"Sherlock," a voice called as the door to the flat opened. "You do remember what happens when you leave the door to the flat unlocked, right? Mrs. Hudson will have a fit, and we've already gone several rounds with her this week. If you could, for once, get it into that massive brain of yours that perhaps locking the door after you've come in is a good idea. Especially when we have a tendency to deal with people engaged in or avoiding serious criminal activity..."
The man's voice trailed off as he entered the room and saw Sherlock there with the woman.
"Um, hello," he said, trying to sound casual. He glanced to Sherlock and she could discern the question on his face.
"This is a potential client, John," Sherlock answered. "Doctor John Watson, Miss Maelin Turner."
"Ms," Maelin corrected as she rose to shake the hand John had extended as he moved toward her.
"Divorced?" John asked, not unsympathetically.
"Widowed," she replied with barely a hint of emotion in her voice.
She glanced to Sherlock who appeared to flinch slightly. Whether it was because of her admission which he had not picked up on, or because he felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy she could not tell.
"My condolences," John said as he gestured for her to sit down. Sherlock began pacing behind the chair opposite her. She took up the seat again as Watson asked, "Is that what brings you here?"
"No," she said simply. "To the best of my knowledge, what happened to my late husband was tragic but not criminal. My current problem is far more complex."
Watson raised an eyebrow at her as Sherlock continued pacing, not even casting a glance in her direction.
"It's sort of a story, really. There's a gal who has a penchant of getting involved in complex situations, mysteries of a sort. She's not a detective or even a consultant, yet mystery and a certain type of criminal element have a tendency to follow her. It might sound odd, and it is, but she's been experiencing it most of her life so to her it doesn't feel odd, though she's aware intellectually that it is. One day, a man she has had a few conversations with in various mediums, but never face to face, asks to see her. It's a simple request: going out for a drink. They meet and he is all charm and intelligence. Yet something is off. With the life she's led, this girl is wary by nature and perceptive by inheritance and experience. She knows this man is far more than he's let on, and quite dangerous. It's only when he brings up the name of someone from her past that she senses the depth of his malice."
"What did he do to you?" Sherlock murmured. He had stopped pacing when she made mention of the man and his knowledge of her past.
"It's what he's promised to do, should you not be able to unravel the puzzle he set up," she said.
"I don't understand," Watson began. "How did-"
"Moriarty," Sherlock said.
Watson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped before he caught himself and closed it.
"My reaction exactly," Maelin said with a small smile.
"I'd heard of him. Especially after his interactions with you," she added, looking pointedly at Sherlock. "Yet I didn't think myself significant enough to register on his radar. That underestimation may now cost me everything."
"So he sent you to us," John concluded.
"No. But it's what he wants."
"And you gave in to it?" John asked, sounding a bit miffed.
"Not exactly," she said, again shifting her gaze to Sherlock. "Are you not going to tell him anything?"
John turned in the seat to look at Sherlock. "Tell me what?"
Sherlock eyed Maelin, immobile yet with an intensity to his gaze which would have unnerved almost anyone. It did not have that effect on her, however.
"We were friends once," Sherlock said softly, as though trying to distance himself from the very idea.
"Friends?" John looked to Maelin, then back to Sherlock. "Moriarty's after her because she used to be your friend?"
"He's after me because there's information I have on Sherlock that he wants," she said. "Not to mention information on people he wants to form relationships with, but Sherlock is his main focus. You didn't really think he'd given up on you, did you?"
Sherlock had resumed pacing but now he kept his eyes fixed on Maelin. "I thought you said you weren't here as a damsel in distress."
"I'm not."
"This man has threatened to kill John, myself, and I'm assuming you. Fear inducing as that may be, I've never known you to give into the demands of psychopaths."
"No, only sociopaths," she clipped, and Sherlock glared at her. "I'm not here because it's what Moriarty wants. He wants to play another game with you, Sherlock. A game with his rules, and where he holds all the cards. I think you remember how I feel about games like that."
A small smile crossed Sherlock's face. "When you don't like the game, you make up a new one, or you smash all the pieces."
"Higher stakes now," she replied. "I'm already in play. If you decide to join in, there's really no way out. But if you don't, he's assured me of the outcome. I'm being set up for a murder that hasn't been committed yet, and if it goes through I'll never live to see a trial."
"My god," John whispered.
"And if you don't solve the puzzle, whether it's because you can't or simply refuse to," Maelin continued. "The murder happens and your reputation gets tarnished, as well as… well, my demise."
Sherlock eyed her and the unspoken threat reflected in his gaze. This was not only life or death for Maelin, but it might very well be for Sherlock as well, and it most certainly was for his career.
"Two games at once, then," Sherlock commented. "Moriarty's and yours. You really think me capable of playing both."
"I wouldn't have come if I didn't," Maelin smiled.
"Moriarty's game is, I assume, figuring out the murder before it's committed and stopping it from occurring."
"Indeed," she confirmed.
"And yours?"
"Making Moriarty believe you're only doing it for ego, and any information I have on him."
"As opposed to what?" John interjected. He glanced from Maelin to Sherlock and back again.
Sherlock moved into the kitchen, pressing his hands onto the dining table that served as a makeshift chem lab. John looked back to Maelin, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Sherlock," she said softly. She noted how he pressed his hands more firmly onto the table, making the veins stand out, before he released and slumped his shoulders.
"I can't."
Maelin looked as though she'd been slapped.
"What?" John murmured.
Maelin swallowed hard, swallowed the lump which formed instantly.
"Only one at a time, eh?" She tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was almost a whimper. She stood, trying not to shake, and John stood as well.
"Sherlock, what do you mean you can't?" He turned to look at Sherlock who had not moved, would not lift his gaze.
"It was good to see you again, Sherlock," Maelin said. "I mean that, and I hope you believe it."
John put a hand out to stop her from moving. "Sherlock, answer her."
Sherlock shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
"Sherlock," John said, more forcefully.
"It's all right, doctor Watson," Maelin replied softly. "I understand."
John dropped his arm and Maelin moved toward the door.
"I'll tell him he's won," she said as she reached for the handle. "Should put a smile on his face. Farewell, Sherlock." She brusquely opened the door and moved downstairs.