Moriarty grinned. "That barista deserves more credit than you gave him, Sherlock. You know, not everyone is as dumb as you think. He told me that one of the employees here had been missing an awful lot of work. In fact, she missed her shift on the day Molly died."

John raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Does that mean that she's the-"

"Not quite, John," I interrupted. "If you were a killer, would you really plan to murder someone on a day and at a time when you were supposed to be working? It's illogical."

"It may be illogical, but it's all we have right now," Moriarty said.

I groaned. "Alright, what's her name?"

Jim smiled, far too proud of himself. "Loraine Redwater. She lives in a flat just down the street."

 "Right, well, you go check that out, and John and I will-"

Moriarty giggled. "As if, Sherlock! You and John will have to have your alone time when we're not working!" He paused to grin knowingly. "Nice try, though, you sly dog."

I rolled my eyes, incapable to respond in any other way for fear that I would die of embarrassment. Of course I wanted time alone with John! Who wouldn't? This infuriating bastard was only getting in the way. Trios never worked well for me.

John, there to save me from mortification, spoke up. "Fine, then. Lead the way to the flat, Jim."

Moriarty followed John's instructions, and it wasn't long before we were seated across from Loraine in her comfortable living room. Fidgeting. Nervous. Possibly because she's guilty, possibly because three teenage boys have entered her house and begun to question her about murder. 

Jim was asking most of the questions, which was fine by me. He was the one that was so interested in her, anyways. She was definitely innocent, as it was obvious that she wasn't an idiot. The books on her shelves were all complex (for regular people, anyways- they were the equivalent of children's board books for me) and had been read many times despite being fairly new. When that fact was added to the detail that she lived alone, it was apparent that she was smart enough to cover a murder far more thoroughly than this.

"Innocent," I said clearly as I stood up.

I had interrupted Moriarty in the middle of one of his petty questions, and he glared at me. "How do you know?"

I smiled at him as one would smile at an unknowing four year old. "I don't know, I notice."

Jim sighed impatiently. "Sherlock, you have absolutely no leads. At this point, you're even more useless than usual. She is the only possibility we have; you can't just walk out!"

I smiled. "Watch me. Actually, watch us. John?"

John practically jumped to his feet. "Yep, no leads here. Thanks for your time and, um, bye!"

We left the flat in a bit of a hurry, leaving Moriarty glaring. I knew, of course, that he would continue to question her even after we left. He was stubborn in that way, which was convenient, for it allowed me to finally have some time with John to get some work done.

As we walked down the street, John gently pulled my hand into his. "So, we really have no leads now. Okay. Right."

I grinned and gave his hand a light squeeze. "Wrong." When John simply stared at me, puzzled, I continued, "I've only just remembered. Back at the crime scene, one of the investigators... Lilly Withers, her name was, asked for our help. I think it's about time we paid her a visit."

"Sherlock, you do realize that it's been weeks, right? They may not even need our help anymore- they've probably given up!"

"If they've given up, then they've done so far too easily. There's still a case here, and if they cannot recognize that... Then, yes. They definitely need our help."

The address on the business card led us to a large house a few miles from London. I knew that detectives weren't paid very well, so Lilly Withers had to be extraordinary. Or, perhaps, just good at selecting husbands.

The tasteful juniper-wood door swung open almost as soon as I'd knocked. Before me stood a boy of about eleven, who seemed very unhappy to see us.

He turned to shout into the house behind him. "Mom, more freaks are here to see you!"

Next to me, John raised his eyebrows. "That's not very nice, you know."

The boy stuck his tongue out at my blonde friend. "You know what else isn't nice? Your face!"

"Harrison!" Right on cue, Lilly pulled her son away from the door and took his place. "So sorry about him. How can I help you boys?"

I stared into the house behind her. Expensive, tasteful furnishings. Everything is in its place despite Lilly being the mother of three- no, four kids. Detectives have hardly enough time to take care of themselves, so keeping a clean house and taking care of the kids is impossible for her... Ah, cleaning staff and nannies. Portraits seem to be covering the walls: family oriented? No... Guilty. Of course, having no time to raise those children would bring shame. Father missing from all recent photos... He is (pun unintended) out of the picture. House must be inherited, Lilly's parents have died. There seemed to be something missing, some clue that I couldn't find. It felt as though the pieces of a puzzle had all presented themselves, but none of them fit together.

"Interesting," I muttered.

Lilly raised an (Excellently kept. Possibly obsessed-over.) eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

Had I said that out loud? I grinned, attempting to cover my mistake in what I figured could be seen as a 'normal' way. "Oh, it's nothing." White powder on her sleeve. Flour, probably. "Were you cooking? Because if that's a problem..."

She shook her head. "Not at all. I've just been hanging out with my kids all day and..." She laughed and looked at her sleeve. "I guess I got a bit messy." She smiled and nodded for a few seconds. "Right, so what is it you two need?"

"Molly Hooper," I answered. "What do you know about that case?"

Lilly shook her head. "Not much. It's so interesting, and yet... I just don't know. The tracks are completely covered. We've pretty much..."

"Given up," John finished, with a pointed look at me.

The investigator shrugged. "There's just nothing we can do."

I stuck my tongue into the side of my mouth. "Interesting." With that, I gave a quick wave. "Well, thank you. We'll be off, now!"

I grabbed John's arm and pulled him down the drive, leaving Lilly standing in the open doorway in shock. When we were a safe distance away, I leaned closer to John. "Something is wrong about her, and I can't tell what. Her husband, her parents... I don't know. I just can't tell." I kicked the ground in frustration.

We had reached the road, and John stopped walking, pulling me towards him and looking me straight in the eye. "Sherlock, didn't you notice?"

I was unsatisfied, impatient. Nothing made sense about Lilly. "Notice? Notice what?"

John raised his eyebrows and put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me lightly. "No one wears that much makeup to hang out with their kids!"

The world around me slowed down, and I shut my eyes. Within seconds, I was reliving the moments with Lilly at her door. Heavy foundation. Thick eyeliner. Layers of mascara, each one a bit thicker than the last. Lipstick smudges of slightly different colors around her lips, as though she felt the need to try multiple shades, unsatisfied with her collection of colors. The eyebrows. 

Finally, a puzzle piece snapped into its correct place.

Liar.

I opened my eyes and gave John a quick kiss on the nose before turning around and walking quickly towards the city. "Brilliant. John, you are brilliant."

John began to hurry behind me, trying to match my quick pace. "Sherlock? Where are you going?"

"The library, of course. We need to inspect every last piece of information we can get about Lilly Withers."

"Why, exactly?"

"Her husband. Her parents. People don't just go missing." I let John catch up to me, finally, and took his hand in mine. "John, the game is on."

Jim met us at the library after we'd each stopped at our individual homes to pick up our laptops. Being the stubborn sort, he kept trying to argue that Loraine was guilty. I, however, calmly blocked him out. With a lead like this, nothing (not even the distraction of a man as idiotic as he) could stop me.

"John, find everything there is to know about Lilly's parents. Moriarty, get something on her husband. If we can find out what happened to them, we'll have evidence against Ms. Withers."

"She didn't do it," Moriarty sang in a belittling voice.

John sighed. "Jim, shut up. Sherlock... She works as a detective. With so many connections, wouldn't her colleagues figure out that something was off?"

I began googling away. "Certainly not. Someone in that business would know how to cover her tracks well. She could get away with anything."

If Lilly was guilty, then John was safe. This reason pushed me, forced me to search for evidence against Lilly. Within three hours, we'd found plenty of evidence, yes, but none that lead us anywhere we needed to go.

Frustrated, I slammed my fist against the table, which was now covered in countless articles and printouts. "Nothing! How have we found nothing?"

Moriarty shushed me condescendingly. "Now, Sherlock, remember where we are. That's a library, in case you couldn't deduce that."

"Shut up," John muttered, flipping through an old newspaper, searching for obituaries.

Moriarty smirked. "John, please collect your emotions. You're far too tense. So frustrated! Perhaps Sherlock here could help... Relieve some of that."

John blushed and sped up his page-flipping process. "Shut. Up."

The brunette boy giggled. "Sherlock, have you ever considered that the reason you aren't finding anything is because you've selected the wrong person to investigate?"

I groaned. "Fine. Fine! What have you found out about Loraine, then?"

"Well," he began, smiling far too confidently, "she grew up in the area. Working at the Attendant is the only job she's ever had. She's worked there for three years, and knew Molly to be a regular customer. Always came in and ordered the most difficult drinks to make. Cause for murder, definitely-"

John held his hand up. "Hold on. You think a taste for complex drinks is a reason to kill someone?"

Moriarty shrugged. "Well, she never tipped, either. Besides that, Loraine was under a lot of pressure. Intense clinical depression, the likes of that. She's an artist, you know. Very creative, which would explain the crime scene."

I furrowed my brow. "You never even saw the crime scene."

He glared at me. "Word gets around, Sherlock. Anyways, Loraine practically admitted it to me, alright?"

I laughed. "Did she really?"

"No," Moriarty admitted. "But anyone with even a fraction of a brain could tell that she's guilty."

I leaned against the table for a moment, collecting my streams and groups of thoughts, before gathering the printouts and articles we'd spread across the table. "Right. Sure. Well, let's call that a day, I think we all have a lot to think about. Cheers, goodbye, other closing statements."

I was out the door as soon as I'd grabbed my laptop. London's streets had darkened, and I realized that it was getting rather late. I shivered. The thought of John walking down a sketchy London street on a Saturday night had me worried.

"Sherlock!"

I turned around, automatically warmed by the voice. John hurried after me, struggling to hold his laptop bag while pulling his scarf around his neck. "Sherlock," he said again upon reaching me.

I quickly, gently tied his scarf into a loose knot. "I was just beginning to worry about you."

"Worry about...? You know what, never mind. I was wondering, and I'm just going to say this because I- you're laughing. Why are you laughing?"

I hadn't quite realized it, but he was correct. I'd begun to snicker. "You're talking so fast, and I just can't even..."

He took a deep breath and let out the tiniest of giggles. "Okay. You're right. I was wondering... Do you want to sleep over tonight? I mean just hang out and stuff. Watch movies. You know?"

I felt myself blushing, and suddenly felt like it took every muscle in my body to utter a few simple words. "Oh, um, sure."

John smiled and took my hand. "Well then, Sherlock Holmes. Let's go."