Hey! So I had more time than I thought I did, so I've barricaded myself in the office to publish the chapter! It's been a tad rushed, because so many lovely people asked me to update before Christmas, so it is a little crap. As it is abundantly clear, this isn't going to end for Christmas. But personally, I feel down after Christmas anyway, so let's extend it as long as we can! Enjoy!

December 5th

12:45 am

"Please tell me." Sherlock asked for the thousandth time.

"No." John refused bluntly. Awkward taxi journeys seemed to be a recurring theme for Sherlock, he thought absentmindedly to himself.

"Why?"

"Because… there's nothing to discuss."

"John, I just want to help," he said desperately, taking John's hand in his own. John flinched, and Sherlock immediately recoiled. Bad idea. "It's affecting you. And I want to help."

"I don't need help, Sherlock," said John angrily.

"Talking will help," Sherlock murmured quietly.

"You've done enough, don't you think?" He muttered nastily.

Sherlock fell silent, unsure of how to deal with his flatmate's prickly demeanour.

1:00am

"Donovan, fetch us coffee will you?" Sherlock said smoothly.

Donovan bristled with annoyance. "Don't you think I have better things to be doing?"

"Well, you're standing there looking vacant so I assume not."

Donovan glared at him. "I'm looking vacant because I was called in at one in the mother fucking morning. Now if you're not careful, Freak, I'll wipe that smug smirk off your face."

Sherlock laughed. "Ah Sally, you're so cute. You remind me of when I was young and moronic."

"Back off, Holmes," Anderson said with a warning glance at the consulting detective.

"Anderson, if I throw a stick, will you leave?" said Sherlock, voice dripping with contempt.

"Hey!" yelled Lestrade, thrusting out his arm to stop Anderson launching himself at Sherlock. "You guys, don't react, Sherlock, don't be an arse."

"How about never? Is that good for you?" Sherlock spat.

"Is this helpful?" Lestrade said, sounding exhausted.

"I see your point, but I still think you're full of crap," he snapped back. "Now will you get them to either leave, fetch me coffee or stay silent, please? They're confirming my worst fears about the human race."

"Oh for God's sake, I'll get it," said John hotly. He grabbed Sherlock's mug forcefully and stormed out of the room. Donovan and Anderson quickly followed, leaving just Lestrade and Sherlock in the room. Sherlock scowled.

"What's with him?" asked Lestrade.

"I have no idea," sighed Sherlock.

"Really?"

Sherlock frowned at Lestrade. "Yes. Why?"

"It's obvious that you're pissed off with each other, and using my amazing powers of deduction," Sherlock winced at the phrase, "I've figured out that it's more likely to be you who's done something tactless."

"Me! I've done nothing wrong!" Sherlock protested.

"Sure," said Lestrade, rolling his eyes. Sherlock mumbled something inaudible which Lestrade didn't hear properly, but he was sure contained the words "Utterly useless" and "Incompetent". He ignored this. "So, have you got any ideas?"

"Several, but I need data. Let's just plan this out for a moment," Sherlock crossed to the other side of the room, where a large whiteboard displayed the complicated logistics of the case. "Victim 1- Dawson Edwards. Drummer and heroin addict. Victim 2- Paul Ionescu. Psychology student and Moriarty's delivery boy. That led us to Miss Blake, who would have been Victim 3."

Lestrade frowned. "How do you know it was definitely her? Surely it could have been any of those people."

Sherlock sighed. "Moriarty's twisted, but there's method in his madness. Having examined his behaviour, I believe…" He paused, unsure of how to phrase it, "I believe he has a misplaced sense of justice about the killings."

"You're kidding!" said Lestrade in disbelief. "He, of all people, is trying to deliver justice?"

Sherlock exhaled deeply. "I know it's odd, but he wants to punish those people. Miss Blake has the most blood on her hands, in his opinion."

"Miss Blake?" questioned Lestrade. "But, what about all those other people? You said Blower had… well, you never exactly mentioned what, but-"

"Don't ask," Sherlock interrupted.

"Sherlock I-"

"You don't want to know. Trust me on this one. And to answer your question, he would have killed the person who I thought was the most guilty. In this case, Miss Blake."

"But, Sherlock, I don't understand. The others, they were just awful. All she did was hurt a horse a little, and start an affair."

"I don't know if you've grasped this, but I care a lot more about animals than I do about people. And in my opinion, whoever initiates the affair is far worse, so Miss Blake is to blame."

"He didn't exactly refuse, though, did he," Lestrade said pointedly.

"Even so," replied Sherlock firmly. "Miss Blake was his target, because he knew she was the one I would find it hardest to save. We have to establish the link between Miss Blake and Victim 4- who corresponds to 'Nine Ladies Dancing'."

"But that could be anything!"

"It could be," Sherlock admitted. "So I think we're going to need a little background information on Leticia Blake. I want you to find out everything you can about her life- personal and professional. Bring it to me as soon as you get it."

Lestrade, who would have been angered over the loss of his dignity if it wasn't such a desperate situation, quelled his annoyance. "And what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to have a chat to Miss Blake."

1:30am

The door closed with a click behind Sherlock, as he sidled into the interviewing room holding two cups of coffee. Leticia Blake looked up from a magazine that had been provided for her, her expression somewhere between desperation and gratitude. Sherlock placed her cup down on the table and gave her a cold smile.

"Hello, Miss Blake."

"Call me Leticia," she said in a falsely girlish voice, her tone all too powdery and sweet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That isn't going to work on me, so don't even try. You may have used your looks to worm your way out of it with Mellor but it's not going to happen this time."

Leticia scowled. "Ah. Bat for the other team?"

Sherlock's thoughts immediately turned to John, but he snapped out of it before Leticia had noticed. "No team at all, I'm afraid. I've never been one for sports."

Leticia smirked, then tutted noisily after seeing the state of her nails. It was true, her once carefully tailored appearance had fallen into disarray. Her bleach blonde hair was bedraggled and greasy, her dress had a large spatter of mud across it, and her shoes had been abandoned at the other side of the room due to dirt.

Leticia saw him glance at her shoes. "You're sure you're not gay?"

Sherlock gave her a glare that could have cut steel. "Definite. Now, I'd like to know some things. Describe the process of dealing with Moriarty."

"And why should I tell you?"

Sherlock smiled again. "Because you need to be protected from this man. He's already called me, you see, asking about you," Leticia visibly shuddered. "And he wants you dead. Believe me, he would have killed you if I hadn't figured it out. So who should you be thanking right now?"

"You," she whispered weakly. Sherlock smiled- it was cruel, but it had worked. She would talk now.

"Good. Now tell me about Moriarty."

"I never met him. There were emails, meetings with 'his people', but nothing more. He just told me what to do and I did it. The money went into my bank account. It was… simple."

"Would you be able to describe his associates?"

"Well… There was a tall man, dark haired, glasses, very thin. A woman- to be honest, I think she was sleeping with him, from the way she acted. Very superior, even in the way she stood. Oh, yes, and another man. He was shorter, dazzlingly red hair…" She shivered once again. "There have been few people who've physically chilled my blood, but he was one of them. His eyes…"

"What about them?" said Sherlock, almost eagerly.

"Dark," she said hoarsely. "Darker than… anything. They were like deep pools of water. And they gave such a piercing stare…"

"When you say red hair," said Sherlock abruptly. "Naturally red?"

"No. Dyed, definitely. I think he had darker roots."

Sherlock blew out a deep breath that he hadn't previously been aware he was holding. "I think you've been dealing with him personally."

Leticia's eyes shimmered with a disturbingly real fear. "Oh. Oh, please, not him. He was so…"

"Present? Yes, I know. The level of his… atmosphere, it's frightening."

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Lestrade entered. "Sherlock? I've got those files for you."

Sherlock forced a grimace. "Thank you." He turned back to Leticia, "And thank you, Miss Blake. You've been most helpful."

2:00am

Sherlock returned from his coffee trip- John had gone off in a mood- to find Lestrade on the phone. His back was to the door, so Lestrade was presumably unaware of Sherlock's presence.

Lestrade sighed. "Yes, darling, I'll be home soon, I promise, you stay with Aunt Lucy."

Sherlock could just about make out a child's voice emitting from the phone.

"Yes, I know, I miss you too. I'll be back, I promise you. I love you. Tell your sister that she shouldn't be ringing at this time of night, ok? Night angel." Lestrade hung up, and sagged a little where he stood, as if finally allowing a weight to fall on his shoulders.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and Lestrade jumped. "Your daughter?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. Jesus, Sherlock, you scared the crap out of me, I thought it was Moriarty." Sherlock thought he detected a little fear in Lestrade's voice. "So? Anything constructive?"

"We need to interview the ex."

Lestrade picked up the file. "Wasim Blake. Architect. What's so special about the guy?"

"I believe he's our way in."

"I suppose it's possible, but I can't see a connection. It was ladies, remember?"

Sherlock felt a twinge of annoyance. "Yes, I remember Lestrade. Do not patronise me, especially when your own abilities are so lacking. Moriarty's not going to make this obvious- we need to pay the guy a visit."

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock. "Fine, but not till the morning. I'm not going round his house at two in the morning. Besides, you and John need to work some shit out."

Sherlock glared at him. "I've done nothing wrong."

"What even happened?"

Sherlock was about to tell him, then hesitated. "I can't… I can't say."

"Since when were you so cryptic? You know what, I don't even need to know. What I need is to get home to my children. Good night, Sherlock."

Lestrade turned to leave, but Sherlock called after him. "Lestrade. About your children."

He froze where he stood. "What about them?" he said icily, still not turning around.

"Moriarty… I think- I believe he wants to get to you. To all of us, really. He'll attack us where we're most vulnerable. And with you-"

"What are you getting at?" He interrupted bluntly.

"Are they safe?" The words sent a chill down his spine but he had to say it.

Lestrade didn't answer. Instead, he walked swiftly to the door and left, making certain not to slam it behind him.

3:00am

Sherlock and John collapsed into the flat, both utterly exhausted. John yielded to his tiredness and fell backwards onto the sofa. Sherlock made some 'therapeutic' tea to wake them both up.

"I think all these late nights are going to get to me," said John wearily.

"John," Sherlock said warily.

"Yes?"

"Time for a lesson."

John spat out some of the tea he was drinking. "What? Now?"

"Yes. Now." Sherlock was anxious to stop any more awkwardness between him and his flatmate, and figured that helping him out would be the best way.

"Well… If that's what you want, then sure. Go for it."

"Get up then." John did so, and Sherlock tried not to notice the way his shirt had risen up, exposing the tanned flesh beneath.

"So what's the first step?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Seduction… It's more of a science than an art, I suppose, but I think it falls into both categories. Whilst the technique itself is based on various scientific methods, the execution… it must be done artfully."

John scratched the back of his head. "This all sounds very complicated."

"It is. Now, lesson one."

John's face was a mixture of fervent enthusiasm and nervousness. "Which is?"

"Improving your self confidence."

John looked puzzled, "What? I don't have any problems with self confidence."

Sherlock laughed scornfully. "John, your self confidence is much lower than average. Even the way you stands tells me that- arms folded to cover yourself, protect yourself from prying eyes. You had issues trying to ask Sarah out, issues trying to sleep with her, and even issues asking me for help. You have self confidence issues."

John's mouth opened as if to say something, but closed again. Sherlock smirked.

"Anyway," Sherlock continued. "You feel you are not good enough for Sarah." Sherlock attempted not to shake John's shoulders for being so stupid. It was completely the other way around. "You don't think you're attractive."

John began to blush. "Well, I, um-"

"Which is why," Sherlock interrupted. "I have set up a means of showing that this is not the case."

John frowned, wary of what Sherlock was about to show him. "Sherlock. What have you done?" He said slowly.

Sherlock grinned. "I just took the liberty of setting up a little website, that's all."

"Website?" he said weakly, taking the laptop that Sherlock was holding from him. When he saw what was on the screen, he groaned. "Sherlock! What the bloody hell have you been doing?"

Sherlock smiled innocently. "I just set up a website about you. Inviting people to comment on how you came off- personality, intelligence, appearance-"

"You got them to rate me?" John yelled.

"Yes! And, if you look at your average scores, you'll be pleased!"

John scrolled down the page, and a smile slowly crept onto his face. "…That's not bad, is it?"

Sherlock took the laptop from him. "Hair: 8.8/10. Eyes: 9.7/10- well done, John. Body- 9.1/10. Interests- 8.6/10. Intelligence- 8.9/10. You should be proud. There are individual comments too."

John yanked the computer out of Sherlock's hands. "'Nice hair, great body- I'd shag him any day of the week'?" John laughed. "Woah… That's-"

"Good?" Sherlock said happily. "Yes. Very good. That guy asked me to give you his number, actually-"

"Guy?" John said feebly.

"Yes. You're just as attractive to men as you are to women, John." Too much so, he thought privately.

John looked uncomfortable, but Sherlock couldn't think why. Surely he should be flattered?

"Well… That's good then." John beamed, a little smugly.

"Don't go getting a swelled head." Sherlock grinned. "That's the end of lesson one."

"Aww," John moaned. "Can't we carry on?"

Sherlock found the sight of John acting like such a child adorable. "No. You need to sleep."

John sighed. "Fine. I never thought you'd be the one telling me to go to sleep. Night, Sherlock." He turned and made it half way to the door before stopping. "Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Thanks." He left. Sherlock allowed his body to give away once he was sure John was in his bedroom, falling gently onto the sofa where John had once been. It was still warm from John's body, and Sherlock allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep, John's smile still imprinted on the inside of his eyes.