A/N: Chapter 2 for you all. :) Thanks to 98Shaddowolff98 for reviewing, and thanks to anyone else who's read this so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

I don't own Sherlock. Depressing, isn't it?

The body of a young woman was laid out in a back alley, surrounded by rundown fences and piles of garbage. Shadows partially masked her, only the pale outline visible. It would be so easy to miss, even in the daytime. Obviously this spot had been picked beforehand and the position of the body had been deliberate - but Scotland Yard already knew this. The woman's body wasn't even there anymore; Sherlock was staring at a picture.

"What's this?" he asked impatiently, waving the picture a bit like a flag. "If you've figured it out, why am I here? Don't tell me… another bomber, out to kill me?"

"You do seem to get a lot of those, but that's too predictable for Moriarty," John grinned in amusement before pointedly quoting Sherlock, "because that would be 'dull.' He wants to be entertained, remember? You're not the only one who gets bored."

Sherlock snorted. Lestrade frowned, taking the picture from the consulting detective's hand. He examined it for a few moments himself before flipping it over and laying it face-down on the desk between them. Carefully, he reached for a rather unbalanced lamp and flicked it on, revealing it to be installed with… a blacklight? Odd, in any situation, but especially odd here. On the flimsy paper, the words now stood out like fireworks in the night. Sherlock's eyes widened a bit and he leaned forward, rapidly reading.

"I SEE YOU SHERLOCK. AGAIN. DO YOU SEE ME?

OF COURSE YOU DON'T. NEVER FORGET, I'M WATCHING YOU. ALL OF YOU. ;)

GOOD LUCK, DEAR!"

Sherlock reread the message about three times before he leaned back, folding his pale hands under his face. He closed his eyes, deep in thought. Lestrade only allowed him a moment of this, studying the detective as the detective had studied the photo. Thousands of emotions had flashed on Sherlock's face in mere seconds: confusion to realization and back again, to be replaced by (could it be?) fear, amusement, irritation and finally back to 'neutral.' His bright blue eyes sprung open at this last emotion.

"…Care to explain?" Lestrade tapped the photo carefully, staring at it for a long moment before switching his gaze back to the consulting detective. Even John looked curious as to what the answer would be. Well, of course he would be curious, this was an obvious threat to Sherlock and that was never taken lightly by the doctor.

"It's a warning, obviously," he informed them in a very calm voice for a man threatened via a picture of a murder. "The killer left this on the body, didn't he? You didn't take the picture, otherwise the words wouldn't be there. No fingerprints, he's too smart for that. He wants me to take this as a personal warning… He's bored, he wants to play again. Typical. Predictable. That in its self is dull.

"But it's not a direct threat to me. It's to the people around me. Hence "All of you" - if not for this I would've thought he was planning on killing me. But no, that'd be boring. He wants to see me dance again, he wants me to come out to play. But he doesn't specify who's first. Protection detail should be established on the more harmless people around me. Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, perhaps even yourself."

"Lestrade? Harmless?" John scoffed at this. As amazed as he was by Sherlock's deductions, he could never picture the DI being harmless. One wouldn't get far in their field if they didn't learn how to save as well as harm.

"And how do you know that no one in this office wrote that picture? It wasn't brought to my attention until after we left the scene," as much as Lestrade hated to admit it, there were flaws within Scotland Yard. He couldn't really imagine anyone wanting to work with Moriarty, and the rookie who'd brought him the picture (after they'd left the scene of the crime, no less) had been reprimanded, but the possibility remained.

"Possible but not probable. Moriarty doesn't want to end the game too quickly. Placing an operative in Scotland Yard will make me immediately suspicious and he knows it. I'd have the person figured out in minutes. He's quite aware of this. And look, there's a bit of blood on the photograph itself. Meaning, left on the body, possibly as she was still dying and unable to move. Likely the new member of Scotland Yard is an idiot and forgot to bring this to you. Fire him, he's a terrible addition to your team and I'd have a dreadful time working with him."

"Right, thanks for the tip," Lestrade rolled his eyes. It was already well known that Sherlock disliked just about anyone who worked for Scotland Yard - and if he didn't dislike them, then he sure as hell liked to bait them and make them look like idiots. The Detective Inspector was partially an exception (partially not, as Sherlock had made him look like an idiot many times) but he could deal with being a median. Much better than being like Anderson; the man never knew when to stop.

"So, what do we do next, then?" John asked tentatively, stepping forward. If he hadn't spoken right then everyone in the room might've forgotten about him.

Sherlock's face twisted. It looked as though he couldn't decide which would be more appropriate: to throw up or simply frown in his disgust. After all, it was well known that his patience wasn't exactly the greatest. It took a lot of effort for him to (grudgingly) confess, "We wait."