Er, hi. I want to start off by apologising. I am very sorry for making you wait so long for this update. I am blaming it on myself, the ideas that keep popping into my head, and the month-long virus that just will not go away! Anyway, it's lovely to be writing this story again and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! Also, thanks for sticking with me, readers!

Thank you to anyone you reads, follows, favourites or reviews this!

P.S. I did not mention, this is after The Great Game, but before A Scandal in Belgravia. My version of Sherlock/Tom just would not work well with Irene Adler. She may appear later, but it is not very likely.

Review Responses:

youngjusticefanatic: Thank you! I know what you mean, it's nice to take a break from the expectations of teachers for a while. I am glad that it has kept your interest even after you finished the chapter! Sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy the chapter, it may not go very far, but it foreshadows and ties up some loose ends.

Alex Rider's Spygirl: Thank you so much! Your support has been incredible, your suggestions have given me ideas for the story that I would not have had without them. It is I that should be thanking you! I like your ideas for the rift between Mycroft/Jerry and Sherlock/Tom, both are definitely going into the story-stew! Jerry will be acting in his persona as Mycroft, but will be resentful towards Alex as Jerry did not want to go into hiding. Jerry insulted Alex and Tom became angry. Voilà! A rift! Once again, I sincerely thank you, this story would not be where it is now without you and your ideas. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Marvel123: Thanks for reviewing again, I am glad to see that you are still enjoying the story! Bingo! Alex and Letus are one and the same! Thanatos is another old face (well, middle aged). Well, here is the update! I hope you enjoy it!

yashendra2797: Thank you for reviewing again! I had to take my time unfortunately (virus, plot bunnies), sorry! I hope you like this chapter!

Mouichido13: Thanks! I am glad that the story turned out to be well received for its differences, thanks for being another person I can add to the list of people who enjoy it! Sorry about the late update. Please enjoy the new chapter!

MLM24: Thank you! I am so happy that you enjoyed it! I hope you like this new chapter!

I do not normally dedicate chapters, as I like my reviewers equally (My intention is not to offend anyone).

But for her incredible ideas, this chapter is dedicated to:

Alex Rider's Spygirl
(Because this chapter would not actually exist without her.)

Chapter 4-Poetic Prose (Between the Lines)

The wind nipped at his face and swept the curly strands of his raven hair to whip his raw cheeks, joining the spitting rain. Sherlock hunched his shoulders against the unexpected cold and tightened his scarf to ward off the wind. The taxi roared as it barrelled away from behind him, growling and spitting smoke. The detective sighed and took off at a brisk pace, marching past old, debilitated buildings that crumbled in the gale. A large, pastel-coloured sign, with hues that made Sherlock shudder, towered above the buildings, claiming that they would soon be a beautiful five-star hotel.

Sherlock's eyes roamed over the edifices for a moment. He stood stock still and stared at the disintegrating bricks, carefully analysing the scene. His mind cherry-picked the important information, highlighting causes of death and possible killers before the detective had even seen the body. He glared sullenly up at the building, unsure as to which party had committed the crime. It was possible that he would be unable to tell, the Diablo Brothers had most likely been trained by Scorpia.

With a dramatic swish of his coat, Sherlock turned nimbly and strode off towards the rowdy, clamouring police-lights in the distance. He made sure to take every detail in as he made his way towards the crime-scene, carefully storing all the specifics away for later. Relaxing from tense, frozen posture he breezed through the barriers like he owned the place. Ignoring Anderson and Donovan, he headed straight for Lestrade, skipping the usual mêlée of insults and moving straight on to business.

Taking in the detective's impatience, Lestrade escorted the sociopath over to body. The police officer reminded the detective that he only had five minutes. At the back of his mind, Sherlock registered the warning but most of his attention was directed to the corpse.

The Consulting Detective quickly gathered that the victim was a white man of twenty-nine, single, and had divorced his wife last week (the lingering imprint of the ring on his finger). He owned two goldfish (the receipts in his wallet were too common for just one), was called Simon Luther Lanning (initials stitched on to handkerchief, name on clothes), came from an old-fashioned family (initials stitched on handkerchief), had a dead- estranged-brother (obituary cut out from news-paper), and was a banker in charge of considerable money-flow (pristine finger-nails, used watch, glasses for computer, multiple papers in brief-case…).

What really caught Sherlock's eye, though, was the fact that Mr Lanning had been shearing money off the bank and depositing it in a secure bank-vault. It did not take long for Sherlock to connect the dots, Moriarty was the victim's superior.

Pushing his conclusion firmly to the side, Sherlock used his remaining four minutes to examine the cause of death. It had been a very precise, clean shot. The bullet had been fired from a M1911 pistol and was lodged in the man's brain. With a few glares and deductions, Sherlock was able to see the bullet. A quick glance told him everything, the distinctive 'DB' engraved onto the metal was easy to identify. With a shout to Lestrade, informing him of the cadaver's former affiliations and murderers, the detective was off the crime scene and sauntering out of sight.

Line Break

Letus wandered amicably through the streets of London, pausing to snap pictures every so often with a simple camera-phone. His skin was died walnut-brown and his hair jet-black. His chocolate-brown eyes peered out from underneath a blue, knitted toque. Letus' hands were covered by knitted, navy gloves and a matching scarf was wrapped around his neck. His jacket was black and lined with polar-fleece, it was zipped-up over a long-sleeve, plain, grey shirt. Dark-blue jeans covered his legs, simple trainers were on his feet and a black rucksack was slung over one shoulder. He made sure to shiver at cold that he did not feel, pretending to be a man used to warmer climates.

Letus stared around with faux wonder, examining the area as he strolled along. Yellow, police-tape flowed beside him and he allowed his eyes to roam towards the police cordons. A man bypassed the tape and strode briskly in front of Letus. The two men slammed into each other in the middle of the crowd, awkwardly tripping over other people's feet. They stumbled, but managed to regain their footing as the crowd swarmed around them.

Sherlock studied the man in front of him. The man was likely a foreigner, a tourist going by the camera and layers. The detective almost missed the flash of surprise that sped over the man's face. It confused Sherlock as it was unlikely that the man knew him. Sherlock snorted something rude about tourists and swiftly escaped the perplexing and uncomfortable situation, turning to allow his coat to billow out behind him.

A hand shot out to grab the detective's arm. "Mi scusi, Signore! You dropped this?" The accent was distinctly Italian and the language just confirmed it for Sherlock.

The Consulting Detective turned around to accept his magnifying glass from the man confidently stating. "Thank you." His hand leapt into the air and he yelled. "Taxi!" The black vehicle screeched to a halt, tires smoking, allowing the detective in without a fuss.

Line Break

Letus continued on his way, retrieving his 'brother's' briefcase with a sigh. He stuffed it into a blue rucksack before continuing on his way. Nostalgia crept on him as Sherlock's face popped into his mind once again. The assassin shook his head, clearing the sentiment and retrieving the mask. The Italian tourist slid back into the crowds of London as the rain finally began to let up.

Line Break

Mycroft frowned, expressing his displeasure as he stared at the worn paper. He had read it so many times that the black ink was faded and the white paper was slightly translucent. The eldest Holmes-brother swallowed his rising emotions as tears threated to crawl into his eyes. He gave a great sniff as he sat alone, studying the cryptic message on the back of the dog-eared photograph. Four people, a family, were huddled together with joy and laughter. He still remembered those days, before he was forced to run because of his brother's friend. Resentment had turned Mycroft bitter, but part of him understood why he had helped the young man.

'The candle is naught
But a burning stub
Wax is dripping
From the hour-glass
Sand-beasts are preparing to sting
Hell's creatures will combat them
A secret war is on the horizon
Devils against Fallen Angels
You will be discovered
The dead will rise
Facades will fall.

I'm sorry-L'

Line Break

It was not until he returned to 221B that Sherlock finally read the crumpled note the Italian had slipped him. His brow furrowed with confusion and azure eyes narrowed in suspicion.

'From the depths of Hell
And the darkness of the Pit
Demons shall fight
Only one shall win
Masks will be lifted
Lives destroyed
You will be found
Time is not on your side.

I'm sorry, my friend-L'

Thank you for reading! I will try to update quicker next time.