Hot damn this chapter's long. But I guess you guys deserve that for sticking around so long, eh?

I'm back! And I'll try my best to stick to the new schedule. (If you're confused, I explained it on my profile.)

Enjoy.

After a while of "brunching" Sholto seemed to open up a little. His cold exterior had begun to crack, and it became progressively easier for me to hold a conversation with him. It was nice; at least, I considered it nice. I wasn't quite sure how he felt about it.

We rose from our café seating to wander the park, our stomachs buzzing with tea and chatter. "Well, it's a good thing the weather's looking up, hm?" I mentioned.

He nodded and looked past the trees into the sky. It was still a little grey and hazy, but little bursts of blue were coming through like sprouts of grass, and the outer folds of the clouds were fading into white. "Still looks gloomy to me," He decided.

"I guess if you're coming from the country," I chuckled.

Sholto shrugged, titling his head a little to my direction. "Do you like it here, in London?"

"I'd say I do," I nodded. "Much prefer it to stuffy villages or campus towns."

"Stuffy?"

"I consider them stuffy." I tapped the handle of my limp umbrella. "I could spend a few days in a little town and enjoy it, but any more than that and I'd go stir-crazy. All those hot summers in Wales left their scars, if you'd believe."

He nodded. "It surprises me that you adjusted so well to Afghanistan, then."

"Eh. I don't think anyone could really call themselves well-adjusted."

"That's not what I mean. You seemed satisfied in the camp, even though it was small."

"Well, yeah, when you were around to see it."

"Why would that matter?"

"You kept me entertained."

He laughed this time, his lips snaking up into a smile, and I couldn't help but fall into it as well.

"Ristol was hellish, though," I admitted. "When there was action, it was a damn flood of it, sometimes more than we could handle. But any other times, it was just a desert. Empty, hot, and irritating."

"That was the whole war, I think."

"Yeah, I guess so."

We nodded to ourselves, continuing down the path. I could feel my phone buzz from one of my pockets, but when I glanced at the screen, it was just a text from Greg. I decided to ignore it for the time being and slipped it back into my coat, but James noticed it out of the corner of his eye. "Was that Sherlock? Does he want us back?"

"No, it wasn't him. But if you're ready to go back, we can go."

"I think I've had enough walking for one afternoon," He said, and gently touched his side. "I'm starting to feel a little sore."

"We can get a cab if it's bothering you," I offered.

"I've made it this far, I can make it back." He answered, and turned around.

"Alright." My phone buzzed again, and irritably I grabbed at it. Greg again. I clicked it off.

"I saw you with a cane the other day, at the station," Sholto said. "But there's no cane today. Is there a reason for that?"

"Oh." I pursed my lips. "Well, it sort of fluctuates."

"I see. Does it have to do with the weather?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

"It's... not an actual wound, per say." I admitted.

He glanced down at me, but tried not to sound too scrutinizing. "I had considered that. I didn't remember you taking a leg wound, but I assumed I missed it."

"You didn't miss anything." I reached to gently touch my thigh, which in response stung a little. "It's psychosomatic."

"Psychosomatic?"

"It has to do with mental disorders."

He looked back toward the path. "Oh."

"When I'm stressed, my mind can't always process it correctly, and so it presents itself as pain. Namely pain in my leg, but there can be other things, too. If my stress levels are down, though, it doesn't bother me as much." I motioned. "Like now."

"In the tube station, then," He said, "You were stressed."

"Well, it didn't really have to do with the station." I glanced away sheepishly. "I'm always stressed."

Sholto nodded his head, but I could tell he still had questions.

My phone continued to buzz frantically, now in long intervals rather than little beeps. I grumbled, briefly apologized, and pulled it from my pocket. Greg was calling now? Jesus Christ. I swiped the screen to answer and held it to my ear, but he must've cancelled the call before I was able to answer, so the phone went blank. I pulled it away with a glare, but I saw that he had already tried to call once before.

"Is something wrong?" Sholto asked.

"I don't know, it's just Greg. Although, if he's with Sher-" My phone lit up again with another call, still from Greg. I answered it and held it to my head, making eye contact with Sholto. "Hello?"

"I didn't get you a bloody phone for you to ignore my calls." You shouted, making me cringe. Your voice sounded scratchy. "I've been texting you for fifteen minutes, dammit."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you. What happened to your phone?"

"Irrelevant. You need to get back to the flat, right now. It's important."

"How important."

"Extremely."

"What's wrong? Is it Jandi?"

"Yes."

I closed my eyes, taking a sharp breath. "Is he gone?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sholto and I are still in Hyde, if we take the back road maybe we could-"

"No. Take a cab, come straight to the flat, make no other stops. I want you here, right now."

"Why?"

"You need to see it."

The line went dead.

We took the first cab we could catch. "I really hoped Jandi wouldn't run again," I sighed. "But I can't really say I'm surprised. It was a risk leaving him alone; I thought that maybe since Mrs. Hudson was home he would try to behave himself. Evidently I was wrong."

"He's done this before?"

"Yeah, once, the other night. We were about scared shitless. We found him in Allsop Plaza; he was a bit bruised up but he was fine. We'll probably start looking there and branch out. If Greg is with Sherlock, it shouldn't be too difficult."

Sure enough, as we approached the flat I recognized Greg's black police cruiser idling outside the door. We climbed out of the cab, and as I we stepped up onto the curb, Sholto got a guarded look about him. The door was ajar, giving me a little inkling of dread. I chose to follow James toward the flat, investigating carefully.

You suddenly burst through the door, your coat flapping behind you, almost startling me. "Hold that cab!" You called, rushing toward the car. Sholto reflexively grabbed my arm and pushed me behind himself, but you hardly noticed. You flew past us and shoved yourself onto the door of the cab, knocking against the window.

Greg came out also, still wrapped in his coat, too. Obviously you hadn't been here for long. He had a grim look on his face. "John."

"What's going on, Greg? Why are you here?" I asked. Sholto released my arm, and I massaged the grooves from his fingers out of my skin.

"I came to drop off Sherlock and we found the door open." He explained. "Mrs. Hudson was near hysterical."

"Mrs. Hudson?" My face heated up. "What did he do to her?"

"I don't think he did anything." He glanced briefly at Sholto, then motioned toward the door. "Come up and see."

We followed him through the door and up the stairs, ignoring Gladstones chirps from the back room. Before we even made it through the flat hall, we saw the books scattered along the floor, their pages loose and some of them torn, floating around on the breeze. My heart dropped into my stomach as I continued into the flat, seeing all the bookshelves that Jandi and I had just organized stripped to the boards. Books were thrown around the room, leaving behind all sorts of new marks on the walls. Broken glass and plastic littered the ground. Even the wallpaper suffered, peeled off in random places. I heard Sholto grumble behind me.

"Was this Jandi?" He asked, stepping over the shards of a broken table.

"We have no idea." Greg admitted. "Mrs. Hudson?"

She came around the corner from the kitchen, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Oh, John," She blubbered. "I'm so sorry, John."

I let out a breath of relief when I saw her. I stepped forward and ran my hands along her quivering shoulders. "Jesus. What happened, Mrs. Hudson?"

"There was a call at the door, not long after you left." She said, still sniffling. "I answered it, of course, but it was this woman I'd never seen. She stepped inside before I could stop her, and she asked to see if you were home. I said no, you weren't, but I could phone you - she wouldn't have that. She went upstairs to talk to Jandi; very rude, she didn't even ask. But she locked the door to your flat, and I didn't hear anything from there for at least half an hour. I tried calling Sherlock, but the lines were dead. In my flat and in the café, too. She cut them."

"Cut them?" Sholto repeated.

"Yes... I was horrified, John. Such a scary woman. I was afraid she'd hurt him, so I stayed downstairs and listened. I didn't hear much, just a bit of stepping and mumbles, like normal. A bit of shouting, but I couldn't make it out. Then she stormed out, pulling Jandi along like a dog."

"Speaking of dogs,"

"Gladstone was in my flat the whole time. He had come down to growl at the door before she came inside," She said. "Snarling at it, the poor thing, so I put him in the kitchen while I answered."

I let go of her, my eyes wandering onto the walls while I thought. "Jesus."

"That isn't all, John." You said, coming in behind us. "He took your pistol."

I turned, my eyes widening. "My pistol?"

You nodded, stepping closely. "Jandi was hiding something."

I caught a breath, walking over to sit down on the edge of the sofa, processing everything. Greg was stepping between the islands of books, picking through and leafing across pages without a goal in mind. Sholto was still studying the destruction from afar, and you came closer to me.

"Did Jandi say anything, touch anything, behave in any way that was strange before you left?"

"No, he seemed fine," I whispered.

You knelt down. "You don't remember anything out-of-place?"

I looked up at the shelves, where Greg was now standing. "He was organizing."

"Yes, I told him to make himself useful."

"But maybe he was looking for something. That would explain the wallpaper, too. Hidden cabinets, secret pages." I met your eyes.

You froze, your eyes going out of focus before you turned away, surveying the room, glossing over the bookshelves. "None of my books in this room have secret compartments. Only the bedroom. Which they went through those, as well, but there was nothing too important. Some cigarettes, some talismans. Luckily we won't have to worry about privacy."

"Privacy," I grunted.

"John." You spun back. "Jandi might be in danger. He's our biggest lead to find the missing woman."

"Macie."

"Macie. We have to find him."

I started up, stretching out my leg carefully.

"We'll start in Allsop." You continued. "I'd doubt they'd be so sloppy as to be found there, but it's a lead. We'll take the cab; Greg's car could be recognized. We're not splitting up, either. It's too dangerous."

"And what if we find him?" I asked.

"We pursue. Major, I trust that you have a weapon?"

He paused, then nodded.

"Good. Proceed with utmost caution. I don't doubt that will be a problem for you, but if we happen to get separated, I want you to keep John close to you. Lestrade and I are both armed, we'll be fine."

"Do we know who the woman is?" I asked. "It's not-...?"

"No, it's not." You interjected.

"We think it's the woman who we spotted at the gate." Greg said. "She fits Mrs. Hudson's description. Black hair, bronzed skin, slim figure, gold eyes."

"But why would she be the same? She helped us find Jandi. Why would she want to take him again?"

"We don't know," You answered. "We just have to find them. Both of them."

I struggled to keep up with you, but you hardly seemed to notice me. The sun was setting; once again, and you were pressed for time. We had combed through the roads around Baker Street and Allsop, driving around the York Gate and even toward the east end of Regent's, but there was no sign of either Jandi or the mystery woman, and so we decided that our chances would be higher on foot. The four of us scoured the neighborhoods and roads all along the southern edge of the park, running and walking until we were all exhausted, irritated, and sweaty. My leg had begun to burn, and I could tell that Sholto was going down as well. But you refused to give up.

"We're getting close, I can feel it." You said, continuing to thunder down the road, Greg at your heels while James and I started to linger.

"There's nothing, Sherlock," I countered. "We've found nothing."

You turned to shoot me a look. "We'll find him, John."

"Maybe we should check around Allsop again."

"We've already checked there."

"Maybe we should check again. He could've come back. Maybe he's at the flat."

"He's ruined the sitting room and stolen your gun, I highly doubt he would come back of his own power." You dipped your head down an alley and squinted, but nothing caught your eye, and you kept moving. Greg briefly shone his flashlight in but followed as well.

"Sherlock, we can't go much longer," I said, losing my breath.

"Then go back to the flat if you can't keep up," You shouted, dipping down another alley.

"You tear out your stitches if you keep running around lke this," I warned.

You weren't interested. Instead, your shoulders followed your head into the darkness, and Greg had to backtrack. You had been nearly swallowed by the shadows, but he shined the light along your back, illuminating what laid before you, down an old grime-coated set of stairs. A large iron door flashed back at us, and you ran your gloved hands across it, deeply breathing in the smell of rust.

"Get away from there, Sherlock, that's not what we're looking for."

"Blood." You stated. You sniffed the air. "Cigarettes. Someone was smoking."

"We're in London," He complained.

You sunk to your knees, running your fingers along the base of the door, collecting the dust and dirt from the ground and rubbing it between your fingertips.

"What does smoking have to do with anything." I asked, bent over to catch my breath.

"Shut up and let me think."

You let the dust gently float to the ground, then rose from your crouch. Your eyes flickered into the shadows, and gently you creeped back up the stairs, your eyes preened on the brick wall separating one street from the next. It smelled like days-old garbage and dog shit. Sholto covered his nose with his sleeve, and I grimaced at the scent of it, but you kept sniffing the air, focusing on that faint scent of cigarettes on the breeze. "The ash here is fresh. But no-one has been in that hollow since at least the last rainfall. It's her, I'm sure of it."

"How could you possibly know that?"

You glanced at Greg. "They're my cigarettes."

I released a long breath and stretched out my arms, taking a second to make sure Sholto wasn't suffering too badly. He seemed uncomfortable but intently focused, his eyes scanning across the road just past the buildings. You massaged your temples, then paused to look down at your gloves, particularly the fingertips which were still smudged with dirt and ash. You then glanced up and nearly fell over on the spot.

Up five stories, completely doused in black, was her. She had gold eyes that gazed down at us like a cat from above the glow of her lighter - the only proof we had that she was there in the first place. The little red speck of her cigar pulsed in the darkness, and a small plume of smoke drifted up toward the sky.

"There!" You exclaimed.

Immediately you took off running, getting quite a clearance from the ground as you reached for the first ladder of the fire escape. The woman got up and disappeared into the window, her little light swallowed up into the shadows. You brushed up the ladder in seconds, followed by Greg, and I followed as quickly as I could manage.

The window led into a dark flat that smelled like weed. A small television crackled from the corner of the room, but the flat was empty, and the door to the hallway ajar. Obviously the building had fallen into ruin; ugly graphitti plagued the walls, and there were all kinds of cans, bottles, and glasses scattered along the room and the hall. Footsteps echoed farther down and you burst out into a long stairwell, where, underneath you, you could see the long black ponytail of the woman in pursuit.

Blood thundered in my head as I followed you, Greg flying behind you just as fast, his coat wrapped tight around his chest and billowing up behind his legs. Sholto was trying, but he was daunted in the face of the stairway. Although my pain faded, his didn't, and I lingered behind to make sure I didn't lose sight of him. But you and Greg didn't have the same idea.

"Wait, Sherlock!" I shouted, poking my head down the staircase. "Wait!"

"Stay with him!" You shouted back, disappearing after the woman down another long hallway. Greg came after him without an argument, and I began slowing down, letting my heart start to relax for the first time in hours.

"I can't run like I used to," James said, sweat pouring from his brow. He looked frustrated, but I couldn't blame him.

"Don't worry, Sherlock's got it handled." I sprinted down the rest of the stairs and waited at the doorway for him.

The whole building seeped with darkness and mold. Exit signs flickered ominously with their last few drops of power, and the streams of light that made it through the black-coated windows was neither help nor comfort. Sholto fell in close behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of him, and I was thankful for that. The closer the better; I was afraid I'd lose him if he got more than a few steps away. I could hardly see my own hand in front of my face.

Your voice echoed farther along, and I followed it cautiously.

"Aren't we going to catch up?" James asked, hardly having caught his breath.

"We won't have to." I answered. "If we can't be fast, we can at least be smart."

As your banging faded away, the silence floated around us like a presence. Our soft footsteps were claps of thunder. Both of us had our necks stretched tight, and I was sure that the prick in the bottom of my stomach meant that James already had his gun in his hand. The fork in the hall led left and right, and although I remembered that you and Greg had gone racing to the right, I turned toward the left.

Here, as we were closer to the street, we could hear the cars chirping outside, the passing crowd drumming like gentle rain against the sidewalk. There was a small maitenance stairway still illuminated with little blips of white light, so we followed them down, coming out onto the second floor, where the hallways were wider and the doorways larger. I briefly wondered what kind of building this was, but there weren't very many clues left for us to find.

Your frustrated shouts were still buzzing in the air, and I could hear your footsteps from somewhere on the level, but they seemed far away. I peered into the darkness, lit up by flashes of red and gold from the streetlamps and flickering exit signs. My nerves stood on edge as we approached another fork, and I reached back to brush my fingers against Sholto's arm, telling him to stop. I missed his arm and brushed the neck of his gun, which made me cringe.

Someone was close. I gently stepped forward, careful not to let the floor creak too much, and approached one of the doors. Sholto then touched my shoulder and nudged me back; he pointed his gun at the door, nearly bumping the metallic surface, and snapped the handle open. The door screamed on its hinges, and Sholto let his pistol guide the way into the darkness.

Empty.

But in response to the long, rusty creak, footsteps descended quickly from the right, making me jump. I patted quickly against Sholto's back and we both rushed inside, scrambling to find the darkest shadow while the drumming grew closer.

I spun around, forcing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and as they did, I glanced straight into the barrel of a gun. My gun.

Sholto realized it half a moment after I did. His gun was leveled at her head in an instant, clicking off the safety. Her eyes were narrow and cold as stone.

"I had assumed you would come for him; I just underestimated how quickly."

"Meer, stop!" Jandi appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide.

"Put down your weapon," Sholto commanded.

"Say another word, Major, and I'll blow his fucking head off." She replied, never taking her eyes off me. Sholto shifted his hands on his gun, but I was frozen in place.

It seemed like the smell of the whole building had originated with her. Smoke, spice, mold, grime, and sweat. Her long black hair blended easily with the darkness, and her face was filled with long shadows, leaving only her eyes to watch me.

"Your fiancé is pretty damn annoying," She said. "Tell him to get the hell off our case."

"I told you you shouldn't have damaged their flat!" Jandi cried, stepping inside.

"What are you doing here, Jandi?" I asked.

He hesitated, and the woman briefly broke eye contact to shoot him a glare.

"I told you not to leave the flat." I continued. "Who's this?"

"I-"

"Names are irrelevant, doctor." She flipped off her own safety. "This is a nice instrument you have here. Mind if I try it out?"

"Put down your weapon." Sholto ordered.

She turned to glare at him. "I told you, one-"

I snapped my hand into her wrist, knocking the barrel of the gun toward the ceiling just as it fired, the huge sound making my ears ring. I wrestled her for it, reaching out for her shoulder with my opposite hand, but she was fast. Her elbow slammed into my ribcage, knocking the breath out of me, and just as Jandi shrieked for her to stop, she twisted my arm painfully around my back and jammed the pistol against my throat.

But now you had heard the shot, and you were coming fast. Jandi fled further into the room, and as he did, Sholto fired once in his direction, not to kill but only to spook the two of them.

"I'm not fucking with you, major!" She shouted, then brought the gun down to my thigh. I couldn't stop the little choking sound that came from the back of my throat as the cold metal pressed against my throbbing leg.

You and Greg were inside, your guns both trained also on the woman. I looked at you with wide eyes, but you were focused, and you couldn't be compromised. "Stop what you're doing," Lestrade shouted.

"You're caught now, give it up." You said, your eyes narrow. "We just want to talk."

"Those weapons don't look very talkish," She responded.

"We'll put them down as soon as you let John go," You offered.

"And how do I know that you will?"

You rolled your eyes. It was mostly disguised by the darkness, but I caught it, and I had to assume that the woman had, too. You slowly dropped your arms, clicking the safety back on, and Greg followed suit, sweat still beading on his forehead. Sholto was the last, and the woman gave him a defiant smirk as she released my arm, shoving me off toward you with her (my) gun still at her side.

"What do you bastards want." She asked.

Greg caught me and brought me to his side as you approached her. "Jahandar had gone missing."

"Jahandar's a big boy, didn't you think he could take care of himself?" She asked.

"Short version, no."

She tsked, flicking back on her own safety and tucking the muzzle into her belt. "I guess the detective can be wrong, then. I have business with Jahandar, and he has business with me. So stay out of our way, and there won't be any more problems. Good?"

"Jahandar came to us for protection."

"Jahandar came to you for help. And obviously you couldn't do much for him." She glanced at Sholto. "Y'know how easy it was to waltz into that flat? Damn. I'm surprised half of you are still alive."

"And you can?"

She looked at you, eyes almost glowing.

"You can help him?"

"We may not be on the same team, Mr. Holmes, but we both want the same thing." She said. "Stay out of my way, and maybe we'll get along. But if you come running after me again, I'll blow you to fucking pieces. That goes for your friends, too."

She brushed past you, displacing your arm with her shoulder, and faced Greg and I. She gave us a long look, her eyes grazing from Lestrade onto me, wavering, then walking toward the doorway. She said nothing, and none of us followed her.

"I'm so sorry, doctor." Jandi said, coming to me. I took a cautious step back, but I knew he wasn't trying to be aggressive. His hands were open in front of him, his brow soft. "I don't want to pull you into this. But thank-you, for what you've done. You too, major. I'm very thankful."

"What the hell are you doing, Jahandar." You demanded.

He looked up at you. "I'm trying to save my friend."

"Who is that woman?" Greg asked.

"Get your shit in here, Jandi, I'm not waiting." She shouted from the hall.

He glanced at the doorway, then back at me. "She's Miranda, or Meer. She's trying to help. I swear. She's just a bit-"

Two shots were fired in the hallway, followed by an echoing silence. None of us moved.

"-that." He touched my arm. "Don't wait for me."

"Jandi-"

"I've got to go, I'm sorry."

He jogged past Greg and I, meeting the woman in the hall. None of us dared to even look after them until we heard the doors to the staircase swing shut, and their two pairs of footsteps quickly descending. You glanced over to meet my eyes, now assessing, deducing, running along my frame like a cat. But one thing was stuck firmly in my mind.

"She took my gun," I murmured.

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Next update Sunday.