"Track down this murderer, he must be found! Hunt out this animal, who runs to ground! Too long he's preyed on us - but now we know: the Phantom of the Opera is there deep down below..."~The Phantom of the Opera~

"Do you like the Opera, Mr. Scott?" Alice said as she placed her phone in her lap. She reminded Sherlock of Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, with her sparkling green eyes and long chestnut hair and her mannerisms.

"Yes, I do." Sherlock answered her. 'When I'm not looking for an undercover operative.'

"Good, I think you'll especially enjoy this one..." Alice went on, but Sherlock didn't hear her. He was deep in thought about whom he would look for at the Opera. Bright red hair, big green eyes, and the voice of an angel, was how Mycroft described her. If he hadn't known better, Sherlock would have thought that his brother was in love with this woman...

"She has the voice of an angel," Alice's comment cut through Sherlock's thoughts.

"Who does?"

"The woman you are about to hear sing tonight. Victoria Corso."

Sherlock blinked. The woman he was looking for was the lead in the Opera. This was going to be a lot trickier that he thought.

When they pulled up to the theater, people were milling about in their furs and glittery dresses, overstating the quiet beauty of the old Opera house. Sherlock gazed at the building for a brief second and wondered what famous voices echoed within the halls. His left hand twitched; he missed his violin. Playing in Russia, only gave him a taste of what a professional could have. He never played for applause, although John and Mrs. Hudson seemed to like his playing.

"This way please." Alice was standing in front of his open door, gesturing towards the theater. Sherlock stepped out of the Limo and adjusted his coat and gloves then started towards the theater. A loud clearing of the throat stopped him. He furrowed his brow and turned and saw Alice giving him a dark look. He gave a quick smile as he adjusted his glasses, then walked back toward the woman.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Scott?" She asked as she took the arm he offered. "You seem distracted."

"I apologize Alice, I'm not used to having an escort," he scanned the crowd. "And I haven't had a holiday for quite a while. I'm not used to relaxing."

"Well, get used to it. You are very tense."

He glanced at her before they entered the theater, then scanned the crowd again.

"If you will excuse me, Mr. Scott, I will secure our tickets and our seats."

"I will check our jackets." He helped her with her jacket. She wore an emerald green satin dress that hugged her curves and accentuated her exotic beauty. She said her thanks and walked away.

The inside of the theater lobby was magnificent, even though it was gaudily decorated for Christmas. Gold angels were everywhere and three large pine trees decorated with gold and red bulbs and tinsel, stood at the corners of the theater. People continued to stream in and mill about as Sherlock made his way to the coat check counter. He looked back where Alice walked away and found her occupied at the ticket counter. He slid his hand into her jacket pocket and came up with nothing. He glanced about and placed his hand in the other pocket and came up with a candy wrapper and nothing else. Sherlock furrowed his brow and placed the wrapper back in the pocket and proceeded to check their coats at the counter.

"Oh, excuse me sir," the young man behind the counter called after Sherlock as he started to walk away. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he turned around.

"You have a message," the young man handed Sherlock a small piece of stationary folded twice. Sigursen was written on the outside.

"Who is this from?"

"I don't know sir. It was here when I arrived. Sorry."

Sherlock scanned the crowd again. They were starting to thin as they filtered into the theater. A familiar figure across the lobby caught his attention. They were dressed in a black jacket and red tie. He was lounging against a pillar and, as a group of people passed in front of him, he disappeared into the crowd, too quick to identify the man.

Sherlock pursed his lips in frustration as he unfolded the stationary and a woman's handwriting was neatly scrawled across the paper.

'Let's have dinner. If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me? New Year's Eve. 7:00 pm. Don't be late, and wear a jacket.

The Whip Hand.'

Sherlock drew in a deep breath. Controlling his emotions was getting harder and harder as he went deeper into the role he was playing. This emotion, or rather a feeling; arousal, excitement, wasn't anything new to him, but now it was overwhelming. He ran a finger between his collar and neck.

'Pupils dilated.'

'Pulse elevated.'

"Is that from your host?" Alice was suddenly standing beside him as she gestured at the piece of stationary in his hand.

"I..."Sherlock glanced at the doors into the theater and saw the figure again, this time staring at him and Alice, then falling in place with the crowd. "I thought you were my host?"

"No, I'm just your escort." Alice looked in the same direction as Sherlock's gaze. "Are you looking for someone?"

"No, I keep thinking I see someone that I recognize in the crowd, but that can't be possible since I don't know anyone in the states, right?"

Alice smiled up at him and her green eyes sparkled in the dim lights. "You know me."

Sherlock couldn't help himself and smiled back. "Besides you." He tucked the piece of stationary in his inside pocket. "Anyway, unless my host is an old friend of mine, I don't think the note is from my host."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, you should be receiving an invitation to have dinner on New Years with the owner of the business, and your host."

"My host's name wouldn't happen to be Irene, would it?"

"Now that would be letting you in on too many secrets Mr. Scott." Alice, again smiled brightly at Sherlock as she gestured at him. "Shall we go in?"

He held her gaze for a moment before he held out his arm.

Sherlock surveyed the crowd as he let Alice lead them to their seat. He caught the blond hair out of the corner of his eye as he took his seat, third row back, third seat in.

"Are you sure you're alright? You seem..edgy?" Alice asked.

He took a deep breath before he answered. "I'm fine, thank you."

"I'll believe you this time, but your lies will only go so far with me." Alice turned away as the corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up in an ironic smile.

The house lights slowly dimmed as the heavy scarlet curtains raised and revealed an elaborate set and lighting set-up. Sherlock settled in, getting himself ready to be immersed in the music.

However, as when Victoria Corso took the stage, every fiber of Sherlock's being came alive and vibrated with the realization of who this woman really was, and for only the third time in his life, Sherlock was unsure of himself.

He had no idea that 'The Woman' had such a voice. It left him breathless and he found it hard to stand for the ovation at the end.

"Would you like to meet the woman behind the voice?" Alice leaned into him and her warmth could be felt through his clothes. His body was betraying him, and he wasn't sure he would be able to control himself.

He cleared his throat and concentrated on the irony of her question.

"Yes, I would." He answered her and she smiled up at him. They waited and watched as the crowd filed out into the lobby, then made their way down to the right hand side of the stage. Sherlock looked back at the seats and saw that the blonde man was gone.

"Victoria?" Alice called a moment later after softly knocking on her open dressing room door. Her back was to them and she was looking down at her phone.

"Yes, Alice come in. I-..." The woman stopped short and almost dropped her phone when she laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes. Even with the cropped blonde hair and glasses, she recognized the man. The way he smiled, the way he carried himself. It all screamed Sherlock Holmes, and he was supposed to be dead.

"Victoria, this is William Scott. He has chosen the First Class package. Well, that is to say, it was chosen for him."

"Hello, Victoria, very nice to meet you." Sherlock stepped forward with his hand held out as Irene stood, staring at the man in front of her. He gently grabbed her hand and kissed the top of it. Irene drew in a deep breath when his lips touched her hand.

"Charmed," was all that she could choke out as she scanned the man in front of her.

"Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost!" Alice placed her hand on Irene's shoulder.

"I-I'm fine thank you."

"You have a very lovely voice, Miss-"

"I couldn't find any top shelf wine...Oh hello!" Sherlock was interrupted by the blond man. Up close, Sherlock saw that he was the same man that Sherlock had talked to at the airport. "It's weird and good to see you again...I'm sorry what was your name again?"

"William Scott." Sherlock offered as he shook the other mans hand.

"Nice to meet you again, Mr. Scott." He turned to Alice and took her hand and kissed it. "Always a pleasure, Alice. You look stunning this evening."

"Thank you, Andrew. Charming as ever." Alice gave a tight smile.

"And here is the star of the show, Miss Victoria Corso." Andrew gestured in her direction. "My dear, you look pale. Do you need some water?"

Andrew started to grab a bottle of water from the table behind him when Irene interrupted him.

"Excuse us for a second please." Irene flashed a smile to Sherlock and Alice as she grabbed Andrew's arm and pulled him out of the dressing room and shut the door. She pushed him down the dark corridor and when she was satisfied no one was around, slapped the man across his cheek.

"What the hell-" The man held his hand on his cheek.

"Do you realize who is standing in my dressing room right now?" Irene said through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing with anger.

"William Scott."

"God-damn Sherlock Holmes! He's supposed to be dead. I read his autopsy report, I've been to the man's grave! Mycroft Holmes even told me that he was dead!"

Andrew grabbed her arm. "Remember what I told you, Irene. You must keep your heart out of this, or there will be disastrous consequences involved for you. Besides, you should know first hand that a death can be faked."

Irene was shaking. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Do you understand?" Sebastian's anger shown through his disguise as his angry eyes bore through Irene and he shook her.

"I understand."

Sebastian let go of Irene and licked his lips. "Good. Sherlock Holmes is lucky I don't kill him on the spot. I need him – let me rephrase that. I need his brain. Shall we play the game?" He gestured down the hall where they came from. Irene took a breath and a moment to compose herself. Then nodded and walked down the corridor, aware that the world's greatest sniper was following her.

"I'm sorry everyone. Forgive me for that." Irene said as she walked into the room.

The mark on Sebastian's cheek was the first thing that Sherlock noticed as he narrowed his eyes at the man. Sebastian glanced over at Sherlock, then took a double take when he realized the man was staring at him. He smirked and walked over to the wine.

Irene cleared her throat. "I'll find some glasses."

"Thank you Victoria."

Sherlock watched Irene. Her actions weren't as bold as they usually were. She moved slower, more deliberately, like she was afraid of something.

With a flourish, Sebastian poured the wine and handed the first glass to Irene, who smiled cautiously at him.

"Thanks," Alice said, the bitterness dripped from her voice. Sherlock looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, Alice," Sebastian pouted at her. To Sherlock, it was highly contrived, and an oddly familiar gesture. "Why must you always be so mean to me?"

"Because I am not charmed by you."

She's lying.

Increase in breath.

Fidgety...

"Oh, but we both know that is a lie." Sebastian gestured at Alice and his demeanor completely changed again. His eyes, dark, and an evil grin broke over his face. Another familiar expression. "When I walk up to you, your breathing becomes erratic, you play with your hair, and you purse your lips. All classic signs of attraction."

Sherlock saw the man's eyes slide briefly over to his. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the man. He still couldn't read him.

Sebastian broke eye contact and smiled sweetly at Alice.

"Well, you are reading my body language all wrong. I am thoroughly disgusted with you. I just hope this isn't poisoned." Alice took a drink of her wine and a heavy silence filled the room as every one watched Alice as she started playing with her hair and immediately stopped when she realized what she was doing.

Sebastian's laughter cut through the silence as he turned to Sherlock and handed him a glass of wine. Sherlock took it hesitantly as Sebastian's dark eyes bore through him.

"Now, you, William Scott should be the first one to worry about your glass. A new person in the mix, flirting with Victoria. We have yet to decide your fate."

'Oh just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort.'

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath. The tone, the manner...

Sherlock was the only one that saw the small change of expression that Sebastian gave. Then, the man leaned in close, close enough to feel the others hot breath on his ear. Sherlock's body was betraying him as his breath hitched when he could feel the others body heat through his clothes.

"I owe you, Sherlock, and if you are not careful, I will put a bullet through all three hearts, yours too if you wish."

Sherlock's body stiffened as he cleared his throat and took a drink of the wine. Sebastian stepped back and smiled a knowing smile at Sherlock.

"That can be part of the package as well, if you like. I'm sure sweet Alice here wouldn't mind adding an addendum to your stay at the Nightingale." He chuckled as he took a drink of his wine.

Sherlock was aware of Alice and Irene staring at him as he pushed up his glasses. His usually clear and calculating mind tried to comprehend the situation in front of him. He knew from the experience at the swimming pool, that Moriarty was definitely not working alone; that he had help from a sniper, and one that was calculating and precise. What he had underestimated was the relationship of the Consulting Criminal and his Sniper. The web extended itself into America, and Sherlock Holmes had walked right into the middle of it.

~X~

John woke with a start. He tried to focus on his surroundings and control his breathing.

"John?"

The soft voice startled him to the point he flew out of his bed. He exhaled when he saw the red hair and Sarah's pretty, but tired face. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ear as she pulled the blankets up to cover herself.

"Um, John, you might want to cover up." Sarah was biting her lip, trying not to laugh as she gave him a once over with her eyes.

"Oh god," he said as he flew back into the bed and covered up. He held his head in his hands and groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to having anyone sleeping in the same bed as me."

"I noticed." She placed her arm around him and leaned into him. "Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream?"

John almost made the conscience decision to confess all of his dreams and nightmares to Sarah. He knew she would understand. But would it scare her away? Dreaming about someone who you only knew for a year and a half. Dreaming about someone who insulted you in one sentence and apologized for it in the next, or later, or the next day. Dreaming about someone who made the biggest impact on your life; and you invaded a country. Yes, it would scare her away.

"I'm alright." He mumbled into the blanket, leaning into Sarah, letting her body heat comfort him as she rubbed his back.

"Happy Christmas."

John's head suddenly shot up. "Oh, it is isn't it?"

She chuckled at him. "Yes-"

"I have a present for you!" He said as he hopped out of bed and put on his robe and ran downstairs.

"Here," John was breathless when he returned.

Sarah took the small package that was wrapped in gold and dressed with a red ribbon. She had an idea that Mrs. Hudson probably wrapped it, but she wasn't about to say anything. She bit her lip trying to suppress a giggle as she opened it.

"What are you sniggering at?"

"You do realize you went downstairs with no pants on, right?"

John cleared his throat and pulled his robe tighter around him. "Yeah, well, you don't have any knickers on yourself." He finished his sentence in a huff and crossed his arms.

She smiled at him and finished opening the present.

"Oh, John, this...this is-"

"The song that played on our second date? Yes, it is!"

"But how..?"

"I simply inquired about it later, after you gushed about it."

Sarah sat up on her knees and grabbed john by his robe, not caring that the sheet had fallen away from her body, and kissed him, hard. It caught him off guard at first and he struggled to get his balance and she smiled into the kiss. Then he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her nakedness against his own through his robe. He trailed his kisses down her neck as she moaned her approval. He grabbed her upper arms and gently pushed her back onto the bed. She yelped as she landed on the cold CD case and lifted her buttocks to grab it and set it on the side table. She turned to see John smiling like an idiot at her and she smiled and laughed at him. John caught her in another passionate kiss as her hands traveled underneath his robe.

"I like this flat. It's cozy." Wendy said an hour later as she took a drink of the coffee that Harry had made for her.

"Yeah, but as much as the peace and quiet would be nice, I think we would be bored in this part of town." Harry sat across from her girlfriend.

"Mm, I think I could get used to it, being close to your brother and settling into something that was ours..."

"Woo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson's voice interrupted Wendy as Harry gaped at her.

"We are in here Mrs. Hudson!" Wendy called then took another drink of her coffee.

"Oh, hello ladies!" The elder woman was carrying a large tray that was covered with a towel. Harry recovered herself and helped her with the tray.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I have a tradition with all of my renters. I bring them my home-made cinnamon rolls as long as they have a small gathering on Christmas Eve." She grabbed the towel off the tray with a flourish and the most scrumptious cinnamon rolls that the ladies had ever laid eyes on were sitting there, innocent and waiting to be eaten.

"My gosh, Mrs. Hudson!" It was Wendy's turn to gape. "They look wonderful!"

"Well, dig in!" Mrs. Hudson handed each of them a plate as John and Sarah entered the kitchen, both in their pyjamas, and a little rumpled, and both smiling.

"Well, there's the two lovebirds." Harry winked at them. "I thought you two would just stay in bed all day. I know I would if I didn't have family staying with me!"

They both blushed as John walked over to Mrs. Hudson and placed his hand on her arm and pecked her on the cheek.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Happy Christmas."

It was her turn to blush as her words came out in a rush. "Oh, well, for what, John? Do you want a cinnamon roll?"

"Of course. Sarah?" He said as he looked at her knowingly.

"Yes, please," Sarah smiled as she sat beside Wendy. "They look and smell divine."

"They are divine. And melty and moist and … mmmmm..."

Everyone laughed at her as she took another bite of her roll.

Mrs. Hudson served them coffee as they chatted and ate their rolls. After a bit, a concerned look came over her face as she looked around.

"What is it, then?" John asked.

"Where are Molly and Greg?"

"Oh, they decided to stay at Molly's house. I think Craig decided to take a couple more glasses of wine, so he grabbed a ride from them."

"Those two," Mrs. Hudson smiled and sighed as a far away look came over her face. John smiled as he looked around at the table. He realized that Mrs. Hudson could have been talking about anyone at the table as well. This wasn't a feeling he had felt in a very, very long time; a feeling of security, a feeling of love and being loved, a feeling of peace, even though he knew there was danger lurking out there, waiting for the right moment to strike, he felt at peace here, in this place, at this moment.

~X~

Molly rolled over and slowly opened her eyes, wondering if everything that happened last night was a dream. When she saw the silver hair and handsome features on the pillow next to hers, she knew it wasn't a dream and a warm feeling flooded her entire being. Careful not to wake Greg, she propped herself onto her elbow and watched him. He looked so much at peace. No stress, no worries, just sleep. She leaned over and softly kissed him on the forehead. He seemed to sigh and she smiled. Molly kissed his cheek and he hummed his approval as he turned his head in her direction. His eyes were still closed and she couldn't be sure if he was still asleep. She watched him for a minute, making note of the gray stubble that was forming on his chin and the crinkles beside his eyes.

"Quit staring at me," he mumbled and Molly started. "It makes me nervous."

"Sorry, sorry," Molly said as she rolled over. Greg suddenly had his arm around her, pinning her down. She let out a small yelp before he kissed her.

"Happy Christmas," he said as he parted. He propped himself up with one arm and stared into her coffee brown eyes and smiled. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and kissed her brow.

"I should brush my teeth and my hair-" she started to get up, but Greg held her down.

"I should too, but you don't seem to be minding right now."

Molly smirked at him and he kissed her even more passionately than before. His hand went underneath her head and his other traveled the length of her naked body, sending shivers up her spine. He kissed her cheek, then her neck as she moaned her approval. Molly's hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they explored Greg's body.

An hour later, Molly was freshly showered and sitting at her tiny kitchen table, reading the morning paper and sipping at her steaming cup of coffee. Greg was in the shower now, and her thoughts wandered to the previous Christmas. The Christmas that she'll always remember as the one where Sherlock actually apologized and kissed her on the cheek. The one where Greg ogled her all night, but didn't make a move. The one where she was called in to do an autopsy on a body that supposedly only Sherlock could identify. Molly had never gotten a straight answer from Sherlock, nor his brother on whom the woman was on her table. She had been beautiful at one point, Molly had thought. But her face was all sorts of bashed in, and Sherlock had to identify her from the rest of her body. How had he known? Never had she ever seen him with a woman, or talk a bout a woman.

'Why couldn't I have been that woman whose body Sherlock worshiped so much that he identified her by only her body?' Molly thought to herself, then chuckled. 'Maybe I should be lucky not to be that woman 'cause I would be six-feet under right now.'

She shivered and sniffed, then took a sip of her coffee and realized she hadn't checked her phone for messages. Leaning over, she unplugged her cell-phone from the charger and turned it on. After swiping through the various Facebook status's and answering a few, she checked her phone messages. One from her parents last night and a missed phone call from Greg. Just one and he hadn't left a message. Molly frowned at her phone as she made a mental note to call her parents later and checked her texts. One from Sherlock's new number.

'Happy Christmas, Molly. You do count.'

Molly grinned like a little school girl. She hated keeping in touch with Sherlock behind everyone's back. She felt like a betrayer; like she was stabbing everyone in the back. Especially John. She wondered what John would give to get a text from Sherlock right now. Closing her eyes, she fought back the tears that were forming and took a deep breath. Saving the message, Molly noted that there was one more text from a number that she didn't recognize. Normally, she would have erased it, but the subject line read JM. Goosebumps formed on her skin as she held her breath and opened the text.

'You look pretty, Molly. Don't forget our date.'

Molly gasped and dropped her phone on the table, cringing at it.

"Molly? Are you alright?"

She gasped again when she heard Greg's voice beside her.

"Yeah, sorry. I-I thought I saw a...a spider."

Greg furrowed his brow at her and cocked his head at her in disbelief.

"Uh...okay, well," he turned and started to explore her tiny kitchen. "I am hungry. Do you have anything to make breakfast with?"

"Um..." Molly started as she looked at her phone again. She erased the message and continued. "I probably don't."

But as she looked up, she saw that Greg had a half a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs on the counter and he was sniffing some sausage he had found in the freezer as he turned and grinned at her.

"I bought some breakfast items last night between the flat and here."

"Oh pish!" She grinned back at him. "So that's why you had the Cheshire cat grin on your face last night when I got back from Craig's !"

"Oh yeah!" Greg smiled and turned to make breakfast.

Molly sighed. She could get used to this little piece of domestication. She picked up the paper again and leafed through it, finding the section on culture. After a minute of looking, she found a small article on a violin player named Sigerson who made a 'stunning debut' in Russia last night. She smirked to herself. Sherlock had texted her a brilliant little plan and all she had to do was plant a note at the detective's grave-site. Mycroft would put the plan into action by power of suggestion. Molly knew there wasn't really any way to find out if their plan would work, but just imagining the giddy grin when he reads the article, was satisfying enough for her.