Sherlock Holmes Age: 27

Paris, France

I sit quietly, legs crossed and arms folded. Sherlock, you can do this. Stay calm, he's only a French aristocrat, you have the MI6 on your side as well as the rest of the British government, he can't hurt you if you wanted to. Get the painting, and get out.

"Tu sais le raison que j'suis ici, ouai " You know why I'm here, yes? The man in the chair opposite of me nods, smiling a ruthless smile,

"Pour la peinture ." For the painting. I nod,

"Où est-ce? MI6 voudrait que cette peinture aurait le plus moins sang qu'est possible. Tu ne voudrais pas rendre cette situation plus difficile pour moi, d'accord? " Where is it? MI6 would very much like to have that painting with as little blood spilled as possible. You wouldn't want to make this difficult for me would you? His grin widens and then he gestures to the men on either side of the mahogany doorway. I shift a little in my chair, repositioning myself, ready to spring at a moments notice. I survey the lushly decorated room for a moment, taking in the paintings on the wall, the bright red carpet, the door, the window, latched and locked, the fireplace it's flue wide open. I look closely for a way to escape if need be. Hopefully negotiations wouldn't come to that, but the smile on the Frenchman's face is slightly suspicious. The Frenchman himself is enough to arouse suspicions. Lank greasy black hair that clings to his face makes it looks like he's had a run in with some people who are not very good, keeping him up all day, all night for several weeks. Interesting. He has a frog-like mouth and dirty fingernails. Two hunky men entered, carrying a wrapped canvas.

"Puis-je? " May I? He gestures for me to go ahead. I tear the butcher paper and reveal the painting. It's a fake. Of course it's fake. How could it not be fake. The scrawl near the bottom looks like a seven year old tried to copy their parent's signature. The stars that dot the sky looks too much like someone trying to be professional and failed miserably. "Tu crois qu'j'suis stuipide? " Do you think I'm stupid?

"Je ne comprends pas " I don't understand...

"Tu crois que tu pourrais me tromper? " Do you think you can fool me? Me? Sherlock Holmes?

"Monsieur, je ne comprends pas. Vous voulez la peinture, ici, c'est la peinture. " Sir, I don't understand. You want the painting. Here is the painting. Right. Real painting. And I'm Van Gough. Real painting, behind the safe. Just need a moment alone... How to get that? As if an answer to my prayer,

"FEU! FEU! FEU!" Fire! Fire! Fire! Came from down the hall. Our Frenchman leaps to his feet. He shouts something in French, speaking too fast for me to understand. They leave me sitting in my chair as they race down the hall, running straight into a crowd of frenzied French people racing to the fire. I stand when I find myself alone, I have to work quickly if this is going to work. Flue first. I pull the flue shut, that will flood the room smoke. Then the window, unlatching the hooks so that it's open for my escape. Last of all the painting behind the desk. I take the painting down to reveal the safe. Working quickly I put my ear to the cool metal as I turn the dial, hearing the tumblers fall in place. The safe clicks open and the painting inside is revealed. At last. I carefully take it out and remove the paper. Perfect. Not one flaw. Lestrade will love to give this back to the family. Stupid git of a brother, selling it for drug money. Smoke has engulfed the room, entering my lungs every time I take a breath. I cough, covering my mouth with my hand. I head to the window, throwing it open, I step out onto the ledge and inch along the wall until I was positioned correctly. I leap from the wall, feeling my coattails fly out behind me. I land with a thud on the neighboring building. I snake down the fire escape, keeping the painting clutched tight to my chest. Safe and free I race down the street to the waiting car. I pull open the door and slide in. Lestrade is there to greet me,

"Did you get it." I hold the painting out in reply. "Any trouble?" The car starts to move. I purposely don't answer his question and Lestrade sighs. "I heard there was a fire. Was that you?"

"Closed a flue in one of the other rooms, causing the fire alarms to go off. Yes that was me."

"I take it you did have trouble then."

"Not anymore then usual."

"Right." Silence falls again. As usual.

ARGH! Okay okay okay. I can't apologize enough. Honestly I can't. I feel like a horrible person because I'm giving you ANOTHER repeat, AND I didn't give you a story yesterday. To tell you the truth, there isn't a reason why I shouldn't have. I had time. Well okay, I didn't. I was watching 'To the End's of the Earth' yesterday and my brothers stole my laptop. It was ridiculous. Today I should have a new one up for you, and maybe even take this one down? How's that sound?

Until Gallifrey is free,

Time Lord Victorious