Hey! I'm ill today *sniff* Cue FanFiction and a Sherlock marathon, interlaced with the Have I Got News For You episode with Benedict Cumberbatch on as guest host- Thank you Shona for finding the link for me! If this chapter's a little bad, remember I'm sitting wrapped up in a blanket feeling like I'm about to hurl every couple of minutes. The mental image was a Christmas gift from me to you :D Sorry about that. Enjoy!

December 4th

12:45pm

Sherlock scoured the list carefully, before closing his eyes gently. He had to think this through; he had to focus his erratic mind to get through this. A million different ideas flashed quickly through his head, before he settled on one in particular:

John looked very good in a checked shirt.

"Stop it," he said aloud.

"What?" said John, looking up from the document.

"Er, nothing," said Sherlock, embarrassed. "I was thinking about something else."

"… Ok…" said John, a little confused, but used to his friend's somewhat odd behaviour. "Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"What if you can't find the next victim?"

Sherlock paused. "Then I'm sure Moriarty will call us to gloat."

"That's not what I meant. What if they die?"

"Then it'll be harder to finish the game, but I'm sure I can manage it."

"What about the person?"

"What about them?"

"Don't you care if they die?" said John, frustrated by his companion's lack of emotion.

Sherlock frowned. "John, I can't let this get personal."

"I know that, but still. Don't you feel anything towards these people?"

"You can't let it get to you."

"Nothing ever reaches you, you mean? You have to stay above it all, is that it?" John said angrily.

Sherlock went quiet. "You think I'm like him?"

John looked scared. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it-"

"You're right, in any case. Me and Moriarty, sociopaths, together." Sherlock didn't feel bitter, just a bit… regretful. Maybe he could have been better.

"Sherlock I-"

"Don't worry. It's fine."

John stayed silent for a while, before gingerly attempting to make conversation again. "Have you got any ideas?"

"Twelve. At the moment."

"Ah. Care to share them with me?"

"I think the most likely target is a member of the stables he's been visiting. Though whether that theory is correct or not depends on what Lestrade tells me in a moment." Sure enough, Lestrade came through the door a moment later.

"You're right Sherlock," he said, grinning. "The stables you mentioned are registered Thoroughbred breeders. Prime race horse material."

Sherlock smiled. "Brilliant."

"Er, why is that important?" asked John.

"You'll see. Come on John, we've got some investigating to do."

1:30pm

The stables were a little over three miles from Scotland Yard. The journey had been long due to London's traffic, but John had been happily distracted by the Times crossword and Sherlock had time to think. To formulate a plan. Time was running out. Eventually they arrived, their feet sinking into the muddy ground as they stood outside the gates.

"Unusual, this place," said Lestrade. "It could be the countryside. You'd never tell there were places like this in London."

"You'd be surprised what you can find if you look hard enough," said Sherlock gravely. They were ushered inside and met by a smiling secretary. She was blond, thin, and wearing enough fake tan to paint a house with.

"Good afternoon sir!" she said brightly. "How may I help you?"

"We're here to see a Mr Robert Blower."

"I'm afraid Mr Blower is in a meeting at the moment, may I-" Sherlock had already rolled his eyes and walked straight past her.

"Lestrade, flash the badge, will you?" Lestrade did as he was told as John struggled to keep up with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, where the hell are you going?" he asked nervously.

"The meeting. It wont take us long to find out where he is- Ah." Sherlock found the room he was looking for, and wrapped on the door with his knuckles. He didn't bother to wait for an answer, barging in regardless. Four men, all sitting at long table, looked up at him.

"Excuse me," said one. "But who the hell are you?"

"Mr Blower, I assume?"

"Yes," he said tetchily.

"Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock, his deep voice resonating loudly against the walls. "I'm here to question you in connection with the deaths of Dawson Edwards and Paul Ionescu, and the planned deaths of ten more people."

"Are you with the police?"

"You could say that."

"Is it urgent? Can't you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"Mr Blower, if you don't comply before midnight tonight, it's definite that someone will die. It could be you."

Robert Blower stopped the meeting.

3:00pm

"I've told you," Blower said, exasperated. "I don't know anything about any Ionescu, and the only reason I've heard of this Dawson Edwards guy is because of my teenage daughter. She's got a poster of him on her ceiling. Can I go?"

"I'm afraid not," said Sherlock smoothly. "I forgot to mention, this is a very nice office Mr Blower."

"Oh, er, thank you." He said with a smug smile. Sherlock gazed out of the large windows that made up the side wall of the office and out into the stables.

"Mr Blower, I can not stress enough that I am not a man you should lie to," said Sherlock, totally without emotion. "Confiding in me is the only way to avoid this murder- are you sure you have never heard of Paul Ionescu?"

"Yes!" he insisted. "Look, I don't handle deliveries, they're Anthony's business!"

"Anthony?" asked Sherlock. "Anthony who?"

"Anthony Mellor. He owns the stable with me, he's the guy who handles all that. I do the accounts, he orders stuff for the horses! I'm innocent in this, I swear!"

Sherlock frowned. "Well, that's about everything I need to know. If you could introduce me to Mr Mellor I would be most grateful."

Blower led them down a dark, narrow corridor to a dark and dingy office.

"Not so nice, this place," said John thoughtfully.

"Well," Blower said quietly. "Anthony's never been one for the whole light, airy, open space thing. He adores the horses, but other than that he keeps himself to himself." They reached the tiny office. "Anthony?" Blower knocked tentatively on the door.

"Yes?" A tall, spindly man opened the door. His hair was a light blonde, looking almost white alongside his pale skin. His eyes were like chips of slate, which would make the man look cold and calculating but for the warm smile upon his lips.

"These men are with the police. They want to question you about some murders."

"Murders?" Mellor said with surprise. "My God. Well, come on in then." He ushered Sherlock, John and Lestrade inside the room.

"This is a bit different to your colleague's office." Lestrade said bluntly.

"Well, somebody had to have the nicer office, didn't they? Besides, I prefer the darker areas. Much more peaceful. Now, what would you like to ask me?" Lestrade explained about the murders that had happened, and how they expected there to be more. "Good heavens," said Mellor quietly. "That sounds awful. But I'm afraid that I have no recollection of ever meeting this man. I'm dreadfully sorry. I forgot to ask you your name, by the way," he asked Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"What? The Sherlock Holmes that went to Cambridge with Sebastian Farleigh?"

Sherlock winced a little. "Yes. Do you know him?"

"He bought a horse for his wife the other day. A Thoroughbred, with very good breeding behind it. We got talking, and he told me of your rather brilliant deductions when it came to the break in at his bank."

"Oh," Sherlock muttered.

"He told me you have a trick where you-"

"It's not a trick." Sherlock interrupted.

"… Well, he told me you could deduce almost anything about a person from the smallest details."

"Yes, I suppose I can." Sherlock said defensively.

"Well, by all means, do me," he smiled jovially. "I would love to see it first hand."

Sherlock sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely," he smiled, taking a coffee from the rather orange assistant they had seen earlier.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "You're from a working class background, and built this business on hard work. However, the recession had hit you hard, so you had to sell half your business to Mr Blower. You are deeply resentful of this, and have been deliberately distant from the man ever since he joined you as partner. You've also recently begun an affair with the young woman who handed you the coffee just now."

Anthony Mellor gasped. "How did you-"

"Now, that would ruin the magic, wouldn't it?" Sherlock smiled. "Thank you, Mr Mellor."

4:30pm

"What was all that about with Sebastian?" asked John once they arrived back from the stables.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. When he mentioned Sebastian you tensed up. And you exposed his affair."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh be honest with me Sherlock," John said, with real concern in his voice. "What went on with you two?" John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock felt a tingle of warmth spread through him at the contact.

"We didn't get on," he said plainly. "There's nothing to discuss."

"…It'll help."

"It wont."

"You make me go to my bloody therapist every week and you don't believe in talking about your problems? A little hypocritical, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed. "It's not important."

"It is to me."

Sherlock was unsure whether to smile or scowl at John. He didn't want to relive it, didn't want to remember, but the fact that John… cared sent shivers down his spine. He sighed again. "We lived across from each other. He never liked me, even before I told his girlfriend he was cheating on her."

"You told her?"

"I didn't set out to. She asked me what I thought, and I told her. I wasn't about to lie for him."

"So what did he do?"

"Pretty much turned everyone in Cambridge against me. I'm not getting into specifics John."

John patted Sherlock on the back gently. "He's an arse, Sherlock. Who cares what he thinks? Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I care what you think," Sherlock said before he could stop himself.

"… That means a lot, Sherlock. Thank you." John smiled at Sherlock, and again, Sherlock smiled before he realised what he was doing. For God's sake, what was this man doing to him?

Sherlock coughed. "Well, er, we should get back to the case. We haven't got long."

"Just quickly- how did you know Mellor was falling on hard times? And how did you know he was having an affair with the secretary?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"Not to me."

"His suit- expensive, and designer. Clearly it cost a lot- but it's at least five years old. Did you see the material? It wasn't in great condition, there was evidence of many stains and rips that have been sewn up again over time. Plus the suit's too small for him- he was thinner when he bought it. That hints to the state of his marriage, that and the lack of photos in his office."

"Photos?"

"No photos of his wife. In the entire office, there's not a single photo. People are so sentimental, if he was happily married he'd have one. If she was the one having the affair, he'd have photos of him and her together looking happy, so he could reminisce about happier times. But no, there were no photos."

"That doesn't mean he was having an affair."

"No. But his cologne did."

"His cologne?"

"He was wearing new cologne. He was going out with the secretary tonight. It still had that metallic smell from a new bottle, but it was off. Clearly he'd had it for some time- contrary to popular belief, cologne goes off."

"But the secretary… Why her?"

"Did you see her necklace? That's high quality gold, she couldn't afford that. This stable's struggling to get by, they can hardly afford to pay a mere secretary much money. Besides, she's using very cheap fake tan- that's her financial state, right there."

"…That's incredible, Sherlock."

Sherlock blushed at being complimented by John. "Thank you."

"And I thought he was a nice guy," said John sadly. "Man, I was wrong."

"He can be a nice guy, and still be an adulterer, John."

"What? No! He was cheating on his wife!"

"That's the difference between you and me, John. You're a very moral person, and your conscience is strong. It's all very black and white in your head. Whereas with me, it's different. There are shades of grey. I myself am one."

"I find that hard to believe. You're too good a person, Sherlock."

"Whatever you want to believe, John."

John shook Sherlock's shoulders a little. "You are a good person, Sherlock. You just don't know it yet." He smiled, and said something about making coffee. Sherlock didn't notice. He was transfixed by the look of… almost pride in John's eyes. John cared about him. John… loved him?

Of course he knew John would never love him in the way Sherlock loved John. But it made him happy to pretend that one day, he could be.

Just this once, don't be practical. Don't be realistic. Pretend, just for now. Maybe that way I'll get sick of him, I wont want him around.

Lestrade coughed. Sherlock span around. He realised he'd been staring into the space where John had been.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He said, a little too quickly.

Lestrade smirked. "Sure."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing. Say hi to John for me." Lestrade left, still with that smug grin on his face.

Bastard, thought Sherlock. He bloody knows.

Who am I kidding? I'll always want him around.

I'm getting these out as fast as I can, but it is steady work. I hope I'm not boring you!