A/N - Jolie Black and sevenpercent deserve hazardous duty pay for this one. Thanks aren't enough, but I'll think of something appropriate. Promise.

John looks like he's running on fumes. Sherlock seems to be at the opposite end of the spectrum, almost vibrating with energy that is currently focused directly on Greg.

"You said you were going to bring Ellis in for an interview. Is he here?"

"Good afternoon to you, too. It's nice to see that you're back to your usual unassuming self."

John drops into his chair in front of Greg's desk and looks up at Sherlock who is standing behind the other one, fingers tapping impatiently on the back of it. "Sit down, Sherlock."

Sherlock's focus on Greg sharpens. "You've changed your mind. Why?"

Greg crosses his arms and waits until Sherlock takes the hint and sits. "Manning wrote out a detailed confession to Hartman's murder. He's also claiming to have killed what sounds like everyone you're attributing to Ellis, although he's withholding the names until he talks to you. He says you're the only one he'll give the details to."

Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. "Talking to Manning is a waste of time. He was willing to kill me to shield Ellis. He's not going to give us anything that would incriminate him."

John turns in his chair to look at Sherlock. "But you said Ellis was what Manning wanted to talk to us about. It was practically the first thing you said when you woke up in the hospital."

"No, what I said was 'About Ellis', which summarizes Manning's guiding principle. It's all been about Ellis. Manning is a psychopath. When he discovered what Ellis has been doing, he must have thought he'd found a kindred spirit. He's been watching and admiring his work all along, waiting for an opportunity to prove himself. He may have killed Hartman, but I don't believe he killed the others. And neither do you."

"You're right. I don't. But then, I never expected that he'd try to kill you, either, so maybe we're wrong about how long he's been at this. How can we be sure we're not wrong about Ellis, too?"

"We're not wrong." Their gazes lock and hold.

Greg sees his opening. "Okay, then let me put Manning in an interrogation room and we'll see what he has to say." He holds up a hand when Sherlock starts to protest. "That's the only way this is going to go. Take it or leave it. Ellis doesn't come into it until we talk to Manning."

Sherlock huffs an exasperated sigh. "It's a waste of time, but explaining why will take longer than humoring you." He stands up and gestures grandly for Greg to lead the way.

The interrogation rooms are on the ground floor in the same wing with the holding cells. Greg stops to speak with the custody sergeant, then ushers Sherlock and John through the first door on the right past the desk. It's the observation room adjacent to the interrogation room where they'll be talking to Manning. The adjoining wall includes a large window of one-way glass that will allow Greg to watch and listen to what goes on in the interrogation. From his vantage point, he'll be looking at Manning's face, and at the backs of Sherlock and John.

A moment later, the interrogation room door opens, and an officer comes in with Daniel Manning. He sits Manning down in the chair facing the window and cuffs him to a metal ring mounted in the center of the table.

Manning's voice sounds tinny through the speaker. "I'd like some coffee," he tells the officer pleasantly. Then he looks at the window and smiles as if he can see them.

"Smug little bastard is enjoying the hell out of this," Greg says, frowning at the window. "Guys he's worked with for years having to handle him like a criminal, and he doesn't miss an opportunity to rub their noses in it."

The officer glances awkwardly at the window, then leaves the room without responding to Manning.

Manning has two impressively black eyes, and the left one is swollen shut. His nose is obviously broken, and the left side of his jaw is swollen and deeply bruised. John stands at Sherlock's side, taking it all in with an expression that smacks a bit too much of unfinished business for Greg's comfort.

Sherlock glances down at John. "This explains your knuckles."

John flexes his right hand, then gives Sherlock a half smile.

"His jaw wasn't broken after all," Greg addresses this to John, "but his nose is." He crosses his arms and gives them each a stern look. "He's been baiting anybody who'll listen, and he's good at it. Stay on your own side of the table. If either of you steps a foot out of line, I'm calling a halt."

Sherlock ignores him and turns to leave. John follows, glancing back at Greg with a tight smile that's probably meant to reassure him that Sherlock is under control. But it's not Sherlock Greg is worried about putting in the same room with Manning.

Greg turns back to the window to watch them enter the interrogation room. Sherlock looks relaxed, but John is a coiled spring. Greg reaches over to the console and switches on the camera in the corner that will give him a view of John and Sherlock from the front. The observation room is meant to give the observer a clear view of the suspect's face. In this situation, the suspect isn't the one who needs careful watching.

Manning looks very pleased with himself as Sherlock and John take their seats on the opposite side of the table. He smiles at Sherlock. "You're looking well."

"Sorry I can't say the same for you," Sherlock replies in a conversational tone. He removes his gloves and lays them on the table. "You wanted to talk to us. So, talk."

"Did they tell you that I confessed?"

"Did they tell you that no one believes you?"

Manning smirks. "They think they know me. So do you. I could tell what you thought of me when you came to my flat. Harmless kid. Pathetic computer geek with no girlfriend and a flat full of trashy crime novels. The last person in the world you'd think might be a vigilante."

"Convince me."

"Okay, let's start with the last one. The rapist. I paralyzed him with a drug that I got on a weekend trip to Amsterdam. I brought back six doses, and he was the first one I used it on. He thought I was harmless, too, until I jabbed him in the neck with the needle. Dropped him in his tracks. I really didn't expect it to work so fast. I barely had time to get his belt off to strangle him with before he passed out. The look on his face when he realized what was happening..." He smiles. "But I don't have to tell you how well it works, do I?"

John is sitting on the right, turned slightly toward Manning, and the angle allows Greg to see his hands close into fists in his lap. On the monitor, Sherlock's jaw clenches briefly. Manning looks mildly disappointed, then shrugs.

"You found him in his underground garage, next to his fancy Jaguar, bound and sodomized with a tire iron. Those details weren't in the news reports. They're something only the killer would know." He leans back, smiling triumphantly.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "You have access to the evidence database. Those details are all there. It proves nothing that you can recite them."

Manning's smirk vanishes. "Why would I confess to a murder if I didn't do it?"

"It's pathetically common, actually. Almost routine. The more media coverage a murder attracts, the more false confessions start to pile up. The one thing they all have in common is the absence of a plausible motive. What was your motive, Daniel? Why would you murder a total stranger?"

He looks indignant. "I told you. He raped a woman and she died from it. He would have done it again. He probably did it before, too. He won't now. I stopped him."

"And all the others? What about them?"

"They-" Manning looks past Sherlock at the one way glass. "They were all murderers who got away with it. The police gave up." His focus comes back to Sherlock. "I didn't."

"Names."

Manning frowns. "You know who they are. I saw the query you were going to run. I know you were searching websites for specific names. I'll tell you enough to prove that I killed them all, but not until you admit you were wrong about me."

Sherlock tilts his head, eyes narrowed. "How was I wrong about you?"

"You thought I was harmless, just like Hartman did. Just like everyone does. I'm the furthest thing from harmless you can imagine. I was ready to kill you to protect my mission. And I would have succeeded, if I hadn't been interrupted." He looks hard at John. "I would have killed you, too."

John brings his clenched fists up and rests them on the table. Manning seems to be enjoying the reaction, which tells Greg that the man has either a death wish, or a remarkably short memory. Greg sees John's eyes narrow on the monitor and is about to rap on the window to break that intense focus when John's fists finally unclench. Then he sits back, and Greg lowers his hand.

Manning loses interest in John and shifts his focus to Sherlock. "Admit you were wrong about me, and I'll tell you the rest of the names."

"I will admit that you're not the man I thought you were, but you're no vigilante." Sherlock pushes back his chair and starts to rise. "You're wasting my time."

"I talked to James Anderson." When this stops both Sherlock and John in mid motion, Manning's face lights with satisfaction.

Sherlock sits back, leaving his chair pushed away from the table. "Continue."

"Didn't you ever wonder how Hartman was killed so soon after his victim died? I knew about it before it was ever in the news because her husband told me himself. It was a real piece of luck. He called looking for his brother on Christmas Eve, and the desk sergeant sent the call down to see if I could look him up. I talked to Anderson for quite a while, actually. He was in bad shape over his wife dying. Shame, really. Holidays are such a sad time. He gave me his brother's name, and ended up telling me a lot more than he meant to, I imagine. I looked him up in the database and, well..." His smile is chilling. "You know the rest." After a long moment with no reaction from John or Sherlock, his smile fades. "Oh, come on. How could I possibly know any of this if I wasn't the killer? Why are you making me work so hard?"

"I believe you, Daniel," Sherlock says quietly. "About Hartman. You're lying about the others, and I'd like to know why."

"I'm not lying, and I can't believe I'm having to beg you to believe me. It's no wonder there are so many unsolved murders!" He looks meaningfully at the window. "You're all idiots."

"Is that why you tried to kill me? Because I'm an idiot?"

Manning's expression shows grudging respect. "I didn't mean you."

"You knew we didn't suspect you of anything but poor database security. What were you afraid we would find out?"

"You were on the scent. You would have realized what you had before long."

"We were 'on the scent', but it wasn't you we were close to identifying. You know who the real killer is, Daniel. You've been protecting him for years. Killing Hartman was an overture to your hero. Unfortunately for him, you are going to be his downfall."

Manning looks surprised for a moment, then chuckles. "I can't wait to tell the reporters that you lot are so humiliated by me getting away with this for years that you're refusing to accept what's sitting right in front of you. They're going to love it."

"Callum Ellis," Sherlock says mildly. "Do you think he's going to love hearing that you gave us the proof we were lacking?"

Manning's body jolts at the name. "Who?"

Sherlock gives Manning a knowing smile, then turns to John. "I think we're done here." They both stand up and start for the door.

Manning is instantly frantic. "You don't have any proof at all, and you know it. I haven't told you a thing!" He jerks against the chains holding him to the table and knocks the chair over as he leaps to his feet. "Stop! You're wrong! Don't you dare lie about this to-"

The door closes behind them, cutting off Manning's rising hysteria. Greg leaves the observation room and meets them in the hall. "He didn't mention talking to James Anderson in his confession, and that's the most persuasive thing he's said."

"I'd like to hear James Anderson's version, but I don't doubt that Manning killed Hartman. Can I assume that you have no further objections to my talking to Ellis?"

"With one condition." When Sherlock's mouth pops open to protest, Greg holds up a hand. "I'll meet you in my office." He turns to the custody sergeant to have Manning returned to his cell, then takes a side trip to pick up a little electronic back up that he anticipates will not be an easy sell. When he gets to his office a few minutes later, John and Sherlock are in the midst of an animated discussion that ceases when they hear him coming. He takes his seat, then places a device that resembles a flash drive on the desk and slides it toward John. "It's a transmitter that will be monitored by the surveillance team." He puts its receiver down on the desk in front of himself. "And me. If there is any sign of trouble, they'll be there to back you up."

John looks at Sherlock, then at Greg. "Me? Why me?"

"Because you won't toss it in a rubbish bin on your way out." Greg gives Sherlock a moment for the expected eye roll, then continues, "Just keep it in your pocket. It will pick up a whisper within a twenty foot radius."

John slips it into the chest pocket of his coat. "Will you be recording, in case he confesses?"

Sherlock sighs. "It doesn't matter, John. He's not going to confess on the spot."

John's brow creases. "Then what are we doing?"

"Planting the seeds." He gets up and leaves the office in a swirl of coattails.

John and Greg exchange a mystified look. Greg shakes his head. "Your guess is as good as mine."

In the cab on the way to see Ellis, John tries again to get Sherlock to tell him what he's got in mind. "It would help if I had some idea what we're doing."

"We're going to give his conscience something new to consider. He does have one, John. And right now, it's his greatest liability."

"Most people don't consider a conscience to be a liability."

Sherlock's response is a disturbingly pleased smirk.

Callum Ellis opens his door as far as the security chain allows, revealing a three-inch wide slice of his face. He is not pleased to see them. "How did you get in?"

"We just need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Ellis," Sherlock ignores the question.

"Why?"

"It's a matter of some urgency."

Ellis looks back over his shoulder. "I'm in the middle of a project." When this fails to elicit a response, he sighs. The door closes briefly while he unfastens the chain, then swings wide for them to enter.

Sherlock and John walk into the room. Ellis closes the door and comes in a few steps, then stops with his arms crossed. "Did you friends in the van pick the lock for you?"

They turn to face Ellis. Sherlock comes straight to the point. "What can you tell me about Daniel Manning?"

Ellis raises his eyebrows. "You think he's the hacker you were looking for the last time you were here?" His voice conveys how preposterous he finds this notion. "He wouldn't have to hack it. He has full access as the database admin. You must really be desperate." He adds a soft snort.

"Manning killed a man a few days ago with succinylcholine. Last night, he tried to do the same to me."

Ellis uncrosses his arms and lets them fall to his sides. His face is a mask of shock. "What?"

"You seem surprised, Mr. Ellis."

"Hell yes, I'm surprised. What little I know about the kid... Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're the reason he did it." Sherlock watches Ellis for the moment the accusation hits home.

Ellis manages to keep his expression neutral, but the shocked blink gets away from him. "I barely know him."

"Ah, but he knows you, and he knows what you've been up to for the past eight years. Ironically, he would probably have made a decent detective. He picked up a pattern that almost everyone else missed. It turns out that you're quite the inspiration. You never suspected?"

Ellis seems to be having some difficulty finding his voice. "Suspected what?"

"That you had a protégé."

"What 'protégé'? What the hell are you talking about? Did he say something about me?"

"No, and he never will. You're his hero. He's been protecting your secret since he discovered it. He's so determined to keep your name out of it that he's confessed to every murder he thinks you committed."

"Keep my name out of what? Are you saying he thinks I killed someone?"

The tone of incredulity would be convincing, but for the guilt Sherlock hears beneath it. "You've been very careful. Who would know better than a former homicide investigator how to kill someone and get away with it?"

Ellis looks from Sherlock to John. "If you believe that, you're both insane. When you were here the last time, I thought you were accusing me of doing something to the database. If you are seriously suggesting that I'm involved in whatever fantasy this kid has cooked up, you need to leave." He walks back to the door.

"That's the problem with taking up a cause. You run the risk of attracting disciples. In your case, you drew a misfit loner with an even more self-serving sense of justice than your own. But you're worse than Manning. Unlike him, you actually have a conscience, of a sort. You've just chosen to disregard it."

Ellis turns to face them. "I haven't killed anyone. I had nothing to do with what Manning may have done. If you had any evidence to the contrary, I would be in custody. Now please leave. And don't contact me again."

"There's no evidence to convict you in a court case, but you know that better than anyone. A bit ironic, considering that it's the very situation you set off on this mission to correct. I think you believed you were doing the right thing, but it's all changed now. You're responsible for what Manning has become. You're responsible for what he did to Hartman, and what he tried to do to me." Sherlock pauses to let that sink in. "Manning isn't just collateral damage. If you allow him to take the blame for everything you did, you'll be confirming that it never was the noble mission you intended. If you won't stand up and do the right thing now, then it's all been a sham from the start. You may want to consider how different you really are from the men you killed. You're going to get away with it, too."

Ellis turns back to the door, opens it wide, and comes back into the room. He walks past Sherlock without a glance and goes all the way to the windows, keeping his back to them.

Sherlock and John walk out of the flat, leaving the door open behind them.

When they reach the street, John asks, "Now what?"

Sherlock steps to the kerb and raises his hand to a cab halfway down the block. "Now we wait."

When John and Sherlock return to his office, Greg is ready for them. "I didn't hear a confession. In fact, I'd say his denial was pretty damn believable."

John takes the microphone from his pocket and sets it on Greg's desk on his way to his chair. "I think he was ready for us. He knew about the surveillance."

Greg watches Sherlock take his seat and waits for a comment. What he gets is a perturbingly relaxed smile. "What am I missing?"

Sherlock smirks. "In this case, or generally speaking?"

Greg levels his gaze, in no mood for banter.

Sherlock sighs theatrically and drops his hands to his lap. "I told you he wasn't going to confess right now. He was appalled by what Manning has done. He won't let a psychopath invalidate his life's work. We just need to wait him out."

Greg sits back. "If Manning taking the blame is your leverage with Ellis, you may be about to lose it. Manning really went ballistic after you left. He's threatening to recant his confession unless we accept that he killed everyone attributed to the serial killer."

"Can he do that?" John looks at Greg.

"He can't go into court on a murder charge without a lawyer, and any lawyer is going to demand a psychiatric evaluation. With the way he's ranting and demanding to be charged with multiple murders he couldn't possibly have committed, there's no telling how it's going to work out. Personally, I would believe he's crazy. The CP may have to take what he can get."

"He'll spend the rest of his life in custody. Whether it's a psychiatric hospital or prison is unimportant." Sherlock slaps his knees and turns to John. "Our work here is done. I'm famished." He gets up and starts for the door.

"That's it?" Greg frowns at Sherlock's retreating back.

"Yes," Sherlock replies without slowing down.

The cab ride to Angelo's is silent. Sherlock's intense focus on his phone would give Mycroft's PA a run for her money, and John's attempts at conversation have been met with occasional grunts, but not a single glance up from the screen. When they pull up in front of the restaurant, Sherlock leaps out, as usual, leaving John to pay. When John catches up to him, Sherlock is ensconced at the table in the front window, now devoting his full attention to the menu that even John could recite from memory.

"Lasagna will be the quickest," Sherlock tells him without looking up. "And a bottle of wine." He glances up with a half smile, then back to the menu.

The waiter takes their order, and returns with their food a few minutes later which inspires an I-told-you-so smirk from Sherlock. John's appetite comes abruptly to life at the savory aromas wafting from his own plate. When the wine appears, John's first sip reminds him how little sleep he's had, and he pushes the glass to the side.

Ten minutes later, John's plate of lasagna is barely half gone, but Sherlock is on his second serving, putting it away as if he hasn't seen a meal in a month. The longer John watches him, the less sense it makes. "When you come up for air, I've got a question."

Sherlock waves his fork in John's direction before he plunges it into his food. "Ask away."

"I'd like to have your undivided attention, if that's possible."

The forkful of lasagna disappears, and the empty fork is placed primly on the edge of the plate. Sherlock swallows and lifts a questioning brow.

"Thank you. You seem to have put Ellis completely out of your mind. I'd like to know why."

Sherlock gives him a look that he reserves for the most obvious of stupid questions. "There's nothing more we can do. He'll either confess, or he won't. What would be the point of dwelling on it?"

John manages not to laugh out loud. "Not buying it. You don't let go of anything this quickly, least of all a suspect who is apparently going to get away with multiple murders. What do you know that you're not telling me?"

"To be fair, that is a rather broad field."

John's eyes narrow over a tight smile. "Now I know you're hiding something."

"Maybe my near death experience has had a mellowing effect."

John takes a sharp breath at the rush of too-recent images that inspires, and Sherlock has the decency to wince.

"Sorry. I see it didn't do much for my sense of humor." He pushes his plate out of the way and leans in. "What more do you think we can do at this point? There is no evidence that Ellis has done anything wrong. Even if he could be charged, the most cursory defense would establish reasonable doubt." Sherlock sits back. "All we can hope is that his conscience will bring him around. If not, then he's committed a string of perfect murders. We've planted the seeds of guilt. Whatever comes of it is out of our control."

"And you're fine with that outcome? Since when?"

Sherlock brings the plate to its former spot, then picks up his fork. "Let's just say that I've come to recognize the futility of railing against the inevitable. We're out of options, John. Let it go." He digs in to the food, focused on his plate and carefully avoiding John's eyes.

End of chapter 8