"You can take the chance of guessing correctly, or I can shoot you." He answered. Jezebel looked at the gun pointed between her eyes. She turned her head slightly to look at Sherlock and raised a brow at him. Sherlock responded with a barely noticeable nod. Jezebel turned back to the cabbie and grinned.

"We'll take the gun." She said confidently.

"Are you sure?" the cabbie asked.

"Definitely, the gun," Jezebel replied without hesitation.

"You don't want to phone a friend?" The cabbie was clearly hesitant. To the untrained eye it could have been nerves, but this man had already killed four people, why would be be hesitant about a fifth or sixth?

"The gun," Sherlock answered firmly. His voice left no further room for negotiation. The tension in the air was palpable as the two detectives sat there, smirking. Slowly, the cabbie began to apply pressure on the trigger of the gun, and there was a moment's breath, a small click, and a small flame jumped from the end of the barrel only to flicker harmlessly there.

"Did you honestly think that would work?" Jezebel asked with a grin as she began to stand from her chair.

"I know a real gun when I see one," Sherlock stated confidently as he stood as well. The lighter was lifted and the trigger released.

"None of the others noticed," The cabbie said quietly once the flame had been extinguished.

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting." Jezebel began to move towards the door, Sherlock right beside her as she did so.

"I look forward to the court case," Sherlock commented offhandedly. Just then the cabbie's hand shot out and wrapped around Jezebel's wrist. Jezebel glanced down at her wrist before slowly moving to look at the cabbie, a single brow raised.

"Did you figure out which was the safe bottle?"

"Of course. Child's play," Sherlock bluffed. He hadn't had the time to exam the bottles like Jezebel had.

"Well, which one is it then?" the cabbie asked. Jezebel rolled her eyes and reached over the table to grab the less scuffed bottle to hold it up in front of the cabbie. "Willing to try it?" the cabbie asked as he chose a bottle and pulled out the stopper. Jezebel turned to Sherlock where he merely gave her a blank look. Barely refraining from rolling her eyes again Jezebel pulled the stopper out of the bottle in her hand and dumped the pill into her hand. The cabbie did the same.

"Now here's the fun part. Give the pill to Mr. Holmes," The cabbie demanded. Jezebel paused for a moment and turned to Sherlock. The two of them shared a look before Sherlock gave a small nod and took the pill from the palm of Jezebel's hand. "Shall we take our medicine?" The cabbie asked. Sherlock gave him an annoyed glance before holding the pill up to the light and looking at it carefully. As Sherlock did this Jezebel caught motion out of the corner of her eye. Subtly she looked and found John standing in the window of the building opposite them. A questioning look was on his face and Jezebel mouthed words at him, so subtly that they were almost invisible. John, however, understood and drew his gun.

Slowly Sherlock lifted the pill to his mouth, the cabbie did the same. There was a moment of tension as the pill touched their lips before a bullet suddenly ripped through the cabbie's shoulder. The gunshot echoed around the classroom. Despite the loud noise, all of the inhabitants of the room were shocked into silence. The cabbie suddenly cried out in pain as he crumpled to the floor, and the moment was broken. Sherlock, who hadn't seen John, jumped into action as he rushed over to the window to try and see where the shot had come from. Jezebel instead turned to the cabbie.

"Tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? I want a name," Jezebel said as she stood over the dying man. The cabbie shook his head barely.

"No." The reply was weak.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give us a name," Sherlock said as he came over and stood on the other side from Jezebel. The cabbie shook his head again and Jezebel rolled her eyes before placing her foot on his wounded shoulder. The cabbie whimpered slightly in pain.

"A name," Jezebel repeated and pressed lightly onto his shoulder. The cabbie cried out in pain. "Now," Jezebel hissed angrily. Still the cabbie only whimpered in pain. Jezebel's face reflected intentness and Sherlock stood by watching with a blank face before heading to the window to notice the cop cars coming nearer.

"Jezebel, we'll need to hurry," he commented.

Jezebel leaned her weight forward onto his shoulder.

"The NAME!"she yelled at the cabbie.

"MORIARTY!" was the agonised reply before the cabbie's head rolled to the side and his last breath escaped his lips. Sherlock looked at his reflection in the mirror and silently mouthed: Moriarty. Jezebel froze for a second before tearing away from the body at her feet.

"Of course," she muttered as she paced away, her face stormy. "Moriarty, I should have known." She moved over to Sherlock and began to drag him from the room. As they were in the hallway Sherlock pulled his arm from her grip and paused.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked looking at her oddly.

"Moriarty, that's what," she huffed and turned to face him. Looking at his blank face she paused confused. "You don't know Moriarty." It was a fact, not a question. Sherlock, not wanting to admit to something unknown to him, stayed silent. Jezebel looked at him for a moment longer before she began to move down the hall.

"What were you two thinking, running off with the murderer! What happened to him?" Lestrade yelled over the sirens. Jezebel completely ignored the detective inspector, instead she headed down the road to confront the sleek black car there. After knocking on the window the well-dressed man emerged from the vehicle.

"Moriarty, know the name?" Jezebel asked flatly. The man in front of her looked at her silently for a moment before replying.

"No, it's not familiar."

"Why is it that neither you nor your brother know anything about one of, if not the most important threat to the United Kingdom?" Jezebel huffed and she spun putting her back to the man as she surveyed the school in front of her. She was silent as she thought for several minutes before turning to face the man again. "Moriarty is a very clear and present danger," Jezebel said. The man opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off with a hand. "No, you can't look at the individual events. Moriarty has his fingers in many different pies. Things you wouldn't think he would be involved in are really his doing." Jezebel crossed her arms over her chest with her thumbnail between her teeth. The man paused, the wheels in his, honestly brilliant, mind whirling as he took in this information. He went to ask how she knew this but paused.

"We'll look into it," he assured her. Jezebel gave him a small nod and he reached into his inside pocket. He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. Jezebel went to grab it but paused and wiped her hand off on her pant leg with a sheepish look before taking the card from him. On the card it merely read Mycroft Holmes with a phone number underneath it. Jezebel pocketed the card and turned to head back toward the crime scene. On the way she paused and checked her watch; she hadn't reset it. Pausing in the middle of the street Jezebel messed with the knobs on her watch until the time was finally correct. She looked where Sherlock and John were fighting with Lestrade and merely turned on her heel. She would take her own cab back to 221B, she needed the time to think. Once Sh was in the cab Mycroft turned to Anthea.

"We need to upgrade her surveillance status. Grade three." He said calmly.

"Sorry sir, who?"

"Jezebel Blithe."