They both sat in the car staring at the school in disgust. Here lied lives they had both left behind. Jen was no longer the rebellious girl screaming for attention, and Sherlock was no longer the little boy dying to be heard. Well, he was dying to be heard, but for once, he was actually listened to. People couldn't push him around like they could when he was a child.

"Ready?" she asked him though she, herself, was anything but ready.

"Get the information, get out," Sherlock told her wanting to be done with this as quickly as possible. She nodded in agreement before she nervously smoothed out the grey sweater-dress she was wearing. Jen had done a lot of regrettable things as a teenager that she would rather forget: all the drugs, all the sex, the murder, and here she was back with people who knew her as that girl.

"Agreed," she replied with a nod before they both slipped out of the car to head to the check-in table before they would be forced to join the activities they both despised. Get in, get out, they both told themselves. This was for Jen's sake.

"Invitation?" the woman asked. Sherlock sighed and took the invitation out to hand to her. She took it and looked down at the invitation before quickly scribbling his name down in the guest book with +1 next to him allowing them to continue forward passed the table and toward the crowd of people.

"Our best source of information would be Harry Kendells," Sherlock informed her. That much was obvious. Harry Kendells was Connor Waite's roommate, and though he didn't have a sparkling reputation, he wasn't the worst of the boys in the school. Jen had known him fairly well, but all the drugs had left blank patches in her memory of her time at school.

"I agree, but will he even be here?" she asked him looking up at his scanning eyes. He was trying to find the needle in a haystack, but with the number of people there, his senses were overloading.

"Yes, he always comes to these," Sherlock replied not bothering to look down in order to speak to her. "I did a little research before we left."

"Of course you did," she laughed before her eyes started looking for the man they had both been discussing though she wasn't sure how useful she was. "Though, Harry was an ass at times, I don't think him capable of murdering someone or letting someone get away with it if he knew."

"He could have known about Moriarty without knowing about the murders," Sherlock told her, "especially since they were roommates. Kendells would have likely seen Connor at his worst moments; something may have slipped."

"Maybe we should split up," Jen said turning around to look at all the people feeling a bit overwhelmed. "This isn't just our class. There's a lot of people here." She spun back around to Sherlock to see he had already disappeared having the same thought she did far earlier. Jen sighed though she knew she should have expected as much; according to John, this was a common occurrence on the case.

Jen began walking around trying to spot people she knew, but years had passed and the girls and boys had grown into men and women. Come on, she pushed herself. Mental states rapidly changed from adolescents to adulthood, so she couldn't tell through that way. She had to just take a guess, but it actually wasn't as hard as she initially believed. As it turned out, Harry Kendells hadn't changed much since school.

He was a brunette man, who at some point in his life may have broken his nose judging from its odd angle, speaking with a woman of Asian ancestry, Amy Kim, and another three she likely went to school with. Ah, yes. There was Parker Jensen, an elliptic that was harshly bullied in school; he had certainly grown into his lanky figure and red hair, and next to him was a woman name Maggie Fletcher; she used to have a bad stutter causing her to often try and shrink against the wall. The last man was Jacob Hutchens; he hung around with her crowd and was often the one selling the coke, heroin, cigs, and alcohol they used.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted trying to linger back and not seem to overly impatient to speak with them. Her eyes fell on her former roommate, Amy. She had perhaps been the closest to Jen allowing her an in to talk to Kendells. "Amy?"

"Do I know you?" she asked as everyone turned their eyes to her. She fidgeted slightly on the spot.

"Um… I doubt you remember me," she told them hoping Sherlock would pop back up. "Ginevra Lorraine," she said making them all stare at her like they were seeing a ghost. She bit her lip holding back a laugh; Sherlock was missing all the fun. Where was he?

"Gin?" Harry asked her doubting that the woman before him was the same girl he knew in school. Until that is, she smiled, a smile that could not duplicated.

"Harry," she smiled. He let out a laugh.

"Holy hell," he commented staring at her hugging her in utter shock and amazement. He pulled away quickly and looked her over still in disbelief. "We thought you were dead.

"Dead?" she laughed playing ignorant for her and Sherlock's sake. "Why?"

"Well… we thought," Maggie tried to explain but quickly shook it away deciding telling her why was pointless, perhaps even harmful now. "Nothing. I can't believe you're here."

"How are all you?" she looked at each member of the small group before falling on Maggie Fletcher. "I see you lost your stutter Maggie. Good for you."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Years of therapy."

"Oh? Was it psychological?" she asked unsure how to even go about bringing up Connor especially when they all seemed to want to forget. "You know not a lot of study has gone into stuttering. I myself find it to be one of the most common signs of emotional and psychological damage if it occurs in someone who has no other reason to have a stutter such as stroke and under developed bone and muscle." Jacob chuckled.

"I'm sorry. Who are you and what have you done with the Ginny we know?" he asked. "What happened to the girl who was high or drunk half the time who threw fits and slept with half the school? Hell, I got in your pants a couple of times."

"Did you?" she asked with a shrug tensing a little; Jacob was scum, and he always will be. He was a sadistic opportunist. "I don't remember. I've grown up. I graduated from Cambridge with a degree in criminal law and psychology before continuing on to medical school to become a psychiatrist while I worked with Scotland Yard. I dabbled for a while in different countries after quitting, and then I moved back to London. I worked in St. Bart's for a while. I'm sort of between jobs right now."

"You've been up to quite a bit then," Parker observed. She nodded.

"Yeah, well, I don't usually sit still for long," she told them.

"Seeing anyone?" Jacob asked, and if she said yes, I have a boyfriend, who's currently not talking to me in London, there was room for Jacob to flirt with her relentlessly trying to be a warm body in her bed, so she made the proper decision to lie. She nodded.

"Yes, I've been engaged for a little over two years now," she smiled. "Um…" she turned to see Sherlock speaking to the old headmaster. "Oh, there he is," she pointed him out. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

"Well, he's easy on the eyes," Maggie laughed as Jen gestured to him to come over. He paused to observe the group before he continued toward her.

"Agreed," Amy grinned as he nearly reached them.

"Sherlock," she called out as he came and put his arm around her waist. He had analyzed the situation before reaching her and knew without being told what was happening. It was obvious from the twitch in Jen's hand when she was lying and the way Jacob was looking at her like she was meat. "You remember my roommate, Amy Kim, and then my friends Harry, Jacob, Parker, and Maggie?"

"I recall them," he told her looking at each of them quickly deducing them but saying nothing in the case. He would fill in Jen later, she was sure.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Harry asked sounding equally surprised at Jen being 'engaged' to Sherlock.

"Yeah," Jen said smiling up at him; he played the fake couple aspect perfectly as he looked down at her with a loving smile. "We had a… thing in school, and we got back together when I moved back to London. Share a flat together on Baker Street; we've even got a dog."

"I didn't approve of that," he reminded her playfully. She was so giving him hell for this when they got home.

"Too damn bad," she told him equally playful making her crinkle her nose, a sign of being cutesy, but in this case, Sherlock knew it was a sign of her nausea. She had never been the kind to enjoy a typical, loving relationship, so the whole experience was enough to make her feel ill. He couldn't agreed more.

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry said shaking his head trying to make sense of this, "so you and him… he had nothing to do with Connor's death?"

"No?" Jen questioned titling her head making Sherlock admire her rather impressive acting abilities. "Why would he?"

"Well, it's just… nevermind," Harry said shaking his head. "Congratulations on the engagement, mate. Gin's a wonderful girl." Harry held out his hand.

"I'm aware," Sherlock told him before deciding to humor him and shake his hand. Jen and Sherlock were both to get a good laugh out of this when they got the chance.

"Set a date yet?" Maggie asked.

"No, we want a long engagement. No rush," she told her. "Our friend John is getting married in May though, so maybe we'll do it sometime after that." Sherlock turned and seemed to be looking around for something alerting his fake fiance. "What?" she asked him wondering why he seemed to be twitching and searching. It couldn't be a good sign.

"Vatican cameos," he told her quickly causing her to go rigid.

"What? Here? Now? Why?" she snapped at him in panic. This couldn't be an coincidence. They were here investigating Moriarty, and now, someone was about to die. This was no accident.

"Vatican cameos?" Parker asked not understanding the reference.

"It means something is about to happen; someone's about to die," she told them turning looking for a threat as everyone in the group stared at her as if they had grown two new heads.

"What?!" Maggie shouted. "What do you-"

"Shut up, shut up," Sherlock snapped trying to figure it out. He was quickly eliminating people trying to find the target and the attacker. "It has to be someone here regularly," he said quickly, "but why now? Why… oh," he said turning to the group. "Because someone knows something they shouldn't," his eyes flickered over each of them. "One of you is about to die, and information you may know may just save your life. Moriarty; what do you know?"

"Moriarty?" Harry asked. "What do you mean?"

"Moriarty! Psychopath! Somehow connected to Conner!" Sherlock shouted at them frustrated with their lack of knowledge. As far as he was concerned, they were idiots.

"You're asking the wrong question," Jen told him shoving him aside to question them. "Connor. One of you knows something about Connor, something you've kept quiet for years. Spill! Now!" They all looked at each other before she went down the line. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Trauma," her eyes fell on Maggie. "Of course. You didn't always have that stutter. Maggie, tell me. Your life may depend on it."

"I… I…" she seemed to have gained back her stutter in a moment of stress.

"You will have a bullet tear through your brain if you don't tell me what it is you know!" Sherlock shouted at her gripping her shoulders in alarm and a sense of hurry.

"There was… there was a cellar hidden behind the south wall," she told him unable to stop the words from spilling out. "I… I saw Connor entering there one day… there was… so much blood. I was so scared… I didn't…," Maggie paused. "I- I think he killed those girls in the town."

"Ah thank you, Maggie. Very useful," Sherlock said as his face wiped clean of all emotion as he let Maggie go. "Ginny, we have things to do."

"What about the threat on Maggie?!" Parker asked reasonably alarmed at how calm he had fallen.

"Oh, there was never a threat," Sherlock told them as he walked away expecting Jen to follow. "I just needed the truth, and I needed it quick." Jen's eyes lingered on Maggie for a moment longer to question her.

"You should have come forward about this years ago," Jen told her. "You let those families live their lives without closure. Connor's dead, Maggie. What are you so scared of?"

"Ginny," Sherlock called causing her to run after him as they headed toward the south wall.

"You scared the hell out of them," Jen told him. He smiled vaguely amused by the idea of terrifying someone; it wasn't healthy, but Jen felt a smile threaten to press at her lips as well.

"It was an effective method though," he mused as they continued walking across the school grounds at a quick pace. He wanted to get out of there as fast as possible; there was still so much to do. He hadn't even begun to investigate the atmosphere surrounding Ulmar's death.

"I suppose that's true," she replied not able to argue with his methods when they got results. A large stone wall came into their line of sight causing them both to pick up their pace before they finally reached it. Sherlock was quick on his assessment.

"On the other side," he told her jumping up and grabbing the edge of the wall before pulling himself up. He offered a hand to Jen, who he helped get up before they jumped on the other side of the wall. "Now a cellar," he said looking around before he began stepping around the grounds listening for the sound of a hollow room below. His feet hit the ground, and instead of a barely audible noise, a large thump sounded. He quickly moved aside the dirt before he found the hatched and pulled. A rancid, putrid smell float up into the clean air making Jen gag.

"You don't think there are any bodies down there, do you?" she asked. She wasn't unfamiliar with bodies, but she didn't feel like going down there only to discover a rotting body of some poor woman.

"It's possible," he answered before he quickly started down the stairs with Jen coming after him. The smell was suffocating at the bottom. She wasn't sure which was worse: breathing through her nose and getting to full impact of the sent or breathing through her mouth and getting a slight taste of the smell. Jen's hand went to the wall trying to find some sort of light switch; she found it switching it up. An old lightbulb flickered on revealing the small stone cellar. She could see a mattress in the corner making her want to throw up seeing blood surrounding it.

"This is sick," she told him gagging as she clung onto a wall.

"I've seen worse," Sherlock told her. "One of the first serial rapists I had ever caught kept his victims in cages with manacles around their necks. He would impregnate them and then stab them to death in their third trimester killing both the woman and the baby." Jen shuttered.

"Why?" she asked as Sherlock looked around giving a flashlight to Jen and then clicking on a small flashlight of his own to check the darker parts of the cellar.

"He stabbed his wife to death in her third trimester when he found out she was pregnant with another man's baby," he answered.

"Right, of course," she muttered rolling her eyes. "So what am I looking for?"

"Anything," he told her making her roll her eyes again as she made her way toward the bed that Connor had raped and killed his victims. She felt queasy and held onto the wall for support. She had seen dozen of bodies and created dozens, yet, she had been so close to the fate before her.

"How many do you think he actually killed? I'm sure there were some unaccounted for," she told him as she flashed her light over the scene.

"Based on the blood splatter," Sherlock said flickering the light over the bed and the gravel around it that still had a slight hue of crimson. "Thirteen."

"I was going to the fourteenth down here screaming," she said leaning against the wooden post.

"I would have found you before he killed you," Sherlock assured her entering the crime scene and quickly looking against the walls for anything useful.

"Yeah, you better have," she told him before he went 'ah' and pulled a stone out from the wall revealing a hollow with a collection of papers. Sherlock took them out and quickly went through them with a smile growing on his face like he had just found his Christmas presents. "Find something?"

"Look," he told her coming to her before he quickly started flipping through the letters that he was holding. The letters were written neatly on rather pricey paper and were very obviously addressed to Conner. Each letter ended with the initials: JM. "Each one talks about Connor being employed by this JM. Wonder who that is," Sherlock told her with a smile.

"So… Moriarty paid Connor to kill these women?" Jen asked skimming over the letters. They weren't very detailed but detailed enough that they got the point: payment for a body.

"So it would seem," Sherlock said, "until you killed him. Oh, Ginny. You led him right to you; it wouldn't have gotten passed him that you were the one who killed Connor. Oh, and he found you, and what did he find? Your brother was a serial killer, and he couldn't resist."

"But," she said pausing and flipping through the letters, "why now? This was years ago. Why didn't he approach me sooner?"

"I don't-" Sherlock paused before he whispered an oh. "You were being watched; Robbie was watching you, and then Damon was lingering over you. He couldn't get close without them being suspicious until you and him met again through me."

"Coincidence?" Jen asked.

"He didn't realize who you were, not at first," Sherlock told her quickly, "not until you told him you were a member of Shadow."

"Okay, fine, but what does he want? We still don't know. If he wanted me, for whatever reason, that couldn't happen if he's dead. What could he want even with him dead?"

"He could want a lot of things, but none of them fit all the evidence," Sherlock told her making her sigh. She leaned against the wooden beam again. This was getting exhausting.

"Call the police," she told Sherlock. "Let them close the case of the murdered girls. Then, let's get out of here." Sherlock nodded pulling his phone from his jacket; he was ready to leave this place behind. It was bad enough having to come here to begin with.

Exhausted from their trip, Jen let herself fall face down the couch, and being the helpful dog he was, Toby jumped up and laid on her back making her groan.

"How was the school function?" Peter asked making her groan again. "Better than being stuck in her with a babysitter." Peter glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who was making tea for the new arrivals. Sherlock had taken a spot in his chair in his usual thinking position.

"I beg to differ," she told him looking at him. He was sitting at the table with her computer in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"I am currently updating myself with the world I have missed since I was locked away in that hell," Peter replied as he continued to type away as if he had always had a computer at his fingertips putting in her awe at her brother's talents of picking things up so quickly. "What the hell is a twitter and why do I want one?"

"Beats me," she replied despising technology as much as it disagreed with her, "but Irene's on there as the whip hand. Still uses it despite the fact that she's supposed to be dead." Peter grunted out not really caring much for his other sister; the two never got on well. Though she was closer to his own age, she was always an independent one, constantly away from the house. Jen's phone buzzed out letting her know she has a text. She scrambled to find her phone in her pocket.

Dinner? –Mark Seems he's finally willing to talk ending their last few days of silence. Good for him since she sure as hell wasn't going to apologize.

Jen tapped her phone considering having dinner with him but looked to Peter, who had been bored out of his mind the last few days. Any longer he was alone, and he may just crack. Her eyes then glanced at Sherlock, who was still deep in his mind palace. She looked back to her phone before typing out her text.

Takeaway at my flat? –Jen

"He's not coming over here," Peter warned her easily taking a guess from her emotional state of annoyed quickly turning to contemplation as she glanced between Sherlock and himself. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.

"Yes, he is," she scowled, "I'm dating him, Peter. Get over it." She loved her brother dearly, but sometimes he was a controlling pain in her ass. He had no say in her personal life, and he knew that, but that just proved to aggravate him more. Her phone went off again.

I'll pick something up and swing around with Lucy. –Mark

"He's dull. How can you stand it?" Peter asked letting his head fall to the table with a bang. It was one of his deepest shames to have a sister who dated someone so pathetically normal. Normal was worse than boring; it was disgusting, the worst thing to be. Society was built on normality and anyone who didn't fit in their structured little idea was thrown to the side or told they're ill.

"He's nice," she replied simply really not giving her all in defending him. She didn't need to defend her decisions to him nor anyone else.

"Boring," Sherlock agreed not even bothering opening his eyes to look at her making her scowl. He had been rudely pulled from his mind palace at their bickering.

"You, shut up," she ordered Sherlock snapping her fingers at him; he opened his eyes halfway to give her an unsavory look. "So I can't date nice guys now? Is that it?"

"Nice isn't your type," Sherlock told her obviously. It was sad that by now he could pick out her dating habits; hell, if he wanted to, he could pick out someone suitable, but of course, that would just be inconvenient. "Your only serious relational was with a man you eventually had to kill. You're not boring, Ginny. Boring and not boring are like oil and water. They don't mix."

"So what? I should date someone not boring? Like you?" She asked rolling her eyes to look at him.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scowled standing to avoid her gaze at the accusation. "I'm married to my work." His eyes went to his computer; he hadn't check for cases in days. He leaned over open the laptop to focus his attentions elsewhere.

"I didn't mean you," she scowled at his assumption, arrogant man. "I meant like you… so you know, a mental patient."

"Oh, shut up, Ginny," he told her opening his mail to look through cases as the door to the flat opened. Lucy went skipping over to Sherlock to say hello to her 'uncle' blatantly ignoring Jen.

"What have you been up to?" Mark asked looking down at her continuing where they left off not bothering to apologize for his pressing nature and being slightly bothered by her lack of 'opening up' to him. He wasn't her therapist, and it wasn't his business. She sat up briefly, so he could sit on the couch before she let herself fall back into his lap.

"I went with Sherlock to something of a reunion and discovered the identity of a serial killer that has been hidden since I was fifteen," she told him as if it was a dull day. With Sherlock Holmes, this was a normal day, and admittedly, she missed it.

"Oh? That's all?" he teased making her smile.

"Well," she grinned up at him, "you know just such a boring life." She reached behind her and took the book from the side table before flipping it open. She had had a tiresome day and was ready to wind down before Sherlock dragged her back into another case. She predicted it would happen more and more as they got closer to the wedding. People tend to disappear when they marry, and Sherlock feared this is what would happen with John. Though, Jen knew Mary would never allow that to happen.

"Talk to me," he told her when he realized she was going to start reading not saying much after, and there it was. The nagging need to know about her life; she was giving him the present and wasn't sure why that wasn't enough.

"Hm? Why?" she asked. "I'm content like this."

"You just… you don't really communicate," he replied exhausted making Sherlock scoff. The whole room looked toward him; he looked up surprised that was aloud and chose to explain.

"She communicates plenty; you just don't listen and don't observe," Sherlock told him before looking back to his computer.

"Really?" Mark challenged.

"Birthname: Ginevra Lorraine Juliette Verown, though she hasn't used Juliette or Verown since the age of thirteen this is due to the dislike of the name Juliette and the drop of Verown at her brother's request. Former profilier, linguist, and psychology expert; she's been in love twice in her life but have slept with numerous men and women before you, but of course, those are facts you can look up. Every person has there ticks such as pet peeves: people text while speaking with her, those who speak to children like their bumbling idiots, and hypochondriacs, likes: books, rain, the arts, long socks, those little umbrellas they put in alcoholic drinks, B-rated movies, and the way light reflects of broken glass, dislikes: jewelry, people, ideal chitchat- apparently it's the instrument of the devil-, mathematics, sciences, technology, romantic comedies, florescent lighting, and the way a window screeches when its haven't opened in a while, dreams- to take the stage once again and maybe have a child, though she won't admit that aloud, and of course, the little things: the way her left hand twitches in moments of nervousness including when she's lying, her knee that bothers her when the weathers bad, the difference between a smile that lies and a true smile, her habit of singing while she paints, and I could keep going if you'd like." Mark's jaw was clenched staring at Sherlock before he turned to Jen.

"Good to know you talk to someone," he snapped jealous of how much Sherlock knew. Before she could say anything, Lucy called at her ready to defuse the tension. She looked at the little girl, who was sitting in John's chair swinging her legs.

"What is it, darling?" she asked with a smile that wasn't quite all there.

"Uncle Sherlock said that if I asked nice, you would play something on the piano for me," she replied making Jen smile brighter ready to veer toward a different direction to avoid Mark's accusations.

"Sure," she replied getting up and putting her book back on the side table before going to her piano and resting her hands on the keys trying to decide what she wanted to play before deciding on a song.

"What is it called?" Lucy asked sitting next to her as she continued to play.

"Liebesträume," she told her looking at her with half-lidded eyes getting lost in the music, "by Franz Liszt. In a time when musical hysteria was virtually unheard of, Liszt's music was said to be so intoxicating that it would send fans into a frenzy, and they would rip each other apart just for a look at him. They called it Lisztomania."

"Why would they be so excited to see him play?" Lucy asked her as she continued the piece. Jen considered the question for a moment.

"Well, some try and logic it out, but I think it was his brilliance," Jen told her with a smile. "The women who went to see him loved him for the art he made, for the brilliant mind that created it. It wasn't just the music they loved; it was Liszt himself. I had a crush on him when I was your age. Always go for the clever ones, they keep you on your feet."

"Thanks for the advice, Mum," Lucy told her with a teasing smile making her grin brightly. It had been a while since she had played someone's mom, and she was happy to do so. Perhaps Sherlock was right; maybe she did desire having a child, but then again, she had long since put that idea on the shelf.

"Well, I like to think myself semi-motherly," she told her with a nod putting the idea back on the shelf before she could even pick it up.

"I consider you my second mom," Lucy admitted with a shrug. Lucy assumed Jen knew this already; after all, she barely knew her own mom, and she often went to Jen with the questions she thought were too weird to ask her father.

"You do?" Jen asked her tilting her head.

"Of course," she laughed.

"Hm," she mused finishing Liszt's piece as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Peter said standing to go get the takeaway that Mark had ordered. It was getting really absurd how often they ate take away or ate out. Someone besides Mrs. Hudson really needed to learn to cook. Peter came back with the food and the money he was supposed to pay the delivery boy. "Ran off before I could pay for it," he said tossing the money on the table making Jen get up and hit him for scaring the delivery man.

The five sat down at the table to eat in relative silence; Mark seemed annoyed with Jen snapping at her but not telling her why he was throwing a childlike tantrum, so she dropped it and was silent while they ate. Mark and Lucy left after dinner leaving the three in peace, but Peter was never happy with peace and insisted on starting something with Jen.

"They're making you soft," Peter told her throwing himself down onto the couch in an expression of exhaustion and disapproval.

"I'm sorry?" she questioned Peter looking up from clearing up dinner. His eyes went to her before he sighed ready to address this issue to its full extent; it needed to be addressed.

"They're making you soft," Peter repeated in disgust letting his face show it with no shame. "You're becoming too nice, too sickeningly sweet. It's nauseous; he's dulling down your wit. She's making you melt at little words."

"Maybe I want to be nice," she told him simply. "I'm not you Peter."

"No," he remarked. but he seemed distant with his response. "No, you're not." His eyes linger on her before something seemed to be turning in his brain. What it was, she couldn't say, and before she could figure it out, he switched topics. "How was the trip to find information on James Moriarty?"

"Apparently, he knew Connor Waite," Jen told him. Sherlock looked up from his computer to watch Peter's reaction; he showed none, and Sherlock had suspected that he knew already, and that he knew a lot more than he was telling them. Perhaps he would look into Peter's visitation records. "We found letters that Moriarty sent to Connor. Sherlock's going to see if he can track the location from the type of paper and the fragments on it."

"Hm," Peter frowned before he stood. "I'm going bed. Night."

"Night?" she questioned wondering why he had suddenly switched gears. She couldn't know that there digging was making him nervous. She couldn't tell what was going on his mind. She couldn't see the gears turning as he realized it was time to give Mr. Holmes something else to focus on. Oh, and it was about time.

A/N: Whoa, I said last time that last Wednesday would be my last Wednesday update, but whoa! Two days off school due to the freeze the States is in right now. We got down to -40 in Chicago. That's pretty cold, and it's gonna be 26 F (-3 C) tomorrow! Holy Jesus! That's like summer! (The sad thing is around here, yeah, that is really warm for winter, so I will likely go for a nice walk in nothing but a hoodie- again wish I was joking).

Thanks to reviewers: short-skirtbluescarf, zare .downey .okumura, TragicBlossoms, hannahhobnob, and flaming-amber! I'll see you next... let's actually go with Sunday. Review please!