They hurried back to Baker Street and into the living room, throwing their coats on the living room table as Sherlock immediately popped his laptops screen up and began writing his new message on his blog for the bomber to see.

'Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia,' he typed and quickly submitted the entry.

A moment past as they waited, staring at the pink phone that was lying on the table beside the laptop when it's screen lit up and the words 'blocked' flashed across the screen as it began to ring. Tyler grabbed it, putting it onto speaker.

"He says you can come and fetch me," the same voice of the man from earlier tearfully told them as they exchanged relieved looks, "Help. Help me, please."

The next morning found Sherlock, John, Clara, and Tyler sitting in a café, having breakfast. Well, John and the girls were, Sherlock was simply sitting opposite them both, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table top, clearly waiting for the pink phone that was sitting in front of Tyler to ring.

Clara cast his tapping fingers a look over the rim of her tea cup as she took a sip, but kept her mouth shut, already knowing that he wasn't in the mood, no big change there, to listen to her. Instead, she placed her cup back down and pushed her empty plate to the side, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she decided to watch the other people in the room for amusement.

Today she was wearing a black flowy top, falling down to her thighs with a pair of simple skinny jeans, her Army Green jacket and Timbs. Half her hair was clipped back, Coral lipstick, and tan nail polish.

Tyler was wearing a maroon, sleeveless dress that flared out below her waist, falling to just above her knees, her black trench coat, and black ankle boots, while around her neck was a matching maroon scarf. Her hair was up in a two braids, dark lipstick, and eyeliner.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked John.

"Mmm," John hummed as he swallowed his mouthful, glancing up at him and back to his breakfast, "You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" he ate another mouthful before pausing, looking thoughtful, "Has it occurred to you..."

"Probably," he cut him off, still eyeing the pink phone.

"Let him speak, Sherlock," Clara scolded him lightly, not looking away from an elderly couple that was sitting across the room from them.

"Thank you," John inclined his head in her direction, turning back to Sherlock, "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you and Tyler?" he raised his eyebrows at him, "The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes, it's all meant for you two."

"Yes, I know," Sherlock replied, smiling slightly, making Tyler shoot him a strange look, finally turning her attention back to their table.

"Is it him, then?" John asked him, "Moriarty?"

"Probably."

Tyler looked down at the phone, she had her suspicions - which she knew were more than likely true - he always did love to toy with her. And now the interest in Sherlock? She knew it was because she'd taken an interest in him, Jim was always the jealous one. She just clung to that tiny part of her that begged it not to be him. Because if it was - they were all in danger.

The pink phone dinged, pulling her from her thoughts.

They focused on it as Tyler tapped the screen and two pips sounded, followed by a picture of a smiling middle aged, blonde woman flashed across the screen, "That could be anybody," she narrowed her eyes at the photo.

John nodded, "Well, it could be, yeah," he agreed, appearing to recognize the woman as Tyler and Sherlock both drew blanks, "Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"Lucky for you, Grams and I watch far too much telly," Clara echoed John, standing and walking over to the main counter, giving the woman standing behind it a smile as she grabbed the TV remote and switched the channel on the small TV that was mounted to the café's wall a couple of times before settling on one.

The woman from the picture popped up on the screen, gesturing to someone or something off-screen, "Thank you, Tyra!" she was saying, "Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?"

"And this is why I never watch day time TV," Tyler remarked, shaking her head. Suddenly, the pink phone began ringing and Tyler quickly answered it, "Hello?"

"This one... is a bit defective... sorry," Tyler felt her heart stop at the sound of the croaky old woman. "She's blind... this one's... a funny one." She brought a hand up to push her hair out of her face as Clara and the boys tossed her curious looks. "I'll give you... twelve hours."

"Why're you doing this?" She asked, shaking her head.

"I want you... to suffer," she croaked and Tyler felt her blood run cold. "The way you... made me suffer."

The phone went dead and she lowered the phone, ending the call as she looked at the two boys and Clara and shook her head, a grim look on her face. She tossed the phone back down on the table and turned to look at the TV as a news bulletin began. It was him, there was no doubt in her mind.

"Continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince," the male voice of a news report announced, "Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programming, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead..."

"Looks like we have our next case," Tyler sighed as the news report finished.

~*~

"Connie Prince, fifty four," Lestrade informed them as they entered Bart's Morgue to find Connie's body laid out on one of the metal examination tables in the middle of the room, a white sheet covering her from her neck down, "She had one of those make-over shows on the telly," he continued, looking over at Sherlock, who was eyeing the body closely, "Did you see it?"

"No," he replied simply, moving around the table.

"Very popular. She was going places."

"Not anymore," Tyler commented as she, Clara, and John moved closer to the table, "So, dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound."

They looked closer to see a deep, pale cut in the webbing between her thumb and index finger as Sherlock continued, "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream. Good night, Vienna."

"I suppose," John remarked, glancing at him as he bent closer to examine the cut better.

"Yes, but there must be something else here," Clara sighed, shaking her head, looking thoughtful, "Something we're missing."

"Eh?" Lestrade's head snapped up, looking surprised and slightly confused.

"Can't be as it seems," Sherlock agreed, nodding thoughtfully also, "Otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong," he narrowed his eyes down at the body, bending closer as he pulled out a small fold out magnifier from his pocket, and began setting to work examining the body, frowning as he reached the woman's forehead, "John?" he asked.

"Mmm?" John hummed back, looking over at him.

"The cut on her hand, its deep, would have bleed a lot, right?"

John glanced down at the cut, nodding, "Yeah."

"Wait..." Tyler trailed off, her eyes widening slightly in realization, "But the cut's clean, far too clean and not to mention that it looks quite fresh."

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded at her as he straightened, snapping the magnifier closed, looking over to John, "How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" he questioned him.

John considered it for a second, "Eight... ten days."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth tugged up into a smirk and he turned to John and the girls, raising his eyebrows at them. Clara blinked, "Oh, of course," she breathed, realizing just how obvious and simple it actually was.

John took a moment longer, "The cut was made later," he realized slowly.

"After she was dead?" Lestrade asked.

"Must have been," Tyler looked back at the body, "The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?"

Sherlock turned back to them, focusing his attention on John, who was looking at the body thoughtfully, "You want to help, right?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"Connie Prince's background," Sherlock continued, "Family history, everything. Give me data," he glanced at Clara, seeming to think something over quickly before nodding at her, "You go with him, Clara."

Clara raised her eyebrows at him, "I don't suppose I have a choice in this?"

"Would you rather spend the day with me and Tyler?" he raised his own eyebrows at her.

Clara looked between the two of them with skeptical eyes, it was one thing to hang out with just Tyler or even just Sherlock, she could handle that. But, the two of them in a room together that she couldn't take. She graduated top of her class, she was a Rhodes Scholar, youngest member inducted into the Academy of Physical Sciences but those two still made her feel like a cretin when they spoke to her.

"Good point, Sherly-Temple," she nodded at him, before giving Lestrade, who was eyeing Sherlock, a wave, following after John as he left the room.

It didn't take them too long to catch a cab to Connie Prince's house, now her brother, Kenny's house, and talk themselves inside the large, elegantly decorated home, pretending that they were a journalists. Clara was somewhat surprise that they had actually agreed to let them interview them, even though they didn't have an appointment, but she suppose that it must have been the idea of the attention it would bring that really had the door opening effect.

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince told them as he led them through the house and into a lounge room, a young man, who must have been Raoul, followed closely behind them. Kenny was a man in his fifty's, wearing a dark purple, expensive silk shirt and black dress trousers. He immediately positioned himself in front of a marble fireplace, leaning on it with his elbow as John and Clara took a seat on the sofa that was facing him, the brunette shifting slightly away from the furless cat that was sitting on the sofa on the other side of John.

"Of course we are," Kenny continued, his eyes seeming to be fixed on John, who shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Can I get you anything, sir, ma'am?" Raoul asked them from where he stood just behind the sofa, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Uh... no," John replied, looking up at him as Clara shook her head, "No, thanks."

Clara took note of how Raoul looked over to Kenny, who smiled at him, giving him a small nod, before the other, younger man turned and left the room, "Raoul is my rock," Kenny informed them, looking down, "I don't think I could have managed," he sighed sadly, still looking down at the floor, "We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

The cat climbed onto John's lap, meowing loudly as he lifted it off and back to the side on the couch, grimacing slightly, Clara noticed, but he quickly wiped the look off his face as he looked back at the man, "And... and to the public, Mr Prince," he remarked.

"Oh, she was adored," Kenny nodded, and Clara raised her eyebrows slightly, noting the hint of bitterness in his tone as he spoke, "I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," the cat meowed loudly again, trying to climb back into John's lap, who looked down at it, frustrated. He glanced at Clara, who shrugged slightly, "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears," he continued, oblivious to John's discomfort.

"Oh, yes, of course," Clara nodded, trying to appear sympathetic as John shifted beside her, awkwardly scratching the cat as it purred in his lap, "Lovely little cat, Mr Prince," she tried, glancing at the cat, "Uh... have you had it long?"

"Hmm?" he blinked, seeming to have forgotten that she was there before he shook his head, looking sad, "Oh, no. He was a recent gift for Connie..." he trailed off as he looked at a framed picture of Connie on the mantel, "It was just such a shock. Tetanus, of all things," he shook his head.

John coughed, taking a pad and pen out of his pocket, "It's more common than people think," he told him, jotting something down on the notepad, "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un..." he paused, looking up, startled as Kenny crossed the room and sat heavily beside him, staring at him intently, completely ignoring Clara, who had been forced to jump up onto the armrest so that she wasn't crushed, "...treated..." he trailed off, his eyes wide as he looked back at the other man.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny said heavily.

"Right..."

He sighed, shaking his head, but his gaze remained as intent and focused as before, perhaps even more so, "I mean... she's left me this place, which is lovely..." John narrowed his eyes slightly as he cast a look around the room, not seeming to agree. Clara coughed, trying hard not to laugh at his reaction, "...but it's not the same without her."

Clara cleared her throat as John tried shifting further away from Kenny, obviously even more uncomfortable now than when the cat had been climbing all over him, "Well, that's why John and I are here, Mr Prince," she told him, but she wasn't sure if he was actually listening, since his attention seemed to be fixed on John, "Our paper wanted us to get the full story, right from you, yourself, sir."

John nodded quickly, trying to give him a concerned look that turned more into a grimace then anything, "You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny replied, shaking his head.

"Right," he nodded again, turning back to the notepad, trying to distract himself from his discomfort.

"You fire away," he continued to stare intently at him.

The cat mewled loudly as it ran passed the coffee table in front of them, catching there attention. John went to rub the side of his nose, but paused, frowning slightly as he pulled his hand away, looking at it thoughtfully. He shot Clara a look around Kenny and pretended to rub his nose again, while doing so he quickly sniffed his fingers, smiling slightly as he turned back to Kenny.

"Would you mind if I called someone?" John asked him suddenly.

Kenny blinked, seeming surprised before he nodded, "Of course," he gave him a slow smile and stood, walking back over to the fireplace.

John nodded at Clara, who quickly followed him as he stood and moved to step just outside the room, far enough so that Kenny couldn't hear them, "I think I've got something," he told her quietly, glancing back at Kenny.

"What?" Clara asked, impressed that he had spotted something that she hadn't yet, which wasn't to say that she underestimated John at all, it was just a little surprising.

"The cat," he replied, smiling almost proudly of himself, pulling his phone and quickly dialed, putting the phone of speaker.

"John," Sherlock's voice answered a moment later.

"Hi," John glanced back over at Kenny, checking to make sure he still couldn't hear them, "Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something."

"Wait, you might need to bring a few things," Clara cut in, realizing that it would look odd if he turned up without there really being any purpose for him being there. Even her cover as a journalist was a little strange, seeing as it was really only a one person job.

"You got a pen?" John asked him, catching on to her idea.

"I'll remember," he replied.

Kenny was fussing with his hair in the mirror as John and Clara sat back on the sofa, having spent the past fifteen minutes sipping tea, just as the sound of the main door opening and closing sounded.

"That'll be him," John comment, sitting his tea cup back down on the coffee table, and standing.

"What?" Kenny asked, but didn't look away from the mirror, still fiddling with his hair.

A moment later, Raoul showed Sherlock and Tyler into the room, a large bag hanging over the former's shoulder, and carrying another long black case in the other hand, "Ah, Mr Prince, isn't it?" he asked as he moved further into the room, swooping the case over to the other hand as he grabbed the man's hand, shaking it.

"Yes," Kenny nodded.

"Very good to meet you," Clara noted that Sherlock's eyes flickered quickly down at his hands as they shook, seeming to be examining them closely.

"Yes, thank you."

"So, sorry to hear about..."

"Yes," Kenny frowned slightly down at their hands, seeming to realize that the handshake had gone on a little too long, "Yes, very kind..."

John cleared his throat, stepping forward, also noticing Kenny's frown, "Shall we... uh..." he looked at Sherlock and Tyler.

Sherlock and Tyler walked quickly over to them at the sofa as Kenny went back to the mirror, fiddling with his hair once more, as Clara and John lowered their voices, pretending to be helping Sherlock unpack the camera equipment that he had brought.

"You were right," John quietly said to Sherlock, "The bacteria got into her another way."

"Oh, yes?" Sherlock asked, smirking as he did so, clearly completely unsurprised as he began unzipping one of the bags, and pulling out a large, black camera.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Right," Kenny called to them, clapping his hands together, turning away from the mirror to look over to them, "We all set?"

John paused, glancing at Sherlock, "Um, yes," he stepped closer to where Kenny had once more positioned himself over at the fireplace, leaning against it on his elbow, jerking his head in his direction as he gave Sherlock a pointed look, "Can you...?"

Sherlock nodded and walked over to Kenny, and set to work shooting a couple of quick pictures, the flash going off brightly as he did so.

"Not too close," he warned Sherlock, holding up a finger as he snapped a couple of closer shots, "I'm raw from crying," he sniffed.

Tyler flashed him a bright smile, "Oh, I might be able to sort that out," she hurried back over to were Sherlock had dumped the bags he had brought on the sofa, grabbing a smaller bag, and unzipped it, pulling out a small black makeup compact that she had got Sherlock to grab on his way over. She wasn't a makeup artist, but she had picked up a good few tricks over the years, plus, it would be a good distraction if need be.

Sherlock paused in his picture taking, looking down as the cat meowed loudly on the floor around where he was standing, "Oh, who's this?" he asked.

"Sekhmet," Kenny replied, glancing down at the cat, "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How... nice," Sherlock comment, his voice bored, seeming to be only just stopping himself from rolling his eyes, but quickly tried to say a little more brightly, "Was she Connie's?"

"Yes," he smiled as John went to pick it up, but he quickly beat him to it, still smiling as he held the cat in his arms, "Little gift from yours truly."

John, looking a little frustrated, glanced at Sherlock, "Sherlock... uh, light reading?"

"Oh, um..." Sherlock quickly and purposely held up the second flash, firing it right into Kenny's face, blinding him with the bright light for a moment, "Two point eight."

Kenny frowned, scrunching up his eyes as John moved forward and began rubbing his finger's over the cat's paws, "Bloody hell," he grimaced, "What do you think you're playing at?" he demanded.

"Here, let me fix a bit of that shine, Mr Prince," Tyler jumped forward and began randomly brushing the makeup brush all over his face, mainly his eyes.

"Sorry," Sherlock told the man, not sounding very sorry at all as he continued firing the camera at his face, just to make sure that he was completely blinded as John pulled back from the cat, sniffing his fingers.

"You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two," Kenny glared at them as Tyler coughed, stepping back from the man, "What's going on?" he tried demanding again.

"Actually, I think we've got what we came for," John looked at Sherlock and the girls pointedly, before glancing at Kenny, "Excuse us".

"What?" Clara frowned completely confused with what just happened.

"Sherlock, Girls," he called after them as he grabbed one of the bag's that they had left on the sofa.

"What?" Sherlock asked, seeming surprised by his abrupt wish to leave.

"We've got deadlines!" he called back to them, and Sherlock and the girls quickly hurried after him as he headed for the door.

"But you've not taken anything!" Kenny frowned after them, sounding very annoyed and confused by their strange behaviour.

As they left the room, they passed by Raoul, who seemed to be just as confused as Kenny was, and headed outside. As they began making their way down the garden path outside in the front garden, John chuckled to himself, looking very pleased, "Yes!" he grinned, "Ooh, yes!"

Tyler smiled, seeming amused by John as they made their way down the driveway and into the street, "You think it was the cat," she shook her head, "It wasn't the cat."

"What?" John blinked, seeming surprised, before he shook his head, "No, yes," he insisted, "Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."

Tyler and Sherlock shared a knowing look, "Lovely idea," he reached inside his pocket, pulling his gloves out.

"No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have..."

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm," Sherlock cut across him, slipping his gloves on, "But it's too random and too clever for the brother."

"But, Clara agrees with me," John nodded over to the brunette, who was walking on the other side of him.

Clara hesitated, giving him a apologetic look, "I never said that John," she reminded him lightly, feeling guilty even though there was no reason to, "Sherlock's right, it's too random. Anyone could have been scratched and infected, including the one to do it."

John, after a moment, shook his head and chuckled again, "He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?" Tyler asked.

He gave him a look, "Didn't he?"

"No," she replied simply, "It was revenge."

"Revenge?" John repeated, sounding surprised, "Who wanted revenge?"

"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough, fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so..." Sherlock explained.

"Of course," Clara nodded slowly, seeing it all begin to fall into place.

"No, wait, wait," John frowned, stopping them, "Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?" he questioned.

"Well, that one is pretty easy," Tyler said thoughtfully, "I mean, you saw what that house was like? Spotless," she shook her head, "And that kitchen's floor when we first came in, the entire place had been scrubbed clean."

"You and Clara, both smell of disinfectant now," Sherlock agreed as John frowned, giving his jacket a sniff as he shook his head, looking up towards the road, "No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's internet records do, though," he frowned slightly, "Hope we can get a cab from here."

He turned and walked off towards the road, leaving John behind as he huffed, looking annoyed as he sent a glare at Sherlock and Tyler's back. Clara gave him a small, understanding smile, before they both followed after the dark haired man and his blonde companion.

With only an hour left on the clock, Sherlock, John, and the girls arrived at Scotland Yard, just as night had fallen, and made their way up to Lestrade's main office era.

"Raoul de Santos is your killer," Sherlock announced as he threw the doors open, walking inside the large room, waving a folder in the air as they made their way over to Lestrade, who was bending over a desk.

"Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin," Tyler continued.

Lestrade took the file as he straightened and Sherlock leaned closer towards him, "We've been here before," he reminded him, "Carl Powers? Tut-tut," he shook his head, "Our bomber's repeating himself."

They moved off to the side, Tyler following, "So how'd he do it?" Lestrade asked them.

"Botox injection," Tyler informed him, having read the file on the way.

He paused in surprise, looking at them, "Botox?"

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum," Sherlock explained, "Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections," John and Clara stepped over to them, seeming to be surprised by the information, "My contact at the Hone Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases," he pointed at the file in Lestrade's hands, "He's been bulk ordering Botox for months," John frowned at him, looking angry, "Bided his time, than upped the strength to a fatal dose."

Lestrade looked at him carefully, "You sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

He nodded, "All right, my office," he turned and walked off towards his office.

"Hey, Sherlock, Tyler," John stepped in front of them as they began to follow after Lestrade, still looking angry, "How long?"

Tyler frowned at him, not appearing to understand what he was going on about, "What?"

"How long have you known?" he repeated.

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake."

They tried to follow after Lestrade again, but John quickly stopped them, "No, but guys..." he trailed off, shaking his head, "the hostage... the old woman. She's been there all this time."

Sherlock stepped closer to them, looking between John and Clara intently, "I knew we could save her," he told them quickly.

Tyler continued for him, her hands in her coat pockets, "We also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. We solved the case quickly, that gave us time to get on with other things."

Sherlock nodded along with the blonde and looked at John, "Don't you see? We're one up on him!"

They turned and heading off into Lestrade's office as John frowned after them, before glancing at Clara, sighing, "You agree with them, don't you?" he asked her.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to, he knew she did. She patted his arm consoling and walked over to Lestrade's office, stepping inside, John sighed heavily from behind her before following. Sherlock had already set up his laptop on the desk, quickly typing something. Once he had finished, he sent the message, and no sooner did the pink phone began ringing from where he had placed it on the desk beside him.

Tyler jumped forward to answer it before he could - despite him pulling Sherlock into it, this was her battle. "Hello?"

"Help me." She croaked.

"Tell us where you are," she told the calling, her voice loud and clear, "Address."

"He was so... his voice..." She breathed out and Tyler's heart beat picked up.

Her tone suddenly turned urgent, "No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing."

"He sounded so... soft." And the line cut off, leaving a loud ringing in her ear.

Something changed in her face, it became very, very still suddenly, and her eyes widened, "Hello?" she asked urgently.

"Tyler?" John frowned, looking very concerned as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"What's happened?" Sherlock asked.

Slowly, very slowly, she lowered the phone, biting her bottom lip as she fell back against the chair. Clara swallowed, looking down as she realized that only something very bad could have happened as John took a deep breath, bracing himself on the back of Tyler's chair. Sherlock simply shook his head, turning away from the others as he ran a hand down his face

The next morning, after spending yet another long night going over the day's events, Sherlock, John, and the girls gathered in Baker Streets living room, the boys sitting in their preferred chairs while the girls took the sofa, watching a news report that showed the image of a high-rise block of flats with a large portion of one side of the building clearly having been blown apart. There was a headline running under the image, reading 'twelve dead in gas explosion'.

Clara felt ill just looking at it.

"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..." a male news reporter was saying over the broadcast.

Clara shook her head sadly, glancing quickly over at Tyler and back to the TV, "Whole block of flats."

"...is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main," the report continued, "A spokesmen from the utilities company..."

John inhaled deeply, "He certainly gets about," he remarked, obviously referring to the bomber.

Tyler cleared her throat, shifting slightly as both men looked back at her. Sherlock noted, with mild surprise and confusion, that she looked paler and more tired than normal. Obviously, she hadn't slept well the night before, judging by the dark circles that she had tried and failed to cover up with makeup under her eyes, and she hadn't touched her food at breakfast, which was unusual, for her. But what was confusing him the most, was why the death of the old woman would have affected her so much? She hadn't known her, and yet she was acting as if her death was somehow personal to her.

"If you wouldn't mind..." Tyler began, moving her eyes away from the TV, "could we turn this off or mute it? It's making me feel rather ill."

John frowned, looking concerned, clearly going into doctor mode, "Are you okay?" he moved to stand, but she waved him off.

"Just tired, Johnny," she replied, but Sherlock knew that wasn't the whole truth.

She shifted again under Sherlock's sharp gaze before he turned back to the TV - he never could read her, "Well, obviously we lost that round... although, technically I did solve the case," he commented, sounding flippant as he picked up the remote and muted the TV, clicking the button a little harder than necessary. He paused for a moment, looking into the distance thoughtfully, "He killed the old lady because she started to describe him," he held up a finger, "Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?" Clara asked, looking over at him.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no one ever has direct contact".

"What like the Connie Prince murder, he- he arranged that?" Clara frowned thoughtfully, glancing at Tyler, who was nodding slowly, but there was something distant about the way she did it, "So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Novel," Sherlock murmured, sounding more impressed about it than anything else.

John blinked, still seeming to be thinking it over as he turned back to the muted TV, "Huh," he hummed, pulling their attention back to the screen were Raoul de Santos was being led out of Kenny Prince's house by police.

Sherlock unmuted the TV and the sound of many people shouting out different questions, all of them press as they tried shoving and pushing their way forward, trying to get pictures as the young man was being forced into the back of a police car, cameras flashing, while the words 'Connie Prince: man arrested,' flashed across the bottom of the screen.

"Well, that's one good thing," Clara remarked quietly, glancing over at Sherlock, but his attention was focused back on the pink phone that he had sitting on the armrest of his chair.

"Taking his time this time," Tyler commented, pushing up out of her seat and swiping the phone off the arm rest to turn over in her hands. Sherlock looked up at her curiously before moving his attention back to the screen, were the camera had moved to show Kenny Prince looking outside his window, watching everything unfold as he held his cat, Sekhmet, in his arms.

John cleared his throat, "Anything on the Carl Power's case?" he questioned.

"Nothing," he replied as Clara looked over at him sharply, "All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

"The thought had occurred."

"So, why's he doing this, then?" John asked, shaking his head, "Playing this game with you and Tyler?" he frowned, "D'you think he wants to be caught?"

Tyler shook her head, "If he wanted to get caught, surly he could have gone about it differently," she paused, inclining her head slightly in thought, "though... he could have just gone about it this way because he likes the drama, which certainly seems to be true."

Sherlock pressed his fingers together in front of his mouth, smiling slightly, "I think he wants to be distracted," he told them, sounding as if he understood the feeling.

Clara uncrossed her legs, laughing as she shook her head, and moved off the couch, heading towards the kitchen, "I hope you'll be very happy together," he remarked to Sherlock.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Oh my," he muttered to himself, knowing that Clara couldn't possibly have gotten over what Sherlock had done to the old lady, and even more so after what happened to her. He was upset too but Clara was always one to get on Sherlock and Tyler for that matter whenever they seemed to forget the value of a human life. This wasn't all just some game.

Sherlock glanced over at her, "Sorry, what?"

"There are lives at stake, guys" Clara turned back around to face him, her gaze shifting to Tyler for a moment before leaning on the back of Sherlock's chair, looking furious, "Actual human lives... just-just so I know, do you care about that at all?" She demanded.

"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes irritably.

She shook her head, "Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?" She narrowed her eyes. "Both of you."

"Yes, very," he replied easily for both of them before frowning at her again, "Is that news to you?"

"No," Clara smiled bitterly, shaking her head, "No."

Sherlock eyed her for a moment, "I've disappointed you."

"That's good," she pointed sarcastically at him, nodding, still with the same bitter smile on her face, "That's a good deduction, yeah."

"Don't make people into heroes, Clara," Sherlock told him firmly, "Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

"I mean, you could at least..." She trailed off trying to think of the right word. "Feel something."

"That's not going to help anything," Tyler spoke up this time and Clara snapped her eyes to the blonde who she nearly forgot was there and she was talking to her as well as Sherlock. "You may not see this as a game, but that is exactly what he views it as. The only way to beat it is to play along, not let it get to your head. So, no, I don't find it easy to know people have died because of me, but pretending is the only way we'll win." She pushed up off the couch and stormed over to the other side of the room.

She let her eyes wander around all the normal people on the sidewalk below, unaware of what was going on around them. Oh, how she wished she was welcomed to that kind of bliss. She wished she never left him, then none of this would be happening. No, she wished she'd never met him, she wished she'd never insisted on being apart of the type of life style Ryan and Andi had found themselves tangled up in. She wished her parents had never died. That's where it all began.

Suddenly, the pink phone dinged, pulling Tyler from her own thoughts and ripping through the silent room. She turned on her toes quickly, pulling the phone from her pocket in which she had stowed it away earlier. Clara and both boys looked at her as she clicked the screen.

One short pip sounded, followed by a longer one as she held up the phone to take a closer look at the message that followed, "View of the Thames," she informed them quickly as Sherlock stood and made his way over to take a look over her shoulder, "South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo."

"You three check the papers, I'll look online," he told them, looking up to see Clara still leaning against her chair, her head down, "Oh, you're angry with us, so you won't help," Clara looked up at him, shrugging slightly, "Not much cop, this caring lark."

"Sherlock," John shot him a quick look, and turned back to Clara, "You could go for a walk, Clara," he tried suggesting, knowing how upset she still was, "Get some fresh... well, relatively fresh air."

For a moment, he thought she might agree, but she took a couple of deep breaths and shook her head. She cast Sherlock and Tyler a long look, but the former ignored them both as he fiddled with his phone, no doubt already starting his search. Tyler met her gaze with a meaningful one and Clara let out a slow steadying breath, remembering what Tyler said. She was right. She nodded and slowly walked over to the sofa, flopping down, and started flicking through the paper that was on the coffee table as John came to join her.

Tyler cast them one last look and grabbed John's laptop off the desk and dropped into Sherlock's chair with it.

"'Archway suicide,'" John read from the newspaper.

"Ten a penny," Sherlock snapped, hardly looking up from his phone. Clara coughed and sent him a look, noting the look that John sent him, but he ignored her.

John went back to the paper, turning a couple of pages, "Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington," he closed the paper, putting it off to the side as he grabbed another one, "Ah," he glanced over at Sherlock, "Man found on train line, Andrew West."

"Nothing!" Sherlock remarked, appearing to be highly annoyed as he clicked something on his phone, raising it to his ear. There was a pause, before he said over the phone, "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"

Half an hour went by before Sherlock received a call from Lestrade, telling them that a body had been found in exactly the place that he had asked about, and they quickly grabbed a cab from Baker Street and made their way to the location.

"Do you reckon this is connected, then?" Lestrade called to them as they made their way towards were he and a few forensic officers where gathered on a bank beside the Thames, "The bomber?"

"Must be," Sherlock replied as they neared what appeared to be a large man's body lying on the bank, his shoes missing but his black socks, dress trousers, and white shirt still intact, "Odd, though..." he looked to Tyler for confirmation, in turn she gave him a nod, "He hasn't been in touch."

"But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?"

"Yes," he agreed, taking a step back and giving the man's body a long look.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked.

"Seven...so far."

"Seven?" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Tyler looked at him curiously, "Really?" she frowned slightly, glancing back at the body, "Because I only have five."

Sherlock smirked, "You almost sound impressed, Tyler," he remarked, sounding slightly amused.

She shot him a look, "Oh, shut up," she sighed, but her tone made it clear that she really didn't mean it.

Sherlock turned back to the body, pulling his slide out magnifier and set to work examining the body. First, the man's face, then he moved on to the man's shirt. Once he had finished with that, he shuffled around, crouching slightly as he pulled off one of the man's socks, examining his feet before he stood, snapping the magnifying glass shut, and stepped back, obviously done with his examination.

John glanced at Lestrade, who waved at him, as if to say that it was 'okay', and he cleared his throat before crouching beside the body, taking the man's wrist, examining it as Sherlock pulled his phone out, fiddling with it.

"He's dead about twenty-four hours... maybe a bit longer," John estimated, glancing up at Lestrade, "Did he drown?"

"Apparently not," Lestrade told him, "Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated."

Tyler moved around to the other side of the man and carefully crouched down, as she swept her eyes up and down the man, taking note of the large, visible veins on his legs, what appeared to have been something attached to his shirt that had been ripped off, possibly a logo. So, some sort of guard, more than likely a security guard, she guessed, which would explain the veins, also. He was overweight, so that would also support her theory of security guard, but of what, she couldn't tell.

Clara knelt down next to John and swept her eyes over the body trying to get whatever she could, she was always better with bones rather than flesh. "Yeah, I'd agree," Clara nodded as she moved up towards the man's head, looking closely, "There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth," she continued, glancing up at Lestrade, "More bruises here and here..."

Tyler stood and moved around to take a look at the bruises herself, murmuring at the same time as Sherlock, who was still fiddling with his phone, "Fingertips." Tyler's eyes widened, she'd seen this before.

John and Clara stood, glancing at Sherlock and Tyler before looking back down at the body, "In his late thirties, I'd say," John remarked, "Not in the best condition."

"He's been in the river a long while," Clara added and Sherlock finally looked away fro his phone to her, "The water's destroyed most of the data."

Sherlock's phone beeped and he looked back down at it, and back up to them, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, "But I'll tell you one thing, that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?" Lestrade frowned at him.

Tyler blinked at him before it clicked, "Oh!" she gasped, her eyes widening. Who would kill a Security Guard? Unless he was going to out something, something that would out someone thirty million pounds - like that painting she saw flyers about all over the place; a fake painting.

"We need to identify the corpse," Sherlock continued, ignoring Lestrade's question, "Find out about his friends and associates..."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Lestrade held up his hand, shaking his head, "What painting? What are you... what are you on about?"

He frowned at him, "It's all over the place," he narrowed his eyes at him, "Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch old master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."

"Okay," he nodded slowly, "So what has that got to do with the stiff?"

"Everything," he replied, a strange grin lighting up his eyes and face.

"The Golem," Tyler said, getting the four sets of eyes on her.

"Golem?" Clara echoed.

"It's a horror story, isn't it?" John looked at Tyler, "What are you saying?"

Tyler nodded, recalling it, "It's a Jewish folk story," She brushed off her pants as she straightened up with a heavy sigh. "A gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin, real name Oskar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world."

Sherlock nodded along, gesturing back towards the body, "That is his trademark style."

Lestrade blinked, "So this is a hit?"

"Definitely," he nodded, "The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands."

"But, what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see..."

"You do see, you just don't observe," Sherlock sighed, highly exasperated.

"All right, all right, girls, calm down," John cut in, shaking his head as Tyler laughed, quickly covering it up with a cough, "Sherlock? Tyler?" he looked at them, "D'you wanna take us through it?"

Sherlock glanced down at the body for a moment, "What do we know about this corpse?" he began, taking a step back as he gestured down at the man, "The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap."

Tyler nodded in agreement, "They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."

"Tube driver?" Lestrade suggested.

Sherlock sent him a look, clearly not impressed by his suggestion.

"Security guard?" John asked at the same as Clara, only hers wasn't a question, but a statement.

"More likely," Sherlock nodded at them, looking back at the body, "That'll be born out by his backside."

"Backside?" Lestrade exclaimed, frowning.

"Flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet are the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and sitting around. Security guard's looking good."

"And the watch helps, too," Tyler shrugged looking from one face to the next, "The alarm shows he did regular night shifts."

"Why regular?" Lestrade asked, shaking his head, "Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died."

"No, no, no," Sherlock interrupted him, "The buttons are stiff, hardly touched..."

"So... he set his alarm like that ages ago and hasn't had any reason to change it since." Tyler explained for him.

"Exactly," he inclined his head in her direction, "But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corps completely," he continued, frowning down at the body, "There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution," he reached inside his pocket, "Found this inside his trouser pockets," and pulled out a bit of scrunched up paper, holding it up for them to see, "Sodden by the river but still recognizable."

John and Clara scrunched up their eyes, trying to get a closer look at the paper, "Tickets?"

"Ticket stubs," Tyler corrected them, "He worked in a museum or gallery."

Sherlock stuffed the ticket stubs back inside his pocket, "Did a quick check, the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing," he pointed down at the body, "Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."

John stared at him, "Fantastic," he shook his head in amazement.

"Meticulous," he shrugged.

"And a happy New Year!" Lestrade added.

John cast him a look, shaking his head as he looked down at the body, "Poor sod," he remarked.

"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character," Lestrade said after a moment, glancing at Sherlock.

"Pointless," Sherlock replied quickly, "You'll never find him. But I know a man who can."

"Who?"

He turned around to face him, grinning, "Me."

And with that, he turned and began heading back along the bank, towards the road - Tyler following with a roll of her eyes. Clara and John exchanged a look, and followed after him.

After hailing a cab, Tyler simply sat in the back of the car as they drove, eyeing the pink phone in her hands, "Why hasn't he phoned?" She wondered aloud, twirling the phone between her fingers. She paused, thinking it over carefully, "Usually when someone like this breaks their pattern, it means that they're getting bored, meaning that they will start trying to make things go faster - more exciting," she sighed, shaking her head, "More often that's when they get caught, too, because they start making big mistakes, but this bomber's to clever for that." If this was Jim than he was way too clever for that, and he knew she knew it.

John gave her a curious look, seeming surprised, "You seem to know a lot about it," he remarked.

Tyler bit her tongue over her bottom lip, looking at him like a little kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar, "Um, no. Not really. Just guessing, I don't know anything really." She smiled innocently, feeling both men and Clara staring at her curiously.

Luckily none of them pressed the issue, leaning forward towards the driver, "Waterloo Bridge," Sherlock told the driver.

"Where now?" Clara asked, glancing at him, "The gallery?"

"In a bit," he replied, settling back against the seat, as he reached into a pocket inside his coat, and pulled out a notepad with a pen.

"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it?" John questioned, "Why have they got hold of an old master?"

"Dunno," he shook his head, setting to work jotting something down on the notepad, "Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data," he finished writing after a moment, tore the note out, and folded it along with a fifty pound note, slipping it along with the notepad back inside his pocket, "Stop!" he called to the driver, who pulled over on the side of the road, "You wait here," he looked back at John and the girls, "I won't be a moment."

He opened the door and stepped out, jumping over a railing. John and the girls followed after him... well, tried to, anyway.

"Sherlock..." Tyler flung herself over the fence with the elegance of a well trained assassin.

John followed, grabbing the railing and with more trouble than Sherlock pulled himself over, landing on the pavement on the other side. He stopped when he realized Clara had yet to follow, and he turned back and held out his hand.

"Thank you," She smiled at him and pulled herself over.

They quickly turned and followed after Sherlock as he lightly jogged up a set of steps, heading over to were a young, homeless woman was sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge, "Change?" the woman asked them as they approached, "Any change?"

"What for?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets.

"Cup of tea, of course."

He reached inside his pocket, withdrawing the piece of paper that he had scribbled on before, along with the money, handing it to her, "Here you go, fifty."

The woman smiled up at him, taking the paper, "Thanks."

Sherlock turned and walked away, Tyler only pausing for a moment before she turned on her heel, following after him as John and Clara looked back and forth between him and the girl, looking unsure about what just happened before John shook his head, and hurried to catch up with Sherlock, taking Clara's hand to pull her along.

"What are you doing?" John asked him, pointing back at the girl.

"Investing," Sherlock replied, heading back down the steps, and opening the cab door, "Now we go to the gallery," he paused in the open car door, glancing back at John and the girls, "Have you got any cash?"

Tyler raised her eyebrows at him, a small smile tugging on her lips as she shook her head at him, "Of course," she nodded to him.

He climbed inside the cab, followed by her and Clara, and lastly John, setting off towards the gallery. When they pulled up outside the gallery, Sherlock opened the door, "No," he shook his head as the girls and John moved to follow him, "I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address."

John and Clara exchanged looks, "Okay..." John nodded slowly.

Sherlock looked at Tyler, "I'll need your assistance," he told her, taking her by surprise as he gestured for her to get out of the cab.

Still surprised, Tyler exchanged a quick goodbye with John and Clara and climbed out of the cab, closing the door behind her, "So, what do you need me for?" She asked curiously as the cab pulled away from the curb, driving off as she and Sherlock headed towards the back entrance of the gallery.

"I need you to keep watch," he informed her, glancing around as they reached a large back door, and carefully slipped inside a long hallway with doors leading off it, "Make sure I'm not disturbed."

"Great," she sighed.