"If thou givest him thy hand, he will strike his claws into it."
- Bearskin

Friday 10:00pm, at the Pound Estate
Donovan answered her mobile. "Lestrade? Yeah, I've taken two suspects into custody for attempted murder. Don't have proper names yet, but one goes by Mary, the other by Rosalee. I've got to finish up and take them in. Are you all right without me?"

Meanwhile, at Global Energy Management
"Uh, I suppose," Lestrade replied. "Honestly, I could use you here, but it seems like you've got your own mess. Keep me posted."

He hung up.

Anderson approached him. "Sergeant Riley wants me to tell you they've got descriptions of the accomplices out: white woman, black man, both mid-thirties, both with American accents."

"You think I care about that?" Lestrade said.

Anderson swallowed hard. "No sign of any bodies anywhere in the building, but, whoever they are, they lost too much blood to still be alive. Preliminary typing matches John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

Lestrade bit his lip. "Are you saying... are you telling me that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are both dead?"

Anderson nodded. "DNA will take at least a day. But, yes. It's looking as if... they're gone."

Thirty-six hours previously...

Thursday 10:00am
"This isn't what I expected," Nick said conversationally as they arrived at a townhouse. "Very suburban."

"I double checked. This is the address Monroe sent me," Rosalee replied.

She knocked on the door. A woman with blond hair answered.

"Hi, John and Sherlock asked us to come here."

"Yes, they phoned about you. Come on in. My name's Mary by the way."

She ushered them into a lovely living room.

"Sorry, they're not here yet, spot of traffic. Would you like something to eat?"

"Uhm, sure," Rosalee said. "Thank you."

"Can I use your bathroom?" Juliette asked.

"Just upstairs. And I'll get some biscuits," Mary said.

Nick watched as Juliette went up the stairs. "How mad is she, Rosalee?"

"Believe me. She's hiding most of it."

"I'm guessing you're not happy with me, either."

"That depends. What have you done?"

"I was trying to protected you. All of you."

"Not that. When I woged, I saw you. You look like a Bi-oju."

"Is that an insult?"

"Bi-oju are Wesen, so unless Grimms grow long ears and big eyes in their mid-thirties, you've taken something."

Nick hesitated. "I couldn't go to you about it without bringing you in on the whole thing, so – "

"No, you couldn't go to me about it because I wouldn't have let you do something so stupid! What was it? Did you get a shot of commutatio? Saturate yourself in nube aquam? There are safer ways to conceal the fact that you're a Grimm. Don't even get me started your choice to pretend to be a Bi-oju!"

"It's not like that. It wasn't just the concealment. I did this Grimm ritual called Bone Song. And if Bi-oju is a kind of big-eyed rabbit, than one of them helped me put the ingredients together. I had no idea I'd wind up looking like one."

"Bone Song isn't safe," Rosalee said. "It can cause dizziness, hallucinations, mania – "

"I'm fine," Nick interrupted.

"Here we are," Mary said as she put down a tray of sandwiches. "So, what trouble have you gotten yourselves into? Must be pretty interesting if you've involved those two."

The bell rang.

"Why is he ringing the bell to his own home?" Mary asked as she went to the door.

There was a lot of noise, then a general movement up the stairs. Monroe and Sherlock came into the living room.

"Sebastian Cane. Or is it Nick?" Sherlock asked.

"Nick is fine," Nick replied. "Is there some reason you asked us to meet you here?"

"Well, you're not going to believe this, but this guy here is a consulting detective. He and his partner have a client that is being poisoned to make it look like long-term illness. And it's apparently connected to this whole Reinhiet thing," Monroe replied.

"They know about that?" Nick asked.

"We explained some of it to them," Rosalee replied. She whispered to him, "They're not Wesen."

John, Hank, and Juliette came down the stairs with Mary.

"We're all here. Good," John said.

"Are we sure we can trust these people?" Nick asked.

"I checked them out," Hank said. "They work with Scotland Yard. Apparently they closed a case involving a werewolf and another one involving a display of skulls. And that was just this month."

"It's us who should be concerned," John said. "We don't know anything about you."

Nick replied, "This is my girlfriend, and these are my closest friends. You can trust them like you trust me."

"And how's that?" Sherlock asked.

"I did save your life," Nick pointed out. "And you apparently stole my phone to thank me."

"There was hardly time for introductions."

"Let's watch the footage," John suggested. "See how are cases are connected."

Thursday 4:00pm

After watching the security footage, Mary and John set up three whiteboards in the living room. Rosalee and Monroe sketched out the impacts of the Reinheit and the Reife, or as much as they could without mentioning Wesen. John marked up the other board with information about the most recent cases in London.

The third board was still a bit bare:

ELIZABETH POUND (Aluminum toxicity / NSAID)
Physician: Dr. Homer Salyer
Acting guardian: Sarah Brewster, Sr. Associate at Gomez and Jung

Beneath that there were two columns, one titled 'Sir Alvin Thomas Wimble' and the other 'Susan Gamble / The Tally Maker.'

"We're missing something," Nick said. "If this Reinhiet is really killing anyone who steps outside their definition of pure, then there must be thousands of potential targets."

"Sure, but it's not like they can just, you know, slaughter all of us," Monroe said. "And by 'us,' I clearly mean, people who come from a specific heritage."

Silence fell.

Sherlock had his attention fixed on a computer screen; he was watching and re-watching the security footage.

Juliette spoke up, "I know both these murders happened at the same time and in the same place, but other than that, they don't seem connected. They were even killed by different people with completely different weapons."

Sherlock grunted twice.

"Use your words," John said quietly.

"It's obvious, once you factor in this footage."

"What about it?" Hank asked.

"John and I made a copy of this footage yesterday, approximately five hours after the murder. We made the copy from the central security desk, naturally when no one was looking."

"So you broke in to make this copy?" Monroe asked. "Awesome."

"Indeed," Sherlock said. His expression made it clear that he was unsure what to make of Monroe. "The footage is especially interesting because, first and foremost, it shouldn't exist at all. This entire capture was done inside of a guest's room. A hotel like the Cypress Celeste couldn't maintain its current clientele with this level of spying. Not to mention the angle of the camera. It's placed on an awkward angle and fails to afford a clear view of the room, complete rubbish for any kind of security, but for capturing the unique nature of this double homicide, it's perfect. The frame captures the corner of the window shattered by the sniper bullet as well as the small area here used for the stabbing. Conclusion: The security company added a camera to this room specifically for capturing these murders. How do I know the security company is involved? Quite simple: the security desk treated this feed as if it were just another camera, clever if you're a security company that tailors to special need clients. This new recording is handled just like any other, which means no one else gains access without a court order – "

"Unless they break in," John mumbled.

"Correct. Barring a break in, they would retain complete control, and in the event of any legal obligation, they supplement this feed with another camera, brand it a redundant duplicate or something to that effect. Which means this footage was captured for a reason. Someone, or multiple someones, at the Revolver Security Company recorded this double homicide. Given that the bodies were pretty clear confirmation, what possible reason could there be for also wanting to record the murders themselves? Certainly it proves the event, but it's far more likely the footage was intended to implicate someone else in the crime."

"That doesn't add up," Rosalee said. "The entire purpose of the Reinhiet is to send a message. To scare people into behaving like they want. A group like that wouldn't cover up their own work. It'd be counter productive."

"When you don't want a crime to be discovered, you have several options," Sherlock said. "You can pay people off. Only works if you have unlimited money. You can hide the crimes, making people disappear rather than killing them. Obviously that's not the case here."

"Stop saying 'obviously,'" John said. "Nothing you're saying is obvious!"

"Actually, what he's saying right now is just common sense," Monroe said. "I mean, we've already confirmed one assassin pretending to be a serial killer. Maybe that's what this werewolf and head-collector dude were doing. Killing specific targets for money, but shaping their crimes so everyone thinks they're these crazy bananas serial killers as opposed to, you know, stone cold killers who are in it for the money. What? It's not that far off."

"All right, let's say that is the case. How would that change things?" Hank asked.

"Another way to hide your crimes is to use a patsy. Arguably, something like that is happening here. Have your hit men pretend to be serial killers, and even if they are captured or identified, the authorities – and I do use that word loosely – believe they're chasing the wrong kind of killer. Brilliant cover. But, in this case, there is another method for handling multiple crimes: using a facade."

"Facade?" Nick asked.

"All this nonsense," Sherlock said, waiving his hand at the Reinhiet/Reife whiteboard, "is based on the idea that these two German-named factions are involved. It's the perfect distraction. It confuses people who are unfamiliar with the dichotomy and clearly inspires panic for those who are invested in the matter. It's like a magic trick. We're all looking over there and miss what's right here."

Sherlock produced three wallets.

"Oi, that's mine," John said.

"It was a demonstration," Sherlock replied.

"Gotta say, I'm loving the idea of abandoning all this," Hank said. "That leaves simple motives: money, power, revenge, love."

"What is it like in your heads? It must be so quiet," Sherlock said. "Think!"

Nick sat up. "You told us that Wimble thought his sister was being poisoned."

"Uh, yeah," John replied.

"They weren't being very stealthy about it," Juliette said. "I mean, since he figured it out."

"He didn't," Nick said. "He knew she was being poisoned, but he probably just didn't know what kind of poison. She's his only living relative, and she and her husband were immensely successful in business. Now, the estate has the kind of money that buys private islands."

"You think he was being blackmailed?" Hank asked.

"Blackmailed or leveraged," Nick replied. "If she died outright, he'd inherit everything. Probably. He's her only living relative. So killing her wouldn't be a good option."

"But if she lost mental status, then someone else takes over her legal estate, and even her medical care in absence of a legal guardian," John said. "There's got to be easier ways to blackmail somebody."

"Let's assume for a moment, however, that that is exactly what happened," Sherlock said. "According to our violent American friends, this Susan Gamble was unhappy with her employers. The reason isn't important. Now we have two unhappy international business people meeting. Is it a social engagement or two disgruntled employees plotting revenge?"

"That would only be true if they were both employed by the same group," Rosalee added. "And the Reife would never do that. If they had any chance at getting an ally, they would've."

"That's actually true. The Reife are many things, but they are not a stab or shoot first, then ask questions later kinda group. They're more of a beg, borrow, and blackmail kinda set up," Monroe said. "They'd wanna make friends with disgruntled members of the Reinhiet, or at least an alliance. Making them dead would be a waste."

Nick's mind was drowning in information. Maybe Rosalee was right about the Bone Song ritual; his head felt like it was made of water, running all over the place. His eyes drifted to the hallway. His mother was there, carrying the quadrant mask.

"Don't let them fool you, Nicky."

He blinked. She vanished, but her words from the Bone Song ritual whispered in his mind: 'Some fight in the name of an ideal... merely a veneer, means to achieve whatever ends they wish.' It was like his brain could finally make the connections he missed.

"He's right," Nick said suddenly.

"What?" Juliette asked.

"Sherlock, he's right," he said again. "They figured out that Susan Gamble and this Wimble guy wanted to take them down, so they decided to take care of them first, pinning everything on their so-called opposition. It gives the Reinhiet momentum. It also explains HOW..."

Nick's excitement was making him somewhat inarticulate.

So Juliette continued for him, "You mean, they used a sniper to kill Gamble because of how dangerous she was."

Hank nodded. "She's taken down guys three times her size and people with advanced combat experience. The only way to take her out would be to get her by surprise and, with any luck, at a very long distance. This Wimble guy wasn't an assassin. Right?"

"International business consultant," John said. "Only things he killed were jobs and hopes."

"None of this is what we think it is," Nick said as absolute certainty dawned on him. "Elizabeth Pound was being poisoned for control of her estate just as much for control of her brother. This isn't some entrenched prejudice rearing its ugly head."

"It's greed," Sherlock said. "Simple, really."

"You're making some big leaps," Hank said.

"Obvious deductions," Sherlock corrected.

"Please don't push it, he'll never shut up," John whispered to Hank.

"Whoever's doing this doesn't give a damn about purity or bloodlines. They're using the Reinheit to cover their tracks and goad support," Nick said.

"Oh, man!" Monroe said. "It's like the Crusades, or any other war fought in the name of religion. The goal of those wars was material: access to rare goods, control of the Holy Land, and in general, power and money. Yeah, plenty of soldiers and key players did actually believe they were doing good work in the name of God, but kings and queens and, you know, leaders in general have exploited those beliefs. They claim their agendas were what God wants, so it justifies bloodshed and destruction. It was like generating good PR back in the day, before that kind of thing had a name, or acronym as the case may be."

"But how do we prove it?" Juliette asked. "We'd need something pretty solid to tie them to any of these murders."

"And we need a who. Don't forget that," John added.

"Once we got a who," Hank said, "I think I've got an idea how to get this guy without running down a paper trail or waiting for the next body to drop. We'd be coloring outside the lines, but after this conversation, I'm thinking that's not too much of problem."

"I'd say," Mary replied.

"Aluminum poisoning," Rosalee said suddenly.

"Yeah, Molly did up the blood results," John said. "Also had a lot of NSAIDs in her system. Inhibits renal function so she can't pass the excess aluminum."

Rosalee said, "A form of aluminum is used to purify water supplies. Basically, it attracts and binds to organic elements, creating a sediment that can be removed with filtration. But traces of the aluminum are left in the water. If you wanted to subject someone to elevated aluminum levels on a continuous basis, that would be the way to do it."

"Oi, we could prove that," Mary said. "All we'd need is some chemicals and a few cameras."

"Even if it only gives us a minion, we could flip'em," Hank said.

"Do Americans always talk like that?" John asked.

"Do British people always talk like him?" Hank asked, pointing to Sherlock.

Friday 2:00am, at the Pound Estate...

Lawrence Creevey hadn't had such an odd day in all his life, and he wasn't sure he could take much more.

He rang up the normal line at Gomez and Jung.

"Yes, is Mrs. Brewster there?" he asked.

"Sorry, sir, she's out for the night."

"Well, listen, please. I've had to move Mrs. Pound to her summer home. Seems like some vandals have mucked up all the plumbing in the central wing, and till they're caught, I can't risk it. So wherever she is, will you please call her and tell her?"

"Yes, sir, I'll make sure she gets the message."

"Also," he said, "if there's someone on hand, I need authorization for a sizeable fund. For the repairs."

"I'll send these through. You should hear back by tomorrow."

Creevey hung up.

Meanwhile, at Global Energy Management...

Hank and Monroe waited outside the building, watching the members of Revolver Security Company.

"So this company pays off mass murderers?" Monroe asked. "It looks so normal."

"Payments to the werewolf guy, head collector, Wimble, and the Tally Maker trace back to subsidiaries of this company."

"I got some food," Juliette said as she got in.

"Really?" Monroe asked. "Oh, veggie steak."

"And burger," Juliette said to Hank. "You get anything?"

"They run a pretty tight ship. A lot of their guys smoke on a regular schedule, too," Hank said.

"They use security keys," Monroe said. "Actually, the whole building relies on them. I thought we could just grab one off a guy, but they turn in their cards whenever they leave the building."

"Even when they smoke," Hank said. "Like I said, tight ship."

"Turn them in where?" Juliette asked.

"Front desk," Monroe said with his mouth slightly full.

"Huh. Thanks. I'll be back in a few hours."

Friday 8:00am, at the Pound Estate...

Rosalee and Mary squirreled away in a large room that the Pound Estate used as a storage closet.

"It's been a long time since I've done surveillance," Mary said.

"You've done it before?" Rosalee asked.

"Well, nothing fancy. But, yeah, I did a bit. It was a real bore. Better to talk about it than actually do."

"I've recently found myself involved in investigations," Rosalee said. "Putting things together. Figuring them out. Setting up details to spy on people. It's..."

"Infuriating."

"Maddening."

"And so much fun."

"And oddly satisfying."

Mary asked, "You've not always been on the right side of the law, have you?"

"Uh, no. I had trouble with that," Rosalee replied.

"Me, too."

Someone new appeared on one of the feeds.

"Hey, who is that?" Rosalee asked. "She's in Creevey's office."

"Dunno. She doesn't look like house staff, does she?"

A few seconds ago, in the office...

Steven knocked on the office door. "Mr. Creevey?"

"Yes, Steven?"

"Miss Emily Dalton is here," Steven said. "She wants a word."

"Send her in."

Emily Dalton, an elegant woman in a fine suit, walked into the office. Usually the same lawyer, Sarah Brewster, handled everything, but she often mentioned Emily with deference.

"So sorry to hear about the mishap," Dalton said. "I see you didn't call the police."

"I thought our own security would deal with it without all the scandal."

"You've come around to my methods," Dalton said with a smile. "A year ago, you'd've run straight to the Yard."

"I would have done, yeah."

"The plumbers are here to fix the pipes. I made sure the repairs were paid for by a fund separate from the normal estate management."

"Thank you."

Dalton continued, "Apparently our teenage pranksters are well-versed in chemistry. They wrapped water-soluble pills around a corrosive chemical and dropped them into the water system. Each one flowed down the pipes till they got caught up at a water filter. Melted straight through the pipe, the filter, and anything near it."

"That's something," Creevey repied. "Creative, even."

"Well, I just came to tell you that we've gotten all the information. We'll find who did this. And, thank you for trusting us to handle this. We're better than the police. You should go and check on Elizabeth. She hasn't got any company."

"Right, I will, thanks."

Emily wiped her mouth, as if the corner of her lips were dry. Then she went closer to him and took his hand.

"Lawrence. I know we've had our differences, but you and I, we have so much in common. Maybe we could be more than just coworkers one day."

She reached up and touched his face.

Creevey stepped back. "You're right, I should get going. Good day."

Meanwhile, in the supply closet...

Rosale and Mary watched as the woman batted her eyes at Creevey, but he didn't respond to her flirting.

The woman woged.

Mary didn't react, so Rosalee bit her tongue.

Whoever this woman was, she was also a Musai. When she wiped her mouth, she collected the psychotropic secretions on her hand, so when she touched Creevey, she infected him.

"Damn," Rosalee whispered. "That's not good."

"What?" Mary asked.

"Sherlock said something about Creevey and Elizabeth, right?" Rosalee asked. "I kind of... drifted off when he was speaking. A few times."

"He said that he didn't think this was a case at one point because Creevey dated Elizabeth before she became ill. Thought he was just in denial."

"Because he loved her?"

"Sherlock would never say that," Mary said. "But it was implied."

Rosalee fumbled for her phone.

Friday 9:30pm, at the Pound Estate...

Donovan hated house calls, especially when they involved estates that had more money than the entire country. But Lestrade pulled rank, and she wound up in something called a 'port room' of the Pound Estate with a woman staring daggers at her.

"I'm Sergeant Donovan," she said. "Would you please give me your name?"

"Emily Marie Dalton," the woman replied.

"Can you tell me why you're here at the Pound Estate tonight, ma'am?"

"I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

"You were concerned?"

Dalton nodded. "Mrs. Pound is very ill. And her brother died just this week. I can only imagine how hard it's been."

"Did you know about the vandalism to the plumbing?" she asked. "Or the pipe repairs?"

"Oh, I expedited the repairs, if that's what you mean."

"And while you were doing that, did you by chance lend a hand yourself?" Donovan asked. "Maybe install customized filters?" She held up a water purifier.

"Technically, that's a purifier."

"Did you install it?" Donovan asked. "It's a simple question."

"Even if I did, there's nothing wrong with adding a water purifier."

"According to Mr. Creevey, the reason Mrs. Pound has been ill is that she's been poisoned," Donovan replied. "He says this filter proves you're the one who did it."

"Sergeant Donovan," Dalton said. "I'm no doctor, but I'm fairly certain you can't give someone Alzheimer's or Parkinson's."

"Did you install this?" Donovan asked.

Creevey burst into the room, dragging two women in by their elbows.

"No, she didn't!" he said loudly. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, but these two are the ones who were tampering with the water supply. Their names are Rosalee and Mary."

Friday, 10:00pm, at the Pound Estate...

"Sorry, just to be clear," Donovan said. "You don't know these two women, apart from their first names. According to you, they were trying to frame Miss Dalton for poisoning Mrs. Pound."

"That's right," Creevey said. "Emily is too beautiful to be a criminal."

Donovan wondered if Creevey was high; then again, love could do that to you. She shrugged. "All right, just a few more questions – "

"No more questions!" Creevey interrupted. "You need to arrest these two... people and leave Emily and I be!"

"Excuse me," Steven said. "I know it's a bit crowded in here, but, uh, Dr. Amulya Shastri is here."

"Who is that?" Donovan asked.

"She's brought Mrs. Elizabeth Pound back from hospital," Steven said. "And she'd like a word."

"Dr. Shastri?" Donovan asked.

"No, uh, Mrs. Pound."

"That can't be right," Dalton said. "Mrs. Pound is very ill. Sometimes she can't speak. Most of the time she's not of a clear mind."

"I assure you, Mrs. Pound is in her right mind," Dr. Shastri said as she pushed a wheelchair in. "Though she still needs some help walking."

She helped Elizabeth Pound to her feet.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit shaky," Elizabeth said quietly. "But I assure you, I'm quite sane, Miss Dalton."

"That's good to hear," Donovan said. "I was called in to arrested the people who were poisoning your water. Apparently it was these two."

"Lawrence," Elizabeth said. "Is that true? Did these two strangers poison me?"

She walked over to him, clumsily and slowly, and nearly collapsed. Creevey caught her. It was like confusion was fighting to break out of his eyes; his face seemed wracked with guilt.

"I missed you," she whispered.

He nearly cried.

"It's her," Creevey said. "That... woman, Emily Dalton."

"You've now accused her twice," Donovan said. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"We have proof," Rosalee spoke up. "Or, I mean, he does."

"Does he now?"

"Yes, security feeds," Mary said. "Got her on tape installing those filters. The feed is uploaded to a secure cloud, but he has access."

"Now that I can use," Donovan said. "Come on, I'm taking you in, Miss Dalton. And you two, I'll need statements. And full names."

Rosalee put her hand on Donovan's shoulder. "You don't know me. You've no reason to trust me. But whatever you do, don't let her touch your skin or kiss you."

"Trust me when I say, I won't."

She handcuffed Emily and got her to her feet.

Elizabeth turned to Mary and Rosalee. "Would you please thank Dr. Hooper for me? She's the one, right?"

"Hooper?" Donovan repeated in disbelief.

Dr. Shastri replied, "She was treating Mrs. Pound for aluminum poisoning. She also counteracted some of the unnecessary medications to speed her recovery. She's got a long road ahead, but it looks good."

"It was actually Dr. Watson," Rosalee said. "Mr. Creevey hired him and his partner to investigate. They discovered the illness."

Donovan nearly bit through her tongue.

"I shoulda known," she said as she walked Dalton out. "This whole thing has 'Sherlock Holmes' written all over it."

Friday 5:00pm, at Global Energy Management...

Juliette and Nick walked to the front desk of Global Energy Management dressed to the nines.

"Hi, Carol," Juliette said politely reading her name tag. "We're here for the fundraiser."

"Ah, right this way," Carol replied as she led them over to the elevators. "Mind, it's already started. But we don't have any issue with a fashionable entry."

She used her card to activate the elevator and then pushed the button for the sixteenth floor.

"It's straight down the hall in front of you," she said. "Have a good evening."

A minute ago at Global Energy Management...

Just as Carol walked away to take Nick and Juliette to the elevator, Sherlock and John slipped behind the desk, where a large metal lockbox was bolted to the floor. It had an old skeleton keyhole.

"I knew it," Sherlock whispered. "A bump key would be completely useless for this safe. An exact match is required."

"Oh, great, then what're we doing?" John asked.

Sherlock produced a skeleton key and unlocked it.

"How did you – "

"Not now, John! Hurry!"

They quickly emptied the contents of the safe: nearly a hundred security cards.

Just as they made it around to the other side of the desk, Carol returned.

"Sorry, can I help you?" she asked.

"Just a bit lost, sorry," John replied.

They left, and on their way out, they nodded to Hank and Monroe, who were decked out in full security uniforms.

"Looks like we're on schedule," Sherlock said. "It appears that our odd American friends are more than just hammers. One of them acquired this skeleton key from our would-be assassin two days ago."

"Cheers."

Friday 9:00pm, at Global Energy Management...

"Sir. Mr. Emmons," a security guard said.

"Yes, what?"

"We just received a call from our contact at the Yard," the guard said. "He believes your life is in immediate danger. We need to get you to safety. We have a car ready for you, and I can escort you now."

"No, no," Emmons replied. "I'm not going anywhere for some possible threat."

"The police are on their way to apprehend a suspect that is in this building," the guard said. "Please, sir, it's our job to keep you safe."

Emmons looked out at the busy ballroom. The fundraiser had been going so well.

"Sir?" the guard prompted.

"I'll go with you, but not to the car. I've a panic room in my office on the top floor. Take me there."

"Yes, sir."

Emmons exited his party and followed the guard to the executive elevator. He activated the door and the keypad with his security badge.

"I didn't think security had access to this lift," Emmons said.

"With an imminent threat on your life, we are afforded more access," the guard replied professionally. "I assure you, it's only in emergency cases."

"It's not a criticism," Emmons replied. "Just an... observation."

And they headed up to the fortieth floor. The entirety of the floor served as the Emmons' executive office suite.

The doors open and the guard started him down the hall.

The sound of something heavy falling echoed.

The guard doubled back to Emmon's desk.

"I'll clear the floor," the guard said. "Make sure no one else is here. And I've already locked the lift."

"Thank you," Emmons said.

The guard disappeared down the hall toward the panic room. Emmons sat behind his desk.

Suddenly, the wall behind him lit up, like a projection was thrown there. He adjusted so he could see it better. It was a film; there was no audio. It was hard to make out at first... but by the end, it was clear. A man and woman were killed. The footage repeated, silently.

"Ah, good, you're here," someone said.

"Who're you?" Emmons asked.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"That'd be a good start, yes."

"I'm John Watson, if you're interested."

"Get the hell out of my office! The police are on their way!"

"No, sorry," Sherlock said.

"But your life is in danger. Mostly your fault, of course, but all the same," John said.

"What are you on about?"

"For the past eighteen months, you have been funding the executions of your competitors across the world. Obviously, your resources have enabled you to cover your tracks, but your last little stunt was a bit of an overreach. The Reinhiet might not mind you using them as a bullet shield, but the Reife won't just let you get away with framing them for these murders."

"I've never heard of any of that," Emmons said, but he was clearly lying. "And I've never had anyone murdered!"

"You recognize this man?" John asked. "The one stabbed in this film? His name is Alvin Wimble. Until recently, he acted as a business advisor to your international branches. He came back here to help his sister."

"Yeah, I know who Alvin Wimble was," Emmons said. "We had to wrestle him away from our competitors. That move got me into this office – "

"Two years ago," Sherlock said. "CEO of Global Energy Management. Such a high position. It's a wonder you managed it with just one hire."

The projection turned off and the lights banged on, full blast.

"Put your hands up!" the security guard yelled, riffle at the ready.

John and Sherlock threw up their hands.

"Listen to me," John said. "This man has been funding hit men. He's been killing his competition, literally."

"Don't bother John. This man is just a foot soldier. Just following orders," Sherlock said.

"Shut up!" Emmons said. "What are you waiting for, kill them!"

"Get behind me, sir," the guard said.

Emmons ran behind the guard.

"See. He wants you to shoot us, even though we're not armed," John said. "Because we know what he's been up to. If you have us arrested, then the police will talk to us. We'll tell them everything. He can't have that."

"Shoot them!" Emmons shouted.

"Sir, they're not armed."

"They came here to kill me!"

"But they don't have the means to do it. I can only use deadly force to save a life," the guard replied.

"Maybe you can," Emmons said.

He grabbed the riffle and shoved the guard away.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Sherlock and John both crashed to the floor.

Friday 9:30pm, at Global Energy Management...

"How much longer till the police are here?" Emmons asked.

"They should be here by now," the guard replied. "Sir, please. We can claim this as self-defense. I just need you to get to the panic room until they arrive."

"No, no! Don't you get it? This is what they want. This office turned into a crime scene. Suddenly everything in it is evidence."

"Sir, they're dead," the guard said. "We can't hide this."

"No! No!" Emmons yelled. He grabbed the gun and pointed it at the guard.

"Sir, it's the law."

Pop! Pop!

The guard joined the other bodies on the floor. Emmons could figure that out, no problem, but he couldn't leave everything as-is in his private office.

So he scrambled for papers, thumb drives, and files from around his office. He banded them together with clips and rubber bands.

He glanced over at the lifeless bodies turning his carpet red. The bastards.

With that, he ran to the panic room.

He nearly crashed into two people. One was in a beautiful gown; he remembered seeing her at the party. The other was in a security uniform.

"Who are you?"

"That's not really important," the woman said. "What is important is that we just had a peek in your panic room. There wasn't much. I'm guessing that that packet has what we're looking for."

"Get the hell out of my office!"

"Trust me sir," the man said. "You don't want us to do that."

"And why not?"

"Because we have this."

The woman produced a tablet with a movie loaded. She pressed play.

'I can only use deadly force to save a life.'

'Maybe you can.'

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

"Seems like you've got a problem," the man said. "Now, you can take your chances and give us those files. Maybe we can pin something on you, maybe you can't. But if you don't, we'll take this definite murder charge and send it to the Yard."

"It was self-defense," Emmons said.

"Hesitation. That was hesitation, wasn't it?" the woman said to the man. He nodded in agreement. "See the reason you hesitated is because the guard with the gun wouldn't shoot them. They weren't putting your life in danger anymore. They were unarmed. That's the beauty of capturing audio. You knew they weren't putting you in danger. Then you basically admitted to having evidence of criminal activity in your office."

"That's pretty bad," the man added. "And that's not even including you gunning down the guard on top of that. That's only a few minutes later on this video."

"So this is our offer. We give you the sole copy of the triple homicide for that packet," she said. "Take it or leave it."

"Ya hear those sirens?" the man asked. "Police are here."

Emmons glowered but handed over the packet. The woman handed him the tablet.

"I'll figure out who you are. And I'll come for you."

He went into his panic room and locked the door.

Friday 9:57pm, at Global Energy Management...

Hank and Juliette rushed into the main office.

"Cutting it close," Hank said. "We've got something like four minutes before the police get up to this floor."

The security guard stood up and shook it off; he pulled off the stupid had that came with the uniform.

"Hey, you look like you again," Juliette said.

"Is it the blood?" Nick asked. "It suits this uniform."

"Guys, this is a nice moment, but we need to finish this," Hank said.

Nick grabbed Sherlock's arms; Hank grabbed John's.

"Mind the sockets!" John hissed. "Hurry up, my blood bladder is nearly empty!"

"How was my British accent?" Nick asked as he pulled Sherlock to the office stairwell.

"Dreadful," Sherlock replied.

John said, "Being dead for a minute is one thing. Playing dead for thirty minutes is quite another."

"They're not gonna be able to get that stain off the floor," Hank said.

"Quite all right," Sherlock said. "The very least that man deserves is an exorbitant cleaning fee."

"Monroe is handling all the security equipment, but he may need a hand," Juliette said. "The bags and spare cloths are in the stairwell. Meet you down in the parking lot?"

"You bet," Nick said.

Juliette gave him a kiss goodbye.

"Touching," Sherlock said.

"Oh, this is yours," Juliette said to John as she handed off the packet she took from Emmons.

"This is everything he took from his desk?" John asked.

"Give us a few minutes, we can burn a disk of him frantically gathering everything," Hank said. "But we'd have to crop part of your dead body out of the frame, Sherlock."

"Wonderful. Can we go? How did you even get me to agree to this?" Sherlock asked.

"That's what I've been asking you all this time," John said.

Saturday 10:00am, 221 B Baker Street

The bell rang.

Again.

"Just a minute," Mrs. Hudson said. "Boys! You've a guest!"

Mary and John straightened up on the sofa. Sherlock was too busy with his violin to notice.

Lestrade came up the stairs.

"You bastards," he said. "You utter arses!"

"Sorry, we haven't met, I'm Mary."

"Mary. I'm Greg. You've met my partner, Sally Donovan."

"Ah, she was lovely."

"Sorry, you were saying we were asses?" John asked. "Any particular reason?"

"For one, you've not answered either of your phones for the past twelve hours."

"That was me," Sherlock said. "I was verifying an alibi. It required a landline phone and no fewer than seven mobile phones, only three of which could be burners. They had to be networked together to generate a concentrated burst of electricity. I'm afraid John and Mary sacrificed most of their portable electronic devices to my endeavor."

"Is that what happened to my MP3 player?" John asked indignantly.

"Don't act like you don't know," Lestrade said. "I thought you were dead."

"Again?" Sherlock asked.

"Really. So you're not going to admit to anything that happened at Global Energy Management?"

"You have anything in mind?" John asked.

"The CEO believes he shot both of you. And this morning, several incriminating files showed up at the Yard. Copies were sent directly to the doorstep of me and dozens of news reporters."

Sherlock replied, "Sounds like a terrible American action film."

"Fine, what about this case you worked on," Lestrade asked.

"Oh, that'd be Elizabeth Pound," John said.

"Lovely lady. Horrible what happened to her," Mary said.

"Her brother was killed. She was being poisoned. We intervened," Sherlock said. "Molly confirmed with blood work and shipped her off to a proper doctor. And as I understand it, Donovan caught the culprit red-handed."

"And that's it?" Lestrade asked. "So it just so happens that Emily Dalton, the PA to Darien Emmons, CEO of Global Energy Management, was the one poisoning Elizabeth Pound, your client, around the same time Darien Emmons says he's just had to shoot you and John in his office."

"That is strange," Mary said. "But let's be honest. Anyone can put on a funny hat and long coat and pretend to be Sherlock Holmes these days."

"Shut up," Sherlock said.

"So, the three of you are just, sitting here, having tea. Not answering your phones," Lestrade said. "If I searched your flat, would I find anything from Emmons or Global Energy Management?"

"In this mess?" John asked. "Good luck. Ever since I moved out, I can't find a thing here."

"Fine, then just tell me, who the hell are these people?" Lestrade said.

He produced several sketches: Rosalee, Nick, Juliette, and Hank.

"That's Rosalee," Mary said. "She's handy. Works at the Pound Estate."

"No, she doesn't."

"Oh, that's what she told me," Mary said.

"And you two?" Lestrade said. "You know any of these people?"

"No, sorry."

"Boring."

"I gotta say, this was the greatest vacation we've ever taken," Monroe said. "I mean, we've got intrigue. And London. And – "

"Hours of surveillance. Breaking and entering. Nearly inciting an all-out war between the Reife and the Reinhiet," Rosalee said. "Yeah, it was kind of amazing."

"Next time, Paris," Monroe said.

"Hawai'i is better," Hank offered. "Just sayin'."

A few rows back, Juliette stared out the window. Nick tried to catch her eye.

"Juliette," he said. "I'm... I am sorry. I know this whole thing has been a mess. And that's my fault. But if you - "

"Shut up," she interrupted quietly. "I'm going to talk now."

"Okay."

"I get why you couldn't tell me about being a Grimm," she said. "I remember when you finally tried. I thought you'd lost your mind. But it's weird. Since I was in the coma and lost my memory, that one, when it did come back, seemed like it wasn't mine. Like it belonged to someone else. So I get it, Nick. I remember how bad it was. But I also remember what it was like to forget you. To feel like I had lost my mind because one person had been erased from my life and I couldn't figure out why."

"Juliette, I – "

"I'm talking now," Juliette said. "Now that I know what I know, I don't want to forget. And you cannot protect me by leaving me in the dark. If you haven't learned that by now, I don't know what has to happen to make you see it."

"I don't want to leave you in the dark, but sometimes, sometimes being a Grimm is like having a giant neon bulls eye on me, and I don't want it getting on you."

"Too bad," she said. "That's what it's gonna take from now on. If you and I are going to work, then I'm standing in the middle of that bulls eye with you, and I'm the one who decides when I step out. And if you lie to me the way you die last week... I will. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do," Nick said. "I never wanted to put you in any danger. But from now on, I promise... you'll know what I know. When I know it."

She put her hand over his.

"We stopped an international conspiracy," she said.

"We did."

"And saved a woman from being poisoned."

"Yeah, that too."

"And managed to break into a multimillion dollar company."

"I guess we did."

"I'm saying we did it together," she said. "Imagine what we'll do next."