Without any answers to his question forthcoming, John had just retired to his room to sleep. And so a few hours later, in the middle of the night, he woke up, shaking his head. Some of the music he had heard from all of the places he had been to in the past few weeks must have gotten stuck in his head. If he had to hear Rossini one more time...

A cold wet nose pressed into his hand and he glanced down at Gladstone, who looked, as dogs usually did, quite happy to see his new owner.

"Come on then," John said, stretching and standing up. The puppy happily wagged his tail and ran by him as they went outside. It was a bit nippy in the night air.

There were footsteps in the quiet, and John turned to see Jim standing in the doorway. "Things are bad when you can't sleep." The consulting criminal said the words teasingly.

"Never would have guessed," John answered. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm a night owl," came the retort as the man strode forward and stood next to John, watching the dog play.

"Why are you so determined to make me stay this time?" John asked, not looking at the other man. "You have minions already." John manages to keep his voice calm, his face blank. "Because I quite clearly remember a lot of snipers prepared to aim at Sherlock's head."

Jim scoffed, "Anyone can hire an assassin or merc."

It was true. "I thought you would have brought up how they treat me or something to sway me."

"You know that better than I would."

They did walk all over him, John knew that much. They underestimated him constantly. It was frustrating, it really was, but at the same time, he was on the right side of the law. He had a good life. He was a patient man and could deal with the random kidnappings and cases and shooting at the wall and selfishness because it was better than being bored and useless.

You're fine with that, with someone controlling everything, with 1984 being real, but not with someone controlling crime.

Jim had said that to him earlier, and the words still rung in his head.

This was too much to keep straight in his head, it was too much to focus on. It was just a bit longer, he knew, a few more days before this would be taken from his hands. Lestrade was preparing everything. Even if they moved, it was possible to find them now.

He had had to do things in his teens that made him ashamed. He had learned to push aside the moral questions before and the war had just reinforced that. He could second-guess himself all he wanted later, hate himself later. He was upset that people toyed with him, but he could take it. Better him than others being involved.

And yet, it was so... tempting, so easy to just turn the plan over, so easy to just let Jim have his way. Why not? Why not have one person control crime so that things could be easy to plan, to keep in focus? Was controlling a government any better, was allowing such things better? Having everyone play their little roles, everyone had a niche, it worked out for everyone in the end. But it'd escalate and then...

A hand rested on his shoulder. "I think you should turn in for the night. Come on." A whistle and the puppy ran ahead of them.

John just followed the consultant at that point, not realizing there were worried eyes on him. Sally was watching from an upstairs window. She knew the doctor didn't like this at all, didn't like all the deceit and masks and actions needed for it.

She knew she sure as hell didn't. But she had taken the task because she knew, even if nobody would ever admit it, that she wouldn't really be missed for long if she were found out.

A knock on her door made her turn and look at the Colonel, Sebastian Moran. Dangerous, beyond deadly with a rifle, and rather sadistic when it came to it. Fiercely loyal to those few that earned it and wouldn't leave a man behind. And for some reason, seemed to make sure he always acknowledged Sally when she was around.

It was nerve-wrecking.

"Saw your light on," the man said, joining her at the window. "Ah. Quite a puzzle, aren't they?"

Sally just nodded.

"Why are you here?"

"What?" She looked at him, and he was looking intently at her.

"You don't belong in this kind of life. And those idiots don't notice, but I know a woman when I see one. Why are you here? Who are you trying to look out for?"

"I-I-" Sally looked away, saying nothing.

"Listen to me. There's not enough money out there in the world for you to be working in a place like this, in this disguise." He tilted her head up, and Sally was surprised that his eyes held a bit of concern.

"Why does it matter?" She found herself asking. "What do you care?"

Sebastian laughed and shook his head, moving away. "I had a sister. Alice, but she... we grew up poor as hell." The mercenary rubbed his face, "I grew up, anyway. We shared a room, and I made her teddy bears out of old clothes. They didn't look anything like a damn bear but... she was little. She didn't know differently and she loved them. Loved me. You... you take that for granted sometimes."

Sally heard the word. Had. Past tense. Didn't realize she was worried for the man who had killed so many, who helped Moriarty run a criminal empire until she whispered, "What happened?"

"... I think it's why I get the doc, working all this when he was young," Sebastian muttered. "I found a way to make us money. I took it. And Alice, she got scared, she was always worried about me. She followed me one day. Not like anyone would tell her otherwise, cause our parents were useless. They didn't care. And one day, someone shot at me, and I didn't see her. She got in the way. And it hit her instead. The people, they weren't as fast as the doc, weren't there. And when we got to the hospital, our worthless parents wouldn't even come. Didn't visit. I was there, it was my hand she held for three days, due to complications in removing and fixing the wound. My hand she was holding when she died."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Sebastian cut her off. "Don't. I don't want one of my people to have the same thing happen to them. To lose someone they care about-"

"Nobody gives a damn about me," Sally interrupted over him. "I just needed the money. That's it. Nobody would hire a girl for this job and that's all it is."

Sebastian looked over her and scoffed quietly.

"What?"

"You're a horrible liar." He rubbed her shoulder before he turned to leave. "You need your rest. Trying counting sheep or thinking of something like a beach. We have an early run tomorrow." He walked to the door, his hand on the light switch. "Think about what I said, though. There's got to be a better way for you than this, even though I'm not going to lie. I'm glad someone with a brain is here to listen and do things right. But I still worry."

"I wasn't lying," Sally said. "No one would miss me."

Sebastian looked her up and down for a brief moment.

"... I would."

With that, the former colonel turned off the light and left, leaving Sally staring after him.

Perhaps this was why John Watson was so confused. She had seen the things done with her own eyes. But why bother trying to get her away from this?

She had a job to do. She just hoped that Greg Lestrade would understand if she wanted a nice long vacation after this was done.

Said DI was pacing in his office. Things were a mite better now that Sherlock wasn't moping around. He had jumped on cases after running to Bart's and interrogating Molly Hooper about some old boyfriend of hers. The DI remembered the Christmas party and had felt like a schoolboy when the pretty woman had smiled at him in the morgue.

He worried about so many people constantly that having a normal concern like finding someone cute made him want to laugh in relief. Having Sherlock interrogating and moving around constantly, knowing his sergeant was undercover as was someone he had come to consider a good friend... and then of course his issues at home...

He felt that after this, this team was owed a break.

"LESTRADE!" Sherlock's voice shouted as he ran into the room brandishing a folder. "Was the suspect in this wearing a polka-dot tie?"

"What? I don't know..."

"It's crucial to the case!" The detective shouted, running off again. "And if he was, then it'll fit!"

Greg Lestrade groaned and chased after the younger man. "What does it matter?" He demanded.

"He was in Moriarty's network!" came the shout back. "We need that TIE!"

Why him? He returned to his office and looked over everything.

In a day, less than that now that he had the elder Holmes helping with backup, that warehouse Sally had told him about would be the target of a raid. And that was always enough to set people on edge. He sighed and took out a nicotine patch before grabbing some coffee and sitting, hating the fact that waiting was the worst part.

The detective, on the other hand, was running towards where the person had been.

If the photos were right, the person who had been having the meeting was color-blind. That tie was the key because Sherlock didn't think that it was polka-dotted.

He felt it was blood on the tie, splotches of it. And the suspect in the case had been meeting with a friend, a friend with connections.

With Molly's verification earlier of her 'boyfriend' having moved around a lot and therefore knowing a lot of people and languages, well, knowing how to establish an alibi with someone that really was telling the truth wasn't hard, was it? And instructing his people to do so was simple too.

Find the suspect's 'friend,' odds were high the person would be someone under Moriarty. High enough to do their own hits.

And to do that, he'd need that tie.

Therefore, as always, the detective was running through the streets of London on a case. All he could do for now was hope that soon, his best friend would join him.

After all, he was lost without his blogger.