Chapter Four

OMG I'm so sorry for the world's longest wait for an update, I wouldn't be surprised if you all left this story (sob) but here is the latest instalment to my series. I have no real excuse except that life got in the way and writers block is a bitch however I will be eternally grateful to every single one of you who reviewed either this story or my other Sherlock fics. You guys rock so much and I apologise again for not writing this chapter sooner… here we go!

John POV:

The taxi trip was about as awkward as it ever got between the three of them. John found himself trapped between his two closest friends as they gazed steadfastly out of their respective windows, creating a heavy tension that could've been cut with a butcher's knife. Charlie and Sherlock were ignoring each other. John once again found himself wondering what was wrong with them, being the smartest people he knew didn't mean they weren't complete idiots around each other. Neither of them were talking to each other and neither of them were talking to him. Every so often Charlie would shift in her seat, as though in pain, but no sound escaped her mouth. Each time John felt Sherlock tense as though prepared to turn and ask about it he never did. He was convinced with the utmost certainty that one day the pair would drive each other mad, they needed to bounce off one another or their inhuman minds would simple fall apart. Shaking his head he waited patiently until they eventually arrived at the river bank. Sherlock shot out of the taxi so fast that he appeared to be a blur, leaving John behind to help Charlie from the car. She sighed and John looked over.

"I shouldn't have shouted at him like that." She said quietly, gazing after the dark haired detective.

"He needed to hear it. I think you could have toned down the insults a little though." John replied and she nodded. Groaning she went to stand but fell back against the seat. John stared at her confused until she looked up and him and smiled thinly.

"Just a little fatigued John, nothing for you boys to be worrying about." She replied and both of them could hear the insincerity in her tone. He paid the cabbie in order to avoid the awkward tension between them before guiding her towards the body where Sherlock was looking up and down the river bank.

"I don't see what's wrong with him though. I mean I shout at him loads and he never reacts like this..." She trailed off and John shrugged.

"I mean he did start it, I was just angry… why does this cac always happen to me?" She asked no one in particular and John, feeling useless, shrugged once again. They crowded around the body, Charlie on John's right and Sherlock on his left.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Charlie flicked a piece of her flaming red hair out of her eyes and peered closer at the rather obese dead man on the ground.

"Seven so far." Sherlock replied tartly causing Charlie to roll her eyes and pull her jacket tighter around her. It was absolutely freezing on that bank and John could see her gloveless hands shaking slightly in the chilly air. She quirked and eyebrow and peered closer, something he couldn't see apparently catching her attention. Sherlock checked his clothing as John and Charlie examined the corpse itself.

"I'd say he's been dead about 24 hours." Said John, she nodded.

"Asphyxiation." She added, tsking the poor man lightly as she checked him over.

"That Lost Vermeer is a fake." Sherlock announced and Charlie stood suddenly to look at him. For a moment it seemed as if she were about to faint. Her cheeks blanched and her eyes went out of focus momentarily. All three men on the river bank moved instinctively but at the last moment she caught herself and glared at Sherlock quizzically.

"Alright, run this by us Mr Holmes." She said and he smirked thinly and muttered something derogatively beneath his breath. Charlie bristled and John saw her right fist clench momentarily before she relaxed and a scarily calm mask of indifference fell over her. By way of explanation Sherlock decided to go off in another apparently random tangent.

"Have you ever heard of the Golem?" He asked and John, seeing that Charlie was no going to participate in this game, answered.

"The folk story?" He aksed and Sherlock nodded.

"Kind of, he's an extraordinarily large man from East Prussia who chokes his victims much like our unfortunate cadaver over here. And in answer to your obvious confusion earlier it's apparent the man works somewhere a uniform is required. Smart shirt and trousers, made of a hard wearing material and slightly too big – a uniform supplied for him at work then – I check his pockets and..."

"Tickets?" John asked, eyeing the soggy lump in Sherlock's hand.

"Ticket stubs. I thought train driver, he does spend a great amount of time sitting down – hence the flabby backside – but the veins on his legs suggest the spends a lot of time walking. The Golem removed any badges or identification but..." He brandished his phone, on the screen on which was a search.

"Alex Woodbridge. He works in the museum where the Vermeer is said to be being revealed. Obviously he knew something about the painting being a fake, someone wasn't happy with that and sent the Golem after him. He failed to turn up at work yesterday morning." He finished with a triumphant sweep of his hands. John was once again amazed at the speed of his friend's mind. Although there was no denying he was a complete and utter jerk you couldn't ignore the fact that he was brilliant, it sort of smacked you in the face with the force of a brick.

"Fantastic!" John said and Charlie turned from where she had been pacing the shoreline distractedly.

"Merry bloody Christmas." She stated sardonically.

"And a Happy New Year!" Finished Lestrade, they all looked at him and Charlie grinned briefly before returning to her lachrymose state. Sherlock grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the road as John followed behind. Obviously annoyed at him she yanked her arm free and marched coldly beside him. A few tense seconds passed before they reached the street and a cab was hailed. Once again they found themselves in another cab and John found himself a necessary referee to his flat mates stupid mind games. Suddenly Sherlock stopped the cab. The gangly detective bolted from the cab with a call of 'Wait here' and walked up to what appeared to John to be a random hobo. He handed her a note and muttered something. The woman nodded and Sherlock ran back towards them.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously, leaning on the cab door.

"Making an investment...have you got any cash?" Sherlock asked and Charlie nodded. She reached into her purse and pulled out a few notes. She handed them to John who passed them through to Sherlock. There was a taunt moment as the two looked at each other and John was almost convinced that they would make up. Then it passed and Sherlock whirled away to return to the hobo. After that was done Sherlock climbed back in, telling the driver to head for the gallery. He climbed out and without looking at Charlie spoke to John.

"Go and find Woodbridge's flat." He said and slammed the door. Charlie flinched slightly before turning her gaze back out of the window

"What's going on Charlie? He always takes you with him!"

She shrugged as John gave the address to the cabbie.

"It's all a game to him John, it always has been." She said and John was startled to hear her tone entirely blank of all emotion. It was a voice he had heard before, from the video tape Moriarty had sent them, and gazing at her now he began to curse internally. They arrived at Alex Woodbridge's flat and were welcomed in by a rather teary woman in a flowery shirt.

"So you just want a look in his room? You with the police?" HSe asked and Charlie stepped forward with a badge in her hand.

"Yes mam, can you take us to his room please?" She asked and the woman nodded. Carefully Charlie pocketed the stolen ID and followed her upstairs.

"We shared a flat...just shared mind you. Cheaper this way." She said and Charlie nodded.

"He was a nice guy Alex, I liked him. Not one for hoovering though." She poked the dusty carpet with her slipper and laughed quietly. Charlie stared around the room and John began to ask the questions.

"Bit of a star gazer was he?" He asked and she nodded.

"Oh yeah, mad about it. The museum was just a job you know, he loved this. Sometimes he'd stay up all night...oh he got a bit of a funny phone message the other day, would that help?" She asked and the pair nodded. The woman came back in and pressed the button.

"Is it on?...oh...Alex love it's Professor Kenz. You were bloody right! Call me when you can, this is huge!"

Then the line went dead. Silence reigned in the apartment.

"Professor Kenz?" John asked and the woman shrugged.

"I don't know her." She said and Charlie piped up again.

"Can we get that number?"

"We'll I've had other calls since...you know, sympathy calls. Sorry." The woman said and Charlie shrugged. At that precise moment both their phones went off. They looked down to see Mycroft's wonderful initials on their screens.

Have you spoken to West's fiancée yet? MH

"Well thank you for your help." John said. The pair turned and left the apartment. They hailed another cab, adding on to the ever growing amount they spent on transport, and gave them the address before sitting down.

"John do you still have Sarah's number?" Charlie asked and John started at the abrupt change in topic.

"Yes… why?" He asked and Charlie smiled softly.

"Can I have it, I gave her something a while back and I need it now." She said and John nodded. Flicking through his phone till he came to the number. Thanking him she copied it into her phone and then sat back against the seat. After a few minutes her weight shifted again and John couldn't help himself.

"Charlie honestly what is the matter?" He asked and she looked over at him calculatingly.

"Nothing." She said tensely and John frowned at her. She went to turn away but he stopped her.

"If it's this whole thing with Sherlock I'll shoot him." John threatened lightly and she sighed heavily.

"Oh John, you can't just run around shooting people who upset me." She pointed out and he smiled.

"Just watch me, if anyone man or woman upsets you can bet any price they'll bite my bullet one day. However that is beside the point, and you know it. What is the matter Charlie?" He asked and she sighed. She shook her head sadly and just leaned her head on his shoulder. John sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"You'll find out eventually John…" She said and stared out of the window until they approached

"Don't you worry about any Charlie, things will get better. Sherlock's just being…well Sherlock and he's just being an idiot." He joked. She chuckled to herself.

"What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you John?"

"Well you didn't tell anyone it was me in the cabbie case." He said cryptically, aware of the driver of the cab. She smiled.

"That's true. I suppose you sort of owed me there." She said and he grinned. They got out of the cab and walked up to the door. A watery-eyed blonde woman opened the door.

"Can I help you?" She asked thickly and Charlie held up her stolen ID again.

"We're with the police, we're here about your fiancée." John said and she nodded hastily and stepped aside to let them in. Charlie sat with the woman, whose name they found out was Lucy, as she told them about her ex-fiancée. The meeting didn't go down as smoothly as they had hoped and at one of John's comments she stilled, scowling at them.

"Westie wasn't a traitor! That's a horrible thing to say! He was a good man...he was my good man..." She said shakily and began to cry quietly.

"I'm sure he was; he sounds like someone I would have liked." Charlie said and John looked over at her wonderingly. Her whole face had changed and she seemed lighter, not as tense. The woman nodded and smiled slightly.

"Lots of people did like him." She said and Charlie nodded.

"So what exactly happened?" John asked.

"Well we were watching a film together...and usually he falls asleep but he sat through this one...and then he said he had to see someone and he left. Just like that." She said and Charlie nodded.

"Well thank you for your time, we will try to catch the person responsible." John said and they stood.

"Thank you."

She led them to the door where they bumped into a man on a bike. John thought idly that he smelled not unlike drop out cadets he remembered from early days in the Army.

"Who's this?" He asked roughly and Charlie scowled at him.

"They're here about Westie...this is my brother." She added for the benefit of John and Charlie.

"You with the police?" He asked and they nodded.

"Well tell them to get a move on, this is bloody ridiculous." He said and she glowered at him. John hastily bid the siblings good bye and led her off.

"Come on Charlie, don't kill sycophantic bike man. Let's go find sycophantic detective man." He said smoothly and she smiled thinly as they hailed yet another cab.

Charlie POV:

All in all Charlie was having such a bad day she was starting to refer to herself as Charlotte. That thought alone scared her more than anything. They did however manage to find their flatmate, who had actually answered his phone. Now all three of them were once again trapped together in the taxi and, Charlie was not only tired but sore, let loose a string of curse words.

"A rogaire salach amaideach!" She yelled as her head smacked finally against the glass of her window. Much to her annoyance Sherlock simply ignored her and collected a note from what appeared to be the same homeless woman he'd given a lot of money earlier that day. It was and Charlie grumbled as she shifted once more on the unforgiving leather seats, the small of her back aching consistently as she sort to become more comfortable. He clambered back in.

"The Vauxhall Arches." He spoke to the cabbie. John was once again sandwiched between Sherlock and Charlie and still only understood why they were acting like they were from the fact that they were both mentally unhinged. Charlie looked over at John and remembered their earlier conversation. She smirked at the thought of John holding a barrel against Sherlock's forehead., They found themselves trekking through the Vauxhall arches, ignoring the curious stares of the homeless people sleeping on the floor. Charlie looked up between two buildings and saw a clear view straight up into the starry sky. It was rare in London to see the stars but tonight they were out in full glory. She watched as a comet flung past on its way to the sun and closed her eyes briefly, remembering her mother's gentle voice telling her about wishing upon stars.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Sherlock said calmly and she looked over at him.

"I thought you didn't care about stuff like that." John pointed out and the consulting detective shrugged nonchalantly. Charlie smiled at him and returned to the stars as she listened to the two men quarrel.

"John I care little for astronomy but I can still appreciate beauty." Sherlock said and Charlie's attention was brought back to the conversation. She looked over at Sherlock and wondered at the slight pointedness of his reply. He was still looking at the stars but for a single second their eyes met and she smiled. She had limited time to appreciate the ceasefire because suddenly he pulled both herself and John around a corner. She was about to protest when Sherlock's gloved hand covered her mouth. She was pressed up against his chest and could feel his warmth even through their thick winter coats. She remained motionless and waited for whatever was to happen next.

"He's sleeping rough John said, peering round the corner.

"Why?"

"Well he has rather a distinctive look." Sherlock reply tartly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world then Sherlock seemed to remember himself and he let go of her. She stumbled and the sound alerted their quarry. He took off and they chased after the tall shadow...only for the Golem to drive away very fast.

"Damn it." She muttered and Sherlock moaned his frustration.

"Think I know where he's gone though." John said, grinning at her.

"Where?" Sherlock asked boredly. Charlie glared at him.

"Professor Kenz, she knew something that Woodbridge knew."

When they arrived there were flashing lights going haywire. They could only just see the form of the Golem as he strangled the poor woman.

"GOLEM!" Sherlock shouted at the tall man who dropped the woman on the floor before heading for them.

"Well done Sherlock." Charlie yelled and ducked to avoid the fight. Normally she would have been all over this stuff. However, fate it would seem had other plans. The two men were obviously no match for the extraordinary assassin and as she watched Charlie realised what she had to do. Sighing she braced herself for a run up before launching her body like a missile through the air and clinging to the man's back like a limpet as he choked the life out of the consulting detective he had unfortunately gotten a hold of. Even though his vision was tunnelling Sherlock seemed to realise what she was doing.

"Charlie… stay out… of the way!" He gasped as the Golem tightened his hold on his throat. John had gone off to check that the other woman was alive. Ignoring the man she clung tighter, her own hands grasping around the Golem's throat and slowly squeezing. The man began to panic, his moves becoming more unpredictable and violent. Suddenly she lost her grip and flew backwards through the air to land with a solid crash against the seats of the auditorium.

"Let him go or I swear I'll kill you!" She heard John say but not surprisingly the Golem ignored him. The blow the Golem had sent her way hurt like a bitch but she stood back up and flung herself once more into the fray, taking the man's concentration off his prey long enough for Sherlock to slip away and for John to start shooting at the escaping assailant. She stood up slowly, twisting her abused body slowly. She saw Sherlock making his way over and bit her lip. Cautiously she felt her stomach and panic set in immediately. What if she had damaged something? What if…? She couldn't bear to think about that and slowly turned to face her room mates.

"Are you alright Charlie?" John asked and she nodded. In truth nothing felt broken, and the worse she could think of was a few rather large bruises she was convinced would turn up tomorrow. She looked up to see Sherlock glaring at her.

"What?" She demanded; wincing slightly as the half-shout stretched her abused muscles.

"Do you have no respect whatever for what I say or the danger you put yourself in? I told you to stay out of the way and you nearly got yourself killed!" He yelled and she took a step back. Her fury broke again and she snarled at him.

"Where's all this caring coming from Sherlock? I honestly thought it couldn't matter if I got hurt considering you've been nothing but an arse to me since we left home this morning." She said and he flinched.

"Really? I was only serving what you've been dishing out Charlotte. You might want to start thinking about that." He retorted and she smirked.

"Oh I'm sorry, did my attitude offend the great Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and high functioning sociopath of 221B Baker Street? Well forgive me, I didn't know I was hurting you sensitive feeling, do you want me to kiss it better?" She shouted and was dimly aware of John backing away from them as they yelled at each other from a square foot away. They were directly in each other's faces and piercing blue eyes met molten green as their tempers finally boiled over.

"I never asked you to come on this case!" Sherlock shouted and she sneered.

"I never volunteered either, I simply got dragged along on a wild goose, chased, nearly killing the…" She stopped suddenly, her fury dying completely in the slap shot of a second. She couldn't tell him that, not here, not now. Her temper drained away and she sagged slightly where she stood. Gazing up into Sherlock's blazing blue eyes and saw an emotion she'd never realised he could feel, hurt. She wasn't the only one being injured in this fight. She thought back on everything she'd said and done and realised that she had been vindictive. She opened her mouth to say something and he almost simultaneously copied her actions. They stared at each other for a full second and she fought to supress the tears that burned behind her eyes. She blinked and the moment was lost.

"We need to look at that Vermeer." Sherlock said finally and she nodded. Only John saw her wipe away the tears and even then they all pretended nothing had happened. For what seemed to be the thousandth time that day the trio got into cab and drove away in complete silence.

They had gathered together in the gallery with Lestrade and the gallery owner, a Czechoslovakian woman with a rather pinched face and made up face. Sherlock's phone rang and he pressed the speaker button.

"The Vermeer is a fake." He said firmly. There was silence.

"Oh come on! I've figured it out, proving it is just details. Give me time!" He begged and there was a pause.

"Ten..." Came a shaky voice.

"Nine..."

"Oh my God it's a kid!" Lestrade said in horror and Charlie felt her stomach drop. She stared at the painting and searched ever inch of the canvas. Suddenly she spotted the flaw and pointed madly at a spot on the canvas. Everyone turned to look at her and she rolled her eyes. She pointed again.

"Six...Five..."

Her throat closed and what felt like lead began to drain into her stomach. She knew somehow that it had to be Sherlock who said it. Finally his eyes lit up as he saw it, his phone was out in a flash and he began typing away.

"Two...One.." There was a tense moment.

"The Van Buren Supernova!" He shouted into the little pink phone. Charlie slumped against Lestrade who looked about as drained as she felt. The guy was an arse but he got the job done at least.

"Help me...please help me!" Came the voice of the boy and they sighed with relief. Sherlock nodded at Charlie who shrugged .

"How did you figure that out?" Lestrade asked and Charlie grinned.

"John, didn't you hear it when Sherlock was getting his ass kicked at the planetarium? The Van Buren Supernova, exploding star that didn't appear until 1858." She said and John chuckled.

"So how can it have been painted in the 1650s...unless...that's brilliant!" He said and she nodded, looking over at the museum director pointedly. Lestrade cottoned on quickly and soon the woman was handcuffed and the five of them were headed to Scotland Yard.

They sat around a table, eyeing the woman as she was asked questions.

"I found a man in Argentina whose brushwork could fool anyone...well almost anyone." She eyed Charlie and Sherlock who had been forced to sit side by side. John had snatched a chair next to the door and Lestrade was standing. The seated pair were visibly uncomfortable at this fact and studiedly avoided eye contact.

"But I had no idea how to go about making people believe it was genuine. It took a while but eventually I was put in touch with people who could make it happen. Never directly...there were just whispers..." She broke off and instantly to two geniuses were leaning forward.

"Did these whispers have a name?" Sherlock asked quietly,

"Moriarty." The woman whispered. Charlie flinched, and sat back whilst Sherlock looked pointedly triumphant. Her mind was going a thousand miles an hour and all she could think of was that it couldn't be him. She remained silent whilst Lestrade wrapped up the meeting. Her and John's phones went off.

Crime scene available for inspection. MH

Charlie looked briefly over at Sherlock before just about running to the door. She could hear John following behind her and the pair hailed a cab before setting off to the train station.

John donned a luminous jacket, Charlie refusing point blank to even look at one, before they were taken out to where West's body had been found. John hummed to himself as a large man pointed out the spot where the body had been discovered.

"Right about there. I hate 'em." He said disgustedly.

"Who?" Charlie asked staring at the ground and the train tracks around them. A theory began to form and she kept silent as the man began to rage about jumpers and the impact they had on the drivers.

"Not easy for us, strawberry jam all over the place. And the drivers have to live with it don't they?"

"Hmm." Charlie murmured, sounding oddly like a female Sherlock.

"Have you cleaned the tracks?" John asked.

"What? No. Wasn't that much blood." Charlie's head snapped up and her theory was confirmed.

"But you said his head was bashed in." John said.

"There's bound to be blood."

"Nah, not really. You guys good then?" He asked and Charlie nodded as he wandered off. Charlie smirked and rubbed the small of her back as she gazed around the place.

"Bloody brilliant."

"Well there wasn't much blood, he didn't buy a ticket, he wasn't on the train as far as we can tell...not as a passenger anyway..."

Charlie waited patiently as John came to the same conclusion she had. "So he was killed elsewhere, hence the lack of blood...but how did he get here?" Charlie smiled and indicated with her head to a track changing device which immediately switched the train line beside them away into the distance.

"Track switchers! Of course! He wasn't in the train he was on top of it! He fell off when he got to the track switchers!" John was nodding madly and exclaiming whilst Charlie simply watched him amusedly. .

"Knew you'd figure it out eventually." Came a deep, familiar voice from behind them. Charlie froze as John turned around to face Sherlock. Even though she was furious with him, Charlie couldn't help the feeling she got from the sound of his voice. It was comforting and infuriating at once.

"You've been following us?"

"Of course, you didn't honestly think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother did you? The plans haven't left the country, Mycroft's people would know, so whoever has them doesn't know what to do with them. Time to visit Joe Harrison." He said and Charlie finally turned to see him standing beside the tracks, his dark blue over coat blowing slightly in the wind.

"Why?" John asked but he was already walking off. They arrived at the flat of West's fiance's brother...and he wasn't in. Both men frowned and Charlie smirked.

"Brilliant, just like the asylum." Charlie smirked and walked up to the door. She inspected the lock for about three seconds before digging into her purse and pulling out pulled a hairpin. She dug it in and after about two seconds had the door swing open. She stepped aside and bowed to the men, indicating for them to enter. They wandered up the stairs. She stumbled and felt someone grab her elbow. She turned to thank them and saw Sherlock's gloved hand. She nodded stiffly and he sighed. They walked into the main room. It was sparsely furnished – not a rich guy then. Charlie pointed to the windowsill.

"Sherlock." She said quietly and he moved past her smoothly to inspect the sill. He pulled out some sort of lens from God only knows where and began to look over the scarlet spatter.

"Definitely blood. A struggle perhaps." She said. At that moment the front door opened and as Charlie turned around the owner of said flat brandished his bike at her. John stepped around the corner, pointing his gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He said calmly and once again she was reminded of their earlier chat. They all but forced the guy down onto a sofa and simply stood looking threatening until he caved. Well John and Sherlock looked threatening, Charlie took the opportunity to laze on his couch and pick her fingernails. Psychology major or no, it was the most effective way of annoying people into submission. People generally hated it when strangers walked all over their stuff and this man was no different.

"I didn't mean to do it, it was an accident...I just wanted the plans. See I got into drug dealing...owed a lot of people a lot of money – important people...Westie was usually so strict about his job but at the stag he really opened up, waved the stick right in front of my face. It was easy getting it off of him he was so plastered...but he got suspicious, came round that night. We got into a bit of a fight and he fell down the stairs...I swear I was going to call an ambulance but it was already too late. I put the body there..." He gestured to the windowsill.

"Just sat up all night thinking. Then I saw the train..." He paused again and looked down into his clasped hands.

"And you saw an opportunity to take the evidence far away." Sherlock finished and the man nodded pathetically.

"Do you still have the stick?"

An hour later the guy was in prison, Sherlock had the coveted missile plans and the bomber had yet to call. The trio headed back to the apartment and sat around waiting. Charlie sat on the sofa, curled up in a semi-foetal position as she stared into space. Vaguely she could hear the men wandering around the apartment. There was a mad bomber on the loose, she had a growing suspicion on everything yet all she could think about was when Sherlock had touched her elbow… deep within the recesses of her stomach she could have sworn she felt a tiniest flutterings of movement.

Dun Dun DUNNNNNNNNN! Yes and with that little tibit ladies and gentlemen I will now leave you. Please don't kill me! I write to entertain and I thought long and hard about this story even though writer's block has been a serious Mo. Fo recently.

Translations:

Cac- shit.

A rogaire salach amaideach!- You stupid son of a bitch!

Love to all and look out for my next chapter.