Thanks for the amazing support guys - a few of you have mentioned that Sherlock's madness is much like Hamlets… Well I hope not, I've never watched it or indeed read it – I'm sorry, but I find Shakespeare a little dull but I am hoping to watch the David Tennant version of it soon. Anyways, I hope this is a good enough ending for everyone, please let me know what you think!

Sherlock Holmes sat opposite PC Anne Tyler. She smiled sinisterly looking up at him. He ached from his experiences from the institution, but all in all, mentally sound unlike Anne who rocked back and forth slightly and blinking furiously

"I bet you want to know how I did it," She whispered.

"I don't really care," Sherlock shrugged. "Case solved. My work is done."

"No… You do care. One of your weaknesses, I've heard…" Anne said. "Such stories about the infamous Sherlock Holmes… The Case of the six spiders… The Black Rose… Hound of the Baskervilles… All the greats. I love your website… Real clever…"

"Oh god," Sherlock sighed. "I'm gonna hear about how you were trying to create a case that even I couldn't solve…"

"That's a small percentage,"

"Will draw me a pie chart?" Sherlock asked bored.

"I bet you don't even know who invented it," Anne smiled.

"Like I said," Sherlock muttered. "I don't care."

"Don't you want to know why I did it?" Anne grinned.

"Does no one listen to me anymore?" Sherlock asked exasperated. "I don't care!"

"Yeah you do…" Anne grinned. "Because this case killed her… What was her name...? Marie?"

Sherlock was up in flash. He grabbed Anne's neck and pushed her against the wall. She clutched at his hand, gasping for breath. "You don't have authority to speak her name," He seethed.

"See?" Anne gasped. "You want to know!"

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Sherlock turned sharply. He let go of Anne. She fell to her knees clutching her chest, taking in long deep breaths. Lestrade looked between the two of them.

"Sherlock, a word," He said.

Sherlock stared at him for a long minute. He glared back at Anne then followed the inspector out of the room, his face flushed with fury.

"I know you're upset," Lestrade said. "I know that this case means a lot to you. I know that you're hurting and you want to see this… Bitch in pain, the same kind of pain that you're in. But attacking them inside an interview room is not the way to do it. You could get sued-"

"Let them," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh shut up," Lestrade said. "This is serious, Sherlock. If you can't handle these emotions then go home. We have our killer."

"I can handle it,"

"Well I'm sitting in with you – no arguments Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't say a word. He pursed his lips and opened the door. Anne was huddled against the corner, her eyes streaked with tears. He felt a twinge of guilt, but shook it away, uncaring.

"Sit up," Lestrade ordered. Anne crawled to her feet and sat miserably opposite the two detectives.

"Water," She croaked.

"No," Sherlock snapped, leaning forward.

"We can't deny her of her human rights," Lestrade said.

"Why not?" Sherlock retorted. "Why should she have human rights when she took the right of living away from so many people?"

Lestrade couldn't think of an answer. He sighed and sat beside the young detective, clasping his hands. Anne blinked back the tears.

"I didn't do it all by myself," She whispered.

"I'm quite aware of that." Sherlock said. "Inspector Lestrade has apprehended the rest of them. Unluckily for you, they don't need to suffer."

"Suffer from what?" Anne asked.

"Me," Sherlock growled, his voice suddenly low and menacing. Anne said nothing. Sherlock leaned back. "Go on then. Why did you do it?"

"I'm not going to tell you," She breathed.

"And you were so eager to tell me," Sherlock said. "How did you do it?"

"It was easy!" Anne cried. "Stupid prostitutes… Don't know a thing! Stupid bitches,"

"You're a police officer," Lestrade snapped, he too was becoming increasingly angry. "It was your oath to protect and serve,"

"That was the whole point," Anne breathed. "They taint our streets, strip our cities of all good. Filth!" She spat on the ground.

"You're mother was one," Sherlock concluded. "She didn't take care of you like she was supposed to…"

"Good old Sherlock Holmes." Anne said. "The simple art of deduction. That was good. And I don't care how you managed that… She was a whore. Taking home a different man every night… I heard everything. Mum's are supposed to care for you… But she didn't. She never cared. As long as the money kept coming in, she'd keep fucking coming,"

"Bad childhoods account for nothing," Lestrade said. "Not when you've murdered 9 women."

"You idiot," Anne shrieked. "I was protecting the streets! I was protecting our children!"

"One of the girls was pregnant!" Lestrade said hotly.

"Do you think I give a fuck?" Anne asked, hysterically. "I was doing that child a favour!"

"Yeah big favour, not living and all!" Lestrade said.

"Did you shoot John Watson?" Sherlock asked.

"No!" Anne laughed. "That was Kathy, she's always been a shooter,"

"You're pretty quick to point fingers," Lestrade commented.

"If I go down, they all go down." Anne hissed.

"Alright." Sherlock said. "Why did you do it?"

"That's not fun!" Anne said. "Do you want to know how I got them to take the poison?"

"Not yet… I want to know how you managed to mix the poison. Where did you find the instructions?" Sherlock asked.

"You still haven't clicked!" Anne laughed. "Your brother. I stole it from your brother! The police at the CCTV room distracted that idiot Alis, whilst I got what I needed."

Sherlock leaned forward. "Aren't you so clever? What about the symbol?"

"A distraction,"

"And the hair?"

"Again; just distractions," Anne chuckled.

"How did you get them to ingest it?" Lestrade asked.

"That was easy. They're so stupid when they're high or wasted," Anne muttered. "But they always need a drink…"

"She spiked the water. Gave it to them when they got thirsty, death was slow or fast depending on the levels of poison in the water." Sherlock said. "It was easy, perfect."

"Why thank you,"

"It wasn't a compliment," Sherlock snapped. Anne's face fell. "So… Were you behind John's phone calls and texts?"

"That was easy," Anne sniggered.

"Alright then." Lestrade said. "How did you manage with Keith?"

"Bloody arse was already on the edge. Perfect set up. Just witnessing a murder set him over the edge. So much fun."

"Okay then," Lestrade said. "Really, why did you do it?"

Anne gave a small smile, but said nothing. Lestrade slammed his fist onto the metal table. "Tell me, now!" He shouted.

Anne leaned forward. "No," She whispered.

"Why did you kill all of them?" Lestrade said angrily. "Why?"

"Not saying!" She said.


Anne gave a shaky grin. "Because," She whispered. "Killings folk… It makes me glad…"

Lestrade stared at her wide-eyed. Sherlock said nothing. He stood up violently and marched out of the room, kicking the seat as he went.

I shifted slightly having just redone my bandages. Sherlock was in the kitchen sampling something – it looked like a human finger. He was completely absorbed in his work.

"So…" I said. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock murmured.

"Well it's just…" I sighed. "Sherlock, you were in a hospital. Not just that, it was an institution for the insane. How can you just go back to normal in a few days of being released?"

"Do not ask John and I shan't tell," Sherlock muttered.

"Were you really ill or was it just a ploy to lure Tyler into the open?" I asked. "Or was it a way to get stoned? Sherlock – answer me,"

"The answer I give you will not be enough," Sherlock said. "For you, to know how I function is essential. Can't you just leave it be?"

"Sherlock," I said sternly.

He sighed and looked up from the microscope, his face fallen. "I'm not sure, John" He said. "Initially it was an idea to bring Anne to the forefront. I thought that me mentally unstable might provoke her to accuse me. But after a few hours in that place… I thought that I was generally mad. Or at least heading that way…"


"Does it really matter?" Sherlock asked, peering back into the microscope.

"It does." I replied.

Sherlock sighed. "I… I saw my past… It was almost like rifling through a scrap yard that has collected over the years. In barely a day I had relived my worst experiences… And occasionally some of the best."

"Was Sabrina a part of those experiences?" I asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No," He muttered.

"You don't feel sad at her death?" I asked. "No grief? Nothing?"

"Will feeling sad help bring her back from the dead?" Sherlock asked.

"No-" I said.

"Then why should I feel remorse? Millions die each day, I don't mourn them,"

"She died trying to catch the killer," I said. "She was trying to impress you."

"So were you," He replied.

"Sherlock, it's not natural to feel nothing when someone you used to love has died," I said.

Sherlock turned to me, his face stone cold and sombre. "Would you rather have me miserable? Unable to think? Depressed? Calling in grief councillors to help me cope?"

"Of course not,"

"Then I shall continue as normal," Sherlock replied, bending back down low over his work.

"Don't you feel anything?" I asked, standing so I could speak to him, eye-to-eye.

Sherlock didn't reply, his head still bent low.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

"I'm sorry I can't be the hero you write about in your blogs," He said calmly. "I'm sorry I can't match up to every human emotion. I wish everyday that I could, but that is not who I am. People don't change,"

"Yes they do," I replied.

"They don't. They want to have the illusion that they can change, that they can make a difference to themselves and to the world around them. It simply isn't true. We're all slaves to our own nature," He said. "And I know what my nature is,"

I sighed and nodded, making my way over to his side. He smiled a little. "I'm glad that it wasn't so bad a shot. You seem to have recovered remarkably quickly," He said.

I chuckled. "Yeah. I'm still going." I looked at him. "Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.

"Always," He shrugged. "Are you going to write this up in your blog?"

"Not if you don't want me to," I replied.

"Thank you,"

"So… why did Anne do it?"

Sherlock looked at me. His light green eyes flickered, the way they always do when he is about to mislead someone. "She said that it was revenge."

"Revenge?" I asked. "A motivator nonetheless, but not a powerful one."

"Mm, she was getting back at her mother." Sherlock said. "A dish best served cold I guess,"

"I guess," I muttered. "Listen, I'm going to go down to the shops, do you need anything?"

"Are you sure you should be going down?" He asked.

"I've recovered from the shock and shot, Sherlock," I said. "Besides, I need to walk and…" I looked around the little flat. "And… this place isn't the best place for it,"

Sherlock nodded curtly. "Very well,"

"Do you need anything?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No," He muttered.

"Right," I said. I pulled on my coat and stepped out onto the landing, closing the door behind me. I stood there for a moment not really doing anything. Then I heard Sherlock's voice rip in emotion. I blinked back tears and looked at the ceiling, listening to my best friend being destroyed by these new emotions. Wanting to go back inside, but knowing I couldn't invade this very personal, very private moment. The morning light shown through the windows and a new day was about to begin. And perhaps a new era in our friendship.