Spreading sunrise, clouds tinted, colours spread across the sky announcing the new day, oranges and reds painted across the clouds as if by a celestial hand. I gingerly take a sip of my tea as I stare out of the window, gazing at the London streets and sky. 

I never liked waking up early, but for some reason I couldn't get much sleep. Not because I was traumatized about what I experienced a couple of nights ago -- I have experiencedworse things than that. But for some reason I found my self tossing and turning and unable to sleep.

A couple of hours later I grew bored, and without a TV I think Sherlock and John were my next best entertainment. In my blue, plaid pajama bottoms and grey shirt, I make my way to their flat and graciously let myself in.

 Sherlock is wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, and is sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while John sits opposite him. 

"Oh, hello, Ella." John smiles, not bothered about me letting myself in. 

"Morning." I reply, shutting the door behind me. 

"We're still talking about that hair pin, you know... Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her bedside table every night." John voices, in disbelief still at what had happened. Yesterday, Sherlock had quickly deduced that Van Coon was sleeping with his personal assistance and gave her the hair pin.

"He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him." Sherlock finally spoke up, closing his paper and looking up at him. 

"Should've just got her a lucky cat." I shrug effortlessly, and Sherlock smiles at me briefly. 

"Speaking of which, I got you a gift." Sherlock pushed his chair back and stood up, causing me and John to stare at him questionably. 

"A gift?" I repeat, a little confused to his act of kindness. Though I shouldn't get my hopes up, it was probably something weird. 

"Yes, a gift. I am capable to buying gifts." Sherlock responded, heading towards the kitchen. I look at John and raise a brow, a little curious to what it might be. He does the same, his eyes landing back on Sherlock as he enters the room once more.

He stood in front of me and extended his arm, handing me my present. I almost let out a chuckle when I see it, and a smile forms on my lips. "A lucky cat?"

"Thought your flat needed some ornaments, it's incredibly plain." He explained, "Plus, it's a thank you for helping me with this case. Even though I didn't need it, it was nice to have you there. And I hope this gives you some muse for yours writings."

I couldn't help but to smile. I really appreciated what he did, even though it was just a small, lucky cat. It was also a reminder of what we all did together, and I thought it was really thoughtful of Sherlock. "Thank you." I say, carefully taking the golden cat from him before wrapping him in a hug.

He seems a little taken aback, but eventually embraces me back. Which I'm also thankful for, because it doesn't make me look awkward and lame in front of John.

"It's okay." Sherlock clears his throat, before we both pulled away. He made his way back to the dining table. 

"Where's my lucky cat?" 

"Your memories are going to be on that stupid blog of yours, John." Sherlock quips, before picking his newspaper back up. Sherlock is looking at the front page of the Sunday Express, where the headline reads, "Who wants to be a million-hair." He reads over the article with distaste, and Me and John watch Sherlock, a little amused.

"You mind, don't you?" John said. Sherlock looked up at him.

"What?"

"That she escaped – General Shan. It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."

"It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. We barely scratched the surface. 

"You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it." I jump in, trying to assure him. 

"No. No." Sherlock lowered his newspaper, "I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book."

I notice their eyes drift over to the window, where John frowns as he looks closely at something. I walk forward, lucky cat still in hand, and witness a young man in a hooded jacket and wearing a cap. He walked over to a tall, black box on the other side of the road which dispenses parking permits. He looks around in all directions to make sure he's not being watched before lifting a spray can in his right hand and spraying his tag on the back of the box. 

And so the game continues.