"This is ludicrous!" Phoebe complained as she walked to Scotland Yard with the others.

Sherlock merely let out a hearty laugh as he continued to follow Inspector Lestrade. Though, it wasn't like he had much choice in the matter. "The utter genius! The victim writing my name in blood! That's rich! Good show."

"We were together at the estimated time of death. Meaning he has a solid alibi," John spoke up as he glared at Lestrade.

"That's why were taking you all in," George replied calmly.

"Ask the barkeep! We were there all night!" Phoebe tried, her frown never leaving her face.

"Honestly, Scotland Yard's always easily duped. You find my name at the crime scene and think I'm the culprit," Sherlock said casually with a grin.

A new man with some officers around him walked up with a smjug look on his face. "We'll see how long your arrogance holds given the mountain of evidence."

"Ah. That explains it. Who else but you, Gregson," Sherlock replied, not phased by the accusation.

"Nothing thrills me more than to finally see your smug face behind bars," Gregson jabbed as he got up into Sherlock's face. "Damn Bohemian."

"You do realize the reason the Yard's so incompetent is 'cause it's overrun with insufferable prats like yourself?" Sherlock shot back with a smile. "You'll be an assistant inspector forever if that mystery eludes you."

"Show Mister Holmes to his new quarters."

"Sir!" The two officers replied to Gregson's order.

"As for your three witnesses, there's a few matters we'd like to ask them about," Gredgson said as he glared at the consulting detective.

-

Phoebe sat in the room by herself for about ten minutes before Gregson walked in with a smug grin on his face.

"So, I need your name before we start off," Gregson spoke as he sat across from Phoebe.

"Phoeboletta Hunt, daughter of Lord Alastor Hunt," Phoebe replied blankly as she rested her hands on her lap.

"The Lord Hunt? And what is a noblewoman like you doing consorting with the likes of Sherlock Holmes?" Gregson laughed a bit as he leaned back in his chair.

"It's quite simple, actually, I grew up with him and his older brother was my tutor. Sherlock and I recently recconected and I came out to dinner with him, his potential new flatmate, and his landlady," Phoebe explained, knowing that this man clearly had it out for Sherlock. Not that she could blame him, but still, an innocent man is still an innocent man no matter how much you hate him.

"So then walk me through what happened today," Gregson continued to question, hoping for the right evidence to convict Holmes of murder.

Phoebe sighed and relaxed in her chair. "I showed up to Sherlock's flat and met Dr Watson there before we went to go see Sherlock. After Sherlock being a spaz, we left to meet up with Miss Hudson for dinner and drinks at the Bugle Tavern. Miss Hudson was trying to see if Dr Watson was a suitable candidate for being Sherlock's flatmate and I was honestly just along for the ride. I was planning on talking to Miss Hudson about moving into one of her flats though. Is that enough information for you, assistant inspector?"

Gregson glowered at her as she returned the smug grin he had earlier.

"So Sherlock was with you the whole time, is what you're saying? Which seems impossible because he was obviously our culprit. The victim even confirmed it," Gregson shot back. "So which part did you lie about? Maybe you were there with him."

"You are letting your own personal feeling cloud your jugdment and it is showing. You want so desperately for Sherlock to be your culprit that your vision is so tunneled, you can't even see the bigger picture. Sherly was right, you have no hope of being anything more than an assistant inspector." Phoebe leaned back as she rolled her eyes.

Gregson shot up out of his chair and growled as he stormed out of the room.

Once he left the room, Phoebe dropped her head and let out a sigh. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Sherly?"

-

"Come on," a voice said as Phoebe looked up, seeing the assistant inspector back in the room after a little bit.

"Hmm?" Phoebe stood and brushed off her dress.

"You're free to go," Gregson grumbledd begrudgingly.

Phoebe grinned slightly and walked out of the room. "Thank you, assistant inspector."

She was led to a hall where Miss Hudson and John were already waiting for her.

"You're okay, right?" John asked immediately as he stood to greet her.

"Yes, I'm quite well," Phoebe replied.

Just then, Lestrade led Sherlock into the hallway in cuffs and Martha stood as well.

"Sherlock? Are you all right? The assistant inspector let Miss Hudson, Lady Hunt, and myself go," John said as he looked to the consulting detective.

"Glad to hear it," Sherlock replied as he stood before his three companions. "I trust Gregson was bullheaded in his interrogation."

Phoebe laughed a bit as she nodded.

Sherlock then leaned down to John's ear. "John, I can't do this alone. I'm going to need your expertise. Phoebe, I would much apprectiate your help as well in this matter."

"Yes, please. I would like to ask you for the same favor," Miss Hudson spoke up.

"I can't see how I'll be much help if yourself and John are there. I think it would be best if I-" Phoebe started but Sherlock grabbed her hand in his cuffed hands.

"Please," he spoke simply as he looked into her green eyes.

Phoebe sighed softly and gave a slight nod. "I'll help you."

Lestrade cleared his throat as he 'ignored' their conversation.

"If I can be of any assistance, rest assured, I will," John agreed as well with a determined smile.

"Again, appreciate both your help. Thank you," Sherlock said, still grasping onto Phoebe's hand as a smile crossed his lips.

-

Phoebe stepped out the carriage. John holding her hand to give her assistance with each step. She held up her dress so it wouldn't be ruined by the muddy street.

"Seems the street is lined with aristocratic mansions," Sherlock spoke up as he looked at his surroundings.

"What powers of deduction. Move along," Gregson grumbled as he pushed Sherlock along.

Phoebe glared at the man, biting her tongue before she could allow herself to speak unfiltered.

They all made their way into the manor and into the room which Phoebe deduced was Lord Drebber's study which was then confirmed whaen Lestrade spoke.

"Welcome back to Lord Drebber's study, Holmes. The crime scene's been preserved. We haven't taken the body to the morgue."

Sherlock scanned the room, the obvious murder in view with his name written beside the body in blood. "Right, Lestrade. Tell me everything you know?"

Victim's name: A one Enoch J Drebber. Born in Wales, thirty-five years old. There are two maids and a butler who live here in the mansion. Oh, right, I forgot. In a detached room, there's an older woman who does the cooking," Lestrade began to explain and Phoebe looked at the body, taking a step towards it.

She looked at Lestrade almost for approval, but he merely continued to speak so she waited.

"Of the two live-in maids, one of them planned to rendezvous with her lover. She was outside during the estimated time of death. But despite waiting all night, he never shows up. Moreover, she's the one who discovers the body."

Phoebe frowned as she looked down, putting a knuckle to her chin.

Sherlock glanced over at Phoebe, seeing that she was already thinking about different scenarios. He hadn't realized how much he missed watching her think. He was snapped back on track when Lestrade continued.

"As for the other maid, she received word her father had suddenly collapsed. But when she rushed to her parents' house, the man exhibited no physical ailments. Then there's the butler, who's fond of sipping a drink between duties. He typically spends his nights in his quarters with a glass of whiskey. Apparently, this time  it was laced with some sort of drug. He was sound asleep when the murder occurred."

Sherlock pulled out his toolds and moved to kneel beside the body. He looked through his small magnifying glass, examining his name in blood.

The cook is an older woman, hard of hearing, and once she's settled in her room for the night, she wouldn't notice if lightning struck outside the window. Which brings us to ten fifteen pm, when the maid discovers the lord slumped over," Lestrade finished his recount of the nights events.

"In short, you're saying no one in or around the mansion heard the sounds of a gun firing, is that right?" Sherlock questioned as he looked up from the body. "John, would you mind inspecting the victim's bod?"

"Certainly," John agreed before walking over to Lord Drebber's corpse.

He knelt down and checked under the coat of the lord. He looked at the man's chest and hummed. "There are four gunshot wounds to the chest. And there doesn't appear to be any signs of a struggle. Judging by the cavities, they were likely caused by a pistol fired at point-blank range."

As John continued on with his analysis, Phoebe knelt down on the other side of the body and looked at the bloody name in the carpet. She gingerly lifted the man's hand and quirked her lip to the side as she examined the blood on his finger.

"Seems like the killer was aiming for the heart. Going off the amount of blood present, the injuries sustained by the victim were harmful enough to cause him to bleed out. He would've died almost immediately."

Sherlock looked at John, almost impressed by the doctor's observation skills. Something then caught his eye and he slipped behind the desk Lord Drebber was leaned against.

"Without further tests, that's all I can ascertain," John said. He looked up to see that Sherlock was no longer standing there. "Where'd you go?"

Sherlock peeked his head out from behind the desk and Phoebe couldn't help the light giggle that left her lips. "Excellent work, John."

"Is something wrong?" John raised an eyebrow as he looked at the detective.

"No. I thought there'd be some loose change under here," Sherlock spoke as he looked between his two companions.

Gregson glowered before grabbing Sherlock by his suit jacket, pulling him up. "All right! On your feet, clown!" The assistant inspector dragging Sherlock back over to Lestrade with a grimace. "Give him a little leeway and this is how he behaves!"

Sherlock looked over at Phoebe who set the lord's hand back down gently. "And would you like to give your thoughts on the matter, malady?"

Slight;y startled, Phoebe looked up, almost surprised he actually asked for her opinion. "Oh, well, the name was obvious written after death and not by the victim. It mus've been the culprit who then added blood to Drebber'sfinger after."

"And how do you come to this conclusion. Do explain your evidence," Gregson scoffed, not taking her seriously which she noticed, making her scowl.

"Well maybe if you took the time to actually investigate you would've seen it before. The width of the letters are clearly wider than Lord Drebber's finger. For him to be the author of the writing, he would've had to trace each line twice. Hardly the behavious of a dying man with precious few seconds. And as John said before, he would've died instantly, so even if he had been able to stay conscious enough to write Sherlock's name, he certainly would not have enough time to make each letter wider."

Sherlock smirked as he looked at Gregson, proud of Phoebe's sound deduction.

"Meaning, the murderer would had to have wider fingers than the victim," John jumped in after standing up from his spot on the sloor, helping Phoebe up as well.

"That would be the most logical answer," Sherlock started as he turned his attention the Dr Watson. "Finger width is generally proportional to hand side. And hand size is generally proportional to one's physical size. So there's a high degree of probability the real killer was much larger in stature than Drebber."

'I'm listening," Lestrade said as he took in what the consulting detective was saying.

"Another feature of interest is the manner of death. A skilled murderer would've put a bullet in the head. The perhaps after taking careful aim and not missing, would've shot the heart to be sure. And yet, as you can see, it's a miracle they hit any vital organs," Sherlock explained further.

"I had the same thought. It appears that the shooter was unskilled in handling firearms," John added as he looked at the bullet holes in the victim's body.

"Being unskilled is one thing, but the scattershot approach indicates they were firing blindly at their target. They ensured each of the servant wasn't present, arranging the perfect conditions for the crime, only for the actual act to turn out muddled. Almost as if this was an amatuer performer playing the role of a killer in someone else's well-crafted script."

When Sherlock spoke, Phoebe froze, thinking about how he worded his description. Could it be?

"Basically, even though only one individual was responsible for pulling the trigger on the gun, another more capable person set the stage, making the crime possible," Sherlock finished.

"Hold on! In other words, a mastermind. And someone besides the killer came up with the plan," Lestrade checked, hoping he was undertanding correctly.

'Indeed. A puppet master. The one pulling all the strings. Perhaps..' Sherlock thought to himself before his thoughts were interrupted.

"You don't think..." Phoebe trailed off as she looked at Sherlock. He turned his gaze to her. "Like on the Noahtic?"

Sherlock froze as he just stared at her. She was right. 'She figured that out all on her own? Of course she would figure it. She was always quite brilliant. I'm glad she didn't lose that spunk after all these years. I wish I had told her-'

"Holmes. Holmes!" Lestrade snapped him back to reality as he contined to stare at Phoebe. "Now then, according to your theory, someone instructed the real murderer to write your name, but why you of all people?"

Sherlock finally let his gaze leave the brunette female in front of him, turning instead to look at Lestrade. "Ah, yes. That answer will become evident as soon as we apprehend them and ask."

"As soon as?! I'm sick of all your double-talk! Inspector! I request permission to interrogate Holmes!" Gregson demanded as he looked at Lestrade with a stern look. "We have our man. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he confesses!"

Phoebe rolled her eyes and she saw Sherlock lean over to John so she spoke up to keep the officers distracted.

"You have one nearly impossible scenario out of may other more plausible solution! Again with the tunnel vision. You need to analyze all the facts before coming to a conclusion. And all of the evidence shows that Sherlock had nothing to do with this! He even has a solid alibi. Just because you want it to be the solution doesn't mean that it is," Phoebe scoffed as she grimaced at Gregson. "If you can't even read the whole crime scene, it's a miracle you even made it into Scotland Yard."

"Why you little-" Gregson growled as he took a step forward only for Lestrade to hold him back.

"Calm down, Gregson," Lestrade warned as he gave his assistant a look.

"Yeah, you can't be too upset with her having common sense," Sherlock chirped with a grin.

"Enough! Let's go! We're going back to the yard and you are going back in your cell." Gregson snapped before leading everyone out of the room.

As they walked to the exit, Phoebe stood beside Sherlock.

"To answer you from earlier, yes, I do think it's like what happened on the Noahtic," Sherlock spoke quietly as he staredd ahead of him.

"So in theory it could even be the same man or organization behind this murder?" Phoebe questioned, keeping the hushed tone Sherlock had.

"You think it's an organization?"

"Well I'm not sure of anything, but I did some thinking last night and there is the possibility that one person is behind this, but I feel there is a greater likelihood of a group of people behind this. I could be wrong though. I mean you're smart enough where you could figure this out all on your own, so it is possible that a single man is smart enough to be able to plan out these meticulous murders."

"Sound logic. I'm impressed. You've gotten better," Sherlock complimented as he shot her a smile.

Phoebe couldn't help but smile at his approval. "Had to keep myself occupied somehow. I didn't have you to constantly bug and I haven't even seen Mycroft since the week after you left. I like a good puzzle to solve."

That made Sherlock frown. He knew that Mycroft had been quite fond of Phoebe. The two almost had a brother sister bond, so Sherlock found it strange that Mycroft hadn't made any attempt to see her in the eleven years they had been apart.

"Listen, I've been wanting to tell you-"

"Hey! Quiet, you two!" Gregson scolded as he looked back at the two with a harsh glare.

"Tell me later."

Sherlock nodded and kept walking towards the exit of the manor.