Some would say the best views of London can be found in the most obvious locations. The London Eye, Big Ben, some say Tower Bridge. One person would argue to the death that those are wrong. A person known as Hawkeye says the top of a tower dubbed The Shard is the only place to see all of London. Most attempted to see from there, only scaling the tallest tower of the Europe Union can earn one the stunning view.

Only a scattered few have succeeded, but only done it once and never again. The result of failure was not death, of course. No one has gone far enough to earn death, not before getting called on to be reported to authorities. This hasn't stopped Hawkeye, nothing can stop her. She saw the world differently than normal people, she found it as her way of thriving her very eventful life. Normal people just see London as a crowded, bustling city and nothing more. Hawk though, she saw things that made her both glare and grin down at the city. Two different worlds in people; the rich selfish ones and others with poor struggling ones.

That fact wasn't what made Hawkeye special, her name did have a purpose. When scaling buildings and eyes of the sky she saw maps, hiding locations, escape routes, and safe places to sleep. She had London in the palm of her hand. All it took was took was one glance and Hawkeye can see her flawless 'strolls' through the city.

Cold, it's always cold in London, England itself is a cold damp country. A slight shiver ran down her spine as a passing gust of chilly morning air rolled by. She took in a deep breath of fresh air closing her eyes, and letting her arms stretch out. It was like floating, if only it could last forever. A smile stretched out, yes, this was heaven to Hawkeye.

"Is someone up there?"

"I see a figure!"

"Don't be stupid! Who would be insane enough to even be up there?"

"Looks like a statue."

"Wait! Let me take a photo!"

These were constant comments made when bystanders saw someone on a roof. Hawkeye disappeared before any more attention could be brought to her. Though this time was different and attention Hawkeye hated. Once that was brought, it was sure enough to bring trouble to her peaceful moment. The distant sound of sirens made her open those chocolate brown eyes to glance down. Yup, there were the infamous white and blue flashing lights and display of a crowd. The hood over Hawkeye's brown/red hair helped some not know who she was and hide her face in case cameras tried to zoom in on her. Wearing all black of cargos, boots, and a hooded jacket helped her hide almost all of her. Police constantly mistook her of a male; mostly thanks to her appearance and style of fighting. They've never been close enough to actually see her face.

The smile faded but her arms stayed out. This wasn't the first time Hawkeye was reported of her 'spectacular' stunts. If not this, than the reports were made against her crimes on the streets.

"Don't tell me it's him."Groaned the voice of the stressed Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade exiting the car that had just pulled up. His short gray hair was as messed up as it could be, just woken up to this call. Eyes blinked from getting the tired out of it as he adjusted his tan coat against the cold.

Police worked fast to keep people at bay, as some scrambled to find the security of the building for questions. So far they claimed to not see her, which was aggravating to hear.

"What did you expect?" Sergeant Sally Donovan replied who was just as annoyed as he was. "This time he's got quite the display." He raised a brow at her words, she nodded her head up. He followed her and just groaned rubbing his eyes, he just loved attention didn't he?

"So what's the plan? Send up a team or have an ambulance near by?" She asked getting her walkie ready. They never needed to call one, thank God. But Sally always wanted one by in case an accident were to occur. She would be more ready to call a coroner than ambulance knowing Hawkeye's heights.

"In all honesty, I rather just leave him up there." He mumbled mostly to himself. Greg looked back up, eyes shooting wide at the sight. "What the hell is-"

Before Lestrade could even think of an action to take, Hawkeye starting scaling herself down. People were in awe of this, the fact movements almost like a spider or monkey. No one's ever seen someone do this, or even think it was possible! Was this a creature or human? Some questioned, mostly the authorities.

"Maybe we can catch him this time." Greg gave with little to no hope in it.

Sally shrugged crossing her arms. "We've chased him for months, maybe he's finally given up."

Hawkeye was about quarter of the way down, then stopped and slipped her thin frame through the metal works and onto the floor much to the crowd's shock. That would've taken some strong effort against gravity and her own weight. All the police cared to notice was she was inside with no way out!

"Go! Go in now!" Barked off Lestrade as officers poured inside. They both followed after yelling, "We'll block him off. He can't get out any other way!"

While some were at the elevator Donovan, Lestrade, and other officers towered the emergency stairwell. They kept climbing and climbing, but no sign of the trouble maker. Echoes of panting and stomping would've given Hawkeye the warning of police chasing after her. It wasn't until a half hour later they were growing tired, and stopped half way up the building. Lestrade leaned on the railing looking down in case they missed any floors or see any movement. Donovan looked up for anything as well.

"This is getting us nowhere! Where is he hiding!?" Lestrade yelled running a sweaty hand through his short hair. They had checked all the floors they passed, nothing at all.

The Sargent clicked her walkie earning a high beep, and spoke into it. "Report, anything?"

Static came through along with voices of the officers standing by elevators. "Nothing here, Sargent. No movements out front either." Another static and high pitch beep rang through. "We're at the highest floor, nothing."

Hawkeye had to be somewhere. The group was going to continue moving up, when static returned to the walkie. They all froze as Donovan moved her brown curls from her caramel face to bring the walkie closer to listen. "Yea, what is it?"

Over the static in the background sounded like a woman fretting over something. "We have a report of a stolen jewelry article. The woman here claims her wedding ring was snatched off her hand."

"It was! Even my husband can never get it off!" She cried near by, she had a different accent. Hard to place, though it sounded Spanish

The two made eye contact, with a knowing look.

Lestrade gave an aggravated groan,slamming his hands on the railing. He ignored the pain, his frustration was stronger. "How the hell does he do it!?"

"Anyone make any hand contact with your hand, ma'am?" The officer asked.

The woman sniffled and shook her head, but paused. "Oh, there was this one person who fell in the crowd, I helped them up. I didn't even feel it being taken off!" The daughter comforted her crying mother, assuring her father would understand.

Down the street, wearing an old beat up brown cap with a small union jack sewn on the front covered her features from prying eyes with a low head. A smirk was cemented to her face as she held the expensive diamond jewelry in her pocket clutched in her gloved hand. Hawkeye looked back sneering as she watched the woman have a mini heart attack. It was nothing but an object of love, what purpose could that be to life? Hawkeye scoffed, love was an excuse to toy with people.

Just as she was crossing the street a bus was leaving a stop. Mentally mapping the buses route, Hawkeye tossed her hood over her head, letting the bus pass. She took a short run behind it, grabbed the bottom rim of the back window and latched her boots onto the small bumper which was no trouble for her. People gave odd looks, but assume she was a trouble making teen. The thought on this morning's even being a bust was no long plaguing Hawkeye's mind; it was worth it.

The telly was a marvelous invention to people. Whole purpose to entertain people with mindless dribble. The dribble can be good, most of the time it can be counted as crap television. But now, on the news, it was covering all the channels on breaking news.

At the flat of 221 Baker Street, the same channel was on the 32 inch Samsung television that was perched on a stand behind a chair left of the fireplace in the living room. It was rarely used, sometimes its purpose was questioned. When used it was only the news channel airing on there. But it was kept there for when the news was needed. Today, the news was being ignored by Sherlock Holmes.

In the kitchen, boxes being opened can be heard along with clinking of glasses tapping and hitting one another. The telly wasn't even given attention while the news station carried on. Piles of papers, unpacked boxes and other unorganized assortments scattered the flat along with newly places furniture. It didn't seem to bother the tenant, as he was responsible of the mess. There was no one to complain about it (other than the landlady).

Carefully the dark haired tall man started putting his chemistry set together in deep silence and concentration as to not break anything. Near black brown curls hung off his head in a messy manner. Hands ruffled through the curls making them more loose and bouncy as he finished screwing the tubes together. Razor sharp ice blue eyes scanned over to make sure it was perfectly secure. Deeming it worthy of use he decided to give it a test run, he strode through the fridge in search of something. Where did he put that bag of ears?

"Now on the scene, police refuse to tell us what exactly was on top of The Shard Tower early this morning. Witness reported it looked to be a statue, some say it was a person." The blond male reporter informed with a crowd of people behind police tape.

A roll of the eyes and a scoff, he got annoyed by the news now. Sherlock couldn't find his ears, deciding to blame the fact they were left at St. Bart's. With long strides, he moved to the living room in search of the remote to turn the telly off. Shoving papers around as the news man continued his report. The thought of organizing popped to his mind for a brief moment.

"I swear, it wasn't a statue! I got video of the person climbing down the bloody tower!" Exclaimed one teenage boy taking his phone out and holding it to the camera. "It was like a monkey or something."

"Finally!" Exclaimed the detective and pointed the remote at the t.v. ready to put it to sleep. Thought his thumb just hovered over the red button, his focus on the video recording on the mobile phone. A black figure scaling down the corner metal structure of Shard Tower. Sherlock's arm slowly lowered as he took slow careful steps toward the screen and crouched down in front of it.

The black figured continued scaling down with ease, it stopped though and slipped through the metal bars getting inside. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, hands pressed together with the remote sandwiched between gently and brought up just below his nose and against his lips.

"What happened after the figure got inside the building?" He asked the teen who pulled his mobile from the camera.

"The police just instantly went crazy!" He exclaimed waving his arms as the reporter stepped back. "They all yelled and just ran in there like-like someone had a gun or something!"

"Do you think this mysterious figure is a threat or in even a terrorist?"

Sherlock resisted to groan at the stupidity he was witnessing.

"I-I-I wouldn't say that.." The teen stuttered looking nervous and excited at the same time. Obviously not wanting to cause a panic or rumors spread of such a thing. "It would be pretty killer to see who it was though!"

The teen soon left after feeling a bit under pressure on the questions the reporter was giving. Sherlock continued to watching, waiting if anything else was given. He dug a hand into his pocket fishing something out.

"Oh, there's the Inspector of police. He just emerged from the building." The camera moved over showing a stressed out of breath Lestrade. "Inspector Lestrade! What of the person? Are they in custody? Was it a threat in any way?"

Lestrade frowned at the camera then at the man. "No, no, just some.." He took a deep breath, still tired from going up and down the stairwell. "Just some crazy dare devil is all."

"Wrong." Muttered Sherlock clicking send on his phone.

"If that is true, why were the police so keen on-"

The sound of a chime went off. Lestrade checked his phone, frown got deeper. He looked back down refusing to give more attention to it. "I-If you wish to ask more, please refrain from doing so." He glanced around. "The whole situation is under control. No one is in any danger, it's completely safe. We just wanted to keep crowd control and-"

Sherlock muted the telly at that time to save himself the trouble of Lestrade's rant. He stayed in that position on the floor, going into silent thoughts; Mind Palace. Analyzing the video, words of witness, and Lestrade's statement within a few seconds, Sherlock determined the person's purpose of being on top of Shard Tower.

Soon Sherlock turned the television off leaving the remote on the stand to keep track of it. "Now, where was I?" The detective stood fixing his bleach white shirt and unrolling his sleeves. His black trousers the shirt was tucked into hugged his thin lean frame with the help of a matching black belt. He slipped on his black blazer buttoning it and threw on his long wool dark coat.

"Oh yes," He looped the blue scarf around his neck a smirk on his lips. "My ears." Sherlock rushed down and out of his flat. Shoes clacked down the pavement, calling a cab for a ride to St. Barts.

The night has fallen but the mornings event was still lingering. Hawkeye managed to stay out of sight easily from prying eyes of scattered officers. She was sure D.I. Lestrade told all officers to keep an eye out and she wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. After her little escape, Hawk's been hearing people go on about it on their phones and tablets. It made her growl in annoyance, she never wanted this attention. She just wanted her perfect peaceful view of London; stupid bystanders.

Hawkeye was currently jumping roof to roof of flat buildings heading to her next location. It was a big far, but worth it for her goal. She reached the end of the roof of flats, how just a huge gap between her spot and a gas station. "Damn.." Sure she can parkour all through London but even she had limits.

Dark brown eyes scanned around instantly finding a fire escape. Her boots pounded the gavel and she perched onto the edge, starting her climb case by case. Going down the stairs themselves would be too tedious and time consuming for her. It only took her half a minute at most dropping herself to the ground with ease. Thoughts drifted to her success, as she walked in the darkness, of snatching the ring off that woman. Hawkeye gave the ring another look that was now perched on her left ring finger. She kept it there so it wouldn't fly out of her pockets when jumping.

"I need to get this fixed.." Hawkeye reminded herself as she toyed with the small felt bag that was tied to her belt loop. She kept her stolen goods which was mostly small trinkets she could use. Hawk never went for big stuff like laptops or phones; too risky.

Lights shined on her, Hawkeye glanced up wincing used to the dark and grinned seeing the bright half dead neon lights. 'Ferry's Pawn Shop' was a cheap near hidden and forgotten pawn shop near the thames. It was located between two big buildings so it was never given a second glance. The fact another bigger known pawn shop down the street didn't give much hope either. But Hawkeye only went to this one for her traded goods.

The bell rung as the glass door opened signaling a new customer. It smelled of smoke, and Hawk swears to smell weed from the back.

"Ferry!" She barked out taking her hood off "Your favorite customer is here!" Hawk knew she was safe here. Her reddish brown hair fell around her neck in thick layers. A hand combed through, so greasy and unkept.

From the back an arm moved the clacking wooden beads substituting a door to the back as the owner emerged. He has a clean shaved head that was always hidden under a bandana. Today's was red with orange skulls printed over it. Sunglasses perched onto his nose concealing his eye, his blond soul patch was stroked with pride as if it was a trophy. Ferry wore a shirt with words that read 'don't be cocky' with a rooster on the back. Blue navy jeans hung off his hips staying in place thanks to the belt, the clap of his flip-flops smacked the tile floor.

Ferry beamed at the sight of the woman and engulfed her into a tight hug. The man was bone thin so it couldn't beat Hawk's tense fit body hidden under the clothing.

"You've been smoking again." She pointed out poking his rib to let her go.

The bald man waved her hand away pulling back. "It keeps the day fun." He excused in his Brooklyn accent, clearly from America. He sautered over to the glass case counter where all the jewelry was on display. He leaned his sharp elbows on the glass, eyes on her.

"What can I do ya for?" Ferry knew why Hawk came by; pawn her jewelry. "What sad prick leave ya this time?"

"Nothing too gaudy, I assure." Hawk teased as she showed her finger with the ring.

Ferry held up his loupe that hung around his neck and gently took her hand to hold it steady getting a good look at it. He was silent as Hawk looked around casually, the shop contained different sections of antiques, jewelry, small bits of furniture, computers and phones and other such. Despite Ferry seemed like a lazy sod, he was highly organized and kept everything perfectly displayed. He took pride of it in his shop and was eager to have something new to sell. It impressed Hawk.

"Alright," Ferry took in some air tilting her hand, she looked back to listen to his results. "Real diamond." She grinned with a nod. "Round cut stone class with enhanced, the weight is about..1/10 at best. Sett'n is to be a pavé sterl'n silver and by a guess, I'd have to say he was Irish?" The ring was in the shape of a four leaf clover, Hawk guessed the woman's husband was indeed Irish.

"Luck of the Irish, he always said." She shrugged giving a lopsided grin, though it was careless.

"Not much luck for ya there, huh?" He asked letting her hand go as she took the ring off and placed it on the class with a light 'clink' to it.

"How much for it, Fer?"

The man tilted his head back and forth to decide and coughed into his elbow. "I'd say," He cleared his throat. "We're looking at about eighty-nine dollars, but in pounds.." He took his mobile out to convert the money, Ferry was still trying to get used to british pounds compared to american dollars. "Fifty-five at most. And that's just for ya, I don't make these deals with anyone."

Hawk grinned, "I'll take it, and no receipt remember."

"Of course!" He assured taking the ring and returning to the back.

Hawk looked down at the case display seeing if anything she had brought in was bought off. Some necklaces were still there, rings, but a pair of earrings she snatched off a while ago were gone. "How much did you sell the earrings for?" She called looking over.

He returned and looked up from counting the bills. "A good amount." Was all he answered. "Here you are, hope it heals that heart of yours too."

She rolled her eyes taking the money and hid them away into her bra under her jacket. "You know me, I never have a broken heart."

Ferry leaned against the display arms crossed. "How is it ya get into these relationships and not have a brok'n heart?" He grinned. "You're not a gold digger, are ya?"

Hawk gasped pressing a hand to her heart. "You dare accuse me of such a thing?" She mocked and covered her mouth holding up the act causing Ferry to laugh. "I could be worst things, my good sir, but a gold digger I am not!"

"Alright, alright." He waved giggling. "Was it an engagement ring?"

"No, just some two week anniversary bullshit." She waved off. "He was pretty obsessed so I broke this one off."

"Must be if he payed this hefty price over a two week relationship."

Hawk looked at the time on the clock wall and reached for her hood. "I better get going. I'll stop by for a visit tomorrow?"

"No need," Ferry waved off, "Tomorrow taking the day off."

Her eyes glanced to the back seeing movement. Hawk nodded biting her lip to fight back a knowing grin. "Understood. Well, have a good night and relaxing day off." Hawk gave tossing her hood over her head.

"Be safe, Helena!" He called out as she left his shop walking back the street she came from.

Deeming it fine to walk the streets, Hawkeye -or also known as Helena- let her hood drop, hands stuffed her hands in her pockets striding down the street passing shops and restaurants. She passed by people not giving a second glance to her. Stomach growled, she was hungry. A hand placed over it in deep thought, Helena had the money to get herself well earned meal, but she couldn't do that. The money was towards another more important matter than her selfish needs. She shook her head ridding the thoughts of food which was hard to do with her location.

Not fully paying attention, her shoulder rammed into someone's side. Her eyes shot up, "Sorry." She gave softly, moving over to get a look at the person. The coat and high collar was no help, but she saw pale skin, dark hair, and shocking electric eyes.

He nodded to her giving a 'it's alright,' and continued his long strides down the pavement. Helena gave one last glance before looking down to her hand, holding the contents of items she got from that man.

"Too easy." She snickered shoving them in her jacket pocket to look them over later. Pick pocketing coats were nothing to her, and those were deep pockets. Though she felt a bag of something wet inside and it felt cold.

Alright, he got his ears, had a small good meal, back at his flat he was content to work with his chemistry set like a child. Standing in front of the door he searched for his keys, a frown came when he found none in his coat pockets. Sherlock knocked on the door, hoping Mrs. Hudson was there or heard it. Luck would have it, she did as her face appeared behind the door when it opened.

"Sherlock dear, don't tell me you lost those keys already?" She asked moving aside for him to enter. She shut and locked the door watching him ascend up the stairs.

"Apparently so," He continued his way up.

"Do check if you misplaced them!" She called up to him and returned to her flat of 221a.

Sherlock didn't really listen as he entered his flat taking off his coat and scarf hanging them by the door. He got the needed test tubes, beakers and his blow torch set up, returning to get the bag of ears from his coat pocket examining them. Perfect, they weren't damaged in the travel. Sherlock strode to the kitchen beginning his experiment on the ears.

Three in the morning and he was still silently working on this. Ears spread out now clean of blood, most were torched and others were sutured. Currently Sherlock was looking into his microscope examining at the blood cells in the clit ear, the small dish beside him was skin cells of the burnt ears he had. He was perfectly content, then smirked. "There it is.." He muttered and reached into his shirt pocket.. Strange, not there.

Sherlock stood and walked over to his coat searching his pockets, at that moment he frowned. Both pockets were clean empty when they shouldn't be. He kept important things in there; gloves, magnifier, notebook, toolkit, and even his mobile phone. Just to make sure Sherlock checked his trouser pockets; nothing. Blue sharp eyes scanned the kitchen, living room, boxes, bedroom, bathroom. Nothing!

"Mrs. Hudson!" He bellowed out barreling down the stairs in a rush. Said landlady reemerged seeing Sherlock lean over the railing to see her. "No one has been in the flat, yes?"

"No one at all, dear." She assured. "I've been here all day and the door was locked. I would've heard someone come in if so."

Sherlock knew Mrs. Hudson was old, but not enough to lose her hearing. Not when living that close to the entrance of the building. He did see everything was in the exact same place as he left, so no one indeed entered his flat.

"Is something wrong?" She asked with concern on her face.

"Might be.." Sherlock pounded up the stairs leaving a confused Mrs. Hudson at the bottom of the stairs who slowly followed up.

The detective was not one to misplace things, the keys were a slip. Sure, he forgot things at St. Barts but he always remembered to fetch them. His keys, kit, and other essentials he always kept in his coat pockets. He slid the coat on checking the pockets again, still empty. He frowned checking any other pockets on his person, he then caught a whiff of something. Sniffing he brought his left hand up, sniffing his fingers; oil. Grease to be exact, the kind found on metals and pipes. Sherlock sniffed the inside of his pocket, it smelled of it. Why did it smell of that? He had no contact of it at all.

Mrs. Hudson came up just to see Sherlock thinking in the middle of his living room, eyes closed; Mind Palace. Retracing his steps from Bart's to the flat. He had gone to get the ears, after Molly asked about them, he answered briefly and left. Continuing his walk he picked up dinner at a chip shop he knew so not there. Walk was silent after that, until he rammed into someone, returned finding his items gone. His memory froze, going back to the person. Attire; black with brown hat, thin. Clothing is tattered and worn barely washed. Gender; male. Age; late 20s at best, 27. Facial; hidden but eyes were dark brown and hair was a reddish brown ringing around her shoulders and neck. Obviously not washed or cut in so long, overgrown. The person was homeless, this was enough to go on. He replayed the scene of him ramming into him to figure out how he did it.

"You sure you didn't misplace them? Its such a mess one could always lose things-"

"Pickpocket." He suddenly answered grabbing his scarf.

She turned to him, "Pardon?"

He looked to her as he looped his scarf around his neck. "I'll be back late. Don't wait up or touch anything in the kitchen." Sherlock rushed out, almost in anger.

Mrs. Hudson was lost and concerned for when she heard the term, 'pickpocket'. She mumbled about how horrible to have pickpockets on the street and looked into the kitchen. The second she spotted the ears she rushed out and back to her flat horrified to find the ears he so hard worked to get.

"What is this even!?" Helena barked to herself looking at the new stuff she had nicked off the man a few hours ago. She found herself safely perched on a chinese shop not too far where she gained this new stuff. Some slim slidable magnifier, a pair of leather gloves sadly too big for her hands, some keys to a flat not a vehicle, notebook full of chicken scratch, a toolkit of weird instruments, and one object she glared at; a phone. She had no intention of taking the phone but she scooped what her hands had caught.

Currently she was looking through this kit seeing the weird objects it held. Some she knew of forceps, blades, caliper- Was this man she pickpocketed a criminal himself? The kitchen scratch Helena looked over was something of another language not because of what was writing, but the hand writing. Small and sort of understandable, but written too fast for her. Helena did see some science words such as formulas and some pages had big words almost like answers to a question the man had.

"Maybe a scientist." She figured and looked at the magnifier playing with it. "What money do I make of this stuff? I never had this before.." Usually it would be money, small trinkets. This was beyond trinkets. Helena put the notebook, toolkit, and gloves in separate pockets then glared back at the phone. Maybe she should leave it be? If she took it, she didn't have to answer it. She'd have her own phone, use the minutes as much as she wanted. But then again; risks. Someone could know the number and track it. That thought alone made her stand and inch from it as if it was deadly.

The device suddenly rang off echoing into the night causing Helena to jump away from it like a cat to a blender. Someone calling? ..No, it went off once, so it was a text message. She lowered to crouch in front of it and pressed a button as the screen lit up. '1 new message' it read. Helena pressed the green button and it opened with the message, she leaned in to read it. "Whoever owns this, return it." It read.

That alone made her heart skip, the person knew they took the phone! She had to abandon it now- no, get rid of it! If they found it on the roof, police reports and they'd know it was her and be on her case even know, knowing she'd be on roof tops. Helena picked up the phone and ran to the ladder leading up. She slid down with speed and ease landing to the cemented ground of the alleyway. With a quick 2 second map out, she decided to toss the phone into the Thames.

"I would return that if I were you." Came a deep velvet voice.

Helena froze and turned, glad her hood was over her head. Never can trust who was lurking. She didn't speak but kept her fists up in case it to be a mugger.

"I have no intention of this, I assure." The clacking of shoes of echoed, Helena stepped back into the street light, not a soul on the said street as shops were closed and people would be sleeping. It was a quiet part of London that Helena found herself at night the most. But never was she caught like this, for the person was the exact person she had pickpocketed from that early evening.

Dark curly hair, bright piercing eyes, pale pasty skin, and that damned long coat that surrounded his tall slim figure, collar of said coat was now resting low. She took in his appearance, never seen or encountered this man. She didn't know him so he wasn't part of the police, but then again could be under cover. And here she was being confronted by a man possibly working under that damned Lestrade. Helena mentally cussed at herself for not being cautious of her recent act.

The man sighed with his hands clasped behind his back, he looked a bit between crossed at her but also bored. Bored? Was she reading his expression correctly? No, no, that was what a bored look was. Roll of the eyes counted for annoyance, but he indeed looked bored.

"All I ask is for my items back with no intention of a scuffle, if you please." He told, holding a ungloved hand out expecting the items back. "..This isn't an offer." He stated lowly.

Helena smirked, she made a bolt run down the road. He had long legs, could he keep up? She heard the clack of his steps and looked behind her seeing him not to far behind. Ahh, a runner! Helena now had a challenge. Her mind scanned found the perfect route, ignoring the coming car she ran right across the street causing the driver to pound the breaks.

Sherlock kept up, just about dodging the car from hitting him. He expected this not to be easy, so he was prepared for anything this homeless croke had to throw at him. He estimated soon if they continued this way as he kept up the street that his long legs would get him to catch up to the short man. Though unexpected as Sherlock as just within reach, the man took a sharp turn into a narrow street, Sherlock jumped back scuttling through. Thankful for his thin frame to fit as he saw the figure pop out the other end, he sped up. Once out, looking around he heard metal clanging. Blue eyes shot up, widening at the sight before him.

Helena kept her sneer as she climbed up the fence with ease and her narrow speed and perched herself on top looking down. He took a breath and threw himself onto the fence shaking it as he climbed, of course not as fast or smooth as she did. She shook her head and stood on the pipe of it and balanced herself to trapeze across causing the man to pause.

Was this who he thought it was? The figure on the telly? Sherlock Holmes was robbed by the show off on top of Shard Tower!? Just the fact he was robbed baffled him enough. He watched as the figure got onto the roof and hopped on top and turned back. Sherlock just got to the top and grasped onto the metal with dear life watching the figure. With a swift slap of his hand on his bicep he threw up a fist that gripped the phone giving him a good old known signal that just made Sherlock's blood boil. He found this amusing!

A snicker erupted her as she turned and climbed on top the steep roof. Helena took her balance gently and climbed on the other end of the roof sliding down the the lower flat roof next to it. "That was simple.." She told herself as she strode across to find an exit.

Sherlock currently struggled to get across to that roof. He swung from his tight grip on the metal pole for once thankful he didn't have gloves. Then again if he had his gloves and other items he wouldn't be chasing this thief, now would he? It took some time, but he got himself within reached and hoisted onto the roof. Not giving time to catch his breath he scampered over the side, glaring the figure who strode like this was a walk in the park.

Oh, he was a determined man, man on a mission some say. That just made her heart beat faster, no one kept this far to get to her. But Helena knew he would never catch her; no one did. If Lestrade and his police force couldn't catch her, what made him think he could?

"One last… warning." Sherlock panted sliding off the angled roof and onto the flat one. He was high composed other than the rare effort he gave to getting to her and his anger on getting his stuff back. "If not the phone.. At least everything else."

Helena watched him, he didn't move or make anything of a threat. He was really desperate to get his stuff back unlike anyone else she robbed. They can always buy it back and replace things. This man, he didn't think that. Sentiment? ..No, if this was sentiment he'd be begging or force the items from her with high emotions. Only emotions she saw was annoyance and slight anger. Helena found no value to these items. She slowly emptied her pockets, tossing the gloves, kit, and notebook onto the gravel ground in front of her.

Sherlock made no move to get the items, seeing the phone still in her grip. "You're him right?" The figure's face was obscure but he was sure he had a questioning look at him. "Shard Tower."

Ohh, so he saw it? Helena looked at her hand with the phone in it, watching him in the corner of her eyes she went through the phone for more information. She didn't see him in the crowd so the news she guessed he saw this from. No google history on his phone on this, so he didn't research went into contacts, not many but one name caught her eye. 'Lestrade.' The site of the name made her chuck the phone with the other positions as if it burned her. She ran over to the edge of the building, she then saw a trash truck with bags of trash in the back bin beneath them.

Sherlock jogged over inspecting the damage to his items. His cellphone seemed fine as well as his kit and notebook. "Tell Lestrade.." He looked up seeing the figure turned to him as the sun was now noticed in the horizon, the man removed his hood as the hair fell and removed the hat. It was then, Sherlock realized his mistake in his deduction; female.

Hawkeye was doing something more risky than ever, but this man. Something about this man proved he was different than other people. A strong gust of morning wind just as the morning beforehand blew right by letting her hair fly in the wind. "The name's Hawkeye." She stated stepping up onto the ledge. "I'm one of the good guys."

Hawkeye extended her hand holding her hat out and stepped back letting gravity take her. Rushing to his feet, Sherlock leaned gingerly over the edge, nothing was there. His brows knotted searching if this 'Hawkeye' was hanging off of something or was running off down the street. But he saw no sight of her. With a tired sigh, he turned and collected his stuff and continued onto the roofs until he found a fire escape to climb down from. No way was he struggling down that chain link fence again.

The truck honked loudly as it entered the main street, drivers unbeknownst of their little carry on in the back. Watching the sky turn from dark blue to a blue gray was entertaining enough to the grinning girl. Despite feeling sharp things, she fell on some good garbage, thankfully no one threw glass away in trash and recycled it. She'd remember the name she saw in the information of that phone; Sherlock. "..Well isn't that a unique name for a unique man." She muttered leaning back to enjoy the ride until her stop would arrive.

Days had went by since the sighting of Hawkeye on Shard Tower and Sherlock's meeting with said person. He had gotten his ear evidence to a case he was on to Lestrade as well as the message Hawkeye had. Lestrade questioned on it, Sherlock gave a brief description of being robbed of the little thief before Donovan has a bit of a laugh at the thought of Sherlock Holmes being outsmarted by a street pick pocketer. Lestrade knowing the name this person is called, Hawkeye, told all officers to keep an eye out and ask around.

Though Sherlock shared all this information, he withheld the fact Hawkeye was not a male as the other had assumed so. Lestrade never asked so he never told.

After a week, Hawkeye had been quiet in the movement of crimes and stunts. She's chills above roof tops now and then. She's seen Sherlock mostly by that Bart's hospital. She's never been on the rooftop, she made a mental note to scale it sometime. The view didn't match Shard Tower but Helena was sure it was still a beautiful sight.

Ever since that encounter she's felt more off her game. Helena shoved off the thought that it was just a shaken feeling from her meeting with Sherlock. Standing above an apartment building, she looked down at her hand where she cut herself not too long ago. Didn't seem serious so she ignored it. Helena though has felt pain in her neck and wiped some sweat from her forehead. It was cold and she wasn't straining herself so why the sweat? Shaking her head, Hawkeye sat down with a heavy sigh watching the building in front of her.

221b Baker Street. She had passed this street many times without a thought, so when she saw the tall dark pale man enter through the door with said plated numbers gave her the word this was his flat. Within a few days of knowing him, she saw another man enter. Shorter with cute blond hair a limp and dressed in a simple jacket, jumper, and jeans with black shoes. Helena saw he seemed stiff in his stance and walk, was it the limp that caused it. When she recently saw the man again he had no cane or limp, but walked stiffly still. Maybe still recovering, she was no medical person. While watching the flat on her tired days she saw the windows, Helena could easily scale those windows and climb in. The thought made her giggle, what a heart attack to give him to what she could sell in the flat. If anything were of worth to her there.

Hawk gave a thick swallow and stood deciding to scale herself down and walk among the streets. A stumble was in her step but away from the edge thankfully, as she made her way to the fire escape on the side of the building.

Why did he even bother? Should've taken more time to move in but, what choice did he have. Not that he should complain, his flat mate was the most pain in the arse in the world… Well, to him at times. John Watson walked his way back up to Baker Street after texted by Sherlock to meet somewhere. Though when he arrived Sherlock wasn't there, and then texted again saying he was at Bart's and no longer needed. He started this whole helping cases with Sherlock with no trouble, but when Sherlock texted him it drove him up a wall at the sudden drop of a hat.

He looked across the street seeing the flat, he heard noises from a narrow alley. John turned frowning with knotted brows. It sounded like, whimpering, crying? "Hello?" He called, being cautious as well leaning in. "Are you alright?"

Suddenly out of nowhere- thud! John gasped at the sudden drop of someone hitting the pavement. Seeing movement, he rushed to their side finding them to be alive. The body was shivering and having small spasms. A seizer, John thought? No, only the legs and neck are having these. He checked her forehead; fever and high with sweating. Her pulse; rapid heartbeat and difficulty breathing. John noticed a wound on her hand looking a bit infected, then he found the reason for this. With no hesitance Dr. Watson got his mobile out dialing 9-9-9. Like a good doctor, he stayed by the girl crying in pain from the spasms and breathing. He sat her up as gently as he could against the wall and stayed right by her.

Sherlock wasn't one for walks, so he was currently sitting in a cab trying to get a hold of John. He sent about five texts and no response. Surely he was fine, probably ignoring him like he did the other day asking for his laptop that was two feet away from him. He felt the cab jolt a bit and move to the side, Sherlock glanced up at the sound of sirens and saw an ambulance speed right by. It stopped right across from his flat, as he knocked on the glass. "Here's fine." Sherlock informed and climbed out paying the cabbie as he drove off passing the growing scene.

As the tall man strode past, he approached his door taking one final glance. Sherlock did a double take- What was John doing there? He spun and jogged across approaching John who was talking to a paramedic and they rushed out of the back and into the narrow alley. He was more curious than concern if anyone could even mistake that.

"High fever, muscle spasms, rapid heart rate; I'd say tetanus but- Sherlock?" John turned just to see his flatmate arrived with furrowed brows.

"What happened?" He asked mixed between the possible thought something happened to John and this turning to a crime scene right outside the flat. What a calling that would be. But he scanned John over, he was fine so Sherlock diminished that thought.

"I was walking back from your text," Oh so he was still annoyed by that. "And then this.. poor girl fell from above. Almost out of nowhere with muscle spasms."

Maybe Sherlock had walked in right at a becoming crime scene? Eager to see, he moved aside from John to lean in. His grin faded at the sight before him; Hawkeye. He never imagined to run into this girl again but he had, and this was a bizarre way for it to happen. Medical team were gently putting the scrawny ill girl onto the gurney while stimulating her the best they can. The men moved as they rolled her into the truck.

"Thanks." John told with a sigh as the paramedic climbed into the vehicle turning the sirens on and drove down speeding to the hospital. "Well, that was an event." He rubbed the creases in his forehead looking up to Sherlock. He noticed his expression changed a bit from before. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock watched the ambulance take the strange woman away, "Good job, John."

John chewed his lip thinking on his words. "I would say thank you, but the look on your face tells me you mean it in a different way." He licked his lips crossing his arms. "What was good?"

Sherlock glanced down to his medical doctor. "You just caught a criminal." He eyed down the street before turned to cross the street back to the flat.

John frowned with knotted brows confused watching his flatmate walk away. "..Sorry, what?"