"Who the hell are you?" John snapped as the man came around from his state of unconsciousness. John had managed to tie him to a chair, restraining him until he got answers, or, if that failed, he had planned to call Lestrade for himself. They had removed the mask from his face to reveal short blonde hair and cold blue eyes. His nose was wonky, as if it had been broken.
"I don't think that is any of your business," he said in a soft and dangerous voice.
"I think that when you come into my home and almost kill me then it is my business," John retorted whilst Scarlett picked up the turkey and managed to shove into the bin, swearing under her breath as she cursed Sherlock for not picking up. Sarah was sat in the kitchen, watching as her boyfriend failed to interrogate the man.
"I'm still not saying," he informed John.
"I think you should because I'm planning to phone the police," John threatened.
"Now I'm scared," the man rolled his eyes and Scarlett slammed the dustpan and brush onto the worktop surface and then walked over to the man, bending down to his sitting height, her face close to his as he smirked at her.
"Here's how it's going to work," she said. "You're going to tell us who the hell sent you here because I personally don't appreciate my home being broken in to and guns waved in my face for no apparent reason, it would seem. Also, you've completely ruined Christmas Day and my turkey has gone to waste which I spent ages stuffing and preparing so I suggest you tell me why you're here so I don't shoot you myself."
"Like you did Moriarty?" he asked her and she folded her arms, standing tall and looking down onto him.
"How do you know that?" Scarlett asked him.
"I have sources," he smirked. "Like your boyfriend."
"Why do you want Sherlock?" she asked him.
"Just want a little chat, that's all," he assured them and Scarlett looked over to John whilst Sarah remained silent.
"About?" John pushed him.
"That's nothing to do with you," the man replied and there was suddenly a loud bang noise. Scarlett rushed over to the doorway and saw Sherlock climbing the stairs, a grin on his face which soon fell off when he saw the look on Scarlett's face.
"Where the hell have you been?" Scarlett snapped at him. "I've left you forty five voice messages at least!"
"My phone was turned off," Sherlock told her. "I've been in the morgue. What appears to be the problem?"
"Just the usual monthly event of people breaking into the flat and trying to kill us," she shrugged in a sarcastic manner. "No biggie."
"Mr Holmes," the man suddenly spoke and Sherlock rested a hand onto Scarlett's shoulder before he walked past her and into the living room, looking at the man tied to the chair.
"I would say it is nice to meet your acquaintance," Sherlock drawled, "but I don't think that statement would be apt in this situation."
"Well it is very nice to meet you," he smiled and Sherlock noted the gun on the table and he quickly dashed over to it, ignoring the very presence of Sarah as he pulled out the bullets and a large grin entered his face as he then turned back to the blonde.
"Who sent you?" Sherlock asked him, playing with a bullet in his hands.
"Why would someone send me?" he wondered.
"These bullets are the same ones which were found in two other victims which means you must have killed them. But you clearly aren't that much of a psychopath to do this on your own which means you're an assassin. I can also tell that from the expensive suit you're paid well and the expensive gun also points to hit man. So you came here to warn me off this case, correct?"
"You are very good Mr Holmes," the hit man smiled. "It's true what they say."
"I don't listen to idle gossip," Sherlock replied. "But I imagine they don't say anything bad."
"Depends who you speak with," he shrugged awkwardly.
"So who were you speaking with?" Sherlock asked and he shook his head.
"I don't think that is any of your concern," he replied and Sherlock pulled his BlackBerry out.
"I think I shall leave this to the police then," he said. "Quite clearly you're not going to say anything."
...
Scarlett slammed the pots into the sink and began washing them up whilst Sherlock stood in the living room, his mind working overtime as he created a collage of images from the case. John and Sarah had gone back to Sarah's home after Sherlock had refused to speak of the case he was working on, saying he had no time for speech when he needed to think instead.
"They were both maintaining a lifestyle too expensive for them...so there paths must have crossed at some point...been to the same place...phoned the same number...so that has to narrow it down..." Sherlock suddenly said and began to text Lestrade before he flopped onto the sofa, closing his eyes as he did so.
"I'm going to bed," Scarlett informed Sherlock.
"At twenty past seven?" Sherlock asked her.
"Well having a hit man come after you can do that to a pregnant woman," she told him snidely.
"You're in a mood with me," Sherlock stated. "Is this because I missed Christmas or because I appear to have gotten you into bother?"
"I don't know," Scarlett replied. "I'm just fed up today Sherlock."
"I would ask what you thought of your presents but I know you would have liked them when I bought them so I won't bother," Sherlock told her and she looked down onto the floor before walking over to the sofa and flopping down onto it as Sherlock lifted his legs up to give her room.
"They were nice Sherlock," she assured him. "So do you plan on telling me about the case?"
"So are you not in a mood with me?" he asked her and she sighed loudly.
"I was...but you didn't ask for a hit man to try and kill us or for my turkey to be ruined or to be given a case at this chosen time..."
"So you've realised it's not my fault?" Sherlock checked. "Very good."
"No," Scarlett agreed. "It's not...but I am going to bed..."
Sherlock sat up and looked over at Scarlett as his hand moved a blonde curl from her hair.
"So are you okay?" he asked her. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No," Scarlett shook her head, resting a hand onto Sherlock's cheek and Sherlock closed his eyes. "I'm fine...just shook me up..."
"Well things like that can do that to a person," Sherlock assured her as he looked into her eyes once again and then found himself kissing her lightly. Scarlett pulled away from him and then smiled at him before standing up.
"Oh," she said before walking away. "He knew I had killed Moriarty...he told me that he knew I shot him point blank."
Sherlock said nothing and instead he laced his fingers together and just nodded at her as she continued moving to the door to the kitchen. There was only one person who could have told him that. The elusive Irene Adler.