Guys? Guys? I miss you! I miss the reviews. This is the second to last chapter, and I wouldn't mind… just a few? I mean, that'd be… nice. But I hope you enjoy anyway. Next chapter on the way, and then… THREEQUEL!

Almost everyone knew about Sherlock being alive. Mycroft had been notified via text, after which he'd paid a visit to 221B, ranting for hours about how damaging this was, for some reason. Sherlock had dismissed it all, instead messing around with his violin and texting. Mycroft had been even more annoyed when he realised that Sherlock had been texting him, and had given up.

Sherlock had also strolled into Scotland Yard and spent a while running around notifying everyone of his return and of course his part in solving the Ronald Adair case, now known on John's blog, and therefore to the world, as The Adventure of the Empty House.

John had also regained his social life, or what little of it he could have with Sherlock around. About an hour ago, he'd left, yelling into Sherlock's ear that he would be out all day. Sherlock had been completely zoned out, so John had quit, shrugged in Adele's direction, and left. On the upside, the flat had been quiet for about forty minutes. On the downside, there was nothing to do. Sherlock had now re-joined reality, and was composing. Or as Adele called it, deafening the entire street.

'Oi.' Adele threw a pen in Sherlock's direction. He dodged it, and then threw it back.

'You could just say my name.'

'Effort.'

'Not really. What?'

'That headmaster, at the school. Do you know him? Only he mentioned you.'

'What? When?'

'Couple of times, just rubbish. And I saw him talking to Mycroft.'

'He was talking to-? Right. I see.'

'Just wondering. He was weird.'

'Hm.' Sherlock's phone beeped, and he checked it absentmindedly. His eyes widened slightly. 'I'm going out.'

'What?' Adele sat up. For the past hour or so she'd been slouched on the sofa, scrolling through the news on her phone and occasionally glancing at a book. The sudden movement sent a stabbing pain through her spine but she ignored it. 'Where?'

'Somewhere. Stay here. John!'

'He's out, idiot. Since about an hour ago.'

'Oh. Is that what the yelling was? It won't last, he shouldn't bother.'

Adele nodded, now too lazy to speak. It wasn't as though he'd digest any of it anyway. Although if she had bothered, she would have asked why Sherlock was going wherever he was and why she had to miss out on all the fun. Sherlock ran downstairs and Adele heard the door slam.

The news was now boring, and A-Level Maths was depressing. Adele tossed the book to the floor, got up, which hurt, and wandered into her room, intent on finding her laptop. It wasn't sitting on the desk as it should, which was weird, but she thought nothing of it, instead picking it up from the floor.

An hour later, Adele was bored. Mrs Hudson had been up once, although Adele had been wearing headphones. Through the Mozart, she's heard Mrs Hudson complaining about the unfinished experiment on the kitchen table, but hadn't bothered joining in. No one had bothered texting, which meant that Lestrade was once again trying to do something himself (stupid idea), and John was still out. He'd never managed this long without either Sherlock interfering, or John generally making an arse of himself.

Suddenly, Adele's phone went off. It was Sherlock's number, which was strange. Normally he would text.

'Hello?'

'I'm afraid your friend Mr Holmes has gotten himself into a spot of – '

'Adele, stay where you are, the stupid-'

'Shut up. As I was saying, Mr Holmes has gotten himself into a spot of bother. I think we might need you to come and… help him out.'

Hammet. The headmaster. Who Adele had mentioned only about an hour ago, probably prompting Sherlock to go out.

'No response? Perhaps I'll get him to talk.'

'Adele, don't listen to him. Stay at the flat, he's just –'

'I think that's all we need to hear. One hour, Miss Holmes.'

He hung up.

What that hell? Hammet was obviously an idiot, and he was probably up to something, but still. He knew Sherlock, and Mycroft. And Sherlock was with him. Or being held by him. Or whatever. So there was only one option. And it happened to be the one involving Mycroft. Who was an idiot at the best of times.

Adele glanced around the room, in a desperate attempt to find something to help. Her eyes rested on the bookcase, where, on the very top shelf, several books had been disturbed. She dragged a chair over, climbed up, and rifted through what remained. On the very back of the shelf, well disguised, she found-

A camera.

Just like the one Sherlock had found ages ago. It had a perfect view of the room, and probably hundreds of hours of footage stored on it. Someone was still watching them. There was no time to check exactly how long it'd been there, although a few weeks was a good guess. Hammet could have put it there. Although there wasn't any proof. Dammit.

Scrolling through the few contacts Adele actually had on her phone, she dialled Mycroft.

'Yes?'

'I need help.'

'What on Earth have you got yourself into this time?'

'I think it's more a question of what your brother has got himself into. And your friend, Hammet. Get over here now, Mycroft, or I will make you sorry.'

'I don't take kindly to demands.'

'Mycroft, are you coming, or not?'

Mycroft deliberated before answering. 'Yes. Where is he?'

'No idea.'

'Helpful.'

Adele hung up. Mycroft was clearly sceptical, but this was his brother, and even their history wasn't going to get in the way. Hopefully. Adele retied her shoelaces, grabbed a set of keys from the mantel piece, and ran down the stairs.

'Mrs Hudson! I'm going out!'

Waiting for Mycroft outside, Adele texted Sherlock;

Where are you?

Adele

It only took a minute for a reply;

School gym. He's yelling now, it's quite enjoyable.

Git. Why would Sherlock be yelling? Another question to add to the list of many.

Mycroft took his time. When he finally got to Baker Street, half an hour had passed. He'd turned up in his stupid government car with Anthea in tow. The last time Adele had met Anthea, it had been a battle of intelligence, and a stony silence. Plus, Adele had been trying to guess her actual name, which had annoyed Mycroft, who at the time had been trying (and failing) to get Adele to cooperate with him, and tell him what Sherlock was up to.

'What's she doing here?'

'She's my assistant. You want help?'

'Your brother wants and needs help. Tell her to go and… annoy John. He's on a date.'

Mycroft shook his head, holding the car door open. Adele got in, reluctantly, narrowed her eyes at Anthea, and directed her attention to her phone. Anthea nodded, but Adele still scowled. Mycroft turned around.

'Where are they? Did you find out?' Was it Adele, or did he sound… panicked?

'That school gym. We had an hour, but since you took so long getting here, we only have about thirty minutes. So tell your stupid chauffer to drive fast. You can destroy speed camera footage later.'

'Congestion charge.'

'Please. You practically pay yourself when you go through congestion charge zones.'

'Actually, the mayor of-'

'Shut up and drive.'