A/N: I can't believe you're still here. You haven't got bored of me yet?

As always I must thank my lovely reviewers: Miss R. Hood, Sendai and AzrielLolita. I love to hear what you liked about the story, I still get a giddy feeling every time I read a new review.

So, Frankie's found an intense need to get to later events of this story and has the creativity in overdrive. I'm finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than this story (which is a bit not good considering I have a ton of homework to do).

Side note I lost track of the days this week and yesterday thought I had missed my update deadline. Gave myself a mini panic attack cause I thought I had failed you all.

But without further ado, chapter 9.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock, those are the creations of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and most importantly Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It's their sandbox and I'm just playing in it...The Woman came and stomped on my Sandcastle Mind Palace :'(

xXx

It was 4 in the morning when Greg was abruptly woken by his cell phone ringing.

"Hello?" He croaked out groggily when he answered the phone.

"Sorry to wake you boss, but there's another body."

Greg yawned and glared at his alarm clock. Why couldn't killers wait until morning to murder their victims?

"Pick me up in 15; I'll be ready by then."

Greg hung up his phone and shuffled about his room sleepily, getting dressed. He had some time to spare so he walked to the kitchen to make some coffee to go. As the machine brewed, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Sherlock.

xXx

Sherlock heard his mobile buzzing in the pocket of his pants on the floor. He carefully slipped from the bed, determined not to wake John.

As he answered his phone, Sherlock started to get dressed. Honestly, who would be calling him at 4:30 in the morning if not Lestrade with another body?

"Where is it this time?"

"I don't know yet, I only got the call 10 minutes ago."

"Well then what use is it to call me before you have all the information?" Sherlock said testily.

"I don't have to let you see the body at the crime scene." Greg used the stern tone he reserved for his children and Sherlock. Sherlock grumbled his annoyance but bit back the insult that immediately came to mind.

"Fine; have Donovan swing by after she picks you up."

"How….Never mind, we'll be there in 15, be ready to go." Greg hung up, Sherlock deducing, to finish making his coffee before Donovan got there.

Sherlock turned around and saw John propped up on an elbow, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hello" Sherlock said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.

"Hey" John grunted groggily. "Another body?"

"Yes" Sherlock said over his shoulder and finished tying both his shoes. He turned around and half climbed over the bed, pushing John down when he started to get up to get dressed. Sherlock placed a soft kiss on his lips.

"You don't have to come with my dear doctor" Sherlock whispered hovering over John's lips, his right index finger trailing over the blonde's jawline. John yawned, too tired to argue, and relaxed back into the pillow, closing his eyes. Sherlock smiled, he could watch John sleep forever.

John brought his left hand up and captured Sherlock's hand holding it to his chest. With his eyes still closed, John leaned his head up the small distance to Sherlock's face and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He dropped his head back down to the pillow and opened his eyes to look at Sherlock.

"Be careful" John lifted Sherlock's hand to his lips kissing the fingertips.

"Don't let Donovan get to you" He placed a kiss to his palm.

"And don't be afraid to hurry back" He leaned his head back up to Sherlock's, this kiss lingering to emphasize that John would be here when he returned.

"I'll be back before you know it" Sherlock said when they parted. He placed one last kiss to John's forehead and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Sherlock picked up his coat and scarf in the hallway, dusting them off before putting them on, walking out of the flat and into the police squad car, an irritated Donovan at the wheel.

Back in bed, John was already missing the extra warmth of Sherlock snuggled up against him. John reached over and pulled Sherlock's pillow into his arms, burying his face in it and inhaling deeply. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but at least it smelled like Sherlock, which was enough for John to drift back to sleep.

xXx

Donovan had kept her mouth shut while driving; with how the case was going she decided to trust Lestrade's judgment involving the freak. Anderson scowled when he saw Sherlock stroll towards the door of the crime scene, Lestrade and Donovan close behind him.

"Did you have to bring him? I'm not sure it's even the same killer."

"I'll be the judge of that" Sherlock retorted and walked into the bloody living room.

Sherlock gingerly walked around the pool of blood originating from the dead blonde woman. He pulled on some latex gloves and squatted next to the body, his brain taking in all the information he observed. He pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the stab wounds and hands more carefully. Sherlock had put his magnifying glass away and was lowering her left hand when he caught sight of the flowing Latin text carved on the inside of her arm, obscured from the blood covering it.

Sherlock got up taking off his gloves and walked over to Lestrade.

"So is she connected to others?"

Sherlock nodded his eyes dancing. His face darkened when Anderson opened his idiotic mouth.

"How can she be connected, she was stabbed to death all the others were beaten."

Sherlock glared at Anderson. "Because the killer left his signature."

"Could be a copycat."

Even Sally knew Anderson was grasping at straws. "Can't be; the press doesn't have that detail."

Sherlock and Lestrade were surprised at Donovan's comment. Sherlock looked at her suspiciously before snapping his head back to Lestrade.

" We're looking for a short muscular man, has schizophrenia. Right handed, mid-twenties. You'll most likely find him in her files, seeing as he was her patient. He'll have scratches on his face and a slight limp."

Sherlock looked at the confused looks and groaned.

"You honestly don't see it. Oh how frustrating it must be to have your tiny minds. The reason why this murder is different than the others but still the same killer is so obvious. She threatened to turn him in. She's a therapist, he's her patient. She must have put his activities together over their last few sessions. For some reason the voices he hears tells him to kill these people but he's smart about it, cleans up any forensic evidence he leaves behind. He's in pain if he doesn't comply with what they tell him, part of the instructions they give him is to carve that phrase into the arms of his victims. When he was threatened with exposure, he pulled the knife on her; she tried to talk him down, reason with him to turn himself in, but the voices couldn't have that. He attacked she tried to fight back, managed to scratch him and injure his leg. But he's stronger and stabbed her 5 times, from what I could count. He could have left it at that, but no, the voices wouldn't leave it be, they had to leave their mark, just like the he made a mistake this time. In his panic he didn't clean under her fingernails. Also he was obviously limping because of those bloody footprints with the smearing in the left side of the trail. Most likely she dislocated his knee."

Through this speech Sherlock paced around, his arms flailing wildly at times to prove his point. His voice was giddy near the end. He suddenly turned and strolled out of the building, calling over his shoulder, "I would start with whoever was her last appointment."

Normally Sherlock would chase all over London to find the killer, but a very cuddly doctor was waiting in his bed, and he was sure that Lestrade wouldn't screw this up.

Sherlock hailed the first taxi he saw, and a short cab ride later he was climbing up the steps of 221B and silently slipping into his room.

Seeing John curled up around his pillow made Sherlock smile. He toed out of his shoes while slipping his coat, scarf and jacket off, and hanging them on the back of his door. Sherlock sat on the bed and gently worked his pillow from John's arms. When it was free, Sherlock put it behind his head and laid down pulling the slumbering blonde towards him. John stirred slightly, but didn't wake. He surprised Sherlock when he wrapped his arms around the genius and placed a kiss to his shoulder, all while asleep. Sherlock kissed John's forehead and rested his chin atop the blonde's head, eyes closed, humming the song John had recently inspired.

xXx

Let me know what you think. What did you like? What did you hate? What did you have for breakfast?