Maxine

I sat on the cot for some time, formulating a plan. There was a camera, Wolfgang had a gun, and I didn't have any sort of weapon. He needed me alive, but he could certainly hit me in a non-lethal area. That would not only hurt, but halt any attempt I make at escape; I'd be too slow.

So what was I meant to do?

Slowly, a plot formed in my head. I stood up from the bed and examined the sheet. With my back to the camera, I picked it up and gave the edge a strong tug with both hands. It tore at my pull; seemed they were cheap sheets. I loosed a long breath and ran my head through the process.

It wasn't the best idea, but it was the only one I had.

With determination, I turned and strode across the crate to where the camera was in the corner. I brought the sheet with me and wrapped my fist in it as I went. When I reached the camera, I jumped up and swung with my padded fist as hard as I could. The device didn't fall, but it was twisted on it's hinges, now aiming uselessly up at the ceiling.

I Jumped up and hit it one more time and this time it fell to the ground. I quickly gathered it and put it at my feet before tearing a long strip of the sheet free. I tore one more strip off and twined them together as fast as I could. With his camera feed cut, it was only a matter of time before Wolfgang came to inspect.

Once I had a slightly affective sheet rope, I took the camera and slammed it into the corner of the right-side door. I was hoping to jam it so only one door could be opened. After a few tries, it stuck where I pushed it.

The large metal doors clanked and began to creak open. I had taken a gamble on which side he would open first and it paid off. Since the doors opened outward, it had me at a disadvantage. He could open the doors wide and aim his gun inside. I wanted to force him into a closer confrontation. If he had tried the right door first and felt it jammed, he might be prepared for me.

The second Wolfgang stepped inside, I leapt. The man gasped when I wrapped the sheet rope around his neck and wrapped my legs around his middle. Using all my strength and body weight, I strangled Wolfgang. He choked and dropped his gun to grab at the cloth constricting him. When he couldn't loosen it, he reached back and tried to paw for my face.

I leaned back and pulled the rope tighter. Wolfgang staggered about the crate, forcing me to carefully keep my balance. Then, he reached into his pocket with a decent level of difficulty. I twisted around to see what he pulled free, but before I could register it, a pain pinched into my thigh.

Wolfgang had pulled a syringe out and injected its clear contents into my leg. My eyes widened as he tossed the needle across the room and went back to gripping at the cloth rope. At first, I wasn't sure what he'd given me. I continued to throttle him and he kept trying to toss me off with weakening attempts.

However, mere seconds after the injection, I noticed my limbs numbing and darkness hugging my vision. I gasped as my body began to lose more and more strength. Soon, I couldn't keep my grip on Wolfgang—not around his neck or his torso. I fell from him, landing heavily on my back.

Wolfgang coughed harshly as he staggered away from me. He gripped his throat and his eyes were watering. I tried to get up and reach for the gun that was a few feet away from me, but I was too weak to even lift my head. Wolfgang gained back some of his composure and looked back at me as I lingered on the brink of awareness.

"That was a good try," he rasped, his voice rough from having his windpipe crushed. "But not good enough."

My world went black.

John

I wasn't all right.

Sherlock insisted we wait to contact Wolfgang to tell him we found Lyheart; he didn't want the killer to be suspicious. It was early morning the day after Maxine was taken, and I hadn't slept at all—none of us in 221B had. Mrs. Hudson had come up at one point with tea and snacks. She seemed just as distraught as we were about my sister's capture.

Mycroft had called earlier and stated that they finally had reports in of a stolen suit of armor from a collector in Wales. It had occurred nearly three weeks ago, and there was no footage of the incident. Whoever Wolfgang was, he knew what he was doing.

Sherlock had played his violin for several hours last night. It was slow, lamenting music that pulled at my heart. I'd had my doubts about Sherlock being with my sister, but it was clear to me that he cared deeply for her—that he loved her. He'd looked away when I accused him of that and changed the subject, but he hadn't denied it either. Perhaps even Sherlock was getting used to this new side of himself.

I was filled with a mixture of sheer panic, rage, and terror. My little sister was in the hands of some maniac and there wasn't anything I could do. I was trapped—I was useless. I wanted to get my hands on Wolfgang and tear at him until there was nothing left. I wanted to find Moriarty and shove his smug face right up his own arse.

So when Sherlock finally set down his violin and began to put on his coat, I lit up and jumped to my feet.

"Are we...?" I rasped.

Sherlock nodded as he tugged on his scarf. "It's time," he said.

I started to go for my coat, but before I did, I went to Sherlock's chair and grabbed Maxine's scarf. It wasn't really my color, but I wrapped it around my neck all the same.

"I think she'd like to have it when we get her," I told Sherlock.

"She would," Miyako agreed. She had changed into some of Maxine's clothes—a plaid button up flannel shirt and some jeans. She pulled on her own black coat and pursed her lips worriedly.

Sherlock hadn't been able to look at Miyako for long since she arrived. I could understand his anger toward the woman since she was the reason Maxine was caught up in all this. Yet at the same time, Miyako had been Maxine's first true friend. There had to be something special about her, something that had gotten Maxine out of her layered, armored shell.

"Thank you for letting me use these," Miyako said to me, gesturing to her clothes.

"Well, showing up in all black clothing like that might have set off some alarm bells in this guy's head," I replied.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and dialed out a number before putting it on speaker. It rang a few times before someone picked up.

"I was starting to worry," a man's voice said snidely. I hadn't heard him before and instantly decided I hated the way he came across—arrogant and narcissistic all at once. He also sounded a bit rough, like he smoked or had a cold. "Do you have something for me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I found Dakota Lyheart," Sherlock replied, his voice tight. "Give me a location to make the trade."

Wolfgang rattled off an address that I wrote down. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, clearly already knowing where it was.

"The old warehouse in Whitechapel?" he said. "That's why all the murders were over there."

"I like to work close to home," Wolfgang said. "Well, wherever home is at the time."

"I want to hear Max," Sherlock demanded. "Prove to me she hasn't been harmed."

"She hasn't, I assure you," Wolfgang replied. "I might do a lot of acting to get my job done, but when I'm Wolfgang, I'm a man of my word."

"Put her on the line," Sherlock snarled.

"Never expected you to be so sentimental," Wolfgang sighed. "Fine..."

In the background, there was a sound of a metal door opening. Sherlock and I exchanged a meaningful look. We'd have to keep an eye out for something that could make that noise when we got to the warehouse.

"Sorry to bother you," Wolfgang said. "But your boy-toy would not take no for an answer. Go ahead and say hello to him, won't ya?"

There was a pause, then Maxine's voice came over the line.

"Sherlock?"

At the sound of my sister's voice, a wave of relief washed through me. However, it was rather short lived. She sounded tired—slurred, like she was drugged.

"Max," Sherlock breathed, his expression flooding with relief. "Are you all right? Has he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Maxine assured. "Sherlock, you need—"

"Ah, that's quite enough," Wolfgang interjected. "Sorry, sweetheart, can't risk you two trying to pull wool over my eyes. I'll be back in a bit."

Once again, the sound of metal doors came. They creaked and then gave a resounding thud. After a moment, Wolfgang sighed and I was given the impression he was sitting down heavily from the way his breath left his mouth.

"There you have it, your little freckled treasure is safe and sound," he said. "And being treated to my fine cooking, I might add. Now... you bring Lyheart over here and we'll have ourselves a trade. The side door on the west end of the building will be unlocked; I suggest you enter there. Call before you come in, if you would. I'll be waiting—but don't make me wait long, Sherlock."

There was a short pause, in which Wolfgang bit into something that sounded like an apple. Once he swallowed, he let out a small chuckle.

"Oh, and if I see or get wind of a single police officer or anyone else from the Scotland Yard nearby, Maxine will find herself skewered with this lovely longsword I found. Don't try to trick me, Sherlock. I have eyes and ears in places you'd least expect."

The line went dead.

I ran my hands through my hair. It had been relieving to hear Maxine's voice. She sounded tired, but still strong. Wolfgang must have taken her dagger from her and had other means of keeping her under control, otherwise she would have fought her way out of this.

Sherlock took his mobile from his ear and glared at the screen before gripping it with both hands and typing something in. Miyako adjusted her coat and grimaced.

"To make it realistic, you will most likely have to bind me," she said. "Like a kidnapping."

I rubbed my brow. "To think, if Maddie wasn't who he was looking for..."

I cast Sherlock a glance, wondering if he would still track down an author and kidnap her in order to make a trade—I wondered if I would do it. Maxine would be furious if we involved some innocent person in order to save her, but she was my sister and Sherlock's girlfriend.

However, Sherlock was staring at his phone, his eyes flicking left and right to indicate he was reading. His expression was tight with concentration and he began to type something out.

"Sherlock?" I said.

"He's known as Wolfgang in the underworld," Sherlock said abruptly. "To people in his line of work—to people who want to hire him."

"Yes," Miyako replied. "I told you, no-one knows his true identity."

Sherlock's eyes flashed and he typed one last thing before looking up at us. "I wouldn't say that," he said.

From his mobile, a text alert chimed—one that was different from his usual trill. It was the awkwardly orgasmic sigh of a woman. Miyako's brows shot up at the sound and my eyes widened.

"Does she know...?" I breathed.

Sherlock peered at his phone before smiling. "Let's go," he said, and headed down the stairs at a brisk trot.

Maxine

The metal doors of the shipping crate opened. I lifted my head, my heart stuttering in my chest. Wolfgang came striding inside, smiling.

"It's showtime," he announced.

When I woke from my escape attempt, I noticed that Wolfgang had taken extra measures to make certain nothing like that happened again. He'd placed me in a suit of armor that was slightly too large for me. It was complete with chainmail underclothes and all. I was chained to a furniture dolly, despite the armor being too heavy to move in. Wolfgang came over to undo the chains, still smiling.

Once able and with Wolfgang's help, I got to my feet and eyed him warily. "What does that mean? What did Sherlock say?"

"He found who I came here for," Wolfgang replied. "Knew he would—just needed the right motivation."

He walked behind me and gripped the dolly's handles to lift me off the ground. Whistling, he wheeled me out of the crate. My mind was racing; who had Sherlock found to take my place? Or did he have another plan that didn't require any sort of hostage exchange?

Out in the warehouse, I saw there were more shipping crates scattered around us. There was a large clearing of them directly in front of the crate I'd been in, leaving nowhere to run and hide before Wolfgang would be able to shoot—not that I was going anywhere.

"I should mention..." Wolfgang murmured. "I don't think you're going anywhere, but if you make one move in an attempt to escape, I promise you I'll shoot John the second I see him. He'll be coming with Sherlock, you and I both know that. I need Sherlock and I need Lyheart, but your brother? Heh..."

"Leave John out of this," I snarled through clenched teeth.

"That's entirely up to you." Wolfgang gave me a smirk.

I looked down at the chains wrapped about my torso and legs. Even if I didn't believe Wolfgang's threat, I wasn't getting out of this. I had to hope Sherlock had some sort of plan. I was useless in this—the damsel in distress. It infuriated me. I nearly had him with my bed sheet trick, but he still outsmarted me. If only I managed to kill him... I wanted to show up back at 221B Baker St with a smug smirk and see Sherlock's expression of relief and pride.

That wasn't happening, at least not in that fashion.

Carefully, Wolfgang propped me up in a way where I wouldn't topple over. I squirmed in an attempt to get more comfortable in the armor, but to no avail. Wolfgang sighed and began to pace around. He had his pistol in one hand and twirled it idly now and then.

"I have to admit, you're previous attempt was good," Wolfgang said. "I'd read your brother's blogs, but I always thought he exaggerated your skills. Though, he wasn't lying about the dagger."

I looked over at him sharply as he crouched down. From his boot, he pulled free my dagger and my eyes widened at the sight of it. The katakana on it read: AKAGE. Either he couldn't read Japanese, or he didn't realize that Lyheart and Akage were the same person—me. He twirled it in his hand and looked over the blade.

"This is a pretty thing," he said. "Sentimental too, I'd bet."

I pressed my lips into a tight line. Getting my dagger would change the stakes, whether he had a gun or not. There was something about that blade that gave me new confidence and strength. Though I wasn't getting to it how I was now.

"Tell you what, just because I like you, I'll make sure you get it back," Wolfgang said with a small smile toward me.

Before I could respond, a phone began ringing in his pocket. He replaced the dagger in his boot and took the mobile out to answer.

"I take it you're close?" he asked.

I didn't hear the response on the other end, but Wolfgang grinned.

"Good. Through the door I instructed. It's unlocked." He disconnected the call and pocketed his phone again. "You're calvary has arrives, my lady."

"Don't call me that," I muttered sourly.

Wolfgang merely smiled at me.

Sherlock

The large metal doors swung wide to allow us access to the warehouse. Miyako stood to my right, hands bound behind her back and with a convincing look of terror on her face. We'd gagged her with a cloth and tape as well in an attempt to make it more convincing. Though the ropes were tied in such a way that she'd be able to slip free if needed.

John was on her other side, guiding her with his hand on her arm. He was grim and I could see simmering rage lingering behind his eyes. Wolfgang didn't realize the fury he'd wrought by taking Maxine. Here, walking in to save her, were the three people that cared the most about her in this world, of that I was certain.

And all of us were eager for blood.

As the doors swung close behind us, I spotted two figures ahead of us. They stood in an empty spot among several shipping crates. One was a man that was quite similar to the composite sketch—wide, strong face, low, intense eyebrows, a slightly upturned nose and full lips that were quirked into a smug smile. His hair was auburn and he couldn't have been more than 5'10.

There was a pistol in his hand, but he didn't raise it on our arrival. A show of confidence? Perhaps, but I only saw it as stupidity.

A few meters from him was Maxine. She was in a suit of armor, the one that was stolen. It was too large on her and she was strapped to a furniture dolly with chains. The very sight sent rage boiling inside me. It reminded me of when I found her beaten by the FBI men. This man was getting something far worse than a trip out a window.

Upon spotting Miyako, Maxine's eyes stretched wide and her jaw went slack. I fixated her with a hard stare, hoping she knew not to give anything away. Maxine finally met my eyes and she clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes were burning with questions.

"Ah, so the great Sherlock Holmes can be convinced to turn to crime, if the motivation is there," Wolfgang said.

"Maxine," John breathed. "Are you all right? Has he hurt you? Has he touched you?"

"No," Maxine managed to rasp. "No, no. I'm fine. Just..." Her eyes darted between the three of us in rising panic.

"I brought what you want, now let Max go," I snarled.

Miyako was doing an excellent job of looking around in manic confusion. She whimpered softly and strained, but John held her in place.

"How do I know for certain she's Dakota Lyheart?" Wolfgang asked with a slight grin.

He's enjoying this, I realized with fury.

"Dakota Lyheart," I said with a huff. "Lived in Japan until two years ago. Was forced to leave due to connections with the Yakuza. She fled to London to start a new life, but kept publishing her work."

I slowly lifted my jacket away from myself to show Wolfgang I was merely grabbing papers from an inside pocket. Once I had them, I slid them across the ground to him.

"You'll find that the publishers have been in contact with this address, you can see the records there," I said. "They were dealing with a Kaida Miyako. Her passport is in there. The names line up."

Wolfgang crouched and picked up the papers that Mycroft had falsified for me. With one hand, he deftly thumbed through the papers. I could tell this man was agile and lithe. He'd be a challenge in hand-to-hand combat and his skills with a gun was most likely terrifying.

"My dear Sherlock, doing his homework," Wolfgang sighed. "Very well." He turned to Maxine and set down the papers to undo the chains. Their clatter echoed around the warehouse as they fell to the floor. "Start walking to them, nice and slow... not that you could do anything else," he said once she was free and aimed his handgun at the back of her head. "Send Miss Miyako over. Any tricks and Maxine's blood paints the floors."

John pushed Miyako forward. She gave a grunt of protest and tried to back up, but I shoved her next.

"He'll just shoot you in the leg and drag you with him," I snapped at her. "Just go."

Miyako sobbed softly and began to slowly walk toward Wolfgang.

Giving her captor a wary glance, Maxine began to lumber forward. She locked her eyes on Miyako and her expression was drenched in conflict. She looked over her shoulder at Wolfgang just before she was going to pass Miyako. The man still had his gun trained on her. When she looked forward again, I hoped beyond hope that my eyes told her to trust me—to let Miyako go over to Wolfgang.

Maxine hesitated for only a couple of heartbeats before pushing on toward us. The second she was within my reach, I grabbed her arm and pulled her behind me.

"John, help her with that armor," I ordered softly while keeping my eyes on Wolfgang.

Miyako had reached him and he grabbed her arm firmly. He smiled toward us.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said. He lifted his leg and produced a familiar dagger from his boot. "I promised her I'd return it."

He set the weapon on the floor and kicked it across to us. I knelt and swiftly picked it up. It was Maxine's dagger, for certain. I read the Japanese on the blade with pursed lips. AKAGE. So this man didn't know who his true target was.

John and Maxine had managed to get the chest piece off. It was time for me to stall.

"I do have a question, before you head off," I said, barely able to keep the fury from my voice.

Wolfgang perked a brow at me. "Our business is done, Sherlock. I'm letting you take the girl and leave—isn't that enough?"

Ignoring his comment, I asked, "How many aliases do you use across all your bank accounts? Because I found about four and I just want to make sure I'm not missing any."

Wolfgang's arrogant expression faltered. "What?"

"Your bank accounts," I repeated. "Your birth name is Dexter Moser, right? But you've got one account under Alexander Reed, another under Frederick Adams, and a third under Quinn Lakes. So tell me, are those the only four accounts you have?"

I began to grin as John helped Maxine out of her greaves. I twirled Maxine's dagger in my hand and let out a long exhale.

"Because if that's the case, you might be in some trouble, financially," I said.

Wolfgang's face went from confused to angry. His intense brows lowered even further and he bared his teeth. "Just what are you insinuating, Sherlock?"

"I have a lot of friends in a lot of places," I told him. "One is someone who likes to help the police in North America. You'd know him as Jack. He's taken a special interest in you, and the moment he had your birth name, he was able to work wonders on his beloved computer." I handed Maxine her dagger as I spoke and she gave me a grateful nod.

"Cyber Detective," Wolfgang snarled. "No... no, you're bluffing. There's no way he got into all my accounts."

"I did give you your real name, didn't I?" I tilted my head, noting that Maxine was almost free of all the armor—John was pulling the chainmail off over her head. "Why don't you check your balance?"

Wolfgang blinked rapidly and looked between me and Miyako.

"Don't move," he ordered the latter and pulled out his mobile.

As he was fixated on its screen, my eyes met Miyako's. Her expression had changed from the frightful prisoner to the calculating assassin Maxine always described. She stared at Wolfgang's back, and her arms began to wiggle slightly; she was getting out of her binds.

Wolfgang's shoulders tensed and he slowly lifted his gaze from his phone. His expression had gone from frustratingly confused to outright murderous. I smiled and put my hands in my pockets. The right one curled around a small pistol I'd borrowed from Lestrade—not entirely with his consent or knowledge.

"This better be some kind of joke," Wolfgang said, his voice low and promising death.

"Oh, while it's quite hilarious, it's no joke," I replied. "You see, originally, it was just going to be leverage. I'd demand Lyheart back after the trade and offer to put your money back where Jack found it. But something came along and made this little incident so much better."

Miyako's arms stopped moving around. Slowly, like a panther, she took a silent step back and eyed Wolfgang as if searching for a weak spot.

"Stop dancing, Sherlock," Wolfgang snapped. His previous calm demeanor had evaporated completely. "I don't care for your theatrics. I want my money back, now."

"See, that's the part that's better," I sighed. "I was infuriated with the idea of letting you go. Of letting you leave unscathed after what you've done to Max—after killing those three people. Now I get to leave all those accounts empty. Consider it your penance... well, part of it, anyway."

Wolfgang pocketed his mobile and lifted his pistol to aim at my head. I didn't even blink. I stared at him with as much contempt as I could muster. He was baring his teeth in his rage, a dog angry that his bone had been taken. Behind him, Miyako carefully untied her gag—a cloth with a rope keeping it in place—and let it fall soundlessly to the ground.

"This doesn't end well for you, Sherlock," Wolfgang breathed. "I was given orders to keep you alive, but this is a special circumstance. I promise you, though: you'll put every cent back before I'm done with you, and by then you'll be begging for death."

"Doubtful," I said, and Miyako pounced.

The ropes that had been around her fell to the ground. She grabbed Wolfgang's arm and shoved it upwards. The gun still fired, but the bullet sailed uselessly over our heads. Miyako twisted Wolfgang's arm around in an attempt to disarm him. I pulled out my small handgun while John freed his pistol from his waistband. Maxine came to my side, gripping her dagger with a white-knuckled hand.

"Wait," I told her, sensing the way she was readying to spring forward.

Maxine gave me a conflicted glance. I lifted my small pistol and began to walk forward carefully and slightly to the side. Miyako and Wolfgang were still tussling. Miyako had the finesse and skill, but Wolfgang was clearly stronger. He squirmed out of her grip, but before he could aim his gun, Miyako was already twisting around him to grab his arm again.

I didn't have a clear shot, and neither did John by the look on his face. The two were moving too much and often getting in front of the other. If we fired, we risked shooting Miyako.

"I have to help," Maxine insisted.

"No!" I ordered.

I knew that there was a good chance that Maxine would be able to help Miyako overwhelm Wolfgang, but I'd only just gotten her back. I was terrified by the thought of losing her for good.

Maxine hesitated, but I could tell she was about to ignore me.

That was when the second gunshot sounded.

Startled, we looked over toward Wolfgang and Miyako. The two were clutching one another, and it was impossible to see the gun or if either were injured. However, after a few seconds, Miyako gave a pained cough, and blood sprayed from her lips.

Maxine gave an audible gasp of horror as Wolfgang released Miyako. The Aikido instructor fell to the ground with blood pooling around her upper abdomen. The blood was dark. Not good.

"Miyako!" Maxine exclaimed and sprinted forward.

"Max, wait!" I tried, but she ignored me.

Wolfgang was lifting his pistol at the incoming Maxine. I slid to the side to get a clear shot of him and fired my little pistol. My shot missed, but it distracted him and he flinched. The next gunshot was from John's handgun and that bullet grazed Wolfgang's left side. By the time the man reoriented himself, Maxine was upon him.

With a furious yell, she thrust the dagger into his chest. Wolfgang gasped and dropped his pistol while staggering backward. Maxine cried out again as she tore her blade free just to plunge it into the man's gut. Wolfgang coughed up blood and shuddered. Maxine glared at him with a furious expression.

"Just so you know," she snarled. "You had what you needed all along. I'm Dakota Lyheart. For all your boasting, you're still just another fool."

"Maxine, Maxine!" John was rushing to her side, hastily pocketing his pistol. His eyes were wide and filled with shock and horror.

Maxine ignored him. I hurried over and grabbed John's shoulder.

"Tend to Miyako," I told him. "Here, take this." I pulled off my dark blue scarf and passed it to him.

John was clearly conflicted for a moment, but he was the doctor. He grabbed my scarf and rushed over to Miyako's side. She was still alive, but only just. I turned my attention to Maxine. Wolfgang was sputtering up more blood and looked both absolutely livid and in a great deal of pain.

I knelt at Maxine's side and put my hands around hers that were still on the hilt of her dagger. She seemed to snap back to reality. Her face had been twisted with rage and her eyes were glassed over. They refocused and she looked up at me, her mouth slightly agape and her hands beginning to tremble.

"Come on," I murmured gently to her.

Together, we pulled the blade free from Wolfgang's stomach. He groaned in pain. I gently pulled Maxine away from him, knowing there was far too much blood around him for him to survive, even if we attempted to save him.

Once standing, Maxine dropped her dagger. With my hands still around hers, I released her and caught the hilt before it fell to the ground. Wolfgang's blood was stained around the pinky-side of my hands; it was splattered on Maxine's front and her face.

Maxine took a moment to move again. I reached toward her and gripped her elbow. My heart was thrumming wildly throughout my entire body. I found myself examining Maxine for any sign of harm—any sign that Wolfgang did something to her. She looked over at me briefly, blinking, and then she turned abruptly to stare at Miyako.

John had lifted Miyako's shirt and was pushing my scarf against the wound. I was going to have to get a new one; there was far too much blood to wash out. Maxine bolted to their sides and fell to her knees. She put her hands on the floor near Miyako's head to stare down into her face.

"No, no, no..." she whimpered. "No, Miyako. Ie! Koreha okori emasen!"

Her revert to Japanese was so fluid and quick. It was one of the languages I was near fluent in, and I swiftly translated it: No, this can't be happening.

Miyako turned her head and looked into Maxine's eyes. She was already paling at a shocking rate—my scarf was nearly soaked through. I went over to John's side and gave him a questioning look.

"The... the bullet's still in there," John said. "It went in at an angle. Without tools, there's no way to... and at the rate she's bleeding..."

"No," Maxine said again. "No, don't... Miyako..." She went back to speaking Japanese, but I understood her. "You can't leave. You just... why did you do this? Why?"

"Because..." Miyako replied weakly, also speaking her native tongue. "This is my doing, Akage. Now... they have no reason to come for you. Tell them Moriarty is the reason I..."

Maxine was trembling. Miyako gave her a sad smile, her lips stained red.

"Max," she said softly, now speaking English. "You are... strong. You are... enough."

"D-don't," Maxine whimpered, tears flowing down her face. "Don't talk like this—you..."

"I must rest now," Miyako said, closing her eyes. "I've been... so tired... for so long."

"Miyako," Maxine breathed. "Miyako, don't!" She went back to Japanese. "You can't! You can't just come back and then leave like this! You woke me up! You saved me, Miyako! I can't be the reason you die! I can't!"

Miyako was unresponsive. John slowly began to lean back, his face slightly tearstained and glancing warily at his sister. Maxine continued to hover over her mentor in anguish. She gave an unearthly sound—something deep and full of sorrow. She squeezed her eyes tight and clenched her jaw, hissing out sobs through her teeth.

I knelt at her side and wrapped an around around her shoulders. She was shaking madly and didn't react to my touch. I didn't know what to do or say. I'd never seen Maxine show so much emotion. John and I exchanged a worried look; clearly he was in the same boat as me.

Behind us, Wolfgang's gurgled breathing ceased. It seemed he, too, was gone. I was going to have to tell Lestrade it was self defense. I didn't look forward to the paperwork, but I was certain that Lestrade would make it work. Maxine had never killed anyone before, and I knew in that brief moment before she thrust her blade down, I was trying to save her from that. Despite all her flaws and how lethal she was with a dagger, Maxine was something... pure. Killing someone like that was going to take its toll on her.

"Max," I whispered. "Come on. Let's get you outside. We need to call Lestrade."

"I... I can't leave her," Maxine stammered.

"Maddie, there's nothing you can do for her now," John said gently. "Some air would do you a lot of good."

Maxine looked as though she was going to argue more, but then sheer exhaustion washed over her face. She sniffled, nodded, and allowed me to help her to her feet. I guided her toward the doors, glancing back to see John sighing and staring at Miyako's lifeless face with regret.

The moment this case revealed that it was targeting Maxine, I felt like I was running at two hundred kilometers per hour but still unable to catch up to anything. Now I felt as though I reached my destination, but it was not at all what I expected. I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't know what to think or do or say. I just held Maxine tightly in my arms, and hoped that I could somehow help the pain and anguish leave her eyes.

Maxine

When the numbness came, it was a godsend. I never felt so much emotion at once in my entire life—let alone sheer anguish and guilt. I spent all my life unable to access the feelings everyone else seemed to have; I thought that I was broken in some sense, but then Miyako and Sherlock had shown me that I was just different. I was whole again, for a time.

Not anymore.

Sherlock and John explained how Miyako arrived at the flat hoping to help. She knew that Wolfgang was here, and Dakota Lyheart was the target. When she found I was already taken, she insisted on helping. Sherlock eventually deduced a truth that made all the pieces of Miyako fit together—she was the daughter of a Yakuza clan leader. That was why she was threatened, not killed. That was why she wanted to take down the syndicate, because she knew how horrific it was better than anyone.

She'd never see that through. Kaida Miyako—or, Sakura Hikura—was gone because of me. If I hadn't fallen for Wolfgang's disguise at the Scotland Yard, if I hadn't been too weak and stupid to be unable to escape... she'd still be here.

Sherlock told Lestrade that Wolfgang's death was due to self defense, and I think the Detective Inspector knew not to push for details based on our expressions alone. It was made clear that I was to be left alone for at least a few weeks, if not indefinitely, about this case. Sherlock insisted he would tell Lestrade all the details he needed.

It had been three weeks now. I only left my room to use the bathroom and barely ate one meal a day. John often brought food to my door. At first, he'd knocked and asked to come in, but my only response had been to throw something heavy at the door—a pencil holder, a stapler, a four-inch-thick book. My door was scarred and covered in dings from it. John adjusted to merely tapping lightly when he brought some food and remained silent.

Sherlock had asked if I wanted company the first few days. I had merely pointed at the door, showing that I didn't want anyone near me. He would come up each day and try again, but I refused to let him inside after the first week. He opted to sit outside my door and talk to me about how Mycroft was ensuring that the Yakuza couldn't get into London—at least not without a lot of effort getting by his security. He told me how his hacker friend, Jack, had gone in and made it next to impossible to be able to link my identity to Dakota Lyheart, at least on paper.

All we had to worry about now was Moriarty potentially helping the Yakuza directly, but Sherlock said he doubted Moriarty would do that.

"It's too direct, too easy," he had said. "Moriarty has proven he enjoys games far too much to do something so obvious. Besides... I don't think the Yakuza's interest in you will persist after..."

He'd trailed off, then left for that day. I remembered hearing his footsteps heading down the stairs as tears burned my eyes.

I was currently staring down at a blank sheet of paper. My room was littered with wadded up balls of paper of failed drawings and muses. I couldn't focus. Working on MANA was too difficult—all it did was remind me of my pain and guilt. I tried to focus on my new manga, The Adventures of Silas Hughes, but that too only thrust my mind into darkness.

Behind me, I heard my door open.

I stiffened up instantly and glanced over my shoulder. Sherlock stood in the doorway, eyeing me hesitantly with his hand still on the doorknob. I guessed he was waiting to see if I was going to retaliate somehow. Neither he or John had just come into my room without knocking. We stared at each other for a moment before I turned away and looked back at my piece of paper.

The door closed and I heard Sherlock walk over to the bed and sit down, his feet kicking aside some of the paper on the floor. I stared at the blank sheet in front of me, my heart hammering in my ears. Sherlock was silent for a moment and I could feel his gaze boring into my back.

"I can't say anything that will make it go away," Sherlock finally murmured. "And you've no idea how much that hurts me."

I kept my back to him and slowly began to sketch the outline of a humanoid figure. I heard Sherlock let out a slow exhale through his nose that sounded shaking. I slowly began to draw limbs while I waited; for what, I wasn't certain. For him to go on? For me to gain the courage to turn around and face him?

"I... Max, I don't know what to do," Sherlock admitted, his voice cracking.

My entire body tensed at the sound. My hand froze and I stared down at my drawing without seeing it for a long moment. It was enough to experience the agony inside myself, but to hear pain and desperation in Sherlock... I could feel the splintered remains of my heart threatening to shatter completely.

"I dunno if you just need time, or..." Sherlock trailed off and gave a shaky breath. "John and I are both here. You have to know that, Max. You're not alone."

I pressed my lips into a tight line and shut my eyes. I exhaled sharply and finally managed to make myself swivel in my chair to face the detective.

Sherlock was seated at the end of my bed, leaning forward on his knees with his hands clasped together. His curly hair was on end, as if he'd been running his hands through it. His green eyes were locked on mine and his mouth went slightly agape when he spotted the tears beginning to trail down my cheeks.

"I-I know," I stammered. "I just... I..."

Sherlock got to his feet slowly, eyeing my reaction. I hadn't let anyone get close to me since we'd returned home the night Miyako died. When I didn't say or make a gesture to deny him, Sherlock moved toward me. In his haste, he stumbled just before he reached me, but he landed on his knees and scooted the rest of the way. He placed his hands on the armrests of my chair and looked up into my face.

"I can't begin to understand what you're going through," he said softly. "And I'm so, so sorry it happened. But... please, just let me in."

I let out a small, stifled sob and shut my eyes tightly. "I don't know how," I rasped.

Sherlock's warm hands wrapped around mine. I opened my eyes to see him staring at me with determination.

"That's all right," he said. "I don't either. But we can figure it out together."

Sherlock stood up and tugged on my hands. I rose with him and he wrapped me in his arms and buried his face in my hair. His warmth went through my whole body.

"You're strong," he assured softly. "Stronger than you know."

I gave another shuddering breath before my walls fell completely. Sobs shook my body and I wailed as I clung to Sherlock. Tears soaked the front of his shirt and the neck of mine. I wasn't sure how long I cried for. I guessed John must have come up at some point, because there was a sudden hand on my shoulder that couldn't have been Sherlock's since his arms were wrapped around my torso.

Sherlock murmured something to John, and I heard my brother give some kind of confirmation before his hand left. In the time when he was gone and back with a tray of royal milk tea, I calmed down. Sherlock gently guided me to my bed and I sat down. John took Sherlock's place at my side briefly as the detective went downstairs to find tissues.

As John poured me a cup, I wiped my nose on my sleeve and coughed.

"Why do people cry?" I muttered weakly. "It's disgusting."

John laughed softly and handed me the cup. "I suppose it's... releasing. The chemicals in tears that come from just watering eyes that are caused by allergies or colds are difference than the tears that come from... well, crying. It's something our body is meant to do."

I sniffled, but my nostrils were thoroughly clogged and the sound was horrendous. I shuddered and sipped the tea.

"Thank you," I told my brother.

"You remember when my dog died when we were kids?" John said. "You were only seven, but you were the only one who stayed with me when I was... well, in a similar state as your own. This is just what family does. I love you, you know."

John didn't use that word often. He seemed to know it made me uncomfortable. Love was something deep, something that one had to commit to. It promised devotion and vulnerability. I wasn't certain I'd ever said it back to him. I sighed shakily and glanced over at him.

"I love you, too," I murmured.

John blinked in pleasant surprise. He smiled and wrapped an arm around my shoulders to give me a squeeze. "No one is expecting you to just bounce back, Maddie. This is... it's the first time you've had to experience loss. Just let us help you, all right?"

I nodded and sipped more of my tea.

Sherlock came back with a box of tissues and John patted me on the shoulder one more time before letting Sherlock take his spot. They exchanged a look as they did so, one of mutual respect. It was like John was finally okay with Sherlock and me dating, like he was ready to let his little sister be looked after by someone besides just him.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me," John said as he exited my room.

Sherlock sat beside me, carefully setting the tray of tea on my bedside table. He poured himself a cup as I used up about ten tissues to clear out my nose.

"I think I've grown quite fond of this," he said after he took a drink from his cup. "I think it's the froth."

I smiled over at him weakly. "It was the first drink I had when I got to Japan. I loved it ever since."

There was that word again. It was so easy to profess love to things. Objects couldn't demand anything or expose one's vulnerability. They couldn't betray or hurt or destroy that feeling like people could. I'd told my brother I loved him, and I knew that had been true since I first understood what love was. However, there was a different type of love that had been on my mind.

The love I had for John was platonic, of course. However, ever since Sherlock and I kissed that Christmas night, I realized there was another form of love I was capable of. It had been growing and growing, and right then, I knew it reached an apex, one that forced me to acknowledge it was there.

"I'm so tired," I rasped, shaking my head.

Sherlock set his cup on the tray and turned toward me. "Some sleep might do you good," he said.

He pulled back the sheets on my bed and I crawled beneath them. Sherlock pulled them up to my shoulder and gently kissed my forehead. His movements were delicate and full of care. Just as he began to pull away, I reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Stay with me?" I asked in a small voice.

Sherlock blinked, seemingly surprised, but he recovered quickly and nodded. "Of course," he said, sitting back down on the bed.

I released him and he opted to put a hand on my upper arm. He gently rubbed it as I closed my eyes. The crying had done something to me; I was lighter, more at peace. It was like the part of me that was clinging so tightly to Miyako had loosened its grip, at least a little bit.

And so, with that relief and Sherlock's presence, I found sleep.