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Once home I pulled out my computer, intending to do a plot outline for the next Seamus Haines book. However I found myself opening and internet browser and searching my brother's name.

I got a few haphazard news articles from around the time it happened, then at the bottom of the page was a link to a blog. A blog in the name of John Watson, naturally I clicked it and read the post about my brother and the other ones as well.

John had written up all Sherlock's cases, since they had been living together anyways. He mentioned me in The Blind Banker as he called it, he mentioned that I was Sherlock's date.

"He thinks I fancy him!" I shouted as I read John's analysis of my rickety friendship with his flatmate.

I was perturbed to find his description of me as so flimsy and flaky, willing to follow Sherlock anywhere, I'd need to have a word with him on that.

Oddly enough the more I read of the case about my brother the more it became clear to me, through John's little observations that he thought Sherlock fancied me also. He wrote about the shirt and the fact that I slept on their sofa, he wrote an entire paragraph about Sherlock wishing he hadn't been so insensitive about Carl.

None of Sherlock's comments on any of the posts involving myself acknowledged anything John said. Which could mean he didn't want anyone to think John was right, or he simply couldn't be bothered because it was ridiculously false.

I feared as to which it might be, then chided myself internally; how could I think about my accursed love life when multiple lives were in danger. All because of the person who killed my sweet, kind, innocent brother.

I realized how deeply I was overanalyzing the events of the recent past so I decided to turn in early, still slightly exhausted from the previous night's celebration.

The next day passed as uneventful as they usually did when I wasn't around Sherlock Holmes. I got up from my surprisingly productive marathon writing session around dinner time and wandered into the kitchen to toss a frozen dinner into the microwave.

I heard my phone buzzing, muffled by the pillow it was jammed under, 'I'm sure you don't want to but do you think you could check on Sherlock?'

'If I must' I replied to John's test begrudgingly before heading upstairs, I decided to get it over with before my dinner had cooked.

I heard footsteps before I opened my front door, I pressed my ear against it before opening it and peering through the sliver.

Sherlock's remarkably lithe figure moved to the door, I thought nothing of it and went up to 221B to see if John was in.

Unsurprisingly the door was open, surprisingly no one was in, Sherlock's computer sat open on his armchair. Failing to suppress my nosey nature I looked at the screen. 'Found the Bruce-Partington Plans. Please Collect. The Pool. Midnight.'

I had a feeling I knew exactly which pool he was talking about and who he was meeting there. I ran back to my flat and grabbed a coat before hailing a cab to follow Sherlock, I wanted to meet the man that ruined my family.

Before I could get the attention of a cabbie, I felt a rough grip on my shoulder, I spun around coming face to face with a fist.

I awoke to the smell of chlorine in my nose and feeling all kinds of sore, my body ached where it was touching the hard tiled floor of an unknown room; my body felt heavy. I soon realized the excess mass came from the jacket I was wearing, it was not my own, it was weighted. I opened my eyes to complete darkness, I instinctively tried to move my hands to my face but was unable to move them from behind my back. I felt a dull pain in my wrists which told me I must have been restrained, I struggled but could tell it was a zip tie and I wouldn't get out without something sharp, my ankles were also bound in the same way.

My head throbbed, I was about to ask if anyone was there when I heard a far off but familiar voice.

"Catch you later," Sherlock said slowly, from somewhere far off.

"No you won't!" shouted a high-pitched voice that was decidedly much closer to me. I squeezed my eyes shut as the darkness, which was a black bag, was removed from my line of sight. I squinted up at the figure of a man, a fairly good looking, man, very professional and well-dressed, but his eyes told a different story. There was something familiar about him none the less, however I was unable to place it.

"Carl Powers' little sister, I told them not to hurt your pretty face," he knelt down and stroked the hair framing my face, "You grew up to be a striking young woman, although I suppose you'd have to be to attract Sherlock Holmes."

"You killed him, you killed Carl, I remember you now, you were in the year above me at school, younger than Carl. You were the one who wore floaties in the pool?" I asked, memories flooding my brain.

The man's eye twitched, "He laughed at me."

"You ruined my family," I spat in his face.

He wiped away my spittle with the black bag, "And look how you turned out, comrade of the great Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. Which, mid you, has worked out splendidly for myself, you've made this whole thing that much easier. Little Carl would've been so proud."

I nearly went blind with rage as I struggled against the tie at my wrists, "You bastard! How can you look at me and talk about him, you killed him, he'd barely lived yet and you just took it all away!"

"So emotional, don't know why Sherlock's so found of you, then again, maybe he isn't, let's find out shall we?" he had a crazed look in his eye and his fluctuating pitch of voice was unnerving, but I tried not to show my discomfort.

He rose and pulled a penknife from his pocket, efficiently slicing the tie on my ankles, sensing my anger he moved away quickly as I lashed out a kick aimed for his maniacally pretty face.

"Naughty, naughty," he chided in a sing song voice before grabbing me roughly and dragging me through a nearby doorway.

"Sorry boys, I'm so changeable," he said loudly, pushing me out in front of him, I stumbled dangerously near the pool, before regaining my balance.

"It is a weakness with me but to be fair it is my only weakness," I looked in the direction he was speaking, Sherlock and John stood still as stone.

"Oh do turn around boys, I've brought entertainment," the men turned to face us slowly, me scrabbling on the ground, my hands still tied I squirmed like a tipped over turtle.

John's eyes widened but Sherlock simply stared at the man with the funny voice and the twisted mind.

"I've found little Claire Powers, her death, unlike her brother's won't be quite so mysterious, especially since you both will have the privilege of witnessing it. Rather poetic really, bringing her to die in the pool her brother died in, although I haven't poisoned her, just weighed her down a bit." he smirked before he kicked and I, helplessly handicapped, tipped over the edge into the water. I had just managed to get a breath before I was enveloped by the cool, chemical filled water.

I opened my eyes as I sank to the bottom of the pool, once I landed on the bottom I tried to wriggle free of the jacket. I soon realized the impossibility of this task due to my arms being fastened at the back. I desperately hoped someone would save me, or even shoot me, anything but drowning. I had always wished I would die without knowing it were happening, but I guess that's out of my control now.

I didn't know how much longer I could hold my breath, I was a fairly good swimmer and had a fair lung capacity. However I could feel my constitution fading fast, my chest tightened and my throat started to burn. I knew soon I would slip up and inhale the water surrounding me. Sherlock and John must be dead by now, Carl's killer long gone, and me stuck in the bottom of a pool, terribly aware of my own immanent demise.

I felt the previously still water shift around me, just as my breath finally left me and I felt the chlorine burning it's way into my throat and sinuses. I felt a tug on my wrists as my vision started blackening around the edges.

I felt lighter as my vision blackened completely, I felt buoyant, I must be dying, it wasn't nearly so bad as I had imagined.

Then I felt overwhelming cold, this only confirmed that I must have died, everyone always talked about feeling cold. This must've have been what it felt like to be without a warm body, would I be going to an afterlife or would I just be engulfed into the abyss, I wondered.

My thoughts were interrupted by a painful pressure on my heart, it felt like I was being beaten, I had assumed the pain of dying was over. The pressure continued, racking my entire body, I felt a light, airy sensation filling my mouth.

Immediately I sputtered up the water from my lungs, the liquid drizzling down my soaked chin and neck. I rolled over and heaved and coughed up water, no longer was my head filled with thoughts of death, I was in so much pain I must still be alive, because I assumed that such pain was only possible in life.

"Is she alright?" I heard a comfortingly familiar voice next to me.

"Claire?" A second familiar voice asked, "Claire can you hear me?" John Watson asked from behind me as I breathed heavily.

I rolled back over, John's sweater damp in a few places, concern written throughout his weary face. Sherlock stood drenched behind John, stripped down to his shirt and trousers, he had stopped in the middle of pacing, which he seemed to do when anxious. He immediately walked round and crouched down at my other side, and studied me intently as I lay there exhausted and panting.

"You saved me?" I asked breathily as I turned to face him.

He stared at me, directly into my eyes as only he seemed capable of doing, I was filled with immense surprise at this development in our odd acquaintance. I smiled still weak from my brush with death, "I'd hug you but I'm in a bit of a state," I smiled weakly, Sherlock's stare and slight smile unwavering until John cleared his throat.

"Did he get away?" I demanded, determined not to draw any attention to the moment I just shared with the most frigid and insensitive man I'd ever met.

John looked at me solemnly and nodded, "He was going to kill us all, but..."

"But what?" I asked, trying in vain to sit up, but my lungs and stomach were still burning, so I lay back down.

"But he got a phone call," Sherlock said.

"A phone call..." I repeated, pondering for a moment, "What was his name?"

"He didn't tell you?" Watson furrowed his brows as he stood.

"No I only spoke to him for a moment or two before he brought me out here, and I really don't remember his name from school, I do remember his face though..."

"Moriarty, Jim Moriarty," Sherlock said as he stood and walked over to a nearby bench while John helped me to my feet. I was shivering, my trainers soaked through and squelching with every bit of extra pressure induced on them.

"Here," Sherlock handed his suit jacket to me, because although he was also soaked, he was neither shivering nor wearing so little as myself standing there in a thin black t-shirt.

I wrapped the dry fabric around me tightly and bit down on my lip to stop my teeth chattering.

"So what on Earth are we supposed to do now?" I asked as John slipped off his cardigan and forced me to put it on underneath Sherlock's jacket which did little to silence my chattering teeth.

"We should probably call Lestrade," John said reasonably.

And so we did, I gave my nearly useless statement of what happened, the boys gave their much more interesting ones, and we all finally got to go home.

So there you have it folks! Season all done, not sure what I'll post next, might be some randomness from my own mind or I might just jump forward to Scandal in Belgravia (which has already been started) but either way I'm done with this story yet so stay tuned, I hope to post at least once more by the end of the week :)