Sherlock slammed the pink case shut and rushed to grab a lapel. "Shouldn't we call the police?" asked John.  

     "Four people are dead- there's no time to speak to police," replied Sherlock.

     "So... why are you talking to me?" 

     Sherlock paused and glanced at the mantle across the room sadly. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

     "Pity," you muttered sarcastically. "So we're basically filling in for your skull?"

     "Don't worry, you're doing a fabulous job." Sherlock threw on his coat. "Well?"

    "Well, what?" John grumbled.

     "Well, you could just sit there and watch the telly while (Y/N) went down to help Mrs. Hudson with her midnight soothers, or...." He raised his eyebrows at both you and John. "I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. Skull just attracts attention, so...."

     "I usually work alone," you admitted hesitantly.

     John stood up and nodded. "I'll come," he said. 

     You looked at him with sudden decisiveness. You'd rather be divisive than indecisive. (Hamilton reference.) "Right then, I'll come too." 

      Sherlock frowned at you, (possibly disappointed that your decision to come had been based upon whether or not John did,) but his eyes twinkled. He was getting quite excited for what lay ahead: a wonderful compelling adventure about the serial murders that had puzzled Scotland Yard for so long? Brilliant. 

     You'd never taken off your coat in the first place, so you were ready to go. John smiled to himself. 

     "Sergeant Donovan said... said you get off on this sort of thing. You and (Y/N) do, actually. You two enjoy it."

     Sherlock smirked. "Well, I said dangerous.... and here you are." He went out.

     The three of you emerged from 221B. Sherlock was striding ahead, while you hung back with John, who was hurrying to catch up.  "Northumberland Street is five minutes walk from here!" Sherlock called back at the two of you. 

     "He thinks the murder is stupid enough to go there," John remarked snidely. 

     "No, he's not stupid enough, but brilliant enough," you told him. "Love the brilliant ones. So desperate to get caught!"

     "Oh, you're sick. I can't believe you enjoy this. Why would the murderer show up?"

 "Appreciation! Applause!" you shouted, spreading your arms theatrically. "At long last, the spotlight! You turned to face John, walking backwards now. "That's the frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience."

John smiled cynically. "Yeah. I can see that."

You gave him an amused knowing smile, and turned back around to face the direction you were walking to find that Sherlock was staring right at you. He quickly looked away.

     Sherlock looked over at the two of you. "Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

     The trio was walking into a humble Italian restaurant. You were reiterating, "Y'know, I keep telling you. It makes perfect sense. The one who can hunt in the middle of a crowd without anyone being bothered, though, is a cab drive-"

      "Sherlock!" A delighted voice boomed. You looked over to see, to your displeasure, a stranger grinning at Holmes. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. All on the house," the man said. "For you, and your... dates."

     "I'm not anyone's date!" John objected.

     "Got this man off a murder charge," Sherlock said in an almost bragging manner to you and John. "Proved that Angelo here was in a completely different part of town at the time of the killing, house-breaking. Anything happening opposite?" he asked the man.

     Angelo winked. "We' been keepin' an eye out." He showed Holmes a photo on his mobile phone. "Just this man, who stopped for a minute."

     You leaned over to look at the photo. 

     "He's just drunk," Sherlock commented. 

     "Also married with a dog," you added. "No use to us, but what we should really be looking for is a taxi driver." Sherlock looked at you sharply, rather startled by your observation- not the comment about the taxi driver, but the dog. This action did, unfortunately, prove to have a very uncomfortable effect, as his face was only an inch from yours.

     You stood straighter awkwardly, and after a moment of quiet, Angelo broke the silence. (When you're totally gay and anything to do with being straight makes you want to make a gay joke.) "Come, sit!" He begged, beckoning the three of you to a table. "I'll get a candle so that it's more romantic."

     "I'm not his date!" John repeated. It was the new, it seemed, 'I'm not your housekeeper.'

   You all sat down. Angelo returned with a candle and menus that he shoved in your faces. "You might as well eat," Sherlock sighed. "Might have a long wait."

      "Not really hungry," you replied as Sherlock tossed his menu aside and relapsed into his own dark thoughts. Angelo walked away. "Besides, I prefer not to eat on a case," you continued. "Slows me down."

     John looked at you, a tiny bit uncomfortable. "That's incredibly unhealthy. And terrible for anyone physically exerting themselves..." He trailed off, thinking about Afghanistan. "But, well, aren't you the bit least bothered- isn't anyone the least bit bothered that we keep getting tagged as a three-way date?" he asked, changing the subject.

     You snickered. Angelo came up just then to take John's order, so you didn't have to reply, thankfully. John gave his order.

     "Okay, well.... Let's talk about something else, then," John said after a few minutes of silence. Angelo had come with his pasta and John was just finishing it up. "People don't have arch-enemies, for starters."  

     Both you and Sherlock turned to stare at John. "Sorry?" Sherlock said.

     "There are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn't happen."

     "Doesn't it?" Sherlock huffed. "Real life sounds a bit dull, then. What do real people have, in that case?"

     "Friends," John said. Sherlock looked down and you winced. "Okay, I guess not. People they know, though. People they like. People they don't like..." he took a shaky breath, possibly disconcerted at the flickering candle that he hadn't noticed sitting at the table before. Angelo must have put it there without John noticing. "Girlfriends, boyfriends."

     "Dull..." Sherlock repeated.

     "So. You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John asked, which made you laugh loudly.

     "A girlfriend? No. Not really my area."

     "Oh. Oh, right." John paused, then said, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

     Sherlock regarded John curiously.

     "Which is fine, by the way. "

     "I know it's fine," Sherlock snapped. 

     "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

     Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No."

     "Right. Okay. Unattached. Like me. Fine, good."

     Sherlock turned to stare at the window, but after just a second he turned back to Watson with a concerned look. "John, you should know, I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm not really looking for any sort of-"

     "Oh, for goodness sake, Sherlock!" You cried. "He's straight!"

     This alarmed John. "Wait, wait," Watson said, "So... are you not? (Y/N)?"

     You just stared out the window, pointedly ignoring John's question. You noticed Sherlock smile out of the corner of your eye, and you scowled.

     "Oh, my gosh..." John gasped. "How did I not know this?"

    "For goodness' sake, John. If you must know, someone like me prefers to distance themselves from relationships in the first place. Can we please just leave it at that?" You snapped. "We need to focus on how a taxi driver is the perfect potential serial killer."

     Sherlock sniggered, but his laugh fell silent when he saw your stare out into the street harden. He followed your gaze and looked raptly across the road. John caught on and followed your two's look. He stared.

     A taxi had stopped outside 22 Northumberland Street. A shadowed silhouette seemed to be craning to look up at the window from the cab.

     "In a taxi! That's clever? Why's that clever?" Sherlock furrowed his brow.

     "If you'll draw your attention back to like two seconds, I'll believe you'll find that I mentioned a that someone driving a taxi could- Don't stare, John."   

     John blinked. "You and Sherlock are staring."

     "Well we can't all stare," you told him. Sherlock got to his feet and started striding out of the restaurant. Your eyes were fixed on the cab for just a second longer, and then you yourself stood up and rushed out.