A/N: So this is pretty much a late Thanksgiving present or an early Christmas present for you all, all the sparse followers that I have. Here's the last chapter. It took a while, but I'm finished. I think I'm pretty satisfied with how this turned out. I'm excited for the reviews (wink, wink, nudge, nudge guys). The sequel, written by Jade, will be up today, so you all will have that to look forward to. Anyway, enjoy!

-Bree

Chapter 7- Sherlock

The mansion loomed over us, daunting and clearly ancient. The exterior was old-fashioned and elaborately detailed, with turrets, dark colors, and more chimneys than I could count. It would have dominated the block even if it hadn't been the only building in sight for at least a mile. It was striking, to say the least.

John got out after me, staring up at the Gothic spires that towered above us. "This is –was- Victoria's house?"

I nodded. "Remarkably good shape it's in, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's certainly well cared for."

"Remember that." I told him, and then I walked up to the massive front double doors and pushed it inward, not bothering to knock. One of the doors was already ajar, cementing the theory that had led me here.

John followed me inside. The interior of the place was just as magnificent as the outside, with gleaming chandeliers and intricate, not to mention very expensive-looking, décor.

Glad I'd kept track of the turns when Victoria had taken me through here on our way to meeting Briggs, I backtracked and found myself right where this had all started: in the little room where I'd woken up with a hood over my head, not two days ago.

I stopped in the doorway. We were not alone, just as I'd expected.

Celia was standing at the far end of the room, holding a small china horse figurine up to the light. She must have heard us enter, but she didn't even turn around, just slowly set down the fragile figure on the desk in front of her. When she spoke, her voice was controlled, even. "Are you here to arrest me?"

"No." I answered. "But the police are coming, and they definitely will arrest you."

Celia spun around. "I'm not confessing anything to you."

"You don't have to. I'll tell you what happened and we'll see how much you enjoy that. Besides, John here is a little slow and he'll want to hear it out loud."

John glared at me, but I ignored him, coming to stand next to Celia.

I drew my finger across the top of the desk. When I brought it up, there was very little dust. "This house is very carefully maintained. It must be a hundred years old at least, judging by the architecture, and yet the hinges on the front door don't even creak. Lots of money has clearly gone into it." I paused.

Celia ran her hand down the china horse's spine but didn't otherwise respond.

I went on. "I also found a bank note on Victoria's body." I pulled it out of my pocket and reread it. "You knew that she was a billionaire, didn't you, Celia?"

She tensed.

"Then the real question is: why did you lie to me?"

Celia said nothing, just kept playing with the figurine, turning it over and over again in her palms, tracing the outline of its saddle.

"You told me, earlier, that you were the one with all the money in the family and that Victoria was broke. But it's you whose cash is almost gone. I will admit that not everything you said was a lie, however. Your sister did call you a while back, fearing for her life. I suspect that you brushed her panic off as paranoia, but it planted the idea in your head. Initially, you rejected it- hence the delay between Moriarty's death and your sister's. Eventually, though, you saw the benefits of murdering Victoria. You get all her money, and possibly take over her job, and all you had to do was utilize a few resources, primarily Moran. You could murder Victoria."

The china horse flew across the room, nearly missing my head and hitting the wall, smashing into tiny, jagged fragments on the carpet.

I ignored her angry outburst, continuing with my detailing of the events. "And this is where I come in; Victoria kidnapped me because she knew my… association with Moriarty before his death. She thought it might keep his allies off her back, or at the very least present a threat to her being killed. That was obviously not the case. You hired Moran to murder her for you. It would look like he was just cleaning up everybody who knew Moriarty for who he was. Your plan worked at first. Victoria is dead. Very soon, if I hadn't intervened, you'd have unlimited access to her bank account. No one would suspect a thing.

"The only missing piece of the puzzle, then, is the safe." I walked over to where it was, hidden under the bed and tugged it out into view. "I noticed this when I first was here, but I saw no reason to open it. As your sister was dying, though, she mentioned a code. She said it was a man's name. If, like you said, Moriarty was that important to her, it was likely that the code would be his name." I twisted the knob on the front of the safe, spinning it clockwise to enter the numbers 17, 26, 14, 22 and 8- spelling out 'James.' The lock clicked open. "The next part was simple: figure out what number matched each letter. It was easy- it's the alphabet counting backwards from twenty-six to one, so A is twenty-six, B is twenty-five, and so on." I pushed open the safe's door to reveal, among other things, a printout of an email conversation between Celia and Moran.

I picked it up and skimmed it. "Ah, yes… it was lucky that she kept this. She must have known everything." I glanced up at Celia, who was silently seething. "That can't feel especially good, knowing that she was fully aware that her own sister was out to kill her. Are you ready to admit it now?"

Celia was staring at the shattered pieces of the horse like she couldn't believe she'd actually thrown it. "I am." Her voice was flat and lifeless.

"Good." I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number. It rang twice before it was picked up.

I smiled to myself. "Hello, Lestrade? Yes, I think I've found someone who you'd like to meet…"

~o0o~

An hour later, I was leaning against the side of the house, which was now surrounded by police cars. The officers were all inside, questioning Celia before they would officially arrest her and take her into custody.

John came to stand next to me, crossing his arms. "So you knew she'd murdered her own sister… and you let her just leave our flat and walk out back onto the streets where she might just kill more people."

I shrugged. "It was worth the chance. If I accused her earlier, the police wouldn't think I had enough evidence, and if they did they'd probably just try to take over and waste a lot of time while I could figure it out so much faster."

John muttered something about my ego.

"Well, I am also the world's only consulting detective. I'm allowed to have an ego."

He sighed.

"I listened in on the police interview." I told him.

"They let you do that?"

"Not technically." I admitted, and went on quickly. "The point is that they proved everything I said earlier right, as I knew they would. But I found out a couple more details that I didn't know. Celia hated her sibling from an early age, for one thing."

"Sounds like you." John laughed, stopping when he saw my expression. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"She hated her sister, mostly because Victoria was favored over her. Victoria was always better at everything, and Celia was looked down on because she wasn't as talented. That was really where it all started. The other thing that I overheard was that later on, while she was plotting to murder Victoria, she knew that she wanted her sister dead but she didn't want to be the one do it. That's what she discussed with Moran over those emails. He'd pull the trigger and she didn't have to get her hands dirty, as long he got a share of Victoria's money when it was over."

John nodded, and stifled a yawn. "I don't know about you, Sherlock, but I was up all the whole bloody night last night wondering what the h*ll you were, so I'm planning to get some sleep tonight. And God knows how long since you've gotten any sleep."

I was tired, now that the case was finished. So I didn't complain when John hailed a cab to take us home.

I slept well that night for the first time in a long while.

~o0o~

It wasn't until nearly three weeks later when we got the letter. By then, all the legal business surrounding my kidnapping and Victoria's subsequent murder had been resolved and mostly forgotten.

John was sifting through the day's mail when he came upon the envelope. "This one's for you." He handed it to me.

It was a plain standard white envelope, addressed to Sherlock Holmes of 221b Baker Street, London, England- but it had no return address.

I opened it and read the brief, typed note inside. "She's taunting us."

John looked over my shoulder. "Who?"

I threw the letter down on the table. "Celia. Escaped from prison, decided she'd give me a little heads up."

John groaned. "What are we going to do, then?"

"Nothing, at the moment. I doubt she'll readily commit another murder so soon after the first. She'd just call attention to herself, and her escape would be pointless. We could tell Scotland Yard, but they'll know about it soon enough, if they don't already. That's all this letter was for- to tease us."

Of course, I'm sure that's what it was. But it was also the beginning of something else- something much darker and more surprising than anyone involved could have expected.

And it started with a Christmas party.

THE END of Unusual Occupation

TO BE CONTINUED IN THOUGH THE WORLD MAY EXPLODE