Disclaimer: Same as Chapter 1.

Chapter 8: Of Gods and Men

As Hyperion's figure loomed over them, John started thinking feverishly, desperately dredging up every bit of information Percy had given him on Hyperion, "just in case". From what Percy told me, Hyperion likes to use a combination of light and fire to blind his opponents, John sent to his companion. Can you whip up a storm to try and douse him? If I could do that, I would have done it already, Thalia thought back. Hyperion smiled – at least, John thought he was smiling – at them through his visor as he started spinning his golden sword around, setting it alight. John growled and aimed his gun at Hyperion and began shooting as Thalia sent out as much lightning as she could. The Titan laughed and continued forward, heedless of the bullets peppering his blazing golden armour, the bolts striking him. 'Are you quite finished?' he asked as they let up on their assault. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, 'Then let us begin.'

Had it not been for Percy's training, and his experience in Afghanistan, John knew without a doubt that he would have fallen to the Titan almost immediately, so furious was his onslaught. Narrowly avoiding a sweeping downwards slash, John brought out the baton Percy had gifted him all those months ago in London; he swung his baton out in a wide arc, pinning down the Titan's sword as Thalia lunged forward with her spear. Despite their intentions to turn Hyperion into so much shish kebab, the spear tip merely bounced off of his armour. Hyperion laughed and erupted into a fiery pillar; desperately, John and Thalia scrambled away as he sent out a torrent of flames at them.

-With Percy & Artemis-

Percy shivered as he looked down at Artemis; there was so much blood….wait, blood? Gods don't have blood, they bleed ichor…Percy's eyes widened in horror. Somehow, Armstrong had performed the impossible – she stripped Artemis of her godhood! Percy's eyes narrowed, scanning her body feverishly, fingers reaching for sterile needles and sutures, a legacy of a time long gone. Focus, he commanded himself. You'll do no good if you fall apart here…let's see, stab wound is on the anterior compartment of her left thigh, it seems that the blade bit rather deeply in, I can see the shaft of the femur from here…seems to just have been a glancing blow on her shoulder – her abdominal wound is by far the most serious, I can see some of her viscera from here…however, from what I can see, she seems to avoided damaging any organs at all…so low chance of any internal bleeding…the blood already lost is going to be a problem, but luckily these are all fairly clean stab wounds, and seems to have missed the major nerve endings and muscles…Armstrong knew exactly what to do to incapacitate Artemis. Right, the first thing that we were taught to do back then was to clean and dry the wound…gently, he poured some water from his canteen onto her torso wound, and then he set to work.

-With John and Thalia-

John dove around the corner of the warehouse just as a plume of flame leapt at him. The moment the blaze died away, he craned his head around the edge of the warehouse wall and emptied his clip of bullets; for a few brief moments, Hyperion stumbled back under the sudden assault, his armour becoming decidedly bent under the barrage of slugs. Which was all Thalia ever needed, as she slammed the Titan back with what John would later describe as hurricane force winds, sending him splashing into New York Harbour. As the duo warily approached the wharf, a series of overpowering flashes began illuminating the depths of the harbour; they turned to face each other and gulped.

'Not good?'

'Not good.'

And New York Harbour erupted into a fountain of steam.

-With Artemis and Percy-

Percy snarled as he saw how pale she was; he'd managed to suture up her wounds just fine, but her blood…so much blood. What's going to kill her?, mind-Molly-and-John asked him. Blood loss, he replied. She's going to go into hypovolemic shock, symptoms: loss of consciousness, low blood pressure, weak pulse…to treat blood loss of this magnitude, a blood transfusion is often required, I'm type O negative…but how do I transfuse my blood into her, I don't have any equipment, how, how, how? Percy's eyes widened in horror as he looked at her closely again – her lips are turning blue, I don't have long…

Oh, Percy, it doesn't matter about the blood loss, broaden your thinking – you always were so conventional, a voice spoke out in his mind – Mycroft! So she's going to die from blood loss, so what? You can control liquids; force your own blood into her, then suture up the wounds!

Percy didn't hesitate, even for a second; with Riptide, he gently pricked his finger and watched the tiny beads of blood begin seeping out. And then he focused on Artemis, and started his impromptu operation.

-John and Thalia-

Even with their goggles, the two of them instinctively flinched backwards from the gradually growing light that rose from the harbour. 'Enough!' Hyperion roared out, blasting the two of them back with a wave of his hand – John was thankful for the distance between them; had it not been for that, he knew that the two of them would have been flattened then and there. As it was, they were still sent flying back, until they painfully crashed into the warehouse – well, John did, Thalia managed to slow herself down with the winds, enough that along with grounding herself with her spear, she was just able to skid to a halt moments before she would have crashed into the warehouse. Where is Percy when you need him?, she wondered, even as Hyperion charged straight towards her.

Thalia snarled as he bore down on them. Time for a last resort, she decided. She reached deep inside herself, ignoring the growing painful tug in her gut. She glared at the Titan, electric blue eyes flashing dangerously, and struck; she removed all the air around the Titan in an instant – creating, just for a moment, a perfect vacuum. Hyperion clutched at his throat and fell down to a knee – something Thalia was surprised at; even though he was a Titan, this should have made him keel over immediately. And then, she released her iron hold on the air; in an instant, striking like Mjolnir, Hyperion was slammed by the rushing wind. The demigod felt herself involuntarily sinking to her own knees, eyes fluttering, before widening in shock. Impossibly, the Titan was rising yet again. His blazing gold suit of armour was torn apart, smashed by the sudden increase in pressure, revealing a tall, muscular man inside, body streaked with golden ichor. But he was alive, and from the harsh glow that started surrounding him once more, he was angry.

From the corner of her eye, she could make out John blasting away with another clip of bullets – how does he have so many?, she idly wondered. This time, without the Titan's suit of armour in the way, John's barrage was much more effective, sending Hyperion reeling back, wide holes gaping in his torso and limbs. The two demigods flinched, as, incredibly, Hyperion rose once more, levelling them with his flaming golden eyes. As his presence flared into an iridescent flaming golden aura that scorched the tarmac into boiling pits of tar, they fell to their knees. He lifted his flaming sword, ready to smite them with all of his power. Just before his blade could descend upon them, he flinched, holding his head gingerly, seemingly talking to someone else mentally for a few seconds. As he refocused onto the demigods in front of him, he bit out, sheathing his sword as he did so, 'Sorry. Wrong day to die.'

He erupted into a pillar of flame.

'J-Jesus' John gasped out. 'T-that was, s-something' he babbled, acutely aware of the light-headedness that suddenly seemed to pervade his entire being. Need to get to Percy, he reminded himself. And Artemis, she seemed to not be too stellar when we last saw her. Doggedly, with the same tenacity and valour that had won him his Victoria Cross, John struggled back onto his feet, extending his baton into something resembling a makeshift cane. Together, he and Thalia hobbled back over to the Yellow Box Warehouse, hoping against hope that they would arrive in time. 'A-are you alright?' he asked, cursing his stumbling tongue.

'Fine' Thalia said curtly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out an onyx black coin, seemingly made of Stygian iron, judging from the way it practically screamed out death to John's every senses. 'I use this to contact Nico' she explained, tapping the coin gently. After what felt like a several anxious hours, but was really only a minute or two at most, Nico di Angelo, immortal lieutenant of Hades shot out of the shadows in full battle regalia.

'What happened?' he demanded aggressively, sword swinging back and forth almost hypnotically.

'Hyperion happened; we need you to get us past this blockade, to Artemis and Percy' Thalia croaked out; instinctively, John reached out and steadied her just moments before she would have fallen to her knees. Nico nodded and, after sheathing his sword, grasped their arms, steadying them. A moment later, the shadows leapt at them; to John, he felt like he was moving so fast, his face was peeling off. As their feet landed inside the Yellow Box Warehouse, he and Thalia immediately keeled over and started dry retching. As he gingerly wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, John froze as he caught sight of his other two companions. They're so still…ignoring the vomit still trailing down from his mouth onto his clothes, John ran over to them immediately, pausing only to wipe his hands and snap on a pair of sterile disposable gloves. He glanced at Percy, tearing off his friend's clothes desperately, trying to find the wound – oh gods, he's so pale… – before frowning. No wound at all…glancing at Artemis, his eyes immediately traced out the tell-tale mark of stitches – they look like they've been done by a medical virtuoso, he marvelled. Percy did this?

Mentally, he began reconstructing the flow of events – from what we saw when we ran in, right before the roof collapsed, Artemis was lying on the floor; obviously, Percy treated her wounds – judging from the lack of any wounds on his own person, I can only assume then that the pool of blood originates from Lady Artemis; therefore, whoever attacked her must have removed her godhood…Percy is exhibiting classic symptoms of hypovolemic shock, I need to restore his blood levels, he decided. Stretching his hand over his friend, a golden light suffused the two of them for a few seconds, John gasping as even more of his strength was sapped out of him – but it was worth it, he exulted, because he could see a sudden rush of colour flooding his best friend's cheeks. And, having seen that, he promptly fainted.

-Apollo's temple-

John blinked as he stared up at the plain white ceiling. Tilting his head to the side, he found Apollo – his father – sleeping by his bedside in his thirty year old form. The two of them looked quite similar, he realised in mild surprise – the last time they had met, Apollo had been in a teenaged form, but now, the resemblances between them were clear for anyone to see: sandy blond hair, the same muscular build, though he wasn't quite as tall as his father. Gently, he reached out and shook his father awake.

'It's good to see you awake, son' Apollo said stiffly – but then, considering that they had only met and talked a few times in the thirty years of John's life, some stiffness was to be expected. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he started consulting his clipboard, before he said 'I'm glad to say that although you suffered a couple of broken ribs and rather heavy bruising on your back, I managed to fix those ribs, and your back is also completely healed, although I would recommend not sleeping on your back for a while – it may still be a bit tender.'

'R-right' John said, noticing his father shuffling his feet nervously. Time to direct the subject to safer topics…'How are Percy and Lady Artemis doing?' he asked.

Apollo paled and slumped into his chair, rubbing his eyes. John's eyes widened – to see the normally composed thirty year old collapse in on himself like that, he instinctively sensed that whatever he was going to hear was not going to be pretty. 'Percy's fine John' Apollo told him, making him let out a sigh of relief. 'But my sister…it's not good.'

-A little earlier-

When Percy woke up, he found himself staring up at Apollo, who was just in the process of slipping his stethoscope onto his chest. 'Where's Artemis?' he demanded.

Apollo delicately raised an eyebrow and continued his examination, undeterred. 'Hello to you too Percy. I'm fine, thanks for asking' he replied snarkily.

'Good to see you too Apollo. Where is Artemis? How is she?' he asked impatiently. As he saw Apollo look away, Percy bit back the urge to grab him by the lapel of his coat and shake him until he answered. 'It's not good, is it?' he asked – and if his voice was trembling slightly, Apollo was tactful enough not to mock him for it.

'Not good' he confirmed.

'W-where is she?'

Apollo paused for a brief moment. 'I'll wheel you to her' he said after a moment, still not meeting his eyes – he knew how much his sister meant to the young demigod, even if both parties refused to even acknowledge the fact.

Percy let out a breath of relief as he saw Artemis; sitting upright in her hospital bed, she seemed to be physically fine – wounds have disappeared, thanks to Apollo no doubt, but skin still too pale…knowing Apollo's methods and Apollo himself as I do, I can safely conclude that he would have completely healed his sister – therefore, she is in a state of extreme emotional distress, hence her pallor. That'd be borne out by her vacant stare as well…I imagine it would have been a shock to learn that she was stripped of her godhood; judging from her aura, attempts to restore it were unsuccessful, and she's still a demigod. Percy shivered as he remembered seeing her lying there: blood quietly trickling out from her body, normally vibrant auburn hair framing that too-pale face – during the several tense moments that he had attended to her, he had thought he was going to lose her. It's your fault, his mind whispered. If you hadn't told her to go in alone…

Percy pushed the voices in his mind away, immersing himself into reality once more as Apollo wheeled him next to Artemis. 'A-are you alright?' he said after a few minutes had passed, in a tone that even a deaf man would have described as tender.

'I'm fine' she muttered. 'I'm touched by your concern.'

Percy frowned at her unusual reticence; normally, she would have replied with a bit more fire. 'Apollo wanted me to tell you that you can go back to your Hunters now…' Percy broke off as he noticed the tears slowly trickling down her face. Slowly, almost against his own volition, he gingerly wrapped his arms around the woman, preparing himself to get slapped in the face. He almost wished that he would get slapped when, to his utter shock and horror, she buried her face onto his shoulder and started to cry. Help me, he mouthed at Apollo, who seemed torn in deciding whether he was supposed to feel amused or shocked by the scene. Hug her back, pat her on the shoulder, that kind of thing, he advised after a moment. Percy, any other man would be enjoying having a beautiful woman in their arms – do cheer up, you look like you're going to spontaneously combust!

Percy scowled at the god and gingerly resumed holding her, until she suddenly stiffened and pulled back, giving him an almost disgusted look. As she withdrew, she seemed to notice his shocked expression and started recomposing herself. 'Thanks' she said coolly. 'I needed that' she admitted grudgingly, icy walls back up. Percy couldn't help but admire her dignity – even with tear tracks running across her face, she was still by far one of the most self-controlled people he had ever met.

Apollo cleared his throat, making his elder sister shift uneasily in mortification, only just remembering that he had been in the room the whole time. 'I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but since the two of you are awake, I am supposed to take you to the council; let me just check on my son first.'

-Throne room of Olympus-

Artemis looked on coldly as she saw Percy nodding at John and Thalia with the utmost of decorum – well, as much as anyone could with a thin hospital gown that made anyone wearing it feel half-naked, all whilst seated in a hospital bed. Though, admittedly, she wasn't one to talk, considering she was ensconced in a bed as well, at her brother's insistence. She pointedly ignored the pitying glances that the other gods were sending her way – she didn't need anyone's pity! – in favour of glaring at the back of Percy's – no, Holmes' – head. It's his fault, her mind whispered. He sent you in alone after a dangerous thief with an unknown skillset…As Zeus cleared his throat, the entire room quieted down; Artemis knew what was coming – since she was a mortal, she would have to find alternative arrangements for accommodation, at least until she found a way to regain her godhood. Artemis snapped her head up as she heard her father mention that her Hunters would have to be disbanded. Secretly, she was glad – she didn't want any of them seeing her like this: pathetic, weak, worthless. With a sudden flare of her simmering anger as she looked at Holmes again, she only dimly heard Zeus as he said, 'I suggest that for the time being, Artemis should live with Perseus. All in favour?'

'What?' she demanded. 'Y-you expect me to live with a man?'

'Is there a problem?' Zeus inquired, frowning. 'I was under the impression that the two of you were friends.'

Artemis clenched her fists as she realised that her father had backed her into a corner – if she told them about her confrontations with Holmes, she'd look like nothing more than a petulant child, and they'd still send her – send her off to live with him as if she was a, a complete incompetent when it came to blending in with the mortal world! In her righteous anger, the former goddess conveniently ignored the fact that the last time she had properly immersed herself in the mortal world had been at least five centuries ago. She smiled thinly at the rapidly paling Holmes and said, 'No, no problem at all…'

-Percy's New York residence-

'And this will be your room, feel free to decorate it as you see fit' Percy ended Artemis' impromptu tour of his house.

'Thank you. Leave' the former goddess told him, firmly shutting the door in his face. Percy let out a sigh and slid back against the wall. I guess I deserved that. He scowled at John out of habit as he heard the doctor's soft chuckle.

'Oh, shut up.'

'You have to admit, it's funny seeing you get so affected by her' John shrugged, stifling his laughter. Percy spared him a dignified sniff and pulled out his phone to call Mycroft.

'Hello brother dear. How are you? I need you to do something for me…'

-A few days later-

Artemis looked down at the papers in front of her. 'Your identity documents and an Internet history have been fabricated for you, courtesy of my elder brother' Holmes informed her.

'Is that all?' she bit out.

'Well, your father said that we need to be together at all times…' Percy shrugged, barely managing to hide a shiver as she levelled him with the death rays that currently passed for her eyes. '…and I'm going to have to leave for work with the NYPD rather soon, so it would be best if you go with me.'

'Very well' she ground out.

As Percy led her and John to a house all the way across the other side of Manhattan, he paused and looked at her. Ever since the incident with Armstrong, she had become colder than Khione at her best towards him…he wondered whether he could get her to crack that icy shell even for a moment. 'Tell me, how do you want me to introduce you?' he said.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I find it hard to believe that you'd want me to introduce you as my personal helper-monkey' he replied, watching her eyes closely. There – a sudden spark of anger.

'Helper-monkey' she deadpanned. 'Introduce me as your associate' Artemis demanded imperiously after a moment.

'OK' he replied, already moving towards the police cordon, where his direct superior in the NYPD was waiting for him. 'It's nice to finally meet you in person, Captain Gregson of the NYPD. This is my partner John, we've already met briefly via webcam. Artemis, this is Captain Gregson, Captain Gregson, this is Diana Artemis Prince – I call her Artemis – my personal valet' Percy introduced, suddenly remembering that Artemis – when she was a goddess, at least – had had a propensity for mutilating men in creative fashions. Maybe not the brightest idea I've ever had…

'Holmes, Watson nice to meet you two at last' Gregson nodded, shaking his hand briefly, before turning to Artemis. 'Pleased to meet you, Ms Artemis. You're going to have to stay out here-'

'I'm afraid she's quite crucial to my process, Captain' Percy interjected, remembering his promise to Zeus to keep her safe and close by.

'It's OK, really' Artemis demurred, obviously pleased at the chance to get away from him.

'Actually, it isn't,' Percy objected, 'as I believe that it is the job of a proper valet to accompany their charge to their place of business. Well, consider this my place of business. Consider every wretched hive of depravity and murder in this city, my place of business. Unless of course, you don't really have the stomach for the sort of thing I do.'

He smiled inwardly as she glared at him and snatched the disposable gloves Gregson was holding out. 'I'm good.'

'So, Captain, would you be so good as to inform us as to the details of the case?' John interjected, sensing the escalating tension between the two demigods.

'Earlier today, it was reported to us by the owner of this house, a Miss Sarah Cushing, as soon as she returned home today from a weekend vacation that a body of a man was found here; he was shot to death. What's curious, though, is that his ears are missing…' Gregson trailed off as he saw Percy looking at a tall African American detective – a Detective J. Bell, according to his badge.

'Ah, Detective Joseph Bell, protégé of Captain Gregson' Percy nodded amiably, offering his hand to the younger man. 'Captain Gregson and I have high hopes for you detective – a glittering career.'

'Thanks?' Bell blinked, shaking his hand. 'I've heard good things about you too.'

'My apologies, Captain, please continue' Percy motioned.

'As I was saying, his body was found here; shot to death, ears missing…I was wondering if you could have a look at the scene and see if there's anything that we might have missed' Gregson said, walking into the house and pointing at the body.

'Of course, Captain' Percy said, mind already fixating itself upon the problem at hand. He gestured at the body and turned to John, then Artemis as he said, 'This seems to be an excellent opportunity to flex your deductive muscles, John – go on. Artemis, if you want, you could try too?'

Artemis crossed her arms and gave him a look which seemed to be saying, Why? So you can insult and humiliate me? Realising he probably wasn't going to make much headway, he turned back to John.

John crouched down and looked closely at the body – clearly, he died of a bullet shot straight through the heart, but for that to happen, the bullet would have had to penetrate through the ribs covering the heart – thus, there should be some bone fragments lying around, not to mention pieces of cardiac muscle lying all over the place…John leaned in a little closer. Bone fragments are here alright, but not enough…that and the lack of cardiac muscle, plus the extraordinary lack of blood despite a direct shot through the thoracic cavity tells us that he was killed elsewhere, and brought here. So, brought here by some unknown party, but why? Another questions is, why cut off his ear at all? John moved over to the table where the evidence bags were mounted and checked the dead man's wallet. Driver's license, in the name of Jim Browner…no cash, perhaps a mugging gone wrong? sJohn shook his head – no, if it was a mugging gone wrong, then the mugger would have had no incentive to move the body at all – they would have simply left the body and made a run for it. No, what we're dealing with is clearly a murder…

John turned back to the corpse and poked it gently with his fingers. Rigor mortis hasn't set in, so, the poor man was killed very recently, within the past four or so hours…now, it's about eight o'clock in the morning, so, between four o'clock and…about seven o'clock was when the body was moved here; Percy received the call from the Captain at about seven forty five; it takes approximately fifteen minutes for the police to get here from their station in the eleventh precinct; assuming that Ms Cushing called the police immediately – and she would have, why wouldn't she have – then, she would have arrived a few minutes before seven thirty. Since today was a particularly cloudy day, then it would have been an easy enough matter for the person to…drag in….the body. Oh, that is brilliant!

John looked over the figure again and tried to lift the body, doing so only with much effort. So, we can conclude that whoever moved him here is likely to be quite strong, given his mass…I could barely lift him up, so that means whoever moved him in here from their vehicle outside must have been quite strong to lug in Browner – that, or they had an accomplice…no, even if they did have an accomplice, I'm well above average strength, and could barely lift him – so they would still have to be fairly strong. Statistically, more likely to be a man who dragged in the corpse, if they were acting alone, John mused, inwardly shivering as he saw Artemis' flinty gaze fixed upon him – he was so thankful he hadn't said that out loud, he would never have heard the end of it.

'He was killed elsewhere, and brought here; that's confirmed by the lack of shell casings, blood, and cardiac muscle fragments here. He was killed very recently, between about four and seven o'clock this morning, somewhere within that time frame; the person, or people, that dragged him in were very strong – you can see that there are no scuff marks at all on the floor. As the floor is a rather delicate maple wood, then scuff marks would have been easy enough to create by his shoes dragging along the floor, but there are no scuff marks at all' John said finally. 'There might be a bit more I can get out, let me see…'

'Ah, it seems like another interesting case has popped up' Percy declared as he checked his phone. 'I'll be off now John, but don't worry – I have full confidence in Detective Bell and you.'

'…thanks?' John said as they left.

'Detective Bell, a word please' John said. Bell nodded and moved over to John.

'What's wrong?'

'There's something Ms Cushing is not telling us' John said, gesturing to the tearful woman answering Captain Gregson's questions outside.

'Why do you say that?' Bell asked, in the same manner a student did a respected teacher.

John blinked – dealing with hero worship was not something he was well versed in. Though, come to think of it, it wasn't exactly something Percy was well versed in either, judging by how he generally treated his – their – grateful clients. Recovering his composure a moment later, he said 'Well, consider this – the body is very heavy; dragging the corpse here would have been difficult, it would have taken effort. So why go to all the trouble of leaving the body here? Inference: this is a message to Ms Cushing. Now, it can't be a very subtle one, that would be missing the entire point of sending a message, messages are meant to be clearly understood.'

'The most obvious one would be: you're next' Bell continued after absorbing John's deduction.

'Indeed' John nodded, moving out to meet Captain Gregson and Ms Cushing. 'Ms Cushing, tell me, have you ever met the victim, Jim Browner, before? Interacted with him in any way?'

'N-no' she sniffed. Lying, John deduced, smirking slightly inside. Never try lying to a child of Apollo.

'I see, well, thank you for your time Ms Cushing' John said, walking back to Bell. 'She's lying; she knew Mr Browner. We need to discover their personal connection to each other. I suppose that we'll have to search Browner's residence.'

Bell nodded and checked the evidence bags, rummaging through them until he found his wallet. 'Found his address; I'll drive you there.'

-Percy's New York residence-

Percy stared back at the beautiful female teenager in front of him. 'So let me get this straight, Ms Hunter –'

'Please, call me Violet' Hunter smiled at him flirtatiously, making him shift in unease as Artemis' stare hardened into a flinty gaze at him. He had never quite figured out why she got angry whenever other women had approached him – it was clear that he wasn't interested in them. A puzzle for another day, he told himself, and continued.

'A couple of weeks ago you were approached by a man named Edward Rucastle, and you were hired to serve as a nanny for his six year old son, correct?'

'Yes' she pouted at him.

'And he told you that the conditions of your employment were that you had to live in his house, correct?'

'Yes.'

'Knowing full well that you are – forgive me, if I sound insensitive – an orphan?'

'Yes.'

Percy made a show of humming as he mentally beamed to Artemis, Sounds like a sexual deviant to me, but then, she wouldn't have insisted on this meeting without a very good reason…

I'm sorry, are you talking to me?, Artemis snapped back. I was under the impression that we weren't friends.

Just curious, he sent back.

You don't tell someone that you're not friends and then casually discuss whether a client's employer is a sexual deviant or not, she said with a tone of finality that indicated their mental conversation was over.

'From what you're telling me, your employer sounds like he's a sexual deviant, but I don't think that's why you insisted on this meeting' Percy said dryly, watching in amusement as she blushed furiously.

'N-no, h-he hasn't made any advances towards me' she said, face so dark red Percy suspected that she could have passed for a tomato. 'He's a very nice man, but quiet – keeps to himself-'

'Yes, but skipping to the actual reason why you demanded to see us' Artemis growled out, annoyed at the flirtatious glances she kept sending Holmes, though as to why, she wasn't sure.

'R-right. Well, I agreed to his terms – I mean, I have to have some job to support myself in college, and this paid really well…'

'Yes, but moving to the actual reason you are here, if you please' Percy sighed.

'I – um, well, I took up the job a week ago, and in that time, I've felt as if someone was watching me, but I don't know who it is or why they are doing so.'

Percy nodded slowly and suddenly whipped out his hand, pointing at her – or, more accurately, her electric blue dress and shorn tresses – clear signs of her hair being recently cut, there's some bits of hair on her dress, so, very recently cut; from the way she's fingering and looking at it wistfully, she preferred to have long tresses, so, presumably it was a term of her employment – a rather odd one at that. Most female teenagers wouldn't be going out in a dress unless it's something formal, but from the lack of handbag to hold cosmetics and other such accessories that women always take to such events, I can only assume that it's some kind of uniform of some sort – she's clearly uncomfortable in it, which tells me that she's not used to wearing dresses, as would be expected given that she is an orphan and thus has little money of her own. 'Tell me, does your employer happen to have a daughter?'

Hunter looked visibly startled. 'Yes, he does. She's studying in America at the University of Philadelphia. Sorry, how did you-'

'I am Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know' Percy interrupted, drumming his fingers furiously on the arm of his chair as he continued thinking – the dress itself looks fairly new, clearly made for a younger woman, so obviously not from his wife…therefore, it must have belonged to his daughter studying in Philadelphia. 'I'd wager that that dress belongs to his daughter as well.'

'Yes; is there a point to this line of thought, Mr Holmes?' Hunter asked, a little irritated by his non sequiturs.

'Yes. One more thing, Miss Hunter – what is Mr Rucastle's daughter's name?'

'Alice. Alice Rucastle.'

Percy nodded and pulled out his phone, tapping away for several minutes in silence, completely unaware of Artemis' furious glances and Hunter's flirtatious ones. 'Interesting, Ms Rucastle does not attend, nor has she ever attended, the University of Philadelphia' Percy said after a few minutes. 'I'm afraid that you may have been placed in great danger Ms Hunter; tell me, you bear more than a passing resemblance to the mysterious Ms Rucastle, do you not?'

'I – well, yes, from what I've seen in the photographs around the house. Why?'

'I'm afraid that you may have been duped into being a decoy for Ms Rucastle's stalker' he said brusquely. As Hunter paled – she's not going into shock is she, oh wait, no she's just frightened…John isn't around and Artemis doesn't seem to like her for some reason, so I suppose comforting her falls to me…now how should I do it…-, he reached out and gently covered her hand – that's what John always does to comfort them, it seems to work – and gently said, 'You need not worry, Ms Hunter; my associate and I will apprehend this stalker. In the meantime, you should resume your normal routine as if nothing has happened. Please leave your current address on your way out.'

'T-thank you' she whispered, suddenly throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. Help me, Percy mouthed to Artemis, who seemed torn between anger and amusement at his situation. As Hunter left, Percy turned to the former goddess, holding up the scrap of paper Violet had written her address on.

'It seems like we're going to somewhere known as the Copper Beeches.'

-Browner's flat-

'What do you think?' John asked the younger man as they walked in. As Bell made to reply, his face paled slightly as he pointed a quivering finger at the kitchen – more precisely, the kitchen floor. As John turned, he found himself also paling slightly as he saw the blood stains all over the floor; bits of what he recognised as brain matter were on the floor, as well as cardiac muscle. John frowned. Browner was shot through the heart only, not the head…which means that someone else must have been killed here…however, a bullet through the head is not very likely to cause brain matter to fly out, in fact, the only thing I can really think of that would do that well would be bashing in the head repeatedly…in any case, it's clear that we should expect to find a-

'There should be a second body' Bell interrupted his train of thought. 'We're looking at a double homicide here.'

'I agree with you' John said, flicking the lights on. 'Please open the blinds Detective Bell' he added as he crouched to the floor, snapping on a new pair of disposable gloves, careful not to actually touch the floor more than necessary. John pulled out his magnifier and peered through it closely.

'Judging from the dryness of those bloodstains, I'd say that whoever was the victim, they've been dead for about four hours' Bell commented.

'I agree. While you go and call your people in, I'm just going to search this flat, if that's fine with you?'

'It's fine; go ahead.'

Moving towards the bedroom, John noticed the growing trail of blood droplets on the floor. As he entered the room, he bit back his impulse to swear as he saw the bed – soaked through with blood, two ears lying on it – they seemed as if they had been torn off. Judging from the amount of blood, I'd say that Mr Browner was murdered here…yet the blood stains on the ground indicate that he was trying to get to his feet; he was probably roused by the sound of someone being beaten to death in this flat, but the killer sprang upon him before he could intervene, shooting Browner in the heart. John gingerly bypassed the bed and inspected the wall – ah, there it is, shell embedded inside the wall.

John stepped back and looked around the bedroom as a whole for the first time – pillows were flung about, drawers were opened and rummaged through, clothes carelessly discarded on the floor – whoever killed Browner had obviously been searching for something, but what?Judging from the scuff marks on the door on this side, where it had been kicked out – John absently noted that it was about a size ten footprint – the killer hadn't found what they had come for. Alright, if you were someone who had something to had, where you hide it?, John pondered. 'Detective Bell!' he hollered. 'In here, please, and mind the blood on your way in; I suspect that our very own Mr Browner was murdered here judging from the amount of blood.'

As Bell looked around, John let him take in the scene, waiting for him patiently to come to his own conclusions. After a few minutes, the detective looked at him and suggested, 'You take the floor, and I'll check the drawers for any false bottoms?'

'Good idea' John nodded as he started his search by looking under the bed. No loose floorboards here…or anywhere else in this room, for that matter. Feeling the ribs of the bed frame, John frowned as his hand caressed something that was most definitely not wood. Sliding out from under the bed, he carefully heaved the mattress up; his hand darted outwards and snatched the item of interest. A phone, he mused. How interesting…

-Copper Beeches Estate-

Artemis crossed her arms as Holmes suddenly stopped walking, almost completely dead to the world. Judging from the way his eyes were dancing around in their sockets though, she knew what he was really doing was examining the ground for tracks. The former goddess smirked to herself – Holmes might be an excellent tracker now, but she had taught him how to track – as she started scanning the ground. Slight indentation there by the grass, tiny cloth threads caught on branches, which means... 'Hunter's stalker climbs onto this tree to view her when she is inside the house' she concluded.

'Hmm? Oh, yes. You're right, of course' Holmes nodded, and moved into the shade, seemingly melting away into the shadows so completely that no matter how hard she strained her eyes, she could just barely make out his form. Artemis sighed and followed suit; not a moment too soon, as it turned out; just as she too was hidden in the shade, the two of them made out a young man – perhaps twenty five or so – skulking along the road, making his way, slowly, but surely, towards the Copper Beeches estate. The former goddess glared at the man, eyes boring holes into him – people like him were why she had established the Hunt in the first place. As the man drew level with them, she got ready to knock him out, only to be beaten to the punch as Holmes moved out fluidly, baton concealed unobtrusively in his coat sleeve.

'Who are you, and why are you stalking Alice Rucastle?' he demanded, conspicuously extending his baton with a sharp click.

The man yelped in surprise and held his arms up in the universal gesture of peace. 'Stalking? What are you on about?'

'Stalking is a rather despicable crime…I'm sure the authorities won't look too kindly on that' Artemis spat out, finally moving out of the shadows, eyes blazing in fury.

'I'm not stalking my fiancée!'

'Fiancée, huh? Please, tell me more' Holmes prodded. Holmes, what are you doing?, Artemis demanded. He's obviously a stalker – you said it yourself! Throw him into a cell and be done with it already.

He's not lying, he beamed back. So this is not as clear-cut as it seems at first glance…it may be yet prove to be an interesting case after all. And before you ask – it's in his eyes, he was confident, held contact with me the entire time – not to mention the fact that his body language was open, unguarded- 'Stalkers commonly claim that their targets have a relationship with them that they do not' Artemis challenged the young man.

'I do!' the man – a Mr Fowler, judging from a cheap plastic ID card poking out of his pocket – protested, rummaging in his pocket. 'Here!' he exclaimed, shoving a small folded photograph into her hands. She accepted and unfolded it, slowly looking it over, dimly aware of Holmes leaning over her shoulder to glance at it as well. It was a photo of Fowler and a young woman who looked quite similar to Violet Hunter – in fact, she was certain that to determine who was who, one would have to be up close with the two of them. Certainly, this proves that they had a relationship, but not that they do have one, Artemis mused, and voiced this out loud.

'We didn't break up!' Fowler insisted.

'And, pray tell, why exactly should we believe you, boy?'

'Enough' Holmes sighed. 'He's telling the truth.'

'No, you think he's telling the truth, because he's a male.'

'Sure, why not' the consulting detective dismissed. He reached out and tapped the photograph. 'The photograph is date stamped as being about two weeks ago; now, Mr Fowler hasn't seen his fiancée since then, you can read it off his posture – very stiff, tense, obviously, he's been worried about his fiancée's sudden lack of contact with him'. Holmes adopted a sudden child-like voice of wonder, 'But how do you know that Sherlock?', before dropping back into his normal vocal range and continuing, 'Because he just held up his phone in front of us showing a text conversation between himself and Ms Rucastle, and that's not cheating Artemis, it's being observant, which I thought you of all people would do; but continuing - dark bags under his eyes, clothes not fitting despite obviously coming from a family with a substantial amount of wealth judging by the quality of his clothes and wristwatch – a rather recent Longines model, only out for about a month now – yet his attire, its sagging, loosely fitting on him, suggesting recent weight loss. Weight loss, weight loss from what? Clearly stress over his fiancée, so yes Artemis, I do think that he's telling the truth, in fact, I think that there is something deeper going here than either of us suspects, so why don't you drop your archaic misandrist view of the world and actually try to help me solve this case!'

As she and Fowler gaped in shock at his blistering tirade, the consulting detective turned back to Fowler and said apologetically, turning on his charm on to full blast, 'I'm sorry for my associate's behaviour, she has had a few bad experiences with the male gender. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective for the NYPD and Scotland Yard, amongst others, you may have heard of me on the Internet, and I was recently hired to investigate your stalking activities regarding Ms Rucastle, which we now know to not be anything of the sort. With your permission, I'd like to help you discover what exactly is going on here, if you are amenable.'

-A few hours later-

After apprehending Mr Fowler, Percy had taken him along with himself and Artemis to a local café, interrogating him over several cappuccinos for everything he knew about Alice Rucastle and the Rucastle family in general. He glanced over at the notepad on which the seething former goddess had reluctantly deigned to scrawl the facts onto.

Edward Rucastle, very protective of his daughter Alice, disapproves of Mr Fowler seeking her hand in marriage. Mr Rucastle has threatened to call the police on Mr Fowler for harassment should he show up on his estate again. Rucastle family very rich, much of it owing to Alice's deceased mother. Mr Rucastle has recently remarried, to a well-known socialite. Alice Rucastle is supported by a trust fund set up by her mother from birth, administered by her father.

Percy frowned as the cogs in his mind began turning. Yes, he thought, I have a rather good idea of what is happening… 'Thank you very much Mr Fowler, you've been extremely helpful' he said, getting up and dusting his coat for imaginary dust. 'I have a strong feeling that you will be reunited with your beloved soon enough, but for now, please wait here until I call for you' he smiled thinly, and left, Artemis grudgingly following him. As they arrived outside the Copper Beeches estate, Percy turned and took her in – bright red cheeks, shaking hands, she looks rather angry at me, I need an excuse to enter the household, excellent! He turned his attention to the house – no car parked out here, so, the only people in the household are his son and Ms Hunter, but just in case, we'll have to get in and out as fast as possible.

'Punch me in the face' he demanded. Artemis gaped at him, wondering what bizarre world she had fallen into.

'Punch you?'

'Yes, punch me – in the face. Didn't you hear me?'

'I always hear punch me in the face when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.'

'Oh for-' Percy broke off and jabbed her in the stomach with his baton. That should do it, he thought in satisfaction as he slid the weapon back into his coat pocket. How sweet, you don't want to damage that pretty face of hers, mind-Mycroft suddenly spoke up, making him freeze in consternation as he struggled to formulate a reply. What-

As a result, he never even saw the fist coming onto his cheek, bowling him onto the ground. As he slowly got up, he smiled brightly, somehow not noticing the fact that Artemis was still breathing rather heavily. 'Thank you, that was-'

Artemis howled and jumped on top of him. 'You – forget – Holmes – when – I was a – goddess – I killed men – just for being men' she panted out as she tried to strangle him.

'You tolerate me!' he protested as he tried to throw her off without hurting her – How gallant of you, mind-Mycroft snarked.

'I have bad days!'

As Percy eventually bucked her off, he paused and looked at her in confusion even as she made to attack him again. 'Wait!' he called out. 'One question – just one question, before you attack me' he pleaded. Artemis paused, waiting for him. 'When you said that…did you mean it's your time of month?' he questioned, absolutely serious. Seeing Artemis' stunned expression, he continued, 'If you're going to be mad at me, well, more mad than usual, you could at least do me the courtesy of letting me know when it is time for your obligatory blood loss so that I can synchronise my schedule around it. It would be greatly appreciated'. Deciding that wasn't worthy of a response, the former goddess growled and jumped at him again.

-A few minutes later-

Sufficiently roughed up, the pair waited outside patiently as they rang the doorbell. After perhaps half a minute, an eye appeared at the peephole – probably the housekeeper, Percy guessed; the eye colour didn't match Ms Hunter's, at any rate. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded.

'I was in the area, and I seem to have been mugged' he said faux-tearfully. 'Please, will you let me in and call the police?'

After a brief pause, the door opened; Percy snapped his fingers at the housekeeper, giving her a ticket to a thirty minute stay in the realm of Morpheus. 'Ms Hunter?' he called out as he carried the collapsed woman and dumped her unceremoniously into a sofa; dimly, he noticed Artemis closing the door behind them. 'I need to speak with you urgently, if you please!'

'I was wondering, does your employer keep a room – or more, that he doesn't let you into?' He questioned.

'Well, yes, he keeps a few rooms that he uses as a photographic darkroom' Violet admitted. 'Some of the compounds and things are rather sensitive and require careful handling apparently, so I'm not allowed in.'

'Excellent!' Percy proclaimed. 'Lead us to it if you please Ms Hunter, I'm afraid that a grave felony has taken place in this very household, which you have unwittingly enabled.'

Hunter gaped at him and led the way soundlessly, without even one of those flirtatious glances that had dominated their prior conversation; Percy idly noticed that Artemis seemed inexplicably happy about something, though he sensed that if he pressed her on it, he'd probably receive another fist to the face. 'Here' Hunter proclaimed, stopping outside a door; Percy tested the knob and found that it was locked. Time to pick the lock, he decided, already mentally selecting the best pick for the job. After half a minute or so of tinkering, the trio heard a faint click and Percy opened the door.

'Alice Rucastle?' he called out, hoping his leap of faith had worked. 'Alice Rucastle?' he said again. His eyes widened as he saw a small quivering mass that was, unmistakeably, a person, tied down and gagged. Striding over slowly, not wanting to alarm the obviously frightened woman, he gently untied her and removed the gag from her mouth. 'You're safe now' he said reassuringly, like one did a startled animal. 'I won't let your father hurt you again.'

'T-thank you' she whispered, her too-thin limbs trembling as she tried to stand up; instinctively, Percy and Artemis reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her.

'Let's report this to the local police, now shall we?' Percy asked, before fumbling in his pocket for his phone and offering it to the distraught Ms Rucastle. 'Oh, before I forget, you really should call your fiancée, he's been rather worried about you this past fortnight.'

'Do you want to explain what all that was about?' Artemis asked him as they strode away from the police station.

'When I saw the photo Mr Fowler gave us, I noticed several things; first of all, Alice Rucastle in fact had two rings – one was her engagement ring, matching that of Fowler's own on his ring finger; the other one, curiously was strung onto a necklace. Now, the ring looked to be an antique; very clear signs, if you know what you're looking for-'

'Of course.'

'- so, I deduced it was her mother's engagement ring; generally, people would save antique wedding rings for their own weddings. Why her mother's? Because the father would have kept his – sentiment, if nothing else. From the way she's fingering it, we can tell that she had a very close relationship to her mother – why, you might ask? Well, she just got engaged, it should be one of the happiest days of her life, and she's thinking about her mother? Clearly, they were very close whilst she was still alive. From the information Mr Fowler gave us, the Rucastle's family wealth is substantially based upon Alice's mother's family fortune – therefore, given their obviously close relationship, it's not too much of a leap then to presume that her mother would have set up various safeguards and insurance policies for her only child in the event of her death – a smart move, that's what I would have done if I had any children.'

'Clearly' Artemis said, head swimming as she tried to keep up.

'Yes. Now, one such safeguard, as Mr Fowler mentioned to us, was a certain trust fund set up for her daughter from birth, which is administered by her father, and used to support her. Now, I have it on good authority – that is, Google – that Mr Rucastle has never worked a day in his life, being supported by his family's – and later, his wife's wealth-'

'What's Google?'

'…I'll have to introduce you to technology later if you're going to be of any assistance in my investigations. As I was saying, Mr Rucastle supports himself using his inherited wealth. Now, he has recently married a socialite, who is rather famed for throwing and attending upper scale parties for the blue blooded in-breds of society; I've taken the liberty of contacting one of my technology specialists, a Mr Jimmy Huang, who got me the catering list for one such event – the bill for that was outstanding to say the least, in the seven figure ballpark easily. With such an expensive lifestyle, and with not much income to speak of, it's then not too far of a leap to assume that to support this new extravagant lifestyle, he would draw upon the trust fund intended for his daughter.'

'I'm not sure I follow; she's clearly an adult now, wouldn't she be managing it?'

'Actually, I had a look at the contract – courtesy of Mr Huang, once again – and the grist of it is that her father will oversee the fund: payments, investments, and all – until she is married, at which point, responsibility for the fund's management passes to her. Now then, clearly he has an incentive to keep her from getting married – that was why he disapproved of his daughter's suitor, Mr Fowler, and that's why he imprisoned her, and threatened to call the police on Fowler should he be found on the grounds again! At the same time, clearly aware of the natural hormonal callings that are particular strong in youths, he knew that threat wouldn't have deterred Fowler for long; hence why he hired Ms Hunter at such notice, paying her such an exorbitant salary for the admittedly troublesome and rather thankless job of being a babysitter. By hiring her and having her change her appearance to match that of his daughter's, he could have her effectively impersonate his imprisoned child; this little performance was intended to have Fowler believe that Alice Rucastle no longer wanted anything to do with him – unfortunately for Mr Edward Rucastle, Hunter sensed that she was being – pardon the pun – hunted, and hired us – well, me.'

Artemis blinked. That was-

'Elementary.'

She immediately abandoned her mental praise and settled for glaring at her…colleague's…seeming immodesty.

-NYPD station, 11th Precinct-

'I really don't see why I need to be here, Captain Gregson' Cushing huffed as she slid into her seat, facing Detective Bell, Captain Gregson and John, who was tapping away on his phone.

'Just some questions madam' he rumbled, motioning for Detective Bell to take point.

'You lied to us when you said that you didn't know Jim Browner' he asserted, levelling her with a piercing gaze; with his steepled hands, John couldn't help but think that – in terms of demeanour and deductive ability, at least – Bell was a younger, less developed version of Percy. He's right, Detective Joseph Bell will indeed have a glittering career ahead of him…

'I resent that implication.'

'So you deny, then, unequivocally, of knowing of the recently deceased man called Jim Browner, and of contacting him in any way?'

'Absolutely.'

'Well, I think you'll want to see this then' Bell smiled thinly, suddenly brandishing the phone that they had found in Browner's flat. Deftly, his fingers tapped out on the phone's screen, bringing up a video that he promptly played. John glanced away in embarrassment; seeing the video once was enough.

'OH, Jim, yes, give me more-' blared from the speakers, before Bell tactfully closed the video.

'You just denied knowing anything about Mr Browner - unequivocally' he said calmly. 'I guess you were just lying to cover up the fact that you were sleeping with him; an understandable sentiment, I suppose, but obstruction of justice nevertheless – you're going to be looking to be serving at least a couple of years in prison, and that's getting off lightly; we take obstruction of justice and perjury very seriously. The alternative, however, would entail some light community service for a few months, in exchange for you telling us everything.'

'No need' John announced, finally looking up from his phone. 'I believe I know exactly what is going on here. Miss Sarah Cushing does indeed know everything; however, she is not the person in that video.'

'Explain' Bell said, already reaching into his coat pocket for his notebook.

'Observe the tiny scars on her head – it's just barely covered by her bangs, but this is a fairly high definition video, so easy to make them out if you know what they are; they're scars from an operation – trepanning to relieve intracranial pressure, if I am not mistaken; definitely some neurosurgical procedure, at any rate. And yet, notice how on Sarah Cushing's head, there are no scars at all. A quick Facebook check shows that she has a sister, a twin in fact, named Susan Cushing, who happens to bear these scars. We just received a report from your IT people; reading the late Mr Browner's email correspondence, we see that he sent an email containing this very video to Sarah Cushing's ex-husband's email. Interestingly, her ex-husband has had a history of violence, and has anger management issues; he is also an amateur weightlifter, very strong, who happens to have a gun license. Inference: Susan Cushing, used her sister's name during her trysts with Mr Browner; to brag about his sexual prowess, Browner emails the video to Sarah's ex-husband. The husband snaps; he kills both Susan Cushing and Browner after their latest tryst, mistaking her for his ex-wife. Now, given their closeness, Sarah's ex-husband quickly deduced that Susan must have known about their relationship, and sent it to the house – you'll notice that the twins actually happen to live together. As for why this Ms Cushing was lying to us, well, it's quite simple – her wedding and engagement bands are currently strung on her necklace, you can make out the bulge faintly through her blouse. Now, clearly, she still loves him; ergo, she's hiding her ex-husband's crime, and most likely is trying to explain the situation to him.'

He suddenly held out a different phone.

'That's mine-'

'I just happened to find this lying on the ground; would you like me to see what it contains, or would you like to revise your testimony, Ms Cushing?'

-An hour later-

As Cushing continued spouting out her testimony, John's phone began to ring insistently. He glanced at the screen; caller ID: Sherlock Holmes. He picked up. 'Hello? What's wrong, you never call-'

'It's Artemis. She's been shot. Meet me at New York University's Langone Medical Centre, post-haste' Percy spat out in a choked voice, and ended the call. John frowned. Had Percy been…crying?

-Outside NYU Langone Medical Centre, a little while earlier-

Moriarty was bored. When Moriarty was bored, he focused on playing with his latest obsession, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. The sniper had been paid to put one of Holmes' companions into the ICU, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Staring at the duo through his binoculars, he wondered briefly whether he could shoot someone else – that woman beside the consulting detective looked far too exquisite, far too beautiful to destroy…at least without savouring her first. Briefly, he wondered if he could shoot Holmes instead, before shaking his head, dismissing the notion as quickly as it had floated into his mind. Moriarty had been very clear that Holmes was not to be harmed. He slowly adjusted his rifle, licking his lips in anticipation; he loved this, the thrill of the hunt, the feel of the gun in his hands, its snug fit, its perfect balance as he entered a zen-like state. He knew exactly where he would put the bullet, and exactly what would happen to his target. In that moment, Sebastian Moran, the perfect assassin, the best at Moriarty's disposal, was God. He relaxed, envisioning his bullet's journey through time and space, its path towards the body where it would perform a simple, yet life altering act of surgery.

Percy gestured at the door. 'Do you know how to pick locks?' he asked his companion.

'Why are we here?' Artemis sighed, at this point, just resigned to her…colleague's…antics.

'Because I want to visit my friend Molly, and I don't want to use the front entrance.'

'You do realise there are people looking at us?'

'Correction – they're looking at you, most likely the most beautiful woman they are ever likely to meet in their entire lives. Now, can you pick locks?'

'It's been a while' Artemis shrugged, feeling her face starting to burn. 'But I have no interest in playing this…whatever game you're playing' she snapped, snatching his keys to the medical centre from his pocket. She shoved him aside and moved closer to the door, and paused, trying to figure out which key was the right one.

Percy's phone buzzed with a text; on instinct, he looked at it.

Dear me, Percy, dear me. Your move. Let's see how you deal with this.

A sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold enveloped him in an icy shell; time stopped. For that single moment, single instant in time, the world stood still to him, completely silent. As time suddenly resumed, a single gunshot rang out.

Moriarty.

As Artemis stood in front of the door, she cast a regretful look at Holmes; instinctively, she began to reach out to help him up before turning her attention back to the keys in her hand. Finding the right key, she inserted it into the lock and twisted it. As the door swung open, she took a half-step forward, before pausing, wobbling in place. She felt as if something had punched her in the back, almost directly on her heart. The floor seemed to be running away from her too; suddenly slanting. Was this a prank?, she wondered. Had Holmes arranged for the floor to become part escalator?

As she fell to the ground, she felt something wet, rapidly spreading across her shirt. Trembling, she reached out with her hand and touched it. It was blood, she realised. Intellectually, she knew that she had been shot, that she was dying. The world seemed to spin as she felt herself being flipped; suddenly, she found herself facing the sky. And then she saw him, and she knew that everything was going to be all right after all. Deep piercing, soulful sea green eyes, peering deep into her own silver orbs for a single instant in time. A slight frown creased her face. They seemed overbright – was he crying, crying for her? He looked so vulnerable, so beautiful…like a fallen angel, she mused, laughing inside at the analogy – she was certain that had she said that to him out loud, he would have mocked her for it. Artemis reached out and tried to caress his face, tried to tell him that it would be all right. Her hand flopped to the ground; she wasn't breathing anymore.

She felt no pain. Nothing but exhaustion and resignation. Involuntarily, her eyes began to slide shut; she panicked – there was so much she had wanted to tell him, so many things she had meant to say to him always, but never had…and now, she realised, she would never get to say them to him, never tell him how much she appreciated him, cared about him, valued him…

Artemis' eyes closed.

As those of you who have read the Sherlock Holmes canon would have no doubt deduced, the canon cases that I picked to try and adapt were The Adventure of the Copper Beeches and The Adventure of the Cardboard Box :). Anyway, this may be the last chapter for a while, as I am going to start my first year of university in a couple of weeks, and so I'll probably be quite busy preparing for that; however, I am doing my best to get out the next chapter ASAP. If all goes well, that chapter should be out within a week. In concluding, as ever, please read and leave your thoughts in a review.

Ever yours,

ApocalypticPhoenix