I sat alone in the apartment with no sound to be heard. I'd turned the television off, silencing Lestrade and the part he had in my life. I let thought after thought hit me as I chewed on my nail. I had bottled up things in the past and discovered that fighting them off was far more tiring than just letting them hit me. I was surrounded by them, like a victim swarmed by endless flames as his home burned down around him. I couldn't fight every flame, I hadn't the strength for that.

I should have been stronger. My mother was suffering just as much as I, but I let myself be a burden to her. My chosen silence haunted her more than the cries I didn't make for my father. She was desperate for me to open up to someone enough to spend much of her income on support. The last look she had given me the day that I met Sherlock Holmes was estranged. Her proudness was twisted by regret, I could see it. She couldn't hide it from me. It took all my strength to carry on walking alongside Stamford, and leave her there alone.

I hadn't called her in the two weeks I had been in London. What I hadn't expected was for her to do the same. Was her silence a way of helping her cope? I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know that it was all going to be alright. I had to show that I was worthy of my father's sacrifice, even if I thought otherwise. I didn't know if she really believed I could do it. I couldn't decipher anything about her anymore. I'd hidden away so much that she had become invisible.

I held my mobile phone in my palm. There was her number right in front of me. She was one tap away, but my father, whose cane was in my other hand, was further than he could ever be. No relics I kept of his past would change that. I let my finger scroll down until it came to another number.

DAD

The answer message would be a lie. He wouldn't answer me when he had the chance. There would be no words other than those pre-recorded. It was just a ghost on the line. My face scrunched up as I lowered my thumb over the number. I grit my teeth, trying to muster the courage to hear his voice. The past was becoming a door I couldn't stomach opening.

"You can lean on that cane, you can deny how you feel, but you can't hide what you are."

Another door had been forced open, but this one, I felt drawn to.

I shut off my phone and grasped the cane. Within minutes, I was out the door, running through the street. I didn't care about the burning in my lungs, I just kept going at full speed. I tapped away on my phone to find the address, the words blurring at my pace. Sure enough, it wasn't far. I found myself shaking my head as I turned each corner, trying to avoid the idea that there was anything behind me. It all fell away into a dark pit where I could never see it again, where it couldn't hurt me. If Sherlock's idea of a brain-attic was real, then I wanted to dump everything out the window.

I didn't slow until I was pushing open the shop door. I was met with an impressed face.

"I thought I'd left something behind." Sherlock said smugly.

A cup of coffee was steaming on the table in front of him. I took a few deep breaths and sat down without saying a word. He was still wearing the hat, and if I'm honest, he looked quite ridiculous in it. His gelled hair looked too smart for it, and it certainly didn't match the rest of his clothing.

"It doesn't really work as a disguise, does it?" I said once I had caught my breath.

"Anyone who sees me will be far too preoccupied with the strange attire to think anything else."

"Then you should have dressed as a clown." I remarked.

His eyes fell to the cane in my hand. I saw him look sympathetic for just a second, as if he couldn't hold it back.

"I've been here on occasion. Sometimes the same four walls become a distraction. Once you learn each crack and tear in the wallpaper, such details draw you away from better things. Today this coffee shop also serves as neutral ground, where witnesses help make confrontations safer," He said. I hoped he was right. "You did well by the way. Twenty five minutes. I am impressed."

I covered my face with the breakfast menu out of embarrassment.

"Shut up." I said quietly.

"I did pen you down for ten." I tried to ignore him. "Try the ham and eggs. It's better than what Mrs Hudson offers, at least." I saw him grin, as if he had just made a joke about his mother.

"I thought we were here to catch a killer?" I whispered, not taking my eyes off of the menu.

"No harm in ordering a spot of breakfast while we wait, is there? My treat."

I'd kept my eyes on the menu far longer than necessary considering the small breakfast selection.

"What did you pick?" I asked him. "I never know what you have for breakfast. You're always up before me."

"I don't always bother. A loaf of bread and a clean collar does me each day. I could probably get by with plain toast if I wished, though in this case I might go with the pancakes."

I felt strange. A normal conversation about breakfast had become surreal considering a murderer was about to walk through the door, and I was starting to be put off the idea of eating.

"Just some coffee. I didn't finish mine."

Sherlock left the table for a moment to make the order. During this time I took the chance to look around the place. There were two gentleman in the back corner, both of whom were wearing striped suits and in the midst of some kind of deal. A young couple was on the other side, with a baby sleeping in its pram. The reality of what we were bringing so close to them became clear.

"No pancakes. Looks like its plain toast after all." I heard my companion return.

"This is wrong, Sherlock. We can't bring down a murderer in a public place." I tried to urge him against the dangerous act.

"Is that what you think we are doing?" I was thoughtless as to our purpose being there after that. "You are shaking. Keep calm, and don't stare at him while we chat. It will look suspicious."

My nerves had been so common to me that I hadn't noticed. I put down the menu and at least tried to act like any other patron. Time past, though I had lost track exactly how much. A third chair was already waiting beside us, taunting me with its emptiness. To think that a killer could well be about to accommodate it.

"You don't have to say a word, Watson. Let me deal with it."

As he said that, a frail, elderly woman made her way past our table. She appeared to be lost, at least that is what I thought at first.

"Excuse me, you aren't John Watson are you?"

No, it couldn't have been, I thought. I saw Sherlock's sudden reaction. He looked completely out of sorts and lost in time. What was more startling was how he regained his composure almost instantaneously.

"The very same. Please, take a seat." Sherlock revived the accent he had put on over the phone.

I moved my chair closer to him, giving the woman room to pass. This certainly was unexpected.

"Do you still want to shoot her?" I whispered into Sherlock's ear. He swatted away in response like I was an annoying fly. Clearly he was upset with the unfolding events.

"Forgive me, but wasn't it a man I was talking to on the phone?" Sherlock asked without a hint of the panic he had expressed moments before.

"Oh, that was my son. He would have come himself but he had to be at work. Your advert said that you have found a wedding ring?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment as he analyzed the old crone.

"Here it is." He brought the ring itself out from his pocket.

"Oh bless you dear! That is the very one! My daughter will be so relieved!"

It seemed the case had taken a dead end. Sherlock seemed to disagree.

"I'm happy to be of help. You are lucky I noticed it among the mess outside Lauriston Gardens. Well, my dog found it actually, he has a habit of sniffing out treasures, that's why I called him Jim."

It was hard listening to Sherlock's northern voice without cracking up. I was quite relieved inside with our guest, though I'm sure my roommate didn't share the same feeling.

"Silly girl. She's only been married a year and already she is losing her ring. Thank you ever so much. It isn't often you have a young man like yourself do something so kind." The old woman spoke.

"Sometimes people are a surprise," Sherlock said in gest. "Do you mind if I ask for your address? Just to make sure the ring goes to its proper owner you see, not that I have any doubts."

"Of course dear, it's Duncan Street, Number 13, Houndsditch."

Sherlock brought his hands together and placed them on his lips.

"Sorry? I don't think that address goes by the Brixton Road." He pointed out.

"Oh, no dear! You asked where I live. My daughter Sally lives at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham, with her husband Tom Dennis. Lovely boy, when he isn't drunk that is."

Maybe we had walked into the wrong alley. There was always the off chance that the owner would find the ring missing and send someone after it, rather than the killer. The mystery confused me to no end. Why was this Sally's ring at a murder scene? Was Tom Dennis involved? The more I thought about it the more I felt faint. Still, it kept my mind off other things.

"Well, I have no reason to hold onto it any more. I'm happy to have helped." Sherlock handed over the ring, and our chance of finding a lead.

"Again, bless you my dear. I'll make sure the silly girl is more careful next time. I'll leave you to your breakfast. Farewell."

I watched the old crone struggle off of her seat and leave the coffee shop.

"Well that was a waste of time." I said with a much calmer demeanour.

Sherlock gave no answer. He tapped one finger against the table repeatedly. I thought he was frustrated at first, but I came to see that he was tapping seconds. I looked out of the window to see if the old woman was still there, but she had disappeared in moments. It was impossible for someone her age. Sherlock darted up in a flash. He hurried out of the door and in my confused state I followed behind.

He was surprisingly quick for someone whom I had assumed focused on intellect rather than physical prowess. He shot two glances, one down the street and another down a thin alleyway to the right. I grasped my father's cane hard as I followed him in full sprint through the murky alleyway. There, at the end of the alley was the woman entering a Taxi. The vehicle was soon speeding off before we could reach it.

"Clever. Very, very clever." Sherlock held his hands behind his head as he caught his breath.

I leant forward and rested on my knees. Sprinting twice in one morning on an empty stomach was a shock to the system.

"How the hell did she do that!?" I shouted in frustration.

"Because Watson, she was a he. Just as she left, I noticed the underlining hair visible just below the wig. It was much darker than someone of her age would suggest, not to mention her thinly cut, rough and darkened nails, like that of a man who works in construction. It was an accomplice, someone who could pose well as an old crone."

He stared at me as I began laughing uncontrollably.

"You find this funny?" He asked.

"You bloody idiot Sherlock! All that deduction crap and you couldn't tell that she was a man! Ha!" I held my stomach, refusing to stop myself.

"It works when I am looking for it. She gave off all the signs of being an old crone."

He watched me laugh away in the middle of the street for a moment before a smile crept onto his face.

"I guess it was a daft thing to miss." He said, finally amused.

It was a good thing that we were alone, or else we would have disturbed the whole neighbourhood.

"Ol' Jim often go treasure hunting with you, does he!?"

"Oh, alright! You said about the dog back at the apartment, it was first thing that came to mind."

Even with his mistake he tried to piece together his thought process.

"I'm not infallible, Watson. I don't pretend to be. I wouldn't be at university if I was."

I wiped a tear away from my eye and caught him looking at me with curiosity.

"What?" I said, holding in one last chuckle.

"It's a rush, isn't it? Other thoughts die when you are in the thick of it. It takes you away."

With the laughter dying down, I began to see why he would say such a thing.

"So, you're a thrill seeker? Is that why you want to go around catching criminals and interrogating old ladies?" He started to walk away. "Hey! You keep going on about me finding it exciting. Alright, I'll admit it gets things out of my head. Are you happy?"

He didn't answer. With his hands in his pockets, he made his way back through the alley.

"Hello!? Are you ignoring me now?"

"It's rather hard to do that." He answered at last. "I don't thrill seek. I simply search for a way to shut off the boredom. I need to think, Watson. I need to keep the cogs turning, or else it all falls apart."

We were back outside the café.

"Couldn't you have found a safer way to entertain yourself?" I asked.

"Is there any better life than this Watson?"

He turned to me and stared with such focus. I had a quick, easy answer to his question, but it didn't come out. His very glare shut me down and made me doubt it. It was a dangerous way to live. A stupid way. It wasn't for me, and yet it was becoming an unyielding magnet. I still felt the mystery of the wedding ring eating at me.

We took the opportunity to have breakfast inside, the waitress having given us our order after a couple of strange looks. Apparently she had seen our quick escape.

"So what now?" I asked him while biting into the toast I added to my order.

"No doubt the address she… he, gave us, was a red herring. To Houndsditch, Watson. To Houndsditch."