"Who are you?"

"I have many names, but I prefer The Countess." He looked around desperately, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

"Why am I here?"

"So many questions. You're here," a slender figure stepped out from behind the wall. "Because I need to send someone a message." The silhouette of a gun caused the man to panic.

"Please!" He begged, getting on his knees and putting his hands together. "I got a wife and child." The gunman, or in this case gun woman, said nothing for a while.

"They'll be looked after." Then a gunshot sounded. Clear and loud, the noise vibrated off the walls.

"His name's James Tillers." Detective Inspector Lestrade lifted up the police line for two men. "Killed around three this morning. Neighbors heard a gunshot and called." The three men walked up a set of stairs to a dark blue room. It was completely void of any furniture except for a shaded lamp that kept blinking on and off. All other light came from the lights the police set up to help examine the body. "I can give you seven minutes."

"That might do." Lestrade turned around and closed the white oak door behind him. "John, tell me what you see." John, the shortest of the two men, hummed for a second and knelt down to look at the body closely.

"He's married and died by gunshot straight to the forehead, probably a .28"

"Good, what else?" John hummed again.

"He was in the rain, seeing as his coat's still wet, so he's from out of town."

"Very good, missing almost all important information but you got a start. He's been married only for a few years, happily and has a child around the age of six. There's a small dog at his house, a terrier no doubt. A woman was the killer unquestionably, what else would get him motivated to come out here?" Lestrade came back in.

"So what do you have?"

"The killer is the same as the others. Also," the man hesitated and looked around carefully. Then he stepped towards the flickering lamp. "turn the lights off except this one." Not questioning the demand, Lestrade did so.

"What the he-" he started. On the wall in a type of ink said: NO MORE. "What does that mean?"

"Precisely what it says, no more. Now this is interesting." The consulting detective ran a hand through his messy locks in excitement. "It looks like our serial killer is working for someone."

"Who?"

"If I knew I'd tell you."

"No you wouldn't." Remarked Lestrade.

"No matter," the man turned around quickly, his coat flared behind him. "We have a killer on the loose!" Quickly he ran down the stairs and out the door.

"Sherlock!" John and Lestrade both called out to him.

7 years later

A dispatch came over on a police radio, urgent and requesting backup. There was a suspected murder down a few blocks from a large law firm and it seemed the crowd was getting a little out of hand.

"This is Larson. Coming right away. Over." Setting her car into gear, she drove towards the scene. Her cell, sitting on the passenger seat, started to vibrate. "Hello?"

"It's Lestrade...are you coming in?"

"Right now sir. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"You might want to hurry and call someone to get into the archives."

"May I inquire why sir?"

"You'll see when you get here." Lestrade hung up, leaving her puzzled. Obviously this had something to do with a previous case and if it's in the archives, definitely from before she came. Turning on her lights, the car sped up.

Arriving at the homicide scene, she was asked for her badge. Immediately after she walked into the building, Lestrade appeared with two other men. "Larson, this is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson." Although she's heard of them, this was the first time meeting them.

"Why are they here?" There was no specific tone in her voice, but her body language showed that she wasn't thrilled.

"They worked on a cold case similar to this." Then her body language changed dramatically.

"In that case, I'm Larson,homicide division." John put forth his hand and she looked at it confused for a second but shook it nevertheless. Sherlock, on the other hand, just watched her. "Where's the body, Lestrade?" she asked, trying to move this along.

"Right," he motioned them to follow him, "it's through here." A red door with paint peeling off was held open for the four of them. "He was found by a worker, coming to clear away anything important before the house was taken down." Upon entering the room, several police officers and a photographer cleared out.

In the middle of the room, hands tied above his head and hanging, was a white male. Before Sherlock could start to ramble, she beat him to it. "He's approximately 34, give or take a few years. He's un-married and was probably at bar before this, there's a beer stain on his cuff from when he wiped his mouth. The large amount of money indicates that he likes to gamble but probably doesn't have much luck at it. He wasn't killed for it though." She moved closer to the body, ignoring the state of shock on Johns face.

"Now you see why I hired her." Lestrade commented.

"Died by gunshot to the forehead, clearly a .28." Sherlock butted in, "He's out of town, go figure, so the bar he went to is close by. Look at bars within five blocks within here and you come up with a possible four. She hasn't lost touch." He whipped out his phone and started texting someone.

"Sorry, she?" John questioned.

"Yes the Countess, as she calls herself, do try to keep up. She's back." Sherlock replied, not even looking up. Lestrade on the other hand was running a hand through his dark grey hair.

"I don't think it's the Countess." She voiced her opinion. All three men turned to look at her.

"How would you know?" Sherlock snarled a little. "You weren't there. You were probably still in college."

"I read the archive story. This is certainly her MO, but this isn't her." Larson narrowed her eyes at the consulting detective. "Go ahead and deduce me by the way, I was waiting to see when you'd break." She stepped closer to Sherlock. John in the background moved forward a little but stopped when Lestrade and Sherlock both put a hand out.

"You're about 30, un-married, and your hair is dyed. You're unhappy because you have a family but they refuse to acknowledge you which means either you did something they disagreed with or there was a large argument about what they were doing. Either way, no side is apologizing. You've seen war or something similar to it because your hand is constantly near the gun on your left side, meaning your on alert. Also you have a child around the age of seven or eight." Sherlock stopped, huffing a little. The room got deadly silent, no one moving.

"Not bad." She stated in response. The entire time she went unblinking, staring him straight in the eyes. "You got two, maybe three if you count it, things wrong."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. I'm 24, and my hair is naturally this color, thank you very much. My family on the other hand, yes we don't talk but then again, you can't exactly talk to dead people. It would be a very one-sided conversation." Sherlocks eyes widened. "And my daughters name is Claire." There was a silence, partly because of shock and partly because no one knew what to say next. A phone vibrated, breaking it. "Bloody hell!" Larson exclaimed. "Is that the time?" She quickly walked out, then in like she forgot something. "I'm really sorry detective, this usually doesn't happen." He waved her off.

"I'll text you if we find something new." She smiled and walked out again. A few seconds later she was back.

"Oh and Sherlock?" His head moved to face her. "Text me if you find anything. Nice meeting you two!" With that, she was finally off.

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

"That was officer Kitty Larson. She came on the squad five years ago; kind of quiet and reserved but she's brilliant." praised Lestrade. "Although she doesn't get on with Donavon at all." He laughed, as if there was an inside joke. "Anyway, is there any more you can tell me Sherlock?"

"Not right now." Sherlock curtly answered before stalking out or the room. Upon exiting the building, Sherlock hailed a cab to take him to the nearest elementary school.

Kitty, short for Katherine, Larson got to Claire's elementary school just in time. Calmly she waited for her daughter outside the schools' front doors. When brown haired, blue eyed Claire came running out, Kitty knelt down to give her a hug. "Hey there, how was school?" She then stood up and took Claire's hand. Excitingly, Claire began to tell how she got to read in front of the class and her artwork was displayed in the hallway.

"Mommy, who's my dad?" Stopping abruptly, Kitty turned and knelt.

"Why do you ask?"

"Some kids were teasing me.." Claire's eyes began to fill up with tears. "They said.." She couldn't get anymore out as she started crying. Putting her arms around the little girl, Kitty picked her up and continued walking back to their flat.

"Your father passed away Claire. He went to go fight and never came back." Taking a left at the end of the school block, Kitty unlocked her dark blue cop car. "Come on, we can make cookies when we get home. I bought some chocolate chips this morning." The movement felt on her right shoulder told her that Claire was fine with that plan.

It took several minutes for them to arrive at their small flat. Unlocking the door, Claire immediately put her stuff on a nearby bench. Kitty smiled at the younger girl. "Why don't you go wash your hands? We can work on your homework later." Claire nodded and ran to the bathroom. "Take your shoes off too!" Kitty then went into the kitchen, taking out ingredients and some pans. The rush of water in the bathroom stopped, signaling Claire was done.

"Mommy!" the little girls' voice called.

"In the kitchen!" When Claire came in, she rolled up her long sleeves and pulled over a chair. Giving her the soon but still holding it just in case, Kitty started adding flour and such into a large mixing bowl. "And now we stir!" After a few minutes of mixing together the dry ingredients, they pulled out an electric mixer for the wet ingredients. Butter, maragine, and four eggs went into the bowl. On the table nearby Kitty's phone vibrated. "Set it for the lowest speed." she instructed Claire before turning to get it.

"Hello?" Kitty's eyes stayed on Claire, making sure nothing happened.

"Hey, it's Lestrade."

"You found more information?"

"Well," on the other side of the phone, Lestrade was nervously running a hand through his hair, "I was wondering if you had any plans tonight." Shocked, Kitty stood silent. Coming back to her senses a few seconds later she replied,

"Just working on homework with Claire and after she got to bed, look up some information pertaining to the case."

"Do you think... well would you and Claire want to meet me at Angelo's?" Kitty smiled, it would be nice to not cook for a night.

"What time? We're making some cookies right now but we should be done on about an hour."

"Great! Would an hour and a half work?"

"We'll be there." They said their goodbyes and hung up. Kitty hurried back to Claire. "Let's add the other stuff now."

"Hello Angelo." Claire attempted to greet the restaurant manager but it sound more like "Hello And-jello." He laughed when the girl hugged him.

"The usual Ms. Larson?"

"Yes please." Angelo guided them to a window seat. Lestrade came in a few seconds after they sat down. Upon noticing them, he walked over and took a seat.

"Hi Claire!" Claire scrambled out of her seat and onto his lap. She moved her crayons and coloring book that she brought over. "Hi Kitty." Smiling she responded,

"Hi Greg. Thanks for inviting us."

"No problem. I know it's hard sometimes for you so I wanted to treat you to something." She nodded. "Besides I have things to talk to you about." Before anything else was said, their food plus Lestrades' was brought over. Angelo winked at Kitty as he walked away. About a half hour of just laughing at jokes, Lestrade coloring a Dora The Explorer picture, and just eating passed, the list of things to actually talk about started.

"I want you to become my police partner." Kitty restrained from spitting out the sip of water she just drank.

"What?"

"You're a fantastic cop and I want to promote you to detective. There's an office right next to mine that's being used for storage and-" he was caught off as arms wrapped him in a hug.

"God yes." He laughed. She stopped hugging him and sat up properly. "I also have a question to ask you."

"Fire away."

"I've known you for seven years and," her voice lowered, "you know Claire's father isn't in her life. And with being a cop, there's always the what if when it comes to my life." Kitty took a deep breath. "I want to make you her godfather." There was a pause before Lestrade broke out smiling.

"I was under the impression I already was." This caused them both to laugh. "I'd love to." Looking at her watch, she decided it'd best to get Claire home. Lestrade and her both stood up and grabbed their jackets. "I'll walk you home."

"You don't have to." Kitty protested.

"No, but I want to." Lestrade picked up a sleepy Claire and walked out with her on his right shoulder. Kitty followed after and hooked arms with him. The walk to her flat was quiet, snow starting to fall slowly by the time they got there. Taking a sleeping Claire from her new police partner, she whispered a thank you. He kissed her on the cheek and turned away. As quiet and softly as possible, Kitty made her way up a small set of stairs. After a little trouble opening the door, she managed to get inside without waking Claire.

"What's your real name?"

"Bloody he-" a hand moved over her mouth, silencing her.

"I'd rather you not wake up your daughter." Kitty pulled away from the intruder.

"Sherlock?" She whispered angrily. Claire shifted a little causing Kitty to sigh. "Go make yourself tea, I'll be right there." Shooting him one last glare, she spun on her feet and took Claire to her room. Minutes later she walked into the kitchen. "What the hell Sherlock! This is my home and last time I checked, I just met you today." During her soft yelling, she stood on her tip toes and got down two cups. "Chamomile or grey?"

"Chamomile please." No other words were said until they both we're sitting with their tea. "Now, back to my question. What's your real name?"

"Katherine."

"No it isn't."