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Sherlock pounded his fist on the desk.

'It doesn't make sense!' he yelled at John.

'What doesn't?' John asked wearily. Pinned on the wall, next to a cluster of bullet holes through the wallpaper, was a series of pictures with a man, a woman and a girl. John didn't see anything special with them. The girl had a short cloud of unusually fiery red hair like a halo on her head. In all the pictures, she had a slightly singed black leather zip- up jacket that flared around her waist and and the man wore a black hat with a matching suit. The woman looked… It was hard to say how she looked. She had a bland face with bland hair and a bland expression. Her nose was flat, but not unusually flat. Her eyes were brown, but not unusually brown. Her hair was brown - but not unusually brown. Her clothes were plain and didn't stick out in a crowd. Her expression was always neutral and nonchalant. If John had seen her again, he doubted he would remember her.

Sherlock's state was starting to get concerning, actually. John couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had slept. Or ate.

'It's like butting heads with a wall,' Sherlock burst out.

'That's pretty accurate, actually.'

They're all the same person, but really, it's just one person wearing different faces!' he continued, jumping up on the coffee table to examine the pictures. 'See!' he pointed at the man with vigour. 'Same cheekbones, top hat, well tailored clothes, same companion! Only different faces. Why does he have different faces?'

'Can you rewind and repeat that last sentence?'

'Look, his collar is turned down, hat clean with no dust. Ironed shirt, it's not even moving with the wind!'

'He's got different faces,' John repeated. 'There's no way it could possibly be-'

'Neat, clean, civilised. The way he holds himself, stiff, straight, important this man is the leader. John, you're being ridiculous here-'

'Oh? I'm the one being ridiculous-'

'-Shut up. You're thinking, and it's annoying. Now the girl, she's not as immaculate. Clothes crumpled, hair like she just woke up from bed.' Sherlock ruffled a hand through his own messy hair with frustration. 'Singed clothes, fire damage. Looks recent. Always wears the same clothes. Well, sometimes. Black jacket seems to be her favorite- wait.' He moved closer to the photo, 'Whenever she wears that same jacket- shirt-pants-boot combination, she looks more ruffled, like she's just come back from a fight. Connected to the singed clothes? Is the jacket made of different material? Bulletproof perhaps?'

'Now, why-' John asked incredulously, but was interrupted. Again.

'The way the sun shines and reflects on it,' Sherlock examined one picture closely, tilting it left and right, 'I would say so.' Flame-retardant also. What a tailor! But why, why would a teenage need a bulletproof jacket? I mean, she looks what? Thirteen?'

Without warning, Sherlock jumped off the table, making John jump.

'Judging from the hair and complexion,' he said, pacing around the room, 'Irish. Not to mention those accents. Enjoy themselves for an hour or so, then leave. Leave no trace. I've tried to get the homeless network to follow them without being too obvious. According to one, they turned around to an empty road. By the time my people turned the corner, no one was there.'

'Sherlock,' John interrupted. 'You've been tracing these people for a week now. Give it up. Why don't you just choose another case.' He flourished the overflowing inbox on Sherlock's phone. 'Your email is overflowing! Just pick one- Look,' he said, throwing the phone to his friend. 'A murder! You love those, don't you? A Visitor floating in a basement!

'BORING.' Sherlock threw the phone back, barely glancing at it. 'All boring. You have no clue how irritating it's been finding decent cases with the Problem around now. You don't SOLVE a ghost, you DESTROY it! The murderers long gone by now! Leave that to the Agencies!'

'Well,' John said, trying to calm his best friend down, 'Maybe we should just take it. Who knows, it might be interesting. We had that Jack the Ripper ghost, didn't we? That one was nasty.'

'Yes John,' Sherlock said impatiently. 'It's not our kind of thing. We had to call Lockwood and Co on that one for help. And I really don't like calling for help.'

'Well you aren't going to solve two tourists!' John insisted. 'Sherlock, you're obviously being delusional right now. Just take a break for now. I've got one right here. You'll like it. It's a good one.'

'Oh, I will, will I?'

'Yes, you will. A Visitor- a boy, an Agent, it looks like- was seen floating in a basement. It's nothing special, but it'll take your mind off things. It's recent too, so the murderer can still be brought to justice.'

Sherlock groaned. 'No. No, no, no.' He hesitated. 'But, maybe, just possibly, I'm over thinking this. I need to revisit it with a fresh mind and fresh nicoti-'

'Fresh what, Sherlock?'

'Nothing,' Sherlock said quickly. 'A fresh mind, yes, that's what I need. So, a dead boy, you say? Recent? Sounds good. But after I solve it, I want to work on this.' He gave John a look. 'Uninterrupted. Deal?'

'Deal.' John said reluctantly. He wasn't happy with it, but anything that would take his friend's mind of the trio was good enough for him. 'When do we leave?'

'Tomorrow.' Sherlock sat on the sofa, calm again and stretched out, steepling his fingers.