Author's Note: Sorry for such a long wait between chapters, I got hit by a two year writer's block which actually turned out to be a brain tumour, no joke. I'm 10 weeks post op now and soooo happy to be able to write again! Thank you to everyone that has read/reviewed/favourited this story, your support really means a lot 3

Mrs Hudson flutters nervously around 221B for a few hours. She straightens what little furniture there is left untouched by the dragon's early morning rampage before moving on to cleaning indiscriminately. Many of Sherlock's precious scientific projects become victims, particularly the kitchen sink mould collection. The dragon remains content to observe quietly by the unlit fireplace.

"What a mess," tuts the elderly woman. "Sherlock is bad enough without your influence," she continues, turning a disapproving frown on her newest tenant, "being a dragon is no excuse for bad behaviour!"

The dragon blinks innocently in reply, curling up tightly to appear as small as possible.

Mrs Hudson sighs, her expression softening, "I suppose I could forgive it just this once….How about I pop downstairs for some meat. It is all frozen but a quick turn in the microwave will have it thawed in no time."

A hopeful expression crosses the dragon's facial features.

"I thought that would perk you up." Mrs Hudson smiles, hands on apron-clad hips. "Sherlock will be out for a while yet but I don't suppose he would even think to feed you when he gets in – cant even remember to feed himself – I will have to visit the butchers for you later. At least if we fill this fridge up with animal bits Sherlock wont be able to fit any more human heads in it."

The dragon drifts off into a light doze while the elderly woman continues to chatter distractedly.

Sherlock returns to 221B like a hurricane, rushing through the flat with single-minded focus. The sleeping dragon startles awake and rises quickly to its feet at the intrusion. A large empty saucepan sits beside its left forepaw, a bucket by the empty hearth half full with water. Sherlock hardly has to look to know Mrs Hudson left the meat and water out while went to visit the local butchers shop to stock up. Of course she would adopt the useless beast! He had to return it before she became too attached.

"Before you destroy my evidence," Sherlock announces aloud, wrenching the pink suitcase he had lugged home away from the now curious dragon. "Go back to being lazy; it appears to be your special talent."

The dragon ignores Sherlock's aggressive tone of voice entirely in favour of nosing at the suitcase perched in the centre of the cluttered dining table.

"Fine, get in my way then. I will dissect you if you damage this – it is evidence in a murder investigation, my murder investigation!"

Sherlock efficiently unzips the case, rifling through the contents methodically.

"No mobile phone. Excellent! The pieces come together!" The man spins away in glee, abandoning his precious evidence for the dragon to poke around in. Sherlock returns with a laptop, batting the beast away to perch on the only unscathed wooden chair.

"Murder is an ancient tradition at the mercy of modern technology. This killer thinks he is so clever; each murder is a trophy of his intelligence. His methods however, are entirely average. No. Jennifer Wilson was clever. Clever enough to be solving her murder despite being dead!"

The front door downstairs opens with a rustle of plastic shopping bags. Mrs Hudson calls up, "Sherlock! There's a man here for you, says you rang for a cab?"

Sherlock remains absorbed in his laptop, distractedly replying, "Just a minute!"

The shopping bags rustle again, clunking down on the wooden floorboards before there are footsteps on the stairs.

"Really, Sherlock. Its rude to keep the poor man waiting."

"I did not call for a taxi, Mrs Hudson. Tell him to go."

The light footsteps stop on 221B's landing. The doorknob begins to turn.

"Come on. Come on," Sherlock hisses impatiently between clenched teeth. "Hurry up!"

The door swings open; Mrs Hudson empty handed in the doorway. "He really is insistent."

In the next moment the laptop chimes proudly, a red flashing dot appearing on a digital road map.

"Aha! Finally," exclaims Sherlock, leaning forward in excitement as he reads the road names. "But that is-"

Heavier footsteps start up the stairway, Mrs Hudson turning to look as a strong gust of wind blows in from the open front door. The golden dragon that had been sat quietly by the suitcase inhales the passing breeze deeply, glances back at the pink case and gives an almighty roar. It surges past Mrs Hudson and into the stairwell in a wave of muscle and teeth.

Sherlock leaps forward in time to see the dragon collide with the gun wielding cab driver halfway up the staircase. A bullet explodes form the gun on impact, the man's trigger finger clenching instinctively at the sight of the furious reptilian beast hurtling towards him. The bullet goes wide, hitting the far wall in an explosion of splinters as the dragon knocks his opponent over, barrelling straight out the front door.

The cabbie lies on the pavement outside momentarily stunned from the fall. His glasses are askew, cap lost in the tumble. The dragon regains its footing, tail lashing angrily. It's right wing flares high into the night sky, left trailing sadly. Seeing his one desperate chance at escape, the cabbie raises his gun again. He takes aim over the dragon's heavily scarred left shoulder at Sherlock who has just leapt out into the street.

The wasted flight muscles in the dragon's chest and shoulder bunch and strain in vain to raise the wing. The murderer keeps a clear line of sight. He fires. The dragon pushes up to its hindlegs. The bullet finds its mark, slicing into thick scar tissue. The dragon flinches from the shot but does not feel the bullet wound due to its nerve damaged shoulder.

It is enough distraction for the shooter to start up his taxi and peal down Baker Street, brakes squealing as he hurtles onto the main road at speed.

Sherlock runs into the street headless of the traffic to memorise the cab's numberplate while Mrs Hudson appears at the dragon's side as it sinks back down to crouch on the footpath.

"Oh my!" she exclaims at the blood dripping slowly from the fresh bullet wound. "Sherlock! Your dragon's been shot!"

The man is still standing in the middle of the road, phone now in hand as he hits speed dial. "At least it has proven useful for something"

The dragon snarls and stands to head back to check the flat over. It disappears up the staircase quickly, leaving small drops of blood on the rug. Mrs Hudson tuts anxiously, heading into 221A to get her first aid kit and cleaning supplies. Blood was tricky enough to get out of carpet without letting it dry.

Outside Sherlock paces impatiently from curb to curb waiting for the phone to connect. On his second lap he spots a pink mobile phone lying in the gutter, its screen smashed. There would be no tracing the cabbie electronically this time around.

"Sherlock?" his brother asks on the second ring. "I have dispatched a medical team for the dragon. What else do you require?"

"A location of a cab: number plate ONO4 PYG, taxi license 91197."

"Anthea will have the location when she arrives. Get out of the road, brother."

Sherlock thumbs the end call button with gusto. Just for Mycroft he stands in the road a minute longer before retrieving the pink phone. He then proceeds to storm up to his flat to wait on Anthea and Mycroft's medical team.