[A/N] Hello. Some things to know:
1) This is my first Sherlock fanfic. It's gonna be *long*.

2) It's not beta'd. Many things may not add up, and plenty of Americanisms are contained within.
3) TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence. A lot of it. Moriarty is not a nice man, you know.

4) This is more drama and mystery than romance.
5) Thank you for reviews. I do read them all!
6) The "I do not own Sherlock" disclaimer notice Moffat and Gatiss made me sign is around here somewhere.

Enjoy. :)

ooooooooooooo

PROLOGUE:

The brand-new "LondonLovers" dating website was somewhat slow this evening. 1,895 people were currently online. In just two months time, 26,473 profiles were created, waiting to be seen by someone—anyone.

It smacked of desperation, which was something to be taken advantage of.

Boredom threatened to set in, so it was the best time to peruse profiles, or chat up another lonely heart. Perhaps luck would be good tonight; the last four women were kind of a disappointment. The current one, the one weeping uncontrollably at the moment, had been caught in a lie.

Not very nice. But she would be dealt with, just like the others.

A sobbing voice pierced the darkness. "I'm sorry!"

It was her. God, she was still crying? Something would have to be done about that—and soon.

"I'm sorry I lied!" she screamed.

"We've been over this," was the cool reply, via a microphone. "It's too late for that."

"Please," she pleaded. "Please, just listen to me. I'll do anything you wa—"

Eyes rolled, and the computer's speakers were turned off, plunging the room into silence once more. Begging was useless - and boring.

Yes, it was time to look for a new plaything.

Click. Click.

A picture of a perky woman crops up. She's blonde, wearing a baseball cap and red and white jersey. An American, actually, recently relocated to London. She likes the Phillies, Bruce Springsteen, and the color red.

No. Boring.

The mouse clicked again, and another woman's photograph instantly appears. This one, also a blonde—more white than yellow, has her hair in a plait, is wearing glasses, and holding a book. Dan Brown, from the looks of it. A librarian who loves Italian food, reading, and painting.

Ah, yes… the quiet ones were most often the most fun to play with—big screamers—but, no; not interesting enough.

A third profile. Upon closer inspection of this one, it was apparent something was amiss. Her golden tresses were box-colored. Of course! No woman had hair color that natural. Well, hell. Another one? It made the blood boil, these women who lied. Maybe she needed to be taught a lesson.

No, the one in the other room would learn it, instead. Now, it was time to move on.

With closed eyes, a finger moves around in a great circle on the screen, until it settles on a random profile. Eyes fly open, a mouse clicks, and another golden-haired female stares back. She's wearing a pretty pink jumper with a white lace collar; a delicate gold chain around her neck, bearing a tiny cross. In her lap is a bible. Religious, then.

No, no, and no. As tempting as it may be, the shouts for salvation from a unseen creator would just cause migraines.

There's an audible sigh. A right hand reaches up to rub the base of a skull, massaging the tense flesh there, while the nimble fingers on a left hand rose to rub both temples. The throbbing was getting worse.

In the near darkness, the realization was swift: It was time for a change. The current one was proof of that.

A finger tapped on the desk. What were the choices still available? Gingers? No, they didn't have souls; everyone knew that. No raven-haired women, though; they conjured up images of a certain dominatrix, and, well, that was no fun; she probably wouldn't scream at all.

Why not have a little brunette? It would be interesting to know: were they better at game-playing? Games were quite enjoyable—and it was time to start a new one.

With just a few quick keystrokes, the search parameters were changed. It only took a few seconds before a list of possible matches were on the screen. A faint piano concerto, Beethoven's No. 5 in E-flat major, suddenly floated from the computer speakers.

Ahh, that was so much better than the crying.

Scrolling, more scrolling. Humming. There had to be someone on this list that was worth the time and effort. There were some gardeners, teachers, students—lots of students—and a plenty of bored homemakers. Yawn. Maybe gingers and brunettes were not a good idea; they were all starting to look the same.

Suddenly, the scrolling stopped. A thrilled giggle escaped moistened lips. With one click, a profile popped up. The sweet, smiling face staring back was achingly familiar; why hadn't this been thought of before?

"Doctor (and I never get complaints from my patients!), 30-something, loves Pop music, Chinese food, cats, Glee, and helping others." Favorite color: "Cherry red." … Favorite food: "Crisps and coffee." … Motto: "It's fine." … Best Achievement: "Becoming a Doctor." … Best Feature: "My eyes." … Weaknesses: "Being shy, overly accommodating at times, a good cuppa, dark chocolate, and Consulting Detectives." … Greatest Annoyance: "Being invisible to a Consulting Detective." … Greatest Fear: "Being alone." … Biggest Regret: i"See 'Greatest Annoyance".

The joy was nearly impossible to contain. What luck!

And what a naughty girl, putting up a profile on a dating site; didn't she know those were dangerous places? It practically screamed "LONELY!" – and attracted all sorts of weirdos. A girl like her could get into all sorts of delicious trouble…

The chair rolled back, a body stretched, joints and knuckles cracked. Yes, a new game could begin. A few of the perimeters would need changing, but that was not a problem; looking back at a larger screen, one could see there were so many at one's disposal, it was quite shocking at times.

The light from the computer screen directly in the center cast an eerie orange glow to the malevolent eyes and Cheshire grin that consumed the room. It was also time to seek out an old friend—and finally get Sherlock Holmes for the trouble.