A/N: New chapter! Woohoo! Ms Wintle is based off of one of my best friends and she will keep popping up.

Some notes on reviews:

lostfeather1: Here's your chapter. Sorry the last one was so short. This one is quite a bit longer (5,101 words in the Word Document, not including the title), so hopefully it makes up for that. I'm glad you love the story so much.

Soultigerdrwho: Can I just say I LOVE your name? I'm glad you like the story. To answer your question: Yes. It is going to follow all three seasons, but I'm going to have cases between the episodes. Mostly they'll be the cases from John's blog. Hope that answers your question.

EAMC1918: I'm glad I can shorten your name. No comments are the best comments, don't you think? ;P Here's the next chapter, hope you like it.

Vedra9: I know. I hate having to wait for updates. So even though I'm not consistent, I'm not making you wait forever either. I'm glad you loved the last chapter. Kat's past is a thing indeed. She's got a lot of issues, but she works past them. The end of The Blind Banker is going to have a major clue about her pain tolerance ;)

Guest: Thanks! I'm glad you like it.

New Chapter!

Old Friends

One taxi ride later, Sherlock leads John and me through a revolving glass door. John stares at the impressive lobby.

"Yes, when you said we were going to the bank…" he says, trailing off. I chuckle under my breath. The three of us step onto an escalator, Sherlock observing everything as per usual. We reach the top and walk over to the reception desk.

"Sherlock Holmes," he says to one of the receptionists.

A few minutes later we're being shown into the office of one Sebastian Wilkes. The man in question walks in and grins at Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes," he greets.

"Sebastian," Sherlock responds. They shake hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's hand in both of his.

"Howdy, buddy," Sebastian says. "How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looks back at him, and I can tell Sherlock doesn't like him. "Have you heard they found her: The missing Kensington heiress?"

"It's not her," Sherlock responds. "DNA tests will come back negative." Sebastian looks at him, shaking his head at him and then turning to John and me. "These are my friends, John Watson and Kat Wilson." Sebastian looks surprised.

"Friends?" he asks.

"Colleagues," John corrects, extending his hand. Sebastian takes it.

"Right," he says, throwing a brief, incredulous look at Sherlock, then turns to me. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it.

"Quite the gentleman, aren't you?" I ask, smiling and flushing lightly. He grins back at me, before glancing at Sherlock. He scratches his neck and I catch a glimpse of his watch. Two trips in a month. He turns away.

"Well," he says, "grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?" Sherlock shakes his head.

"No," John says. Sebastian turns to me.

"Water would be lovely, thanks," I respond. Sebastian turns to his secretary.

"Just water for the lovely lady," he tells her, and she leaves the room. Sebastian sits at his desk. Sherlock, John and I sit in the three chairs opposite him.

"So, you're doing well," Sherlock says conversationally. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some," Sebastian replies.

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" Sherlock asks. John frowns in confusion. Sebastian points and laughs at Sherlock.

"Right," he says. "You're doing that thing." He turns to me and John. "We were at uni together. This guy had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock murmurs quietly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story," Sebastian continued, either not hearing Sherlock or ignoring him entirely. "Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." Sherlock looks down and away.

"Yes," John responds. "I've seen him do it." He pauses. "I've seen Kat do it as well." Sebastian looks surprised.

"Really?" he asks. I nod, and he turns to Sherlock again. "Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world—you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but Sebastian continues. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan." John smiles as Sherlock tries to get a word in.

"No, I…" he says before Sebastian speaks again, cutting him off.

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" he exclaims. Sherlock is annoyed with him. So am I. I jump in.

"We were just chatting with your secretary outside," I say, giving him an ordinary explanation. "She told us." John looks at me and frowns. Sebastian laughs loudly. Sherlock smiles at Sebastian with a lack of humor. Sebastian claps his hands then becomes more serious.

"I'm glad you could make it over," he says, glancing at me. "We've had a break-in." He stands and heads toward his office door. We stand and follow. "Sir William's office—the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in last night."

"What did they steal?" John asks.

"Nothing," Sebastian and I say at the same time. Sebastian looks at me, surprised, before continuing. "Just left a little message." He places his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit. I assume he's the late Sir William. On the wall to the left of the portrait is a symbol spray-painted in yellow. It looks like a number eight, but the top is open and there is a horizontal line above it. Across the eyes of the portrait is another horizontal line, yellow paint trailing down the canvas. The three of us step into the office. John and Sherlock look at the portrait, while I glance out the window.

Later, we stand in Sebastian's office as he shows us the security footage from the night before.

"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian says, flicking back and forth between the still taken at 23:34:01—which shows the paint on the wall and on the portrait—and 23:33:01—when the wall and portrait are spray-paint free. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asks.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting," Sebastian answers. "Back to reception." We head out of the office towards the elevator. Stepping into the elevator, Sebastian pushes the button for the ground floor. The doors close and after a minute he turns to me.

"So, how do you become a colleague of Sherlock Holmes?" he asks. I shrug.

"It's a bit of a story," I respond, smiling. He nods.

"I figured it had to be," he says. I tilt my head at him. "There's no way a woman as beautiful as you could get mixed up with someone like him." I flush at his compliment in embarrassment. I feel a strange flash of anger—similar to the one I felt when first facing that cabbie months ago. Like then, it's not mine. Trying to figure it out, I don't hear Sebastian's next question. John is dutifully ignoring us. Sherlock seems to be doing that as well, but his shoulders are tense and he's glaring at the door of the elevator.

"Kat?" Sebastian says, concerned. I look towards him again.

"Hmm?" I hum, before realizing he'd asked me a question. "Sorry, I sort of zoned out. You were saying?" I see Sherlock smirk out of the corner of my eye as Sebastian frowns.

"I was asking if you'd like to join me for dinner," he says. "So you could tell me how you and Sherlock met." I look at him blankly before replying.

"Sorry, Sebastian," I say. "I'm really not interested in dinner." I say the word "dinner" in a way that lets him know that I know he doesn't really want "dinner". He looks down, slightly abashed as Sherlock chuckles under his breath. The elevator dings, letting us know we'd reached our floor. We step out and Sebastian leads us towards a security desk. He pulls up the layout for the trading floor and its surrounding offices on one of the computers. Each designated door has a light against it showing its security status. Most of the lights are red, indicating that they are open.

"Every door that opens in this bank," Sebastian starts to explain, "it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

"That door didn't open last night," Sherlock says in response. Sebastian nods.

"There's a hole in our security," he says. "Find it and we'll pay you—five figures." He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and takes out a check. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way." Sherlock frowns.

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," he says before walking away. John watches him go, then turns to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously," John says, holding his hand out. "Sh-shall I look after that for him?" Sebastian starts to hand him the check, but I reach in and snatch it.

"I'll take that," I say, and they both look at me, startled, as I fold the check and put it in my wallet. "I'll make sure it gets to his brother, who's been depositing money into Sherlock's account anonymously for a while now. He'll do the same for this." I put my wallet back into my pocket before turning and heading towards the elevator again, knowing Sherlock's back in the office.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I find Sherlock in the office, taking pictures of the spray paint with his phone. He takes several pictures before he starts turning in place slowly, and I can almost see the symbols floating in front of him. He looks to the windows then looks at me.

"I saw you glancing at the window earlier," he says, and I nod. "You think that's how the intruder got in?" I nod again. He turns back to the window and walks towards it. He pulls up the blinds—revealing a glass door—as I walk over toward him. He opens the door and steps out onto a small balcony and I step out behind him. He looks out over the balcony towards the ground.

"This phone call—it's, er…it's my note," I hear Sherlock say, but it sounds like it's coming from a phone. "It's what people do, don't they: Leave a note?"

I stumble backwards into the office, breathing heavily.

"Leave a note when?" John asks from next to me. There's a pause from Sherlock.

"Goodbye, John," I hear him say.

This one hits me hard.

"Goodbye, Kat."

Sherlock glances over his shoulder at me before spinning fully and striding toward me. He grips me hard by the arm, sits me in one of the chairs and forces my head down, his hand on the back of my neck. We stay like that for a long moment as my breathing slows and I relax. I feel him lift his hand and I lean back in the chair.

"What did you see?" he asks.

"I saw nothing," I answer, shaking my head. "And what I heard isn't important right now." He looks at me sternly. "The graffiti is a warning for someone. We just have to find out whom." Sherlock stares at me thoughtfully before nodding and heading out of the office. I follow him and pull my phone out on a hunch and start recording him. Good thing I do. He moves about the trading floor, ducking behind screens and around pillars, before backing into one of the offices. I can't help but laugh at him. He looks like he's dancing. The traders on the floor watch him with confusion and amusement. I see Sherlock back up to stand behind the desk in the office across the floor. He heads back towards the door before stopping and looking at it. He then slides a name card out and heads towards the elevator, nodding at me to follow along.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sherlock, John and I walk back towards the escalators.

"Two trips around the world this month," John says. "We didn't speak with his secretary. You said that just to irritate him." Sherlock and I smile, but neither of us respond. "How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch?" I ask him. Sherlock glances at me looking pleased I picked up that detail.

"His watch?" John asks, confused.

"The time was right but the date was wrong," I explain. "Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month?" John continues. "How'd you get that part?"

"New Breitling," Sherlock answers. "Only came out this February." John nods.

"Okay," he says. "So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks," Sherlock responds.

"Hmm?" John hums.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors," I explain to John. "We find the intended recipient and…" I trail off deliberately.

"…They'll lead us to the person who sent it," John finishes.

"Obvious," Sherlock responds. John frowns.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there," John states. "Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars," Sherlock replies. I shake my head at him, chuckling.

"What?" John asks, confused.

"Pillars and the screens," Sherlock answers. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from."

"He checked," I interrupt, turning to John, before grinning and whispering conspiratorially: "I got video."

"It narrows the field considerably," Sherlock continues, thankfully not having heard that last part. "And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" John asks. We walk through the revolving doors again and make our way onto the street.

"Traders come to work at all hours, John," I explain, knowing Sherlock won't. "Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." Sherlock holds the name card up to show John.

"Not many Van Coons in the phonebook," he says before throwing a hand up in the air.

"Taxi!" he calls loudly.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

One short taxi ride later, we stand outside a block of flats. Sherlock presses the buzzer marked "Van Coon". He releases it and looks into the security camera above the buzzers, waiting a couple seconds before pressing the buzzer again. There's no response.

"So what do we do now?" John asks. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?" Sherlock looks at the buzzers again before stepping back and looking at the front of the building. He steps back up to the buzzer again and looks at John and me, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Just moved in," he says, confusing John. I look at the labels for the buzzers, examining the one above Van Coons. It's hand written with the name "Wintle". Sounds familiar, but it can't be.

"What?" John asks. I start feeling sorry for my friend. He's asked that word quite a bit today.

"The floor above," I say, pointing at the buzzers. "New label."

"Could have just replaced it," John suggests, put out. Sherlock presses the buzzer and looks at John.

"No one ever does that," he says.

"Hello?" A familiar voice comes over the intercom. Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles, putting on an act. I roll my eyes at him.

"Hi!" he greets. "Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met."

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in," Miss Wintle responds in a distinctly American accent. Sherlock throws a brief told-you-so glance at John over his shoulder then turns back to the camera.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat," Sherlock says, biting his lip.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" Miss Wintle asks.

"Yeah," Sherlock replies. "And can I use your balcony?"

"What?" Miss Wintle asks.

Somehow Sherlock talks his way into getting us into Miss Wintle's flat. We walk up the stairs and to her door. Sherlock takes the job of knocking. The door opens, and the woman who greets us surprises me. She's slim, a few inches shorter than me, with short brown hair framing her face and deep brown eyes which widen when she sees me.

"Audrey?!" I ask. John and Sherlock look at me in surprise.

"KAT!" she shouts in surprise. We step towards each other and hug. Pulling back, I introduce her to Sherlock and John.

"Sherlock, John," I say, "might I introduce Miss Audrey Wintle, my best friend ever from school. Audrey, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, and Dr. John Watson. They live downstairs from me across town.

"So you don't live downstairs from me," she accuses Sherlock. He just glances at her balcony. She turns back to me. "And here I'd thought maybe we were neighbors." She pouts. I laugh.

"Hey, we're in the same country, in the same city," I say. "You and I will be just as much of a nuisance now as we were back then."

"Damn straight!" She agrees, laughing. "Come on in. I've got coffee if you'd like some." I laugh again as we walk into her flat. "What?!"

"How's the caffeine stream?" I ask, choosing a seat on the sofa.

"It's got too much blood in it," she answers, grinning and turning towards the kitchen. Sherlock looks up at the word "blood". John looks uncomfortable. "I need to fix that."

"Have you got any tea?" I ask. "Two spoons of sugar if you do, please." She turns and looks at me.

"God, you sure went native," she says. "You've got the accent and the tea-drinking down." I laugh again. "How'd you manage to move here, anyway?"

"I won the lotto," I answer, shrugging. Sherlock moves towards the balcony and I glance in his direction.

"And you didn't share with me?" Audrey asks indignantly.

"Didn't you ever get a large sum of money from nowhere?" I ask. She stares at me blankly before realization seems to hit her.

"That was you?" I nod.

"You didn't really think I'd not share with my best friend, did you?" I ask. She shrugs as she starts boiling water.

"Well," she responds, "we didn't really see much of each other after high school, and we saw each other less and less as time went on." I nod.

"Yeah, well, you're here now, so…" I reply, smiling. She comes back into the living room with two mugs. She hands one to me and keeps the other. It's a mug I got her: A Finding Nemo mug, complete with lucky fin.

"I should, um, go check on Sherlock," John says, heading towards the door. Audrey and I look around the flat and see that Sherlock isn't there anymore, but the balcony door is open. Audrey looks at me in surprise and I shake my head.

"Don't ask."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Some time passes. Audrey and I catch up and I'm just about to leave to check on the boys when there's a knocking on the door. John stands there, eyes wide.

"Sherlock wants you downstairs," he tells me. I nod, standing up off the couch.

"That bad?" I ask. John nods.

"Apparent suicide," he answers. Audrey gasps as I head towards the door.
"Right," I respond. "Sorry, Audrey, I've got to go."

"One of those cases you were telling me about?" she asks, and I nod, walking out the door.

"Bye! We'll talk later," I call. We walk down the hallway towards the stairs. When we reach the flat, an officer stands there and blocks our way. He lets us through when I show him my ID badge.

"How does that work, anyway?" John asks as we step into the flat and head towards the bedroom.

"It basically says that I'm an expert and that I'm allowed on nearly every crime scene," I answer. "I'm basically a detective inspector, but without the paperwork or the paycheck."

"Or the underlings," John finishes, chuckling.

"No, that's what I have you and Sherlock for," I respond, grinning, and he mock-glares at me. We step into the bedroom to find Sherlock pulling on a pair of latex gloves. The man on the bed—Van Coon—is wearing a suit. There is a gun lying next to the bed on the floor, and he has a small bullet wound on the right side of his head.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" John asks. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys." I shake my head.

"We don't know that it was a suicide," Sherlock responds.

"Come on," John argues. "The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

"I think that's how the killer got in, too," I say softly. Sherlock glances at me before squatting down by a suitcase on the floor, opening the lid and looking at what's inside.

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry," Sherlock says. I wrinkle my nose as he examines the contents more closely. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks," John says, not moving. "I'll take your word for it." Sherlock raises his eyebrows.

"Problem?" he asks.

"Yeah," John answers, "I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear." Sherlock ignores this comment and walks to the front of the bank.

"Those symbols at the bank—the graffiti. Why were they put there?" Sherlock asks.

"Some sort of code," I answer.

"Obviously," Sherlock responds. He moves up and carefully opens the man's jacket, looking at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering," John suggests.

"Oh good," Sherlock responds. "You follow."

"No," John replies. Sherlock throws him a look before turning to me. I nod.

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" I ask rhetorically. The corners of Sherlock's mouth turn up slightly. He turns to continue examining the body. John frowns in confusion.

"What about this morning—those letters you were looking at?" Sherlock asks John.

"Bills," John answers. Sherlock gently pries Van Coon's mouth open and pulls out a small, black, origami flower from inside. Air hisses out of Van Coon's mouth at the same time, and I grimace.

"Yes," Sherlock says. "He was being threatened."

"Bag this up, will you…" I hear one of the D.I.'s from the yard order.

"Not by the gas board," John mutters as Sherlock lifts an evidence bag and places the flower into it.

"…And see if you can get prints off this glass," I hear the D.I. call, even closer than before. He walks into the room and I recognize him as D.I. Dimmock.

"Ah, Sergeant," Sherlock greets, walking towards him. "We haven't met." Sherlock offers his hand, but Dimmock puts his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I know who you are," he nearly snaps, "and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." Sherlock lowers his hand and gives Dimmock the evidence bag.

"I've phoned Lestrade," Sherlock says. "Is he on his way?"

"Lestrade's on vacation right now, Sherlock," I interject, turning to Dimmock. "Hello, Detective Inspector. It's…Dimmock, isn't it?" I ask, pretending I'm not sure. I have a theory I'd like to test, and to do that, I have to flirt a little. "I'm guessing you're in charge today?" Dimmock turns to look at me and instantly his whole demeanor shifts.

"Kat Wilson," he greets, smiling. "Should've known you'd be here with him." Sherlock looks at us in surprise, then turns to look at John, who is also surprised. Dimmock and I walk into the living room, chatting. Sherlock and John follow behind us. Dimmock sighs.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," he says.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John agrees as Sherlock takes his gloves off.

"Wrong," Sherlock and I argue at the same time, before Sherlock continues: "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." He turns to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock asks.

"The wound was on the right side of his head," Sherlock answers.

"And?" Dimmock asks, exasperated.

"Van Coon was left-handed," I respond. Sherlock nods before miming to demonstrate the point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.

"Requires quite a bit of contortion," Sherlock states.

"Left-handed?" Dimmock asks.

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice," Sherlock answers sarcastically. "All you have to do is look around his flat. Kat?" I nod.

"Coffee table on the left-hand side," I explain, pointing to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: Habitually used the ones on the left…" I trail off, pointing to the sockets. "Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left." I pause. "D'you want me to go on?"

"I forgot Lestrade said you were absolutely brilliant," Dimmock says, looking at me with admiration. I flush slightly, embarrassed by the compliment. Sherlock glares at Dimmock and John shakes his head.

"No," John says, "I think you've covered it."

"Oh, might as well," Sherlock says. "We're almost at the bottom of the list." He points to the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left."

"Huh," I say. "Missed that one." Sherlock looks at me and I shrug. He turns to Dimmock with an impatient, almost angry, look on his face.

"It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head," he says, and I shake my head. John is left-handed, but he shoots with his right. "Conclusion: Someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts." "But the gun: Why…" Dimmock tries to argue with him.

"He was waiting for the killer," Sherlock interrupts, walking towards his coat and scarf. "He'd been threatened."

"What?" Dimmock asks, surprised.

"Today at the bank," I answer. "Sort of a warning. We're still trying to figure it out."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in," Sherlock says.

"And the bullet?" Dimmock asks.

"Went through the open window," Sherlock answers.

"Oh, come on!" Dimmock shouts. "What are the chances of that?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report," Sherlock responds. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock asks. Sherlock pushes his hand into his glove.

"Good!" He answers condescendingly, and I shake my head again. "You're finally asking the right questions." He turns and flounces out of the flat. John and I look at each other before John turns and follows Sherlock out. I turn to Dimmock.

"Sorry about him," I say. "He's… a bit of a drama queen."

"Are you busy tonight?" he asks, surprising me.

"Um… I'm not sure. Might go out," I answer.

"Well," he responds, shuffling his feet slightly. "Maybe you could join me for dinner?" I look at him for a minute before shaking my head.

"Sorry," I answer, and he frowns. "I'm just not interested."

"Yeah, didn't think you would be," he says. "I heard about what happened between you and Sean." I nod.

"Well, I better get going," I say. "Sherlock will only wait so long before he'll leave without me." I walk towards the door, waving.

"See you later, Kat."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The three of us walk into a very fancy restaurant. The Maître d' holds us up until I show him my badge and ask for Sebastian. He points us in the direction of Sebastian's table. We walk through the restaurant.

"…And he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork," Sebastian says, finishing a joke as we walk up to the table, "which of course can never be done!"

"It was a threat," Sherlock says. "That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting," Sebastian says before glancing at me. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" I pull my badge out of my pocket again.

"I don't think this can wait," I say, flashing the badge to the men at the table. "Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders—someone who worked in your office—was killed."

"What?" he asks stunned. I put the badge back in my pocket.

"Van Coon," John answers. "The police are at his flat."

"Killed?" Sebastian asks.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," Sherlock apologizes sarcastically. "Still wanna make an appointment?"

"Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" I ask with my eyebrow raised. Sebastian puts his glass of water down and nervously runs his finger inside his shirt collar. He apologizes to the men around the table and excuses himself, leading us towards a small alcove at the side of the restaurant. I turn to him when we stop.

"Tell us about Edward Van Coon," I say, going into interrogation mode.

"Harrow; Oxford," he answers. "Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so…"

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts," John finished.

"Lost five mill in a single morning," Sebastian says, and I whistle. "Made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"Who'd want to kill him?" I ask.

"We all make enemies," Sebastian answered.

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple," John counters. Sebastian's phone beeps, signaling he has a text.

"Not usually," he says, pulling his phone out and glancing at it. "'Scuse me." He reads the text. "It's my Chairman. The police have been on to him." He glances at me. "Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide."

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian," Sherlock says. "He was murdered."

"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that," Sebastian counters.

"Seb," Sherlock says sternly.

"And neither does my boss," Sebastian finishes. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." He turns to me again. "Are you sure I couldn't persuade you to dinner?"

"What is it with guys asking me to dinner today?" I ask instead of answering. He looks at me, waiting for an answer. "Not a chance."

"Too bad," he says, shrugging before heading back out to his meeting. John waits until he's out of earshot and turns to Sherlock.

"I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards," he jokes. I laugh as we head back out of the restaurant. When we walk by Sebastian's table, I catch Sherlock glaring at Sebastian. It confuses me. We walk out of the restaurant and he turns to me.

"Who else asked you to dinner?" he asks, clearly annoyed.

"Dimmock," I respond. "I actually felt bad for turning him down. He's not that bad." Sherlock seems to brighten up when I say I turned Dimmock down, but glowers when I finish.

"You sure are popular today," John says, laughing. I shrug.

"It's never happened before," I respond. He looks at me in shock.

"Really?" he ask and I nod.

"I was the odd child out," I answer.

"Because of your gifts," Sherlock says. I shake my head.

"Not just that," I reply. They look at me again. "Another story for another day."