"This is your living, Sherlock. Not... 240 different types of tobacco ash." Calvin heard John saying as she climbed the stairs, heading up to 221B with a cup of herbal tea in her hands.

"Two-hundred and forty-three." she teased as she entered the flat, saying at the exact same time as Sherlock. He glared at her as he started up his blowtorch, striding into the kitchen to do... something. Whatever it was, Calvin didn't want to be involved. Angry Sherlock with a blowtorch didn't sound fun.

"What are you writing about?" she asked John, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh. That's why he's not happy."

"People want to hear that Sherlock's human." John explained, taking Calvin's mug from her to take a sip before handing it back. She smiled, amused.

"That's a good idea. Don't let the public believe that he's a god, even if he thinks he is." she teased, raising her voice a bit so that Sherlock could hear her. Turning to glance behind her, she spotted Sherlock brandishing the blowtorch intimidatingly at whatever he was working on. She smirked. His phone rang, and Calvin glanced around to find it nestled in the armchair. She picked it up, seeing Lestrade's name on the screen.

"Hello, Lestrade." she said happily, answering before Sherlock had entered the room.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock's voice is several octaves lower than mine, Greg. It's Calvin." she said, trying to hide a smile.

"Where's Sherlock?"

Calvin glanced up, noticing Sherlock very close to her, glowering down from his several half foot above her. She smirked. "He's currently busy trying to burn a hole through my head. What's up?"

"We need you down at the West End. We're in the theater... there's been a murder."

"He'll be thrilled. We'll be there soon." Calvin pushed away the hand that reached for the phone. "And in the future, Sherlock prefers to text."

"Alright, alright... wait, what do you mean we?"

Calvin smiled. "We'll see you soon, Lestrade." she hung up, handing the phone to a positively livid Sherlock. He glowered at her, snatching it away with more force than was completely necessary. Calvin grinned at him.

"You have a new case, Sherlock." she said. "A murder, how lovely." Her voice was cheerful, but obviously a bit teasing. His interest was piqued at 'murder'.

"Where?" he demanded, throwing off his mask and putting down the blowtorch in the kitchen.

"West End theater." Calvin answered, following Sherlock as he headed for the steps. She heard John close his laptop and hurry after them. They climbed into the cab and were on their way to meet Lestrade. John paid for the cab and they climbed out, and Lestrade was waiting for them in the lobby. He nodded to them.

"Follow me." he said, heading for the yellow police tape that marked off the main theater. "It was a young performer, shot point-blank in the head... no fingerprints and the cameras have no footage of the murder. He just showed up today - dead - backstage. Poor chap, he was really young." Sherlock seemed uninterested, only worried about how and who killed the man, not the man who was killed.

Calvin glanced at John as they ducked under the tape and followed Lestrade backstage. This was a lot like what they did just a few days ago, when they saw Chase in the show. They passed the lounge that they had met the cast of the show in, and went straight for the area behind the curtains.

Lestrade stopped right in front of the dead man, a few officers milling about. Anderson and Donovan were speaking quietly in the corner of the room, Donovan sparing Calvin a poisonous look. The three had barely stopped in front of the body to take a look, when Calvin turned on her heel and exited the room in a rush. John called after her, confused, before Sherlock said his name quietly.

"Where is she..." he started, turning to look down at Sherlock, who was kneeling next to the body. In doing that, he realized that he recognized the body and he understood Calvin's reaction.

It was Chase, the nervous man who had played Fiyero. His dark eyes were blank and unseeing as they stared up at the ceiling and his blonde hair stained with blood. John had to look away, this scene reminding him too much of his friends who had gone down in Afghanistan.

"Jesus Christ." he sighed, looking behind him to where Calvin had disappeared. Sherlock looked up, unconcerned.

"She'll be fine." he assured him, standing up.

OoOoOoOo

Calvin was leaning on the wall next to a toilet in someone's dressing room, taking deep breaths and trying to keep herself from being sick again. Tears stained her cheeks and dripped down onto her light blue shirt, leaving dark stains there. Her hands clutched in her hair, pulling strains from follicles with the force as sobs and gasps for air wracked through her trembling body.

Chase. Chase. Chase. Chase. No.

The only two words she knew, forehead pressed painfully against her knees in an attempt to keep herself from slipping into another panic attack, but her shallow breathing and trembling body made it clear that her mind wasn't listening. Her face was dripping with tears as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She slipped it out of her jeans with a shaking hand to see just the words,

Love, JM

It took her a minute to realize what the two words meant. It was like a signature on a gift or on a card. Love, JM. He had killed Chase, for reasons Calvin couldn't grasp but she knew that he had done it. Not personally, no, but he had done it.

She leaned over the toilet once more, bile rising in her throat. Choked sobs echoed throughout the bathroom and her head was feeling dizzy. Chase didn't deserve it, it was meant for Calvin. Moriarty was messing with her head, she knew that, but she never would have guessed that he would go to murder someone for her attention. She should have, of course, because Jim Moriarty didn't have a line to cross. There was no point that Moriarty wouldn't go to.

When Calvin became aware of her surroundings again, she was on the other side of the bathroom, back pressed against the concrete wall. Her body was covered in cold sweat, and she couldn't remember how she'd gotten to this side of the room. The panic attack was over for now, but her guilt and grief were just starting to hit her with full force. Before, she'd been too engulfed in her panic to clearly remember the situation. But now, her chest felt heavy and empty at the same time, and more meaningful tears were slipping down her face.

Pounding sounded at the bathroom door. Calvin had locked it when she came in, not wanting to be disturbed in her most fragile moments. She didn't answer. In the next second, the lock was picked and Calvin knew who was entering.

Sherlock was unsure of what to say. He knew that she needed some kind of emotional reassurance.. but he had none to give. That was John's department, but he had insisted that Sherlock go find Calvin instead of him this time.

He cleared his throat. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and still rather formal. He knew the answer, of course, but this question was asked universally when one was upset. Even if the asker knew that the victim was not okay... it was still asked.

"Peachy." Calvin muttered, wiping her eyes fruitlessly with the already-wet back of her hand. "Moriarty killed him. He texted me."

Sherlock stopped just in front of her. "I know."

Calvin scowled. "Then go do something about it." she snapped uncharacteristically. Sherlock noted the change.

"There is nothing I can do until he wants me to be able to do something. You know that." Sherlock answered, hesitating before crouching down to Calvin's level. "I am sorry."

Calvin's eyes met Sherlock's for a brief second before she cast them to the floor. "You didn't kill him." she murmured, excusing the apology that she wasn't certain he meant, tears dripping onto her shirt now. Sherlock didn't say anything, but noticed subtle differences in Calvin's face and body language that suggested to him that she'd had another panic attack. He put a hand under her chin to lift her eyes to his.

"You've had another panic attack." he told her, as if she didn't already know.

"Not this again, Sherlock, not right now." Calvin growled, wiping her eyes more forcefully and wretching his wrist from her chin. Sherlock cocked his head, looking up into her eyes. He brushed his falling wrist against her leg and felt tremors that were not from her crying.

"You did."

"Why does it matter, Sherlock? Right now, why does it matter." Calvin demanded, feeling sick to her stomach from the knowing look in his eyes. He had decided it.

"Because you want me to figure you out."

"I don't have a panic disorder, okay." Calvin snapped, running a hand desperately through her hair. Not now. Not now.

"Did you have a panic attack?" Sherlock asked, using the question that he'd earned from allowing her to come on this case. He said it in the way that Calvin knew what he meant, that their agreement bound her to answer truthfully.

"No. Stop asking me."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Sherlock said softly, and Calvin shot up from her place huddled on the floor.

"Stop it." she said, with a note of plea in her voice that was absent before. She pushed past Sherlock and headed for the door. He trotted after her, barring her way with his hand pressed firmly against the wood, keeping her from opening the door.

"I'm close aren't I. I'm close to something."

"Sherlock. My friend - no, my brother - has just been murdered by a man who threatened my life, your life, and John's life mere days ago. Does your fixation with my name really have priority here?"

"Yes."

"You really don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?" Calvin accused quietly, her voice was low and dangerous as it had been with Donovan. Sherlock stared at her silently, not willing to answer the question, if he indeed possessed an answer to give. His eyes were calculating as he gazed down at her, and she up at him.

"Only the work matters to me, you know that." he answered finally. "And I think - I know - that you have a panic disorder. And it is in some way connected to your name, and I think-" Sherlock's deduction was cut off as Calvin pressed her lips firmly against his moving ones. Her eyes were closed and his were open, staring down at her with a slightly furrowed brow. Her lips were as unmoving and unresponsive as his, and when she pulled away, her face was expressionless. She removed his hand from the door without another word and slipped out.

Sherlock followed a few seconds later, looking after Calvin as John enveloped her in his arms, whispering apologizes in her ear as she sobbed into his jacket. Emotion, what she needed. Sherlock had, admittedly, gone to Calvin on his own. He knew that he could take advantage of her state and find out new information about her and her condition. He couldn't give her the emotional comfort that she desired, so he used that against her.

"We're gonna get you out of here, okay?" John asked her comfortingly. Calvin took a shaky breath and nodded into his shoulder. "It'll be okay, I promise."

Calvin pulled away from John's arms to find Sherlock standing next to them. She wiped her tears away and didn't spare him a second glance as they headed to the door. She hadn't kissed him because she felt something or had feelings for him, more or less she kissed him to shut him up. He was coming too close to home with his analysis, and she knew that kissing him - something he wouldn't expect from her - would stop his train of thought long enough for her to escape. Actually, she didn't know that it would stop him. But she'd seen it done in movies - albeit with more romantic intentions - so it was worth a shot.

Lestrade lead them to the door, warning the three about press that were very interested in getting pictures of Sherlock and John. The men wore hats, and Calvin snagged a scarf to hide her own face at Sherlock's suggestion. John removed his arm from around her, in an attempt to keep rumors from spreading.

They strode out into more than a few reporters. Sherlock pulled up his collar to hide his face, and Calvin brushed her bangs in front of her eyes and pulled the scarf up a bit. None the less, their faces would be across a half dozen newpapers by morning.

They got into a cab, escaping the press and heading home. "Do you want anything to eat or something? Can I get you anything?" John pressed, leaning across the seat to pat her knee. It reminded Calvin of the way he kept contact when they were at the pool, to reassure her that he was there. She sighed, tears rising in her eyes again.

"I just want to go home, John. I just want to go home."

OoOoOoOoOo

Lalalalala.

Lalalalalalalalaaa

La la la la la la laaa

Don't be mad at me.

For how long this took or for what I did. I'm sowwy but it had to happen. At least I didn't pull a Supernatural! He was only in one chapter. But I sincerely hope you were sad because that means I did my job right. I mean, I was sad, too. I like Chase.

And I won't even discuss the kiss. You don't wanna talk about something like that.

Nope.

Boring stuff, eh.

Okay I'm done rambling. I'mma go back to playing Pokemon. Who wants to battle because yolo. Okay let me know what you thought about this chapter in the reviews, and were you sad that Chase is dead? By the way, Christofer is my favorite, too.

Anyway.

Bye, I guess.

I love you all!

Jess