She's alive.

She wants to have dinner.

She's alive. The Woman is alive.

He was wrong. Her body- it hadn't been hers. A very elaborate fake? How? How did she-

She was alive.

The door wasn't locked.

Sherlock paused. What? His key was in the door. He remembered locking it behind him. He always did. Now it's unlocked.

No. Not unlocked. Forced open. The knob in the frame is scratched and damaged. Someone forced it open without caring if it could be locked again.

She's alive. More than that, she returned. She let him and John know that. Perhaps old friends of hers got too close. To Sherlock or to the Woman, hard to say. They came for Sherlock. Her enemies? One of Sherlock's? The odds of Moriarty attacking conjecturally were slim. Then again.

I will burn the heart out of you

He was embarrassingly public about his grief. Moriarty can take advantage of that.

He pressed his fingertips on the door window. It opened. He walked further in, searching for evidence. Moriarty would leave no trace. He was a ghost. A name barely breathed even in death. His men would never dare to leave the door destroyed.

The Woman's then.

Mrs Hudson's door was open. No screaming. The bakery was open. Grocery day. No. Wait. That smell- cleaning fluid. The people behind this left the door damaged, they wouldn't clean up blood and leave the door broken.

A pair of blue rubber gloves with frills. A duster, multiple bottles of cleaning spray, rags, and disinfectant. The carrying case too was distinct. Mrs Hudson didn't own those items. She's out buying groceries.

Danielle.

He turned to the stairs. Scuff marks on the wall. Two distinct and different. The first made by someone going up the stairs, backwards, pushing the wall with their foot. No walking, carried. People carried her up and forced her up these stairs. The second by someone scratching the wall with all their might. The cheap nail polish became chipped, leaving colorful traces in the wall and the stairs. Her favorite loafer had fallen to the floor, abandoned without a care.

He can see it. Danielle, furious and scared. She took defense classes after Moriarty took her. She stood no chance against men like this. Their training included countering hers. She scraped the wall, just once, but just near the bottom of the stairs. They gripped her tighter the rest of the way.

No one was here. No police. Danielle could scream quite well. If people heard screaming, someone would call the police. His neighbors could have become complacent but he doubted that. No. Her captors forced her silence.

Perhaps she screamed for him. Or for John. Both of them? Neither?

He can't focus on that. They went up. Sherlock needed to follow. He quickly grabbed a can of disinfectant, tucking it away in his coat. He nabbed a slip of paper and pen, scribbling a warning for John. He tucked it to the door knocker before closing it. Loudly.

He doesn't need to hide his presence. They watched him walk into the flat.

Sherlock walked up the stairs, calm and steady. The door slowly pushed open. He floated his way into the flat. One man was at the window. Another was heard in the kitchen. Their leader- Neilson, he recalled- stood in the middle, a gun in his hand. Danielle sat in the client chair. The Americans turned it so Sherlock could see her face.

She'd been crying. Her blue eyes were red now. Her lips wobbled. Her chin shook. Danielle Nolan, crying silently in 221b. Her face was red. It's not from crying. That pattern came only from being hit repeatedly in the face.

Her sobs halted when her gaze landed on Sherlock. "Sherlock!" She tried flinching forward.

Neilson gripped her shoulder. He pressed her back into the chair, moving the gun closer to her skull. Her face hardened before quickly correcting back into overwhelmed tears.

"Don't snivel, Danielle. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." Sherlock looked up at Neilson. The man wasn't even looking at her. "What a tender world that would be."

The American hadn't let her go. The gun stayed. Still, Danielle reached out. "God you co-"

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes." Neilson stated.

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock held the outstretched hand. Danielle tried to hold his hand. Instead, he let the sleeve of her cardigan fall. Bruises already. Just like her cheek.

"Sher-"

"I've been asking this one. She doesn't seem to know anything." Neilson replied.

Her clothes were already disheveled. Wrinkles from time left in the dryer. Her arm had moved to give him her hand, the sleeve when he moved it. The tear on her shoulder was much more prominent. A shame- this cardigan looked very good on her. His fingers were tense as his violin bowstrings, and he had to keep them in check with each new injury on her body.

"But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr Holmes?" Neilson snapped with no subtlety at all.

As Sherlock traced his eyes up, a new injury caught his eye. He assumed the pinkness of the cheek was from the force. The cut only just started to bleed. A tiny little drop built in the wound, stuck in the middle of more heavy marks.

It took one look to confirm a ring on Neilson's hand. The blood stood out on the silver.

All Sherlock needed was a second. Just one. That gave him all he needed. The placement of his carotid artery, the perfect spot for a skull fracture, his vulnerable eye. Another vital artery sat in his arm, the one that injured her in the first place. His lungs were in the usual place which meant Sherlock knew the exact rib needed to puncture them.

Neilson indeed was asking for something. Pity for him that he'll never get the phone. He'd get everything else instead. That's what anyone asked for when messing with Sherlock's neighbor.

"I believe I do." Sherlock stood up straight. It's time for battle. He's not John with his expert military experience, but Sherlock can put up just as good a fight.

Danielle sniveled again. Too loud, too many tears, too frightened. Her hand scrambled for purchase on him. "Sherlock- Sherlock come on- please-ah!"

Neilson squeezed her aching shoulder. Danielle winced, eyes pinching shut. An old injury on her? Or had another fresh one been dealt right in front of Sherlock?

"First, get rid of your boys." Sherlock instructed. His tone stays level and uncaring all the while. He backed away until he was closer to the couch. Given Neilson's height and Danielle's location, he needed the right spot for this next part.

The gun moved off Danielle, as he suspected it would. He went even further back. "Why?" Neilson asked, because he's an idiot.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room." Sherlock glared at the other two Americans.

Danielle let out a teary giggle. Sherlock almost smiled. She can still laugh. That's a good sign. She's made of tougher stuff than these pathetic men can dish out.

"You two, go to the car." Neilson conceded.

"Then get into the car and drive away." Neilson gave him a curious look. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work."

Neilson nodded, and his associates left. They made a point of walking by her chair. Danielle had increased her breathing, starting to pant in the seat. Sherlock met her eyes for a second. She calmed, and stayed calm even after the men left.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me." Sherlock ordered.

Neilson scoffed. "So you can point a gun at me?"

Sherlock held up his arms. "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist."

This man was especially stupid. It's infuriating that he made it inside the flat at all. Danielle had been hurt by a buffoon. His neighbor- who had such sentiment for anything and everything that she cried for dead people on the telly- who cleaned the flat of an elderly woman at no charge- who tried to comfort Sherlock over the Woman who wasn't even dead- who cared for Sherlock and bore all those injuries for Sherlock instead of giving up a phone?

If he had been later, if he had stayed to see the Woman or John, if he had waited, what more would these men have done to her? It's useless to think of such things. Still, his mind came up with solutions and possibilities. He solved enough crime scenes and saw enough bodies to know how much humans could take. Especially the stubborn ones. Danielle Nolan was stubborn, and always more so when sentiment was involved.

Danielle would have rather died than betray Sherlock. She proved that once before, and seemed determined to prove it again.

The man needed to pay for putting her through this again. Sherlock failed her last time. The pool would be the last time, if he had any say.

Neilson walked up. He searched Sherlock.

Danielle met Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock only rolled his eyes at the stupidity of Neilson. He searched but missed the very obvious shape in Sherlock's coat.

He whipped out a can of disinfectant. He sprayed Neilson in the face. The American had time to yelp. Sherlock headbutted the man quite swiftly on the weak point of his skull. Neilson fell back on the coffee table.

"Moron." He slammed the disinfectant on the computer table.

"Yeah." Danielle snorted, wetly. Sherlock turned his focus back to her. He knelt down. The tears in her eyes came again. "He- He was stupid. You know? So stupid."

Sherlock reached his hand up. Her face was warm.

She sniffled again. She raised the cardigan sleeve to her cheek. "So-Sorry. He's stupid."

Sherlock gently moved the hand away. She'd only hurt her cheek doing that. "You're alright, now. You're alright." This was his home, this was their street. Danielle Nolan should never be hurt at Baker Street.

He had hurt her at Baker Street. Just last week. Mourning the Woman who hadn't even died, Sherlock broke Danielle's heart and then shattered it again. The Woman did that to both of them. Sherlock spoke the words to Danielle of his own will, yes, but he was so affected by her passing that he couldn't control himself.

Danielle Nolan was hurt because of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. Sherlock resolved himself to never allow it again.

==MPH==

John arrived ten minutes later. Perhaps because he had been shouting at the Woman on Sherlock and Danielle's behalf. Or by incorrectly assuming where Sherlock had gone.

Danielle was in the kitchen. She made herself a bit of tea. The cup shook, but no tea spilled on the floor. The kettle boiled. Her hand grabbed the kettle and turned. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. It looked like she would pour the boiling water on Neilson. Neilson, tied and gagged, couldn't fight back. Sherlock certainly would have covered for the neighbor to the police when asked. Instead, Danielle sat herself down with a cup.

She glared into the steaming tea, though. Perhaps considering it.

Sherlock might have wanted to see her try. It wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to this American today. Danielle deserved to take her pound of flesh.

Yet she didn't.

It's very her.

Sentiment poured out for her. Beaten and bleeding, and Danielle still fretted about causing him harm.

Sherlock had no such qualms.

John bounded into the flat. Sherlock brought up his phone, dialing Lestrade. "What's going on?" He gawked at Neilson, then at Sherlock holding a gun, and lastly Danielle on the couch. "Jeez. What the hell is happening?"

"Danielle's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe." Sherlock replied.

"Oh, Danielle, my God. Are you alright?" John quickly sat himself down. He reached for the cup, lowering it to the table. Danielle tried to take it back but John already moved it away. "Jesus, what have they done to you?" He glared at Neilson with a matching rage.

Sherlock smiled. Ah, maybe Captain Watson would help him handle this. Except Sherlock had no need for those skills. He needed Doctor Watson to care for Danielle. His neighbor couldn't bear those disgusting mark for one more minute.

"Oh, I'm just being so silly. My half-brother pointed a gun at my head too." Danielle dismissed. John held her hand. Danielle squeezed back. "It's happened loads of times. That prick already did this before! He's not even worth these."

John gave her a side hug on the couch. Danielle sniffled, hugging him back. "No, no."

"I'm fine. It's nothing bad. I'm fine."

Danielle had just been tortured by an American. She insisted she was fine. These men could have done anything to her, and they were stupid enough to believe they'd get away with it. Well Sherlock is going to make sure they never think that nonsense again.

"Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her." Sherlock ordered.

John stood up. He helped Danielle to her feet.

"I'm not a child." Danielle didn't pull away from the touch. She was crying again.

"All right, it's all right. I'll have a look at that." John moved her towards the stairs.

"I'm fine, I'm fine really." She walked downstairs.

The door opened again. "Sherlock? Danielle? What's the note on the door?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock was relieved. If Mrs Hudson had been here too- these people had no shame.

"Mrs Hudson!" Danielle rushed down the stairs. "I'm so sorry, your things-"

"Oh your face!" Mrs Hudson gasped, loudly.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" John asked.

"I expect so. Now go." Sherlock snapped.

"John! Something's happened to Danielle!" Mrs Hudson called out. "Come help!"

John glared once more at Neilson. Sherlock did too. The head wound was bleeding nicely, and his nose was crusting. John rushed after his patient. He left Sherlock with a distinct impression that Sherlock had carte blanche on this man.

Sherlock grinned.

The call finally connected. "Sherlock?"

"Lestrade. We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance." Sherlock reported.

"Oh god, who's hurt? Is it John?"

"Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we're fine. No, it's the, uh, it's the burglar." Sherlock replied. "He's got himself rather badly injured."

This whole time, Neilson stayed consistent in his annoyance and anger. Now? Fear was creeping in his eyes. Good.

"What happened to him?" Lestrade asked, sounding more confused than concerned.

"Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull...suspected punctured lung." Sherlock didn't hide his loathing.

"Jesus. How did he get all of that?" Lestrade asked.

"He fell out of a window." Sherlock said, and decided to make it the truth. He has a time limit before the police arrive. It's more than enough time for what he wants.

==MPH==

Mrs Hudson was fretting and cooing. She brought John the first aid kit. Danielle sat in her kitchen, frowning at the newly purchased food. John tended to the cut on her cheek first.

"Have you seen my shoe? I seemed to have lost it." Danielle asked. Her barefoot fidgeted on the tile.

"No, I don't see it." Mrs Hudson replied. "Don't worry about that."

Danielle winced "Shh-" She clamped her mouth shut.

"It stings, yeah." John assured her. His hands stayed steady.

A loud noise came from outside. The three turned to it.

"Ooh. That was right on my bins." Mrs Hudson remarked.

They heard a groan. Danielle widened her eyes. John hardened his face, going back to his care. Danielle tried to see who had fallen.

"Who's that?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Nobody important." John replied. "Mrs Hudson, would you make Danielle a spot?"

"Oh yes! Of course." Mrs Hudson began scurrying about the kitchen.

Danielle frowned. She almost started crying. John kept tending to her. "I'm okay."

"Yes you are."

"He- He's not important." She sniffled. "He just wanted a stupid phone."

"A phone? You- Irene Adler's phone?"

"I know." Danielle chuckled, sniffling. "Why do they want the phone of a dead woman?"

John paused. Did she not know? That's not possible. John watched Irene send the text. Sherlock got his message, and Danielle should have as well. If she hadn't- That message was sent so long ago. How long had these Americans had her?

Maybe he should pop outside. Just for a second. A quick second, really.

Sherlock rushed down the stairs. Police sirens went off, along with the ambulance. John glared. Damn. Opportunity missed.

==MPH==

Lestrade blinked. The American was wheeled into the ambulance. It drove away. He turned to a blank Sherlock.

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?"

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count." Sherlock replied.

That's the kind of answer he expected. Not much he can do about that. It's really too much paperwork to arrest Sherlock. Lestrade decided to just leave it at that.

==MPH==

Danielle wanted things. Mrs Hudson had given her a warm cuppa. She wanted her favorite shock blanket, her dog and cat, just all the comforts of home. She missed it.

Her body ached. The cut on her cheek still hurt, and she hated it. Her cardigan needed to be stitched back together. John had taken it off her to make sure there weren't any cuts on her shoulder. Her wrist still hurts too.

She hated today and wanted it to be over.

Sherlock came back into the flat. Danielle straightened herself up, grabbing the nearby cardigan. She dabbed her tears away with it.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. Mrs Hudson too. We need to look after them." John stated to Sherlock.

"No." She wasn't a child that needed 'looking after'. These injuries weren't bad. She needed to sleep it off. It's not even that bad.

"Of course, but they're fine." Sherlock told John.

"No, she's not. Look at her."

Danielle shifted. Sherlock didn't glance over at her. Instead, he went to Mrs Hudson's fridge.

"They've got to take some time away from Baker Street. Mrs Hudson can go and stay with her sister, and Danielle with her brother. The nice one, not the banker. Doctor's orders." John tried.

"Felix can't fit me in there." Danielle replied. "It's too small."

Sherlock closed the fridge. He held up a mince pie, biting into it. "Don't be absurd."

"They're in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone!" John snapped. "She doesn't even know!"

"Know what?" Danielle asked.

"The Woman is alive." Sherlock finished off the mince pie. Danielle tensed. "I believe she wants to have dinner with us."

Danielle blinked. "She- She- what."

"Yes. I was surprised as well." Sherlock held out his hand. "I'll have it back."

John and Mrs Hudson looked between the two. "Have it back?" John repeated.

"The phone." Sherlock replied.

Danielle, dazed, reached into her shirt. She pulled the phone out of her bra. She passed it to Sherlock. "You left it in your dressing gown. I found it when they thought I was crying."

"Oh my." Mrs Hudson squeezed her arm. "Poor dear."

"I wasn't crying. They just thought I was." Danielle said in a flat voice.

Sherlock nodded at her. "Thank you, and shame on you, John Watson."

John reeled back. So much just happened and he can barely process it. "Shame on me?!"

"Mrs Hudson and Danielle Nolan leave Baker Street?" He gave Danielle a side hug, reaching over to squeeze Mrs Hudson on the shoulder. "England would fall."

Mrs Hudson laughed. She squeezed his hand, and gave Danielle a much bigger hug. The young woman laughed tiredly.

"She's alive?" Danielle asked. "She- She's not- She wasn't-"

"It's alright, dear, come here." Mrs Hudson pulled Danielle into a hug. The younger woman shivered in the hug.

==MPH==

They managed to settle Danielle in her flat. Mrs Hudson fed her pets, and John took Erika on her evening walk. Nightwing curled up with Danielle on the couch. Sherlock vanished to hide the phone.

John poured himself a drink. Sherlock came back to the fight, whirling off his coat.

"Where is it now?" John asked.

"Where no-one will look." Sherlock replied. He grabbed his violin.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures." John mused.

Sherlock deduced that long ago. Danielle had as well, saying as much in front of the Woman. It had impressed the Dominatrix. "Yes, it is."

"So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?" John asked.

Sherlock stayed quiet.

I'm not dead. Let's have dinner. All three of us.

Danielle hadn't even known. She withstood the torture over the phone of a dead woman. She did that. Her sentiment encouraged her to take it all. For the Woman's memory, or because Sherlock cared a great deal about the phone?

Big Ben began to ring.

Sherlock took a breath. "Happy New Year, John."

"Did you know she was messaging Danielle?" John asked. "Because I didn't."

Sherlock played his violin.

"Danielle replies." John said. "Did you hear what Irene said? She flirts with Danielle, and Danielle replies."

It's certainly not a shock.

"Do you think they-" John cut himself off. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you think they ever...had dinner?"

Sherlock played louder.

The dress had fit perfectly. The makeup looked beautiful, and expensive. Her family was well off, yes, but none of them cared enough to buy her those things. Her sister sent clothes that suited a thinner shape. The buyer of that dress cared about Danielle's measurements.

They knew what Danielle likes.

They knew what Sherlock liked.

Sherlock played even louder.

John turned away. He sat himself down with his drink.

Sherlock tried focusing on the music. He deleted any thoughts about the Woman messaging Danielle or having dinner with her.

==MPH==

She had a new message. A text message, for once, actually.

'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner, all three of us.'

Danielle stared at the text until she fell asleep.

==MPH==

Molly Hooper found Sherlock in her lab. It's not an uncommon thing. It's just that she hadn't seen him for a week. The last time was at identifying the body of Irene Adler.

He was staring at the Xray machine. Again, very common. The uncommon thing is the item he was searching. It's a phone.

"Is that a phone?" Molly asked.

"It's a camera phone." Sherlock replied.

"And you're X-raying it?" Molly asked.

"Yes, I am."

Molly smiled at him. She's getting him to talk! That's gotta mean something. "Whose phone is it?"

"A woman's."

Molly tensed her smile. "Your girlfriend?" She glanced at the phone again. She knew the phone case Danielle had. It doesn't look like that. Then again, Sherlock could have removed it to search it.

Sherlock pulled away from the machine. "You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?"

"Well, we all do silly things." Molly tried. She wouldn't mind if Sherlock scanned her phone. It's not a big deal.

"Yes. They do, don't they? Very silly." Sherlock pulled the phone away. "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games."

"She does?" Danielle was a bit of a fiend for puzzles. She once tried to get Molly to join her for an escape room. It ended up not working out. Of course Sherlock liked someone like that. Someone just as interested in solving things as him. But Molly liked solving things too, okay? It's not a problem for her. She loves it. Why couldn't he see that?

Sherlock typed on the phone. No sound came. He frowned, sitting back down on the stool in a slump.

Molly wished it had worked. He looked very handsome when he smiled. It's also a tiny bit bothersome that Danielle gave him such a good puzzle.