Took a bit longer than I hoped it was going to, but still wasn't a month! Here you go!

Just so you know, this is the end of Study in Pink, but I have been planning to do to at least the end of Great Game, and maybe make a sequel. I'll see how his goes first. So there is still much more to come. The Blind Banker will not be following so closely to the storyline though. I think it will mostly be focused on John and Sherlock's relationship.

Anyway, thanks everyone who review, alerted, and favourited this story!

Heeeerrrreeee's Johnnnnn!

John POV

My second day knowing Sherlock, I moved out of Dim's apartment, was interrogated by my flatmate's enemy, chased down a cab without my cane and how more inappropriate thoughts should Sherlock. Overall, I believe it was productive.

Especially the cane bit. It felt amazing walking without my cane. Of course, the moment I saw it again my leg started to ache with familiar pain that I knew was false. I now knew that I could go without, it would just take some time. This was thanks to Sherlock. The wonderful man that is Sherlock.

I seem to be one of the only people that think so highly of Sherlock. While many are, and rightly should be, in awe of him and that amazing mind, it seems many also cannot stand his personality. I can see why. He's cocky, obnoxious and doesn't understand what the normal social conventions are, but that's okay, it makes me feel like I have a place. Almost like a Sherlock interpreter.

I wanted to be more than that though. Who wouldn't want that? No matter how much you disliked him no one would turn down the chance to be close to someone as brilliant as Sherlock, even if it meant putting up with constant insults and barbs.

That would never happen obviously, because Sherlock seemed to being giving off the more asexual vibe. As hard as I tried to convince myself that that wasn't true, I just couldn't. I wanted to believe that I caught him staring too long or in unusual ways, but I couldn't. Because either he was asexual, or some form like demi-sexual, or his sexuality was very repressed. I'd be happy if it was the last one, because there would come a time when it would get too much and he would just explode with sexual feelings. I would be ready for that, just encase.

"Sherlock?" I called to him, trying to get his attention.

"Yes, John?" He answered from his curled up position on the couch.

"I was thinking about what Rachel means, and well, I think I know," I told him. I'd been thinking about it all night, and I think I just got all the facts together.

"Well out with it!" He cried, legs unfolding out from under him. If I didn't reach out and steady his tea in his hand it would have probably fallen.

"She was missing her phone, right?" I didn't wait for an answer. "And she's a very… well-known lady. So she must have had a nice phone…" I didn't get to finish because there was a knock at the door. I went to go get it, but Sherlock growled, a very sexy sound I can tell you, and got up, flipping his now empty cup over on the couch. I hadn't even notice him finish that.

Ripping open the door, he growled again, making me shiver slightly. "What?" He said to the person.

"I'm just here for the case," Greg's voice floated through the door.

"You're your least annoying officer?" Sherlock's tone was mocking.

"I'm the only one that you won't kill," Greg shrugged he stepped in.

"Hey, Greg," I greeted, giving my friend a wave. "Can I offer you some tea? Kettle's still hot."

"That would be lovely. See Sherlock? That's how you treat a guest," Greg scolded playfully.

"Well, we were in the middle of something important," Sherlock grumbled, going back to his place on the couch.

"The middle of something?" Greg repeated looking at me with one eyebrow lifted. It was a very suggestive look.

"Nothing like that," I groaned.

"Like what?" Sherlock spoke up from his place.

We just ignored him. I began making Greg's tea as he stood in the area between the kitchen and living room.

"You guys are just so close after two days. What was I supposed to think?" Lestrade explained, and I could see where he's coming from.

"No, no, there is nothing like that going on," I couldn't stress this enough. As much as I wanted something to happen I couldn't let Sherlock think I was attracted to him in that way. He could kick me out. I wouldn't blame him either.

"I guess it is a little strange to think of Sherlock doing anything like that," Greg nodded as I handed him the tea.

"Doing what?" Sherlock shouted frustrated with the lack of attention that we were paying him.

"It has to do with sex," My friend told him bluntly. The words make my skin turn bright pink, and my neck burn.

To make it even worse, my flat mate just scoffed. "As if I would participate in such carnal activities."

"Why not? John's an attractive bloke?" I could not believe that he just said that.

"Didn't you come here for the case?" I attempted to steer the conversation away from this.

"Even I can see that John's appearance is aesthetically pleasing, but that has nothing to do with what I'm talking about," Sherlock replied. Did he just call me attractive? That made my heart leap. Even if he didn't want to shag me on any and every surface at least he finds me good looking. "Now, you did come here for the case, so get it and leave. We were just about to crack this case open!"

"Open you say?" Greg was mocking Sherlock, and I really didn't like that. I was already feeling protective of this man, and his massive brain, and I didn't like the idea of Greg making fun of him.

I had to clench my jaw to keep from talking.

"Well, I am glad you decided to just give me the case. I would hate to have to have another drug bust. Anderson was so disappointed when I told him there wouldn't be one," Greg seemed to be joking, but Sherlock didn't seem to think it was funny, and I just thought Greg was being rude.

"This man on drugs? Have you met him? If there was anyone who wouldn't be on drugs…"

"John," Sherlock spoke, stopping me. The look on his face and the warning in his voice told me what was happening.

"Oh. Oh." Drugs? Sherlock and drugs? He just did not seem like the type.

Well, Harry didn't seem like the type to start drinking like she did either. Maybe I'm just not very good at spotting these things.

"Now, John, what were you trying to tell me before?" Sherlock rushed to say after my shocked reply to thought of his drug use.

"Oh," I tried to remember. It was really important… "I was saying how she must have had a decent phone to keep track of all those 'associates' of hers, right? So what phone might she have? One of those Smart phones I would think. The ones that have GPS and you can login online. The username's the phone number, and I would think the pink woman's would be Rachel." I had been thinking it over for a while. The thought first came to me when I saw a woman pull out her Smart phone after seeing a sign advertising it that mentioned the GPS.

"Brilliant, John! Simply brilliant!" Sherlock jumped up, grabbing me by the shoulders out of excitement, making my skin burn when he let go, before grabbing my laptop and going to where he could login.

The excitement in his eyes was palpable when the password worked. I couldn't help but feel some pride for causing that with my 'brilliance'. Sherlock calling me brilliant had to be one of the great compliments I've ever gotten. Coming from such an amazing man like him I couldn't help but now feel a bit superior to other people.

"It says he's here," Greg commented as he looked over Sherlock's shoulder. I really didn't like him that close to Sherlock, but I couldn't be possessive of this man. That would be too far. Instead of just went on the other side and did the same.

"He can't be!" Sherlock yelled, jumping up, almost smacking both Greg and me in the chin with his shoulders when he did. "This is wrong!"

"Maybe it was in the case…" Greg tried to reason by trailed off when Sherlock gave him a fierce look. It was frightening but sexy at the same time. I liked seeing Sherlock so worked up.

My flatmate began pacing, muttering questions, once and a while shouting things, as he thought. Neither Greg nor I were going to interrupt him when he was having his fit, just encase he lashed out on either of us.

"Sherlock?" A soft voice called from the doorway.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" I replied for him, because he just grunted towards her.

"There's a cab here for you, Sherlock," She tried to tell him. I didn't remember him calling a cab. Were we going somewhere?

"I didn't call a cab," He growled, just as I thought, and went back to thinking. He stopped pacing and seemed to be thinking something over.

"He's very persistent, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson told him a couple minutes later after going down the stairs for a moment.

"Actually, yes, I think we will go," Sherlock changed him mind. Where was he going with this? "Come along John, we have a murder to find." He wound that scarf of his around his impossibly long neck and waited for me to join him by the door. I did so happily after stuffing my gun in the back of my trousers. If we're actually finding the murderer this time I want to be prepared.

"What about me?" Greg asked from where he stood awkwardly by the suitcase.

"Take the case and go back to the Yard," Sherlock told him, not even bothering inviting him even if it was obvious that's what he wanted. Poor Greg. But I didn't want him tagging along either.

"What is this about, Sherlock?" I couldn't help but wonder as we made our way down the stairs and out of the flat.

"The cab driver, John, it's the cab driver," He said simply, as if I was supposed to understand.

"The cabbie?"

"Who else could go so unnoticed, even by me? A cab drivers always there, but always overlooked. No one would ever expect the cab driver."

"Genius."

"I would like to think so," A new voice said, drawing my attention to a man leaning again a cab. This was the murderer. This man. He looked like anyone else. Grey hair under a hat, face wrinkled, plain close, wire glasses. Nothing very interesting or memorable about this man.

"Cab for one, Mr. Holmes? I'm sorry but you'll have to leave your friend." My hand instinctively went to grab Sherlock's coat sleeve. He wouldn't leave without me, right?

"Then you'll be disappointed, because John stays with me," Sherlock informed the cabbie. I couldn't help but feel satisfied by that.

The driver seemed to be fighting with himself, but eventually accepted the fact that Sherlock wouldn't go without me, and just got in the cab, Sherlock and I slipping in the back.

My gun was pressed against my back, reassuring my nervous mind. I had my gun and I had Sherlock. Those together meant nothing bad could happen.

"Where are we going?" I asked the cabbie, who just peaked at me in the mirror. I could tell he didn't want me there so maybe I should just stop talking.

"You'll see."

I glanced over to Sherlock to see his eyes flickering around the cab, it was obvious he was deducing. What could he tell? I couldn't really see anything important, but I wasn't Sherlock Holmes. What was he seeing?

"I was warned about you," The cabbie spoke, looking at Sherlock.

"Warned about me?"

"I've been on your website. Fabulous stuff."

"At least one of us think so," I muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with my website," Sherlock said defensively.

"It's boring."

"That's only your opinion."

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" The cabbie bellowed.

"Who would warn you about me?" Sherlock asked him, focusing his attention back onto the cabbie. I didn't know how he could sound so bored at a time like this.

"Just someone who's noticed you."

"And who would notice me? I'm not very noticeable." I scoffed at that. Those cheekbones were visible from space.

"You got yourself a fan."

"Who is my fan?" This cabbie was giving us nothing.

"That's all you're going to know." He finished, only muttering something to himself that I couldn't make out. The drive was silent, tension was thick. I wanted to reach out and grab Sherlock's hand, for some sort of comfort, but I couldn't do that.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a college. The cabbie asked us if we knew where we were, and when we answered that we did know, but I was still confused.

"Why here?"

"It's open. The good part about being a cabbie is that you always know where to go for a murder."

"And what do you do? Just walk your victims in?" Sherlock piped in.

"If they don't cooperated, I use this," He pulled out a gun and pointed it at us. Sherlock just murmured how dull this all was, but my hand itched for my own gun. And I almost pulled it, until I inspected the cabbie's gun further. "Of course, I won't be needing this with you. You'll come no matter what."

We did follow him. All the way into the building and up a couple flights of stairs into an empty room that the cabbie wanted to be the last place we'd ever see.

"What do you think? It's up you; you're the ones that are going to die here."

"No, we're not," Sherlock smirked.

"That's what they all say," The cabbie went to a chair and sat down. "Let's talk," He motioned for us to also sit. Sherlock accepted, but I stayed standing next to the table in between them. The driver pulled out some pills and placed them in front of Sherlock.

"Let's play a game," He told him. "Unexpected, isn't it?"

Sherlock was silent, but I wanted to beat that smug expression off the cab drivers face.

"A game?" Sherlock questioned. "Okay, explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle you live; you take it from the bad you die."

"And they're identical." I said, even if it was obvious. They didn't even look at me.

"And you know which is which." Sherlock didn't need to ask questions. He was now figuring it out.

"Of course I do."

"But I don't?"

"Wouldn't be much of a game if I didn't."

"Why should I play?" Sherlock questioned.

"This is the good part…" I cut the driver off.

"You take the pill he doesn't, right?" This was so obvious now.

"Will you shut up? This is my game!" The cabbie's shout made me jump.

"Don't yell at him." Sherlock commanded voice dark.

"Come on, Sherlock, let's go." I tugged on his shoulder.

"I don't think so." The cabbie pulled out his gun, pointing it at my friend.

"So that's how you made them do it? Held them at gunpoint?"

"If they didn't cooperate," He shrugged. "What do you say?"

"No," I answered for Sherlock.

"I'll shoot you," The cabbie threatened.

"Do it," Sherlock challenged. They stared at each other for a long while before the cabbie pulled the trigger. Only a small flame came out.

"How'd you know?"

"You have the world's only Consulting Detective and an ex-soldier. Do you think we wouldn't have noticed?"

"The others fell for it."

"The others weren't us." I laughed. "Come on, Sherlock. We'll get them tested by Molly so we can know which was which." I grabbed both bottles and put them in different pockets so I knew which was in front of Sherlock and which was in front of the cabbie.

The driver didn't say anything, but he did clamber to his feet, and before I could do anything to stop it, he pulled back his arm and backhanded me. "This is your fault. I should have just…" He hissed at me, but was cut off with Sherlock tackling him to the ground.

"Don't touch, my friends," Sherlock's voice was filled with a threat.

"From what I hear from your fan, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends," The cabbie just laughed at Sherlock, who was making his way over to where I fell on the floor. He reached out a hand, helping me up. I jumped when I felt his hand on my lower back.

It retreated, and took my gun with me. Of course, for a moment I thought he was trying to cop a feel. But why would Sherlock do that?

"This is what a real gun looked like," Sherlock had the gun pointed at the cabbie. "No tell me, who is your employer?"

"Employer?" I repeated, lost.

"Of course, this man is poor. Look at his clothes, freshly laundered, but at least a couple years old. He's divorced, I could tell by the ripped picture in the cab, so he's probably paying child support. Also, he's a cabbie. My guess is that he's getting paid for each kill. But by who?"

"Someone who's taken an interest in you, Mr. Holmes," The cabbie was trying to sound cryptic, but I just wanted to punch him.

"Stay down." Sherlock told him when he tried to get up. "Now tell me? Who is this person?"

The cabbie said nothing.

"Just shoot him." I said. Sherlock looked at me, surprised. "He killed three people, like he doesn't deserve to die." I felt no pity for this man.

"You won't shoot a defenseless old man, will you?"

"Defenseless?" Sherlock laughed, raising the gun and aiming. He gave no warning, just shot, but he didn't kill. The bullet went through the cabbie's shoulder.

"Tell me, who is your employer?" Sherlock tried again. The cabbie was a whimpering mess as he tried to apply pressure to the wound.

"Tell us," I prompted him again, moving over to gently kick him in his hurt shoulder. I still felt no compassion towards this man. Not only did he kill three people, but he tried to kill Sherlock. That was an offense that should be punishable by death in my book.

Sherlock joined me at his side. "Who is it?" He tried again, voice getting louder. I nudged the shoulder, but still the cabbie said nothing. "Tell me! Tell me his name!" Sherlock finally screamed. "Tell me or I will make you die slow and painfully. I know how. I am Sherlock Holmes!" He sounded half mad as he stomped his foot down on the man's shoulder. "Tell me! What is his name?"

"M-M…" The cabbie tried.

Sherlock applied more pressure. Finally the cabbie shouted what we needed to hear. "Moriarty!"

Review please! Tell me what you think? Want more Thirdwheel!Lestrade?