*shuffles out in shame* Hi. Um. Sorry it's been so long. I sort of have an excuse. I've been at school [In Canada! Weirdness], and just got back to the UK, and I'm jetlagged and this needed heavy editing. You'll get 24, which is to be more dramatic, ASAP. I'm sorry. If you fancy reviewing, it would be truly appreciated and I would love you forever. Just saying.

Adele woke with a start. The first thing she noticed was that someone had left that light on. The second thing she noticed was that through her closed bedroom door, the flat was fairly noisy. Adele glanced her phone, which showed the time to be nine in the morning.

That was a shock in itself. It had certainly been a while since she had woken up at a decent time.

Of course, the downside of having a full night of sleep was the temptation to stay in bed for the whole day. If only she could. It took a few seconds for Adele to remember what was going on- Not only had the entire experience managed to disorientate her, but she also felt slightly light-headed.

In the end, Adele dragged herself out of bed. It had been a while since she had really noticed anything in the room. Before, Adele had barely registered the colours of anything in her room- yet, as she looked around, she couldn't help but become annoyed by the way the grey carpet and white rug just didn't seem to work together. But there was no point in dwelling on that. The room was scarcely furnished at all, as Adele hadn't really cared- as long as she had a computer and phone, it was hardly important.

There was also something else. Adele's clothing had changed. What were once black jeans and a blazer was now blue jeans and whichever hoodie or jumper she could find. The only thing remaining consistent was the shoes. The old, battered black converse, the very shoes that she had never tied up, which had in turn basically led to her being shot. As she remembered, Adele flinched slightly, hearing the echo of the bullet leaving the gun. Adele shook her head. This was not the time to be remembering that. No. This was the time to-

Solve the riddle.

Eliza.

Just the thought of it bought on a wave of tears, and Adele had to grit her teeth and dig her nails into the palm of her hands. As questions flooded her head, Adele shook her head, as though that would in any way banish them. It worked to some extent, because now Adele had to try not to faint. This wasn't good. Adele stood up, swaying slightly. Leaning against the table, she pulled her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look presentable. She must have struggled a lot in her sleep, because her hair was messier than usual, and her duvet, Adele now realised, was half hanging off the bed. There were also several new scratches to add to the collection along her arms. Great.

Adele regained her balance and walked into the front room. Sherlock and John were both already there, although John looked incredibly distracted. Adele had a feeling that Kaylee had either called, texted, or come up as a topic of conversation. Indeed, Sherlock looked pretty amused, and also slightly pleased with himself.

When he appeared from the floor, John jumped.

'Adele!'

'John!'

Sherlock chuckled, and John shook his head. But all the smiles were fake. Adele could feel Sherlock's eyes on her, and only a complete idiot could possibly miss the looks exchanged between him and John. But Adele decided to leave them clueless to what she knew; it would be interesting.

'Adele, what happened to your arm?'

Adele glanced down at her arm, realising that the scratches were a lot more noticeable than she had first thought. 'Good question.'

John looked confused, but said nothing more as he put a plate full of several pieces of toast onto the table. He paused, and then gave both Adele and Sherlock a stern look.

'When was the last time either of you two ate a proper meal?'

Sherlock shrugged, scrolling absent mindedly through his phone. Adele thought back to the night before, digging her nails into her hands once again. Did a bite of toast count? It was worth a try.

'Well I ate toast last night.'

'Adele, you nibbled it for about five seconds.'

'Oh. Then… A few days ago?'

John's exasperated look quickly became one worry. And he wondered why Adele didn't talk to him much anymore? 'Sherlock? Are you listening?'

'Yes.'

'No, you're not.'

'Yes.'

'You're on your pho-'

'Doesn't mean I'm not listening.'

'Yes it does, you-'

'Remember who you're talking to John. I am listening.'

'Then answer my original question.'

'Will you give me a lecture?'

'I-'

'Thought so. Adele, eat something, John's concerned.'

'Adele isn't the only one I'm worried about!'

Adele looked up from counting the scratches on her arm, not sure whether she was surprised or not. Sherlock looked slightly conflicted, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't. Adele looked from John to Sherlock, not wanting to interrupt the silence. Finally, Sherlock spoke.

'Thank you for your concern.'

John nodded slightly. Adele now seriously regretted her decision to get up; it would have been a whole lot less awkward if she had just stayed where she was. Still, she allowed John to place two slices of toast in front of her, rested her chin on her arms, and cast her mind away from the general conversation. Her main concern was, of course, solving the riddle, and putting it off wouldn't make it any easier. Hammet was probably on standby for the moment when she eventually began working on it.

'Adele?'

'Hm?' Adele flicked her eyes up for find Sherlock looking at her, apparently trying to talk. He frowned.

'I asked you a question.'

Adele gave him a death glare, so he continued. 'When are you going to look at that riddle?' Adele shrugged in response, so Sherlock continued. 'You can't hide from it forever.'

'I'm not hiding.'

'Really?'

Adele didn't respond. 'The sooner you look at it, the sooner you finish it.'

'You mean the sooner I look at it, the sooner I get it wrong and-'

'Adele.'

'Sherlock.'

Both glared at the other, Adele trying desperately not to give in. At last he spoke;

'You have that little faith in your own intelligence?'

'Sorry, I thought I was talking to Sherlock Holmes, the intellectual genius and over-inflated show-off. What have you done with him?'

John, who Adele had temporarily forgotten to have been present in the room, laughed, although a look from Sherlock immediately shut him up. Adele, resigned to the fact that it would be an incredibly stupid idea to snack on cola bottles for the rest of the day, spent the next ten minutes tentatively nibbling on the toast, managing one slice before John and Sherlock gave up.

0ooo0

Adele sat on the floor, the letter, several pieces of paper, and a pen in front of her. If she was honest, the riddle made less sense than anything she had ever heard, including the apple a day pronoun. The furthest Adele had gotten with solving it was drawing a chart on one of the pieces of paper. Three days, at this rate, would not be long enough to solve it. Suddenly, an idea struck her;

'I need a bigger canvas.'

Sherlock and John looked up, confused, so Adele tried to explain in the best way that she could;

'The paper's too small. I need something larger… Like a wall.'

John maintained the look of confusion, but some sort of realisation dawned on Sherlock's face. 'A wall?'

'Yes, a wall.'

'Your room.'

'What?'

Sherlock looked at Adele and John as though they were idiots. 'Adele, you want a bigger canvas. Like a wall. You have a wall in your room. Use that.'

'You're letting me paint my room?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Do we have any paint?'

It was then that Sherlock realised the flaw in his plan. But then, he looked up at John, who stared back in yet more confusion.

'What?'

Adele joined Sherlock in his act which apparently, by the looks of things, was to stare at John until he went out to buy paint.

'Oh for God's… Am I your slave or something?'

The temptation to nod was high, but Adele resisted. John got up, grudgingly.

'You two are bloody ridiculous.'

Adele and Sherlock smirked as he left. Poor John. But whilst Adele felt sorry for him, it was also quite fun to boss him around, and John would always do as she asked. Sherlock was stubborn, and sometimes boring.

Adele had left her phone in her pocket and on silent, determined not to let anything distract her. But she knew that it wouldn't last. Someone, probably Hammet, would have texted her. But it didn't matter. Chances were that whatever he said was a lie. Maybe he didn't have Eliza. Maybe, just maybe, he was faking the entire thing. Unlikely, considering the reality of the screaming. Adele pushed it out of her mind, going back to the paper. There wasn't much point looking at the riddle until John got back, so without thinking, Adele began to sketch. Biro was actually more fun than pencil, and soon enough for some reason, miniature dragons filled the page. Some breathing fire, other sleeping. One of the fire breathing ones was attacking a very small person, who Adele decided to identify as Hammet. But in the corner of the page, Adele had drawn a very small cat.

'Adele?'

'Yes?' Adele looked up, halfway through drawing yet another dragon.

'You've drawn dragons and then a cat.'

'Yes.'

'Okay.'

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

'Your eyes are very… blue.'

'Yes.'

'But they look sad.'

Adele flickered her eyes over to the window and back. 'Oh. Okay.'

'Why?'

Adele shrugged. 'Use your powers of deduction.'

'I'd rather have it directly from you.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Yes it does.'

Adele shook her head.

'No. What matters is solving this.'

'Adele-'

'No. When I finish this, you can question me as much as you want.'

'But-'

'Leave it.'