I own nothing.

Sherlock arrived at the bank and asked to see Harriet. She was usually right on time for work and would probably let him into the safety deposit boxes. Since they asked her to help out with the bank accounts, she had taken quite a liking to the idea of being a detective.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Watson had not come in today," a girl at the counter told him. Did she know when Ms. Watson would be in? No, she had not called to say that she was going to be late, which was very unusual. Was there anything she could do to help in the meantime? Sherlock quashed the unease that had shot up in his gut again and remember the few acting classes he had been forced to take as a child. His parents thought they would help him and Mycroft be more social. Sherlock had hated them at the time, but he now found acting had its uses. He slowly looked at the woman with sad, troubled eyes.

"I am here to collect the belongings of my cousin, Gavin Newton. He recently passed away and no one else in the family could bear to come and get them," he paused, as if struggling to keep his composure. "We recently found out he kept a safety deposit box, and we are trying to put all his affairs in order." He pulled the key out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. "The box in number 4645 and I know the combination." He did his best impression of a grieving relative trying to maintain a stiff upper lip, it helped to try and pretend you had no feelings but were sad at the same time. It came easily to him.

The girl looked moved. "Of course we can help you, right this way, Mr. -?"

"Newton, Dexter Newton." He smiled at her a little shakily. "Thank you for helping me; making this as painless as possible for me and my family."

She led Sherlock into a back room. "Just sign your name on the dotted line here," she said kindly. Sherlock did so, and she helped him to the deposit box. They opened the slot to take out the box with both keys and then she left Sherlock alone. Privacy was valued when it came to these things, something he was grateful about. Sherlock quickly entered the combination and opened the box. Inside was a small shoe box. Sherlock quickly grabbed it and shut the safe deposit box. He thanked the woman, and left the bank as quickly as possible.

When he got home there was still no sigh of John, John and Harry must have had a lot to drink last night, but he had a box. A box that hopefully would tell him who or what had happened to notify the company of Gavin and get him killed. The box was small, but size was not important, what was inside is what mattered. With steady hands, though his heart was beating fast, Sherlock lifted the lid of the box. Inside were hand written notes, photographs, and the torn pages from the diary and a couple of items including his debit card for the bank that Sherlock had just grabbed the safety deposit box from, probably so if his pursuers searched his room they would not be lead strait to the bank. Gavin had obviously worked hard to track down all the CEO's, for each one, paper clipped a set of hand written notes and photos together, he had pictures of them, their home, their cars, and their offices. He flipped through each of these packets carefully.

Apart from the fact that Gavin could have been convicted of stalking, nothing was sinister about these photos. He did not find anything to intrigue or alarm him. They were taken from a distance and it did not look like any of the subjects had noticed anything. Sherlock was almost disappointed until he reached the last packet of photos. This focused on the man Adam Worth. Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat and his breath catch as he looked down on at the face of Moriarty, and into a pair of cold eyes that seemed to be staring directly at him. His heart skipped a beat.

But they weren't staring at him, Moriarty could not see him, this was only a photo. But Moriarty had seen the photographer. Moriarty had seen Gavin taking a photo of him as Moriarty did not like to be the center of attention. It was possible that this photo had signed Gavin's death certificate. Sherlock stared at the photo for a long time. He had not seen that face since the night he had grossly underestimated his adversary and John had been strapped with explosives. He briefly found himself unable to act.

A moment later he calls John. John does not pick up his phone. Sherlock pauses for a moment, and then, quite unusually calls Mycroft. Mycroft picks up on the first ring.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"I know you have me under surveillance. Do you know where Watson went last night or where he is now?" Sherlock asked without pretence.

There was a pause and some conversation Sherlock could not make out as Mycroft consulted with Marina. "No, but we can let you know if we find out. We know John went to go see his sister at the bank yesterday afternoon and then they went to her house. We have no information on Doctor Watson's movements after that."

Sherlock took in this information. "Thanks," was his only reply. He hung up the phone. This was not a comforting development.

Sherlock went back to the table and took the paper clip off the last stack of papers. He removed the top photo of Moriarty and looked through them trying to memorize every detail. Moriarty getting into a silver Lexus, all the CEO's had pictures of them with this type of car. He memorized the license plate, LE60FRG, and then moved on; this was the only photo where the license plate of the car had been visible. Next was Moriarty entering an office, it was definitely in London, and then a factory, Swanson Bath Products, the factory was in a rundown part of town with a few abandoned buildings around, and last a picture of him coming out of a large town house, almost identical to the one on 10 Downing Street the Prime Minister lives in. There were no more photos, just some hand written notes that Gavin had made, mostly things that Sherlock already knew.

He leaned back in a chair, applied a nicotine patch, and let out a deep breath. Gavin had discovered that Moriarty was part of a large fraud and Moriarty liked to stay above the fray. He did not want anyone to be able to connect him directly to any crime group. He had that consulting criminal business to run. As he told Sherlock, nobody got to him. But Gavin had, if only by accident. It would ruin his reputation. That is why Gavin had been killed. Moriarty had found out about his knowledge and decided to do something about it.

But how had he known Moriarty was after him? Did he see Moriarty looking back and get scared? Did he find out what the other man did for a living? Did Moriarty play his little games with Gavin? He wanted to run this all by John. E paced around the flat. So where was Moriarty now? How could they convict him? How had he pulled off Gavin's murder?

Sherlock grabbed the case file and examined the pictures again. It was obvious Gavin had been killed in another location, he did not yet know where, and then he had been somehow smuggled into the mall and left to be found the next morning, not dead, but severely brain damaged. Gavin had been following the CEO's around; it would not be hard to arrange to have him grabbed. But he was suspicious at this point so he might have been threatened into meeting them. Was this why he hid all his files so well and stored the box where few people would look? And then getting him into the mall, how had Moriarty gotten the body there? The surveillance cameras around the perimeter had not picked up anything and that left the roof and the sewers. The roof was unlikely as a helicopter would have drawn attention to him, but the sewers? Sherlock looked up the mall online and found a few picture of an underground car park. There was a man hole visible in the corner was one of them. Sherlock knew that he did not have proof but decided to go with the assumption that he was correct. He looked up a map of sewers around London. They crisscrossed the grid, almost like paths, added to the tunnels used for the underground; it was possible to traverse London without stepping on the surface if you had the proper equipment. Sherlock would have to investigate this one day.

But where was he killed? Where was he killed? Sherlock scanned the map for a place that was secluded, dark, and where a murder could take place without anyone noticing. It had to have discrete sewer access. Swanson Bath Products. Sherlock saw that on the map that it was indeed abandoned and a main sewer line ran right under it. That had to be the place. It was only just outside of London, it would not have been a long drive.

Sherlock's phone rang and he picked it up after three rings. It was Mycroft. "Hello?"

"It appears your friend John Watson was last seen getting into a Silver Lexus, license plate LE60TRY, with his sister and two unknown men. We don't know where he went after that, you are the one we focus our surveillance after all. I hope that helps." Mycroft sounded a bit worried; he knew Sherlock tried to talk to him as little as possible.

"It does." Sherlock hung up the phone and slowly put it down on the table. He was visibly shaking. He felt paralyzed. All of the CEO's had silver Lexus's. It made sense that their organization used them. But how had they found out? Had Harriet been careful with her bank inquiries? Had thought he was suspicious and set out to find John Watson for questioning? If Moriarty was involved he would know about it soon. Would the name of John Watson come across his desk and make him pause? Moriarty would remember John and would probably set some puzzle for him to solve in order to save John's life. He would not be playing that game again. He had to figure out Moriarty was up to before he had time to ask. Moriarty may not know yet, or be too busy to deal with it personally. He would deal with it personally. Where would the thugs take him? The last know person they had kidnapped had been taken to the Swanson Bath Products Factory. Sherlock grabbed his gun, shoved it in his coat pocket, and ran out the door. He only hoped he would get there in time.

John was not happy. He his hands were handcuffed behind his back and around a steel support column. He had not had anything to eat in over twelve hours, his wrists were raw and painful, and his sister, Harry, had been complaining for the last six hours. He knew people reacted differently to stress in situations like this, so he tried not to get to annoyed, but he was at the end of his rope with his sister. He wasn't happy about this situation either.

"That is the last time I help out you and that mad friend of yours!" Harry yelled for about the fiftieth time.

John sighed; unfortunately he feared it would be the last time, not because she wouldn't want to help them, but because they would be dead. He hated Sherlock for using his name when trying to invest money in that stupid company for a stupid reason. He did not care right now it had been for a case, he should have used another name. And then using Harriet to track down the accounts; someone had tracked the IP address, they had been told as much by the thugs who picked them up, and they noticed that another Watson had recently shown interest in their company. So now they were both being held, while the thugs tried to find whoever was in charge, and John was left with Harry in an abandoned building. He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he was back in his flat and the only reason he was handcuffed was because Sherlock had decided to try something kinky. Harry's voice was making this illusion hard to keep up in his head; he found it amazingly difficult to imagine anything sexy with his sister screaming in his ear. He soon gave up and went back to going over every detail of the case he knew: dead kid, fake companies, corrupt "CEO"'s, bank accounts, money laundering.

Depression settled over him. He might die here if he wasn't found soon, and judging by how well the murder of Gavin Newton was pulled off, he was sure, if these were the same people, they knew what they were doing. He comforted himself by saying that Sherlock would have surely figured out he was missing and would be looking for him by now. His phone, which had been left out of his reach on a table, had rung a couple of times. He wished he had paid to have the GPS option activated; he would have to invest in that in the future. But how would Sherlock know where to find him when he did not know who had kidnapped him.

"Are you even listening to me?" yelled Harriet interrupting his thoughts. Her hair was askew and a wild fire burned in her eyes. She looked a lot like John, same hair color and eyes, but was distinctly feminine. At this moment she looked like she could have breathed fire. She may have been an alcoholic, but Harriet would never go down without a fight and she was perfectly sober now. "I said, how can you be so calm?"

It was true. John was relatively calm. He did not know whether it was because he had accepted that he was going to die, or, like Mycroft had said, he liked the danger, but he did not feel as afraid as he knew he should. He turned to Harry. "Well, first, I was being shot at in Afghanistan, and then, a few weeks ago, some lunatic strapped a bomb to my chest and threatened to blow me up, so I guess being kidnapped and held captive is just another day in the life for me."

Harry stared at him for a moment in disbelief. She turned away in silence and said nothing. John supposed she had not been expecting that. He had not told anyone about the bomb jacket.

Behind them John heard a door open and some people walking towards them. As the voices came closer he recognized one the he speakers and his stomach sank. He was fucked to put it lightly. Harry noticed despair come over John's face and looked worried. "What?" She whispered.

"It's the bloody maniac who strapped a bomb to me," he said shutting his eyes and trying to imagine that he was in the apartment.

"How did you get away last time?" Harry asked.

"My friend got us out." His eyes were still closed and he was trying to remember their couch in detail.

The footsteps were closer and soon three men were standing right in front of him. "Well isn't this a lovely surprise," said an all too familiar voice filled with way to much glee. John did not look up, he kept his eyes closed. "Not happy to see me again?"

John was steadying his nerves. "No," he replied after a moment when he could look Moriarty in the eye without flinching.

"Well, that is disappointing." Moriarty turned to look at Harry. "She must be your sister. Same last name and you look alike."

One of the thugs tapped Moriarty on the shoulder and showed him something on a phone. "I just got a text back. He isn't the John Watson that invested with us."

Moriarty glanced at the phone and his face split into a wide smile. John noticed that his teeth were unnaturally white; they reminded him of bleached bones. "That man is much more fun. This one, here, is merely his puppy."

John hated that Moriarty demoted him to pet status. He was a person too, just because he could not figure out your life story by your clothing did not make him sub human. Harry was looking at John curiously. She was giving him one of those searching looks that Sherlock often gave him, and her eyes widened as she came to her realization. John hoped it was not what he thought it was, or that she didn't share. John did not want to discuss his sex life in front of Moriarty. The guy gave him the creeps. But Harry was now looking at Moriarty curiously. Had she deduced something about him? He guessed that even when faced with death, Harriet's insatiable appetite for gossip could not be quenched.

Moriarty was not paying attention to Harry, she was obviously not important to him. He kneeled down in front of Watson, who tried to move away, but was prevented by the column and the handcuffs. "We are going to have to figure out something special for Sherlock when he comes looking for you. He gets ever so earnest where you are involved; he had gotten accustomed to his lap dog." He patted John on the head.

John heard the hatred in Moriarty's voice and was confused. Where did it come from? When he had strapped the bomb to him the last time, there was a manic gleam in his eyes that made John sick to his stomach. Sure he was crazy, but that level of antagonism made John think that he had personally offended him somehow, though John could not figure out when he did this. John tried to act confident. "I am sure he is on his way, he will have realized I am gone by now."

Moriarty studied him, a pitying smile playing along his mouth. "How will he even know where you are? He won't even know who took you." Moriarty eyed John up and down, as if searched for the right placed to strike. "But we can leave him a clue, can't we? Do you think he will recognize you by your left ear?"

"Yes," John replied matter-of-factly before he could stop himself. He felt the emotions drain out of him and puddle somewhere in the pit of his stomach, his arms were numb and vibrating, he was convinced he was going to die slowly and it felt like his soul was trying to get while it still could. He felt everything and nothing at all; it was like all this was happening to someone else. For some reason he could not get the sensation of Sherlock sucking on an ear lobe out of his mind. It was filling his head when he was trying to think of some clever plan to escape. It was all he could focus on. He loved the way Sherlock's tongue could massage them at the same time his teeth were biting them. His mouth moved of its own accord. "Sherlock loves my ears."

A spasm of rage crossed Moriarty's face and he straightened up. "Take the woman to the green room and stay there," he barked. The men bodily lifted Harry, who was trying to break their toes and swearing heavily, and they went out of sight leaving John and Moriarty alone. John's soul tried harder to escape its physical restraints. He was beginning to feel light headed. Moriarty pulled out a gun.

Somewhere behind him there was a large thud as something hit the doors and then rattling as they tried to get in. Moriarty looked past John and took aim with the pistol in his hand. He had not been expecting this, but he did not look worried. There was a quiet clinking and then a click as the door sprung open. Moriarty's face broke into a smile and he looked like his birthday had come early.

"Where is he?" Sherlock hissed in a barely audible but deadly undertone.

"Oh look, mommy's come home early!" Moriarty chimed in his annoying sing-song voice. "Pleased to see me?"

Sherlock did something that John could not see, Moriarty's expression changed to mild vexation. "Oh, he's alright, he is just here." Moriarty nodded in John's direction.

There were footsteps and Sherlock came into view. He was a good ten feet from Moriarty and held a gun, stiffly in his hand. Moriarty looked quite at ease, almost as if he were playing a fun game of snakes and ladders. Sherlock's face was drawn but his eyes were blazing. Moriarty rocked back and forth on his feet, smiling. "I am so glad I didn't kill you, sexy. How did you find us so quickly?"

Sherlock fixed him with an unblinking cold stare. "Gavin Newton."

Moriarty's eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed. It was a real laugh of pure joy, and it made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up. "You are good, just too good," he crowed. "I may have to rethink my plans for you, I am not sure I could ever kill you now that I know what you are capable of." He winked suggestively at Sherlock. "He was your first fan, you know. I did find it interesting to hear about the kid who called the police trying to expose my first murder, but I had not thought to check up on you until I talked to Gavin." His eyes looked without seeing as he recalled a fond memory. "Gavin must have been smarter than I gave him credit for, if he left a trail of bread crumbs that led you here after all these years." His face hardened and he pointed the gun at John. "But you have dug far too deep in my affairs. It's nosy! Frankly rude! So I can't let you out unscathed."

He smiled apologetically and pulled the trigger. Sherlock flinched. John felt a white hot pain slice through his ear, followed shortly by warm wetness that spread out from his head. John opened his eyes when he realized he was not dead. Sherlock made a move to go to John but Moriarty whipped his gun around to point at Sherlock. Sherlock froze. "I only hit the top of his ear; he is not going to die. It is touching you care so much for your poodle, though why you are so attached to him, I will never understand. He is nothing extraordinary." Moriarty seemed to look at Sherlock thoughtfully. "You know, you and I would have much more fun together."

There was another bang as the doors were thrown open as a large group of people ran through. The phrase "Freeze, police!" cut through the air. Hatred engulfed Moriarty's features in an instant as he turned the gun back towards John. Sherlock threw himself at Moriarty and the shot went wild, hitting the wall with a loud crack. Sherlock tried to pin Moriarty to the ground, but the other man twisted and turned like a snake, getting a hand free and using it hit Sherlock in the side of the head. Sherlock saw stars for a moment before being flipped on his back. Moriarty had him pinned. The officers were running across the empty floor towards them, but they were still yards away.

Moriarty grabbed Sherlock's scarf and used it to drag Sherlock's ear to his mouth, partially strangling Sherlock I the process. "When you get bored playing the hero detective, and you will, come and find me," he whispered, almost angrily. "I can entertain you." He slammed Sherlock's head back down and suddenly the weight was off his chest. Sherlock, too disoriented to figure out where Moriarty had gone, turned to look at John. John's shirt was now soaked in blood down one side and John was staring at him wild eyed and worried. Sherlock struggled to his feat and stumbled over to John. He was dizzy and thinking at half speed.

"Are you-?" He gasped a little hoarsely.

"Get these bloody cuff's off!"

John's command snapped Sherlock back to his senses and he moved around the pole pulling a lock pick set from his pocket. It took him a minute to get the cuffs off. John massaged his wrists and, for the first time, paid attention to the people in uniform swarming the building. He looked at Sherlock questioningly. Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath. He seemed unable to talk. The doctor in John took over and he felt the lumps on the back of Sherlock's head and examined the light red burn forming on his neck. "I'm fine," Sherlock gasped half-heatedly pushing his fingers away, "You're bleeding."

A medical technician was soon at John's side and bandaging the ear carefully. The bullet had nicked the top. It was not a serious injury, but it looked bad as it had bleed all over the place. Sherlock just watched what was going on around him as if in a dream. DI Lestrade came over to make sure that they were okay, and told them that the man with the gun had gotten away. They had, however, found Harry unharmed and arrested the two thugs with her. There were a lot of red and blue lights and soon he and John were in the back of a police car. They said nothing, not even looking at each other, but Sherlock could feel where their pinkies were touching on the seat between them. He moved his pinky on top of John's and pressed down slightly, in a reassuring, are you there kind of way. Sally turned around to say something to Sherlock that he did not catch. He did notice her eyes flick down and her face turn white. She did not say anything for the rest of the car ride.

They made a statement back at the station. Sherlock left out the Gavin Newton case. People kept giving him worried looks, and the officer who questioned him did not press him for details. Sherlock supposed he not being his usual self, but that was okay. He would have usually insulted them all thoroughly by know, but he could not summon the effort. Part of him felt like he was drowning. It was dark when he and John left the station; they walked back together, side by side, not speaking. Everything felt so far away to Sherlock, he was suffocating, but could not do anything about it. Nothing was real, nothing made sense. A thick fog had fallen over the city, muffling their footsteps. John caught his eye, the orange light from a street lamp sparkled in it like fairy dust. Sherlock was pushing John into an alley. Sherlock was pushing John against the wall. Sherlock was kissing John as if he was trying to suck the air from his lungs. Sherlock's hands were everywhere, touching, feeling, and trying to make sure that all of John was still there. John's hands were in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock was pushing John into the wall so hard, it was like he was trying to merge the atoms of their beings into one.

Sherlock felt moisture on his face. Sherlock pulled away and looked at a panting and disheveled John. A single drop of water was rolling down Sherlock's cheek. The London for thickened around them, muffling all sound and adding to the feeling he was underwater. He needed air. The orange glow of a street light created a warm ball that floated above the pavement. Sherlock walked into the glow and disappeared.

John stayed in the alley, leaning against the wall, for a long time.

When John got home the apartment was empty.

John awoke to his phone ringing. It was a text from Sherlock. Usual place, 1 hr - SH. John groaned and slowly got out of bed; dried blood form the night before cemented his bed sheets to his body. He had fallen into bed without another thought as soon as he had entered the apartment. It took him thirty minutes to wash all the dried blood off, put on a clean jumper and trousers, and walk to the café. He was early so he walked the park, across the street. John was alone, except for the birds. But he wasn't alone.

John heard footsteps and whipped around, his heart pounding in his chest. Sgt. Donovan was running towards him. John checked his watch; it was 6:45am. She was in exercise gear and her face was streaked with tears. Judging by her eyes, she had not slept the night before."It's you then," she spat. "You are his new girlfriend."

John was at a loss for words. Sally was acting strange. She was smiling and crying at the same time. He did not know what had gotten into her. "How is it, the sex, I mean, great right?"

John nodded, not sure if he should speak.

"Well enjoy it while it lasts, because one day he is going to let you down and you won't be able to look at him anymore," she focused on something John could not see, as if remembering. "He will always let you down, and you won't be able to touch him!" She was not smiling anymore, and the tears ran freely down her face in two streams. She drew in breaths with shuddering gasps. "I had a life before him. I normal life. And then I met him. I believed he was a god, that he could do anything. But he can't! He is only human. Less than human. He can't even feel. He doesn't have a heart!" She yelled the last bit and then paused as she took a deep breath as if to calm herself. She looked at John. "It hurts so much, you know, and I don't want it to hurt anymore. I don't want to feel. I wish it didn't hurt. There is this hole inside of me. But I can't because every time I look at him I see - I remember - and now he has you." She glared at John. "He needs to be alone, he deserves to be alone. I can sleep when I know he is as miserable as I am!"

She looked surprised at herself and staggered a little. "You seem nice; don't let him hurt you like I did. You could make him happy." She started crying again, sobbing hard and John moved to put him arm around her. "Don't touch me!" she screamed and slapped his hand away. She saw someone behind them and her face went pale, then green. In split second she was running again and soon she was around the corner and out of sight.

John turned to see Sherlock walking towards him. He was still by the café, but had obviously spotted him and Sally and was heading over to see what was going on. John turned back around to look at the place Sally had disappeared and did not move when Sherlock appeared at his side. They stood there, not knowing what to say to each other or if last night was real. John felt very tired. It felt like an eternity since they had last had breakfast together. He had been handcuffed to that pole for decades. Sherlock slipped his gloved hand into John's and gave it gentle squeeze. John leaned against Sherlock and they savored feeling of their bodies lightly pressed against each other through their coats.

"Are you hungry, John?" Sherlock asked. John nodded and they walked back to the café, still hand in hand. Sherlock seemed to be thinking, and before they got to the door.

"I need your help with something," Sherlock said.

"What?" John asked, curious.

"What are we going to do about Gavin Newton; this case is too big for the police."

John was surprised. "But you solved the case."

"But nothing changed. And I thought you would want justice for him family."

John smiled and put an arm around Sherlock's waist. "I am sure we will think of something."

Mycroft was sitting in his office, Marina on the couch texting as usual, when he heard a commotion outside.

"I know you are his brother, but you can't just barge in here like this with a bunch of boxes of scrap paper!" An angry voice was saying. "This is a restricted area!"

"This is not scrap paper!" Sherlock shot back. "This is valuable evidence, now let me through!"

Mycroft opened the door to find Sherlock and John holding a cardboard box each that was full of folders, papers, pictures, a diary, and a flash drive. Mycroft was intrigued. Sherlock never came to visit him at work. Marina even looked up from her phone to see what was going on. "To what do I owe this visit?" Mycroft asked, amused.

"I have a puzzle for you," said Sherlock, dropping his box with a loud thud on Mycroft's desk. John dropped the other and stood next to Sherlock. They looked like they were having fun.

Mycroft eyed the boxes. "A case you haven't solved?"

Sherlock looked insulted. John patted his arm. Marina raised an eyebrow. "I solved it ages ago. I thought you might want to have a go at it, it will tell you where your missing funds went."

Sherlock turned to go, but John did not move. "And please don't let us down," he said earnestly before following Sherlock out the building.

Mycroft smiled for a moment and then looked around sharply. Many of his employees were staring at him curiously. "Go through these boxes, find out what my brother wants us to find, we will have a meeting in two hours." Two people scurried in, collected the boxes and left. Mycroft shut the door and turned to Marina.

Marina smiled at Mycroft. "Do all Holmes men sleep with their assistants?"

"Only when they are gorgeous and brilliant like you," he replied fondly and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

Marina was thoughtful for a second for a second. "Why did Sherlock date Sergeant Donovan? She doesn't seem like anything special."

Mycroft looked at her knowingly. "There is more than her than meets the eye. At one point she was set to go to Oxford to study physics, she is a born mathematician. Quite a brilliant one, actually."

"What happened?" asked Marina. Policing seemed like a very odd choice for someone like that.

"Her mother was killed in a robbery. That's why she joined the force, she wanted to try and catch the killer and others like him." He paused remembering. "Unfortunately her mother's killer was never found, the trail went cold." Mycroft leaned back in his chair, pulled out a bag of crisps, and popped it open. "It is the only case Sherlock had ever failed to solve."

A.N.: I hoped you liked it and thank for reading! Would anyone be interested in a sequel, I am debating writing one.