Adele was woken by the sunlight streaming through the window. Light! She blinked several times, allowing her eyes to adjust. The screaming was still ringing in her ears, but it was less real now. Had it all been fake? Or had he really hurt them? Adele didn't even want to know at this point. Were they allowed to go?

Adele glanced up at Sherlock who grinned at her. She frowned. Why was he grinning? Because it had stopped? Probably.

'Do I get my coat back?' Adele shook her head. She liked the coat; it made her feel much safer, even though all the screaming had stopped.

'Are you not going to talk to me?' Once again, Adele shook her head. It would feel weird to break the relative silence and calm by speaking. Whispering, yes, but not talking. Where was Molly? Just as she was about to ask Sherlock that very question, Molly walked in with what smelled suspiciously like coffee. Adele ignored her smile. So they were allowed to go, were they? Since when? Sherlock must have sensed the question, because he answered it within five seconds of Adele mentally asking;

'Only ten minutes ago. I would have woken you up otherwise.'

Why was Adele seriously tempted to kick him? She didn't want to move just yet though- Part of her dreaded going back to the flat and talking to John. Which begged another question: What was John doing? He might have called Lestrade, but it was John. Quite likely he just thought Sherlock had gone off chasing people around London. Adele would have. Why hadn't Molly or Sherlock been freaked out by the screaming? Sherlock obviously didn't want to bring it up, so for now Adele was confined to her thoughts. Molly, of all people. And where had he got those screams if it wasn't really Eliza? He couldn't have. You couldn't fake that kind of thing. Adele couldn't think straight at the moment. She might have slept, but she was still tired.

Adele didn't really register much of the journey back to the flat. She tried to kick Sherlock after he took his coat back, but he didn't yell, instead telling her quietly to behave in case Kaylee was still at the flat. Adele had only scowled at him.

'Are you not talking to me?'

Adele didn't know. She probably was, but couldn't be bothered. 'I am.' Why was she whispering? Add that to the list of questions. She was silent for the rest of the taxi ride to the flat, letting Sherlock talk to himself. She would probably have to talk to John when they got back, but for now she was quite happy to curl up and lean against Sherlock's arm. Even if it was only temporary. Sherlock didn't appear to mind, until the cab drew up outside the flat. It was then that he exercised the parental control he had but had never used.

'Let John ask questions. I'll answer them.'

'I always let him ask questions, however unintelligent. It's you that stops him.' Sherlock didn't appear to have any answer to that. Ha. Although in this case, the victory was pretty short lived. Maybe because Adele wanted to know about the screaming. Sherlock didn't know how he got it if it wasn't really Eliza. So surely that was proof that Adele was right. Then why was she ignoring it? What happened to Eliza being her friend? Weren't friends supposed to help each other? That's what they did in books. But books weren't real. Books were just another world to hang around in when the present one got boring. Really, they were massive lies. Stupid stories. Nothing in them was real. But stuff like this happened in stories, and the usual protocol was for the hero to go after their friends.

But was Adele the hero?

Probably not. Her thoughts carried her all the way up the stairs of the flat, where she was greeted by John and the paper. Oh joy.

'…Lestrade's gone looking for you two, I called him yesterday. Where were you?' John looked crossed between pissed off and worried. Adele glanced up at Sherlock. Chances were that he could explain a lot better than her. But instead Sherlock shook his head at John, who frowned. Why wasn't he telling him? More questions. Adele sat down on the sofa, and took her phone from her pocket. Or she would have, had her phone actually been in her pocket. Adele looked up, intending to ask Sherlock where it was, to find him standing next to the sofa, holding it out. Adele snatched it back, and looked through the recent calls. As suspected, Hammet's number was there, amongst the many missed calls from John. There were a few from Lestrade, of course. Adele considered texting Eliza, but there wasn't much point. Actually, if she had been in trouble, she might have texted Adele first. The evidence for Eliza being fine was fairly large, but there was still the simple fact that you couldn't get those screams from anyone else. Surely that was a unique thing? Adele glanced out of the window. She could go to Hammersmith and just find Eliza. If she was there, fine. If she wasn't, then there were problems. Sherlock, however, appeared to think otherwise.

'No.'

'What?'

'You are not going to look for anyone.'

'Why?'

'Because I said so.'

Adele scowled at him. So it was fine to run around London looking for a murderers and God knows what else, but apparently checking someone's safety wasn't on the agenda. Fine. She'd have to sneak out at some point.

John went back to the paper after about five minutes, while Sherlock decided that the violin was a sensible idea. Great. Add to the amount of annoying noises going through Adele's head. But Adele didn't have the energy to tell him to stop, so she took one of the books she had been reading before from the floor. Chances were that it was already finished, but if she so much as went into the kitchen Sherlock would panic. And it was too much effort to go to her room.

An hour later, and Sherlock was still playing. Adele was tempted to throw something at him, but she would really be in trouble if the violin got broken. He did, however stop playing suddenly when the doorbell went. That was weird. Normally he kept playing and it fell to either Adele, or more likely John, to answer it. Adele was about to ask, but he help up the bow as though it had the power to silence everyone. It didn't work, because John got up and looked out of the window.

'It's Lestrade.'

'Oh. Dull.'

John raised his eyebrows at Adele, who simply shrugged in return. John knew Adele wouldn't answer the door. One, she was lazy, and two, she had already outlined several times that it wasn't her job. It probably wasn't John's either, but still. He ran down the stairs, muttering about how he always had to do it and who knew what else. Adele decided that it was pointless. Her book was far more interesting. But she wouldn't be able to concentrate, of course, because Lestrade had just followed John up the stairs, Donovan in tow. Joy.

'Found them, did you? Who'd she try to kill this time?'

'Shut up, Donovan.' Of course, Donovan wouldn't pay any attention, but it was worth a try. Lestrade looked ever so slightly apologetic, but he wouldn't do anything to stop her. He never did.

'So where were you? Because I've been running around trying to look for-'

'Lestrade, if you were looking properly, you would have gone to the most obvious location. Last night, Adele and I-'

'SHUT UP!'

Adele put her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear anymore, or relieve last night's events. She didn't want to remember any of it, not Bart's, not the riddle, not the dark. Nothing. She wanted to pretend sit had never happened, finish solving the riddles and have everything back to normal. She didn't want to remember Eliza screaming-

No.

Before she even knew what was going on, Adele was screaming herself. Why? To block out Donovan, to stop Eliza, to tell Hammet that he had won, and that she quit. As everything from the night before flooded back, the deafening noise, all of it. She could hear Sherlock yelling at Donovan, but everything was muffled, not registering in her brain. A door slamming, muttering. But still she kept screaming. Anything, just to make it stop.

'Adele?'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up.'

'Adele, listen to me.'

'Shut up.'

'Adele, look at me.'

Adele raised her head, taking her hands from her ears. He would just say it wasn't real. But it was. You couldn't fake that.

'Adele, you know what I'm going to say.'

'But it was-'

'No. It can't have been.'

'You don't know that.'

'I do.'

'Have you got any proof?'

'I-' Okay, so she had no proof. But nor did he.

'Exactly. Why don't you read a book or something, and I'll try to find out what it really was? Okay?'

Adele just nodded. He wouldn't be able to find out, because it wasn't anything else. It was Eliza, and Sherlock couldn't face the fact that it was unexplainable. Still, Adele picked the book back up. Why was she still tired if she'd slept last night? Sherlock was scribbling on a piece of paper, whereas was still reading the paper. How long could people do that for? The paper was hardly interesting. Adele flicked through the pages of the book listlessly. She neither knew nor cared about this particular book, until a scrap of card fell out from the back.

Enjoy that?

To be honest, this is much better than anything mummy ever did. You might disagree, of course, but I'm rather pleased. I might do that again, actually! Really, this is just relieving your twisted childhood. It's great!

Who? No, not who. She knew who. Hammet or one of those kids. How? Yes, how? John had been in the entire night, hadn't he? Unless-

He'd called Lestrade. But what if by called, he meant he had actually gone to Scotland Yard? Then there would be no one in the flat.

Adele couldn't tell Sherlock. No. There was no point. This wasn't a threat, it was just teasing. Unimportant. But was the flat safe anymore? They would have picked the lock, which could be done again. But if they did…

They wouldn't. Adele looked nervously out of the window. The blonde kid hanging around outside most certainly couldn't be one of Hammet's.