I dropped the pill in shock as the cabbie fell to the ground, still clutching his own pill. I spun around and saw the bullet hole on the window. As far as I could tell, there was no one out there; it was simply too dark in the next building for me to see. I vaulted over the table to peer through but there was no one there. I then turned when I heard the driver coughing. Sherlock stood in shock, staring at the man on the floor, dying. Ironic, that he would meet his death by a bullet instead of an aneurism.

I stalked over and grabbed the pill I had dropped. "Was I right?" I demanded, "I was, wasn't I?" He was lying in a pool of his blood and he was disoriented now and his pupils were dilated. "Did I get it right?" I asked desperately. I had to have gotten it right. I had to! I threw the pill on the ground in anger. Sherlock took a few steps closer, watching the scene intently.

"Okay… tell me this." I stood over the man, "Your sponsor. Who was it?" He would tell me. He had to. If not, I'd cause him pain. More pain than he was in. "The one who told you about me, about us, our fan. I want a name." He was finding it very difficult to breathe.
"No…" He rasped out. I didn't care.
"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me. A name." I said through gritted teeth. I wasn't leaving without a name! I stood on his wound without a second thought. He gasped and moaned loudly. "A name! Now!" I pressed down even harder. He was in agony but I didn't care one bit. "The name!" I bellowed.
"Moriarty!" He shouted and then the life left him abruptly, as though speaking his name had snuffed him out.

I stood in silence for a moment and then backed away. "Moriarty…" I mouthed and then I looked at Sherlock. He was watching me so intensely, I felt like I would melt. I grinned sadistically. "We have a fan, Sherlock." I informed him and his gaze flicked between the body and myself.

"Moriarty…" He said quietly. "I haven't heard of him before." I shook my head.
"Neither have I." I replied and we remained in silence for a little while longer. I broke it after twenty nine seconds. "How did you find me?" I asked curiously. He walked over, avoiding the blood puddle and corpse with ease, and looked down at me.
"Jennifer Wilson's phone. She didn't have a laptop and therefore used her phone for everything. We managed to trace it." I nodded in understanding. Made perfect sense.

"Where's John?"
"Around." I heard sirens in the distance and then cricked my neck. "I don't know about you, but I've got a sofa that needs sleeping on."

Sadly, I had to be interrogated by Lestrade first. Even more annoying, some of the paramedics kept putting an orange blanket on me. After the sixth time, I merely stared down at it. Lestrade then walked over. I sighed and breathed in heavily. I had to act professional. I was working. Lestrade seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Sherlock and John were standing on the other side of the Police tape, watching me.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." I demanded.
"Yeah, it's for shock." I frowned. How stupid. I wasn't in shock.
"I'm not in shock." I denied and stared at him incredously. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs." Oh, brilliant.

I ignored it, more or less, and went back to business. "So, the shooter – no sign?" I queried, already knowing the pathetic answer. Lestrade sighed heavily and peered around a little before looking back at me. "Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but… we've got nothing to go on." I looked up at him.
"Hardly." I said sharply. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, Natalia, I'm really sorry that-." I held my hand up and he silenced himself.
"I don't want to hear it, Lestrade. I'm still annoyed at you and as soon as this case is over, I'll be ignoring you for the rest of my life. But then again, since you're always out of your depth and since I am Sherlock's partner, I'll be involved with almost all of your cases. So, I guess there's no point in apologising because I simply won't forgive you." I then nodded saying that I was done. I stood up and I began another speech.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun." I stated, putting my hands in my pockets. Though I disliked the blanket, it offered some warmth; I had forgotten a jacket once again. "A kill shot over that distance, from that kind of a weapon, that's a crack shot. But not just a marksman, a fighter." I continued. Lestrade looked at me in interest as I explained. "His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence." I glanced at him for a moment and then continued watching a flickering lamppost. "He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle." I paused for a moment, "You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service and..." I glanced at John just as he looked at me, "… nerves of steel…" John.

Oh, of course. Stupid of me. Sherlock had implied it earlier and here I was, pretty much leading the police to him. He may have killed the man who was going to kill me but that was still classed as murder. Oh, for God's sake… Screw this! I blinked and shook my head. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me." First time in my life that I had ever said that.
"Sorry?" Lestrade questioned.
"Ignore all of that." I waved my hand, "It's the just the, er… the shock talking." I explained and began to move off.
"Where are you going?"
"I just need to… talk about the… the rent." Oh, for God's sake! No!

"Oh, what now?" I snapped, "I'm in shock – look, I've got a blanket." I even tugged on it a little to accentuate the fact that I was indeed in shock. Lestrade wasn't buying any of it.
"Natalia!" He said, like a parent chiding their child. It was a childish argument but still amusing, I suppose.
"And… I just caught you a serial killer… more or less." Yeah, it wasn't my fault that he was dead! The fault is John's! Don't blame me! Lestrade surveyed me for a few more seconds and then nodded. "Okay. We'll pull you in tomorrow. Off you go." I walked off with my head held high. Walking around in an orange blanket draped over one's shoulders is awfully painful for one's pride, I'll have you know.

I shrugged the blanket off of me and chucked it carelessly into a police car's open window. "Erm… Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything. Two pills…" John shook his head and then looked back at me. Very good, John, but you're rather easy to read. "Dreadful business, isn't it? Dreadful." He said it with a tint of sarcasm and I smirked.
"Good shot." I said bluntly with a 'thank you' in my eyes. John froze and then nodded.
"Yes. Yes, must have been. Through that window." He was still trying to cover it up. Right.
"Well, you'd know."

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers." I remarked, pointing discreetly at his hands. "I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid a court case." He cleared his throat and then looked around nervously. I frowned.
"Are you all right?" I asked with concern.
"Yes, of course I'm all right."
"Well, you have just killed a man." I countered.
"Yes, I…" He then realized his mistake. I didn't smirk. I merely surveyed him emotionlessly. Huzzah for being taller than him! "That's true, isn't it?" He admitted and I smiled encouragingly. "But he wasn't a very nice man." I looked at him in amusement.

"No. No, he wasn't, really, was he?" I said with a sarcastic tone and small frown.
"Yeah, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie." I cracked a smile and chuckled.
"That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here." It was dreadful. John giggled a little. "Stop! We can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Stop it." He chortled. I looked behind me to see him grinning. Where was Sherlock?

"You're the one who shot him." A deep voice from behind me said and I jumped a little, spinning to look at them. Sherlock was grinning behind me. I cocked an eyebrow. He'd been hiding, the cheeky sod. "Keep your voice down!" John warned, still wearing a smile. We passed Sally and I quickly went back to being silly and 'shocked'. "Sorry, it's just, erm… nerves, I think." John apologised. Sally shook her head and scoffed, moving away from us as we passed. "Sorry." I uttered quietly.

"You were going to take that pill, weren't you?" Sherlock asked me and I grinned a little. I turned to look at my flatmates.
"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." I lied.
"No you didn't." John refused with a grin. "That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? Both of you. You risk your life to prove you're clever." Oh great, a speech?
"Why would we do that?" Sherlock asked monotonously.
"Because you're idiots." Sherlock nearly smirked but I had no reaction. Must have been a private joke or something. Sherlock then looked at me with a gleam in his eye. "Dinner?" He then looked at John, to prove it wasn't just me he was asking.
"Starving." John replied and I nodded with a smirk. We began walking again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese. Stays open till two." Sherlock informed us as we walked away from the crime scene. "You can tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle." I added with a sly grin.
"Sherlock, Natalia… that's him, that's the man I was talking to you about." John said urgently. I looked up immediately and stared at Mycroft in disbelief and irritation.
"We know exactly who that is." I muttered.

"So… another case cracked." Mycroft said with a small smile, "How very public-spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it? Either of you?" Great. Just brilliant. Bloody excellent.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock questioned sternly.
"As ever, I'm concerned about the both of you."
"Yes, we've heard of your 'concern'." Sherlock stared at his brother, still irritated at his sibling no doubt for not only being more intelligent, but still poking his nose into his business. "Always so aggressive." Mycroft commented, "Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"
"Oddly enough… no." Sherlock replied cynically.
"We have more in common than either of you would like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer." Mycroft reminded him with anger, "And you know how it always upset Mummy." Mycroft's attention was solely on his brother now.

"I upset her?" Sherlock mumbled incredously. "Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." John piped up.
"No. No, wait…" Oh, great. He's just caught on. "Mummy? Who's Mummy?" I rolled my eyes.
"Mother. Our mother." Sherlock replied bitterly, "This is my brother, Mycroft." Mycroft looked at John with a small smirk and an amused glint in his eyes. Silly John. "Putting on weight again?" Would you like some cream for that burn?

"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft retorted proudly.
"He's your brother?" John asked with surprise.
"Course he's my brother." John seemed speechless. Only for a moment, however.

"So he's not…"
"Not what?" Sherlock looked at him sharply. Mycroft's gaze became indignant but he frowned after.
"I don't know… criminal mastermind?" I scoffed quietly. Sherlock scanned his brother for a few moments in contempt. Their relationship was very weak. It had good moments. But mostly it had bad weeks. There was the Hate Year that Mycroft had told me about once. "Close enough."

"For goodness' sake, I occupy a minor position in the British Government." Mycroft replied.
"He is the British Government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." I interjected, "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before we get home – you know what it does for the traffic." I said curtly and then walked off, Sherlock following me immediately after.

"So, din sum." Sherlock said when John caught up with us.
"Mmm." John agreed eagerly.
"I can always predict the fortune cookies." I scoffed.
"No, you can't."
"Almost can." He replied immediately. He was in a merry mood and I was too.

"What are you two so happy about?" John queried, as though concerned about our sudden joy.
"Moriarty." We said simultaneously. John frowned.
"What's Moriarty?"
"We've absolutely no idea." We said at the same time once more.

No idea what we were going to do next. Probably take things as they came. But what I knew was this: Life was certainly going to be more interesting living with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

FINISHED! Not too bad. I rather liked this fiction. The Blind Banker will be next. Hope you guys liked this! Thank you all! Cheers folks! Adios!

Luna