As soon as John ran into 221B he raced to find his laptop. He searched up all the flights that would be leaving from now till tomorrow when the opening of Webz would be. "Ah!" He yelled out in joy, due to a storm that had been in the Tokyo area, the first flight wouldn't be leaving till later that evening. So it would be impossible for Mr. Flames to fly back in time for the opening of the store in the morning.

John flew out his phone and speed dialed Lestrade.

"Hello Greg? Yeah It's John, I think I've found something..."

*2 Months Later*

Although John Watson's hunch was correct, they could find no evidence that him lying about where he was connected him in any way to the death of Lydia Thomas. In the end the blame was put on Mr. Flames secretary and it was found that she was stealing from the company and was lying to keep any threats away from the office and finding the truth. She was arrested and most of the officers were saying 'Case closed!' all except a Inspector Greg Lestrade, John Watson and Sally Donavon who knew that there was much, much more to this. Unfortunately they didn't hear back from 'The White Flame' till 3 later, and with yet another victim.

As John was getting ready to leave for the crime scene, 'The White Flame's' words echoed in his head, about being only one voice, yet millions heard him? How? Maybe his next victim was a part of a political party, or was the child of some governor. Unfortunately for him, because the case was 'closed' he had to wait till someone opened it again for him to start investigating. They received another message from 'The White Flame' that if Mr. Holmes didn't start getting involved, then other people will. Innocent people. And with Lestrade and John search for someone who, on the least, looked like Sherlock being such a failure, there was little hope for anyone.

In another cheap and crummy motel room, Caractacus Einson (a.k.a Sherlock Holmes) was sprawled out on his bed deep in thought when his phone rang.

How goes the search little brother? -MH

The second shooter is being held by the local authorities. After seeing his files he will most likely be hanged. -SH

Now tell me, how many people did you have to go through to get to this one? -MH

Only five this time, most of them were taken out quite easily, only one of them actually died. -SH

Who is left? -MH

Sebastian Moran. -SH

Check your e-mail. -MH

And that's just what Caractacus Einson/Sherlock Holmes did. A wide grin grew on his face when he saw the file Mycroft sent him. Inside this email was the location of where and when Sebastian Moran was last seen. One more person, one more, and then I can go home. Sherlock got up in a flash and began packing, he finished quite quickly too, but that had to do more with the fact that he had very few things to pack.

Once Sherlock was done packing, all that was left to do was wait for morning when a plane would be waiting for him to take him to his next stop, thanks to Mycroft. As he waited he looked in a mirror that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. He looked so different, his hair was bleached, he wore colored eye contacts, and he had gotten a tan and was wearing a pair of cheap jeans, a gray t-shirt and a black hoodie. All together, it made him look a much younger version of himself. A drug addicted, spiteful, much stupider version of himself.

Morning couldn't come slower, to be honest, Sherlock wanted to leave the moment he learned Sebastian Moran's location. But if he had, it would have been too obvious and Sherlock would be killed with the next few hours. Well, if most of Moriarty's men were still there that's how it would have been, but now most were either dead, in prison cells or fleeing for their lives, and Sherlock was determined to fine every last one of them.

Back in London, in a darkened alley next to a small clothes and a small bakery, was the body of a Samuel Tomarus. "What can you give me Lestrade?" John said upon arriving.

"Samuel Tomarus, 17 years old, American, junior in high school. Was on a trip with a couple mates of his, their all down at the Yard right now bring questioned. From the looks of it, they all went out for pint, he had one too many, got in a fight and bleed to death."

As John examined the body he noticed that around the neck there were signs that Samuel was strangled, and on his stomach was bruises, three different ones, each one a different size.

"Did any of his friends see who killed him?" John said without looking up from the body.

"No, but his friend who he was sharing a room with said that before they went out he received a phone call from his dad asking how he was and telling him to come home."

"We're trying to reach his dad as we speak," Donavon injected, "But no luck speaking with him yet. Apparently his dad traveled a lot and Samuel here was home with his mum most of the time."

Lestrade spoke back up, "His mum said the last time she heard from her son was two nights ago, and he seemed fine. She said she spoke with her husband last when right after his plane landed in Florida in the States. He does have a younger sister, but she's away in a private school and knew nothing of her brother's death."

John nodded, "Well keep trying to reach the father, I suspect he knows something. Well anyways, guessing from the bruises on Samuel stomach, I'd say there were three different men, all much older than him. I don't think they just picked a fight with him, no, I back alley, at night, away from the road and away from anyone who might hear him. I think Samuel here, was a target."

John stood up and went back towards Lestrade, "Get in touch with his father at all costs, find out if his families had any enemies." Lestrade turned to Donavon and nodded, "You got that?"Donavon nodded back and got right onto finding the boy's father.

Lestrade turned back to John, "John, I need you to come with me. I think I might have someone."

John eyes light up, could it be? Was their searching finally over? If Lestrade had found someone, then 'The White Flame' might start showing himself a bit more.

"Oh yes Lestrade, I never asked, what does Samuel's father do for a living?"

"Oh yes, he's an announcer at football games, you know, American football? You know, like at the Superbowel, and stuff like that."

Oh.

Oh yes! One voice that millions hear! Now he really wanted to speak with Samuel's father.

"DONAVON!" John called out before she had left,

"Yeah? What is it?"

"As soon as you get in touch with Samuel's father tell me! I need to speak with him!"

"So, where are we going?" John asked as he looked out the window of Lestrade's car.

"We're going to go meet a William Andrews; the theater gave me a call earlier today saying that he was new in town but worked in a theater back in Washington D.C. in the States. He was born and raised in London but moved to America when he got married so his wife could be closer to her ill mother. About a year ago her mother died and shortly after so did his wife. I talked with him the other day and the theater sent me a picture of him. You would not believe the likeness!"

They pulled up into a driveway of a small apartment building. "William said he had been staying with his sister until he could afford a place of his own. I was think... If he does, you know, end up helping us, maybe he should, I don't know, move in with you?"

Just the thought of it nearly shocked John. Him, share a flat with someone other than Sherlock!? was that even legal? He still hadn't cleared out all of Sherlock's stuff. Of course he had to get rid of all the old body parts, but things like violin or his skull stayed exactly where Sherlock had last put them.

"I don't know Lestrade I mean...Well, I suppose he could stay in 221C, but I'd have to talk with Mrs. Hudson about that."

Lestrade gave a sad smile, "Well, who know, I mean, we haven't even meet the guy yet!"

John stood nervously as Lestrade knocked on the door. He was about to meet someone who looked exactly like Sherlock, how was he going to explain this to his therapist? Or Harry? Or what about Mrs. Hudson? Well, her he could tell her the truth. But how could he live with someone who looked like Sherlock? It would only be a daily reminder that Sherlock was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The door was answered by a man, about 6 feet tall, curly dark hair, thin, pale, and very noticeable cheekbones. He was wearing a pair of designer jeans, a silk light blue shirt with the cuffs pulled up to his elbows.

"Ah! You must be Greg Lestrade and John Watson! My manager told me you two were going to stop by, please come in! I just put the kettle on so tea such be ready in a minute or two."

Ah yes, defiantly British, John thought. He had to admit, he looked almost exactly like Sherlock! There were a couple things different, but could easily fool anyone who wasn't close friends with Sherlock.

"Thank, Mr. Andrews is it?" Lestrade said entering the apartment with John close behind him.

"Yes, but please, call me William."

"Yes well William, I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, and this here is Dr. John Watson."

William put his hand out for John to shake it, "Dr. Watson, It's a pleasure."

John shook his hand and replied, "The pleasure is all mine." But to be honest, this was anything but pleasure, all this man did was remind him of Sherlock, of how John didn't save him, of how should have seen the signs. All he did was remind John of what he didn't do, and what he could have, and what he should have.

"Now, William, let's get down to business."