Sherlock raced up the stairs three at a time and practically broke down the door prepared for the worst and seemed to freeze momentarily at the sight in front of him.

"Sherlock!" John asked worried. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Sherlock asked. "Am I alright! I'm not the one who seems to have been in a gun fight this evening."

"How did you…?" John asked as he stood to get another cup of tea ready for the detective.

"Mycroft's security." Sherlock explained crowding close to the unknown female who'd shot at his John. "How would you like to spend the next twenty years in prison?"

"Sherlock." John said quietly. "It's fine. It's all fine. This is Clara, Harry's ex."

Clara held out a hand hesitantly to shake it, but pulled it back at the frankly terrifying cold features of the tall man.

"I did apologize." She said quietly staring at the contents of her tea cup.

"She just got a bit trigger happy." John tried to explain away the fierce look on the detective's face. "She thought there was a vampire in the flat."

"There is a vampire in the flat." Sherlock said icily. "Is that a problem?"

"I was just surprised." She said. "And I never expected it to be John. I thought he was in danger."

"And now?" He asked.

"Frankly, I'm more terrified of you at the moment." She said leaning back a bit further.

"You should be." He said quietly.

"Sherlock." John sighed. "Stop it, you great terrifying git. Now, do you want tea or not?"

Sherlock kept an eye on Clara as he walked over to pull John into a light kiss before whispering an affirmative and sitting firmly between the two.

"John!" Clara called out happily. "You didn't tell me you were shagging the flatmate!"

"It didn't come up between the guns and vampires." John shrugged.

"Still." She said eying Sherlock in a whole new light. "Well done."

"Thank you." He grinned placing a cup in front of the glaring detective and dropping a kiss lightly in his frazzled curls. He smiled even bigger as Sherlock seemed to preen under the compliment and kiss.

"Does Harry know?" Clara asked curiously.

"No idea." John answered honestly. "You know how she is; she gets so consumed with her own stuff, it's almost impossible for her to even acknowledge anyone else."

"I would bet you fifty quid that she didn't even ask about how you are." Clara sighed. "She probably just flew in, said awful, judgmental things, made her demands, and flew out again."

"Yes, and shooting at people is so much more refined." Sherlock bit out behind his mug.

"I did say I was sorry." Clara said again looking truly apologetic.

"Should we get down to business then?" John said leaning forward resting his elbows on the table.

"And what business is that?" Clara replied mirroring his posture.

"What in the bloody hell am I going to tell Harry we talked about?" He asked.

Clara sighed and rested her chin heavily on her palms, "No idea. What do you think I should do?"

"I don't think you want me answering that." John said.

"I do." She said fervently.

John looked at Clara evenly and shook his head slightly. He couldn't tell her that he thought she was better off without his controlling, manipulative sister. He couldn't do that to Harry. Clara was the best thing to ever happen to his sister and it made him sick that she was determined to ruin this gift.

"I'll answer that question." Sherlock cut in with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Sherlock…" John said warningly.

"No," Clara said firmly. "It's fine. Tell me what you think, Sherlock. Should I try and fix things with Harry?"

"Oh, boy." John said whispered and leaned back resigning himself to the fact that the gun might make another appearance this evening and be aimed at his crazy flatmate's forehead.

"You're a co-dependent." Sherlock began. "You need people to need you. That's why you've gone back to Harry over and over again in the past. Being a strong, well-adjusted entrepreneur isn't enough. You don't feel complete unless someone needs you to care for them. Harry's a perfect example of that personality. She's a self-absorbed drunk who's manipulative and opportunistic. That's why she goes back to you. You're practically made for each other. You'll continue this little dance several times over the next five to six years before she'll eventually go for someone younger or richer or more easily manipulated. You'll be alone and friendless. Because let's face it, she's probably driven away all of the friends you'd made at university and she doesn't really allow you to have any free time to spend with mates from work or your past. She takes up all of your time and you let her because it makes you feel important."

Clara stared at the consulting detective silently for several minutes before pushing her chair away from the table and walking slowly over to the couch and collapsing heavily onto it.

"Well done." John said quietly before wandering over to the couch and sitting carefully next to the shell-shocked woman. "Clara? I'm sorry about Sherlock…"

"Don't be." She whispered. "He's right. I can't really be angry at him for being right, can I?"

"Do you need anything?" John asked. "Another cup of tea?"

"I think I need to shoot something." She answered.

"I would really not be okay with you shooting my flatmate." John said firmly.

"No," She said a small smile crossing her features. "I was thinking of going to the shooting range."

"Do you want company?" John shrugged lightly.

"I'd like that." Clara said turning that tiny smile toward him.

"You're not going without me." Sherlock huffed. "She did try to kill you earlier, John."

"Fine." John conceded standing to grab his coat and his own gun from his cabinet in his room. "Let's go shoot something."

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Lestrade was sitting at his desk going over paperwork for what felt like the past year when he heard someone push open his door lightly. He jerked as he glanced up and clapped eyes on Bill Murray.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade said rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"Disappointed?" The giant grinned lightly.

"Never." Lestrade answered as he stood to shake hands with his one-time working partner. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I wish I had time." Murray sighed heavily collapsing into one of the chairs in front of the Detective Inspector's desk.

"What's up, mate?" Lestrade asked. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Murray answered. He rubbed his eyes heavily before leaning forward and staring intently at the officer. "I need your help."

"My help?" Lestrade asked curiously. "What could I possibly help you with?"

"We've a bit of a…situation…" Bill said hesitantly. "It's incredibly classified and only a few individuals know exactly what's going on. There's a suspicion that we have a mole inside our operation. The thing is that we have almost no way of flushing the person out right now."

"Why not?" Lestrade asked confused. "Surely, it wouldn't be that difficult."

"Normally, it wouldn't." Murray confessed. "But time is a major factor for us right now. We're fighting the clock as it is. I need someone that I can rely on now. That I can trust."

"Why not call John?" Lestrade asked. "Or Sherlock?"

"I need someone who won't look out of place in a government building." Murray said. "John is quite possibly the polar opposite of a stodgy bureaucrat and Sherlock is too well-known by many government agencies not to be immediately recognized. No, I need someone accustomed to the system. A DI at a government building would be par for the course. I know it's a leap of faith for you because I can't even begin to disclose any information until I have your complete cooperation, but, Geoff, will you help me?"

Lestrade studied the man in front of him, drinking in the frazzled and exhausted lines of his face before sighing heavily and closing the file folder on his desk, "Of course I'll help. What do you need?"

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"Your stance is awful." John chuckled, adjusting Sherlock's hips and shoulders competently before gesturing for him to try again.

He smiled as Sherlock shot off another round getting a bit closer to the target with the new position.

"Much better." Clara grinned.

"And you can do better I suppose." Sherlock huffed. He wasn't normally accustomed to being outdone by anyone. Being outdone by a former soldier with enhanced sensory skills was one thing, but a civilian was another matter entirely.

Clara settled a knowing look in his direction before lining up her own shot and firing confidently. She did quite well obviously out-doing the detective which caused another huff from the tall man. They practiced for several more rounds and by the end of it, Sherlock was once again proving his spectacular aptitude of everything under the sun and was hitting the target squarely in the chest. They were cleaning the hardware and stowing it away carefully when John did a double take at one of the other men in the cage.

"Sebastian?" He asked surprised. The man turned confused at who exactly was calling his name but smiled widely when he met John's face.

"John Watson?" Sebastian said happily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you." John said, moving to hug his old Army mate. "When did you get back?"

"Just a few months ago." Sebastian answered.

"Well, welcome back." John said happily.

"Thanks, mate." Sebastian smiled back. "We should grab a pint. What about tonight?"

"John?" Sherlock called glancing at his phone. "Dimmock has a case for us. We have to go."

"Right." John answered. "Maybe another time? I've gotta dash. Here's my cell number."

"Alright." Sebastian answered looking a bit put out. "I'll call you."

"Great!" John said. "Bye."

"Bye."

Sherlock was just hailing a cab when Clara spoke up behind them. "I better be going then"

"Yeah." John said. "I'm sorry about…well…"

"It's fine." She waved away the apology. "I'm sorry I tried to shoot you."

"That's alright." John chuckled. "Worse things have happened. Stay in touch?"

"Of course." She smiled. "See you soon, John."

"Sounds good." He answered "Goodbye Clara."

"Goodbye Sherlock." She called as she walked to the Tube station.

Sherlock made some sort of noise in his throat in reply and practically threw himself into the cab. They had hit traffic on their way and Sherlock was practically vibrating with impatience. By the time they actually made it to the crime scene, Sherlock was so tightly wound he all but shoved Anderson out of the way to get to the scene. He darted around the room where the body lay sprawled across a king-size bed like a gruesome rag doll. All of the man's limbs had been broken and arranged in a particular pattern that was eerie in how unnatural it made him look. John was watching the lanky man in delight as Donovan approached to lean on the opposite wall next to him.

"So you're still with the freak?" Donovan asked.

"Listen," John said firmly. "You want to call him that in front of anyone else, feel free, but don't do it in front of me. I get it, you don't like him. But I won't let you say it in front of me."

"Fond of a psychopath?" Donovan asked curiously. "You're in for a world of trouble."

"Stop." John said politely but with an edge.

"It's your funeral, mate." She shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I don't need any kind of warning." He sighed heavily.

"You're with the freak," She countered. "Of course you need warning."

"That's right I am with him." John said finally pissed enough to hang discretion. "And we had a fantastic shag just this morning!"

John then turned and stalked away relishing the look of shock on Sgt. Donovan's face before walking quickly out of the building and around the corner. He rested his head against the brick and breathed slowly. He stood there for several minutes and cringed as he watched Sherlock leave the building and scan the area for him a slight frown on his sharp features. Catching sight of the doctor, Sherlock stalked toward him and stopped just inches away.

"I'm sorry." John said. "I know that we decided to keep it quiet, Donovan just…"

John didn't have time for anything else because Sherlock had pulled him close and kissed him sweetly for several minutes.

"I don't mind people knowing," Sherlock said. "I just prefer not to be constantly snogging at crime scenes this time excluded, of course."

"Right." John sighed smiling. "Did you want me to look at the body?"

"No," Sherlock said. "It was a fairly uninteresting murder. We can go home."

"Alright." John said. "Did you want to get a take-away?"

"Later, yes." Sherlock answered as he turned to hail a cab. "But right now I want to go home and work off the arousal currently making these trousers incredibly uncomfortable."

"Really?" John asked surprised.

"Apparently," Sherlock said opening the cab door for the doctor. "You being protective is a bit of a turn-on."

"Well then." John smiled. "I'd love to help you with that."

"Fantastic." Sherlock answered.

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