This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. Disclaimer: Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy P.s. if you're wondering what Ollie looks like she's on the image above :)

Musty. Dark. Remote. Quiet. I'll take it! That had been Ollie's prompt response when she was shown the dreary basement apartment three weeks ago. She could have taken a number of different places, most more favorable and in far better shape than this one, but this place was perfect for what she needed. It was neatly nestled in a quaint residential area, there was a cafe above with free WiFi and a couple restaurants scattered within a ten block radius. There was also plenty of foot traffic outside so there was always a cab on hand. But, more importantly, it was hidden within plain sight and out of the way. Plus, the land lady took cash no questions asked.

Of course, as she was lying there on the antique mustard couch she had hastily purchased from a flee market, staring at the water stained ceiling above, she was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right choice in living arrangements. Now, it wasn't because of the slight disrepair, that could easily be fixed, no, it was because of the man upstairs. He had moved in only four days prior and already a myriad of people had stormed out of his apartment screaming her, on may occasions, out of a dead sleep. Needless to say she hadn't slept a wink in those four nights. At first she had thought he might have been a serial one nighter, but with the amount of traffic bounding through she realized he must have be looking for a roommate. After all, she didn't think anyone could have that much sex and not die. It was around that point in time her bored mind, as Ollie hadn't really left her pier de ter since moving in, began to imagine what type of person had sent people thundering down the stairs at all hours of the day. The longest anyone lasted was two. And two wasn't a reference to days.

Even she felt like throttling the man that she'd never met herself; but figuring out what kind of person he was and imagining what his life was like had been the most fun she'd experienced in weeks. So she had shelved the agitation and anger for quite a while. Well, that was until now. Now it burst fourth like a proverbial Pandora's box all because that damnable man had been playing his violin since one in the morning. It was currently ten a.m. Ten! Her lack of sleep had finally caught up to her. So much so that Ollie, her mind degrading from the missed sleep, started eying the handgun strapped underneath the coffee table precariously, contemplating wether or not to discharge it into the ceiling. The only reason she didn't complete that action was because she was afraid her landlady would get hit in the crossfire, lucky for the man upstairs. As the noise continued it's assault upon the ears she was starting to understand the motivation that drove some people to kill over an idea as mundane as sleep.

Suddenly a sharp note screeched as the crescendo of music abruptly ended. Ollie immediately sat up, watching the ceiling above warily. Was it a trick? Was he really finished? Or, had she by some sudden, miracle gone deaf. Heavy foot steps pounded down the stairwell as a door slammed shut above, the shutter of force reverberated all the way down the heating vent. One closer, probably the front door, slammed soon after. Ollie sighed loudly falling back into the warm embrace of her couch. The man had left. That was good, meant she could finally catch some much needed Z's.

Eyelids heavy with the weight of too much use, she snuggled into the cushions, to lazy to move to her bedroom. If she was lucky he wouldn't come back for at least five hours. If she was really lucky she'd get a proper sleep. Then she could get back to her guessing game. Eyelids fluttering shut she slipped into sweet black oblivion.

Slam! Ollie's body jolted at the intrusion of sound, violently ripping her from the void of REM. Looking around blearily she found herself face down on the floor bringing her to the safe assumption that she had rolled off the couch at some point during her blissfully dreamless sleep; a testament to just how tired she must have been as she didn't awake from the fall. Miraculously, her head hadn't hit the coffee table.

Pushing herself off the red oriental rug she staggered over to the attached kitchenette. The stereotypical cat clock that she, for some reason, found so amusing told her it was eight. "Man, haven't slept like that since I left my comfy corner of the world."

Ollie groaned as she realized what she had done. Great now I'm talking to my self. The first signs of insanity have officially begun. Of course, as she peered around the room, she knew it wasn't the first one to become present in her current living situation. Then again, her sanity had always been in question even before her current arrangement. Now it was just more apparent.

Books upon books were scattered and piled everywhere on any subject she could get her hands on. Papers littered the floors, their material ranging from pop culture to scientific reasonings to conspiracy theories. She dreaded the thought of anyone entering her bedroom. They'd probably think her a serial killer. Thankfully, she never had to worry about that as she never brought anyone home, let alone to her bedroom. Not that it really mattered, she hardly used the thing now adays.

Opening the fridge she peered in noticing the lack of food and drummed her fingers against the door in thought. When was the last time she ate. 3:03 PM. It was a Wednesday. She had a danish with a sprite. The man behind the counter had shamelessly tried to get her number as his wife glared from the kitchen. She had also ordered a soup but due to the husband's indiscretions she didn't trust the wife to have not spit in it. Three pounds and nine pence wasted.

She frowned at the thought of remembering such small and insipid details. The curse of a superior autobiographical memory. Shutting the door with a hefty clunk she scratched her stomach absentmindedly, emitting a loud yawn. Maybe she'd try that Chinese food place nearby or the Italian. Although she'd have to change beforehand seeing as she was still in a black sports bra sport short combo. The one she'd been wearing almost all week. What! She still showered, she just hadn't gotten around to doing the laundry. Stripping she threw them haphazardly into the living room as she made her way to the bedroom. Papers crunching underfoot.

Walking through the doorway she glided over to the dresser, rooting through her draws to pick out some plain black undergarments that allowed optimum mobility and comfort. There was no point in picking out any of the sexier ones she'd stuffed carelessly in the corner, shameful gag gifts from past birthdays, since no one ever saw her underwear. Why she kept them she'd never know. Pulling a pair of faded jeans from the top draw she paired it with a white tee and a green Victorian styled jacket laying on the floor. She sniffed the aforementioned clothing first to make sure they weren't ripe. Satisfied with the smell and choice of her clothing she hand combed her blonde jaw length hair in a quick grooming attempt. When she was about halfway decent she slipped on her red converse before hastily shoving her keys and wallet into her coat pocket. Striding out of the basement she reached the top of the staircase just as two men went rushing out the front doors; just barely catching a glimpse of their coattails. Must have been her upstairs neighbors, either that or the man's chased out two more possible roommates. Which seemed highly likely given his current record.

"Oh! Miss Lee," a pleasant elderly female voice called out, "you just missed the boys. They were here not two seconds ago, but they'll be back later. I'll have to introduce you three. It'd be good for you to get out once and a while. It's not right coopin' yourself down there all the time, you'll drive yourself mad. A young lady like yourself should be out socializing."

Ollie turned around to see her landlady making her way slowly down the staircase, her bad hip impairing her descent, smiling at the blonde as she approached. She rather liked Mrs. Hudson. The woman was all together agreeable and friendly; reminiscent of a motherly figure. But the unfortunate circumstances of a motherly type was that they will always, always, be concerned about your comings and goings. Something that should have been foreseen when Ollie had moved in. Even though she found it to be an endearing quality. Smiling awkwardly she pointed backwards towards the entrance, "Your right. Thats why I'm just about to go out for a bite. Down the street to that Italian place. You know, to socialize and...stuff."

"Well, you have fun then deary. If you want I could tidy your place up a bit for you, while your gone. In case you bring home company," Mrs. Hudson asked moving towards Ollie's stairs. Vehemently she shook her head, "No, but thank you for offering. I don't believe I'll be bringing anyone home, but while I'm out is there anything I can bring back for you?"

Mrs. Hudson politely waved her off. "Oh don't worry about me dear. Now off you pop to make friends and have fun," she said while gently pushing Ollie towards the door. She tried to turn around but Mrs. Hudson wasn't budging, the elderly woman was surprisingly strong for her age. "Are you sure I can't get you anything It'd be no trouble at all?"

She patted Ollie's shoulder as the door began to close, "No need for that, now you go and have a good time. I better not see you again till later in the evening. Shoo, off you go."

The door clicked shut behind her. The blonde shrugged, needing to get out anyways, and joined the foot traffic walking on the sidewalk before her. The place she had mentioned wasn't that far anyway, five minutes easy. If she was honest with herself she enjoyed the feel of the neighborhood. It was very ascetically appealing. The brick and stone homes gave a very rustic Victorian atmosphere. She could almost picture horse and buggy clip clopping down the street. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but stopped when she saw an executive pass by talking tersely on his cell. Right. She wasn't there for vacation or fun. She was there for business. Nothing more.

Ollie pulled her phone out to send a quick text to a man who owed her a favor: to check if he'd gotten what she asked for. Hy. N2no u ggft?. Send. Ollie scowled at the stupid text speak she'd been required to use, but she couldn't be too careful. After all, you could hack into anything nowadays. Even though it wasn't that hard to translate in the first place it was necessary. That fact led to the need for burner phones. It was also pertinent to ditch them after a few days, wiping it of all contents, then giving it to some homeless person so anyone who tracked it would be mislead. Unfortunately, it left a burning hole in her wallet as she'd have to buy another burner soon after and banks were a no go in staying under the radar. Thankfully she had some cash stashed away in odd places.

Her phone pinged just as her destination had come into view. Ggft. Wnw? (all texts are translated at bottom). Ollie restrained herself from an enthusiastic air pump as she sent a text back. 22 NUmbrlnd st. Tbl42, nw. She all but skipped into the restaurant only to pause briefly as she wondered about the establishments seating policy. Did she sit herself or was she escorted? With a mental shrug she decided to take the initiative upon herself, Ollie could always apologize if the latter was the case. Looking around she spotted a deep mahogany table secluded in a corner that met her checklist with a 360 degree view involving cover. Perfect.

With a hurried step, she slipped into the seat facing the door just as a waiter walked over. He was big and burly with kind brown eyes, the type who seemed to stay positive if his laugh lines were anything to go by. He was also rocking the bald top with a long ponytail in the back do, brave choice for someone his age. One she'd only seen one other man wear. A dear colleague she hadn't been in touch with for a while. He smiled down at her, handing over a sleek menu, "Will it just be the lovely lady for the evening?"

Ollie looked up with a smile, all the while making sure to hold herself as girl on a date would, "No, my boyfriend should be arriving soon. But with his work he'll probably end up cutting our date short. They always seem to be calling him away. So if I could have an empty container with my order I'd appreciate it. I don't want to have him starve. He's always forgetting he needs food while he's working."

The man grinned happily, pen and pad in hand, "Well, he's a lucky lad. Not most girlfriends would put up with such behavior. Would you like to order anything while you wait?"

"Sure, could I have the...spinach manicotti, a sprite and a Cioppino in a to go cup?"

"Those are wonderful choices. I'll get them for you right away," he grabbed the menu winking. At least the service there was nice. She would have made it her usual but unfortunately routines were a dangerous luxury, so she'd have to savour her meal when it came. Ollie scanned the other patrons, scrutinizing their every detail and movements. There were a few couples scattered here and there, chatting amicably or flirting ruthlessly. None appeared to be a threat. None of them had the slight bulge of concealed a weapon, but one could never be sure. Knifes were easy to hide. She paused on an empty table in front of the window clearly marked as reserved. Odd, why reserve a spot when there were more than enough left. It wasn't exactly packed or busy. A plate of spinach manicotti slid in front of her as a candle was placed on the middle of the table. Ollie glanced up at the man and smiled. Looked to her that the man was a closet romantic. He placed an empty container on the side and proved her theory, "Thought you might want a candle. Add a little romance."

"Thank you. It's lovely."

"The Cioppino will be out shortly," he nodded and walked over to another table chatting up the elderly couple before taking their plates. Yeah, this would have been her new usual. A gentle breeze flitted across her table, playing with the candle light. Ollie looked up as a man with a slight build entered the establishment. Door swinging shut behind him. He wore a fitted H & M brown coat which wrapped around a black tailored suit. In his gloved hands he clutched a pink gift bag with white tissue paper sticking out, a white bow adorned the side. He glided across the room, his chiseled features grinning in poorly concealed mirth as he spotted something that caught his attention. Grey slate eyes twinkled in amusement. Striding across the floor on a mission he plopped himself down at the seat across the mysterious blonde.

"Who would think after all theses years I'd be the first man to get a date with the Ollie Lee. And here I thought you didn't do romance," the man's southern drawl floated across the table. Ollie rolled her eyes, talking in a hushed tone, "Oh, you wish this was a date Roman but this isn't some pleasure cruise. I'm here on business."

Roman's face fell slightly as he took a serious scan of her persons. "Yeah, I heard something about you up and disappearing after your last job. Been off the grid for the last six months, people are beginning to worry and talk. So what happened that turned the finder into the hider? Because if it's anything to do with this gift I got you then I'm thinking you've got in a little over your head."

Ollie cast a glance around the room, making sure no one was listening in or watching them from any vantage point before answering. With a fork she played with her pasta, all the while checking the room every few seconds casually. "Did you tell anyone that I'm here? Listen Roman this is important did you tell anyone you've seen or heard from me. Because if anyone knows-."

"Don't worry bell, I ain't told a soul. Figured if you were callin' in for a favor it'd be somethin' you'd want on the down low. Besides I owe you one," he said blowing an air kiss with his mouth. Ollie stifled a chuckle as not to encourage him. If she did he'd never leave. "Good. And I'm sorry but I'm gonna need you to drop something off for me," opening the empty container she placed a few pieces of garlic bread inside it along with a small note in a napkin and a usb stick, "there's an address in there. I need you to drop that off with the person on the note. They'll know what to do with it. Just tell them that flamingoes fly south, they'll know what it means. It's sort of an odd inside joke. Don't ask."

Leaning carefully across the table she whispered into his ear, "Now, after I give you a peck on the cheek to subjugate this date ruse to any who are watching I'm gonna call you discretely with my phone. I want you to answer it, pretend you've got a business call, and state you have to go back to the office. Remember to pretend to apologize. And should you take the container and deliver it for me, the next time we see each other I just might let you take me out to a real dinner."

She pulled away giving him a kiss on his whiskered cheek, she smirked as she resumed her previous position. Under the table she discretely pulled out her phone hit the only number on her speed dial. Roman gave a sexy smirk, eyes crinkling in mischief. Ollie didn't trust that look. 'I'm to sexy' suddenly belted off loudly from his pocket, drawing unwanted attention to them. Not that it mattered as they were well versed in improve acting. He answered, "Hello this is Mark Owens. Oh, of course. No. Not at all, I can do that for you right in the morning...what? Well I'm sort of in the middle of something...right, yes. No, of course I'll be there in twenty. Alright, thank you mister Greyjoy."

He promptly placed the phone back into his jacket and picked up the container with his free hand as he stood up. He leaned towards her, "Sorry babe, but the boss just called, he needs the Granger case on his desk by ten. I promise to make it up to you later in the boudoir. I really hate to eat and run, but if we want to make partner I'm gonna have too go."

Before she had time to process he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. Ollie's eyes turned to the size of saucers as he swaggered away smugly. She really should have seen that coming, the man's face practically screamed at her that he was up to something. And given his clear interest it should have been rather obvious. Quickly putting her mask back into place she asked for the check just as two men walked in claiming the reserved booth. Interesting. She decided not to pay them much heed as she was leaving and they were just arriving. Though upon observation they did make a cute couple.

Paying her bill and leaving a generous tip on the table she shuffled a few more bites into her mouth before briskly walking out into the cold London night. Letting out a sigh of relief she gazed down at the gift bag excitedly. Happy birthday to me! It might just be the break she was hoping for or at least some more evidence. Ollie'd been investigating for six months, trying very hard not to cause any waves and spook her objective. Which was very hard for her as she had unusual methods and was never one for cloak and dagger. That was more of her brothers thing. But what she held had may just be the lead she was looking for. The absolute factor of proof or connection necessary in bringing down her prey. Then she could move onto other more fun things as her compulsion wouldn't allow her to deviate from her current objective. At times it could suck to have a compulsive disorder.

Shaking herself out of thought she realized she was back at 221 Baker Street. Excitable glee threatened to bubble over as she thought of the prospect of the bags contents and how she was not even seconds away from looking at it. Opening the door quickly she almost ran across the foyer to the basement staircase. Mrs. Hudson popped out of her apartment. Ollie stopped mid stride. "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I know you told me not to come home till late in the night, but my date ended early so I thought- are you all right? You look like you've been crying."

Mrs. Hudson sniffed as she waved her off, "No, I'm just a tad out of sorts. The police are searching the upstairs flat looking for drugs. It looks like Sherlocks made a mess of things. They just came barging in, trashin' the place."

Part of Ollie wanted to help, since she liked Mrs. Hudson, but the other part of her refused to relinquish control of her mind from finishing the task at hand. Her eye started to twitch as an internal war raged on wether or not to help and by some miracle Mrs. Hudson won out. Maybe her condition was starting to improve if she could deviate for just a couple minutes. "Mrs. Hudson did they have a warrant by chance?"

She shook her head, "No. They just came bargin' in."

"Did you give them consent to come in?"

"No, I don't believe so."

Ollie clapped her hands on her shoulder happily, "I can have them out in a jiffy then. Come along then Mrs. Hudson. Lets kick out the mean police and save your favorite tenant."

"Oh, I don't pick favorites. I like you all just the same."

"Don't worry, I don't mind. I wouldn't be very good if I was your favorite."

Ollie bounded up the stairs two at a time, till she reached the apartment above. Peering in, it closely resembled her own in the craziness factor. Hmm. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was right and they would get along. She shook her head. No. She wasn't in Britain to make friends. She had a job to do. She could make friends later. Ollie cleared her throat, "Excuse me but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave as you haven't produced a warrant nor were you invited into the residence. So if you would kindly make your way off the premises till you've procured such a document it would be advisable as to avoid a lawsuit. As of right now Mrs. Hudson is within her right to excise such a thing."

Most of the police officers stopped what they were doing as the one in the middle postured at the comment, each looked to him for orders. Clearly he was the one in charge. Grey hair, in his mid forties, married-wait marriage on the rocks so their split, he's upset but it's not just with my outburst. No, he's upset because of the pink suit case he keeps glancing at. Interesting.

"I'm sorry but who are you," the man asked while approaching her. "I could ask you the same thing," Ollie scoffed. He pulled out his badge, "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Now again I'll ask, who are you?"

"I'm the tenant that lives down stairs. Now if you don't have a warrant I'll kindly ask you to get lost. Anything you may have found is fruit of the poisonous tree so it's inadmissible in a court of law so don't bother writing up charges or prosecuting," she stepped away from the door making a sweeping motion outwards. A female officer came walking through, "Sir. We tried getting into the basement but the door is locked. Do you want us to break it down?"

Lestrade waved her off, "No, just get the key from Mrs. Hudson."

Ollie's eyes widened in terror. She bolted into the stairwell. "You stay the hell out of my place! I haven't giving you consent to enter it and you don't have a warrant so don't even think about it," she sped down the steps thundering as she went. Two men looked up from the wall they were leaning on at the noise, Mrs. Hudson appeared worriedly in front of them. Ollie managed to seem apologetic as she turned towards her apartment, "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I tried to get them to leave but they're now trying to get into my apartment. If I don't stop them they'll move all of my stuff around and I'm very particular about where I put things. They'll ruin my system. Just threaten them with a class action lawsuit for unlawful search and seizure without warrant or consent. I'm sure they don't want anymore bad press so they should back off. And what ever you do don't give them my key!"

Racing down the stairs a thought occurred to the American. Quickly she popped her head around the corner to address the shorter blonde man, "How was the Italian Ribollita by the way? I was thinking about ordering it next time."

The man looked confused and slightly disturbed, "How do you know what I ate?"

The other man, who was of slighter build and taller, gave his partner a droll stare. His black curly locks framed his nicely structured features, causing his bright baby blues by effect to appear more shocking. Of course, on closer inspection, from the way he held himself she knew who kept sending people screaming from the upper floor. His good looks must have made them think he'd make for good company but his air said he was blunt, rude and hyper observant with a sharp honesty. Yeah, she could now see why people kept running from out of his place. His qualities equated for a lack of social politeness and untactful comments, one his other half clearly made up for. They definitely made for a good pair. The man in question seemed to be sizing her up as well, most likely deducing his own assumptions. "She was there at the restaurant. Her date had left abruptly for work in the middle of their dinner plans. A lawyer with his eyes on a corner office and partner. Break up with him immediately. He's cheating on you. With multiple women. A visit to the Doctors would also be wise, as you might have contract something from your sexual encounters."

Blondie bristled by his side, surprised and appalled by his lack of tact, "Sherlock!"

Ollie waved the man off, "Don't worry. I appreciate his honesty. Besides I have nothing to worry about. But, I'll have to get your answer about the food later as your roommate's just run off to stop the needles destruction of your apartment."

"Right," he went to run after Sherlock but stopped to lean over the banister, extending an arm towards her, "I'm John, John Watson by the way."

She grabbed his hand and shook it, "Ollie Lee. Nice to meet you."

He smiled then headed back up leaving Ollie in the company of Mrs. Hudson. She sighed demurely, "Well, I had hoped I'd introduce you three over tea and biscuits. He's really not bad. He's really quite remarkable that Sherlock. And John seems quite lovely. I'll have to get you all together when this awful business is over with."

A knock at the door interrupted Ollie from politely declining her offer. Mrs. Hudson furrows her eyebrows, "Now who could that be at this hour?"

Ollie's body tensed as her reflexes immediately went on high alert. The cops would have just entered, no point in them knocking as they already occupied the upstairs. She wasn't expecting anyone and neither apparently was Mrs. Hudson. While the men upstairs had just gotten home there would only be a slight chance they would've invited someone over but seeing as they had plans earlier that evening that line of reasoning was slim. Who ever was behind the door could possible be bad news, though with a battalion of police upstairs any would be assassins would be foolish to try something. Of course with the crap Ollie had gotten herself into it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they would be so bold. Which is why she was treating the disturbance like a threat. Those who are paranoid lived longer as they say. "Here," Ollie stated, "let me get it."

Cautiously walking over the person behind the door knocked once more. This time with increased force. Bracing herself she pulled it open just a crack. A short stubbly man dress in what could only be described as grampa clothes with a british driver cap on his head lay behind it. Not exactly assassin material but his harmless look would be the point if he were. The man, probably in his late sixties, wore small rounded glasses but the eyes underneath were what alarmed her. They spoke of a cold intelligence she instantly recognized from years of experience. Crap.

Ollie plastered on her best fake smile she opened the door a little more, "How can I help you?"

"Sorry, the door bell wasn't workin'. I'm here to pick up a Sherlock Holmes. He called for a cab," he twaddled, playing the same game as her, and mimicked her own fake smile. She strained to keep her's up but managed, "Oh, I don't think so. He just got home you see and is in the middle of something. Why don't you come back later mister..."

He didn't bother to fill in the blank with his own name, instead choosing to ignore it. "Oh, but I think you'll find that he did. Why don't I go fetch him?"

"No," she curtly replied moving to shut the door, "I really don't think that's necessary as he clearly didn't."

"Oh, but I must insist," he said while, politely, pushing his foot into the door jam. This man is an imbecile, were the thoughts of the basement tenant. She couldn't believe he'd risk entering with Johnny law under the roof, but if he wanted to be caught so bad who was she to argue. "Fine," Ollie tightly relented opening the foyer fully to him, "but he'll just tell you he didn't."

The man's smile took a more sinister look as he strode past her, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Slowly he walked towards the stairs and Mrs. Hudson, who apparently hadn't heard a word the two had spoken to each other, led the way asking him her own set of polite inquiries. Ollie wondered if she should follow to help but reconsidered the action. From what she gathered about Sherlocks personality and her landlady's stories he should be able to take care of the cabbie himself. He should spot what that man really was a mile away or at least have his suspicions. That cab driver obviously thought himself to intelligent to be caught.

Ollie looked down noticing her foot rapping unconsciously against the floor. Right. No more distractions, she might die if she were to wait any longer. Racing across the foyer and down the stairs she hurriedly unlocked her apartment, closing and securing it behind her. She practically ripped the bag open once she made it over to her bedroom, slamming the door shut with her foot as she went.

Pulling out the contents, a shiver of excitement made it's way up her spine. She sucked in a sharp breathe of air as her eyes hit the contents. Inside was a bushel of portrait sized surveillance photos. A couple of prominent figures were circled in red, names and information written on the backs. Ollie's eyes danced with harsh delight as she pinned them onto her wall. The web of conspiracy growing, forming, taking shape around her. Wrapping a thread of red string around the pin she began weaving it to other pictures and articles in the room that had connections with each other. She was halfway to the other side when a stampede of feet were heard descending the stairs above. She stopped midstream as she pulled and readjusted a pin. Guilt nagged at the fringes of her mind. Maybe I should go and check on Mrs. Hudson, see if she's alright. It'll only take a sec. I can pop in, ease my conscience and then get back to business. It's not like it's going to walk off while I'm gone.

Satisfied with her internal reasoning Ollie walked out of her place closing it behind her. As she quietly reached the first floor she spotted the last officer disappear through the front. Good riddance. Turning, Ollie ascended to the second floor and not a sound was made upon the old creaky steps as she was naturally light on her feet. Popping onto the upper floor she noticed the lack of key players in the room. John being the only one left. She gazed around to see if maybe Mrs. Hudson was stashed away somewhere but she clearly wasn't in the kitchen. "John, did Mrs. Hudson go back down stairs?"

He jumped slightly in surprise and fright at the sudden sound. Clearly he was under the impression that he had been alone and would continue to be. Blowing out a puff of air, hand to his rapidly beating heart, he nodded. "Yeah. She went down right after Sherlock."

"Thanks." Ollie went to leave but John appeared troubled, sullen even. His momentary distress caught her attention. Come on Ollie just leave it be. It's not your job to help everyone with their problems. Deal with your own first. Besides, he's a grown man I'm sure he's fine. John frowned at an empty spot on the wall, a little hurt, maybe even conflicted. Knowing she wasn't the cause she could hammer a good guess who was considering who he roomed with. She suppressed the urge to sigh at her own conscience. Damn that thing. Always getting in the way.

"So did Sherlock go with the police to interrogate that cabbie," Ollie asked touching a few of the papers on the desk near the door. Her eyes quickly scanning the text and soaking the information in. John appeared confused and admitted as such, "No. Why would they be interrogating the cabbie?"

"Oh," Ollie shifted uncomfortably as she realized her mistake, "well, I just assumed by the way Mrs. Hudson talked about Sherlock that he would have noticed that the man was a serial killer. Or at least had the traits of one. I'm not sure if that had anything to do with what you guys were up to but...actually-what exactly are you guys up to? I mean Mrs. Hudson may have mention something about suicides in passing but-"

"Wait!" he shouted cutting her off, "Why do you think the cabbie was a serial killer? Why would you assume that?"

"The same way I know that your an Army Doctor and that Sherlock is some form of Detective. Are you telling me he didn't notice."

John looked incredibly confused and surprised at the same time, if not a little disbelieving. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. The laptop behind him let out a noise for attention. The screen lighting up. John grabbed it with an urgent swipe. What ever was on the screen caused him to become freaked as he quickly sped out of the room. Oh well. Seemed to be allot of action going on in that house on that particular evening.

After John had raced out of his apartment Ollie had a chat with Mrs. Hudson. Getting the gist of what had been going on for the past few days. Apparently there had been a string of murders throughout the metropolitan area that were cleverly disguised as suicides. And Sherlock had been helping the police catch the killer and John was his newly acquired assistant. Which cleared up some of her earlier questions. No wonder it had been like grand central station earlier. It also explained the reason why John had rushed out of the building when he had. Not that she told Mrs. Hudson that. No need to worry her after all.

After they confabulated a little longer, and Mrs. Hudson suggesting she date the nice doctor, Ollie had managed to excuse herself. Her compulsion becoming to much to handle and she didn't wish to snap at the poor woman. She hated herself for it to. Because of it she'd never lead a normal life. Her mind wouldn't shut off and it was so focused on one specific thing she couldn't handle another till it was finished. Unfortunately her mind didn't focus on tasks like painting a picture or finishing a book. No. It was more like finding something. A bit like unraveling a mystery. Sometimes it was as simple as finding a guitar someone lost during their youth. Other times it was a little more difficult like finding a person that'd been buried alive with an explosive to ensure their death if someone were to remove them.

But once her mind became interested in a mystery she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. And there have been times when she'd really wanted too. Like right about now for instance. Because Roman had been right, she was a little in over her head. Not that she'd ever tell anyone. But there was nothing she could do about it, she was already in to deep to be able to safely extract herself from the situation. Ollie only hoped when it was all said and done she'd come out of the darkness alive.

Leaning against the cold yellow tilling, warm water cascaded down her face from the shower head above, she reexamined all that she'd learned in the last six months. Moving over every detail with surgical precision. If no one had caught on to her probings so far it wouldn't last much longer. She was in the home stretch and it was one of the most dangerous stages. Her compiling of information was bound to be noticed as those who came before her were taken care of much sooner in their investigations. Unfortunately she couldn't act just yet. She was still missing one important player. The player in fact. The whole reason she was on the odyssey of madness to begin with. A noise emitted from her living room thrust her out of thought.

What was that? It couldn't be Mrs. Hudson, she didn't come down there. Ollie had made sure she understood not to. The logical assumption, an intruder. Fuck. Someone must have been tailing Roman and followed her home. She couldn't believe she'd made such a careless mistake. Silently, she slipped out of the shower, making sure to leave it on as to not alert the infiltrator. Cautiously she made it over to the toilet and unhooked a gun hidden behind it. Being careful to not let any water drip onto the weapon.

Taking a deep breath she positioned her self by the door, one hand hovering over the knob. The other tightly gripping the firearm. Sending out a silent prayer to the universe she ripped the door open and aimed her glock, both hands on the hilt; with only a second to assess the situation. Her mouth fell open. What the fuck?

There, sitting in her living room, was a calculated man dressed in a form fitting suit. Legs crossed and arms tucked onto his lap. He stared boredly, albeit a bit flustered in her direction. His associated dropped the figurine he'd been holding, it smashed to pieces on the floor. A deep vibrato cut across the room, it's owner piercing her with their heavy gaze, "How did you know?"

Ollie's gun clattered uselessly to the carpet. She had not been expecting them.

Text translate:

Hy. N2no u ggft? Hey. Need to know you got gift?

Ggft. Wnw? Got gift. When and where?

22 st. Tbl42, nw. 22 Northumberland Street. Table for two, now.

I'll probably be writing these 3,000 words min. a chapter. Can anyone guess who's in her living room :) Ten points and a high five to anyone that does :)