Song is for the start of the chapter!

"Rori! Are you ready?" Sherlock asked from the other side of the door of my bedroom.

I frowned, I did only just woke up ten minutes ago. "Just give me a second!" I said as I slipped my shoes on then quickly pinned my hair up and walked out of my room to face Sherlock.

"Ready then?"

"Sure am." 

It had been almost four months since that night with Alice Parish and her henchmen. Even though that was just a small moment in time, it changed me forever.  With what she told me that night I realized that Sherlock was not the one to blame for sending me to prison. It was her fault all along. He was just trying to protect me from the beginning.

As soon as I dropped that grudge against him, I began to see him in a different light. I realized that I had more in common with him than a lot of people that I have worked with in the past. I started to understand him and he was understanding me. We worked well together.

There are so many criminals out in London and Sherlock was going to need help getting them all. He needed a partner, and I was amazed to say that I would be jealous if he picked anyone other than me.

Today we were going to figure out how a museum security guard died and why only one piece of art on display was stolen.  I was excited for this case because this would be the first case, I worked on that combined White collar crimes with a murder.

"I'll take the tube. I'll see you at the national gallery." I said to him as I walked out the door to the flat. For the past few weeks we had been arguing about what mode of transportation was faster. I always said tube, but he believed otherwise. So we had been putting it to the test.

"Ok," I heard Sherlock say from behind me.

The Tube was working faster today and so I was at the museum in no time.

"Ah so where is Sherlock?" Lestrade greeted me at the door of the museum.

"Nice to see you too," I said sarcastically when he didn't give me a formal greeting. "I don't know, is he not here?" One more point for Rori. So far tube was faster for trips across town.

"No."

"That's odd; well he should be here soon."

At that moment Sherlock came running up to us. He looked out of breath, and it caused me to raise my eyebrows in questioning, although I didn't bother to ask. "Got held up." Sherlock said.

I smiled, Tube was faster. There was no arguing any longer about it.

"Ah well ok. It's fine. Shall we?" Lestrade asked as he walked into the museum. We took a few turns down some large white halls until we walked into a large gallery room. I followed Lestrade even though I knew this place like the back of my hand. I had robbed it of a few paintings before. But I wasn't going to tell them that because they never found out who the thief was. It felt odd not coming back as a thief but as one of the good guys.

"Anyhow this is it," Lestrade said as he moved out of the way for us to get a better look at a fat man who was in an officer suit on the ground right in front of a spot on the wall that held no photo. It looked like a classic crime.

"Mmmm..." I got on my knees for a better look. By his receding hair line, I could tell he was about, 45. The bags under his eyes, he had a young child, maybe two? My eyes scanned down his legs where I saw that his pants where pressed and were cared for, but as I took a closer look I saw a short fine fur. Must have a cat.  Married, less than ten years by the looks of the banged-up gold ring around his finger. Hard worker but not getting paid enough for his family, he was stressed by the look of this bitten fingernails. "Looks like a normal bloke with a family."

"Yes but did you see how he was killed? Really interesting," Sherlock said looking at the man's upper arm.

I followed his gaze and saw that he was pricked by something in the arm. There was a small spot of blood that soaked through his light blue shirt. "Poison?" 

"I think your right."

"Then this was not an accident," I stated then walked over to the wall where no picture stood anymore. I knew what picture was missing, I had seen it before. Before I got sent to prison, I almost took a job to paint a look alike of it.  Maybe the person that tried to hire me got antsy and did the job in a sloppy manner. I looked around the room again, everything was in order besides the man. I didn't think my hire wanted anyone killed, unless his ideas had changed. I haven't seen him in about two years. He could have changed. But this was white collar crime, not a normal murder.  While collar criminals mostly avoided killing. I frowned. I needed more information. "I want the history of the Picture stolen." I said as I turned to face Lestrade and his men.

I held back a smile that wanted to come to my face. This case was going to be fun. He could work on the death, and I could do the picture. This is when our partnership worked out perfectly.

"Sure thing Miss Anderson," someone said which caused me to frown. I still wasn't use to people calling me this. Now that I had gotten on the good graces of Scotland Yard I was hardly called Rori anymore. It was always miss Anderson this, Miss Anderson that.  It was weird and I don't think I would ever get used to it. I rather be called Rori.

"You can just call me Rori."

"Of course Miss Anderson," the young man said as he walked away to get the information that I wanted.

I frowned at him. I just wanted to be called Rori, like I used to be called. These people couldn't get it through their thick skulls that's what I wanted.

After we got back to the flat, I immersed myself in research. There had to be a reason why this painting was so special.

I found myself up late that night with papers all around me. It was way past my bedtime but for some reason I didn't have the desire to sleep. I knew that if I just spent a little more time on these papers, I would find some information that would be useful.

"Rori, go to bed," Sherlock said while he threw a ball up in the air and caught it as he lay on the couch.

"Why? I've almost got it. I'm sure of it."

"You can barely keep your eyes open. You need sleep."

"I was about to take a job to paint a look alike of this." I held up the photo of the painting of a lady in a boat on a lake. I figured it would be easier to be honest with him then to lie about this. If he knew about this maybe he would be more helpful because so far I was coming up with nothing.

"Did you know your hire?" 

I nodded at him. "Yes and I knew that he would never kill, at least not like this. This was sloppy. Not like him. That's what's odd about this all."

"Maybe he just really wanted it and was willing to rush."

I shook my head. "No, he's not like that."

"But this was white collar?"

"Yes, I think anyhow. And look at this," I said as I pulled out a paper of the history of the painting. I had read over this over and over again because it just didn't line up to me. There was something wrong about the history of the painting. "There is a good three years when this picture was not seen. If it's as popular as I know it to be, then why is there such a big chunk of time missing from it's history?"

Sherlock took the paper from me then looked it over. "You have a point. But it was missing in Russia during World War one. A lot of things went missing during this time."

"But then it went missing for another five years during World War two and the frame got changed." I pointed out to him. I knew that art was not his thing, but he could at least be a sounding board.

"Once again, not unusual. What does the frame have anything to do with this? Frames are changed all the time." He tossed the ball in the air again, out of boredom.

He was wrong. As brilliant as Sherlock is, he didn't know a thing about art or even the art of white-collar crimes. This is why I was here. He needed me more than ever for this case. There was something wrong with this picture of the lady and I was going to figure it out with or without his help. "Fine, have you figured out who killed the man yet?" I retorted at him harshly out of frustration and lack of sleep. 

"Not yet. I do believe that two things are connected but at the same sense are not."

"Why do you say this?"

"White collars don't normally kill, at least that is what you tell me. The ones that I have met seem to avoid this. Whoever took this painting must have gotten an outside man for it."

"Yeah but why did only one man get killed. There were about three other guards in the same area at the time of his death. Why did only one die? I would think that they would kill the other ones as well." 

"Did you see how his hair line was reseeding? I believe he was stressed about work and pay. It's hard to live in London these days with little above minimal wage." I knew what he was referring to. He was the inside man and when they were done with him, they killed him to tie up loose ends.

"You're saying he told the people how to get in for a little money?" 

"It's not hard to guess. Tomorrow I'll work on it more."

"And I'll work on the picture more but for now I'm going to bed, night," I said and got up from the floor.

"Night," Sherlock said before I shut the door to my bedroom.

Sorry this is late guys!  I have been so busy! and for the 4th weekend I had school off and I went to visit friends in Jackson Hole WY. that was so great! and then I got back to school and had loads of school homework... :( but I only have one more week! :D

DarlaH