One reveiw and, as promised, here is your next chapter. Two more gets you another chapter by monday

========================================================================================== "Are you ready for Experiment Two?" Sherlock's voice slipped into Madeline's mostly sleeping mind.

"Wha...?" Madeline yawned.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched out in her bed. Sherlock was in the way of her right foot so she pushed him off the bed with it. He landed on the floor with a thud and glared reproachfully.

"It's earlyyyyyyyyy Sherloooooooock." She whined and rolled out of bed. It wasn't early at all, the sun was up and blinding her through the curtains that did nothing to stop the assault on her eyes She had slept naked. After coming down off her buzz the night before, she barely had the energy to remove clothing, let alone find more clothing to put on.

Sherlock looked pointedly out the window until she had dressed.

"It's not a big deal, you know." Madeline said as she pulled a black t-shirt on. It was warm compared to the last few days of heavy clouds and rain, so she was just wearing a short black skirt and an awesome pair of rainbow polka-dot on black knee high socks.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"Looking. The female form is not something I'm ashamed of having. Breasts are useful. Just the day before yesterday I convinced John to get a book for me from the library, just because I showed some cleavage."

She nudged him in the butt with her foot when he went to stand up, causing him to sprawl across the bed.

Munchkin jumped up to join him and lick his face.

"Am I going to need shoes?" she asked after Sherlock fended off Munchkin's kisses, and the dog had settled into the warm spot left in the mattress.

"No. We're staying in again today. Experiment Two is not conducive with human interference."

Madeline groaned and rolled her eyes.

"But it's nice outside today. What if we were to start Experiment Two later? We could go for a walk or something. What's Experiment Two going to entail anyway? John was quite pissed yesterday about Experiment One. And I think you should tell me your deductions during Experiment One. We could do that as we walk."

"Stop."

Madeline fell silent and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

He tipped his head back and his eyes darted around the ceiling tiles.

"We can go for a walk, but we'll have to make a stop, I need to pick something up. Experiment Two is not dissimilar to yesterday's Experiment, but since John threatened to sic Lestrade on me for drugs and I don't want him to mess my things with a drugs bust, we will be trying alcohol instead. As for my deductions, you said 'cookies' not biscuits as a person brought up in England would say, but you have an impeccable British accent. So either you moved here with your parents at a young age from a country where they say 'cookies', or you are just very good at accents. Maybe you trained in linguistics, that would fit with three of my four remaining theories." He stood and brushed the dog hair from his usually perfect attire.

"Come upstairs when you're ready."

And he was gone.

Madeline sighed and grabbed her hairbrush. She had about four and a half minutes before he was back at her door, demanding they leave straight away. If there was one thing she had learned during her extended stay at 221b Baker Street, it was that Sherlock had no patience. At all.

She brushed her hair and pulled her shoes on at the same time and managed to put her coat on before Sherlock opened the door to her room.

"Yes, we can go now. I'm ready." she said, grabbing Munchkin's new lead and clipping it to his collar.

"He's not coming with us." Sherlock said, pointing at Munchkin who wagged his tail and smiled winningly.

Madeline looked at Munchkin and Munchkin looked back at Madeline. They walked out the door and into the early afternoon air without bothering to argue with Sherlock. He would have to deal.

OoOoO

The stop Sherlock had mentioned was at an unlikely looking antiques store. It was one of those stores that didn't see much business, but somehow managed to stay open forever.

"The Emporium of Forgotten Treasures?" Madeline asked, "Sounds like an Indiana Jones film."

Sherlock looked at her, not comprehending the reference.

"Have you been watching that drivel with John?" He asked.

"No, by myself. John is never home and I dislike the quiet when I'm alone. There was a marathon on T.V., so I watched it." She replied.

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched.

"You weren't alone, I was there."

Madeline smiled and said in a placating tone, "Yes, but you weren't there there, you were occupying space there. Big difference."

They walked into the musty store and Madeline was hit with a wave of smell that could only be decomposing flesh. Munchkin whined quietly, nuzzled into Madeline's coat and sneezed. She gagged violently and pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket of her coat. The handkerchief earned her an amused smirk from Sherlock.

"Don't look at me like that. I borrowed it from John." She said reproachfully, her glare negated by the little blue sail boats on the handkerchief held to her face.

They walked further in to the store and the smell worsened considerably. The source of the smell was an elderly man, who had clearly been there for sometime.

"As I thought." Sherlock mumbled.

The man had died in a very strange way, his hand on the portable phone on the table at the bottom of the stairs that led to, Madeline assumed a flat, and his head cleaved almost in two by the decorative axe that had fallen from it's place on the board above him. The handle though, and the companion axe, were still firmly attached. The blade had swung down in an arc the perfect height to kill the man and stuck in his head, fixing him in place, upright and reaching for the phone.

"Do you have another?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to her face.

Madeline patted herself down one handed and searched several pockets before emerging triumphant from a pocket she could have sworn didn't exist before. This one had little green army men printed on it, and Madeline couldn't help but laugh as Sherlock eyed it dubiously.

He took it and carefully slid the phone from the dead man's hand.

"Dialling out, why would he use this phone and not the one upstairs or the one in the shop?" He asked himself, looking at Madeline but not expecting an answer.

He bounded up the stairs, spun around, then bounded back down. He grabbed Madeline's arm and towed her back up again. Munchkin sat down near-ish the man, guarding him from a distance and giving Madeline a tortured look.

Madeline vowed to make it up to him with people food for tea.

"Look," Sherlock said, distracting Madeline from her guilt by pointing to the skirting board, "There's a small hole, like the kind you make when you put hooks into walls. And there," He continued, directing her attention to the bannister, "Tiny scratch marks." Sherlock threw up his hands in glee, and Madeline was forced to as well because he had grabbed both of her wrists in his excitement. He shook her a little.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked, his eyes lit up like Madeline had never seen before.

"We've broken into someone's shop, tampered with evidence and haven't called the police like any sane person would've?"

"No, well yes, but-" He grinned wider than is decent in the presence of a rotting corpse, "Serial killer! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! And now they have to believe me, because the evidence is so obvious even Anderson will see!"

Madeline tried unsuccessfully to extract her hands from Sherlock's.

"I don't quite understand Sherlock. A serial killer? Are you on another case? John didn't mention it when he came by to pick up a change of clothes."

Sherlock smirked. "John is moving out. His girlfriend has been pressuring him, but he doesn't want to talk to me about it, so I've been leaving him out of the loop to give him more time to figure out what to say. But technically I'm not on the case yet."

Madeline finally managed to regain control of her hands, just as Sherlock raced down again and tugged up the dead man's trouser leg.

The man's leg was broken and the bone created a bump that made Madeline feel a little sick. Among the discolouration of decomposition and bruising from his apparent fall was a thin line of purple just above his ankle.

"See, there was a tripwire set up at the top of the stairs and Mr.," Sherlock pulled a letter from the mail basket by the phone, "Fitzpatrick fell down. He seriously injured his leg but managed to pull himself up, indicating that he had military training and learned to ignore his pain, his posture backs up military training as well, to ring for help. He dialled three numbers, giving us an area code, before the axe swung down and cracked his skull."

Sherlock traced the phone cord up the wall and behind the axes. "This was set up to pull the axe down if the phone was picked up. Which our killer ensured would happen here, by giving Mr. Fitzpatrick a reason to use this phone."

Madeline was a little perturbed by Sherlock's ease with touching the dead man, and his obvious glee at the idea of a serial killer and asked quietly, "Shouldn't you let your policeman friend know, at least? If this is murder-"

"It is." Interrupted Sherlock, sliding the phone carefully back into Mr. Fitzpatrick's hand.

"Okay then," Madeline continued, "the police should definitely know."

"They'll get everything messed up before I can look at it properly" Sherlock replied, pulling out his phone anyway. He raced back up the stairs and found Lestrade's number at the same time. He dialled and chucked the phone down, Madeline fumbled a little catching it.

"Here, you talk to him while I snoop." He said as he disappeared further into the dead man's flat.

"Shouldn't you wait? At least 'till you're done invading a person's privacy?" She shouted back, waiting for the Detective Inspector to answer his phone.

"No, now is good. Either they'll get here in time to catch me or they won't. It doesn't matter, they need me and they know it."

"Oh good, John, we need Sherlock to come down to Scotland yard." Lestrade must have caught the sound of Sherlock's voice in the background, because he'd started to talk before Madeline could say anything. "We have another murder, and this one is more obvious than the last ones and we think the killer has finally made a mistake. I'm sure you know already, and I'm sure Sherlock has already been investigating. He interrupted our press conference earlier this morn-"

"Umm," Madeline interjected, "This isn't John." She suddenly was very aware of how feminine her voice was.

Sherlock laughed, the sound floating down the stairs.

"Is he mad about the press conference?" He called down, popping his head around the corner.

Madeline covered the mouthpiece. "I'd call it more resigned than angry."

Sherlock actually looked disappointed. "Where does he want us?"

"Scotland Yard," she replied, uncovering the phone, "There's been another murder."

Sherlock went back to snooping, "That doesn't sound right." He mused loudly "The killer has been leaving three day gaps between victims and the last one was only yesterday."

Lestrade heard Sherlock and replied, "Tell him that serial killers do evolve and that he seems to be getting sloppy."

Madeline repeated the message.

"Tell him it's a copycat."

She didn't need to when she heard Lestrade sigh. "Where are you? We need him to come look anyway."

"I don't know." Madeline replied, "But once Sherlock's done, we'll be on our way."

"Wait, one more thing. Who is this?"

Madeline hung up. Might as well give them something to do while they wait. She thought with a giggle. No doubt they would have a betting pool set up by the time they got there.

"I'm done!" Sherlock announced as he flew down the stairs and through the store. "Come on dog." He said as he passed Munchkin, who was still waiting like a good boy.

Munchkin looked to Madeline who was desperately trying to catch up. "Yup, come on."

She didn't think about the problem he would cause, until the cabbie Sherlock had flagged refused to let him in the taxi. Sherlock quickly got impatient when the red faced man turned down his bribe and started to yell and Madeline scrambled for a lie before Sherlock ripped into the man's life story.

"He's a service dog!" She blurted out, interrupting the cabbie's description of how retarded they both were.

His face changed instantly to one of pity.

"I'm sorry miss, I didn't realise."

"It's quite all right." She replied haughtily, making sure through her body language that he knew it wasn't okay.

"Munchkin," she said, "Into the car."

He made his laughing face at the cabbie, then jumped in. Sherlock swept his coat around himself then folded gracefully into the seat. He slid along as far as he could, but Munchkin wouldn't get off the seat, and Madeline ended up squished between the door and Sherlock. She didn't mind, He smelt good, like cloves and vanilla.

"He won't move unless you use his name." Madeline reminded him. "I thought we'd made a break through with this. Munchkin. His name is Munchkin."

Sherlock glared. "You tell him to move then."

Munchkin and Madeline looked at each other for a moment, Munchkin to see if he had to move and Madeline judging if she should bother.

"No, you can do it." She smirked, there was no way he'd say it again, Munchkin was safe in his seat and knew it. He settled down and spread himself out further, pushing with his feet so Sherlock had to move closer to Madeline.

"Service dog? He doesn't even have one of those coats." He said, seemingly comfortable with their close proximity.

Madeline frowned. "Well that lie will have to do. We can see about getting him one another time, but I don't want him to be left behind, he's the only one who knows me."

Sherlock appeared to think on this for a time, fingers tented and eyes closed. They'd just gotten out of the taxi and Sherlock had paid the driver, plus a generous tip 'for his understanding', when Sherlock announced that the dog would have to go to the vet.

Munchkin's ears folded back and he looked so miserable that Madeline had to take his lead off and give him a cuddle before he would wag his tail.

"Why does he need to go to the v-e-t?" She asked, rubbing his ears and playing with his face so he looked like he was smiling.

"Because if he has a chip that's registered to your name, we can get your information and you can go home. And really? Like he knows what we're talking about and spelling vet instead of saying it will do anything."

Madeline gasped and covered Munchkin's ears. "Don't say it!" She hissed. "Look at what you've done!" Munchkin's tail was back between his legs and he buried his head into Madeline's coat.

Before Sherlock could reply with something insulting, Lestrade rushed from the police building and ushered them inside, taking a good long look at Madeline. Sherlock strode ahead with him muttering what sounded suspiciously like 'sentiment', leaving Madeline to think about going home.

If I go, and still don't remember who I am, I'm going to have to meet a bunch of new people that will know me and I won't know them or me. And John is moving out, how will he cope without anyone but Mrs. Hudson to look after him. Madeline hadn't expected to get attached to the aggravating man, but she had and was regretting it. Does he want me gone though? Maybe I was just entertainment until his next real case.

"Excuse me, but you aren't allowed animals in here." A woman's voice interrupted her thought pattern.

Madeline realised her feet had taken her on the path that Sherlock had taken and was now standing in the middle of a room filled with staring cops.

"He's a service dog." Sherlock said, parting the sea of uniforms like he was Moses. The woman, who she now recognised as Sergeant Donovan, smirked and asked scathingly, "Is this your new plaything since John is sick of you, Freak?"

Sherlock ignored her and turned to Lestrade, who had followed him. "This is Madeline, for now. No doubt you recognise her as the Jane Doe you found a week ago?"

Lestrade extended his hand to her, "Sorry for my manners before, I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Madeline ignored his hand, "I know, we spoke on the phone, and we've met before. I trust there won't be a problem with Munchkin staying with me?"

A whisper went through the crowd and Anderson fought his way to the front. "There is a problem." he said, waving his arm in the air. Madeline remembered Munchkin's disagreement with the man and smirked.

"That mutt is a savage and should be muzzled and locked up outside. I won't work if it stays, it's a safety hazard."

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something, but Madeline cut him off. "Munchkin is perfectly behaved as long as stupid people don't go near him. He has a real problem with stupid people."

She looked at Anderson and raised her eyebrow, "If you choose not to work with us, I don't see why there would be any issues."

Sherlock laughed. He couldn't help it. Anderson was at a complete loss for words, it was a first.

A giggle shivered through the crowd, and people went back to work, still keeping an eye on Madeline.

"So," Madeline asked Lestrade, "Will there be a problem?"

The DI just shook his head. He didn't want the headaches that would come from arguing with Sherlock about the matter.

"Good decision." Sherlock said to him, and then to Madeline, "Come look at these crime scene pictures."

She followed him past all the still staring police officers to a whiteboard covered with pictures. She studied each one carefully, while Sherlock waited, surprisingly patient, for her to finish.

"Well?" he asked when she signalled she was done.

Madeline thought.

"They aren't the same person." she announced confidently.

"What would she know?" Anderson asked rudely.

Munchkin spun around and snarled viciously, his hackles raised and teeth bare. He looked, for the first time Madeline had seen, truly scary.

"What did I say about stupid people?" She asked in her own scary voice, the one she had used on Munchkin's assailant almost a week ago.

Sherlock took a moment to appreciate the effect it had on Anderson before stepping in.

"It just so happens that Madeline knows more than you about these things, not that it's hard, and I'd leave before her dog attacks you again."

"Munchkin." Madeline reminded him again under her breath. She would get him to say it, if he wanted to or not.

"Really is this the time?" He asked, pointing to the dog in question, who looked like he was about to lunge for Anderson's throat any second.

"Any time's a good time." She replied seriously. "His name is Munchkin. We've discussed this several times today and I dislike repeating myself."

She knelt down beside Munchkin and whispered something in his ear. Immediately, he calmed down and sat next to her still looking at Anderson.

"Now would be a good time to leave." Sherlock mentioned casually, as if their little sidebar hadn't occurred.

Anderson stomped off.

"And why don't you think it's the same person, Madeline?" Sherlock asked, going even further back, and Madeline had to blink a few times before she caught up.

She stood, and pointed to the most recent crime scene pictures, "This," She said, pulling a face, "Is messy. Our killer isn't messy, from what we saw this morning. He had everything planned perfectly and he only needed one trap, that we saw."

Sherlock nodded, she was right so far.

"This killer set up four?" Sherlock nodded again. "Three of which were pretty much duds. See the bruising on the body's temple?" she pointed at a close up, "That's not fatal damage. Caused from this bag of golf clubs set up to fall on him when he woke up and opened his closet?"

Another nod. Madeline was pleased, she liked being right she found. "It's just sloppy." She finished with another nose crinkle of distaste. "I could do so much better." She added, sad that these people continued to contribute to the gene pool.

Sherlock was grinning. Incidentally, or not so incidentally if Mycroft was involved further than making sure Sherlock was entertained, Sherlock had found a kindred spirit in Madeline. He'd given up on finding anyone who understood him, let alone anyone who was like him in anyway.

"You're looking for a group of his students, not the smart ones though, most likely the ones who think they're smart but aren't. Take Anderson with you, my experience is that idiots are like birds, they flock together and they won't be able to resist flocking to the biggest idiot I know." Sherlock said to Lestrade as he towed Madeline away again.

"Wait!" Lestrade called after them. "Don't you want to see the crime scene?"

"No point." Sherlock replied as he fast walked away, "Your people have already destroyed anything useful."

Then he stopped abruptly and pulled an envelope from his pocket. Madeline recognised it as Mr. Fitzpatrick's mail.

He towed her back to Lestrade. Madeline was getting quite sick of being dragged around like a child's toy.

Sherlock gave the envelope to Lestrade. "This is where the first victim is. I've already seen all I need, you can send your people in now."

"Gee, thanks." Lestrade said sarcastically as he took the mail. "The first victim? Are you sure?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Madeline rolled her eyes at the size of his ego. And then they were off again before she even had a chance to begin the extraction of her hand from his.

They were outside and Madeline was blinking in the suddenly natural light when Sherlock asked, "So what kind of service does the dog offer?"

Madeline was confused. Sherlock sighed.

"The dog. Service dog. What service?"

"Munchkin," she mumbled absent-mindedly, as she tried to think.

"I have suicidal tendencies and he keeps me away from sharp things, tall buildings and traffic?" was the best she could come up with on short notice.

Sherlock almost laughed, she could tell. "I don't think they give out dogs for that." He said as he hailed a taxi.

"Well I'm not pretending to be blind." She said.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. He thought it would be fun. "People would give things away more readily if you did."

"It would be annoying, and we'd have to get one of those blind people walking sticks."

"I already have one."

The taxi pulled over, and Madeline decided not to ask.

"Epilepsy." she suggested as she slid in.

The cab driver thought she was talking to him and said, "I don't mind, miss. Animals are better behaved than most of my customers."

Munchkin jumped in next to her and Madeline spent a moment being disappointed she wasn't pressed up against Sherlock again, before he got in as well and read it on her face. He said nothing, just smirked and stored the information to ponder over later.

"Where are we going?" the driver asked as he pulled out from the curb.

"221b Baker street." Sherlock answered, closing the door.

The trip was spent mostly in silence, and Madeline found her thoughts drifting back to home, where ever home was.

What if I wasn't a good person? What if I did horrible things? What if I deserved to die in that alley? How could I go back to that? What if I never remember who I really am? Won't that break the hearts of the people that care about me? What if there is no one who cares about me?

"Shut up, please." Sherlock commanded. It was voiced as a question for politeness' sake, but it wasn't really.

"I wasn't saying anything." Madeline protested.

"No, but you were thinking. Too loudly by half. Stop it. If you don't like who you are when we find out, don't be that person. It's simple."

Madeline looked around Munchkin's head at him. "That was surprisingly deep, Sherlock."

He held a finger up to his lips, "Don't tell anyone." He said cheekily, "It will ruin my reputation."