The police lights blinded me as I stood outside of 221B. Near me, Pig Boss was dabbing his bloody nose he had gotten thanks to John punching him. I'd admit that was the highlight of my night. Well, a good highlight of the night. There were plenty of bad highlights, like John was now arrested like Sherlock.

Donovan and Greg were near their police car, talking. A few officers were near me, I made sure to keep myself in check.

I surveyed my surroundings. Maybe I could slip a bit closer to John and Sherlock, make a distraction to see if they could use it to escape somehow. Timidly, I took baby steps, inching closer to the boys, who were stuck against a police car. I noticed they were cuffed together.

"Excuse me, miss," said an officer. I hissed between my teeth. Damn. Caught. "You should be inside. You don't need to be out here."

"Is there a dead body around?"

"No."

"Then I have a right to be out here."

"Miss—"

"There is no law saying that I can't be out here enjoying the fresh air. It's not illegal. "

"I can have you arrested for neglecting to listen to authority."

Okay, now I was stuck. Sass was only going to get me into worse trouble, and I was sure flirting would go the same way. But I wasn't going to stand here and obey the officer. I wasn't one who broke rules often, but I had an urge to tonight.

A faint, loud screech echoed in the air. The officer behind John and Sherlock doubled over in pain, clutching at his ear. Sherlock and John pulled away from the car. I widened as I saw a gun in Sherlock's left hand. Held by the handcuff, John's right hand was forced to go along with Sherlock's left.

Sherlock aimed the gun at officers. While everyone's attention was on the desperate consulting detective, I slipped past the officer who threatened to arrest me, getting closer to Sherlock and John.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock announced, "will you all please get on your knees?"

I looked around. Nobody, including myself, was reacting. Sherlock wasn't pleased with the result. He raised the gun, firing two shots into the air. I cringed, ducking as though I was in the midst of a battlefield.

"Now would be good!" Sherlock lowered the gun, pointing it right back at the officers.

"Do as he says!" Greg ordered, gesturing.

I watched as the officers began to comply with Sherlock's demand. My eyes met Sherlock's. He jerked his head—a gesture to me. You're coming too, he was saying. I nodded, understanding. I continued to creep along.

"Miss, stop!" another officer called to me. "Stop or you will be arrested!"

I made sure to bite back the retort I had building in my throat. None of the officers would come after me, not while Sherlock wanted them down on the ground.

"Just—just so you're aware," John stammered loudly, "the gun is his idea. I'm just a...you know..."

I jumped back a step as Sherlock put the gun in his other hand, pointing it at John. God I really hope this is an act.

"...my hostage!" Sherlock shouted.

"Hostage!" I heard John say under his breath. "Yes, that works—that works!"

The boys started backing away. Sherlock stole a look at me again. I detected urgency in his eyes. Hurry up. I trotted to be with them. They were backing towards a corner.

"Do you have a plan?" I hissed to Sherlock.

"This is the plan, Rachel."

"So what now?" John asked, joining the conversation.

"Doing what Moriarty wants—I'm becoming a fugitive," Sherlock declared. "Run."

Sherlock whirled around and took off down the street, dragging John along with him. Taking one last look at the kneeling police force behind me, I took off after the boys. I caught up with them. It was times like this where I was grateful that I did track in high school.

We rounded a corner. I now occupied Sherlock's other side. John puffed alongside Sherlock.

"Take my hand," Sherlock demanded.

"Now people will definitely talk," John muttered. I ignored the comment and continued running with them, unattached.

Up ahead, sirens were calling. A small shot of adrenaline raced through my veins. I felt like I was in one of those cop dramas, where the suspect was being pursued by police. I hated to admit it, but it was kind of thrilling.

I jerked to the left when I saw Sherlock veer in that direction.

"The gun!" John said. In the midst of our running, I'd heard a clatter on the ground.

"Leave it!" Sherlock snapped. "Rachel, over here!"

As Sherlock pushed John into an alleyway, I skidded to a halt. Though I knew who was in the alley, that awful night came back to me. I hesitated, watching as Sherlock and John went deeper into the alley. They noticed I wasn't following.

"Rachel!" Sherlock called.

I gasped, turning my head to see red and blue alternating lights coming. I looked back into the alleyway. I forced myself to catch up with Sherlock and John. The tires on ground sounded closer. Had I given us up?

Our alley run wasn't a straight shot; smack in the middle were high railings. We stopped abruptly. I found a trashcan close by, propped up against the railing. I leapt onto it, nimbly vaulting myself over to the other side.

I danced out of the way just as Sherlock landed where I had just been standing. We would have gotten moving, but John was still stuck on the other side. Apparently, Sherlock had forgotten he was attached to John by handcuffs.

Sherlock was about ready to take off again, but I stepped in his way. I shot him daggers, nodding towards John on the other side.

"Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle there," I mused. "Here, let me hop back over. I can help him."

"No, Rachel," John told me. "Sherlock and I are going to have to coordinate."

"Go to your right," Sherlock instructed.

"Huh?"

"Go to your right," he repeated.

I sat back and watched as Sherlock and John maneuvered John over to the other side. With that little delay passed, we continued to run from the police.

My lungs burned more than my legs did as we continued fleeing. Ahead, our way was soon going to give us two directions: left or right.

Once we came to the decision, Sherlock jumped to the right. We took five steps before we all backtracked; cars were passing that end of the alley. We had our backs pressed against the wall. I did breaths through my nose and mouth.

"Everybody wants to believe it—that's what makes it so clever," Sherlock murmured. "A lie that's preferable to the truth." His tone turned sour. "All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate—Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

"Do you have anybody that can help us?" I panted.

"What about Mycroft?" John suggested. "He could help us."

Sherlock pulled John to the opposite wall. I still remained against the same wall, not entirely recovered.

"A big family reconciliation? Now's not really the moment," Sherlock explained.

He spun around, dragging John in the same circle with him. I finally removed myself from the wall, sticking close to the duo. John was looking down the end of the alley we had tried to go down the first time.

"Sher...Sherlock," he said, nudging his partner. Sherlock and I looked down the same way John was.

I saw him. At the far end, a figure lurked. Someone was watching us, probably following us, too.

"I knew we couldn't outrun the police," John snarled.

"That's not the police," Sherlock clarified. "It's one of my new neighbors from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers."

Without warning, Sherlock took off, tugging John behind him. I went at the fastest trot my legs could give me. Sherlock and John were pressed against a wall again, near a corner.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"We're going to jump in front of that bus."

"What?!" John and I screeched.

Before I could get another syllable out, Sherlock pulled himself and John out into the street. I could only watch in horror as Sherlock threw himself and John into the street, standing there like sitting ducks.

I inhaled strangled breaths. I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't help but.

Out of nowhere, a breeze blew my hair in my face. My eyes widened as I saw our follower rush out into the streets. I yelled as the man shoved Sherlock and John out of the way, just as the bus was getting ready to bowl them over. The bus's horn blared in my ears.

I pressed a hand to my heart, which was running itself to death in my chest. The three men were safe on the sidewalk. Quickly, after looking to make sure I wouldn't get hit, I rushed over.

"Tell me what you want from me," Sherlock demanded of the assassin. I shook my head as Sherlock had yet another gun in his hand, pointed right at his savior. The assassin said nothing. Sherlock threatened him with the muzzle getting closer. "Tell me."

"He left it at your flat," said the assassin. His accent was ridiculously heavy.

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

"What?"

Slowly, the three men got to their feet. Sherlock still had the gun trained on the assassin.

"The computer key code," the assassin said.

"Of course," Sherlock murmured, as though something finally clicked. "He's selling it—the program he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around."

Three loud bangs erupted, I screamed as our assassin fell dead at our feet. Don't vomit, don't vomit, don't vomit. I was ripped away from the scene as John and Sherlock took off once again.

The sirens were back again, calling in the London night air. Sherlock led John and I to an open doorway, where we took refuge. On the end of the street, I knew a police car had just passed; the siren grew loud and then started to fade.

"It's a game-changer," Sherlock panted. "It's a key—it can break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock.' We need to get back into the flat and search."

"Yeah, okay, good luck with that. We'd be lucky to get near Baker Street," I retorted, gulping in air.

"CID will be camped out," John explained. "Why plant it on you?"

"There's another subtle way of smearing my name," Sherlock explained. "Now I'm best pals with all those criminals."

John reached for a pile of newspapers nearby, snatching the top one off the pile. "Yeah, well, have you seen this?"

I peered over John's shoulder to glance at the paper. Some reporter named Kitty Riley wrote the article. I studied her portrait in the paper. My mind made a connection. She had been next to me the day of Moriarty's trial. I remembered her ginger hair; she was a standout to me.

"A kiss and tell," I murmured. In here were definitely lies. Though I barely knew Sherlock, I had a feeling whatever was written in here was false.

John nodded. "Some bloke called Rich Brook. Who is he?"

"I think it's time we paid someone a visit," Sherlock decided.