Series 3 of Sherlock and Season 2 of Elementary have me totally excited! I hope you all are enjoying it as much as I am!

PS: I don't own anything but my racing thoughts.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

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"So the spare room is upstairs and the bath across the hall. Use them however you like." Sherlock told him as he unlocked the door to 221B Baker Street. He led them through another set of doors before John finally got a look at his new situation. It did seem a bit odd—no white washed walls or tile flooring, though looking at Sherlock he couldn't imagine him living in some sleek and modern stainless steel complex. Baker Street was old, but it definitely had character to it and John decided that, for the time being, this spacious, old house would definitely work.

"What do you think, John?" The brunette inquired as he removed his scarf with well-practiced motions. "Upstairs boys, second door to the left." He instructed his moving force as they filed in behind the two adults before going upstairs to deliver their load.

"It is a very nice place," John nodded moving from the foyer to what he assumed to be the main living area. "Though…" He stopped to stare in amazement of the amount of clutter accumulated in the room. Above the mantle was a collage of photos, papers, receipts, maps, and other articles all crisscrossed with red string. Books where strewn across the floor, there was nowhere to sit, and was that a skull on the mantle?

"…it's a bit messy." John finished lamely. Sherlock seemed to realize John's train of thought before he finished, as he was already dancing around the mess picking up books as he went.

"It's not always this messy, of course. During cases I like to have all my materials available at a moments notice. The cleaning lady Mrs. Hudson comes through every Thursday to clean—she's OCD, makes for an extremely clean work space."

"Uh-huh, well that works for me. Now what's all this then, one of your methods I presume?" He gestured towards the red web above the fireplace. He had to admit, it definitely made for an impressive display of data.

"Yes, I like to know how all the pieces connect, what leads to what, and whose involved. This is simply one of the best visual methods to arrange my data." Sherlock paused midway from re-shelving a book to run a finger across a red string. "You see, for every crime there is a web—a string of events and people that are all singularly connected by the spider that sits in the middle."

John couldn't help but raise a brow at the analogy. "Spider?"

Sherlock nodded absentmindedly, seemingly lost in another thought. "Yes, he sits motionless in the center of his web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans."

John looked on at his new companion, suddenly realizing the sudden change of atmosphere that seemed to surround him. He swallowed, not really knowing what to reply with. "Sherlock, are you—." Though before he could address anything, Sherlock's network of movers came barreling down the stairs, finally done with their job.

"Right Mr. Holmes, your pal is all settled, so that'll be the usual rate my good sir." One of the older teens smiled cheekily as he readjusted his blue cap. The other boys had already filed outside, leaving the monetary transaction to their friend. John shook his head, "the usual rate, huh?" Guess this really was a typical thing, though it would take some idea to get used to.

Sherlock was already pulling outside his wallet, the odd atmosphere that surrounded him moments before had already dissipated, leaving again the sharp detective in its place.

"Here you are Billy, make sure to use it for something useful like a new coat and not those cheap cigarettes from the corner store. You know those will kill you one day." He huffed handing over a wad of bills. Billy saluted before taking the bills and folding them into his pockets.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Holmes." He laughed before moving outside to join his fellows. "Oh, and later Doc! Good luck with this guy!" He called over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

"They seem like good kids," John watched them meander down the sidewalk through the window, still a bit bemused by Billy's farewell.

"Yes, they are good at what they do; master pickpockets and very useful using in tailing potential suspects. Oh, here is your wallet by the way, better watch out next time." Sherlock tossed the wallet over to the gaping doctor who went checking through it for damage control. "Don't worry, you're with me, they wouldn't take anything. Think of it like testing your awareness, though sorry to say you've failed on that one."

John sighed putting his wallet back into his pocket, "Why do I feel like this might be a usual occurrence?" His only reply was a quick grin from the lanky detective before his mobile went off again.

Sherlock immediately pulled it out to read the message, and whatever it was must have been good. "Spot on, as usual." He grinned before tossing the book he still held to the ground and making he way to the foyer.

"Now what are you on about?" John called after him.

"Blakely, your co-worker, has been picked up by the police and is in custody." Sherlock explained as he threw on his coat and picked up his scarf. "He's not talking and hasn't accepted any bargains as of yet, so they want me to try my hand at questioning." Now done readjusting his scarf, he made his way back to the front door, but paused with his hand on the handle to look back at John with a curious expression from where the doctor still stood in the living room. "Well?"

"Well what?" John questioned back.

"Aren't you coming?"

"But this is your case, and from what I understand it's pretty much wrapped up. Plus I still don't know a thing about police work." John knew he was supposed to help out, but after this hellish day he just wanted to sleep. After all, he had now been up since four that morning. He checked his watch, "it's a little after nine now…geez." He really couldn't see how much help he'd be tonight. But unfortunately Sherlock didn't seem to see it that way.

"Nonsense John! Think of this as the beginning of your training. The sooner we get you acquainted with the detective-style of work the sooner you'll be more useful on our future endeavors." With that statement he was out the door, leaving it open for John to follow, as he quickly went to hail a cab. "Come along John!" He called from outside.

John sighed and looked wistfully up the stairs to where somewhere his new bed awaited. He turned back towards the doorway and shook the tired doctor in him away before the soldier in him straightened up to follow this consultant out to a new unknown.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"Holmes, glad you finally made it." Captain Gregson waved them over as soon as he saw them arrive. "We got him just like you said, only now—." He paused as he saw Sherlock's new company. "Doctor," he addressed John slightly surprised. "Wasn't expecting to see you again, did Holmes decide you were the better option to talk to Mr. Blakely?"

"Um," John gave him a sheepish smile. "Not exactly. I'm sharing with Sherlock now at the moment, and he decided it was better for me to tag along."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the captain's confused expression. "If you've already forgotten, this case has rendered him momentarily homeless, so I've offered my spare room at Baker Street. Also, as he is also my new colleague I will be schooling him in the Science of Deduction, so expect to see more of John in the future. Now, I'm going to see if we can't hurry this investigation along." He breezed past Gregson towards the conference room where Bell currently was running his hands over his face in exasperation. Sherlock entered the room and after a glance from Bell, took the seat next to him.

John was left to stand awkwardly beside Gregson on the other side of the window as he watched the exchange between his co-worker—"Would it be ex-co-worker now? Hmm…"—and the detectives.

"So, you and Holmes huh?" John glanced over to meet Captain Gregson's gaze. "Working together now, is it?"

"Something like that, yeah." John nodded. "To be honest it was all very rushed, but I think it's something we both seem interested in trying out." To his surprise the captain laughed.

"Oh yeah, with Holmes I think 'rushed' might be an understatement. But what about your work at the hospital?" He couldn't help to ask.

"I decided to take a break from it for now, it wasn't really working for me. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but I think for now I just need something…different, you know what I mean?" John admitted.

Gregson nodded, "Well be careful what you wish for, as that is definitely what you'll get working with him." He nodded in the direction of a certain consultant.

John couldn't help but ask, "Have you known him for very long? Or…consult with him often?"

"I've known Holmes for many years now, though only recently in the past year since he's come to New York have we been consulting with him." The older man explained. "You see I did some time working with New Scotland Yard to observe their counter terrorist-bureau after September 11th, and while Holmes mostly worked Homicides our paths still crossed. I mean, I don't think there wasn't a sole in the Yard who hadn't at least heard of Sherlock Holmes and his deductive abilities. Well, anyway, I heard from a friend in the Yard that he moved over here, so I looked him up and have been working with him since."

John stared in amazement at his new partner through the glass at this recent update. "So he used to consult for the Yard as well? I had no idea." Though, to be fair to himself, he has only known his new companion for less than twenty-four hours. Not really much to go on in that length of time.

"He used to work with Detective Inspector Lestrade mainly. Though, he really didn't have many friends on the force if I recall."

"Really? No friends at all?"

"None." Gregson shook his head. "Only cared for the work, and it wasn't surprising to see him tare into a witness or officer, let alone the suspect. Though, don't let me frighten you off Dr. Watson." He quickly looked in the eyes. "Sherlock Holmes is a good man, a very eccentric one, but a good one. He needs good people to keep him centered doctor, and I think him getting a partner to work with will really do him some good."

John held his gaze as he mulled over the recent revelations, and after a moments pause he stuck his hand out to the captain. "Please, call me John. And I think he'll be more of a help to me than anything I could offer."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that." He smiled, shaking the offered hand.

"Hmm?" John raised a brow in askance. "And why would that be?"

"He wants you to go in with him." Captain Gregson motioned towards the room where now Detective Bell was making his way towards the door and Sherlock was sending him a look through the window.

"Doctor Watson?" Detective Bell called him over and John made his way over as Gregson followed behind. "As surprised as I am to see you suddenly working with Holmes, it's a good thing you're here."

"And…why is my being here a good thing?" John asked curiously, because honestly he doesn't know what he's doing here.

"Holmes managed to get Blakely to talk, but it's only to talk to you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, I guess you being an old co-worker and all he might feel more confortable talking with you rather than a detective. But please, we need him to accept that plea bargain Dr. Watson. The sooner we get that, the sooner that's one less dealer off the streets."

John couldn't help but swallow nervously; he'd never done anything like police work before. Weren't there like lawyers or things to contend with? Well, Sherlock was in there, and he didn't seem too bother by the situation, if anything he looked rather bored with it all. John let out a breath before he squared his shoulders. "Right Watson, you invaded Afghanistan, talking to David shouldn't be anywhere close to that disaster."

"Right, well, let's give this a go shall we?" John nodded before going in to take the seat previously occupied by Detective Bell.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"John, you have to believe me, I never wanted to set you up with him, but I had no choice in the matter." David told him in an excited manner. "Like, that's why I can't say anything now either."

"He's threatening you? To kill you, you mean?" John questioned.

"Not only me John, but my wife and kid. I never wanted it to get this bad, but you know how it is, late nights, long shifts, I needed something to keep me going you know?"

"So you traded him with whatever he needed from the supplies at the Hospital for whatever you needed in return?" Sherlock summarized as he leaned back in his chair. "But whenever you felt that he asked for too much, and tried to back away, the threats started coming. When he needed to drop out of sight, he needed somewhere to lay low—which you provided—and now that he's on the run, and your caught, if you enter in a plea bargain it's a good chance your family's life will be put in peril." He sighed. "Honestly, this is textbook. Where are the really interesting cases?"

"Sherlock!" John admonished.

The detective glanced over at the doctor beside him. "What? Bit…not good?"

John sighed and shook his head. "Yeah Sherlock, a 'bit not good.'" He turned from Sherlock to where David was looking slightly aghast. "Now David," John turned his attention back to the point at hand. "If you really want your family to be safe, the only way to really ensure that is to turn in Alex Brookston. We have all of the NYPD here to protect your family, put them in protective custody, or witness protection; you know that's why they have those types of things. So please, David, I know you're a decent man; I've worked with you for these past months. Tell us where Brookston is, take the bargain so you can be with your family sooner rather than later."

John missed the curious glance Sherlock gave him, as he was too busy watching the cloud of emotions descend over David's face. It was a few more minutes of silence before, David spoke again, "If you can promise me that starting today they will be protected, I'll do it. I'll agree to the plea bargain." He sighed, brining his hands up to bury his face in them.

John smiled grimly. "You're doing the right thing David." He then turned around to where Gregson and Bell watching from outside. He motioned for them to come in as both he and Sherlock rose to leave.

"Did he agree to it?" Bell immediately asked as they exited the room.

John nodded. "He'll do it, as long as his family is protected from Brookston and his people."

"That can easily be arranged, we'll get right on that. Thank you John, Sherlock." Gregson thanked them as Bell and a couple other officers entered the room to escort David out. "Now we'll see if we can finally settle this whole matter. I'll keep you updated." Gregson nodded as he followed his partner down the hall.

"So, I guess that means we're finished here?" John asked Sherlock, not really knowing what follows this sort of thing. Sherlock nodded in confirmation and began to stroll out of the Met, John quickly following alongside.

"Good tactic, you used his sentiment against him. People normally fall short once it comes into play." Sherlock congratulated him as the left. But John shook his head at the statement.

"Sentiment? I didn't 'use' anything against him, Sherlock. He was genuinely worried about his family. I just needed him to see that by keeping silent he was putting them more at risk by keeping silent than by talking." He explained as they the reached outside where Sherlock immediately went a brisk pace down the sidewalk. John grimaced, "So I guess we're taking the long way back then…"

"Funny, if you thought he really cared, one might think he'd never involve himself in this in the first place." Sherlock shrugged as he buried his hands in the pockets of his ridiculous coat. "In the end, caring gets you no where."

"Now hang on, you're saying that caring makes people weak?" John frowned in disapproval.

"Precisely, after all, sentiment is just the chemical defect found in the losing side." He finished smugly as they paused at the crosswalk, the hand red.

"That is…" John didn't know what to say. Sherlock glanced over towards John, knowing this is where most people usually took offense. "That is really sad, that is." John had flashbacks to long nights around campfires with fellow soldiers; of battles where men and women risked their lives to drag their comrades to safety; of ambushes…

"John, look, you can't save him—damn it! John, there is no way I'm letting you die here, not like this."

The soldier shook his head to dispel the fog of the past that had settled over him. "I see it differently Sherlock. Because, if it wasn't for sentiment, than I wouldn't be here today." The light changed green, and John walked ahead of his silent and contemplative companion.

"You were shot," Sherlock finally spoke up, "in the shoulder. What happened?"

John sighed. "I'm really not up to talking about it, sorry."

"You know what they say, talking about the past usually helps settle it." Sherlock countered.

"Well, how about you then? What brought you to the Big Apple all the way from London?" John turned the questioning around.

Sherlock frowned, looking straight ahead of himself. "I'd rather not say." John simply nodded.

"See, its okay if we have things we don't want to share. It's better to just go at our own pace, I feel that maybe one day if we want to talk about it, than we will; but, for now it's best to just not." He finished, putting his own fingers back into his own pockets. He missed the small upturn of Sherlock's mouth as they made their way down the quiet street.

"It's getting late, and you haven't eaten since yesterday." Sherlock glanced at his watch. 11:23p. He turned to John. "Dinner? I know a nice Chinese place that stays open till around two."

As if the mere mention of food suddenly woke it up, John felt his stomach growl in affirmation to the idea. "That sounds just like what the doctor ordered."

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"John, John! Wake up!" A voice called, dragging him out of the unconsciousness he sorely wished to keep.

"Mmm, whatever it is, it can wait five more minutes…" He grumbled, hiding under his blanket. The same blanket that was quickly wrenched from him, leaving him exposed to the cold, drafty air around him. "Why is there a draft here, my room isn't…" His eyes shot opened as the flood of yesterdays events came rushing back into the forefront of his mind. He sat up quickly and found himself facing his new roommate, the consultant detective, Sherlock Holmes. He quickly noted it was still dark out, and not having set up any of his room the night before—as he just collapsed on the mattress—there was no clock to tell him how god awful early it was to be dealing with this.

"No time John, quickly now. Captain Gregson just texted. They found Brookston's hideaway, but while it was empty it appears as if they just missed him. They want us to look around." Sherlock spoke excitedly, dropping the sheet and tossing John's shoes and socks on top of him.

"You mean they want you to go check it out." John corrected. "And what time is it anyway? I couldn't have slept for more than a few hours, geez."

"Nonsense John, you are involved in this case, therefore you will see it to the end." He explained, deliberately choosing to ignore the question of time. "Now, hurry and dress, I have a cab waiting downstairs." And with that he rushed out of the room, loudly going down the stairs as he went, no doubt to collect that coat of his.

John rolled over and grabbed his phone, checking the time. 3:43a. "Oh, he is so dead." John decided as he dressed himself as fast as he could with how sluggishly he felt. "Right," he mumbled, following Sherlock out to the early morning. "This better not be a typical thing."

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"He might have had lookouts that could have give him a heads up, letting him know we were coming." Bell was pondering aloud when the walked in. "Could explain why we just missed him."

Sherlock and John had followed the directions texted to them from Captain Gregson to the warehouses near the Brooklyn shipping yards. Inside of one of the warehouses, instead of shipping crates like one would expect of the area, there was a converted apartment style living space. It was nice, John mused, much nicer than what the two of them been sharing.

"By the time we got the warrant to search the place and get down here, we hadn't managed to set up most of the road blocks for the area. He could have gotten right past us." Gregson ran a hand through his graying hair; this was beginning looking like a wild goose chase.

"Oh I wouldn't be too sure of that Captain." Sherlock called to him. As he entered the place he was already take note of the surroundings, and while others saw the comforts of finer living, he saw the ingenious of the design. "I'm sure you would be pleased to note that our man is quite closer than you'd think."

"And what makes you say that?" John asked him, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"This!" He motioned with a flourish to an enormous white, leather bound sofa that sat along the far wall to their left.

"A couch? Sorry, but I'm not seeing the connection here." Bell sighed as he began walking towards the aforementioned couch.

"Look at it, really look at it compared to the rest of the furniture." The consultant urged, gesturing to the rest of the seating area.

"Yeah, none of its really my taste." Gregson acknowledged. "Now why don't you walk us through it?"

Sherlock frowned before turning his attention to John. "John, what do you think."

"Oh boy, here we go." John inwardly groaned as he took his turn in analyzing the layout around him. "Um…something to do with the couch…" he muttered to himself.

It wasn't anything too impressive, just a plain white couch. It was very clean, he noted, it looked new compared to the other seats around it. Next to it there were two blue armchairs, well worn with indentions in the sea cushion. Another green couch stood off by the armchairs looking towards a large plasma television mounted on the wall. The only odd thing he noted were how the green couch and blue chairs all face the same general direction to the television, whilst the white couch behind them sat along the wall instead, facing out towards the rest of the space. That's weird, but then against, what does he know about the furniture preferences of convicted drug dealers?

"What's odd, John?" Sherlock asked, breaking him from his reprieve.

"Um," He must have spoke out loud again, damn it he needed to stop doing that. "Well I just thought it was odd how he would buy a brand new couch, but instead of putting it in the most useful spot like facing the telly, he sets it aside over on the wall like that." John shrugged. "Not much really to go on I'm afraid."

But to his surprise Sherlock grinned at him as he shook his head in affirmation. "Good, yes, that's exactly it."

The other three men shared a brief glance before turning back to Sherlock. "What is it then, Sherlock?" John asked.

"You see, the couch isn't new John, it's as old as the other pieces of furniture, but it only looks new because no one has ever sat on it."

"Hold on, how can you tell how long its been there?" Bell questioned. "He could be right, it looks new."

"Dust, my friends, is my favorite part of a crime scene. It tells you everything you need to know." If you look at the dust accumulation under this couch as compared to the rest of it, it's the same thin layer, suggested that once this furniture was placed, it wasn't moved again. Also looking at the state of the cushion tells us no one has used this couch, now the question is why?"

Bell scratched the back of his head. "How is a couch related to Brookston still being around here instead of halfway out of the city?"

Sherlock grinned. "This is why." He walked over towards the row of switches along the wall and flipped one down. To the others surprise, there was a slight mechanical noise followed by the part of floor the white couch was over lifting up vertically to reveal the space underneath. Peering below revealed a ladder leading down to a dark tunnel that led away from the warehouse.

"Amazing," John gaped. "You got all of that from a couch and dust?" Sherlock retuned the compliment with a grin before continuing along.

"If you follow this, judging by the damp ground below, it will most likely lead to a hidden dock where Brookston will most likely attempt to make his escape via boat. If you act quickly enough you can alert the coast guard to be on the look out for the Duchessa."

"You know the name of his boat?" John looked at him incredulously. In response, Sherlock pointed behind him, to where, along the wall, were several photos of Brookston and fellows; most of the photos were aboard a boat, named Duchessa in the photo. "Ah, I see." John grinned. "Good job, that's it then."

"Great work Holmes, Bell I want the guard out looking for that boat ASAP, you got me?" Gregson had already pulled out his phone to instruct the rest of his people on the recent update.

"You got it." Bell was already dialing the guard to tell them what to look for. Once off the phone, he sat along the edge of the space, lowering himself down. He grimaced looking at the muck below. "Well guys, time to get down and dirty."

"You two back up Bell," Captain Gregson addressed his consultants. "I need to go redirect our next movements. Can you handle this?"

"Definitely." John automatically assured. He felt himself straighten up as he was overcome with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, the adrenaline of heading into the unknown and acting with a true purpose. He hadn't realized how much he had missed this. He didn't hesitate to kneel down to the edge and his hands were steady as he lowered himself down after Bell. John heard Sherlock land behind him and then silently the two consultants followed Bell, who had since drawn his firearm, down the tunnel.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"Alex Brookston, freeze!" Bell shouted at the man who had froze mid swing from tossing a suitcase from a pile of them onto his boat. "NYPD, Brookston you are under arrest for aggravated assault and the possession, sale, and trafficking of drugs. Now hands in the air where I can see them." Bell ordered, gun raised and pointed at the dealer.

John and Sherlock stood behind Bell, John no really sure of what he should be feeling about the person he shared a place with for the last half a year. If he was being honest with himself, he really didn't feel much of anything; after all he really didn't know the guy.

Brookston seemed to recover from his moment of shock as he dropped the case and reached from behind him to pull out his own weapon.

"I don't think so officer. I've got places to be, and jail is not one of them." Alex taunted. "Now I'm just going to be on my way—." That's when he noticed the pair behind Bell. "Doctor Watson?" He laughed aloud. "I wasn't that bad of a housemate that you had to follow the police down here was I?"

John didn't bother to answer, just narrowed his gaze towards Alex Brookston. Tall, athletic build, with dark hair, Alex had seemed like a decent chap when he moved here from England. But, if its one thing John can't stand, it is being used for someone else's advantage. "Look Alex, its over. They have the guard watching out for you, they'll most likely be here any minute. Just drop this act now and maybe you'll get a lighter sentencing." John called to him.

"As if doc, we'll see who gets who in the end."

John's body moved before his mind could catch up with what he was seeing. John had noticed the tensing of the shoulders, the tightening of the arm, the steadying of the handgun, and he knew that Alex was about to fire. Military instincts kicked in as he rushed forward to tackle Bell out of the path of the bullet Alex had fired his way. They both impacted the ground in hard manner, John knocking the wind out of Bell in his rush to move him.

"John! Bell!" Sherlock called as he rushed over to them.

As the three were otherwise preoccupied Alex took the chance to jump into his boat in an attempt to get away. John heard to the start of a motor and looked to see Alex pulling away; but he couldn't let him get away. Quickly, he had to incapacitate him. A shot through the shoulder should do, he's close enough to where he won't bleed to death. Unconsciousness is highly likely." With a deep breath he picked up Bell's pistol on the ground and in one swift motion, raised it, aimed, and fired. There was a cry from the boat as Alex went down, the boat ceasing its motion not to far from the dock.

"John…" John blinked as he suddenly realized the implications of his actions. He just shot someone, outside of a war zone. He was a doctor, not a cop, what had happened. He looked to Sherlock, but the look of admiration he got was not what he was expecting. "Good aim." He congratulated him as he assisted Detective Bell to stand.

Detective Bell looked at John warily as he held out his hand for his gun, which John quickly handed back over. "You Shot him?"

John licked his lips nervously before looking away from Bell momentarily. "Yes, but I hit his shoulder, so he's only incapacitated. He won't die of blood loss if we get to him soon."

"Good job Doctor, never thought you'd have it in you." Bell's reaction surprised John.

"I did serve time in the army. It was basic training that stuff, nothing special."

"Well, you saved my life Doctor Watson, so thank you." Bell told him seriously.

"Please, just John is fine." John told him as he offered his hand.

"Alright, John. Call me Marcus, it's the least I can do." Marcus told him as he re-holstered his firearm before offering his own. Then his phone rang and he quickly answered it. "Captain, yeah we got him. Be sure to include a medical team on the boat wen the coast guard picks him up. Yeah, he opened fire, but luckily our Doctor here has better reflexes than I do." He paused for a moment before nodding in affirmation. "Yes sir, will do." He finished the call and turned back to his companions.

"They're on their way, so they'll be here soon." He told them.

"Good, good. Well I see you have everything settled here Detective Bell. I believe John and I shall be on out way." Sherlock began making his way back around towards the warehouse. John grinned at Detective Marcus before turning to follow Sherlock.

"Guys wait, you can't just leave," Marcus called after them. "A lot of people are going to want to talk to you. This is quite the case you helped wrap up."

"You know my methods, detective." Sherlock waved him off. "I don't do publicity, and as for the legal matters we shall make a point to return to headquarters to address them later. Till then, you know where to find us."

Marcus watched the two walk away, letting out a long breath as he heard the familiar sound of approaching sirens. "Right," he spoke aloud. "Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, 221B Baker Street. Got it." He turned out to see the approaching coast guard and felt the relief that usually came with a closed case. "Looks like that's another one down." He muttered as he made his towards the dock where he would meet the guard while he would wait for Captain Gregson to appear. Inwardly though, he was already dreading the paperwork to come.

"So now where are we off too?" John inquired of Sherlock.

"For now we're avoiding the press and the paperwork that will most likely have accumulated with the recent development of the case. That, and I do believe you require more sleep."

John glanced at his watch, it was a little past six, and he suddenly realized he wasn't tired. Not in the least. "Nah, sleep can wait." John decided, turning to Sherlock. "How does a little breakfast sound?" He proposed.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

"Sir?"

The man behind the desk glanced up as his assistant walked into the room. Sharply dressed as usual, her brunette hair fell softly across her shoulders as she shifted the files in her arms to reach for her blackberry at the bottom of the stack. It seems she had recently gotten a new pair of shoes as well; though, she really should work on breaking them in before wearing them to work.

"Yes, Andrea?" He paused the work he was doing, after all if she was here something of interest must have happened, and it wasn't as if North Korea was going anywhere.

"It's come up that your brother has taken in a flatmate." She announced, checking the email again. "A Doctor John H. Watson, retired RAMC and captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." She lowered her phone to grasp a file from the top of the stack in her arms to place it on his desk where her employer picked it up and immediately went to browse through it.

"Hmm, well he's certainly no threat." Mycroft Holmes assessed.

"No sir, not at all." His assistant agreed.

He read the more recent case update. "Oh, they're solving crimes together now? Ha, should I be expecting a happy announcement at the end of the week?" He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, no matter. Seems its time to upgrade his surveillance status." He turned to Andrea. "Both Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson are now upgraded to grade three, active. See that it's done." He closed the file and handed it back over to her.

"Yes sir, right away." With that she quickly left the dark, ornate office of the British Government.

Mycroft sat at his desk contemplating the recent development, and for once in a long time, he really couldn't see where this development would lead. "Interesting, that soldier fellow." He mused as he leaned back into the expensive leather chair. "He could be the making of my brother. Or make him worse than ever."

.

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~~~~~oOo~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed it, I'd love your input!