as the cabbie breathed heavily and coughed. Sherlock turned back, looking around the room and saw one of the pills lying on the desk as the cabbie convulsed on the floor, gasping and coughing in pain. Sherlock snatched up the pill, knelt down and brandished it at the cabbie, who had a large pool of blood underneath him and was staring up at him in shock.

"Was I right?" Sherlock asked out of fury. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" The cabbie didn't reply. Sherlock angrily hurled the pill across the room and stood up. He motioned for Alice to come closer. She did, cautiously and carefully. She was truly afraid of Sherlock when he was angry like this.

"Okay, tell us this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

"..No…" the cabbie said weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." The cabbie shook his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and puts it onto his shoulder. The cabbie gasped in pain.

"Sherlock, I know he's a serial killer, but stop it!" Alice shouted. Sherlock ignored her.

"A name." The cabbie cried out in pain. "Now." Still, the cabbie could only whine in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock leaned his weight onto his foot. The cabbie whimpered. Alice winced. "The NAME!"

"MORIARTY!" the cabbie shouted in agony. His eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side. Sherlock stepped back, turning his head away and looking reflective. Alice looked at the cabbie and back towards Sherlock.

"What happened…?" she asked. The detective didn't say a word. Alice looked down at the body.

"I thought I told you to wait outside," Sherlock said simply. Alice looked up at him.

"I heard a gunshot… I thought he shot you…"

"You know very well that the gun he had was fake. Although…" Sherlock looked over at a broken window, Alice following his gaze. It had most likely been broken when the bullet was shot through it. "Who did kill our serial killer?"

Soon, the police had arrived, as well as an ambulance. Alice was still trying to figure out who called them, which to her was most likely someone who had heard the gunshot.

Currently, she was sitting on the back steps of the ambulance with Sherlock. A paramedic kept putting an orange blanket around Sherlock's shoulders. There was one on Alice as well, but she just kept it on. As Lestrade, who had travelled from the flat to the college, walked over to the pair, Sherlock gestured towards the blanket.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me," said Sherlock.

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade explained, causing Alice to laugh. It felt pretty good to her.

"Neither of us are in shock."

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grinned, and Alice laughed again. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So… were there any signs of the shooter?" asked Alice as she finished laughing.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…" Lestrade shrugged. "...got nothing to go on." Alice sighed. Sherlock looked at him pointedly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said the detective. Now it was Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, gimme." Sherlock stood up.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" Sherlock trailed off halfway through his deduction. Alice raised an eyebrow as her detective's head turned. She followed his gaze and saw John standing some distance away behind police tape. "...and nerves of steel…" John looked back at them innocently and then turned his head away. Alice didn't understand why Sherlock had begun to trail- … … Oh.

Lestrade turned to follow Sherlock's gaze. Alice threw off the blanket and jumped off of the steps, drawing Lestrade's attention to her.

"Actually, you know what?" said the dark haired girl. "Ignore him."

"Sorry?" Lestrade said out of confusion.

"Ignore all of the things Sherlock just said. It was just the… the… the shock talking. Nothing else." Sherlock stood up off of the step and started walking towards John, Alice following him.

"Where're you two going?"

"To talk about the rent…?"

"But I've still got questions for you!" Sherlock, irritated by now, stopped and turned around.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock!" he said, unknowingly being sarcastic, "Look, I've got a blanket!" He brandished the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted, "Liddell!"

"And we just caught you a serial killer... more or less." Lestrade looked at them thoughtfully for a moment.

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Alice smiled as she and Sherlock walked away. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundled it up as they approached John, who was standing at the side of a police car. Sherlock tossed the blanket through the open window of the car and ducked under the police tape. He held it up for Alice to walk under and join the boys.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills…" John said nervously. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." Alice crossed her arms with a sincere smile.

"Nice shot, Dr. Watson," she said, making sure it was at a volume for which no one besides the three would hear.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window…" John said, trying and failing to look innocent.

"Well, you'd know," said Sherlock. John gazed up at him, still trying unsuccessfully not to let his expression give him away. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat and looked around nervously.

"Are you alright, Dr. Watson?" Alice asked.

"Yes, of course I'm alright," the doctor replied.

"You've just killed a man, and you're fine with it?"

"Yes, I…" John trailed off. Sherlock looked at him closely, as did Alice. "That's true, innit?" John smiled just like Alice did. Sherlock continued to watch him carefully. "But he wasn't a very nice man. He kidnapped a child, after all. Speaking of which, Alice, are you-" Alice's smile did not deiterate. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"I'm fine, Dr. Watson," Alice said, "I was scared for a moment here and there, but I knew Sherlock would get me out of there."

"No you didn't," said Sherlock firmly. Alice laughed nervously.

"Yeah… maybe a little…"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie, wasn't he?" said John, getting the group back on topic. Sherlock chuckled, then turned and started to lead them away as he spoke. Alice's smiled grew unnoticably wider. It had been a long time since she had actually heard Sherlock truly laugh.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie," said Sherlock, "Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" John and Alice both laughed, and Sherlock smiled. A warm feeling rose in Alice's chest. It was hard to believe that she had been involved with a serial killer only a few moments ago.

"Stop!" said John, still laughing. "Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me," said Sherlock.

"Keep your voices down!" said Alice in a harsh whisper, although she was still laughing a little as well, as they walked past Sergeant Donovan. The woman gave the three a strange look. "Sorry! It's just nerves… or at least I think it is… Sorry…" John cleared his throat as they walked away from Donovan.)

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" he said. Alice's eyes went wide.

"You were going to what?" Sherlock turned back to John, ignoring Alice.

"Course I wasn't," he said. "Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't…" said John. "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Again, you were going to take that pill?!" said Alice in shock. She didn't believe that Sherlock would actually do that.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock said, once again ignoring Alice. "I have too much to worry about."

"Because you're an idiot," replied John. Sherlock smiled. After a moment he forced the smile down. Alice sighed, knowing that this was typical Sherlock behavior. But… he wasn't really going to take that pill… was he?

"Dinner?" said Sherlock.

"Starving." They turned and started to walk again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." A few yards ahead of them, a car had pulled up and the man got out. Alice's body stiffened, and her mouth pressed together in a thin line. John stared at him.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." Sherlock looked across at the man.

"I know exactly who that is." He walked closer to the man and stopped, looking at him angrily. Alice folded her hands together behind her back.

"So, another case cracked," said the man pleasantly. "How very public spirited… though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?"

"As ever, I'm concerned about you… and your little…" He looked down at Alice, whose gaze moved down to the ground. "Assistant."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you two and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer… and you know how it always upset Mummy." Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see John frowning, as if unsure of what he just heard.

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"No, no, wait," said John, interrupting the two, "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother – our mother," Sherlock explained. "This is my brother, Mycroft." John stares at the man in amazement. Alice raised her eyes and stood up straight. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact," said Mycroft.

"He's your brother?!" John said out of amazement.

"Of course he's my brother," stated Sherlock, as if the fact was obvious.

"So he's not…"

"Not what?" Everyone looked at John as he shrugged in embarrassment.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?" He grimaced at having even suggested it. Alice felt like agreeing with John, but she never said anything when Mycroft was around. Never. Sherlock looked at Mycroft disparagingly.

"Close enough." Alice nodded in agreement, not making a noise.

"For goodness' sake," Mycroft said, "I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Mycroft sighed. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." He walked away. Alice quickly followed him. Being around Mycroft just made her uncomfortable. She felt like if he looked at her long enough, he would recognize her. John so caught up to Sherlock and Alice, and they walked away side by side.

"So, dim sum?" asked John. Alice, now fully relaxed, nodded.

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock said.

"No you can't."

"He almost can," said Alice, whose smile had returned. "But, Dr. Watson… you did get shot though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound, wasn't there?"

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"I thought so. It couldn't be your leg… since we've already ruled that out."

"No you didn't."

"Hmm… the left one?"

"Lucky guess." Sherlock put his hand on Alice's shoulder.

"Alice rarely takes a guess. After all, she is my shadow," he said. John laughed. He looked across to Sherlock, who was smiling.

"What are you so happy about?" John asked.

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea," said Sherlock cheerfully as he took his hand off of Alice's shoulder. Alice laughed.

The trio continued their walk to the restaurant Sherlock had been talking about, when John had brought up a good question that hadn't been brought up in the entirety of the day.

"I am curious," said John. Sherlock looked over at him.

"Curious about what?" he asked. John pointed at Alice.

"How did you and Alice meet? Why is she even with you?" Alice paled, and Sherlock drew a sharp breath.

"That, John, is something I'll never tell."