Heyhey people, we're on for 9th chapter. Thanks to all of you who reviewed my last chapter, by the way! It was really encouraging :)

When the silence had lasted for minutes, John felt the need to say something.

"JM? Jim Moriarty?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock snapped, and John sat back in the sofa, feeling rather offended and a little bit hurt. But then again, he could understand Sherlock being a little bit snappy, considering, well.

"But he's dead. I know it. I saw him fall down. We were there to confirm him as Jim Moriarty," John said, trying again, even though he knew this would just irritate Sherlock. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't say anything, he just nodded. He'd totally forgotten all about Vay, sitting in the chair, with silent tears running down her cheeks. He showed his phone to John, who just stared at it in shock. Sherlock dropped his phone, probably on purpose, and John was just in time to catch it before it hit the floor. Sherlock stood over Vay in a second, his hands on her shoulders and it was obvious he was struggling not to shake her.

"Who's your boyfriend? When did you last see him?" Sherlock´s voice was filled with desperation, John realized, as he stood up and dragged Sherlock away from a somewhat startled Vay. She looked up at him and said:

"I saw him before I went to talk with you… He said he'd come by later, but he never did. My dog wasn't home either."

"Your boyfriend, who is he? We have to find him. Now." Sherlock interrupted her, and waited with a very impatient look on his face. Relief was clear to read in Vay´s eyes as she sat up in the chair, eager.

"Do you think he's still alive?"

"No, he's dead. Probably shot, if I remember Moriarty right. But we need to find him to get to Moriarty," Sherlock answered shortly, not caring in the least about how Vay looked as the words he'd just said, hit her. Although John kind of liked that Sherlock was so unfriendly to her now, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, and said with a low, but stern voice.

"Sherlock, be gentle. She's just a girl, remember."

"I don't care! Don't you see? If Moriarty is back, that means you are in danger." Sherlock pointed at John with something wild in his eyes. It suddenly struck John that it was fear, which made him feel really sick. If Sherlock was scared, this was going to be bad. For the first time since the pool, he was scared for his life. John didn't say anything, and Sherlock turned to Vay again.

"His name! What was his name, where did he live?"

Vay flinched when she heard the past tense that Sherlock used, but managed to keep her voice steady.

"Phil Goodwell. He lives in Wimbledon." Vay hadn't even said the words before Sherlock was out of the door. John just shook his head when Vay looked confused at him.

"Come on, or he'll leave without us," he said, grabbing Sherlock´s coat, which he had forgotten in his hurry.

When they came out on the street, Sherlock had already gotten a cab, and stood, amazingly enough waiting for them, if though extremely impatient.

"Wow. Didn't think you'd wait," John said, somewhat sarcastic.

"I need the address. Vay has the address," was the short answer.

"Ridgeway 115 a," said Vay to the cabbie, and sat down on the left side of John. The whole hour cab drive was taken in silence. Sherlock stared out of the window, and John knew he was in his mind palace, trying to figure out how Jim could be alive. John himself was trying to not let all the ideas and memories from last year make him panic, but it was hard. Why? And how? Vay just sat staring down at her hands, her chestnut hair covering all of her face. She'd never looked more like a little girl, and not anything like when John'd first seen her walk in to the interrogation room. He wanted to pat her back, but figured she wouldn't appreciate that at all.

They finally arrived outside a brick house, with a rather large garden. Vay found a key from one of her pockets and opened the first glass door. Sherlock followed behind him, and John last. She went over till the door most far away from the entrance, and locked up all the three locks. A smell of mothballs hit them the minute they sat foot on the wall-to-wall carpet that covered all of the room.

Sherlock looked around.

He's 18. Lives alone. Left-handed. Not close to his family. Studying to be a doctor. Was surprised while watching television. Extremely tidy. Ironically, considering he has wall-to-wall carpets. Ah, just renting. He turned around, and then went in to the room deepest in the apartment. The door was locked, but Sherlock kicked it in without further hesitation. On the huge bed, laid a young boy with blonde, sticky hair and blue eyes. He was staring right up in the roof, with a bullet-hole through his head, right between his eyes. There were bloodstains up over the wall, and the bedspread had slowly started to turn from white to red.

John and Vay had followed after him when they heard the loud CRACK the door made. Vay made it first to the door, which now lied on the floor, and just looked at her boyfriend. She didn't go over to him; she stood in the door opening and just watched with a snow-white face. John didn't know what to do, so he put his arm around her, to keep her from falling. It didn't appear that Sherlock would do anything. He went around the room, and observed everything.

"He was going to cancel on you tonight, maybe it's just as good he's dead." Sherlock said, as he panted around the room. John shot him an angry glare.
"NOT good," he whispered through clenched teeth. Sherlock ignored him.

"The killer was close, but with a gun he could've shot four hundred meters with. Most likely a sniper. Smart, doesn't leave much of a mess. If the killer had used a shotgun, you wouldn't be able to recognize his face, and the bloodstains would've been bigger, as would the wound of course. But why? If the killer already was so close, why use a sniper? A sniper works best from 500-600 meters range, not five, six meters as here used. We can of course go looking for the bullet, but that'd be wasting time. This is probably a M24. Now, where do you get a hold of a M24?" Sherlock wasn't actually asking, John knew that, because he'd taken up his phone and started browsing the Internet.

"This is Moriarty," John reminded Sherlock. "He gets a hold of whatever he wants." Sherlock laid his phone back in his pocket.

"Yes, of course." Sherlock had suddenly noted blood on the boy´s sweater, and ripped it off. Right where his heart was, it was carved the letters JM with a knife. The wound wasn't to deep, but it still trickled blood from it.

Vay let out a little squeak. She had noticed a little note on the desk besides the bed.

Doesn't this look lovely? Come on, Vay, play with me. If not I'll have to come and get you myself! JM

"You are staying with us tonight," John said immediately. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything against it.

"You'll sleep in my bed. I rarely use it anyway." Vay just nodded, silently, and stared scared down at the note.

Sorry I didn't post yesterday, I was very busy. I also have to apologize for any mistakes what the gun concerns, I do not have a very wide knowledge about weapons. I'm sorry this was so short, but I've big plans for next chapter, and I promise that will be much longer!

:)