"Finished your rounds, Pleasance?"

Alice nodded while blinking sleep from her heavy eyes. She had been elbow deep in a murder-case's chest cavity just moments ago. The boss stretched, ready to go home and sleep. "Crazy murder streak this week, hm?" He groaned.

"Mm." she replied quietly. Dr. Jones helped her put up the cleaned equipment.

There had been a handful of killings in five days; a victim rolling into the morgue every morning. Alice grimaced about the obvious chain that had wrapped itself around the corpses. Each one of their heads were either decapitated or bashed in beyond facial study. It must have been a level 4 serial killer. And that was worrisome. The British Rule did it's best to keep all level 4's under surveillance until they leveled down or met their end. If a level 4 was walking around the streets hidden, people were in danger.

"Better be careful, Pleasance, this 'Horseman' is out for our heads." Her boss commented with a weary chuckle. Alice nodded, taking the warning more seriously. It was off-putting.

"One emergency rescue doctor, one oncologist, a pediatrician, and two independent Biotechnicians," Sherlock cut in.

"How did you know?"

"I've seen the case files. You were the one that took the pictures for me, it seems."

"Small world." John said.

"Indeed. The press has dubbed the killer as 'The Horseman' now, has it? Preposterous."

"Catchy." The other man chimed. Sherlock rolled his eyes but Alice made note of the small smile that tugged at the man's lips for a small moment.

"May I continue?" Alice asked. Patience was a virtue but the woman didn't feel she had the time.

"Please." Sherlock waved his hand her way.

She was cleaning her hands in hot water and soap for the third time. The older doctor shook his head before grabbing his coat, the clutter of pens tapping against each other in his pocket.

"I'm going to get some ginger ale from the break-room. Do you want to share a glass with me before you leave?" he asked.

Alice shook her head, turning the left dial to make the water hotter. "I'm tired. I'll be going home after I'm done here." She replied, giving a smile. The doctor nodded and headed out.

She had been a full-time mortician for two years, yet the feeling of contamination seeping into her skin was always there. The young woman had not planned to play the role but the Career Assessment's decision was literally law. Alice had no problem with the fluids, organs, or even the smell of the corpses that rolled into her lab. Just the feel. Simple as that.

Alice stashed the day's current files into her bag and headed out the door. She yawned, taking a left down the hallway with a weary stride. It had to be nearly two in the morning. The dim hallway she walked through was quiet as usual except for the few moans of level 4 patients- which were always kept at ground level in case of emergencies.

She was just passing by the nurses' break-room when she heard what sounded like glass shattering against the floor. Alice stopped just beyond the door. She stayed there, silently, waiting for some line of clumsy cursing or shuffling.

"Everything alright, Dr. Jones?" she asked, reaching for the door knob. She managed to open the door halfway and take a step in before a skull pulverized beneath a foot in front of her.

Alice felt a tremor of hot fear jolt through her body. Her cheeks flushed with a sudden adrenaline rush and there was a tingling sensation shooting through her finger tips and toes.

Weird, the voice mused, don't the horror stories say you're supposed to feel cold when afraid? That was certainly odd.

The body that lay sprawled on the floor boards wore a white doctors' coat, riddled with ink pens. The mass and size was that of a middle-aged man. Glass lay scattered in pieces near his feet and on the table was an unopened bottle of ginger ale.

The blood and brain matter from Dr. Jones made half-hearted leaps out from his skull and dripped into absorbent wooden floor-boards as the killer removed his steel toed boot from the mess. Her breath was caught by her throat and her eyes trailed from the bloodied foot, up the leg of pinstripe trousers and coat, to a face looking nearly demonic in the candle light. She was more than surprised to recognize his face.

Well I wasn't expecting that. Were you? The voice pestered in whispers.

No.

The man that began to remove his gore-covered boot was none other than Wyatt L. Carroll.

"I'm sorry?" John interrupted.

Alice gulped her tea nervously as the man looked at her with confusion. Sherlock's face did not change from it's hard expression except for a quirk of his eye brow. This was an interesting turn. The consulting detective was even more pleased to know the story was just starting by the looks of it.

"I walked in," she paused, letting the images recur through her head, "and witnessed the murder of my master mortician."

John nodded slowly. The gears in her brain cursed her for not explaining the story better. The voice was simply amused. They weren't going to believe her. "The Horseman, is Wyatt Carroll."

John tilted his head, thinking this through. "Of Carroll Corporations?"

Alice nodded earnestly while Sherlock spotted the slight tremor in her right hand. Not lying.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," she exclaimed. It was an unexpected outburst with a shaky disposition. She was too irritated to second-guess herself. "He stood in front of me and took off his boot."

"The murder weapon" Sherlock sighed. "He did not place his shoe on the floor after pulling it out of the victim?"

She shook her head, "He started removing his other shoe also."

After a moment, Sherlock clasped his hands together. "What next then?"

Alice cleared her throat with another sip of tea. "Then I learned he came with a friend…"

"Don't you hate those moments where you're at the wrong place at the wrong time, Miss Pleasance? I'm sorry for the shock." The killer mused. The man looked like Mr. Carroll and he sounded like him. Oh dear, the voice hissed.

Alice took a step back just before Mr. Carroll took the candle lit lamp and twisted the nozzle to the right. A burst of light illuminated the entire room, recovering a hidden body standing by the window sill.

He wore a white suit, had sandy blonde hair, with stubble around the chin and green eyes. He stared at her, amused but uninterested. Though he was rather attractive, the man was a frightening sight for the poor mortician.

Alice gulped down the lump in her throat. "W…why did you—"

"I've not got the time for this, Miss Pleasance. I have an appointment with a spider," Mr. Carroll shifted his gaze to the man in white. "You know what to do, Mr. Moran." Alice trembled, taking another step back. She was standing in the hallway now, her right heel already leaving the ground to make a run.

The man cricked his neck and Mr. Carroll twisted the lamp nozzle to the left. The light quickly dispersed, leaving the room dark. With a stifled gasp Alice bolted from the darkness and ran down the hospital hallway. From behind her, the thump of running foot-steps echoed down the hall. He was going to kill her.

"Help! Somebody help me! Please!" Alice screamed. No one came. Instead, level 4's echoed her. She had to get out.

Alice made a the last turn down the hallway into the empty lobby and bolted out the hospital entrance. The cold London air filled her erratic lungs and she ran down the block. No one was coming to her rescue. She knew the curfew of most people at these London hours. Everyone was asleep anyway. And where was the damn British Rule's watch when you needed it?!

Footsteps echoed her own down the cobblestone street and she looked back. The man was already catching up to her.

Too fast! She thought with dread. Alice managed another block around a construction site until the man grunted; he had had enough. Moran grabbed at her long hair and pulled her into a rock hard embrace.

"NO!" she struggled in his arms. Moran grumbled a curse, intensifying his grip on her and staggering to a hole. A construction hole. She began to hyperventilate. He was going to drop her. She fought back heatedly, clawing at anything and kicking violently but to no avail. Moran wrestled half-heartedly.

"That's enough, Miss."

Alice gasped, feeling the ground disappear from her left foot. He violently shoved her towards the construction hole and she fell down in a swirl of darkness, banging into a lead pipe and tumbling down dirt, rain water, and large roots until she hit the ground. Air squeezed itself from her lungs by the impact.

"I woke up later and was stuck there until daylight," She said, a small tremble in her voice. John gently removed the empty cup from her shaky grasp and gave a comforting smile. "After that, I returned home for a day. Last night I saw someone sniffing around my apartment and knew I had to leave."

"And you didn't bother to go to the police?" John asked.

Alice shook her head. "I'm not bothering to put my trust in the British Rule after I just saw a high power kill someone."

"You came here without luggage except for that small bag." Sherlock commented quietly.

"I didn't think that packing would be smart. If anyone came in and found things missing, they'd known I had survived." She said.

Sherlock smirked. "Excellent decision, Alice. Good for you on that." He complimented with a nod of his head. John looked surprised. She guessed he didn't compliment anyone so freely. "So, what's in there?" Sherlock turned his attention to her bag.

"Just documents of the cases I dropped down the hole with."

"It's a miracle you survived." John said.

"I didn't suffer too many injuries. Just a banged up knee and head with some bruising," she rubbed her knee tenderly. "I think my leg took most of the aches and pains."

On cue, John headed to the kitchen. "Let me get you something for that, then."

"Oh no, I'll be fine."

"Listen to a doctor, Miss." John advised as he rummaged through a cabinet. Alice looked back at Sherlock who was now pacing around. He looked very deep in thought and she was hopeful that the detective would take her case.

"Well, I've told you my story, Mr. Holmes," she rubbed her hands apprehensively. "Can you help me?" Sherlock kept his eyes forward.

"You didn't fail to interest me. This is at least a 9." Alice tilted her head, confused.

"A what?"

Sherlock paid no attention. "I'll take the case."

"Really?" she said incredulously. "Thank-you Mr. Holmes!" she said happily, standing. For once in a long time, Alice smiled. Sherlock returned the expression with a slight nod, before making restless movements around the room again.

She bet he got bored quite easily. The detective reminded her of herself at a young age; in motion, curious, hungry for stimulus.

"You'll need a place to stay I presume." Sherlock pointed out. Alice fumbled with the idea. Her only two agendas had been to contact the detective and not get her head smashed in by Carroll. She needed to plan things out more.

"Yes."

Sherlock turned his back, fetching his violin. "Mrs. Hudson can let you live next door in 221C. It would be helpful if you stayed close to where we can find you."

"And protect you," John added. "Here you go." He said, handing her two white pills. Sherlock plucked at the strings of the instrument gingerly.

Once the doctor had given Alice of glass to down the pills, he turned to Sherlock. "Speaking of medicine, how long has it been since you took yours?"

Sherlock stiffened for a moment before abruptly placing his violin back in its position and heading for the door. "I'll go talk to Mrs. Hudson about Alice's settling." He slammed it shut, leaving a disgruntled doctor. Alice heard him mutter a curse before making strides back to the kitchen and opening the cabinet. Curiosity got the best of her.

"Problem?" she asked.

John returned, looking around the room. He must have been looking for something.

"Well, since you'll be spending time with us, I may as well warn you." The man's eyes looked more irritated than worried about his mate. "First, I should ask what level you are."

Alice raised her eyebrows. Most people kept their levels to themselves unless they were 4s'. It was ethnically customary to warn other people around you if you were a high level. It was an unsettling thing though, knowing someone's sanity and a casual degree. People would act different to your level.

John noticed her uncomfortable reaction. "I'm a level 2." He offered. Alice looked up.

"Really now?"

He nodded. "I used to be a 1 until I was assessed as a military doctor." Alice felt for John. The poor man must have seen hell back there. And sadly, level 1's were so scarce now. John sat himself back on the couch and Alice followed.

"I'm guessing you're a 2 also?" he asked.

Alice smiled. "Wrong Dr. Watson." She replied.

"Level 3 then?" She nodded and he sighed. She knew he'd made the same deduction as to her level up.

"The reason I'm asking is because two negatives don't make a positive," he began. "Sherlock is a level 4." Alice was stunned and John gave her a moment to let it process. After a beat, she nodded her head, understanding.

"It's always the clever ones." she humored. "Are his sanity traits violent?" It would be unnerving to live so closely to a level 4 but John did it so how bad could Sherlock be?

"It's mostly self-destructive. He won't eat or sleep for days. He gets massive headaches, the voices and words getting too loud and cluttered, he says. Sherlock will more likely verbally lash out at you than physically hurt you so there's no need to worry about that Alice." He reassured. "The good thing, now, is that he only usually takes the pills when he has a case."

"Why does he choose not to? An unstable level 4 is dangerous." Alice said.

"Because the instability can be helpful." Sherlock answered.

John and Alice looked back to see Sherlock. He smiled, seeing Alice's surprised face and simply ignored John altogether. He held out is hand to reveal a brass key and Alice stood to take it.

"Here is your key to your new flat. Mrs. Hudson says she can give you one of her relatives' clothes and John can buy your necessities since you won't be able to leave the flat much. I suggest you make a list for him while I get to work."

"You're getting on it right now?" John asked, standing up. Sherlock had already slipped his thick coat and scarf on. "It's three in the morning Sherlock!"

"Better early than late." Sherlock mused. He gave a wink and exited the flat, leaving ruffled John and weary Alice.