The ruckus had died down. The message in Sherlock's web had been torn by the unfortunate bugs that had become tangled in the soft, silver threads of her masterpiece. The crowds had dispersed and John being the naïve creature that he was felt that the public's adulation would last forever. But John was to be taught a valuable lesson that he would carry with his spirit into many future lifetimes. The Press turned on him. The message was dismissed as a fluke and John's life was once more in danger.

"But I thought the press loved me," John sobbed as he wept into a pile of hay.

"John, stop that noise this instant. I will protect you always," Sherlock said as she admonished John in a stern tone.

John looked up at Sherlock through tear streaked eyes and Sherlock's heart broke. She was a killer a spider, a predator that sucked the blood from her victims with little sympathy for their struggles. When the east wind blew their brown, broken bodies from her web Sherlock seldom gave them another thought.

John looked up in horror as an innocent insect fought for its life. With quick precision Sherlock wound the creature up in a tight little roll.

"Sherlock, what are you going to do with him?" John asked as the insect buzzed and cried out for help.

Sherlock gave the bug a stern look as she said, "I don't care if your name is Anderson. I need to eat too."

John's bottom lip trembled as he watched Sherlock. "You're going to eat him?"

Sherlock looked bored. "Well, actually I'm going to suck his blood."

John cried out. "No, Sherlock please don't let him go."

Sherlock looked at John in disbelief and then sighed as she caught another glimpse of those sad blue eyes. With quick another precise move Sherlock unwrapped the bug and released him. "There are you happy now? I am going to go hungry."

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock scowled and then let herself become lost in John's smile. That smile, those eyes, how could he deny John anything? "I will just have to wait until you're asleep to trap and eat."

John's heart was bursting with happiness. All was right with the world. Then Moriarty appeared one day with the farmer.

"That pig is looking quite big." Moriarty said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

The farmer laughed. "Yep, come winter he'll provide some fine ham and bacon."

Moriarty slurped back the saliva that filled his mouth. "I can hardly wait."

Then he and the farmer walked away leaving John terrified and cold. "Sherlock, what are we going to do?"

Sherlock sighed. "Well, just have to find another message so that the fickle press will once more adore you. Mycroft, Mycroft come here."

Mycroft slinked out from underneath John's trough. "What do you want now?"

Sherlock flew down from her web and perched on John's snout. "I need you to fetch me another word."

Mycroft grimaced. "What do I look like an errand boy? Get it yourself I'm busy."

"Mycroft, need I remind you that John's slop is what you crave, without it you will grow so thin that we will be able to see through you," Sherlock snapped as she once more flew to her web.

Mycroft sighed. "Fine, I'll be back."

A few hours later Mycroft returned and Sherlock sifted through the piles of paper until she found what she wanted. "Loyal, loyal," she whispered aloud and then began to work through the night.

The next morning John sat proudly underneath Sherlock's web. The word 'loyal' woven into her sticky tresses sent the press into another frenzy. John was safe for the time being.