Helena sighed heavily as she pulled her wet hair up into a messy bun after having just gotten out of the shower. Now in her pajamas for the night which consisted of a pair of pajama shorts and a large t-shirt.

Stepping out of her bathroom and into her room she nearly had a heart attack when she saw the figure sitting on her bay window. Mycroft Holmes. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and starring down at his clasped hands in thought.

"You scared me," She let out a soft breath as a hand came up to calm her racing heart, enough to be confused by his presence. "I thought you were leaving today." He had gotten an internship at Buckingham Palace and he was supposed to be heading out to the city for it tonight.

"I just thought I'd stop by, say goodbye," He shrugged like it was that simple, pushing up off the seat.

Helena frowned curious and confused as he crossed over to her in even steps, "what is it? You look like you've sucked on a lemon." She joked, but he didn't laugh not that he ever laughed at her jokes usually just gave a short chuckle, his lips barely twitching into a smile. but, now she didn't even get that - his face was serious.

"Helena, what I'm about to say I've never thought I would ever say in my entire life," He began carefully and Helena felt her heartbeat pick up so fast she was sure he could hear it from where he was standing.

"Myc, don't go there." She whispered, sure she knew what he was about to say.

"I just need to say it, before I go," His eyes searched hers, a million words passing between the two of them in silence. "I say I don't believe in love, but that's not entirely true. I don't believe in love because I still don't have you."

"Myc..." She began, but slowly trailed off as she looked up to meet his gaze. She had no idea what to say.

He didn't say a word himself either. Simply leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead. She swore her heart skipped a beat or two as he stepped back his eyes falling back down to her dark chocolate ones. She was entranced, she never dreamed of Mycroft making the first move.

"Goodbye Helena." He gave the tiniest of smiles before turning and leaving the way he came, leaving Helena to stand there and wonder what just happened.

A week had almost past since Christmas and it was New Year's Eve, but things at Baker Street were hardly what you would call festive. Ever since Sherlock had received the news that Helena had been killed, he had sunk into what Tyler could only describe as an almost depressive state. He hardly talked, unless it was to yell at the TV for something, he barely ate, and if his sleeping habits before had been bad, they were near non-existent now, seeing as he spent most of his days and nights playing his violin in the living room.

It was slowly driving them all mad, but they simply hadn't had the heart to even shout at him. The whole thing was quite unsettling, really, and Tyler was very close to calling Mycroft in to try helping, but knowing their relationship, she was concerned it would just cause more harm than good. Besides, she really didn't want to face Sherlock's reaction if she did.

Tyler sighed heavily as she leaned against the door frame between the kitchen, where Mrs Hudson was busy bustling around, and the living room, watching as Sherlock stood in front of one of the windows, his back to the room as he played a mournful song on his violin. John and Clara entered the room from the living room door and paused, eyeing Sherlock before glancing around to her. She shrugged and John took a deep breath, looking resigned.

Slowly, he moved further into the room, just as Mrs Hudson walked across to the table and picked up Sherlock's still full plate. She held it up for John to see, and he sighed, giving her a small nod as he grabbed his jacket from off the back of the middle chair, pulling it on.

Sherlock paused in his playing and scribbled something down on a piece of sheet music he had before him.

"Lovely music, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson remarked as she began heading back to the kitchen, carrying his untouched plate "Haven't heard that one before."

John cleared his throat, "You composing?" he asked.

"Helps me to think," Sherlock replied, sitting the pencil back down, and going back to playing the same tune.

Clara hesitated, glancing at John, "And, uh, what are you thinking about exactly?" she questioned, looking at his back.

He suddenly spun around, his dressing gown billowing around him, and sat his violin down on his armchair. He quickly pointed to John's open laptop, "The counter on John's blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," he told them, talking fast as he glanced at John.

"Yeah, it's faulty," John nodded, moving around to see for himself, "Can't seem to fix it."

He reached inside his dressing gown, looking very determined, "Faulty," he pulled Helena's phone from his pocket and began typing something onto it, "...or you've been hacked and it's a message."

"Hmm?"

Tyler eyed him curiously, hoping that whatever he was typing would actually work, when the phone beeped, and Sherlock looked up, expressionless. He slipped the phone shut and back into his pocket, "Just faulty," he muttered, turning around and grabbing his violin.

She sighed heavily, fighting back against the urge to groan. Just for a second, Sherlock had actually seemed like himself again, and then that spark was gone again. She wished that she could do something to actually help, but she knew that any attempts to do so on her part would simply be meet with annoyance, and besides, she had no idea where to even begin trying to work out the password to Helena's phone, just a very cryptic remark from Helena weeks ago.

"Right," John commented, just as Sherlock began playing the same tune again, his back to them once more, "Right," he glanced across to the girls, "Well, the girls and I are going out for a bit," he waited for Sherlock to respond, but he simply continued to play, and John sighed again. He turned and headed for the kitchen, "You ready?" he asked the two of them.

"I'll just grab my coat," Tyler said as Clara nodded. She waited until Clara and John had moved further into the kitchen before stepping over to Sherlock, "Do you want me to get you anything?" she asked him, raising her voice slightly to be heard over his playing, "Coffee? I don't know... some sort of pastry?"

"No, thank you," Sherlock answered, his voice sounding slightly stiff, and she blinked at him in surprise. Had he really just been polite? Well, that was certainly unexpected.

She nodded slowly, "Right, then," she turned and headed back to her own flat.

She quickly hurried back into her room and grabbed her black trench coat off her bed, along with a purple scarf. Seeing as it was still quite cold outside, she had decided to wear a pair of grey leggings, a dark purple skater dress, and her black ankle boots as always. She had her crimped hair loose, simple lip gloss, natural French nails, and in her ears had studded rose shaped, gold earrings.

Clara had decided to wear a pair of sheer stockings under a black skater skirt, with a black and white stripped long sleeved T-shirt, a dark green-grey pair of boots, and her army green coat with a leather collar. She had her hair in a french braid, save for her bangs that swept across her forehead, lip gloss, grey nail polish, some eyeliner, and in her ears simple diamond studded earrings.

Tyler pulled her coat on, wrapping the scarf around her neck, and hurried back though her flat to next door. She walked down the stairs and opened the front door, feeling grateful for the scarf as an icy breeze meet her as she stepped out. She looked around for a moment, not seeing John or Clara, when she noticed them talking to a well-dressed, brunette woman.

"Miss Jackson?" The woman looked over to her, smiling at her as John stared at the woman, appearing to be quite distracted by her pretty face.

"Yes..." Tyler confirmed, glancing over at Clara questioningly before eyeing the strange woman carefully as she walked over to join them. Her first thought that she must have been one of Mycroft's staff, but he usually sent Bree out and this woman, she had never seen her before, and judging from the smug of dirt on the side of her heeled shoe, she hadn't come from an office, "Who are you?" she questioned.

The woman simply continued to smile, stepping closer to John, "So, any plans for New Year tonight?" she raised her eyebrows.

John laughed, his eyes running over to the woman as Tyler shot him an amused look, "uh, nothing fixed," he informed her, "Nothing I couldn't, heartlessly abandon," he zipped his jacket up, "You have any ideas?"

"Really, John?" Clara turned to him exasperated with her hands on her hips.

The woman glanced at something behind them, towards the road, "One."

They followed her gaze and John sighed in exasperation as a black car pulled up beside them, "You know, Mycroft could just phone me," he complained, moving towards the car, "If he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex."

"You're not the usual girl." Clara pointed out, stopping to look at the brunette.

"I'm subbing in." She simply smiled and Clara eyed her weirdly.

As Clara opened the back door of the car and climbed in after John, Tyler crossed her arms across her chest, frowning at the woman, "Who do you work for?" she demanded, lowering her voice so not to alarm John and Clara, should they hear.

"Believe me, Miss Jackson, you are going to want to see for yourself," the woman responded, giving her a mysterious smile.

"And that's supposed to make me want to climb into a strangers car?" She rolled her eyes, scoffing lightly.

"Would you rather leave John and Clara alone?"

Tyler closed her eyes briefly, very frustrated, but did have to admit that she did feel a little curious, "Alright, fine," she muttered, walking over to the door, and pulled it open, climbing inside. She just dearly hoped she hadn't made a very big mistake.

The car drove through London until it came to the Battersea Power Station, and into the building itself before coming to a stop. Tyler opened the door and stepped out into the large, abandoned complex, John and Clara following behind her, while the woman climbed out the other side. They paused, looking around the space.

"This way," the woman called to them, turning and walking away from the car. They quickly hurried after her and she led them through the complex, and upstairs to the top level of the building.

John frowned slightly as they walked along a small bridged area, "Couldn't we just go to a café?" he asked after a long time spent in silence as the woman walked ahead of them, fiddling with her phone, "Sherlock doesn't follow us everywhere."

"Well, he's hardly talk to anyone at the moment," Clara remarked, glancing at him, "Let alone following them."

The woman came to a stop as they reached the end of a bridge, looking back to them, "Through there," she gestured through to a doorway that appeared to lead off further into the complex.

John gave her a look as they moved through to the door, quickly finding themselves in a long corridor with old, dust covered controls of the power station running along the wall. They moved around the wall and into a large, dimly lit, empty room.

"He's writing sad music," he announced to the room as Tyler frowned, still trying to work out just who they were meeting, "Doesn't eat, barely talks - only to correct the television," they moved further into the room when a figure of a woman stepped out from the other end of the room, half hidden in the shadows. Tyler's eyes widened in shock as she realized just who summoned them before they narrowed in distaste. "I would say he's heartbroken but, well, he's Sherlock," he continued, "He does that anyway..." he trailed off suddenly, realizing who the woman was.

Clara gasped quietly, her eyes widening in shock as Helena Pierce, looking very much alive and well, strolled into full view, dressed in black.

"Hello, Doctor Watson, Doctor Hudson" Helena greeted calmly, coming to a stop, putting quite a bit of distance between herself and them, "Tyler."

For a long moment, all they could do was stare at her in shock, before Tyler finally managed to find her voice, "How could you just..." she breathed, shaking her head, growing angry as she thought about how upset Sherlock had been. "Sherlock is a wreck, do you even care that you're ruining his life?"

Helena simply smirked, looking way too pleased with that little fact, "I was looking out for myself, Tyler. I always look out for myself. If you're as smart as they say you are, you'll do the same."

"Tell Sherlock you're alive," she practically ordered her.

Helena shook her head, "He'd come after me".

"I'll come after you if you don't," John threatened seriously.

"Mmm, I believe you," she commented, eyeing them, looking slightly amused as she glanced at John, "And I bet you would be right there with them, too."

"You had better believe it," Clara crossed her arms, and narrowed his eyes eyes angrily.

"You were dead on a slab!" John exclaimed, shaking his head, "It was definitely you."

"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep," Helena replied with a small smirk.

"And I bet you know the record-keeper."

She shrugged, still smirking, "I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear," she answered, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Then why are you here?" Tyler asked, frowning at her before she gasped in realization, "Oh, of course," she breathed, her eyes snapping back to her, a small smile spreading across her face, "Your phone. Made a mistake, didn't you, sending that phone to Sherlock?"

She sighed, looking slightly annoyed, "And now I need your help."

"No," Clara shook her head almost at once.

"It's for his own safety."

"Yeah, and so is this," Clara gave her a cold look, "Just tell him you're alive, it's the least you could do."

"I can't."

"Fine," John snapped, breathing heavily, trying to restrain his rising temper as he pointed angrily at Helena, "We'll tell him, and we still won't help you," he and the girls turned, beginning to walk back the way they had entered.

"What do I say?" Helena called after them.

He whirled around furiously as the girls paused, looking back to her, "What do you normally say?" he demanded, taking a couple of steps back as Helena looked slightly surprised by his anger, "You've texted him a lot."

She reached inside her coat and pulled out another phone, holding it in her gloved hand, "Just the usual stuff."

"There is no 'usual' in this case."

Helena looked down at her phone, apparently looking at her messages, "'Good morning,'" she began to read to them, "'I like your funny hat'. 'I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner...'" John and the girls exchanged a look, John seeming far more startled then either Clara or Tyler, "'you looked sexy on Crimewatch. Let's have dinner.' 'I'm not hungry, let's have dinner,'" she smirked as she looked back up to them.

"You actually flirted with Sherlock?" Clara stared at her, looking almost stunned by the discovery, seeing as Sherlock had most certainly never seemed to take any interest in romance, at least, not around any of them.

"At him," she corrected, shaking her head, "He never replies."

John frowned at her, "No, Sherlock always replies to everything," he informed her, "He's Mr Punchline," he rolled his eyes slightly, "He will outlive God trying to have the last word."

The corner of Helena's mouth twitched, "Does that make me special?"

Tyler shifted in her spot remembering her saying the exact same thing to Sherlock when he couldn't deduce her all that time ago. "This is Sherlock we're talking about," She remarked, shrugging, "Who knows what half the things he does actually mean?"

Helena looked back to her phone, "Are you jealous?" she shot Tyler a raised eyebrows look.

Tyler opened her mouth to reply, when she paused. Was she jealous? No, of course not, since she had no reason to feel jealous in the first place. She and Sherlock were simply friends, nothing else, and certainly nothing romantic. Finally she gave Helena an exasperated look, "We're not a couple."

"Yes, you are," Helena gave her an amused look before refocusing on her phone, typing something, "There..." she turned the phone around, despite the distance between them making it impossible for them to even read what was on the screen, "'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,'" she read aloud for them, and turned the phone around, pressing a button.

Clara and Tyler shared a look, hopefully this would pull Sherlock out of his slump. That's when, suddenly, an orgasmic moan sounded from a short distance away. Tyler's eyes winded, realizing who that could only mean as she, Clara, and John quickly began to walk in the direction that the sound had come from, but Helena held out her hand, stopping them.

Slowly, she looked back to them, "I don't think so, do you?"

"Bloody hell," Tyler groaned, closing her eyes.

The moment that the black car that had taken John and the girls to their meeting with Helena had pulled up on the curb outside Baker Street, they threw off their seat belts, and opened the doors. They quickly got out of the car and it drove off as they walked towards the front door, mentally preparing themselves for whatever state they might find Sherlock in, when John paused in his attempt to find his key's in his jacket, catching sight of a hand written note attached to the door, beneath the knocker:

Crime in progress. Please disturb.

"That's Sherlock's hand writing," Tyler remarked as frowned at the note, before running her eyes down the rest of the door, "And..." she trailed off, swallowing slightly worriedly.

"What?" Clara's head snapped around to look at her.

She sighed and moved closer to the door, pointing to where a couple of very fine paint chips were missing along the edge of the door, and a few scratches on the lock, "See these?" she glanced back to Clara and John to see the latter scrunching his eyes up to try and see the marks himself, "They've been made recently by someone breaking into the flat," his eyes winded in mild alarm, "I would say that whoever broke in, they were professional, otherwise there would be more damage to the paint work."

"'They?'" Clara repeated.

"That's just an assumption that a professional would be working with one or more people. I mean, they would need to have someone as a look out on a busy street like this, someone actually doing the breaking in, and someone else would probably act as a decoy for anyone who might look."

"And you got all of that from a couple of scratches and paint chips?"

Tyler smiled slyly, "do you really doubt me so much," she replied. "Anyway, come on," she quickly grabbed her own copy of the key, and unlocked the door.

As they entered the entrance hall and there was even more evidence to suggest that a break in had taken place, and Tyler began growing even more worried as she realized that whoever had broken in, had taken Mrs Hudson as a hostage, judging by the small tear in the wall paper along the stairs, made from the older woman's finger nails as she tried grabbing something, and the scuff marks from her shoes.

They hurried upstairs and threw the living room door open. The first thing they noticed was the same American man who had almost killed them all when they had first meet Helena, strapped to a chair in front of the fireplace, a gag over his mouth, and looking worse for wear with a bloody nose that had dripped down his chin.

"What's going on?" John frowned, eyeing the man as they entered the room, before looking around to see Mrs Hudson sitting on the sofa, looking tearful with her arms wrapped around herself, and Sherlock, who was sitting on an armchair just off to the side of the room, aiming a gun at the man, and holding his phone to his ear, "Jeez," he breathed, looking back to the gaged man, "What the hell is happening?"

"Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American," Sherlock answered calmly, his eyes fixed across on the man, "I'm restoring balance to the Universe." Tyler glanced at Sherlock, almost tempted to make a comment about how sweet that had sounded, but decided that it would probably be better not to.

"Oh, Grams, my God," Clara immediately stepped around to Mrs Hudson, sitting beside her, and wrapping a comforting arm around her as John moved around to her other side, looking concerned, "Are you alright?" she shot a glare over to the man, "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs Hudson burst into tears and covered her face, "Oh, I'm just being so silly," she sobbed, shaking her head.

John pulled her close, "No, no."

Sherlock stood, still holding the phone to his ear, and pointing the gun at the man, "Downstairs," he glanced over to John and Clara, "Take her downstairs and look after her," his eyes came to rest on Clara, "Clara, make her some tea."

John got up and gently began helping the older woman to her feet, "Alright, it's alright," he tried soothing her, guiding her towards the landing door, "I'll have a look at that..." he nodded to a couple of bruises on her wrists.

"I'm fine, I'm fine..." she tearfully insisted, leaving the room.

Clara paused in the doorway, looking back to Sherlock, "Are you gonna tell us what's going on?" she questioned.

"I expect so," he glanced back to her, "Now go."

Clara threw the man one last glare, before following after her Grams, though, Tyler noted with some amusement the smirk that settled on her face, knowing what was to come. As they left, she stood and moved closer to Sherlock, raising her eyebrows.

"I take it there will be only five cups for tea?" she smiled innocently across to the gaged man, her tone light, but anyone who knew her could tell that she was hiding a cold edge to her voice. Sherlock smirked slyly and glanced at her, and the man squirmed slightly nervously in his chair. Her smile widened, "Well, I had better help Clara get the kettle on, then," she remarked, turning on her heel, and heading back down stairs.

She made her way into Mrs Hudson's flat and through to her kitchen, giving her a small, comforting smile where she and John stood before the kitchen sink, John carefully tending to a small cut on her cheek with a piece of cotton wool. She moved around to the side of the kitchen, where Clara was setting the kettle on the burner.

Mrs Hudson winced, flinching slightly, "Ooh, it stings," she murmured.

John nodded apologetically and continued to lightly dab the cut, when, suddenly, a dark shape plummeted past the kitchen window and the sound of something heavy crashing onto something outside echoed through the room, making them all turn to look.

"Ooh," the older woman remarked worriedly, looking back to John, "That was right on my bins."

Outside, a painful groan sounded. Clara glanced towards the window before shrugging, "Oh, well," she said brightly, not seeming surprised at all, "Mrs Hudson, where do you keep your tea cups?" She asked, getting a smirk from Tyler.

It was evening by the time Lestrade showed up with an ambulance to take the very badly battered American away, having made the little trip plummeting down on Mrs Hudson's bins so many times that they had all lost count. John and the girls stayed in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, sitting at her kitchen table with tea and biscuits as the older woman sat across from them, holding a hand to her head, still looking quite shaken.

The back door opened and Sherlock moved a beaded curtain aside as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and wiped his shoes on the doormat.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," John told him, looking at Mrs Hudson worriedly, "We need to look after her."

"No," Mrs Hudson shook her head, sounding tearful.

"Of course, but she's fine," Sherlock shrugged.

"No, she's not," John frowned at him, "Look at her," Tyler eyed Sherlock curiously, watching as he opened the fridge and looked inside, "She's got to take some time away from Baker Street," he continued firmly, "She can go and stay with her sister," he looked across the Mrs Hudson, "Doctor's orders."

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Clara nodded, giving the older woman a smile, "You deserve to take some time away from here, from all of this."

Sherlock lightly kicked the fridge door closed and turned around with a mince pie, giving Clara and John a frown, "Don't be absurd," he took a bite of the mince pie, chewing.

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone!" John exclaimed, looking slightly annoyed as he sat back in his chair, glancing at Sherlock, "Where is it, anyway?"

He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb, "Safest place I know," he looked over to Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson smiled and reached down her top, pulling the phone out of her bra, handing it to Sherlock, much to John and the girl's surprise, "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot," she rolled her eyes at him, laughing briefly, "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Tyler felt a wide smirk take over her face, "oh, my..."

He tossed the phone in the air before slipping it in his coat pocket, "Thank you," he looked across to John and Clara with a mock scolding look, "Shame on you, John Watson and Clara Hudson."

"Excuse me?" Clara blinked, staring at him, still trying to get over the fact that her Grams had been acting the entire time. Or better yet, that Sherlock was able to tell and she wasn't, it was her own Grams for goodness sakes.

"Shame on me?" John gaped at him.

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street?" he moved around to wrap a protective arm around the older woman's shoulders, pulling her closer, "England would fall," he finished sternly. Mrs Hudson laughed and covered his hand on her shoulder with her own. John and the girls smiled at them fondly.

Later that evening, the four of them returned to the flat upstairs. John stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a drink before entering the living room, just as Sherlock began pulling his coat off, draping it over one of the living room table chairs, and Clara and Tyler flopped down on the sofa, the latter unbuckling her heeled boots, and slipping them off with a relieved sigh.

"Where is it now?" John asked Sherlock as he stepped over to his own chair by the fire.

"Where no-one will look," Sherlock responded, walking over to the window, and picking his violin up, turning his back to face them.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures." Tyler pointed out.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, fiddling with his violin as John watched him for a long moment.

Clara sighed, "So, Helena's alive," she began carefully, eyeing Sherlock's back, "How are you dealing with that?"

Off in the distance outside, Big Ben tolled the New Year, and Sherlock inhaled sharply, "Happy New Year," he remarked, still not looking back to them.

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" Tyler questioned quickly.

Sherlock finally turned around and grabbed his bow, flipping it in the air before catching it once more, and began playing 'Auld Lang Syne,' giving John and the girls a pointed look. John nodded and took his seat, and Clara sighed, leaning back against the sofa, listening as the tune continued. Tyler sat forward, resting her chin in her hand as she watched him carefully.

~*~

Months went by and still, Sherlock came no closer to working out how to access Helena's phone, having spent several days at St. Barts, X-raying it, only to find that it had been rigged to destroy itself at any attempt to tamper with the device. And now with only two attempts to get the password right, since he had tried to use the flats address, only for it to fail, things had slowed slightly on the case.

Tyler was standing by her kitchen counter, stirring the contents of her tea cup, and Clara sitting across from her scrolling through her phone when a knock sounded on the joined door to her flat, connecting to the boy's landing, "Come in!" Tyler called, already knowing that it could only be John, since Sherlock wouldn't have bothered to knock.

The door opened and John poked his head around the edge of the door, a small frown on his face.

"I thought you and Sherlock went shopping?" Tyler remarked, grabbing the spoon from the cup, and dropping it into the sink with a loud clatter, before moving back over to the bench to grab her tea cup, "I didn't expect you two to be back so soon..." she slowly trailed off, noticing the frown on his face, "What's wrong?"

"We've got a client," John informed them, giving them a pointed look, "In Sherlock's bed."

Clara sighed heavily, closing her eyes briefly, "Let me guess... Helena Pierce?"