Wow I finally finished it. I actually feel awesome for getting this chapter done on time. And in the end, I think these scenes goes better here. It doesn't really make sense where I was planning to put them. Funny how the universe works.

Note: There's some French in this chapter. Most of it's just in little spurts, and Sherlock translates the parts you need to know, but if you're terribly curious about the rest, you can just Google Translate it or something. Also, if some of the new character's dialogue is a little confusing to read, have no fear! I wrote it like that.

Anyway, enjoy!

I woke drenched in a cold sweat, my entire body shuddering from head to foot. White light bathed the room in deep shadows as goosebumps crawled up my arms. My breath came in shallow gulps as the room came into focus. I tried to steady myself, but I had stepped too quickly from a nightmare. My heart pounded in my chest, and my lungs struggled to keep up the pace. I padded down the bed for you, and let out a short hum when I found your arm.

"John?" You whispered, sitting up on your elbows. I leaned over into you, my hand clutched against my chest. Your steady heartbeat helped calm me down. Gently you laid back down, wrapping an arm around my back to keep me close. "Nightmares?"

I nodded.

"Can you breathe?"

"Trying." I squeezed out. "What time is it?"

You glanced over at the clock. "1:15," You murmured. "Try to get some more sleep."

I sighed, loosening my arm away from my chest and keeping it at your waist. The soft whir of the cars outside made for a pleasant white noise as the dreams faded. I took a few deep breaths, while you ran your fingertips along my back, idly pressing your lips to my hair.

Then, a soft creak came from the kitchen. My breath stopped. All my nerves stood on edge. What the bloody hell was that? It didn't sound like the weather. Had I imagined it? Was this another dream? I lifted my head to look at you.

Your eyes were wide and alert, every hint of sleep gone. You had heard it too. Your heart sped up beneath me. I slipped off your chest, and you slowly removed the blankets from your legs, simeultaneously reaching for your bathrobe. Both of us were silent as stone, our eyes glazed, ears pricking for the smallest sound. I sat forward, straining for that creak.

Shatter.

You flew through the hall and into the kitchen, the tail of your bathrobe fluttering behind you. I quickly grabbed the pistol and followed, stumbling into the kitchen just as you crashed into the shelves. A figure shrouded in black jumped away, sprinting for the window before I could take a shot. With a shout, you bolted for him, but he was through the window and off the fire escape. You dipped your long legs through without a second thought.

"Wait, Sherlock, wait!" I cried, shouldering the gun. "What if he's armed?!"

"Call Lestrade!" You shouted back, diving for the fire escape.

The burglar slid down the rest of the metal ladder and made a wild dash down the alley. His feet padded heavily through the fresh snow, making it hard for him to run. Your long legs were his match. He had almost made the opening before you grabbed a hold of his collar. I could hear his shriek from the flat window as you yanked him backwards and sent him sailing into the snow.

He landed with a thud, knocking the window out of him. You approached, but as soon as he caught sight of you, he panicked and sprung to his feet again. You blocked off his exit to the street and backed him against the brick. When he saw he couldn't run, he pulled a small knife and flung himself at you. He got a good swing at you, lightly grazing the skin of your stomach, but then you struck and got a hold of his wrist.

You yanked and threw him into the snow, his arm pinned behind his body. The burglar squacked and started yelling things in French, kicking up snow and trying to squirm, but you pressed your elbow against his shoulder. "Hold still," You hissed.

"Arrêter! Arrêter! Je suis désolé!" He howled. "S'il vous plaît! S'il vous plaît!"

"Stop squirming!" You shouted back. You loosened your grip while you adjusted yourself, and he took the opportunity, landing a swift fist to your nose before you could react. He struggled to his feet, but you tripped him before he could get away. You violently grabbed his arm, wrenching it behind his back.

"Arrêter!" He shrieked. "Arrêter!"

"Ne bougez pas!" You growled into his ear. "Cambrioleur."

"He's only nineteen," Greg said, crossing his arms. He watched our burglar through the window of Scotland Yard, his brow firm. "Name's Favél."

"Surname?" You asked.

"Don't know. Wouldn't say. He has no ID, he's not even from the country. They could barely get anything off him for the police report."

He shuffled through some of the papers, a yawn lingering on his lips. I felt a little guilty that we had woken him so early, but there weren't many Scotland Yard DIs that you would willingly work with. Whenever you weren't looking, he would stretch and briefly close his eyes. Of course, so did I. You seemed to be the only one wide awake and ready to work at 3 o'clock in the morning.

You clapped your hands, knocking both he and I back into focus. "When can I go in."

"Well... I should probably go with you, Sherlock." Greg said, sternly. "He's pretty freaked out already. I don't want you doing anything that could push him too far."

You turned to him. "Are you trying to imply something?"

"I just want to go with you, alright?"

"I'm going to assume that I'm waiting here," I interjected.

"That's probably for the best," Greg nodded. "You can listen, or if you're tired, you can wait outside."

"No, I can listen."

"Whatever you want." He turned back to you. "Do you need-"

"I don't need anything." You started toward the door, and Lestrade stumbled after you.

There was a connection between you and Favél as soon as you walked through the door. Your eyes met his, and they hardly left each other the entire time. I watched Favél's shoulders start to shudder, his skin going at least three shades lighter. Sweat poured from his forehead. There was silence as you and Greg seated, him writing and you puffing up your shoulders and your coat to appear larger. Finally, Greg cleared his throat.

"Mr. Favél, this is Sherlock Holmes," He said, motioning to you. "Private detective."

"Consulting detective." You corrected, not breaking eye contact. "But he knew that. Didn't you?"

The young man swallowed hard. His accent was thick. "Yes, sir."

"Your employer made sure to tell you exactly who I was, didn't she?"

He glanced between you and Greg. "No, sir. Not her. I've heard of you."

"My reputation preceeds me, then."

"You're the man who rose from the dead."

You paused, narrowing your eyes. "Why did you come from France?"

"I was out of work," He answered. "My family is poor, I was a burden ma mére. I thought I could find work in London, but everyone turned me out. I was starving. I took any work I could get." His voice broke. "I didn't want to steal from you. But- She told me to. I couldn't say no."

"You're not really nineteen, are you?" You said.

He froze, then shook his head. "Ah, six... Seize. You know seize?"

You nodded, then turned to Greg. "Sixteen."

"Bloody hell." He wrote it down.

"Where did you meet your employer?" You asked.

"No. Le ami. A second woman. She met me on the street, gave me work." He motioned to his head. "Red hair... Red? Rouge? Red-haired woman."

My whole body went cold. You would never let go of this one.

"What was the second woman's name?" Greg asked.

He shook his head, pressing his lips tight.

You continued. "What were you looking for in our house?"

He shook his head again.

"Favél, we understand that you don't want to get hurt. You're trying to protect yourself," Greg started. "If you-"

"It isn't that." You interrupted. "It's about your family, isn't it?"

He turned away shamefully, and Greg breathed another curse.

"Your employer used your family as a bargaining chip to convince you to do the things you wouldn't have agreed to. You don't want to tell us who or where she is because you fear for your family. But if you do help us, she can't do anything to hurt you or them."

"You don't know her, miseur," Favél said softly, his shoulders shaking again. "She is un dieu. She can kill you many other ways than death. She can make you disappear. I've seen her do it. Entire families - méres, péres, aussi bébés - stolen by her. She drives them mad. Does horrible things. She is an angel of death. She kills you, and withholds death from you, until you burn on earth. Douleur. Enfer."

"I don't understand." Greg said.

He wrung his wrists. "I'm sorry, English is not my language."

"You said that they burn." You leaned back. "Brûler? Burn?"

Favél shook his head, his brows furrowing in thought. "Souffrance."

"Figurative." You leaned back. "So, she tortures them."

He nodded. "I can't tell you more. She will hear." He looked up at you, his eyes starting to water. "My family."

"There's no way she could hear us in here," Greg affirmed.

Favél looked at him, and he began to shake even more violently. "She is an angel. Ange. The angel of death. She hears everything, she sees everything. We cannot hide anything from her. She is above the law, she is above order, she is above conscious."

"You're not making sense." You stated.

He bit his lip and sat back in his seat. "Je suis fini."

"Are you acquainted with the man Jack Argall?" Greg asked.

"Je suis fini," He repeated.

"What is he saying?" Greg turned to you.

"He says he's done talking." You grumbled, standing from your chair. "We're not going to get anything else out of him. Leave him be."

You abruptly made for the door, leaving Lestrade to scramble for his things and follow you. Favél watched you with a brief look of surprise. Obviously he hadn't realized it would be so easy to refute you. And, frankly, neither did I. I crutched over to meet you by the door, reaching you just as Greg did.

"What was that? We had barely gotten started," He complained, still getting his pages in order.

"I've gotten all I need." You answered, tying your coat.

"We're leaving already?" I asked.

"I've gotten all I need," You echoed.

"He hardly said anything," Greg said, "He just called her an angel."

"An angel of death. Don't you think that's interesting enough to go on?" You turned to face us, your hand clasped under your chin.

"Some kind of cult, maybe?" He wondered.

"No, not a cult. He didn't mean it literally, he doesn't actually believe she's an angel. He's using figurative language to explain why he can't tell us what we want to know. 'She hears everything, she sees everything.' That's what he said. E has eyes and ears here."

Both Greg and I straightened. "Someone within the Yard?" He exclaimed.

"It's an option." You glanced around the room. "Favél is just a boy. He's worried for his family, yes, but that's not the reason his shoulders shake the way they do. He's not afraid of us, he's afraid of E."

"He seemed pretty afraid of you, too," I stated.

"Slightly, but not as much as he is of her. When he would mention her, the tremors would increase. He had no trouble telling me he was finished. He got frustrated when he couldn't speak correctly. He's much more afraid of E than anything we can do."

"Alright, let's assume that's true. What now?"

"Now, John and I go back to the flat and get a few more hours of sleep." You answered. "Tomorrow I'll come back and gage just how far we can push him and how much he'll be able to tell us. Any information we get from him we can use to coax more out of Jack Argall. Since he was closer to E, he should be able to tell us much more about-"

"...Yeah, you had better not count on that."

You looked at him. "What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Argall vanished from his cell yesterday. I'm not sure how much of what Favél said was literal, but so far his 'angel of death' has done a pretty good job at the 'disappearing' part."

You straightened, staring blankly at Lestrade. "You let him get away."

"No. He was locked in his holding cell. No one went in or out. The camera in his room cut for ten seconds. None of the other cameras picked him up, anywhere. He vanished."

"Men don't vanish."

"This one did."

You cursed and turned on your heel. "There's a hole in your security somewhere, Lestrade. You had better find it soon." You tied your coat and flipped up the collar. "We're going home, John."

"Wait, Sherlock." Greg stepped forward. "The woman. The girl Favél mentioned. He couldn't have been talking about...?"

"Yes." You kept walking.

Oh, Mona Lisa, you're guaranteed to review this town.

Mmmm this is where the story gets really fun. The next chapter is one of my favorites and I might be way too excited to go back over it. Look for it on Thursday. (:D)