Chapter 8

"How is your wrist?" John set a bowl of soup down next to Camie. She smiled up at him then examined her wrapped wrist.

"Fine, thank you, John. You are a good doctor." Camie blew on the steaming soup.

"I have seen much worse. You are very lucky." John smiled down at the kind girl. When Sherlock had said she was a consulting detective, he never pictured Camie being almost opposite of Sherlock. Patient, considerate, not an ass. "I'm going to go out and get you some more medicine. I'll be back soon."

Sherlock appeared in the doorway to the living room. John cleared his throat and quickly left. Camie sat up and set her soup in her lap. Sherlock sat beside her on the couch, "You look well."

"Hospital food works wonders, Sherlock. A little bit of type O never hurts either." Camie stirred her soup, "Did you ever learn more about Alice?"

"No." Sherlock stared at the skull on his mantel, lost in thought.

"Have you ever heard of Moriarty before?"

Sherlock sighed and kissed Camie's soft hair. Outside, the streets were dark with heavy rain. A new mystery settled into the streets of London. A mystery by the name of Moriarty. Sherlock nodded, "I heard of him once. From a cabbie."

The End.