Happiness is the enemy, it weakens you. Puts doubt in your mind. Suddenly you have something to lose.

-Niki Lauda

-/-

It was winter time and a fresh snow was beginning to blanket the streets of London. Sherlock had woken her early to let her watch the first white flecks fall from the sky.

Over the last two months Syn had fallen into a routine at Baker Street. Whenever she wasn't retching over a toilet or delirious from the multitude of symptoms the withdrawal provided, she found herself helping Sherlock and John as much as possible. A few times when there were no cases and Sherlock found it more amusing to shoot the walls than anything else, she would go down to Bart's to help Molly with autopsies. When there were none for that day she would walk to Scotland Yard and help Lestrade with cases. It wasn't as fun as helping Sherlock and John but she still enjoyed it.

When the nights came around she found herself quite often unable to sleep. She would try to read until the words blurred together and her eyelid became impossibly heavy, but even then it would only be a few hours before she woke in a cold sweat with the smell of blood still lingering and the screams still echoing through her head. When reading couldn't put her to sleep she would sit and watch Sherlock play his violin, humming along and wondering why the music he played always sounded so sad.

She padded away from her spot by the window to join Sherlock in the kitchen. Molly had given him a few sets of eyeballs for experiments a few days ago. "Can I help?" She slid on a pair of goggles planning to help him whether he wanted her to or not. She was incredibly bored and she was itching to shoot her gun but she doubted Ms. Hudson would appreciate her putting more holes in the wall. "You…want to help me?" Sherlock studied the woman in front of him, slightly distracted at how his insides pitched at the sight of her in goggles. It was an annoying habit his body adopted ever since the night in the hospital. Sherlock had noticed how her shoulders didn't seem as tense anymore and her green eyes held a childlike excitement behind them. When they went out for a case he could see her eyes constantly watching and her mind was always deducing and taking in her surroundings.

"Yeah of course...unless you don't want my help." Sherlock could hear her withdrawing, guarding herself against his expected rejection. "No. It's just that no one has ever...offered to help me. Nor have I ever wanted anyone's help." Sherlock cocked his head at Syn, confused at how completely okay, happy even, feeling her interest produced.

John paused in the doorway when he saw both Syn and Sherlock huddled over something.

"Now, make an incision from here to here." Sherlock pointed to something in Syn's hand. "Should I go through the cornea and aquarus humour, or is this good?"

"Yes, that's fine. I need the iris unscathed. Now, cut around here." He indicated again. "Do I cut through the ciliary muscle or keep it connected?"

"Connected, please. Now hold it over the bowl; this might get messy."

"Does it matter if I break open the vitreous body?"

"No, I have no need of the vitreous humour. Okay, now if I may?" Sherlock sounded a little out of breath as he held his hand out for Syn to transfer whatever it was she had in her hand into his.

"Now what?" She stood there, scalpel ready. When Sherlock didn't answer right away, she bit her bottom lip. "What?" Never in his entire life, had Sherlock become this flustered during an experiment. It didn't help that Syn knew exactly what she was talking about, even if it was something as basic as the structure of the human eye.

"What have I told you two about cutting things up on the table?" John chided. Syn and Sherlock looked up at him a bit guilty as a child would their mother. It was true though, John kept them sane and reminded them to eat and tended to them when they were too stubborn to back down and ended up hurt. "What's wrong with Harry? Another crisis?" John tried not to act surprised at her observation, he should've known she would have it figured out when she saw him. "Yeah, I'm going to be staying at her place for a few days. Thought I'd let you know before I left."

"I hope Harry gets better soon. The flat may burn down without any adult supervision." Sherlock rolled his eyes eliciting a chuckle from the two. "Please be safe John." She knew her past would eventually catch back up with her no matter how much she pretended like it wouldn't. Sherlock and John were all she had and if anything happened to them she wouldn't be able to make herself keep going any longer. There would be no muddling through it being absolutely miserable every day, or pretending like she really wasn't crushed by it. She would end her life if anything ever happened to John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

-/-

Syn tossed and turned on the couch nightmares taking ahold of her every time she closed her eyes. Sherlock had went to bed a few hours ago but she could hear him occasionally moving around. With a sigh she pushed her aching body off the couch. Maybe Sherlock could go through his overflowing inbox and find a case for them to solve. His door was ajar and she could see a corner of his robe and pajama clad legs so she didn't bother to knock. "Hey Sher-oh."

She stood in the doorway in complete shock as he pulled his robe tightly around his bare chest. Out of all the things she could've seen when she walked in here she would've never imagined it would've been that. The two stood there for a moment in silence. Sherlock was waiting for the string of questions that were sure to follow and the pity that would come after that. Syn's mind was swimming with anger and millions of questions that would have to remain unanswered. Sherlock was completely vulnerable in front of her. This was Sherlock she was seeing, not the Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, not the machine with the human mask. This was the Sherlock that was always locked away

"It helps if you put heat on it. The way your scars keloid and turn red is similar to my branding. My entire shoulder will tighten up sometimes and heat helps relax the muscles. Do you have a heating pad around?" He shook his head and she could've sworn she saw tears in his eyes. "Take your robe off." He subconsciously pulled his robe tighter around him as she walked forward. "Sherlock do you trust me?" After a moment the grip on his robe slackened and it takes Syn no time to figure out how the scars were made.

They had been made with a dull, probably even rusty blade. These were the kind of wounds that despite their shallowness take forever to heal and always scar. Goosebumps broke out on his skin as she gently traced her fingers over the five, shaky letters, forming the word that stretches from one shoulder to another: FREAK. She placed the palm of her hand over the first letter and began to gently massage the scar with the heel of her hand.

Freak, it's for you. Please, you supposed to hate me! I'm a freak! You are lost, you are hurt, and you need help. You are not a freak. "Is he dead?" "No." "That can be fixed. Where is he?" Her entire body was shaking with rage and she was craving to sink her knife into the bastards skin. How could someone do this to Sherlock? He was the most brilliant man she had ever met and someone dared to mark him as a freak? "It was my fault I-"

"Don't care," she interjected. "You don't have to tell me how it happened and I'm not asking you to." His shoulders relaxed as she moved her hands across his back and the muscles loosened. She decided it was probably better not to push the subject anymore. She would ask Mycroft for a name and location later. "Feeling any better?" He rolled his shoulders, the muscle rippling underneath her hands. "Yes, much." She felt for her branding as he covered his scars with his robe. She couldn't imagine how much they must hurt.

"Sherlock I-" A pounding at the door stopped her from saying anything else. "Hey you two someone open the door! I've got a case!"

-/-

"Anita Rucks, 27, recently married. Her husband came home and found her dead. Eyewitnesses place him at the local pub until 10pm, the corner places her time of death around 8."

Lestrade let the two into the study of the house containing the scantily clad dead body. Syn flipped through the 3 case files Lestrade had given her at the flat while Sherlock examined the body. 3 other women had died in the same manner but of course it had taken the police almost 2 weeks to find a connection whereas she could already blatantly see the connection. "All three women were shopping at Tesco with their husbands the same day they were killed. The wedding and engagement rings missing as well." She knelt down beside Sherlock and examined the area around the woman's body. "Someone else was here before she was killed."

"Of course there was. The murderer." Donovan looked up from her paper work with a scowl. "It must be so dull in that dense mind of yours. God how can you even remember to breathe? There was someone here before she was murdered. There's a path in the carpet where the fibers are slightly flattened in the direction of the window and her body is laying right across is. Whoever killed her came as soon as her lover left." Donovan took in both Syn and Sherlock's appearance and shook her head. "You two are just alike you know that? You're both f-" Syn shot up, her eyes dark and her hands balled into fists.

"I would chose my words carefully if you wish to wake up where you fell asleep," she growled, her voice low enough to go unheard by those around them. "I promise you if you dare to utter that word ever again you will not enjoy where you wake up, if you wake up at all. You've seen my file, you know I don't break my promises." She smiled sweetly and turned her attention back to the body leaving Donovan gaping like a fish out of water.

-/-

"Lestrade we need you." The DI sat back in his chair as Syn and Sherlock strode into his office with a stunned look. "Now that's something I never thought I'd hear." The two rolled their eyes at his remark. "The wives and their husbands were shopping at Tesco the same day they were killed so the killer is either a daily shopper or an employee."

"So what do you need me for?"

"You have to play husband because I refused to let Anderson anywhere near me. He's a disgusting pig and John is out of town visiting his sister so our options are rather limited. If you're worrying about someone recognizing you don't, sunglasses will make you unrecognizable by the common, small minded people." Lestrade ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Bloody hell. Alright, fine. Where do I come in?"

"I'm going to already be there. Syn, find an excuse to walk over to where I am so I can shamelessly flirt with you and you with me. After dropping a few not-so-subtle hints, you give me a meeting place and then hopefully, the murderer will follow me to you. Of course, I'll be aware if someone is tailing me and by the time I reach our meeting place, Lestrade, you will have been alerted. It's simple, really."

"Dangerous, more like it." Lestrade watched as Sherlock pulled out a small jewelry case from his coat pocket. Opening it, he plucked out the smaller ring and slipped it onto Syn wedding finger. Walking over to Lestrade, he did the same.

"There. Now it looks like you're a married couple."

-/-

Syn wrapped her arm around Lestrade's back as they walked in, using her for support until she could grab a cart. It was uncomfortable at first, having people stop to smile at them, eyes lingering on Lestrade's leg as if they would be able to see what was making him limp so heavily, but it didn't seem to affect him at all. She would smile and brush up against Lestrade, playing the part of the adoring, young wife perfectly. It wasn't like this was the first time she was pretending to be married after all.

Following her lead, Lestrade became more at ease, occasionally guiding her with his hand on her lower back and letting his fingers linger on hers when he handed her something to place in the cart. It was all going as planned, both of them falling into their roles easily, painting the image of a perfect marriage to those around them. Until she found Sherlock. "Honey, I'm going to get some fruit." She let her hand linger on his arm for as long as she could, mimicking his warm smile.

Standing beside Sherlock, she picked up a tomato and carefully inspected it. The taller man leaned forward, brushing his arm against Syn's. Looking up at Sherlock, she recognized his coy smile as flirtatious even though she had never seen it before. "Terribly sorry." His voice was pitched lower than usual, a seductive drawl that clearly was not sorry at all and she found herself until to form a proper thought. Puzzled, she cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the produce.

"Your husband?" Sherlock's right arm pressed against Syn's for a moment. "Yes we got married 3 months ago." Sherlock watched Lestrade limp forward, his gaze lingering on his bad leg. "What's wrong with his leg?" He leaned forward conspiratorially as he spoke. "Land mine in Iraq. He's lucky he only lost his leg the crazy bastard."

"He must be a lucky man. He roped you in." Syn scoffed. "I doubt he would see it that way. We've done nothing but scream at each other since he's gotten back. We haven't even shared the same bed since our wedding night, can you believe that?" Syn was glad Sherlock had told her in advance what to say. If not she would be standing there like a complete idiot. Her heart was racing in her chest and for some reason she was finding it incredibly difficult to form a proper sentence.

"Really? That's too bad. Although I have heard PTSD can be extremely challenging to deal with...especially for the spouses." Syn studied him carefully for a moment, letting her gaze flicker down and then back up again. "Yes, it is." Sherlock smirked and grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his thumb resting against her pulse point. "I think I may be able to help. You seem a little…sexually frustrated. I'm not looking for anything long term, just one night. If you're not interested, I understand."

He moved away and began walking in the opposite direction of her. "Wait." Her command made him turn around with a smirk. "Yes?"

"How's Speedy's on Baker Street around 4 sound?" Syn glanced over her shoulder nervously at Lestrade who was examining the back of a soup can. Sherlock stepped closer, their bodies almost flush as he slid his fingers into her back pocket. His face was only a few inches away from her, his dilated eyes flickering between her eyes and lips. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against her fingers. "My number. See you there," he whispered.

Watching him walk away she released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and picked up a bag of apples. "Everything alright?" She smiled at Lestrade as she placed the bag into the cart. "Simply wonderful."

-/-

Syn took a deep breath as she stepped out of the cab and began walking towards Speedy's. This was her first time playing bait without the serum coursing through her veins. She didn't doubt her abilities, from her dreams she knew she had been a good fighter before the serum and during her time at the Queen mansion she had been trained even further. She was running on blind instinct and she could only hope that would be good enough.

Just as she made the turn towards Baker Street, her arm was grabbed from behind and she was pulled into an alleyway. Instincts kicking in she threw an elbow straight back, connecting with bone and spun to face her attacker. Her fist shot out to his Adam's apple and with a kick to the crotch the man fell. Two plainclothes came running into the alleyway flashing their badges before slapping on handcuffs. "Nathaniel Price. Disabled military veteran who killed his wife upon discovering her infidelity. When killing his own wife wasn't enough he decided to take it upon himself to rid London of cheating wives, especially those who cheated on their disabled husbands." Sherlock leaned casually against the brick wall, disappointed that the case had turned out to be so simple.

"His job at Tesco helped him spot the victims. You'll find a syringe of Valium in his hoodie pocket. The wives wedding rings will be at his home." Syn added. The man raked his eyes over her in bewilderment as the officers got him to his feet, proud to see a steady stream of blood coming from his nose. "What the hell are you two?" She smiled, something she'd been catching herself doing a lot more often and said, "Just a drugged up assassin and a Consulting Detective. Remember that when you hear the death penalty."

John returned early that morning to find both Syn and Sherlock fast asleep and their picture on the front page.

-/-

"I can't believe it! You and Detective Inspector posing as a couple!" Syn dried the dishes as Ms. Hudson handed them to her and placed them in their respectful spots. She tried to help out the landlady as much as she could considering what all she put up with. "I wish it would've been a bit trickier of a case. It only took us a day to solve and now we're all back to being bored again."

"Oh don't worry dearie I'm sure something else will come up." Syn dried her hands and leaned against the counter. "God, I hope so. I don't think John can take much more of our experiments when we get bored. Instead of bullets in your wall you might start finding arrow heads." Syn smiled fondly at the memory or showing Sherlock her collapsible composite bow, courtesy of Mycroft Holmes of course. They spent the day experimenting with different types of metals and explosives on the arrowheads which ended with a few missing pillows, the smoke alarms going off and a very unhappy Doctor Watson.

"Oh look at you, all smiles and such! It's so good to see you happy for a change. I thought for sure when Sherlock brought you in you would be gone within a few days. He's grown fond of you he has, you can see it in the way he looks at you." Syn laughed. "I highly doubt that Ms. Hudson." "Oh, nonsense! Everyone knows you two fancy each other, you'd have to be blind not to see it." No matter how much she tried to fight it off she couldn't stop the blush from creeping up her cheeks. "Oh god, everyone? Why does everyone always know my secrets before me?"

She had gotten too comfortable, too relaxed. When that pressure point became known it would be used against you and someone would end up hurt. It was almost like her mind knew what was happening and decided to leave her out.

A loud thud up above made the smile fall from her face. "Sherlock!" Oh, look at what you've done Syn. You were happy weren't you? You were used to me being gone. You slipped, everyone knows you fancy Sherlock Holmes. You have too many pressure points now Syn, it's going to be so easy to pick you apart. Sherlock. John. Ms. Hudson. Molly. Lestrade. And even Sebastian. Six people to kill, six times to fail.

She raced up the stairs two by two until she reached the top. Papers and books were strewn everywhere, John's chair turned upside down. In the middle of the mess lay Sherlock curled in a fetal position, in the doorway, a barely conscious John. "Sherlock," she fell to her knees beside him and assessed the damage with blurry eyes. Blood was running from his nose and the side of his lip where it had been split. A small cut in his hairline that would heal without stitches and nothing appeared to be broken. Unbuttoning his shirt she examined his chest, the fetal position suggesting a few kicks to the abdomen. He groaned as she gently ran her fingertips over his chest, finding each rib and making sure it was still in once piece.

"Syn," John had sat up and looked worse than Sherlock, blood running down his face from a gash in the bridge of his nose. His breathing was labored and his eyes were darting between her and the wall. "Oh god it's happening," Written across the wall in white paint read: TIME TO PLAY RALEIGH QUEEN. SHOW US WHAT YOU CAN DO. Underneath was a blown up picture of her and John both smiling widely, Sherlock looking at Syn with a rare smile. Another was of her and Sherlock taken at the Tesco when he had slipped his hand into her back pocket and their faces were mere inches away. The long blade pinning the pictures to the wall sending a chill of fear racing down her spine and permanently embedding itself within her.

You didn't even know anyone was coming. You act as if your past does not exist and stay here with the two of them. What good are you? They could've been killed and you never would've known! You're pathetic! A freak! If anyone deserves that marking it's you! You, Raleigh Queen, are going to get everyone killed just as you always do and you are going to be completely helpless.