Author's Note: Oh wow! Tons of reviews! Thanks to everyone who sent me some feedback—I wish I could reply to you all!
Plain and simple: I don't own Sherlock.

The Man with Two Names
By the Salt Monster

Ch.4
The next morning- 221 Baker St.

"I bought some tea," I called into Sherlock's apartment from the kitchen, setting the box on the newly cleaned off table and putting water on the stove to boil. He didn't reply. I could see he was still sitting on the couch in the same position I had left him the night before, his hands in the prayer position under his chin and his eyes wide open.

I set the rest of the groceries on the table and took his card out of my pocket.

"I have your card," I reminded him, walking up beside him. Again, he didn't answer. "I'll just put it on the table, then." Silence.

"Are you still worried about those numbers?" I asked, glancing at the many pictures of the crime scene hanging above the fireplace, directly in Sherlock's line of sight. He made no acknowledgement of my even being there.

I looked at the papers on the side-table, calculations of the many numbers. The book London A bis Z also sat there. I leafed through it. It was all in German. "Adgecfi. Adifcdef. Ihgdefcb. Ihgdefcb. Adifcdef. Gdabcfi. – Ihgdefcb. Hebghi," was scribbled on a scrap of paper from where he had tried solving it alpha-numerically

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," I muttered, more to myself than anything, since I knew Sherlock wouldn't respond. I thought about it a minute but the sound of the kettle whistling broke me from my thoughts and I made my way back to the kitchen.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" I asked him from the kitchen. No answer, again. "I know you don't eat, but you should at least drink something. Or sleep." I came out with a mug of tea and sat it down on the table beside him. He didn't even move. If it hadn't been for his breathing, I would have thought he was dead.

"Are you even awake?" I asked. He didn't reply. With a sigh, I snapped loudly in front of his face.

At first I thought it hadn't worked, but then he blinked slowly and turned his head towards me.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"Were you asleep?" I asked, utterly amazed.

"Meditating, Miss Barber," he said briskly. He did a double-take when he saw the tea I had placed next to him. "Thank you for the tea," he said, but didn't touch it.

I nodded. "Your card is on the table." I walked back to the kitchen, but paused at the door.

"Hey, um…on my way to the store, some guy offered me seven thousand pounds a month to let him know what you were up to from time to time," I told him, trying to sound casual.

"Did you accept?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I said I'd think about it, but I don't really-,"

"Good, we can split the money."

"Oh-okay…" I muttered, a bit taken aback. "I take it this has happened before?"

"Oh yes. Now, Miss Barber, read off these numbers for me, I want to calculate these in a different way…" He handed me the note and I looked around for a calculator. When I asked him, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "I've my mind, Miss Barber. That's enough."

"You can call me Emily, but I don't think this is the way we should be going about this!" I protested. "It's nothing to do with numbers; it's a code!" He blinked at me.

"Don't be absurd," he said waspishly. "I've tried every code possible, and it doesn't work. This note was meant for me, and none of my codes work. It has to have something to do with the numbers."

I glared at him. "I'm not absurd," I snapped. "Look at the pattern! It has to be a code!"

"You're correct about the patters, but you're wrong. It's numbers, I'm sure of it," he said coolly.

"And who are you to tell me I'm wrong?" I lashed out, completely fed up. He got to his feet and glared down at me. I had my hands on my hips and was glaring up at him.

"I'm the smartest man in Britain, Amelia-,"

"Emily."

"—Emily. I think I have the authority to tell a simpleton like yourself that you're wrong," he said, quietly but menacingly. I bit the side of my cheek to keep myself from crying.

"Well, then," I said breathlessly, "I'll solve it myself, since you won't be going anywhere adding or subtracting." With that, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

- nananananananana Sherlock!—

Two hours later, I was still in my room, pouring over books and dictionaries. My mind swimming with numbers, I swept my hair out of my eyes and closed them. I started to wonder if it was possible that I was wrong and Sherlock was right.

But it didn't seem right. The pattern of the numbers was not a coincidence.

I reread the note, even though I had almost memorized the entire string of numbers. "1475369 . 14863456 . 987456321 . 987456321 . 14863456 . 7412369 . - 987456321 . 852789 ." The second and fifth segments of numbers were the same. Just like the third and fourth—identical...But maybe Sherlock was right…

I sighed and pulled a calculator from the top drawer of my desk. I typed in the first sting of numbers. "1475369." I paused, unsure of what to do next. I cleared the calculator and tried again. 1-4-7-5-3-6-9. My finger traced the buttons I had pressed. Then I froze.

A tingling sensation washed over me. I felt excited and scared at the same time, but still didn't know how to react. Quickly, I punched in the rest of the numbers. They all fit. All of them.

I bounded up the stairs as fast as I could and pounded the door to Sherlock's apartment. He opened it almost immediately and stared down his nose at me.

"Any luck?" I asked anxiously. He didn't answer me. Instead, he turned his back and returned to the arm chair. "I'll take that as a 'no.' I, on the other hand, managed to retrieve some answers," I said proudly. His head snapped towards me, his eyes wide.

"What?"

"Is this what it feels like to be totally, completely right?" I asked, stalling with a smug grin. "First, Mr. Holmes, I must demand that you apologize to me."

"'Demand'?"

"Yes. 'Demand.'"

"Fine. I'm sorry I insulted your intelligence," he said curtly.

"Apology accepted…I guess," I said with a grin.

"The answers, Amelia," Holmes reminded me anxiously.

"It's a code, Sherlock Holmes, a code." I smiled smugly at him. "Quite a tricky one, too, if I may say so."

"Tell me," he hissed, crossing the room in a few large strides to where I stood. I held up the calculator.

"The numbers make a pattern when you punch them in," I explained. "If you connect the numbers, they make letters. The periods mark the beginning of a new letter and the hyphens mark the beginning of a new word." He stared at me.

"That's so…so…stupid," he muttered, still staring at the calculator. I laughed.

"What's why I was able to figure it out," I said, figuring that the only person who could insult my intelligence was me. "I'm the only stupid one working on the case." He gave me a flicker of a smile, but then turned his attention back to the note and my calculator.

"What does it say?" he asked eagerly.

"'Nassau St.'"

Before I knew it, Sherlock had his coat and scarf on and his cell phone up to his ear calling Detective-Inspector Lestrade.

"Come on, Amelia," he called as he ran down the stairs. "We have a murder to solve."

I ran after him, grabbing my coat and hat off the rack. I hadn't even noticed he had called me the wrong name.

Author's Note: I dunno if I like that chapter so much, but I suppose it will do. Many, many thanks to those who reviewed. Also, a special thanks to all of my editors! You guys have worked so hard for me and I love you all!
Leave me a review and let me know what you think!
~Salty