Okay guys! Here's a story that's been floating in my head for a bit now. I couldn't stand it any longer so here's a new story instead of a new chapter! Hopefully I'll be able to do both!

I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you guys think!

Sherlock Holmes smiled to himself as he removed his scarf and coat, his blogger right behind him as they strolled into Bart's morgue.

"You really think there is a case here, Sherlock?" John Watson asked as they entered the cold room, "Blond killed, twin sister with a history of mental distress thinks there are mysterious circumstances, witnesses her death and swears her last words were 'The band! The speckled band!'. I mean really? What in the hell does that mean?"

Sherlock turned his attention to the body, unzipping the bag and grinning at the recently deceased blond in the bag.

"No idea," he muttered with a grin as he unzipped the bag excitedly. It had been ages since he had found a case that at least gave his brain something to do for more than five minutes. And this one… well, it held promise.

"Oh good," Detective Inspector Lestrade said as he walked into the morgue as well, "You lot are already here."

"Why wouldn't we be?" Sherlock muttered as he removed the bag so he could see the body as a whole.

John half rolled his eyes at the typical Sherlock response before turning and smiling at Lestrade, "He means good to see you too Greg."

Lestrade sighed heavily before wandering over to the body.

"I don't see how there is anything strange about this case," Lestrade told them, "Open and shut drug overdose. She was in and out of rehab, sister mentally unstable. Both were staying at a close family friend's who happens to be a psychiatrist."

"And that matters, why?" Sherlock asked as he took out his magnifying glass trying to find every detail.

Lestrade just looked at him for a moment in blatant shock before looking and John and then back to Sherlock.

"You don't think that the fact that the victim and her twin sister, both heiresses to the largest pharmaceutical company in the UK, had to be constantly supervised by a psychiatrist. You see, I would think that that would affect the validity of your so- called client," Lestrade told him.

"It wasn't a drug overdose," Sherlock concluded as he stood up, putting his magnifying glass away.

"Wait, what?" Lestrade asked, "Why in the bloody hell would you say that? Coroner said…"

"The coroner's an idiot," Sherlock told him as he stepped back and looked at his shorter companion, "John, what do you see?"

John looked at his friend for a moment before looking at Lestrade.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed, "Just do it."

John took a step closer and began looking at the body. The woman was blond, pretty, not too many signs of drug abuse other than her thin complexion and sores on the inside of her nostrils. He frowned at the sight.

Well, that didn't add up.

John continued to look at the body. She certainly did show every sign of heroine overdose. Asphyxiation, tongue discoloration, blue tinged fingernails…

"Well, every sign points to heroine overdose," John said as he found two needle marks right next to each other on her thigh, "She injected twice, or missed her vein entirely."

"You see," Lestrade told Sherlock.

"But," John pointed out, "Something doesn't add up."

That shut Lestrade up. He frowned and looked at John questioningly.

"She's typically a cocaine user," John told them, pointing to her nostrils, "Typical rich party girl. No signs of anything but long term cocaine abuse."

"We found heroin in her system," Lestrade pointed out, "It could have been her first time using."

Sherlock sighed loudly, causing Lestrade to glare and John to look at his friend.

Lestrade sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Fine, FINE," he said as he looked back up at the two, "I'll reopen the case. I just… I just bloody hope you two are right."

A smile spread out over Sherlock's face as Lestrade stormed out of the building. He had a case.

The game was on.

*&#(*( )*#

"So, shouldn't we be interviewing the twin sister and the psychiatrist?" John asked as they entered 221 and removed their jackets, hanging them on the coat rack.

"We need to stop off here first," Sherlock said as he climbed the stairs to 221B.

"And whys that?" John asked.

"We need…" Sherlock began before stopping immediately.

John frowned as he walked in to the flat, "Sherlock you okay?" he asked staring at his friend staring towards the couch in the closest thing

John followed his gaze and he knew immediately what had stopped his friend in his tracks.

On their couch sat a woman; one that John had never seen before, but very attractive none the less. She sat on the couch, her legs crossed, designer heels bouncing off her foot as she smiled at Sherlock, her bright green eyes sparkling as she did so.

"Hello Sherlock," she said as she used a perfectly manicured hand to wipe her long brunet curls out of her face. She leaned forward; resting her elbows on her knees, a smile playing on her face, "Miss me?"

John looked between the two of them. It was as if he wasn't even in the room. They obviously knew each other.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked in a slightly breathless voice, that took John completely by surprise, causing him to stare at his friend in bewilderment.

The woman pulled a file out of her case and held it up for him, "I think you already know the answer to that."

John raised an eyebrow at the two of them. He couldn't read facial expressions on either of them. They both were staring at each other, completely stone-faced. It was almost as if they were playing a game of chicken.

"And I think you already know my answer," Sherlock replied quietly.

"And I," the woman said softly as she stood up, her tall silhouette lit by the fireplace as she smoothed out her dress, "would suggest you change that answer. If you know what is good for you."

"Is that a threat?" Sherlock asked as she sauntered over to him, "You know I don't respond well to them."

She took a step forward, nearly a foot apart from him as she smiled at him curiously, "And you know that I don't make threats. I make promises."

Their gazed locked.

John shifted uncomfortably before he cleared his throat, causing them to both look at him.

"John Watson, by the way," John said introducing himself to the woman. She just raised an eyebrow at him, not saying a word or moving a muscle.

John pressed his lips together and looked at the floor angrily, "Just incase anyone was wondering," he said before he walked over to the desk and opened his laptop.

The woman watched him go with slight interest before turning her gaze back to Sherlock.

She looked down at the file in her hands before holding it out to him.

"This is the last time I'll ask nicely," she told him.

Sherlock's eyes flitted down to the file for half a second before going back up to her.

"And if I decline?"

The woman's lips spread into a smile as she looked up at him.

"I think you remember well enough that I am the last person you want as your enemy," she told him softly as her eyes searched his.

Sherlock looked at her for a moment before taking the file from her and flipping through it as he walked towards the fire.

"I'm sorry," John spoke up finally, not being able to take it anymore, "Who the hell are you?"

The woman turned to him, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him; a smile playing on her face.

"Oh," she smiled, "I'm no one, darling."

John looked at her skeptically as Sherlock flipped through the file in front of the fire before tossing the file and its contents into the flames.

The smile on the woman's face faded as she watched the papers burned.

"I think I'll have to pass," Sherlock said as he turned around to face her.

The woman looked at the floor before looking back up at him.

"You confident about that?" she asked him.

"Of course I am," Sherlock responded, "I always am. You of all people should know that."

She looked at him blankly for a moment, "I also know the opposite."

Sherlock's confidence wavered slightly as she had obviously touched a sore spot. John frowned at the reaction. The only person who was able to do that to him was Mycroft… who the hell was this woman?

She looked at him for a moment longer before gathering her things off the couch and walking towards the door.

"I told you this was the last time I would ask nicely," she said as she put on her coat and scarf, "And I think you remember how persuasive I can be."

She gave him a smile as she pulled her hair out of her scarf, "It is my job after all."

And with that, she turned on her heel and descended the stairs, leaving the flat without another word.

Sherlock just stared at her retreating form for nearly a minute after she had left. John just looked at his friend in surprise. He had never seen his friend look like that.

"Who the hell was that?" John asked finally.

Sherlock's head snapped to him quickly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"No one," he said pointedly before he straightened himself and walked into his bedroom.

"Right," John said as he frowned at his retreating friend. He heard him going through drawers searching for something.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what she wanted then?" he asked.

"Nope," Sherlock said immediately as he stormed out of the bedroom and walked down the stairs.

"Come along John," Sherlock yelled back up the stairs, "We have a case."

John sighed and muttered under his breath before storming up and following after his friend.

Why in the hell couldn't he just tell him what was bothering him like a normal damn person?

^&*& *(

John sighed and rubbed his eyes as they got out of the police car, looking up at the old manor in front of them. It looked like it had been grand in its day, but was struggling to keep up its appearance.

Sherlock got out of the car as well, tightening his coat around himself and turning up his coat collar like he always did.

"Well, welcome to the therapists house," Lestrade told them as he closed the car door, "Hope the drive out the country was worth it."

Sherlock glared at him as they began to walk towards the manor. He opened his mouth to respond when they heard a car pulling up into the drive.

"What the hell?" Lestrade muttered as an ambulance pulled up into the drive, lights flashing. The ambulance drove past them, through the gate, causing them to frown in curiosity.

"Still think there isn't a case here?" Sherlock muttered as he began to jog towards the ambulance.

Lestrade rolled his eyes before he and John followed.

"Oi, what's going on here?" Lestrade asked as the paramedic got out of the ambulance, going to the back to unload the cart, "Scotland Yard."

The medic looked at his ID, "Just got the call sir. Attempted suicide."

A smile played on Sherlock's face at the news before the front door opened and a man in his mid to late 60's came out of the house, his cardigan and white shirt covered in blood.

"Please," he told the medics, "in here!"

The medics grabbed the cart and hurried into the house, followed closely by Sherlock. John and Lestrade barely had enough time to look at each other before they quickly followed him in after.

The older man led them hurriedly to a back bedroom where a young woman, looking extremely similar to that of the latest victim, was laying in the bed; sheets soaked in a frighteningly large amount of blood.

John pushed his way towards her.

"I'm a doctor," he told the medics as he began to check her for any signs of life.

Lestrade held his breath as the older man rubbed a hand through his hair in worry.

The medics stopped suddenly as they looked at John. Lestrade watched him set his jaw and look up at his companions before morbidly shaking his head.

"Help her!" the older man exclaimed, "Why aren't you helping her?"

John looked up at him, "I'm so sorry."

The man let out a breath in shock as he sat down in the chair, staring at the young woman in shock.

John covered her with the sheet out of respect before looking at Sherlock, who was focused on looking around the room for evidence.

"I'll call it in," Lestrade said, "Its out of my jurisdiction anyway."

Sherlock spun in a circle before he walked over and ripped off the sheet, looking at the young woman for any evidence.

"Sherlock!" John gritted out as he watched his best friend disturb yet another dead body looking for evidence.

"Left-handed," he muttered as he looked around the room once more before looking at her wrists, "She was left-handed."

"Yeah," John muttered quietly as he glanced at the older man, "what does that have to do with anything?"

Sherlock barely even heard the question as he took a step forward towards the older man.

"You're the psychiatrist, correct?" he asked.

"What?" the older man asked as he looked up at him, "Uh, yes. Dr. Royoltt"

"Sherlock," John criticized.

"You looked after who I'm assuming was Helen," he said referencing the woman on the bed, "as well as her sister who was killed not two weeks ago."

"I don't understand," Dr. Royoltt said, "She died of a drug overdose."

"No, she was murdered," Sherlock told him firmly, "Which tells me you are either the one who killed her and her sister, or you are a really bad doctor. But, going by the cuts on Helen's wrists, I'm going to go with a bit of both."

"The cuts?" John asked.

"Yes, John," Sherlock told him, "The cuts on her wrists. She is obviously left-handed by looking around the room. Outlet plugged in on the left, pen next to the journal on the left hand side, shall I continue?"

"No, I think I've got the picture."

"Good, you pick up more quickly now," Sherlock muttered as he turned back to the body, "The cuts on the wrist, both made from left to right with a downward trend; very difficult to do with the same hand, let alone with no hesitation, a steady hand, being left handed. Hence, Helen didn't make the cuts herself. Dual puncture marks, just like her sister in her neck. Someone drugged her and cut her wrists, rendering her incapable of fighting back; someone who was right handed. Someone like Dr. Royoltt here."

"How…?" John began to ask

"Ink smear, under the blood on the right hand knuckled of the middle finger. Only other person here. Would have taken her less than five minutes to bleed out, not enough time for anyone else to escape. Leaving him as our only suspect." Sherlock pointed out.

John squinted, sure enough he saw it.

"Bloody hell," John muttered in amazement.

"Now, motive that's a different story," Sherlock continued, "Family friend of two heiresses. Their parents both dead, and you are the only caretaker of two girls born to inherit millions. Now this estate, is dated; family property? Correct? Let me guess. Failed practice, foil under the fingernails tells me you have a little more than a habit with the scratchers… probably more than that. In debt? Took mortgage after mortgage out on the family estate to pay for the habit? Killing the two girls to inherit the money would be left you; the same money that would clear your debt."

Dr. Royoltt looked at him in a stunned silence.

"Lestrade, tell the authorities. Arrest this man. Case closed," Sherlock said dismissively as he put his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," a woman's voice said from the door.

John turned to see the same woman who was in the flat earlier that day standing in the doorway with a smile plastered on her face.

"Who the hell are you?" Lestrade asked as he hung up his phone.

"I'll get to you in a minute George Clooney," the woman said dismissively as she walked towards Sherlock once more.

Lestrade looked at her, completely taken aback before looking at John for some sort of answer.

"Last chance Sherlock," the woman told him, "I'll be nice and give you one last chance. All I need is your signature."

John frowned? A signature? For what?

"I believe I've already given you my answer. Did you follow me here?" Sherlock asked her.

"You did. But it's been long enough. And I have my ways," she smiled at him, "Last chance."

"Or what?"

She smiled at him, "I'll ruin you."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "I'd like to see you try."

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him before smiling, "Fine, your funeral."

"Who…?" Dr. Royoltt began to speak up before the woman turned to look at him.

"Sit down, shut up, don't say a word," she told him firmly.

"Excuse me?" he asked in blatant shock.

"I'm your attorney," she told him, "Pro-bono, don't worry dear."

"Attorney?" John asked.

"Yes, Madeline Everling, attorney at law," the woman smiled as she walked towards Lestrade.

"I'm assuming George Clooney over here is Detective Inspector Lestrade?" Madeline inquired as she raised an eyebrow at him, "The one who lets Sherlock run around with him?"

Lestrade looked at her in confusion as Sherlock scoffed.

"You're too late Maddie," Sherlock told her, "Didn't you hear, case is closed. All to simple. Plus I thought you worked for the prosecution?"

Madeline turned to grin at him, "I used to. But lets be realistic, Prosecution is boring. Defense, however. Well, that takes a bit more imagination."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "That's how you plan to ruin me? Take all the people who I hand to the Yard and free them in court?"

"Oh," she smiled, "God, no. That'd be too simple. I'm going to make sure they never get arrested in the first place because I know that you missed something."

"I never miss anything," Sherlock told her.

"Like the housekeeper?" Madeline suggested, "Or the estranged half-sibling?"

Sherlock's face fell, causing Madeline to smile even more.

"Freshly vacuumed carpet, and folded clothes in the corner of the girls room. You think that the mildly depressed and schizophrenic girl will fold her clothes neatly? Or the doctor who has a gambling addition will fold them like that? No, that's a motherly feeling. Well taken care of, sick girl who doesn't have any parents? No, that and the fact that I'm guessing she popped out right before the body was discovered? Going by the foot prints in the mud going out from the kitchen?" she inquired looking at Dr. Royoltt and smiling, "Could be her, or could be the estranged brother who did the lawns? Royoltt can't afford it of course so he pays the boy in whatever he can get. Why would you do that if you are a young man who can obvious be fit enough to do any manual labor job?"

"How do you know that?" John asked before he could stop himself.

"So glad you asked," Madeline smiled at him, "Puts more fun in it." She took a breath before continuing. "Tree out front, recently cut with an axe. That takes a lot of power, strength and endurance. Not some that can be generated at a man of Dr. Royoltt's fitness and age. Hence a young man. Doesn't get paid well, so why do it? Unless of course you know that your father was actually the CEO and father to the greatest pharmaceutical company in the UK. I have all the proper documentation if you want to actually take a look. It's a long story, and slightly boring I might add."

"You knew what case I was working," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Of course," Madeline smiled at him, "You think I wouldn't come prepared? Didn't know this poor girl would be dead when I got here though," she sighed as she gazed at the girl on the bed.

Silence filled the room.

"Well, I think I've proved reasonable doubt now, haven't I?" Madeline said as she looked around the room, smiling.

"We'll still have to take him in for questioning…" Lestrade began before Madeline started to chuckle.

"No, no, you wont," Madeline told him as she wiped her hair out of her face.

Lestrade frowned, "Oh, and why's that? Because you said so?"

"No, because you are the Detective Inspector who allows an amateur ex- drug addict who isn't affiliated in any way shape or form legally with Scotland Yard, along with his blogger who is a Doctor suffering from PTSD…"

"I don't…" John began to argue.

"Probably not, but the jury doesn't know that, and that's what your therapist said," Madeline told John before turning back to Lestrade, "Obviously having them tamper and ruin evidence wont look good in court. So… you are going to let my client go until you have further evidence against him, or I will ruin you all in court and bring up every mistake you have ever made, discrediting your every word."

Madeline smiled at the group as she clapped her hands together, "Well, now that that is all cleared up, I'm going to take my client and go."

She turned to Royoltt, "Come on dear, lets get you into some better clothes, shall we?"

Dr. Royoltt gaped at her for a moment before snapping out of it and getting up.

Madeline went to follow him before she stopped and turned around, "Oh, and Sherlock love? This all stops when you sign. Its been 6 years, you have no reason to hold on other than to just make my life miserable."

Sherlock just stared at her.

Madeline frowned at the wall before smiling at him once more, "Think of this as a taste of your own medicine. Its not always fun being outsmarted is it?"

She gave him a wink before walking out after her client.

The room was silent for moment before Lestrade turned to him.

"What the HELL is she going on about?"

Sherlock glared at the empty doorway.

"Who is she Sherlock? Other than a blood thirsty attorney?" he asked again.

"No one," he gritted out, clenching his jaw before storming out, "She's no one."

So here's the start! Please let me know what you guys think and if you would like more!

Review? Pretty please?