John had been in a hospital bed in one of the private rooms for hours. He had tried to explain that his injuries were superficial, but no one would listen. The police officer assigned to protect him sat in a chair just outside his hospital room. The woman was brusque when taking his statement. John wondered if he was being viewed as weak, having been kidnapped, drugged and shot by a woman.

She isn't just any woman, John mused. Careen was intelligent, experienced and prepared. He was thankful he had been able to escape. His one regret was his failure to demask her. How would he know who she was? She could be anyone: a random passerby on the street, even a hospital nurse. Her voice. John would never forget that syrupy sweet American accent. If he ever heard it again, he would know it was her.

Staring at the white wall next to his bed, he was debating leaving against medical advice. He was not entirely sure that was possible. Everyone seemed adamant that he remain in the room. I can manage on my own. Even if he wanted to leave, he was not sure the officer would allow him to do so without approval. So engrossing in his thoughts, John had not noticed someone entering the room.

Finally, after a few minutes, a throat cleared, calling John's attention. He turned his head to see Sherlock, standing near the doorway, looking somewhat at a loss. John could not help but smile at the familiar face.

Sherlock looked over his friend, obviously evaluating his state. "I'm fine, Sherlock. It's a minor gunshot wound," John said, hoping to reassure his friend.

"Obviously," Sherlock answered back, strolling around the room.

"She knew," John continued. "She drugged me, twice. She said the wound wasn't fatal. She knew exactly where to shoot me. When I was unconscious, she cleaned, sutured and bandaged it. Sherlock, she must be a physician or someone in the medical field."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Careen," he murmured.

John struggled on the bed, sitting up. "Yeah, Careen. Do you know her? I don't recognise the name."

Sherlock shook his head. He looked back at John. "Nice to see you can handle things without me."

John frowned, obviously taking offense. "I'm not an invalid," John said defensively.

"Never said you were," Sherlock replied, walking back to the doorway and glancing down the hall.

"But you were implying-" John argued.

"Nothing. I am implying nothing," came Sherlock's curt reply.

"Ok, but if you were-"John challenged.

"I'm not," Sherlock replied with finality.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Finally satisfied, they dropped the subject. "Care to escape yet again?" Sherlock said with a grin.

"Yes, please get me out of here. They won't listen! I'm fine. It was a through and through. No vital organs were damaged. I told them-" John began to rattle off, only to be interrupted.

"John, would you like to leave now or hours later when you've finished your rant?" Sherlock asked, glancing back down the hallway. The previous officer had left, the new one taking his time before taking up post outside of John's door.

John flushed with embarrassment. "Now," he said quietly.

Sherlock tossed clothes at John. "Get dressed. We leave in five."

The ride back to 221B Baker Street was a quiet one. John was worried about Emma. He tried to catch Sherlock's attention, but it seemed his friend was rather upset and was avoiding eye contact all together. John noted the troubled look on Sherlock's face. He was confused by it. Is he actually concerned for Emma? Does he have feelings for her that I wasn't aware of? That can't be possible. John struggled internally to understand his friend's motivation. Frustrated, he sat back in his seat, his mind whirling at the number of unknowns, including where Emma was and if she were safe.

Sherlock texted Mycroft. Meet now. 221B. Re: C

Here

Sherlock and John remained silent. When they reached their destination, they found Mycroft sitting in the living room, enjoying a drinkwhile reading. His assistant stood near the window.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Sherlock. Dr. Watson." Mycroft returned, waving the two to sit in chairs nearby while observing John's current demeanour. "How are you feeling, John? No doubt it is superficial."

John looked at Mycroft in surprise. "How did you...," he trailed off, knowing it was a stupid question to ask of either Holmes brother. "Never mind."

"She's missing," Sherlock stated.

"Is she now...," Mycroft trailed off.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother. "How long has she been employed?"

Mycroft crossed one leg over the other, tilting his head back as if to recall. "Oh, at least four years now, I suppose."

John sat quietly. Looking back and forth between the brothers, he was completely confused. The two seemed to know exactly what they were talking about, but he had not the slightest.

"Did you bother to vet her?" Sherlock asked, an obvious edge to his voice.

Mycroft looked at him in mild amusement. "My, my...are we showing a bit of a temper? She has hit too close to home though, hasn't she?" he asked, glancing at John.

Sherlock's jaw muscles appeared to tighten. His body language gave every indication that he was attempting to control an outburst.

"Sherlock, if you knew...," Mycroft trailed off, opening his arms as if in surrender, eyes darting towards John.

Guilt flashed in Sherlock's eyes. He stared down at the floor, trying to distance himself, to regain the advantage. "You owe an explanation, to him."

"I owe nothing," Mycroft said in a more serious tone. "But I'm feeling congenial." He looked over at John. "I'm afraid I must explain that Careen is an agent, correction, was an agent of mine. You know her intimately as Emma."

John stared at Mycroft for a moment, the words sinking in. Finally, he shook his head, blinked, then squinted, confused. "P-pardon, did you say Emma? An agent?"

"Yes, Dr. Watson." Mycroft said in a patronizing tone. "She was hired-"

"Blackmailed," Sherlock corrected. "Your agent, Henson, implied as much."

With a sigh and an eye roll, Mycroft corrected, "Fine. Blackmailed into serving as a watcher of Sherlock's actions."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, shooting a look of displeasure at his brother. Mycroft ignored him.

"She had been monitoring him, and eventually you, for approximately the past four years. She had been given certain restrictions, of course."

"My girlfriend. We are talking about Emma?" John could not believe what he was hearing. He glanced over at Sherlock in disbelief. The woman he had become intimately involved with was Mycroft's agent. The very same woman had kidnapped and shot him. "H-how much, exactly, did she monitor?"

Mycroft smirked, intuiting John's discomfort. "I assure you, she left more...uh, intimate details out."

John breathed a small sigh of relief. Suddenly, he grew angry as he turned to face Mycroft. "You knew! You knew when we spoke on the phone and you didn't bother to tell me!"

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, who had remained silent.

"You knew as well? For how long?" John stood, his fists clenched and face growing a light shade of red.

"John, sit down," Sherlock said quietly.

"What? No!" he snapped. "How long, Sherlock?"

"I had my suspicions...at the coffee shop," he replied.

"Last week?" John demanded.

"No. Back in May," he replied.

"When we first met?" John shouted. "Unbelievable. If you knew-" he began pacing about the room.

"I knew nothing!" Sherlock snapped. "I had suspicions, nothing confirmed. She is a master at dialect. I had originally deduced she was a transplant from Auckland to Yorkshire, though there was a hint of something else. Perfect pitch?"

Mycroft nodded. "One of a few reasons why I employed her. She is not a citizen."

Sherlock scoffed. "Where, then? America?"

Mycroft shrugged.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and frowned, "She has quite the talent for voices and did not make herself obvious. The agent following her, however, did." His eyes flickered over at his brother.

Mycroft shifted, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. "Henson. Not the best at blending, but definitely the best at making my point to her." He gave a weak smile.

"Obviously not, considering his current state," Sherlock smirked. "Unable to control your dog?"

"Dead then? I assumed as much, as I had not heard from him in over twenty-four hours. Pity. I rather liked Henson's...enthusiasm for controlling Careen." Mycroft cleared his throat and pursed his lips slightly in annoyance. "Careen changed agendas. We had an agreement, to which she did not hold up her end. Therefore, she was to be terminated from my employment."

"She's slipped out of your grasp, Mycroft. You set her on me, on John, who nearly lost his life, and now you cannot control her. Am I to clean up your mess?" Sherlock sat back in his chair.

"This is unbelievable. Are you two finished? This is my girlfriend we are talking about. Emma, Careen, whoever she is, I...I..." John continued pacing, looking away from the brothers. He knew they would have no understanding of the emotional turmoil he was now going through.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft said. The tone in Mycroft's voice was so commanding, it caused him to stop in his tracks.

"She was hired- blackmailed, to watch Sherlock. My brother has a history of...troublesome behaviour," Mycroft began to explain.

"We've been over this, Mycroft. It wasn't my fault. I didn't upset her, Da-" Sherlock answered in anger.

Mycroft, raising a hand, interrupting. "Emma, Careen, was initially caught in some unsavory behaviour. She has a lengthy history of minor crimes. Her name changed at each encounter with the law. Yet, despite being caught, she always managed to talk her way out of any...consequences," he mused. "This time, however, she was caught tapping into government monitoring systems and databases. Offered the choice of jail time versus watching, she chose the latter. Emma Herrington is the longest she's remained in character."

"In character?" John asked incredulously.

"She's a sociopath," Sherlock stated.

"What?" John asked, hoping for a more clear explanation.

"John, Careen is a true sociopath, capable of appearing normal, calm and educated. Yet, within she is incapable of emotional connections. My brother knew this," he answered.

John sat, mouth gaping. Sherlock's words echoed in his mind. Incapable of emotional connections. "She was never...," he could not form the words to ask. In fact, he was afraid to hear, but already knew the answer.

"No," Sherlock confirmed.

Mycroft waited until John appeared to understand. "Careen is a sociopath. And, I'm afraid to say, highly intelligent and skilled. She has extensive knowledge in the medical field, her 'love' as it were is in research. In her mind, the mission had changed from monitoring Sherlock to experimenting with him. Initially, I had thought her to be a perfect match for my brother, though now alarmingly so. I believe you, brother, have become her puzzle."

A perfect match? John thought, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at him in comprehension. "There is no attraction," he answered, his brow furrowed. "What could possibly have given you that idea?"

John looked at Sherlock in surprise. "I, uh...in the cab...you looked...I just tho-," he realised he was obviously wrong.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What? Did I look 'troubled'? Had it occurred to you that she might be a rather dangerous woman. A woman that my friend has been seeing intimately?"

This was the first time that he had ever heard Sherlock refer to him in such a caring manner. He sat, mouth open in surprise. He actually gives a-

"Well, this is rather touching...," Mycroft said, interrupting John's thoughts. "...but shall we address the issue at hand? Careen is missing in action and one of my agents is dead. At this moment, she most likely is seeking a new...sponsor. She needs to be located quickly, without further trouble."

"Is that all?" Sherlock asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You know the type. Lack of remorse, repressed rage, sees you as a target or opportunity." Then continuing, more for John's sake than for Sherlock's, Mycroft rattled, "Pathological liar, manipulative, can show love though feigned, domineering and promiscuous."

At the last few words, John flushed with embarrassment. He felt as if Mycroft was speaking specifically to his recent encounters with Emma. He wished he would wake up from what felt like a horrible nightmare.

Standing, Mycroft swung his coat over his arm. His assistant had already moved to the door and was waiting. Sherlock stood close to his brother, "Full support."

"Absolutely," his brother replied.

"No interference," Sherlock continued.

"None whatsoever," Mycroft answered.

With a quick nod from Sherlock, Mycroft walked past him and out, his assistant close behind. Hearing the quiet click of the door, John stood, seemingly unable to move. In the course of a few minutes, he had gone from concerned and in love, to depressed and in danger. How could I have been so blind? And she lied to me! This is all a misunderstanding, isn't it? She really did lie to me! Sherlock was right. God help me, he was right about all of it.

After Mycroft left, John and Sherlock sat, deep in thought, neither saying a word. While Sherlock was formulating a plan for locating and capturing Careen, John was rehashing old memories and self-deprecating at the thought of having trusted such an individual. The unbidden thoughts of how close he had been with her continued to push towards the front of his mind, unrelenting.

"How could I have not known?!" he burst out, unaware initially that he had said the words aloud.

Sherlock was slowly roused from his thoughts to see his friend distraught. "John, you didn't know. You were too close."

John groaned, burying his head in his hands. "I should have seen it. She was so sweet, almost innocent until we would... I mean each time she invited me to her flat, she was different. Every time, every time she would take control. Why did I not realise that? Was I that desperate for se-," he stopped short, embarrassed at the thought.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You never told me this."

John scoffed, almost into laughter. "Never told- of course I didn't! We don't, I mean men don't talk about...at least not with you. You wouldn't...I...," he was frustrated. "Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled.

"Sorry." Sherlock retreated back into his thoughts.

Like lightning, John sat up, a thought hitting him hard. "Did, uh...did Emma, I mean, Careen...did she kill the agent?"

Remaining still, Sherlock asked quietly, "Do you truly want to know the answer?"

"No. Well, yes...I...," he sat back in his chair. "I already know the answer, I think," he sighed.

"John, Emma does not exist for you anymore. Careen is our target. She is the enemy. We need to stop her before she harms anyone else." He jumped up.

John stood slowly at first, thinking about what his friend just said. He's right. Emma is gone, he thought sadly. "Alright, so what's the plan?"

Sherlock gave a grin, satisfied to see John had pulled himself together. Taking out Henson's black book, he leafed through a few pages. "The agent had searched her flat, but came up empty handed. I suspect she has a 'nest' of sorts."

"A nest." John repeated.

"If she has been monitoring for so long, she must have a command central, as it were. A place to keep records, photos, and so on." He reached the door. "Shall we?"

As they were walking downstairs, John asked, "Sherlock, when did you discover Mycroft's involvement, that the man was an agent, that Em...Careen was an agent?"

Sherlock slowed as he reached the last step, but continued outside. "Stop."

"What? No. I need to know," John said, bordering on pleading. He noticed his friend's shoulders visibly slumped. Though he could not see his face, he imagined Sherlock's brow was furrowed as he weighed his words carefully. When Sherlock finally responded, John had to step closer to hear.

"I should have warned...," Sherlock started to say, but cut off quickly.

Stepping around to face him, John looked directly at Sherlock. "You actually blame yourself for all of this? For her?" John asked incredulously. Sherlock would not meet his eyes, but the answer was clear. "Amazing."

"What?" Sherlock grumbled.

"You are human after all," he continued with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.

Sherlock returned a smirk. His voice rising to its usual level of confidence, he replied, "You'll be fine, John. You will recover and, no doubt, find another woman to love."