Since he'd been so careful to not touch John, when John woke up the next morning he expected to find Sherlock had fled for parts unknown. To his surprise he found him laying flat on the sofa, Hamish on his chest, eyes shut. Not sure if he was asleep or not, John carefully made his way to the kitchen.

"I'm awake," he heard Sherlock say before he could even make himself a cup of coffee.

"Good," John said as he turned on the coffee maker. "You're going to drink some coffee."

"Not hungry."

"Well, you're going to have to drink it anyway." He poured two mugs of coffee and brought them into the other room. He hadn't made anything else on the assumption that Lou and Susan would be giving him something for breakfast like they always did. And true to be told, what they brought was always better than what he could quickly make at home.

Sherlock stared at the mug of coffee like it was an alien invader. After a minute he sat up, took the mug, and took a small sip. John had apparently added enough sugar, since he took another sip after that one. "When are the Spencers going to testify?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Friday, I think," John said.

"And I testify next Wednesday, still?"

John paused in mid-sip, surprised he'd brought the subject up on his own. "Yes," he finally replied.

Sherlock didn't say anything more; he merely finished his coffee and went back to lying down on the couch. After John finished his coffee, he said "I'm off," and ducked out the door.

Mrs. Hudson was at the base of the stairs. "I've seen everything in the papers and on the news," she told him. "If even half of what they're saying is true that woman shouldn't get out of prison alive. Especially that poor little girl from yesterday. They didn't show her on the telly, of course, it was just a reporter reading from the trial transcript, but the things she went through..." She shook her head as she trailed off.

"People left the courtroom when she was on the stand," John said. He hadn't planned to talk about the details of the trial beyond what was already in the papers, but Mrs. Hudson seemed to be an exception.

"I wouldn't be surprised. If Edwin was still here I'd send him the clippings. He'd want to know there was some justice in the world. Oh, look at how I go on. You're going to want to get there early, like the other days, right?"

"Yes." John's throat closed up and instead of saying more he nodded at her as he went out the door and hailed a cab. The driver played a loud and obnoxious station where the hosts clearly thought they were much funnier than they were, but John didn't object. It neatly curtailed the discussion of anything. Even so, he felt relieved to get out at the court. Just as his cab left, another came and out came Lou, brown bakery bag in hand.

"Susan's getting the drinks," he said once they stood together. "Let's head inside." They headed up the steps and into the building. Lou kept talking. "The foster mother, Jane Henderson, is going to testify first. We wanted Mr. Ogbeide to go first, but she's only available this morning. Ruth Murray is the last one for today."

"The landlady of the flat? I met her once," John said. By now they were in front of the room they had sat in in previous days. They sat down and Lou extracted the bagel sandwiches from the bag. He handed one to John. "Thanks," he said as he took a bite.

"Not a problem," Lou replied. "I wish I'd done more with Victim One's testimony. If I'd realized Victim Four was going to mention that nursery rhyme I'd have brought that up."

"He mentioned a nursery rhyme she'd say?" John hadn't heard that before.

"Yes. I didn't think much of it at the time but it'd have helped our testimony some."

"Did anyone else say something like that?"

"Not that I know of."

The door creaked open. "I hope one of those is for me," Susan said as she came through the door with several cups in one hand. She put them down on the table and sat down next to Lou. Lou pushed one of the remaining sandwiches in front of her. "Thank you." She took a bite. "The foster mother got here all right?"

"She got here before us, actually. Rang me when I was on my way here."

"Is she going to meet with you?" John asked, knowing that if she was he would have to leave.

"Yes, but you can finish your sandwich before we go get her," Lou said before biting into his own with the power of long-delayed hunger.

John silently finished his and left without a word. He slipped into the courtroom like he usually did and sat down waiting for the trial to begin. As others filed in he noticed that several of the regular buffalo weren't there. Apparently what had been said already had been too much for them. He half-expected them to come in late, but when the courtroom was fully packed and the usher called the familiar "Court rise!" they had not arrived.

Susan strode up to the stand once the judge had spoken and said "The prosecution calls Jane Henderson." Another usher led a plump woman into the room. Her light brown hair fell around her shoulders in slight curls; she wore glasses and a gray blouse and skirt. She seemed motherly, like K had first seemed, but her face was open and kind and held nothing back. Once she had settled herself down, Susan said: "Hello."

"Hello," she replied.

"How are you acquainted with Jennifer Ogbeide-Bena?"

"She was a foster child of me and my husband two years ago."

"How long have you been a foster parent?"

"Almost twenty-five years. We started taking the courses right after Frank and I were married."

"Do you have any children of your own?" Susan asked.

"Two daughters. There's also two boys, brothers, who we took in and adopted. A few of our other former foster children keep in touch with us." Mrs. Henderson smiled proudly. "The girls have finished university and are now working on their own. One of our boys moved out and is working; the other one is in university himself, but he still lives at home."

"How many children have you fostered?"

"At least fifty. Several more if you count the ones we've taken for respite or for a few nights only."

"Do you provide any sort of specialized care?"

"Like with very disturbed children? No. We've taken some tough cases but we don't routinely do that."

"Do you work outside the home?"

"No. I have a knitting business that people order from online or in person, but that's all at home. Frank's the manager of a small market near our home."

"Do you remember the day Jennifer came to your house?" Susan took a step back from the stand.

"Yes. Frank had just left for work when I got the notice from the local caseworker. She rang me to say there had been a girl who'd been taken from hospital to care and she wanted to know if we could take her. We hadn't had a foster child for over a month, so of course I said yes. A few hours later they brought her to our house. Once she got here I knew why they wanted us to take her - Frank is Jamaican and we've fostered many children of dual heritage like her." Mrs. Henderson paused, clearly remembering something. "She was horribly upset. Crying, saying she wanted to go back to her mummy or her daddy. I learned from the worker who brought her that she'd been taken straight from hospital and she didn't have anything other than the clothes she came in, so that made sense."

"Did the worker specify why she was being placed in foster care?"

"Suspicions of sexual abuse. Well, not just suspicions. There was obvious medical evidence but they didn't know who had done it and they felt she'd be safer in care."

"What was Jennifer like when she first came into your home?"

"Upset, like I said before. A few days after she came here she told us she was supposed to go back to her mummy's today and if she knew that Jennifer was here. I told her that her mother knew she was here. She wanted to know when she'd be seeing her parents again and I said she'd be visiting them soon. The schedule set up for visitations had her seeing her mother and father once a week, at separate visits. She saw her father first, and he brought some toys and clothes to give to her, and that helped a bit."

"So she saw her parents twice a week?"

"Yes."

"How did those visits go?"

Mrs. Henderson thought for a moment before speaking. "Well, I wasn't present at most of them. I just dropped her off at the center and picked her up an hour later. But I did usually talk to her parents before or after the visit."

"What sort of things did you discuss?"

"They'd ask how she was doing and if she needed anything. Foster carers have limits on what they can talk about with a parent, so I had to be careful."

"You talked about both of them when you mentioned their responses. Did you notice anything different from parent to parent?"

"Yes," Mrs. Henderson said with a sigh. "Mrs. Bena was not always fully there. The supervisor wrote down that she'd fall asleep in the visits at times. Mr. Ogbeide seemed more alert, and more concerned. He'd ask about specifics with Jennifer, made sure I knew what foods she liked, what time she went to bed, how much light she needed on when she fell asleep. He'd bring food from home, too, since the visits are usually for dinner or tea. Homemade things they'd heat up. Mrs. Bena brought burgers, fish and chips, takeaway type things. He also rang the police several times. He wanted to know about the investigation into Jennifer's abuse. Of course Mrs. Bena got arrested a month later and that stopped those visits."

"Did Jennifer ever mention the abuse to you?" Susan asked.

"Not the way you might be thinking. Frank and I did tell her that she was in care because of her hospital visit, and that we just wanted to make sure she was safe at home. She said that she was."

"Do you think she was telling the truth?"

"Yes. Somewhat. After a few weeks I was pretty sure that her parents weren't the ones who had assaulted her. She wasn't afraid of them and she never mentioned them being abusive. There was some obvious neglect on her mother's part. Jennifer said she slept a lot and would forget to make meals. Her father seemed more capable of taking care of her."

"Was there anything more indirect she mentioned?"

"Her vocabulary." She made a face.

"What about it?" Susan pressed.

"She was very fond of a certain lewd word. 'Fond' isn't really the right term. She used it quite a bit, but not like a child who's figured out their parents go mad once they say it." Mrs. Henderson looked at Susan as if she needed to make sure she understood her meaning. "More like she'd heard it from someone. She'd ask if today she was going to get... f-ed, I'll say." Her face crumpled in distaste at even an abbreviated version of the word. "She'd ask me to please f her. She mentioned an f-ing room."

"Did she ever explain what those meant?"

"If I tried to get more detail she'd either say she didn't know or didn't remember. Obviously that wasn't true, but I never pressed her about it."

"How long was Jennifer in your care?"

"A little less than half a year. She came in late November and left at the end of May."

"What were the findings in her case?"

"Once the police had ruled there was no evidence Mr. Ogbeide had been abusing his daughter, he began to get longer visits. Mrs. Bena was arrested in January so her visits stopped after that. He came to our house for visits near the end, and he was always kind to his daughter. It was obvious she meant the world to him. She went back to live with him in May, they moved to Manchester, and we still hear from them on occasion."

"What happened with the abuse case?"

"With Jennifer never saying who'd done it and Mr. Ogbeide being ruled out, I believe the case was just closed."

"No further questions." Susan walked back towards the prosecution's table.

John wasn't surprised when Clark went up to the stand; Harvey would have looked like she was intimidating someone's grandmother. "Hello, Mrs. Henderson," said Clark.

"Hello," she responded.

"You've been a foster carer for twenty-five years?"

"Yes I have," Mrs. Henderson said. She still sounded proud.

"Why have most of the children you've looked after come into care in the first place?"

"Why they were taken from their parents?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Neglect is the most common reason. Overtly at least, since it's the easiest to prove."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Quite a few children that have come into care for neglect have later told us about some form of abuse."

"What sort of training have you been given in regards to the children you take in?"

"Workshops, mostly."

"No formal training?"

"I didn't go to school for it if that's what you mean." For the first time Mrs. Henderson looked irritated.

"Is it normal protocol to have a child not visit a parent in prison?"

"It really depends on the case," Mrs. Henderson replied.

"Why wasn't it used in this case?"

"At the time there was no conviction and no one had any idea how long she'd be in there. Once that all happened she was being transitioned back to her father's care."

"What are you supposed to do when a child makes a disclosure of abuse?"

"Write down what they say. Don't ask leading questions. In fact I rarely ask any questions at all. I might say 'tell me about that' but that's about it."

"And Jennifer never said anything to you about who had been abusing her?"

"No, she didn't. There were all sorts of things that indicated it, but she never said who it was."

"You never asked her, then?"

"I just said I didn't ask her because I never do that."

Clark flushed. "So you can't identify the defendant as whomever abused her?"

"No, obviously. It was clear it wasn't her father or mother, but other than that I didn't get anything else."

"No further questions." Clark shuffled back to the defense table. Harvey smiled at him; John wondered if that little bit of doubt was really enough to make her happy.

Lou headed for the stand. "The prosecution calls Michael Ogbeide." An usher lead him in. He wore a new-looking suit and tie that didn't seem to match his grim expression. Once he had seated himself, Lou said: "Hello."

"Hello," said Mr. Ogbeide in response.

"Where do you currently live?"

"Manchester."

"Does anyone else live with you?"

"Just my daughter Jennifer."

"How long have you had custody of her?"

"Almost two years."

"And she was in foster care before that?"

"Yes. For almost a year."

"Can you tell me in your own words how that came to be?"

Mr. Ogbeide took a deep breath before launching into the story he had told Sherlock and John so long ago. Once he had finished, he added "I was worried about how Jennifer would do in care but if it was the only way to keep her safe I would have allowed almost anything."

"What happened after that day?"

"The next day I went down to the social services office so they could interview me. They asked if I knew anyone who I thought could have hurt Jennifer and I said I didn't know. They asked about Debra and if she had a boyfriend, and I said as far as I knew she didn't. I did mention that she did quite a bit of drugs but even with that she'd never hurt Jennifer. I got asked about our relationship, and I told them the drugs had ended it and we'd shared time with her since."

Lou crossed his arms across his chest. "How often were you allowed to see Jennifer?"

"Once a week. It was a bit out of my way but I didn't want to miss a second with her." Mr. Ogbeide looked away as he spoke; the memory was clearly still painful. "I'd go to the contact center and we'd visit there."

"Did you ever hear anything about how the investigation was going?"

"Not very much. I think they had to keep it as quiet as possible. They talked to me and Debra and Jennifer, of course."

"Did they ever say anything about what Jennifer had said?"

He shook his head. "They told me she didn't talk. No matter who tried to interview her, she just sat there without saying a word each time."

"And that was that?"

"After a point they said that she clearly wasn't going to tell anyone and questioning her wasn't doing any good."

"Did she ever mention that in her visits with you?"

"There was a supervisor there that made sure I didn't bring up any loaded subjects." He paused. "At some of the early visits she'd use some of the phrases she did before, though."

He looked like he was about to go on, but at that moment Judge Foster banged his gavel and said "The court will adjourn for one hour." John left the courtroom with the others, but instead of leaving or even going to the cafeteria he just sat down on a bench outside the room for the whole time. He didn't feel hungry in the slightest. When other people headed back into the courtroom, he joined them.

Once the judge was back in his seat and Mr. Ogbeide was in the witness stand again, Lou spoke. "You never asked her what she meant by that?"

"I wanted to, but it wasn't allowed. The few times she did I'd just get her to talk about something else."

"When did you hear that Jennifer's mother had been arrested for possession of drugs?"

"A few days after it had happened. I got told at the time she admitted what she'd done and was just waiting on a sentence. It was right after that that social services had a review of Jennifer's case and decided that it would be best to transition her care back to me. Her mother's rights would be restricted or terminated. I'll admit that was a relief; I don't know what I would have done if they'd said I couldn't see Jennifer any more."

"Did you hear from anyone else about Mrs. Bena's arrest?"

"Somewhat." Mr. Ogbeide looked away for a second, then fixed his eyes on Lou. "A few weeks later..." He proceeded to tell the story he'd told Sherlock and John about the encounter with the dealer. A few people in the audience gasped, but John couldn't hear anyone crying or getting up to leave. It was almost understandable, since five days into the trial there had been a lot of disturbing testimony.

"When your daughter was back in your custody, did you ask her anything about what she'd said?"

"No. She still hadn't said anything and I thought that if she didn't want to talk about it that much I wasn't going to bring it up."

"Did you ask her about what the other man said?"

"No. There didn't seem a point to it."

"Did you tell the police?"

"Yes I did, but they said in order to bring charges they'd need to find the man in question. I didn't even know his name."

"Did they ask Mrs. Bena?"

"I don't know." He sighed.

"Late last February, you were called down to Scotland Yard. Can you tell me about that?"

"Apparently there was an investigation of a serial child abuser, and Jennifer's case fit into the pattern of them, so they wanted to talk to me. I told them everything I knew, which wasn't much."

"Did they ask Jennifer anything?"

"No. She didn't even come with me. That was the end of it, or so I thought at the time."

"When did the subject come up again?" Lou asked.

"Last May. It was after dinner and I was watching the news. Jennifer was in the room coloring. The announcer said something about an investigation by the Yard into multiple reported cases of abuse. They showed a picture of the suspect and Jennifer looked up at that moment and started screaming." Even now he looked stunned. "She ran off to her room before I could say anything."

"What did you do then?"

"I went to her room. She'd curled up into a little ball on her bed. I asked her what was wrong."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing at first. I sat down on her bed and said that whatever she'd seen had frightened her a lot, and I'd like it if she could say something. But she didn't talk until I mentioned the woman on the telly was in jail now."

"So what did she say then?"

"She told me that the woman - Jennifer called her the 'doctor lady' had taken her from her mother's flat and they'd spent time together. I asked her what they did and she didn't say anything for a bit. Then she explained that the woman had brought her to the 'fucking room' and they'd done all sorts of things. I just kept listening and I decided that as soon as she went to sleep I would call the Yard."

"And you did do that?"

"Yes. They asked me and Jennifer to come down as soon as we could. We did so and an officer talked to her while I was in the room. He didn't find out much more than she'd told me already, but they needed the statement for the record."

"Has she talked about it since?" Lou continued.

"A few times."

"What has she said?"

"More details about what went on in that room. She told me she'd sung a little nursery rhyme to the woman. Sometimes when she tells me something she freezes and tries to change the subject."

"I'm going to show you some photographs." Even though this routine had been done several times before, the crowd still seemed to take a collective breath. John felt like the one person who wasn't shocked; then again he'd known about this for a long time. "Can you identify the person in this photograph?"

Mr. Ogbeide visibly swallowed. "That's my daughter. Jennifer."

Lou showed the picture to the jury and proceeded to bring out six more photographs, and with each one Mr. Ogbeide identified his daughter as the person in them. When he finished this, he asked Mr. Ogbeide "Is the person who you saw on the news and your daughter identified in this court today?"

"Yes."

"Can you point to her?" Mr. Ogbeide pointed directly at the dock. "No further questions," Lou said, sounding satisfied.

Harvey strode up to the stand, looking grim. "Hello," she said curtly to Mr. Ogbeide, not even bothering to address him by name.

"Hello," he replied, matching her tone.

"Why did you leave Mrs. Bena?"

"She was neglecting Jennifer - not taking care of her properly. And she wasn't trying to change. We argued about it and she said she'd do something about it but never did."

"But you shared custody of her."

"Once I had left she seemed to pick up a bit. I didn't think we could make a relationship work, but I wanted to give her a chance to be a better mother."

"Tell me again what happened when you took Jennifer to the hospital that one time."

Mr. Ogbeide blinked in surprise, but retold the story he'd already given, with only a few minor differences in word choice. "Once she had been examined by some doctors and discharged, she got taken into care."

"You neglected to mention that the admitting doctor said outright he suspected you had abused your daughter." Harvey grinned like this was her ultimate trump card.

"I said I was investigated," he said helplessly in response. "How much more do you want me to say?"

"Can you think of any reason why he might have suspected you?"

"No."

"Did he say anything about it himself?" John doubted he had. Dr. Arthur hadn't seemed like a particularly active reasoner.

"No. He gave me a few dirty looks, though."

As Harvey asked "Do you know why the social services people seemed so reluctant to return your daughter to you?" John wondered if the defense would call Dr. Arthur when their time came. He'd be able to cloud the argument of who had abused Jennifer a bit, but he'd also have to admit he didn't bother to do any basic testing when Sagnik Malakar had come in to A&E.

"They said it wasn't that they didn't trust me so much as they didn't know who had abused her at this point. It could have been someone I knew," Mr. Ogebide replied.

"Did you think it was?"

"It could have been."

"Do you know for a fact that the man who told you about Jennifer was a drug dealer?"

Mr. Ogbeide nodded and said: "As far as I know, yes."

"Why would you then trust him to tell the truth about the subject?"

"It wasn't just that he said it, you understand. He seemed genuinely disturbed by it, enough that it was still with him some time later."

"He was disturbed by it?" Harvey skeptically echoed.

"Yes. He said if it was a child of his he'd leave the area as fast as he could."

"Not tell the police about it?"

"I can't imagine his profession would work too well with that."

"But why leave the area?"

"He said anyone doing that had to have a lot of money. They wouldn't be happy if Jennifer was in care. Someone with all that money could make my life very unpleasant." Privately John doubted K would care if one of her victims wound up in care; she seemed to have a never-ending supply. If an older victim who was more able to say what had happened, she might put in an additional threat, like with Moira, but Jennifer wasn't one of those.

"And you knew nothing about the man?"

"Nothing at all. He's the one who came up to me and said he used to be Debra's supplier. He even said normally he wouldn't do something like that, but he thought it was important for me to know."

"That was all he said?"

"Yes."

"How do you know this isn't something he made up to get back at one of his clients?"

"He sought me out to say it, even though he didn't know that I wouldn't just turn him into the police."

"So you didn't mention his occupation when you told the police about this?" Harvey glared at him.

"I did, but I didn't know his name or where he lived."

"Then why would he be so concerned about you turning him in to the police?"

"He didn't know that I didn't know that."

"Could he have been the one that abused your daughter? He invented the story to throw you off?"

"No," said an irritated Mr. Ogebide. "She only reacted when she saw the news clip about the arrest."

Harvey looked back towards Clark and the dock, then back to the stand. "No further questions," she finally sighed.

As she made her way back to the defense table Susan strode up to the stand. "The prosecution calls Ruth Murray," she said. Mrs. Murray was led in by an usher. Despite barely standing at five feet, she carried herself in a very large, don't mess with me way. Her gray hair was short and her oatmeal colored blouse and blue skirt shone as if they were new. She sat down at the stand, but not before shooting K a dirty look.

"Hello, Mrs. Murray," Susan began.

"Hello. It's good to see you," Mrs. Murray replied, like they were meeting for afternoon tea and not in a courtroom.

"What is your occupation?"

"I currently am the landlady for a small property my husband bought before he died. He was career military, you understand, and we didn't have much, but he thought it would be a good investment."

"What do you do there?"

"Everything," she said with a laugh. "I live on the property and every tenant has my number in case they want to ring me. I check on leaks and paint any flat once someone moves and give orders to anyone who comes in to clean or fix something. I made sure every flat in the building had a washer and dryer in the flat itself." While Mrs. Murray sounded like she would have been happy to go on about her day-to-day routine, Susan looked at her pointedly, and she went silent.

"How long have you managed the property?" Susan said to redirect her.

"Almost six years now."

"How well do you know most of your tenants?"

"Fairly well. Like I said, I give them my number when they move in, and when I started to manage it I put a packet of information in with their mail slots."

"How many of those tenants were already living there when you began to manage the property?"

"Twenty, I'd say. There's ten flats on each floor, and there's four floors counting the ground, but quite a few of them weren't in good enough shape to move into then. John, my husband, had arranged for them to be rehabilitated before he died, but none of the work was finished by the time I moved in."

"And you met all of them?"

"Not all of them. Most of them."

"What do you know about the ones who you didn't meet?"

"Well, one of them was an elderly couple. The wife died and the husband moved to assisted housing right after I started there. Two others were in the process of moving out at the time. They put their keys in my mail slot, since all the paperwork was done, and that was that. And of course there was the mystery tenant in 102."

"Tell me about the mystery tenant," Susan said.

Mrs. Murray sat up further, smiling. Clearly she had been waiting for this moment. "Like all the others, I got a packet of information from the previous landlord about that one. With the others I usually got some bit of information about them, like 'owns two dogs' or 'children visit on Friday,' but all it said was the tenant's name was Dana Lester and they'd paid good money to get the flat. Figured at that point I'd hear more about them later, but I never did. When I made sure all the flats had a washer and dryer, I went in for the first time, and all I saw was that there was a washer and dryer already installed. The flat was very clean. I didn't think much of that until their rent was due and I got a check. It was a starter check. That seemed odd; I hadn't seen one of those in years. I was able to cash it, though, and I didn't think further of it until the next month. I got another starter check from this Dana Lester. Now that was enough to make me wonder. I started to head into the flat during the day, at odd hours. If I'd encountered the tenant, I had an excuse ready. Not that it made a difference. No one was ever there. I kept getting starter checks, though, every month like clockwork."

"Did you have particular times you stopped in?"

"I never went in there after three in the afternoon. All the repairs are done after that, and it's my job to supervise those."

"Even though no one was ever there, did you ever see anything that indicated someone lived there?"

"Little things. A few colored pencils on the floor, the sheets on the bed smelling like they'd been just washed, bottles of squash and lemonade, biscuit wrappers." She paused. "But nothing that indicated anyone lived there for a long period of time. The fridge rarely had anything in it. There was no microwave or kettle, no toaster."

"Did you do anything about this?"

"I kept copies of all the starter checks, and would list whatever was lying around in the flat when I went in. I didn't think anyone would keep a flat they didn't live in for anything good, but at the same time I didn't have any real proof Dana Lester did anything wrong."

"Did you keep anything else?"

"Yes. One drawing I found in the bathroom trash."

"Is this the drawing?" Susan held it up to Mrs. Murray, and then to the jury. John could only vaguely make out what it was; he saw what looked like a woman and an infant lying on a bed while a boy with big blue tears floated above them.

"Yes."

"Why did you keep it?"

"Anything might be a clue."

"When did Scotland Yard come to talk to you?"

"In April. They went into the flat and ran it over with a fine toothed comb. They took my notes and the copies of the checks."

"Do you know if they found anything else?"

"A receipt that had a credit card on it. A bottle of pills from some doctor, written for some person who didn't exist. And the walls had insulation in them, the soundproof kind they use in studios."

"No further questions," Susan said. Apparently that was enough for her.

Clark reluctantly went up to the stand. John looked at his watch and realized there was very little time left for today. Clark had probably hoped that he wouldn't have to cross-examine Mrs. Murray until tomorrow. "Hello," he said flatly.

"Hello to you," Mrs. Murray replied.

"You have managed this building for five years now?"

"Yes, I have. Almost six."

"And this Dana Lester is the only tenant you've never seen in all that time?"

Mrs. Murray gave him an annoyed look and said: "No, I said before there were several others. They all left after a few months, though. Dana Lester stayed and stayed."

"And all the checks were good?"

"I'd have started to evict them if they weren't."

"But you never saw any sign of any person there?"

"Someone washed the sheets and ate the biscuits. That's a sign."

"No people at all?"

"Other tenants said they sometimes heard things there. Muffled voices."

"But you never heard any of these?"

"No, I just told you I didn't."

"Do you know how the insulation came to be installed there?"

"I presume the previous landlord approved it. All the flats got some a few years back, according to his notes. Whoever was in there must have asked for something in particular."

"You were suspicious of something going on in that flat?"

"Not exactly suspicious, but there were a lot of odd things there."

"Do you know who the prescription was written by?"

"They didn't show me that."

"But you saw it?"

"I saw them carry one out. I wasn't in the flat but was standing outside it." Mrs. Murray looked like she was about to go on, but before she could Clark interrupted her.

"They let you see the scene, just like that?"

"Oh, shut up and let me finish!" Mrs. Murray snapped. "I stayed outside because it's my duty as the owner of the building. They didn't let me in, didn't let me see in at all. The only thing anyone said to me when they were working was chat about the weather."

Judge Foster broke in. "Mrs. Murray, that sort of language doesn't have a place in this courtroom."

"My apologies, your honor," she said. She shot Clark an evil look.

"May I have a word with Mr. Clark?" Harvey said. Clark reluctantly shuffled over to the defense table. The two seemed to argue, including furious hand gestures, for several minutes. Once that was done, Clark went back to the stand and said "No further questions," in a dull tone.

"The time is now five-forty five. Does the prosecution have any further witnesses they have to call on for today?" Judge Foster asked.

"No, your honor," Lou said.

"Then the court is closed for today." He banged his gavel. "The court will resume session at nine AM tomorrow." As usual, the crowd of people filed out, and also as usual John waited for most of them to be gone before leaving. He quickly found a cab and rode silently back home.

When he got in the door, Mrs. Hudson was standing there. "Sherlock left around eleven. He's not back yet."

"Did he say where he was going?" John asked, a horrible sinking feeling beginning in his stomach.

"Just that you shouldn't wait up for him." She patted John on the shoulder. "You're not the only one who worries about him, you know."

"How did he seem before he left?"

"Not very well, to be honest. This trial is hard on him, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, I do," he said before going up the stairs. He spent the whole evening by himself, watching the news, heating up dinner, and finally going to bed upstairs. All that time he bit back the urge to go running out and find Sherlock. The only thing stopping him was that he had no idea where Sherlock could have gone. He could have asked Mycroft, of course, but at this point he didn't want to ask him anything. Sherlock would see it as betrayal. So instead he lay in bed for well over an hour before sleep came, that feeling in his stomach never going away.