Sebastian Moran waited until Henry Clemmons, his security man, gave him the all-clear signal. It was too late to bus the three captives anywhere without risking exposure, so they were having a bit of a sleepover in a small, locked office.

His phone alerted him to a message.

FROM: Personal Alerts
MESSAGE: Maxwell Peters account frozen due to legal action.

Moran stared at the message for a long time before pulling up a more detailed review of events on his computer. The Yard had frozen several of Maxwell Peters's accounts, but why? To them, he was just some rich bloke with trust issues. Anyone who knew otherwise wouldn't be stupid enough to blab, since the only way to know would be hiring The Baker for a hit.

Before he could think any further, his phone went off again. The Burnsiders were ringing.

"This better be good news," he answered.

"We've got Doctor Schelssinger here," Erin said. "She's not terribly fond of us and insists that I tell you."

"She wouldn't, would she? Is there any reason in particular you have my lovely wife?"

"Ah, well you did recently get shot, and we can't get you into a facility, not with the Yard trampling over everything. She's the only doctor we can trust right now."

Moran smiled. "Isn't that grand?"

"We're not close, it'll take us the better part of the night to get to you, but you'll have a checkup by this time tomorrow."

"Good, don't be stupid," he said as he hung up.

The next day... John followed Sherlock into an internet cafe. The consulting detective examined each table. Then he darted to a booth where a young man waited.

"Ah, welcome," the man said.

"Who are you?" John asked.

"Call me Hacksaw," he replied. "You're John and Sherlock I hope."

"Hacksaw, the hacker?" John asked.

"Don't look so surprised. From how I hear it, you two were very near to digging me up on your own."

"Where is The Engineer?" Sherlock demanded. "She's made promises."

"I don't know if you're aware, but she was shot and stabbed, what, two days ago?" Hacksaw replied. "Most people don't go running around with those kinds of injuries, but Wendy keeps her promises."

"Wendy?" John asked.

Hacksaw shrugged. "When we first met, she was going by Wendy. You can call her whatever you like."

"If she keeps her promises, then where is Sebastian Moran?" John asked.

"And where is that list she promised me?" Sherlock added.

"Hold your horses, will you? Wendy's working on Sebastian Moran's location from her recovery bed. And your list? Well, it's right here," Hacksaw replied, pushing a page across the table. "Now how about something to drink?"

Sherlock wasn't listening, of course. He read the page.

"Give me your mobile," he said to John.

"No."

"Now!"

John handed the phone over, and Sherlock typed furiously before handing it back.

"Now to business," Hacksaw said. "Wendy asked me to lay down some ground rules about Moran's capture over coffee and tea."

Lestrade locked his office door. Protective custody had arranged a secured screen meeting, and he had to be in his office for it. He did busy work until eleven o'clock, when his secure line lit up.

He answered it and was greeted with the face of a Indigo Kendall Berwyn.

"DI Lestrade?" she said.

"Kendall, good to hear from you," he replied. "How are you?"

"They've cleared me to go back to work," she replied. "They decided to dismiss the whole Isabelle Hennessy identity thing in exchange for my testimony about Cypress Hare and whatever I could give them on the woman who stole my identity and took over my job at the Yard."

"That's good. I had this set up because of your connection to the Leavitts. Did either one of them talk about a man named Richard Brook or James Moriarty?"

She shook her head, no. "Why do you ask?"

"We've recently connected Pamela Leavitt to Richard Brook, he willed her a few artifacts after his death."

"I didn't know Pamela very well, but the reason Samson hired Cypress Hare was to look into her disappearance seven years ago. She vanished for about four weeks, and when she returned she lied, saying she wanted to be free and impulsive. But she'd never elaborate, and she was never the same afterwards. Samson was desperate to know what happened to her, thought he could help her."

"So he thought she ran off?" Lestrade asked.

"No, actually, Samson was convinced she had been abducted. And it makes sense. Pamela has OCD, so she doesn't do impulsive. I looked into it myself, and usually when people run off they spend money. But she didn't tap her bank account, use her credit cards, nothing for four weeks. You think that this Richard Brook fellow was involved?"

"Not sure, but he did leave her a bust that's been connected to several other cases," Lestrade replied.

"Don't know if this helps, but Pamela is an artist. She sculpts, does pottery, creates molds."

"Could she make a bust?"

"Don't see why not. She also does cleanup, restoration, modification. Not sure if that's helpful or not."

"It is. Do you have a way to contact her? Samson couldn't help us, said she went off the grid a few days ago."

"Sorry, no. If her brother can't reach her, no one can."

Lestrade's phone bleeped with a text message.

FROM: John Watson
MESSAGE: Use infrared scanner on 3265 Cowgate in Edinburg for concealed rooms Sebastian Moran

"Errr, Kendall, I've got to go," Lestrade said. "Thank you for your time."

Hacksaw drove John and Sherlock to a dodgy parking garage after receiving an urgent text message from The Engineer. John played along only because Hacksaw insisted they found Moran ready to flee the country.

John felt the entire situation was ridiculous. A dead consulting detective, a medical doctor, and a hacker planned to stroll into a madman's lair and subdue him and his lackeys. Yet, here they were, exiting a stolen car in a darkened midlevel floor.

"You're late," a woman said. She stepped out of the shadows to join them. One of her arms was wrapped in a sling.

"Traffic," Hacksaw replied.

"Engineer?" Sherlock asked.

"There's no time to waste, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," she said. "I think Moran is ready to travel. We can't let him get away. He's got at least two hostages, and he's planning on moving them first. That means his lackeys are split up between him and the car. It also means that after the van leaves he's stranded because with every cop out there looking for him, he can't go far on foot."

"And how do you know this?" Sherlock asked.

"The only people who lived to see me into adulthood were trained as spies, you do the math," she replied. "I'm telling you, he's got half his usual muscle and no escape."

"Sounds perfect," John replied. "Except it seems to me that you're expecting us to just leave the hostages in the hands of Moran's minions in the van."

"Why shouldn't we?" Hacksaw asked.

"Are they dead?" John asked.

"Not as far as I know," The Engineer replied.

"Well, as I am apparently the only human being here today, I say we rescue them while they're still alive," John said.

"You want to split up?" The Engineer asked.

"He's very moral," Sherlock replied. "But more than capable of shooting someone who needs shooting."

"Fine, fine! John and Hacksaw, go after the van. If the hostages need a doctor, then they have one. But the plan remains the same."

"How?" John asked.

"You two go after the van, but only after it leaves, obviously," Sherlock replied. "I suppose that means you and I will take down Sebastian Moran?"

"Satisfactory?" she asked.

"Acceptable," Sherlock replied.

"Hang on, how are you two going to take down anyone?" John asked. "I'm the only one with a gun."

The Engineer smiled as she said, "Doctor Watson, you may be the only one with a gun, but we've all got weapons. I even brought this for Mister Holmes."

She handed Sherlock a metal baseball bat that John could've sworn she pulled out of mid-air.

"What about this one?" John asked, pointing to Hacksaw.

Hacksaw produced a nightstick.

"You better get moving," Sherlock commented. "Assuming that's the van."

"Yep," The Engineer replied.

John and Hacksaw followed the line of sight to see a white, unmarked van pulling away.

"Let's go!" Hacksaw said.

Then he and John ran for it. As they reached the ground level, John wondered how a hacker managed to stay in shape.

"Do we have a plan?" John asked as they closed in on the van.

"There's a light up this way, we can get ahead of them there."

"That's your plan?" John asked.

They reached the intersection, but the light was green. The van had less than a block to go, and it was going to make the light.

"Be ready to pounce," he said. "I'll get the back doors, you take the front."

Hacksaw pulled out his phone and pushed a few buttons, and suddenly the light turned red in all directions.

The van stopped, and John made his move. He yanked the passenger door open and slid into the seat. The back portion of the van was sealed off from the front, so there was no way to tell else was in the van.

"Who the hell are you?" the driver asked.

"Never you mind," John replied, pointing the gun at the driver. "How many are in this van?"

"Me and four others."

"Unlock the back door."

"No."

"Unlock the back door now!" John said. "Then you're gonna open your door and walk away. Leave your phone. You understand?"

The driver obliged, eventually fleeing out of the driver's seat. People behind them began to beep, as the light had turned green. So John took the wheel and drove, searching for a good place to pull over.

He didn't get far before he heard screaming from the back. Apparently Hacksaw had made it into the back with the hostages. Maybe they had a guard with them?

Suddenly the rear doors burst open and a large man raced out of the back, running for his life. John recognized him in an instant: Sebastian Moran. But he was supposed to be back at the building with Sherlock and The Engineer.

John pulled over immediately, getting ready to run after Moran if he had to.

"Help!" someone yelled from the back. "Help!"

For a few seconds, John struggled between capturing Moran and checking on the hostages, but he soon came to his senses and opened the rear doors.

There were three individuals, unconscious and blindfolded, and Hacksaw had taken a nasty beating.

"Help!" he repeated.

"Bullocks," John muttered as he stepped inside and pulled the doors closed behind him.

Sherlock Holmes was livid. He had taken out two guards with his bat and dragged them into a small, lockable office while The Engineer used her modified slingshot to hit the other guards with tranquilizer darts. Since she couldn't move anyone with her bad arm, Sherlock had to drag four additional men into the same office.

And for what? Sebastian Moran wasn't anywhere in the building. The only individual besides the guards was an older woman locked in a closet.

"You said he was here!" Sherlock repeated.

"He was here," The Engineer replied.

"No, this woman is here, that's hardly the same!"

"Her name is Doctor Schlessinger," The Engineer replied. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes," Schlessinger replied.

"You're Moran's wife, aren't you?"

"I am, but only legally."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock demanded.

"I came to London because Sebastian was in jail. It's the first real opportunity I had to get him to sign the divorce papers. My lawyer said it would all be settled in a week or two, but then he broke out and got himself shot. I'm a doctor, I couldn't just let him die," she replied. "And even if I could, they would've shot me if I didn't patch him up."

"I understand," The Engineer said. "Listen, you're safe. We've a few questions to ask you, and then we'll get everything else sorted. How does that sound?"

"I want to leave."

Sherlock produced a small pistol. "I'm afraid you'll have to answer our questions first. There's a lovely office over there that we can have a chat in, go on."

Schlessinger nodded and made her way into the office.

"If you had a gun, why did you use the bat?"

"I don't have any bullets," Sherlock replied. "So we have one distraught doctor, no Sebastian Moran, and no bust."

"She knows things. You go after her with me, and I promise you, we'll get The Baker and the bust."

"Fine, I'll entertain the idea."

"See if you can find her bags. She must have luggage of some kind."

"Raiding her underwear?" Sherlock asked.

"Trust me. I'll keep an eye on her."

Sherlock discovered three bags, one of which contained revolvers. By the time he analyzed them, John and Hacksaw returned with the van.

"Moran got away," John said. "Sorry, he busted Hacksaw here pretty bad, and the three hostages are all sedated. We brought them back with us in the van just in case."

"We've got Moran's wife," Sherlock replied. "Apparently, she has information, which might lead us to the bust."

"You gonna complain about it or help me?" The Engineer asked. "You alive there, Hacksaw?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

With that, Sherlock and The Engineer joined Schlessinger in the office-turned-interrogation room.

"Where is your husband?" Sherlock asked.

"He took the van, said he was heading for some private plane."

"You were in Germany before all this. You come to England to visit your darling husband, and not two days later, he escapes. Hardly a coincidence."

"I'm sure it's not," Schlessinger said sadly. "But I didn't help him, if that's your next question, and I don't know where he is. The only reason I'm only married to the man on paper."

"You know, I do believe that," The Engineer said quietly. "Maybe we should move on, then, to another person of interest. I know you have information on Maxwell Peters."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Maxwell Peters, also known as The Baker. Assassinated many, many people," The Engineer said.

"Maybe I heard something like that on the news."

"That could explain it. What it doesn't explain is why you have sentinels reporting back to you with anything related to The Baker or Maxwell Peters. That makes it sound a bit more... personal."

"I will tell you everything, but please, if my husband discovers us, he'll kill us all," Schlessinger said.

"There's no fear of that," Sherlock replied. "Our friends chased him off and stole his transport. He's likely hiding his face from cameras in some sewer."

"Go on then," The Engineer added.

Schlessinger took a moment to regain her composure. Then she said, "My husband, Sebastian Moran, is a criminal. He's been a criminal for a long time, but it was only recently that anyone was able to charge him with something. He kidnapped two people and held them for information... apparently, they got away. They were going to testify. I thought all this would be over, finally."

"And what's this to do with Mr. Maxwell Peters?" Sherlock asked.

"There reason he's gotten away with so much is his aliases. When we were first married, he was this man of the Royal Marines. Oh, he'd done terrible things in the name of keeping good people safe, but that didn't bother me. Then things happened. He'd come home with an injured 'friend,' with some cock-and-bull story about how he got three gunshot wounds. I won't lie about this. I did patch them up. I'd pull out bullets and sew up knife wounds. Sometimes on other people, but most of the time, they were his injuries. I never reported it to the police. At first I did it because I cared for him, because I wanted to keep him out of trouble. But then later, I was just too afraid. He didn't trust me, I could tell as much, since he lied to me about what was going on. I actually believed him when he insisted that I shouldn't have to clean up after I administered medical aid. Even when I dug bullets out of him, and he was in no state to tidy. He told me I'd done more than enough. Truth was, he didn't trust me to dispose of the evidence. Probably assumed that one day I'd hand over the bullets to the authorities."

"What did you mean before when you said 'aliases'?" The Engineer asked.

"Like I said, he didn't trust me with the evidence, and he certainly didn't trust me with the money. He has all kinds of false identities with their own accounts. Nothing too suspicious, mind you, he's quite good at keeping his false names rich but not too rich. I tried to keep up with him, figure out where all the money came from, but he caught me. He was furious, but so was I. I spun some lie about how I knew he was cheating on me and that was that. We became officially estranged. He left Germany and didn't come back for years. He changed his aliases and moved his money around, except for one: Maxwell Peters. Please, my husband is already an international criminal, there's no need to add to his notoriety. Not while he's at large. Once he's in custody, then all this... I can help."

"I know how difficult this must be for you," The Engineer said with sympathy. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "One of the reasons you're not in police custody is that we have reason to believe someone inside the system smuggled him and four others out. We can't put you at risk."

"I've gotten good at hiding," Schlessinger said.

The Engineer ignored her. She turned to Sherlock and said, "You know what I'd ask Moran if he were here right now? Why revolvers?"

Schlessinger repeated, "Revolvers?"

"The Baker's methodology requires thirteen bullets per hit, regardless of the number of targets," Sherlock explained. "Revolvers generally have a maximum load of six bullets."

The Engineer added, "Rather annoying number, isn't it? I mean logistically speaking, specifically bullets. If he used any other kind of handgun, all he'd need is a second clip or a second gun, but The Baker exclusively kills with revolvers. Don't get me wrong here, the man has great taste in weapons, but the numbers don't add up. You think maybe he's bored and needs a challenge?"

Schlessinger considered the question for a moment. She replied, "From the things Sebastian has said to me about similar things, I think it's more to do with the shell casings. That'd be my guess, anyway."

"Funny, that was mine as well. Especially after a weapon was recovered in the USA after one of The Baker's hits. A late fifties Smith and Wesson Model 19, thirty-eight special. Beautiful weapon. Badly damaged," The Engineer said.

"Why would Sebastian leave behind a weapon like that?"

"Obviously he didn't leave it," Sherlock replied.

The Engineer said, "It was lost to him. Found the sewers months later. No usable evidence, of course, but four spent shells in the barrel. The type and caliber matched a local homicide."

"I've no idea what you're on about," Schlessinger said. "But you must think I'm think if you want me to believe that. Finding a gun in a sewer? Am I to believe it was flushed down the toilet?"

"It's funny," The Engineer replied. "Thirty-eight special seems to be The Baker's caliber. The man's a good shot. That's how they identified the thirteen bullet wounds as a signature instead of a byproduct of nerves. This wasn't the work of some scared chump mowing down one or two or three random people. No. This was the work of a vicious killer who enjoys inflicting pain so much that taking the kill shot just isn't enough for him. The bullets are his form of torture."

"Please, stop," she said quietly. "I can't listen to this."

Sherlock watched The Engineer and Schlessinger closely. The doctor expressed a complex array of emotions that Sherlokc usually regarded as boring. John was better with that nonsense. He had already deduced what The Engineer was implying, but he was at a loss in terms of facts. So he turned to the bag of revolvers he discovered earlier.

"Interesting," the consulting detective said. "These are your belongings."

"How do you know that?" Schlessinger asked.

"It's that or your husband packs a makeup kit that would put most clowns to shame," Sherlock replied. "Plus surgical gloves."

"Fine, that bag is mine, what of it?"

"Minebea New Nambu M60, FN Barracuda, and Ruger Security-Six. All thirty-eight caliber revolvers," Sherlock replied. "All wrapped up in this bag."

"Sebastian told me he needed to unload his weapons, retire The Baker. He said if I didn't take them he'd use them on me. I believed them."

The Engineer cut Sherlock off before he could reply. She said, "You asked me before if I expected you to believe the other gun was flushed down the toilet. It wasn't. See, The Baker assassinated two people, the Cassidys, but apparently was unaware that they'd dealt with gun-wielding thugs before. Neither one had any fear fighting back. One of them knocked that gun out of The Baker's reach, and they kept the killer busy as the third intended victim ran off with the gun. In the end, The Baker killed two, but the third got away."

Her behavior was curious to Sherlock. She got closer to Schlessinger but kept her words casual as she continued, "But what was I to do with a gun? I was afraid it'd just explode in my hands, so I chucked it down the first sewer grate I saw. Didn't even stop. Just threw it like it was a grenade."

Schlessinger became still and silent. Sherlock saw the mandibular action that indicated repression tactics. He also saw the slight reddening of the skin, indicating an increased heart rate. Yet the doctor maintained an outward appearance of calm.

The Engineer said, "So you see, Dr. Henri Schlessinger, I know Sebastian Moran is not The Baker. I know that he was not in my house on the day my parents were murdered. Again. He may be many things, but he's not stealthy. He sticks out. You on the other hand? Bind your chest down, scruff yourself up, and no one would be the wiser that you were a woman. Most assassins and serial killers are men, so the assumptions are all in your favor, and should anyone connect you to Maxwell Peters, well, you're married to your fall guy. Any dirty money or just plain dirt that comes back to you also goes right back to him. Any illegal activities you participated in, you did under duress. It's beautiful, quite flawless, really."

"You can't prove any of this," she replied stoically. "If you could've identified The Baker, you would've reported it. And while I don't know when those crimes took place, I'm sure I've got an alibi for at least one of them. I am a doctor, after all, and keep quite busy, as I am sure you could imagine."

"This is no court of law," Sherlock replied.

"Maybe not, but you could've killed me ages ago, bragging about who you are and who you think I am. Maybe you're not police, but it's clear you're desperate for proof."

"You're not alive for proof," Sherlock replied. "You're alive because you have vital information. Given your displayed propensity for lying and falsifying your emotions, I imagine you're more involved in Moran's Transmigration work. After all, many of his devotees were reborn in Germany, where you happen to live and work."

Schlessinger lunged for her bag, knocking The Engineer sideways and crashing into Sherlock. She had remained so still that he hadn't expected her to strike, and it dawned on him that the dead shot assassin was inches away from her favorite three guns.

CRACK!

John Watson had come in from the other room with Sherlock's baseball bat. The single strike bowled Schlessinger over. The Engineer swooped in with zip ties and restrained her.

"Well struck John," Sherlock said.

But something was wrong. John collapsed sideways into the wall, as if he'd been injured.

"John? John!" Sherlock said as he helped him to the ground.

Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his neck. He touched it with his fingers to discover it was a tranquilizer dart.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked The Engineer.

"Next time we meet, don't invite your brother," she said harshly. "Till we meet again."

She deliberately placed a bust of Elizabeth the First directly in front of Sherlock. He could feel the tranquilizer pulling him under.

"John... he's..." he tried to speak.

But his body gave out, and Sherlock Holmes blacked out. The last thing he heard was the sound of sirens approaching.