It was three days after Mycroft was brought up to speed before John got me out of the house.
I was lying on the couch in my robe with nothing to do since John took my gun. "Sherlock, just because we haven't had a case in a long time doesn't mean you can just shut yourself in all day." He said. "Do you want to go for a walk or something?"
"Dull."
"Isn't it dull on the couch?"
"Going outside takes effort."
"What about that case Lestrade texted you?"
"It sounds too easy."
"Oh come on, Sherlock!"
"Fine."
In a few minutes I was in my suit. "Vincent, are you coming?" I asked him. He looked up from the book he and Kyra were using to help with her English. "Sure but what about Kyra?" He asked. "We can't take her when looking for a murderer." "You're right. Mrs. Hudson!" I yelled. She came bustling into the room, a small smile on her face as usual. "Need something?" She asked sweetly. "We're going to The Yard. Will you watch Kyra?" I asked. "Alright but what if she needs something?" She asked worriedly. "I can't understand a word she says!" "You'll do fine, Mrs. Hudson." Vincent assured her. "She doesn't say much anyway." "Well, alright." She sighed. "You boys be careful." Vincent explained the situation to Kyra and we left. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!" We all called as we descended the stairs.
We finally got to the yard John at my side and Vincent trailing behind us. We were immediately met by Donovan, and Lestrade. "Hello Freak. We were just heading back to the crime scene." Donovan said. "Do you want to come?" "Of course we do, Donovan. Why else would I be here?" I asked with an eye roll. "Wait a minute." Vincent muttered, stepping forward. "Sally Donovan? Greg Lestrade?" Donovan's eyes widened and Lestrade stood with his mouth agape. "Vincent Holmes, you bellend!" Lestrade finally said, hugging my brother and leaving John and I taken aback. They finally separated, all three of them smiling like old friends. "Will someone please explain to me what's going on?" I asked. "We went to school together, you twit." Donovan said. "Don't tell me you deleted that." "Alright, I won't tell you." I said. "Now are we going to a crime scene or are we going to just stand here all day."
On the way, Vincent looked out the window with a worried expression. "Something wrong, Vincent?" John asked, putting a hand on his shoulder to get him out of his trance-like state. Vincent jumped, grabbing John's wrist reflectively. "Sorry." He murmured, letting go of the blogger's wrist. "I'm fine. Just worried about Kyra." "Oh, about that..." I said nonchalantly. "Sherlock, what did you do?" John asked urgently. "Remember when those cameras were put in our flat?" I asked. John nodded. "I never removed them. I have had them hooked up on my phone in case our work put you or Mrs. Hudson in danger again." I pulled out my phone and pulled up the live camera footage. Mrs. Hudson and Kyra were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. "Are you sure I can't get you anything, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Phir bhee aap nahin samajh sakata, Shreematee Hadasan." Kyra said. Still can't understand you, Mrs Hudson. "Right." She sighed. John, Vincent and I couldn't help but laugh.
At the crime scene, John and I inspected the body. "No visible cause of death and it wasn't drugs or alcohol." John noted. "What do you think, Sherlock?" "Perfectly sound analysis, John." I commented. "Something tells me that Moriarty had something to do with this. It has his name all over it." I looked over my shoulder absentmindedly, looking at Vincent who was talking to Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson in a far corner. "What are you thinking?" John asked skeptically. Realizing that I was spacing out, I snapped my attention back to the body. "I think that we need to find him as soon as possible." "Hey Sherlock!" Lestrade called from the window. "We've got tire tracks going into the forest!"
We all went outside and, sure enough, there was a trail leading into the forest. "Why would Moriarty go in there?" John asked. "I don't know but I intend to find out." I replied. "John, Lestrade, Donovan, follow me. Vinson and Anderson, stay here." "Why us?" Anderson demanded. "You're of no use to me at the moment, Anderson. Plus someone has to watch the crime scene, hence Vinson staying too." I replied. "Let's go."
We walked half a mile before Lestrade got a text from Anderson. "'The tracks were a decoy! Come back now!'" He read aloud. Fearing the worst, I ran back to the crime scene as fast as I could, leaving the others behind.
As I ran, thoughts clouded my normally clear mind. What happened? Was Vinson alright? How did Anderson of all people know it was a decoy? Why was it so urgent that we come back? What the hell is happening?!

I pushed these thoughts out of my head as, seeing no one in the back yard, I went around to the front.

There I saw Anderson, barely breathing, lying in a small pool of his own blood, his mobile lying beside him. "ANDERSON!" I yelled, rushing over and kneeling on the ground, thinking through what I was supposed to do. I elevated his head, placing it in my lap, and put pressure on the bullet wound that pierced his left lung, barely missing his heart. "Anderson, you idiot, don't you dare die!" I demanded. "What happened?" "Man came- shot me and took Vinson- went towards the main road." He rasped, coughing up blood between phrases. "Sherlock, am I dying?" A single tear ran down my cheek. As much as I hated Anderson, he seemed like family. "Yes, you pillock." I said, forcing a small laugh. "You're going to die and there's nothing we can do. Even if I call an ambulance it won't get here until you're gone." "Bollocks. And I was looking forward to solving this one. Guess things don't always go as planned." He said with a weak smile. "Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. Tell the others I said the same. Especially Sally." And with that his eyes turned a milky white, he gave one last breath and his body went limp.

A few moments later, John, Lestrade, and Donovan came around the corner to see me with Anderson's head in my lap and my hands covered in his blood. Donovan put a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "Is he-?" Lestrade asked, unable to finish his sentence. "Yes." I said solemnly. "Philip Anderson is dead."
Hey guys! I'm so sorry about that. Please don't hate me! Happy Thanksgiving!