It was with relief that John left Sherlock at the entrance of Bart's. The doctor hurried to make it to his job on time, knowing that at some point Sherlock would realize he wasn't there and he (John) would be inundated with texts. He only hoped he could get a reasonable amount of work done before that.

So, when eight hours passed without a word from the consulting detective, John began to worry. It was a slow day, so he was able to leave early. When he arrived at the lab Sherlock usually worked in, there was no sign of the detective.

"Yes, he was here," Molly Hooper informed John when he found her in the morgue. She frowned in confusion. "Did he leave?"

"Well, he's not here now," John answered. He checked his phone. Still no response. John breathed out a heavy sigh. "Thanks Molly. You know how he gets whenever he's on a case. I'll see if he hasn't gone back to the flat."

Molly nodded, forcing her usual smile. John could see the disappointment in her eyes that Sherlock hadn't bothered to say goodbye. Leaving behind the morgue and the woman who John was sure was Sherlock's biggest admirer, John made his way back to Baker St.

He heard Mrs. Hudson shouting before he even reached the door, "Let go of her! I'll call the police! Sherlock!" The door was ajar, as though the landlady hadn't had a chance to close it after someone had come in. "Let go of her!"

Every instinct learned on the battlefield came surging to the fore. John pushed the door all the way open and spotted where Mrs. Hudson was at the door leading down into the basement flat. "Mrs. Hudson!" John exclaimed, catching the woman's attention. "What's happening?"

The landlady just pointed down the steps, struggling to find the right words. There came a sharp cry from the lower flat, followed by a delighted laugh that was too deep to have come from the current resident of the flat. "Violet," John said. He went around Mrs. Hudson and bolted down the stairs. The door at the bottom was wide open.

A tall, thin man had a strong grip on Violet's right wrist, in the middle of pulling her up from where she was half laying on the floor. She had her left hand pressed against her cheek as though she'd just been struck, which John decided was most likely.

Without a word, John tackled the unknown man. Staggering and falling against the sofa, Violet's attacker refused to let go, and the young woman was jerked along with them. She let out a hiss of pain, and John was angered to hear the man he'd just tackled chuckle at the sound.

"Let her go," John snapped, getting his feet balanced on the ground. He grabbed a hold of the man's jacket and jerked him up. "I warn you, I am a retired army captain. I can and will hurt you. Now. Let. Her. Go!"

After a moment, and just when John was prepared to make good on his threat, the man released Violet's wrist and held both hands up. Violet scrambled backwards, the fingers of her left hand now curled protectively around her reddened right wrist. "Are you all right?" John asked, glancing over at the woman.

"I'll live," Violet responded, her voice tight with anger. She got to her feet. She narrowed her eyes into a glare, and directed it at the man John now held hostage. "Do you have any idea who this guy is?"

"You don't know?" John asked in some surprise.

"All I know is that Mrs. Hudson said someone had come to see me, and then he was coming down my steps," Violet answered, keeping her glare at the silently chuckling man who'd attacked her. "He hasn't said anything, just hit me."

"Edward Rucastle."

All three heads turned to where Sherlock stood in the doorway. The young man stopped laughing. "Rucastle?" Violet echoed with a frown. "He's related to that Alice Rucastle, isn't he?"

"Half siblings," Sherlock explained, coming in further. John noted that the detective seemed less than his normal meticulous cleanliness. "You can let him go now, John. We're going to sit and have a little chat."

"I told Mrs. Hudson to-," John began to say, reluctant to relax his grip.

"Call the police. Yes, I know," Sherlock interrupted. "I've already taken care of that. I told her it wasn't necessary." He focused on Rucastle as he advanced into the room. "Mr. Rucastle is going to be very helpful to us."

With that the consulting detective pulled out of the straight back chairs, and took a seat on it. Retreating to the small kitchen, Violet turned her back on the whole scene. From the way she was standing though, John knew she was listening.

"Have a seat, Mr. Rucastle," Sherlock invited.

"You have no right to keep me here," the young man snapped, speaking for the first time.

Sherlock smirked, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Right? You just attacked a defenseless young woman in her home," he pointed out. "Do you really want to go into the rights and wrongs of this situation?"

Shrugging away form John, Rucastle took a seat on the edge of the sofa. John moved to stand behind Sherlock. "Defenseless?" Rucastle finally said. He sent a look towards the kitchen. "You obviously don't know her very well because defenseless that-."

"You are a momentary guest in her home," Sherlock said, his tone sharp. "Calling names would be rude."

"And if she's so defenseless, that's not something you want to be doing," John added for good measure.

Edward Rucastle, his expression one of a resentful teenager would have, scowled. "What do you want?"

"Why did you come here today?" Sherlock asked, simply.

The young man shrugged. "I found out where she was," he said in an off hand way. "Wanted to see what the big deal was about Mrs. Toller's granddaughter."

His words made Violet turn around. "So, your family is aware that she's in London," Sherlock stated. "What threat is she to you?"

The young man shrugged again. "No threat as far as I know," he answered. "But she's got my family riled up."

"I'm aware of that," Sherlock responded. "I am also aware that you've been sent home from university for the...third time. You have a little problem with enjoying other people's pain, don't you? Your father is not pleased with you, your mother barely even speaks to you, and you resent that your half sister has made this sudden reappearance in your life."

With each word, Edward Rucastle sat up straighter and straighter. John switched his gaze to Sherlock, astounded by the deductions coming out of his friend's mouth. "How do you know that?" Rucastle demanded, in a hushed, not quite angry voice. "Have you been spying on me and my family?"

"Spying? No," Sherlock answered with a hint of amusement. "I can read it on you, Mr. Rucastle. Let's talk about this sister of yours."

"What do you want me to say?" Rucaslte demanded. "She is nothing to me. She ran away when I was six and now she's back. End of story."

Sherlock steepled his fingers. "Interesting," he said. "Why did she run away?"

"How would I know? I was just a kid!" the man snarled. He moved to stand up. "I'm getting out of here."

"How does she act towards you? This new sister of yours?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the man's movements. "I know families have their dramas when there are half siblings involved but woman generally are caring individuals, especially when it comes to those younger than themselves. Does she care about you?"

Rucastle froze, half sitting and half standing. "We don't speak," he snapped. "Now, I'm leaving."

"We will be attending tonight's gathering at the Copper Beeches," Sherlock announced. "You will make sure we have no trouble in getting in, or you will find yourself faced with an embarrassing lawsuit from Miss Hunter over there."

Startled, John looked over at Violet, who looked just as confused as he felt. "Fine. Whatever. I'm leaving now," Rucastle said, straightening up. He didn't even glance towards the woman he'd attacked as he hastened to the door.

Just to be on the safe side, John followed the younger man to the front door. Mrs. Hudson was hoovering in the foyer, looking confused. "Relax, Mrs. Hudson," John told her reassuringly. "Sherlock took care of it."

"What was that about?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Is Violet all right?"

"She's fine," John said. "But she might appreciate some tea."

Nodding, Mrs. Hudson hurried away, happy to have something to do. John went back down to the lower flat. Sherlock was staring at the wall, and Violet had moved into the small living room, her left arm was wrapped around her stomach. In her right hand, was a broken cello bow.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" John asked in concern.

Lifting her head, Violet shrugged a shoulder. "I'm fine," she answered quietly. "He broke my bow, though."

She, in fact, looked more than a little shocked at the turn of events, but John couldn't decided if it was from being attacked or because of the broken bow in her hand. He opted to take her at her word, and keep an eye on her. "Sherlock, you want to explain what just happened?" John requested, glancing at his flatmate. "How did he know where to find Violet?"

"Is he the one who killed my mother?"

John was surprised to see that Violet's question snapped Sherlock out of his reverie. "Edward Rucastle? No. He's too volatile. Enjoys seeing other people's pain," the consulting detective responded. "He would never have had the patience to poison the wine, and wait for your mother to get around to drink it."

"Why did he come after me?" Violet asked, her voice becoming stronger. She seemed to be shaking off the shock and terror that had hit her in the aftermath of the attack. "I've never seen him before! What have I ever done to him?"

Sherlock scoffed. "He just said he knew his father was the one who had an interest in you. Were you not paying attention?"

"Sherlock, enough," John chided. "Can't you see she's had a shock? She doesn't need you scolding her."

"Well, she needs to get over it," Sherlock answered, sharply. "We're going to a rather important dinner tonight, where I believe Alice Rucastle is going to be murdered and we have to stop it."

"Murdered?" John repeated. "Did you just say 'murdered'? We have to call Lestrade."

"He doesn't have the proof," Violet realized. She took a step towards Sherlock, who faced her. "You've deduced what's happened so far, but it would never be enough to interest the police. The only way to get justice is to stop this murder in action. I'm right, aren't I?"

The detective grimaced, but nodded all the same. "How much time do we have?" John asked.

"I believe the gathering begins in two hours," Sherlock responded. He focused back on Violet. "Dressing appropriately is essential. Do I need to have Mrs. Hudson take you somewhere?"

John snorted. "This from the man who went to Buckingham Palace with no pants on."

Violet breathed out a big sigh. "All right, all right, fine," she said. "No, Mr. Holmes. That won't be necessary. I think I have just the thing. Get out and let me get ready."

There was a look of doubt on Sherlock's face. "I'm sure whatever you have will look fantastic," John told her, grabbing Sherlock's arm before the man could persist further into the state of Violet's wardrobe. Really, the odd things Sherlock focused on! "We'll see you upstairs when you're ready."

Firmly, John pushed Sherlock out and closed the door. "You're sure about this?" he questioned in a low voice.

"Edward Rucastle's arrival here only cemented what I knew to be true," Sherlock responded, bounding up the stairs. "Hurry up, John. We're going into society."