Lestrade seemed very proud of himself as he snapped his old mobile closed, entering the home with a wide smile.

John was sat in the cushy sofa, still rolling Bea's words over in his head.

"I've got a lead on our Mr. Petrov, address and all, and you'll be pleased to know that your gut- instinct detective work was spot on," he gave John a light tap on the shoulder as he sat down next to him.

John returned the smile, mood lightened by Lestrade's pride in his sleuthing, "Got back into the computers at the Yard? You made that out to be a lot harder than it really was, I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

Lestrade's expression faltered a bit, as he nervously flicked his mobile open again as a message chimed, "Had a bit of help." he murmured to himself, sending off a text after a flurry of movement across the phone's buttons that impressed John in its speed. He'd only really ever seen one person send a text that fast.

"It's a pawn shop about an hour from here. We can take the tube, should drop us off right in front of the place.

I'd bring your gun though. The area isn't too friendly..."

The street they emerged onto was dingy and grimy and felt dark even in the midday sun. A deep colored, runny stain seemed to settle over the lighter concrete areas near the tops of buildings, leaking down between bricks and around the molding of windows.

Passersby walked with their heads down, or eyes fixed on their mobile phones.

A grouping of younger people down the road a ways screeched loudly, almost in unison. John ignored them. Beatrice seemed slightly interested, staring intently.

"Don't pay them any mind and they won't bother you," Lestrade nudged her, giving her a reassuring smile.

"The one boy started watching us, right as we came up from the train and crossed the street and hasn't stopped looking at us." She murmured.

The young man in question was using the rest of his comrades to shield him from view, cleverly trying to keep his attention from notice. He didn't appear threatening, or look menacing; he only stared at the three with keen interest.

Lestrade nodded Bea over to John, and mumbled to the doctor, "We're being watched..."

John followed the man's quick glance to the distant group. He held the jewel tightly inside his coat pocket.

"I'll stay out here. You take Bea in there," Lestrade spoke in a low tone, "I've got my phone on me. If there's a problem..."

"Right," John nodded, Beatrice following him inside.

A loud buzz sounded as they opened the door. The stout man behind the counter looked up from his newspaper, surveying the two through narrowed eyes. Bea smiled. The man returned her smile with a bit of a smirk and readjusted himself so that he was more leant forward.

A smile flickered across Bea's face. She gently pulled away from John, smirking slightly at his confused expression.

The shopkeeper's gaze followed Bea as she approached the far display case, giving a worried look over the jewelry.

"Is something wrong?" The man called over, folding up his newspaper and waddling over to her.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but someone's stolen my favorite ring," She fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, whether the nervous gesture was manufactured or real, John couldn't tell, "And I'm really so sorry to bother you...this is so silly..."

"No no! It's no problem!" He replied in a thick accent, "This is not silly at all! I would love to help you miss..."

"Morstan," she answered quickly holding out a hand to shake his.

"Petrov," he offered in return.

John perked up.

"I could pay for it if it were here, I know you couldn't just give it to me."

"No, no, no I do not want stolen goods in my store. Not stolen from such a lovely young lady..." Petrov laid a hand over her's.

"Maybe after we find it you can tell me how much it's worth. You must know jewelry pretty well to run a pawn shop!"

"Da, it takes a trained eye, fake stones are well made now, very convincing..."

"I bet..."

John had slowly approached the two as they conversed and was now only a foot away. Beatrice reached into his coat pocket and drew out the gem, "Maybe you can tell me how much this is worth then..." John's eyes went wide.

Petrov squinted at the jewel on the glass before him. His eyes went wide moments later.

"Where did you get that?" He growled out.

John grabbed for the gem but Petrov caught his hand quickly and held it there, "Where." He rasped.

"It was you..." Beatrice muttered, glaring at the man.

Petrov immediately let go of John's wrist, practically shoving his hand back. A desperate, fearful look crossed his face quickly, "Get out."

"What-"

"Get out!" The man roared, "Get out or I call police!"

John lunged forward over the glass case and grabbed the man by the collar, "Not until you-"

Petrov slipped from the grasp, lightening quick, leaving John gripping at an empty overcoat. Without a second look, Petrov dashed towards the back room of the store.

Beatrice scrambled over the counter as John ran around, giving chase, drawing his gun. Messy heaps of what looked to be expensive antique furniture and over-filled filing cabinets littered the backroom of the pawn shop. But Petrove found no difficulty squeezing past shelves, hopping over an ornately decorated ottoman, and sliding under low table as he made his escape. It occurred to John as he slammed his shin into a low, open file cabinet drawer, that Nikolay Petrov had probably planned this escape route, and could probably make his way through the room in the dark.

"The door!" Bea pointed, weaving through a set of shelves. John looked over quickly, automatically taking aim as he saw the door snap shut quickly.

He shoved over a tall carving of what looked to be the masthead of a ship (as ridiculous as that was, it wasn't to be counted over the fact that they were being outrun by an obese, though very quick, Russian jewel thief).

Bursting through the back door, John expected their quarry to have gotten away, not to see Beatrice throwing the man against the wall with the entire force of her body and she growled through gritted teeth.

"I've nearly been killed twice because of you! You are gonna tell me why the hell you left that thing on me!"

The Russian sputtered as she grabbed his shirt collar and in an impressive display of strength, pinned him against the wall nearly picking him up off his feet. John looked on wide eyed.

"Where did you get this and why don't you want it? Why?"

"If you start answering questions, I promise I'll get her to let you go..." John said with an underlying tone of amusement.

Petrov nodded frantically.

John put his hand on her shoulder and pried her away, but her gaze lie intensely on the jewel thief still plastered to the wall in fear. He pointed his gun up at Petrov sternly as a threat, to keep him from fleeing and an incentive for him to talk quickly. Somehow the Russian seemed less perturbed by the gun and more by the daggers still being stared at him by the young woman just behind John.

Petrov began quickly, "The jewel, it is no good..." he stopped, flustered, seeming to lose the words in translation.

John tilted his head, "A forgery?"

Petrov nodded quickly, stuttering out a few stray vowels, muttering to himself in Russian, "I do not want, is very bad."

"Yeah you said it was a fake-"

"NO! Not just fake! Some people want from me, I do not know why! I left in bag, at airport, her bag!"

Beatrice practically snarled at him.

"I am sorry, truly I am but I cannot help you now. I do not want to help you now, if I-"

A shot rang out above the alleyway. John flung himself back, away from Petrov, pushing Beatrice with him.

The Russian man slid down the brick and slumped to the ground, dead, blood pouring from the bullet wound in his chest.

John's mobile rang out. Another shot was fired. Beatrice managed to pry the back door to the shop open and they both scrambled through the backroom maze and to the front.

Lestrade stood outside phone held up to his ear. He spun around as John quickly walked to him, "I tried to call you, I heard gunfire..."

"Just walk. Quickly. Don't look back."

Beatrice crowded behind them.

The streets were flurried with store patrons and pedestrians panicked running into stores and out from them, ignorant as to where they should be to find safety. Police sirens could be heard as three and four and five people they passed all quickly called out street names and numbers to emergency crew. The three shouldered their way through the few groups of people who clung to the sides of stores.

They ducked into a side street quickly and then down another smaller street until they were alone.

"Please don't tell me Petrov is dead John," Lestrade began, "or at least tell me you didn't have to shoot him-"

"No...no, someone knew we were there, someone shot him because he was talking too much. He didn't know a whole lot but whatever he was going to get into whether it's who was after him or something about this goddamned rock, they didn't want us to hear it...where's Beatrice?"

Beatrice leaned slightly around the corner of the outlet at the other end of the tight corridor. She gestured for them to come over quickly and quietly, pointing as minutely as she could at the young man standing before the brick will finishing up a large circle with spraypaint. It was the boy who was watching them, the one outside of the store.

He tossed the can of yellow spray paint color swatch on the can made John's stomach do backflips as he watched it clink and tumble across the bumpy asphalt.

Beatrice grabbed his arm. John looked to her and then to Lestrade who looked drained of color. He followed Greg's eyes to the wall.

In big dripping yellow letters, the freshly sprayed tag read:

GET JOHN WATSON.