Those court shows on TV didn't compare to being in a legitimate courtroom, with such an important trial going underway. It was a breathtaking experience, being in such a massive room. 

John and I were in the public area above, where we had a good view of everything, including the back of Moriarty. Sherlock had just been called up.

This was either going to go really well or really bad.

"A 'consulting criminal,'" said the prosecuting attorney. She sounded business-like, dressed in the traditional robes. She even had the white wig atop her head. It made her look downright silly to me.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

Definitely not, I thought angrily.

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage as assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

There were muffled snickers travelling around the courtroom. I hid a small smile behind my hand.

"Would you describe him as—?"

"Leading," Sherlock interrupted her.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." His eyes shifted towards the defending lawyer. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

"Mr. Holmes," the judge hissed, clearly irritated.

"Ask me how," the detective instructed the prosecuting attorney. "How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help," the judge snapped.

I threw a side look at John. Movement on the opposite side of me caught my attention. A woman sat next to me, her ginger hair in braids behind her back. She was dressed like everyone else, which made me feel even more underdressed than before. I wondered if she was more than just a spectator.

"How would you describe this man—his character?" the prosecuting attorney asked Sherlock.

I squirmed in my seat a little bit.

"First mistake," Sherlock said instantly, "James Moriarty isn't a man at all—he's a spider; a spider at the center of a web—a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Sherlock's description couldn't have been more accurate. Am I considered a part of the web he's talking about? I wondered now if Sherlock had seen me before the trial had officially started.

The prosecuting attorney cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to move the trial onwards. "And how long—?"

"No, no, don't—don't do that." Sherlock closed his eyes in annoyance. "That's not really a good question."

"Mr. Holmes," the judge snarled.

"How long have I known him?" Sherlock went on. "Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." His last remark dripped with sarcasm.

I shivered, remembering that night all too well. Faintly, my left shoulder throbbed.

"Miss Sorrel," the judge said, leaning forward a bit, "are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert," Sherlock clarified. "Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock's focus went to the jury.

"He just can't help it, can he?" I whispered to John, who looked mortified.

Sherlock went to work, doing what he did best. He hadn't stared at the jury for a full minute before he began shooting out deductions. "One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City. The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge exploded.

The judge's outburst didn't stop Sherlock from continuing. "Seven are married and two are having an affair—with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits." He turned to the judge, who looked close to exploding. "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

I picked at the fabric of my turtleneck. I'd never seen such thorough deductions. He hadn't done that with me. If he had, he had kept them to himself. To hear about his skills were one thing, but to actually witness them, it was incredible.

Sherlock had an extraordinary gift.

"Mr. Holmes." The judge didn't seem to be tolerating Sherlock's behavior. Honestly, I was oddly enjoying it. "You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess." I could feel John stiffen beside me. Sherlock smiled a little. "Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?"

Everyone contemplated the question in their head, even Sherlock. But once he started talking again, it was evident that "simple" and "brief" were nowhere to be found in Sherlock's vocabulary.

* * *

"What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever,'" John told Sherlock as we were waiting for him to sign for his personal belongings back. I leaned against the wall, curious as to which cell Moriarty was holed up in.

It hadn't taken very long for Sherlock to be escorted out of the room and thrown into a cell. John and I weren't happy about it, more so John than me.

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock retorted. He snatched the bag of his items away from the custody officer. We started heading out, with me tailing the boys.

"Well?" Sherlock pressed.

"Well what?" John asked back.

"You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said it would be. He sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defense."

As we left Old Bailey, I couldn't help but peek into the cells. I quickly looked away from a few, as I swore I saw Moriarty's cold brown eyes glaring at me through the other side. If he hadn't known I was there for the trial before, he certainly knew now.

* * *

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville," John listed once we arrived back at the apartment. "Three of the most secure places in the country, and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no one knows how or why." He collapsed in one of the armchairs as Sherlock began his usual pacing. I took my place on my bed—the couch—my elbows resting on my knees. I fingered the end of my ponytail, wondering about Moriarty's motives.

Moriarty was a clever man. If there was a place deemed impossible to penetrate, he would find a way to break through. That's what he did with the Bank, Tower, and the prison.

"All we know is—" I started to say.

"He ended up in custody," Sherlock finished for me. He stopped his pacing, looking to John.

John took a breath. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The look."

"Look?" Sherlock and I questioned in unison.

"You're doing the look again," John pressed the detective.

"Well, I can't see it, can I?" John pointed to the mirror above the fireplace. Sherlock peered into it, staring at his reflection. "It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face."

"Well, we do."

"No. Rachel doesn't, and I don't, which is why I find The Face so annoying."

"You even gave it a name?" I laughed. "The Face must happen very often then." Something clicked in my head. "If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them." I stood up, shifting. "If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets." Both of the boys looked at me strangely. "What? I have some idea as to how he works. You don't think I'm an idiot, do you?"

I knew Sherlock was about to say something along the lines of "yes", but he held his tongue.

"You're right," Sherlock admitted. I hid my surprise with a poker face. "The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there." He resumed his pacing. "Somehow this is part of his scheme."

"He's always scheming," I muttered. I shook my head, bowing it down. "Just what is his game this time?"

Amanda, sure enough, called while John and I were out getting groceries. I figured it was a good way to get my mind off the trial and Moriarty all together. Sherlock opted out of the shopping trip, while John volunteered to go with me.

"So, how was it, being there?" Amanda pressed me. John and I were walking down an aisle; I kept the phone pressed against my ear. John took over finding things that we needed while he let me have my privacy with Mandy.

"It was something," I admitted. Music flew above my head through the speakers in the store. "This is only day one, though."

"You know I want details, Rachel."

"What is there to say? Everything you've probably heard on the news or online is what I'd be telling you." I shrugged.

"How are you handling this?"

"I could be worse, and better. So really, I guess I'm okay." I moved aside as a woman brushed past me.

"So when the trial's done, you're coming home?"

I sighed. "I don't think I am. I've still got to convince Sherlock to help me."

"Right." Mandy's voice dropped. "Sorry, I forgot. It's been lonely here since you left for London almost two months ago."

"It's almost been two months?" My mouth dropped a little. "Hey, listen, can we talk some other time? I'm out right now."

"Oh, yeah, sure! Just call me if you need to talk!"

"Who was that?" John asked thoughtfully once I tucked my phone away.

"One of my girlfriends, Amanda," I said. "She knows...everything." I rolled my shoulder.

"You told her?"

"I live with her. I can't exactly keep everything from her," I retorted lightly. "She's a good listener, and a good friend."

"I didn't mean to overhear you, but when are you heading back to America? Not that I want you out or anything."

I pursed my lips. "I don't know. If Moriarty is locked up, I'll probably stay another week at the most. If Sherlock doesn't help me, then oh well." I shrugged.

"You know, I think he's changed his opinion of you."

I scoffed. "I highly doubt it. I think he still believes I'm Moriarty's second-in-command or something."

"But he agreed with you earlier, if you remember."

"That means nothing."

"Maybe you've convinced him you're a double agent now."

"I was never anyone's agent to begin with."

We continued our hunt for groceries.