Darkness was falling as night approached. The sky blood red from the sunset but it appears the darkness was claiming the night sky. It eerie feel to the impending danger that they possibly putting their lives into. Sherlock may have been wrong (which was highly unlikely) but maybe the killer wouldn't have been there and it may have just been another body for them to find. That wasn't his style though, he was enjoying the game and liked showing off too much not to show up after all of this. Even if it was just a taste of what was to come.

On the way to the warehouse all three noticed that three slick, black cars had started following at specific points as not to arouse suspicion from those around. Most would have noticed that three identical cars were following them but to Sherlock, John and Rosie it meant that Mycroft was watching them. Protection and safety, should they have needed it. Sherlock stopped the taxi a few streets from the warehouse and Mycroft's cars carried on driving past them and towards the warehouse. The trio walked the remainder of the way.

Sherlock fed them instructions as they walked down the road. "Once we are inside, don't talk. We want to proceed with caution. Stay on the alert and we don't want to alert them to the fact that we are there as we may miss a chance to catch them. Make sure that you are with someone always, Rosie especially you. I'll be fine if I get separated but if you two get separated do you best to find each other or me as quick as possible. Failing this, get out and find Mycroft's cars."

They reached the warehouses which ran alongside the river. Some were smaller than others but each had a metal numbered sign above the entrance. All the warehouses looked empty and looked as if they had been disused for years. The moonlight shone through holes in the roofs lighting up areas of the warehouses. They turned a corner which would lead them to the warehouse that they were looking for.

"Where are Mycroft's cars, dad?" Rosie asked in a small quiet voice.

"Over there in the shadows so they are hidden from the lack of light so, hopefully, only we know where they are and nobody else does." Sherlock pointed. Sherlock then got out his phone.

"You are you phoning?" John whispered.

"Lestrade." The detective replied in a similar volume.

"Why? You never go to police for help." His flatmate was confused.

"I need the police to be alert if this goes horrible wrong. Just listen." Sherlock dialled Lestrade and put the phone on loudspeaker and turned the phone down for only his friends to hear.

"Hello?" Greg answered almost immediately.

"I need a favour." Sherlock spoke.

"What is it?" The DI asked worried.

"If you don't get a message either me, John or Rosie within the next hour, come straight to warehouse 31 down by the river. Do you understand?"

"Why? Where is it? What are you doing there?" Greg was clearly lost.

"It's the one where Rosie's mum was found. It has something to do with our recent murders. Look just promise me you'll be here if you hear nothing from us in the next hour." Sherlock was starting to get annoyed.

"You found something in the house didn't you idiot. Why didn't you tell me?"

"This could go horribly wrong. If I had come with police this there was a much higher chance of it going wrong. This is personal now."

"What do you mean?"

"I will later. Just be here." Sherlock growled.

"I'll get a team together. I'm expecting a good reason Sherlock."

Sherlock hung up on Lestrade and pocketed his phone and they headed around the corner. Noiselessly they made their way towards the warehouse with the number '31' placed high above it. Once again, they paused just in front of warehouse 31 and Sherlock indicated the cameras that Mycroft had set up. 5 in totally outside and however many once they got inside. Rosie had turned an unhealthy shade of white although because of the circumstances Sherlock didn't blame her. Sherlock slipped his hand into his daughters. Both John and Sherlock looked at each other and knew that her anxiety must be off the scale by now. With a deeper breath, Sherlock began to walk forward into the open warehouse with John on one side and Rosie on his other.

Once inside, it was a lot darker than they had expected it to be there eyes had to adjust to the sudden difference in light. Compared to the outside, with moonlight and street lights to the light them up, the windows barely let in any light. They walked in to the only room which was of considerable size, large and wide. A staircase at the back, which led to a walk way up above them, and several pillars was all that Sherlock could make out. As with the floor that they were on above them it was also considerably dark. All three of them knew that anyone could be hiding in the shadows. The darkness gave the killer an edge which put them in danger. All three continued forward with caution. The closer to the middle they got, they could make out a shape on the floor. It was just as Sherlock had predicted a body from the picture earlier.

"Come on Rosie." A female voice called out. The voiced echoed throughout. Sherlock could tell that it was a recording though.

"Who are you?" Sherlock called.

"Don't be shy, Rosie." Rosie gasped and dropped to the floor. Tears rolling down her checks. John crouched down to support her.

"I asked who you were" Sherlock shouted.

"He won't hurt you. He's a friend." Still the same female voice. Rosie's head was in her hands sobbing and John had his arm around her shoulders. Suddenly he realised, that he too knew that voice. His eyes widened the voice was a recording of Rosie's mother. John looked confused at Sherlock.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" His shouting getting louder and angrier. "How did you get her mother's voice on recording."

"You don't have to be afraid." The recording said again. As soon as the voice stopped speaking a blinding light was cast across the room. The body was lit up. Rosie's mother's face was projected onto a wall causing her to cry out even more. The presented in the exact way the news had presented it. A single bullet hole to head. It looked like her mother but how was that possible. She had been buried. A fake body with a face mask. No. Sherlock studied the body more and realised that the bullet hole wasn't the same size. A different calibre bullet had been used. Sherlock's head was a whirl with thoughts. Sherlock's eyes narrowed it was an odd mistake to make. The recordings had to be gotten whilst she was alive. A microphone in the house it had to be it sounded like she was introducing someone to Rosie. It wasn't a forced conversation it sounded very relaxed. But before he could speak his deductions another voice spoke out. This time it was a voice that Sherlock recognised. A voice that Sherlock had wondered how long it would have been before he heard it again. A voice that filled him with both excitement and anger.

"It's been a while. Missed me?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock growled.