My mouth dropped. "What?" This has got to be the medication talking. It's one thing to accuse Bay of lying, but to claim he worked with Jim Moriarty? This is insanity.

"What are you on about?" Bay demanded.

"Sherlock, this isn't funny," I snapped.

"You think I don't notice when you're around Rachel?" Sherlock directed the question to Bayley. "The way you hold her. You avoid her shoulder, the one that was shot."

"I don't want to hurt her." Bayley got defensive. "It could be aggravated."

"It's been years since that wound was sensitive to her. You don't touch that shoulder because don't want to be reminded of what you'd done to her."

"Wait," Dad interjected, throwing a questioning look at Sherlock. "You think Bayley is the one who shot her that night at the pool?"

"I know he is."

"You know what," I butted in, "this is getting out of hand."

"He has a guilty look in his eye sometimes, doesn't he, Rachel, when he looks at you or sees your scar?"

Sherlock's question took me aback. "Um, I guess," I said awkwardly.

"And then you ask what's wrong, and he comes up with a quick response which doesn't make sense to you, but you go with it anyway?"

I looked to Bayley, starting to see Sherlock's point. I couldn't count how many times Bay saw my shoulder and had that guilty twinkle in his eyes. I remembered asking what was wrong, but then he'd either say it was nothing, or he said something about regretting not doing more to save his girlfriend the night she was murdered.

If Sherlock was onto something, did that mean Bay's girlfriend story was a lie too?

Bayley looked furious; a visible vein pulsed in his forehead. I knew his anger wasn't with me but with Sherlock, but it could have been with me too since I was siding with the consulting detective.

"It's all there, Rachel," Sherlock said quietly.

"Come on, Rach, who are you going to believe? Me or him?" Bay demanded, throwing a stink eye towards Sherlock.

I knew who I was putting my faith into. It was a shot in the dark.

"Is he right?" I asked Bay in a small voice. Bayley didn't answer; his focus was still on Sherlock. "Hey!" I raised my voice, snapping my fingers. "Is what Sherlock saying true?"

This couldn't happen, not again. Dad was already faced with Mary; I couldn't face Bay if he turned out to be what Sherlock thought he was. I looked to Bay with impatient eyes.

Bayley sighed.

Emotions flew inside me, alternating. First came the shock. I'd been dating the sniper that had spared my life. I'd never wanted to thank the bastard because he had injured me. I didn't want to thank him for saving me now, even as he stood right before me. I almost hyperventilated, staring at Bayley.

This was going dangerously down the Jim Moriarty path I'd been down before, with the exception of a few changes.

The shock evaporated, replaced by fury. My heart sped up, revenge raced through my veins. I felt the sudden urge to be out for blood, to make Bayley feel the same pain I had the night he had shot me thanks to his boss's orders. I can't believe this. My dead, psychotic ex had been my current boyfriend's boss. This seemed a little easier to wrap my head around compared to when Sherlock had first told me John Watson was my biological father.

My body took action before my brain could tell it to. I lunged for Bayley, fueled by a spiked temper. Bayley jumped back towards where Mary and my dad were. That way didn't do him much better; Dad was trying to go for Bayley too. Mary intervened, holding my dad back near the door while Sherlock intercepted me halfway, dragging me back to my corner. There was nowhere for Bayley to run.

"Why do you have to be right?" I screeched at Sherlock. I still wriggled with the desire to maim. "Why do you always have to be right?" I was on the verge of bursting into tears.

The man who I loved, the man who I'd given myself to, was my almost-assassin. I suddenly felt sick, contaminated just thinking about the times we'd been intimate. I wanted to shower now to get rid of his germs.

"Just let me explain," Bay said calmly, holding his hands out in a don't-hurt-me gesture. Sherlock held me securely, ready to pull me further should I try and break free from him.

"Let me go, Mary," Dad tried to persuade her.

"If Rachel can't go after him, neither should you," she said sternly. "My God, you two are alike."

Mary was lucky neither of us acted this vicious towards her. I bet the only reason she was spared from that was because she was pregnant. Today, it was like we all forgot her identity reveal. It was like it had never occurred. It was completely overshadowed by Bayley's true identity.

"We should call Greg and have him arrested," Dad demanded.

"No," I snapped. "He's not going to be handed over to Scotland Yard. Unless I'm wrong, he hasn't done anything wrong."

"He almost committed murder, Rachel! He almost killed you, or did you forget that? You also don't know what he's done. Maybe he has killed and we just don't know about it yet."

"You better give us all a damn good explanation," I snarled to Bayley. "If it's not good enough, you don't want to know what follows."

"Can I just talk to you instead, alone?" he asked.

"That's not happening," Dad said immediately. "We all have a right to know."

"It's a long story."

"We've got loads of time," I spat.

"Can I?" Bay gestured to the couch Sherlock held me captive near.

Sherlock didn't object but did pull me away as Bayley took his perch. Mary carefully led Dad further into the room, still having a firm hold on him in case he decided to bolt. Bayley tensed, feeling the pressure of four pairs of eyes.

"I had a poor home life. My mother cheated on my dad, she was kicked out once he found out. Actually, I found out first. It took me a while to tell him what was going on," he began. "I lived with him for years. Things weren't great. My dad kept trying to find someone, but none of those relationships went very far. There was a lot of arguing and abuse, and drinking. I ran away when I was eighteen, not long after I graduated. I turned to street smarts to help me get by." He chuckled darkly to himself. "When I was twenty, that's when things changed.

"I'd found these two men I figured I could jump. They looked like they could have some money on them. Of course, I was pigheaded and realized it as they were beating me senseless."

I exhaled shakily, picturing two men beating the shit out of Bayley. Honestly, I wanted to swing a fist or two at him right now.

"But I was spared; one of them thought I had potential. I didn't realize what that meant until I was taken to him." Bayley wrung his hands together. "I was desperate and took whatever offer he gave me. I'd given them a fake name as a safety measure. I fit in after a time; I had a few people who told me they'd watch my back. I trusted them but didn't at the same time.

"I didn't object to the training with guns. I enjoyed it."

"I bet you enjoyed killing people too," I said lowly.

"I wasn't put in the action until that night at the pool," he confessed. I searched his eyes for a trace of a lie, but I couldn't. If Sherlock did, he wasn't letting on about it. "I'd been the only one given orders to keep an eye on you. And no, I wasn't the one giving you directions through an earpiece. That was someone else."

"I know." I frowned.

"I knew he wasn't kidding when he said to do something about you if you tried anything. He knew you had it out for him and had a feeling you would use the gun to your advantage." Bayley's eyes went to the floor. "I wanted you to not do anything stupid so I never had to pull the trigger."

I mustered up a bit of strength to ask my next question: "Were you told to kill me?"

"He told me to 'do something', so I guess he left it up to me." He shrugged, picking his eyes up off the floor. "I hated to do it, Rachel. It bothered me afterwards, seeing you go down so fast. Secretly I was happy that he," he nodded towards my dad, "stepped in and helped you out that night. I wouldn't have lived with your blood on my hands."

"Did you go to someone else after he died?" I pressed. Surely Moriarty had other allies in the criminal world that would have killed to have Bayley alongside them.

Bayley shook his head. "I was gone way before he was."

I scoffed. "I don't buy it."

"It wasn't long after I injured you. The guilt got to me, and he noticed. He knew I was thinking about what I did, and he told me to move on from it."

"But you couldn't," Mary said quietly.

Bayley nodded. "I wanted to escape it all. But, if you have any idea as to how a group like that is, it's difficult to get out. I knew there would be only one way out in their eyes: my death. But I saw another way."

"That explains the scars on your cheek and your neck," Sherlock whispered. "Bullet grazes."

Bayley nodded again. "I was considered enemy number one once they realized what I was up to. I was ambushed. I'm lucky I only escaped with grazes." He ruffled his hair. "I made sure to get out of England and start over."

"That's how you ended up in America," I mused. It was starting to come together. Bayley had been introduced to me through Max and Darien, who'd thought it would be a good idea to set us up on a blind date. If only they'd known they'd set me up with my almost-murderer.

"Rachel." Bayley stood up. "You don't know how deeply sorry I am for hurting you."

"You can let go, Sherlock. I'll be fine," I told him calmly. I looked to Mary and my dad. "Can you guys excuse us for a few minutes? I think this is a private matter now."

"It wasn't to begin with," Sherlock reminded me.

"Well, I'm making it one. Out. I'll deal with you once this is done." I bobbed my head towards the apartment door.

Reluctantly, Sherlock, Mary, and my dad left. Truthfully, Mary looked the least reluctant to leave. She was trying to send me comforting thoughts through eye contact, I could see it.

"Why didn't you tell me this in the beginning?" I demanded softly, having my arms folded over my chest.

"I didn't know who you were in the beginning, not until I saw the scar." Bayley took a hesitant step towards me, I allowed it. "By that time, I liked you, and I didn't want to jeopardize what we had. Rachel, I promise you I'm not who I once was. I can understand if this is the end for us."

I looked away, feeling nervous. "No, don't try to sound sappy so we'll kiss and make up," I snapped, my eyes focused on the window.

"This isn't a trick to get you to forgive me quickly, because I know you won't."

I rubbed my face. "I need to think about this."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bayley nod. "I understand."

"We're leaving, now. We're going back, grabbing our things, and leaving London."

"What about Sherlock?"

"I'll let Dad take care of him." I didn't mean to hit Bay on my hasty way out, it happened on accident.

I grumpily clomped down the stairs, out the door to see Sherlock and my dad. I noticed Mary had disappeared. Dad looked like he was about ready to go back inside and teach Bayley a lesson while at the same time he wanted to embrace me. Honestly, I would welcome either.

"You'll deal with him?" I flicked a thumb at Sherlock. Dad nodded. "Make sure you ask them to bar the windows and chain him to the bed. I don't doubt he'll do another escape before he's officially released."

"Do you think you're going to be okay?"

"I-I don't know. I'll figure that out once I head home. Sorry to give you such short notice, but we're leaving once Bayley comes out." I looked at the closed 221B door, laughing darkly to myself. "We're cursed, Dad, truly cursed."

"Just be careful."

I nearly broke down when he took me in for a hug. Currently, Dad was the only person who I could expect comfort from. Sherlock wasn't the comforting type; he was the telling-it-though-it-hurts type.

God only knew what was going to come from this.

Once Bayley finally came out of 221B, we took a cab together back to the hotel. We never spoke a word.