Hello! So...sorry if that last chapter stretched reality a bit, and called for a little extra suspension of disbelief. This one is a bit more in-line with canon...although I feel like I can have some creative license, considering the crazy things that have happened in the show. :) This chapter again, is a little short - but the end of this chapter hints at the crazy awesome action that will occur in the next few chapters...

Chapter Thirteen, In Which Several Friends are Unlucky in Love

Sherlock shouldn't have replied to their texts. It was probably a foolish mistake on his part, but he couldn't resist.

Ha! You're a psychopath. Nothing matters to you. – SH

Wrong! – JM

That was all the text had said…and then there was a sound, far off, that sounded like a muffled 'pop!', followed shortly by sirens in the distance. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he read Jim's next texts.

By the way…for every wrong guess, I blow something up. -JM

I told you I was getting bored. Heehee. –JM

Oh, and you have two weeks, starting today. If you don't guess correctly by then... –JM

BAM! – JM

Goes everything that matters to you…not just what matters most. -JM

Sherlock clenched his jaw angrily.

"Uh…Sherlock…that…outside." He nodded out the window. "It wouldn't have anything to do with…Jim, now would it?" John asked, glaring.

"Of course it does, John. Ms. Conners – what's on the disk?"

The DVD Sarah cleared for viewing was of Greg Lestrade, on his wedding day. It had led to some uncomfortable conversations with the man, with his estranged wife, and in the end, had led them to the location of his wife's first dalliance with another man. It had been extremely painful for Lestrade, and Sherlock could practically taste his agony. It was so unsettling to Sherlock that he actually remembered to call the man Greg. Not good.

There were two clues in the hotel the DVD led them to. One was a strange duck – it was made of wood and had little felt feet attached to wheels at the base of the duck that flapped when you pulled it on a string. It was a child's toy.

No one – John, or Mary, or Molly, or Mrs. Hudson, or Greg recognized it.

The other clue was the quote "The heart has reasons that reason does not understand." -Blaise Pascal

Nonsense. All of it.

It was ingenious, really. Forcing Sherlock to rely on his friends for help deciphering clues. He'd have to interact with them – could not avoid them. Forcing him to spend time with them would reveal who was most important to him – who mattered most. It certainly forced Sherlock to contemplate whom, out of his small circle of friends, mattered most to him. His mind automatically said John, but he had a sneaking suspicion that that was not entirely true. They all mattered, they all offered him something he had not had before, and if he was being honest, there was one person who was now nearly as important to him as John. He just didn't want to admit it, because that meant she was in grave danger, and it was all because he couldn't control his bloody emotions.

In order to defeat Moriarty, he'd have to find out what mattered most to Jim. The problem lay in the fact that there was just too much going on – both Sherlock and Mycroft were strung out over attempting to find out what was on Robert Conner's disk, where Jim and Janine were hiding, what mattered most to Jim, and the little clues Jim was leaving around the city. The clues Moriarty left were all related, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, to the few people in the world Sherlock loved.

Moriarty – and Janine - were hurting his friends in an attempt to hurt him – digging up painful memories and forcing Sherlock to witness his friends at their emotional worst. Sherlock decided Janine was to blame for this particularly nasty turn of events. It wasn't really Jim's style – he was more flamboyant than this – he liked explosions - and Janine had had years of experience twisting people's hearts and stomachs, working with Magnusson. It was a dangerous combination, Janine and Jim, Jim and Janine.

So – the Conners (although they didn't really count, they were more important to him than a random person on the street, and their mother was – well, she had counted, a long time ago), Redbeard, and Greg had already been targeted, psychologically speaking. A strange sort of apprehension filled his chest as he realized who was left – Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mary, and John.

Who was next?

Mrs. Abigail Norton strolled home on a sunny January day in Alexandria, Virginia. It was unseasonably warm, and the grass had not really ever completely died, so the yards were a strange mosaic of browns and dull greens. The trees' bare branches formed a pretty sort of silhouette against the blue-gray sky. She tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, and smiled cattily at the postman delivering mail to her neighbors. That was something she had never been able to change – her catty smile. She'd cut and died her hair several times, and changed her name, and the way she dressed, and even her profession – blackmailing dominatrixes are rare, and easily spotted by certain foreign nationals – but she'd never changed her smile. It was something ingrained into her very being.

It was the smile that had captivated (quite literally) so many of her…clients. And it was the smile that had eventually captivated her husband – Mr. Jeffery Norton, reformed gambler and self-made millionaire.

It made sense, really, that she would marry him. He was rich, and liked women who could control a social circle (and heaven knows she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be), and he agreed to a pre-nup, and she'd planned to marry and divorce him like her last two husbands.

It didn't make sense that she fell in love. He wasn't extraordinary. He was handsome, in a rugged, earthy sort of way. He played a lot of sports, so he had a well-built body going for him, and he had dark hair and dark eyes, but was nothing like the sociopathic genius of a man she fell for years ago.

But he wasn't dangerous or particularly seductive or adventurous. He was just intelligent enough to have an extremely successful business, and have witty, teasing conversations with her, and he was loyal, and loved her unconditionally, and for some strange reason she loved him back, and so she stayed with him. Why not?

When she got pregnant a year after they were married, she kept the baby. It was a little boy. They named him William, and called him Will, and they were happy. He had the same dark hair and eyes that his parents had, and he was almost two years old, now. He loved animals – cats and dogs and birds, especially ducks. He had a little wooden duck that rolled along the floor, and he loved it. He called it 'Didi'. It went missing a week or so ago after a visit to the national park in D.C., and she'd walked down to the toy store a few blocks down to buy him a new one.

She'd left him with their trusted babysitter for the few hours she was gone – a girl named Jamie who lived next door. She was nineteen and studying to be a lawyer at a nearby university. Well…college. That's what they called it in America. College.

She smirked at the door to her home as she entered. 221 Gibbon Street. It was funny, how some things follow you your whole life. She frowned when she saw that the door was ajar. She hadn't left it that way. In fact, she was always very careful to lock it.

Sherlock had done an admirable job, creating fake passports and identification cards for her, but she was always a cautious, private woman, and she always – always – locked the door when she left.

Perhaps Jamie had taken the garbage out, or had thrown a bug outside (Will always insisted that they were not squashed, but returned to the 'ahside' – outside.) She pushed the door open carefully, her sculpted eyebrows settling back down on her face, as she didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Will? I'm back, love! I've found a new Didi for you!" She called as she closed and locked the door behind her. She carefully placed her light coat on a hanger in the front closet.

No answer. She frowned. "Will? I've got you a new Didi!" She began to move around the house, looking in rooms and behind doors and out windows. "Jamie? Jamie? Will?"

Her voice became louder and her footsteps more frantic as she searched the house for her child and babysitter.

She found a note instead.

Dearest Irene,

Long time no see! And here I thought you were dead. Naughty girl. Looks like the three of us should start some sort of club. Not sure if your faked death would count, though…considering the fact that you had help you didn't expect. Cheater, cheater pumpkin eater…

Why DID he save you, love? I'm curious. In fact, I'd like to speak with you about it. You'll find I've generously provided transportation for yourself and your child.

There was an airplane ticket attached to the note with a paperclip. Irene Adler, alias Abigail Norton, removed it from the note with delicate fingers.

Of course, the child is already with me. Not sure how you could bear to fly with the thing. Does he always scream so much? I'm doing you a favor, really.

Hotel Dénouement, Tuesday, 3 p.m.

-Jim xx

P.S. – You can call Sherlock, if you want. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you again.

P.P.S – (or is it P.S.S.?) – Didn't have room for the girl. You'll find her body in a dumpster on Franklin. Thought you might want to let her parents know she won't be home for supper. See you soon!

Don't forget to review please!