John joined Sherlock and Lestrade in Lestrade's office. The first "test" had been passed apparently. Sherlock was discussing it with Lestrade, and John was trying to pay attention to their rapid conversation, but was mostly distracted by the thoughts of his conversation with Mycroft. John was pulled from his internal dialogue when the pink phone dinged.

Voicemail. Beep...beep...beep...beep... silence. Then a photo arrived. The photo was of the front end of a car, license plate and all.

Lestrade immediately began to run the plates. John was studying Sherlock who was pouring over the phone. The door to the office opened and Donovan leaned in, phone in hand. "Freak?" She said, and everyone knew she meant Sherlock. "It's for you." She held the phone out to him. He took it and followed her out of the small office. John watched through the glass walls of the small room as Sherlock began speaking into the phone.

"It's okay that you've gone to the police..." a male's voice said in Sherlock's ear.

"Who is this? Is this you again?" Sherlock was frustrated, but didn't know how far he could push without risking some poor innocent sod's life.

"But don't rely on them..." the male voice continued, ignoring Sherlock's questions. "Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers..." Sherlock bristled at the implication that it had been a 'guess,' but chose to ignore it. "I never liked him...Carl laughed at me...so I stopped him laughing."

"And you've stolen another voice I presume?"

"This is about you and me."

"Who are you?" Sherlock listened hard to the lack of voice on the other end, but it wasn't silent. "What's that noise?"

"The sounds of life...Sherlock. But don't worry...I can soon fix that..." The man's voice choked, but he continued on nevertheless. "You solved my last puzzle in 9 hours. This time you have...8." The line died.

John had been watching Sherlock during the whole conversation. He was desperate to know what was happening now, but he was also very concerned with Sherlock's response. The detective was slouched forward, the phone still clutched in his hand, dangled at his side. His face was expressionless, but John knew better than to believe his facial features.

Lestrade jumped up from behind his desk and informed John that he'd found the car. They walked out of the office together to get Sherlock.

Sherlock had been right about the car looking abandoned. The police were there, surrounding the car, which looked pristine from the outside, but on the inside was smeared with blood. Lestrade informed them that the blood belonged to an Ian Munkford, the same man who had rented the can only the day before from a company called Janus Cars. Ian's wife was standing off to the side of the crime scene.

Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and lead him in the direction of the tear-stained woman. John was shocked that when they reached her, Sherlock held out his hand to her and had tears in his eyes. John tried to keep a straight face when he realized that Sherlock was pretending to be a friend of the late Ian. And he had to fight the urge not to elbow Sherlock when he asserted that Ian had been a carefree man, only to be corrected by the wife saying that her husband had been depressed for months.

Before Sherlock got slapped by the obviously flustered woman, he turned away and walked off the scene.

"What was all that about?" John asked when he was sure they were out of earshot of the woman.

"They love to contradict you. Needed information. She's hiding something."

"You think she killed her husband?"

"No no. Did you hear how she refered to him in the past tense though? Bit soon don't you think? I mean they haven't even found a body yet. That's not a mistake the murderer would make. But believe me she's in on it."

Sherlock sat in the lab at Saint Bart's alone. John had gone in search of a vending machiene, stating that Sherlock was going to at least eat some crisps if John had to pry his mouth open and shovel them in. Sherlock had rolled his eyes, but obliged to eat some, so John had gone off.

Sherlock was using a pipet to drop a clear liquid onto a drop of the blood that had been found in the car. When the liquid made contact, it began to fizzle. He was watching intently, but was startled when the pink phone on the lab table began to ring. Sherlock looked around him, he was indeed still alone, and slowly answered the phone.

The man's voice spoke to him, still shaky and the background was still just as loud as it had been previously. "The clue's in the name. Janus Cars.

"Why would you be giving me a clue?" Sherlock couldn't help but be surprised at this turn of events. This puzzle was for him, so why was the individual behind it force-feeding him clues?

"Why does anyone do anything?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. Partial to philosophy, how dull. "Because, I'm bored." Sherlock's ears perked up at that. How many times have I felt bored? How far would one go just to avoid the dull existence we lead? "We were made for each other Sherlock."

Sherlock considered this for a moment, but found he was shaking his head slightly. No, not you. "Then talk to me in your own voice." Sherlock saw John's shadow in front of the door to the lab. John is made for me.

"Patience," the voice on the phone said. And then the call ended.

John entered the lab carrying multiple bags of crisps and biscuits. He looked Sherlock over and was worried about how much paler he looked than normal. "You okay?" John asked, stepping closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked rapidly and stood up from his seated position. He closed the space between himself and John. When Sherlock reached John, he leaned down and snuggled his face into the crook of John's neck. John was surprised and concerned for a moment and so remained still. But after a moment of Sherlock not moving, John wrapped his arms around the detective. Rubbing small circles in to his back with his left hand, and gently running the fingers of his right hand through the mess of curls on Sherlock's head.

"Hey, what is it?" John asked. But Sherlock continued to ignore him. John decided not to push Sherlock and so just held him until he felt Sherlock stir with restlessness. John let his arms fall to his sides and watched the tall man unfold himself, bringing himself back up to his full height. Sherlock looked down at John and gave him a sad little smile.

Sherlock returned to his microscope. John opened one of the bags of crisps and walked over to Sherlock's side. "Come on, you need to eat." John held the bag at arms length, trying to get Sherlock to take it. But Sherlock simply opened his mouth. John sighed, but came closer to Sherlock, dipped his hand into the bag, produced a crisp, and popped it into Sherlock's open mouth. At least he's eating, John thought as Sherlock munched and then opened his mouth as a way to ask for another one.