Gwen took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. Looking towards the sky, her eyes calmly followed the flight of a crowd of birds as they passed overhead. Diverting her attention forward again, Gwen observed passerby from her position on the park bench.

Old woman: widower, not interested in remarrying, dog just died. Most likely has at least one child. Husband—Michael—was Jewish, but she is Christian.

-How could you possibly know all that?- Gwen grinned at her mind's imitation of John. This was secretly what she hoped to happen someday. This is normally how John would respond to Sherlock's deductions, and she could only pray that someday her own deductions would merit such a response.

Well... she thought, pretending to herself that she was truly talking to John, The ring on her finger indicates that she is married, but her socks aren't matching, so there is no one to point it out to her. So she's a widower with no intention of going back on the market. Not surprising, given her age. The dog hair on her shoes shows that she clearly owned a pet dog, but as she glanced at a couple playing with their dog in the park, tears came to her eyes. So the dog has recently passed away.

There is a clip-on earring on her left ear, but not on her right, so she was probably on the phone earlier today and forgot to replace it. Now who would call to comfort someone for their dog's death? Chances are, their kid. Possibly a good friend, but I'm willing to bet that she hasn't even told her friends yet, if she has any.

Then, her cross necklace indicates that she is Christian in faith but she is wearing a bracelet which spells out 'Michael' in Hebrew. So her husband was named Michael and was of Jewish faith.

Gwen sighed sadly to herself. None of this was impressive. For God's sake, Sherlock could probably find all that in five seconds, plus everywhere she'd traveled in the last two years, how many children she had, where she lived, and what her profession was. Possibly more.

I'm nothing... she thought despairingly, her eyes closing as if to block her from the outside world. Releasing her breath slowly, Gwen allowed herself to sit quietly for a few minutes, comforted by the darkness of the inside of her eyelids and the soft breeze around her.

Opening her eyes once more, Gwen decided that she'd spent enough time people-watching for the day. It was time to get back home. After all, there was still Mrs. Wilson's case to work on, and surely Sherlock would have forgotten their conversation by now.

Unlikely, she thought grudgingly, But perhaps he'll be too distracted by the case to bring it up again.

As she rose to leave, Gwen turned back to the bench briefly. Every muscle in her body froze in fear and she felt her heart skip a beat. Lying on the bench, right next to where she had been seated, was a manila envelope that had most definitely not been there before.

When? she thought desperately, her head snapping both ways, looking down the dirt path for anyone suspicious. She saw no one.

Hesitantly, Gwen reached forward and picked up the envelope. First she felt all around the letter, making sure it was as flat as it appeared. It was. Then she sniffed it, just in case. Nothing suspicious. Just the smell of paper.

Gwen sliced the envelope open quickly with her nail. From inside she pulled out a piece of paper upon which the following words were typed:

Don't think that by not playing the game you can escape the game.

If you choose not to solve this case there will merely be more victims than were originally intended.

Make this worth my time.

And don't worry. You aren't next.

..-..

"Sherlock!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her. The envelope was currently residing in the bottom of a trashcan, now nothing more than ash. Carrying something like that around Sherlock Holmes was a terrible idea if you didn't want him to see it.

Sherlock's head calmly lifted up and he glanced at her before lying back down. He was sprawled out on the couch in his silk pajama robe. On his left arm were two nicotine patches.

"Sherlock, don't ignore me," she demanded, "There is something we need to discuss."

"Yes, what?" he responded with a bored tone.

"At Mrs. Wilson's house, there was something that bugged me."

Now Sherlock truly looked at Gwen, his attention captivated.

"On the table," she explained as she took a seat on one of the plush armchairs, "if you remember-"

"I remember everything," cut in Sherlock immediately. Gwen glared at him and he shut his mouth.

"There was a strawberry shortcake. There was even a piece cut off, with crumbs still sitting on a plate."

"Yes, and?"

"Mrs. Wilson never ate strawberries. She was allergic to them."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he slowly sat up, gazing intently into her sincere eyes.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well clearly someone else was there. Someone she'd been expecting. They brought her a cake for goodness sake."

"So, who would bring her a cake?" murmured Sherlock. "A friend perhaps? It must have been someone she trusted..."

"I actually have an idea about that too," admitted Gwen. Sherlock looked sharply at her. "You see, Mrs. Wilson's husband died about twenty years ago, and she's been alone ever since. She was a real sweetheart; she loved company and spending time with people. She always said how she didn't teach piano for the money but merely because she enjoyed playing and teaching others."

"So?"

"I'm getting to it, calm down," schooled Gwen. "So, she used to offer a deal. If you brought her some sort of food, like for a picnic, and if you came early and ate with her, then she would give you your lesson for half-price. So I figure-"

"-the murderer was one of her clients," finished Sherlock in wonder. "Excellent! Now we simply need to find a list of all her students. Though, we've so far been unsuccessful in this area..."

"I'll get to that too. But there was something else. Mrs. Wilson was-"

Gwen cut off as the door opened and John entered the flat.

"Hello you two," he greeted jovially.

"Uh, yes, hello John," replied Gwen, attempting to be as cordial as possible. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Gwen turned back to Sherlock to continue.

"Have I interrupted something?" asked John slowly, gesturing between Gwen and Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock said immediately. "Gwen what-"

Ignoring Sherlock momentarily (and internally scowling at his rudeness), Gwen smiled at the doctor.

"No, not at all," she said sweetly, speaking over Sherlock, who frowned in annoyance. "We were merely discussing the case."

"Ah," was the response. "I'll go make us some tea then."

"Thank you, that would be lovely."

Turning back to Sherlock, Gwen rolled her eyes at the childish expression on his face. He looked as if he were pouting. She could almost imagine that he was about to have a tantrum at any moment: flinging himself down on the ground, thumping it with his fists, shrieking to the high heavens.

"What?" a voice snapped Gwen back to earth.

"Hmm?"

"You were chuckling."

"Oh, ignore that." Sherlock glared slightly. "The point is, Mrs. Wilson's body was found upstairs, correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"No need to get huffy." Gwen could have sworn Sherlock's lips quirked ever so slightly at this. "John! You're sure that Mrs. Wilson wasn't moved upstairs after being murdered, yes?"

"Yes, very sure. She was clearly killed just where we found her," John called out from the kitchen.

"And where exactly was that?"

"Uh," he called loudly as the sound of kettles and cups clunking around filled the background, "In the upstairs hallway, just outside the bathroom and bedroom."

"Well," Gwen said, directing herself at Sherlock once more. "Mrs. Wilson-"

"-never uses the upstairs," completed Sherlock. His back straightened as his eyes gazed away from Gwen's face.

"Precisely."

"Sorry, have I missed something?" came John's voice.

"No," Sherlock and Gwen shouted simultaneously. Grinning at each other, they shared a small chuckle before getting serious again.

"So what would she have been doing upstairs?" concluded Sherlock, making a summation of their thoughts, not actually expecting Gwen to know.

"Now that I do not know." Sherlock's head tilted and his eyes narrowed considerably. Gwen could feel him analyzing her, judging her every word. She tried not to find it disconcerting. "Perhaps we should go back to the crime scene to check it out?"

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock, Gwen, and John got out of a taxi that had pulled up outside of Mrs. Wilson's house. Jogging up the walkway, Sherlock flung the door open and strutted in. John, being a gentleman, kindly waited and allowed Gwen to pass through before him.

Immediately Sherlock began to examine the living room, spinning around slowly, his hands slowly moving about as he struggled to solve the puzzle.

"Stop it."

Gwen looked at John in puzzlement. He merely gave her a look and a shrug, having grown used to Sherlock's unexplainable tendencies.

"We weren't-"

"You were thinking about speaking. Don't."

The abrupt tone was one which Gwen had become fairly acquainted with. Something inside of her told her that she should feel miffed, or that she should scowl at his rudeness. So why was it that she instead found herself smiling fondly?

Suddenly, Sherlock's face lit up. His eyes widened, as if the information he had just absorbed had to enter through his ever-observational eyes. He reeled backwards, hands raised thoughtlessly. Without speaking a word, Sherlock rushed off into another part of the house. Gwen chuckled as John sighed at his friend's behavior. Meeting her eyes, John smiled gently at her, to which Gwen responded in turn.

John's heart began to hammer as he found himself captivated by her beauty. How much he longed to hold that hand, or to hug her close to him, or to kiss those soft pink lips. And what was a better time than now? It was so hard to get any time alone with her, and now Sherlock had just dashed off, leaving them by themselves in the living room.

Hesitantly, John found himself leaning down, his face growing closer to hers.

Gwen was frozen in place, unsure what to do. Was John about to kiss her? What should she do about it? She was sure that she fancied him: that was clear from the beat of her heart when he smiled at her, and the flutter in her stomach when he laughed. She knew that she enjoyed his company, that she found him attractive, that she knew him to be a good, kind man.

That should be enough, shouldn't it?

But somehow, instead of images of the well-intentioned doctor, in her mind she saw images of a quite different man. A man with-

"I knew it! In the bathroom, the toilet is-"

Gwen's thoughts were cut off and John halted immediately, quickly stepping away. Gwen found herself wishing that John didn't blush quite so easily. Directly across from them, at the other side of the room, was Sherlock standing quite still. Whatever he was thinking, none of it showed on his face, and he said nothing.

John cleared his throat.

"Um, yes Sherlock?" After a moment, Sherlock glanced away from his two flat-mates, instead choosing to look towards the stairway leading to the upper floor.

"The toilet in the downstairs bathroom is broken. If only we had a list of her students, we'd have him. We'd have him," he cried frustratedly, turning on the spot a bit distractedly.

"How do you mean?"

"Don't you see it John?" said Sherlock sharply. "Her downstairs bathroom isn't functional. That's why she was upstairs. Don't you see?"

"See what?" he returned. Sherlock stopped dumbly, shaking his head a bit.

"Incredible. It really must be like being an entirely different species. How do your funny little brains work anyways?"

John kept his silence, crossing his arms, waiting for Sherlock to continue. Obligingly, Sherlock opened his mouth once more.

"He's crippled," Gwen said quietly. John turned to her in surprise and even Sherlock peered at her, looking a bit disappointed that she'd taken his punchline.

"Wha... What makes you say that?" asked John.

"That's why she was upstairs. He needed to use the bathroom. The only reason she would have gone upstairs also was if he needed assistance getting up the stairs. So he must be crippled."

"Is that... right?" asked John in amazement, turning to Sherlock. John was surprised to see that the annoyed look had disappeared from Sherlock's face. Instead there was a small smile. John would swear that he looked proud even. But before John could reflect on it, the expression had vanished, being replaced with Sherlock's neutral blank face.

"Yes, it's exactly right. Now we only need to locate her students." Sherlock began to turn away, heading for the kitchen, to search everything he could. There must be some sort of record somewhere.

"Sherlock. Here."

Sherlock and John both spun towards Gwen who had somehow managed to make her way to the piano without their noticing. She was holding up a slip of paper. Sherlock crossed the floor in a matter of strides before snatching the paper from her hand. His eyes scanned the paper quickly. It was indeed a handwritten list of names, all of her students.

"Where?" demanded Sherlock.

"She always kept that tucked into the front cover of one of her piano books," explained Gwen, gesturing towards the piano bench that contained all of the woman's music books.

Sherlock stared into Gwen's eyes with such intensity that even John shifted his feet, feeling uncomfortable.

"John," said Sherlock, not breaking his eye contact with Gwen. "Call Lestrade and tell him we've solved Mrs. Wilson's murder. We're on our way over."

"Uh, right." John gave Gwen one last slightly worried look before he pulled out his phone, exiting the house in order to make the call.

"Why didn't you find that before?" hissed Sherlock coldly.

"I didn't remember until just now," she replied just as stonily.

Gwen stared up at the man before her. The extreme paleness of his face, the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The curly black hair that flopped down onto his forehead. But most incredibly, his eyes. That burning, curious look blazing in his cold blue eyes, with such an amazing depth to them. Gwen felt there was no end to the intelligence behind those searching eyes, no escape from the judgment there.

"I've made the... call..." John's proclamation grew more timid as he observed the tense atmosphere between the other two. About to speak again, he stopped when Sherlock broke the connection, releasing Gwen from his hold on her.

"Let's go then."

And just like that, Sherlock strode out of the house, Gwen close behind, with John bringing up the rear.

Thanks to all who read this! I greatly appreciate everyone who has favorited this story or put it on story alert. Please review! Any critiques or comments are welcome and very beneficial. What are your thoughts? What would you like to see? What can be improved? Thanks again everyone.