Disclaimer: I don't own, I just borrow and play for a while, then give them back (relatively) undamaged.

Sally Donovan was not really one for regrets; she would have sunk beneath a tide of them long ago, had that been the case.

It was a fact that her life had been punctuated regularly events that, had she let them, could have completely over-run her life. Her parent's divorce and her mother's struggle to keep her and her siblings, her brother's death in a gang fight, her failed relationships and illicit love affairs, in truth she regretted none of it.

Yet today, as she stood on the cordon, waiting for Anderson and his team to arrive, she found herself looking up and down the street for the familiar sight of a black cab, a tall detective, and his doctor friend. She looked, but she knew that she looked in vain.

Three months ago, after her accusations following the Bruel kidnap case, Sherlock Holmes had jumped off the roof of Bart's Hospital. John Watson, refusing to believe his friend a fraud, had sunk into depression and barely left the Baker Street flat.

Ten days ago, unnamed sources proved beyond doubt that James Moriarty was real, the mastermind behind all those crimes, and this unpalatable truth left the Detective Sergeant feeling guilty for causing this suffering.

And just this once, Sally Donovan bitterly regretted not being able to take it all back.